The Endless Solvent

They moved him out of the Somas camp. A temporary structure made of wood planks and tarp between two large boulders sat waiting for him as a couple of Somas escorted him out. As different as he was made to feel with the Somas, this complete removal from the rest of the people made him feel much worse. Even if they called him ‘blood-head’ or ‘Gaian’, they let him eat and rest with them. But now they’ve taken that away as well.

Bette was the one to break the news to him. He had demanded an explanation but she simply glared at him. “This is the consequence of your actions,” she said sharply. “I had explicitly told you not to be involved.”

He really wanted to argue but he was simply too weak. He found out that he had been unconscious for days and Melette had brought him back from the brink of death.

“Your spine was broken among many other things,” Bette had translated for Melette. “She spent hours reforming you. None of us knew if you would be able to walk again.”

Melette then went on a long tirade that Bette only tiredly translated some of. The old Healer made it clear that he had much more recovery to do before anything else - Ral was not in a state to refute that as he found he was barely able to move. His limbs were extremely sore and stiff, the flesh that had been cut tender and bruised. He spent days in the little structure out in the desert just lying there and trying to get better.

Only Bette and Melette ever visited him. He knew there were guards posted near his new home but he was never sure if they were protecting him or keeping him contained. He could barely walk, so he assumed they were protecting him from something. Bette refused to respond to his questions and he couldn’t communicate well enough with Melette to ask. Not once did Mikol come by.

Ral tried to work up the courage to demand Bette to tell him everything, but by that time she deemed him well enough to make the journey back to camp to see for himself. The whole time, the Somas leader looked like she wanted to say something to him but kept silent.

When he made his way back to the familiar common area, he didn’t quite know what to expect. Maybe he expected it to feel different? Only it was exactly the same. The same stares from the Somas, the stark difference between them and himself, the bitterness in the air. Bette had him go for dinner time and he tried to line up for a bowl but he was denied food.

Dalsk, one of the other Somas Leaders, glared at him and told him to sit at a particular spot on the common area. It obviously wasn’t an invitation to join them but simply an order for him to go somewhere at Dalsk’s behest. Ral stiffly sat down, ignoring his screaming joints and the throbbing ache at his back. He looked around and the Somas were much more quiet than they usually were at dinner time. They all stared at him openly, muttering to each other.

Then Mikol appeared. He was wearing a different kind of tunic, one with braided designs along the sides. The chords holding it together at the shoulder was a solid black color. His hair looked different too, the shiny dark strands neatly braided into an intricate design and held together by a patterned strip of cloth. People nodded respectfully at him as he walked by, even the Leaders with the exception of Dalsk. A few murmured his new title as well: Champion.

Ral remembered the blackened talisman showing that he had closed the Gate. He remembered Mikol telling Calkin that the talisman had his name on it. Ral remembered everything. The proof of what happened back at the Trial was walking right in front of him. Mikol was now Champion.

Mikol took his food and sat next to the Leaders, not once looking at Ral. Ral stared at him with his strange new clothes and hairstyle, then glanced over at Bette who dispassionately looked away from him.

Usually at this time, while people were eating, someone would be at the center of it all either telling a story or making some sort of speech. They seemed to be missing that. When everyone had their dinner, Dalsk suddenly stood up and barked orders to a handful of young Somas and they scurried off. Ral realized these were all very young Somas, almost children who were at Dalsk’s beck and call. The usual group that were his age were nowhere to be seen. In fact, Ral looked around and couldn’t see Calkin nor any of the Somas that were at the Trial.

The young Somas returned and Ral was shocked to see them pulling in a middle-aged Gaian man. Dalsk took the man’s arm and firmly steered him to sit right across from Ral.

“Introduce,” Dalsk said to the man in Yscian. The man fervently nodded, sweating.

“M-my name is Kentor,” the man said in Gaian. “I’m a merchant. A-a traveling merchant that sometimes trades with the Somas. I, uh, spent a lot of time learning Ysican due to my trade.”

Kentor wiped sweat from his head, plastering the spare hair of his balding head to his scalp. He was certainly dressed in the way Ral remembered merchants dressed, the plain brown or beige tunics with elaborate metal buckles under their shoulder. They seemed to have an extra lapel on the long side of their tunic collar which was actually a kind of pocket at their chest to hold valuables or documents. The merchant looked entirely uncomfortable in the clothing as it wasn’t suitable to the heat of Ivassk. Did they kidnap this man from somewhere?

“It seems like your friend here would like me to translate,” Kentor continued as Dalsk grunted at him. “Because he doesn’t trust anyone else to translate neutrally.”

Bette gave a snort of derision. The rest of the camp was silent, more silent than Ral has ever heard them. Dalsk spoke rapidly in Yscian to Kentor, who let him finish before speaking to Ral again in standard Gaian.

“This man here would like to know if you remember what happened at the… test? The big test?” Kentor squinted at Dalsk. “I-I think - ”

“The Trial?” Ral offered.

“Yes, I think that’s appropriate. The Trial,” Kentor agreed. “He wants to know what you remember from it.”

Ral clenched and unclenched his fist. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to tell them about the Part? He looked over at Mikol who stared back at him, expressionless, still. Should he tell them about the exchange between Mikol and Calkin? Would anyone even believe him if he accused Mikol of stealing the Champion’s title from him?

The thought of it made him sick. Mikol would never do that to him, at least not the Mikol he knew. Kind, thoughtful, gentle Mikol. But that Mikol now sat with his hair braided and tied up next to the Leaders without a trace of remorse on his face. What is he supposed to think about that?

“Speak,” Dalsk demanded loudly in Yscian, making Kentor jump.

“Mikol brought you the talisman, did he not?” Ral finally said. “What more do you need to know?”

Kentor quickly translated to Dalsk in fluent Yscian. Dalsk responded angrily, drawing murmurs from the Somas watching. Kentor translated again: “He wants to know if you made a deal. He wants to know what deception you used to make Mikol the Champion while causing the death of so many.”

“The death of who?” Ral asked sharply.

“Everyone participating,” Kentor nervously responded after hearing Dalsk’s response. “He says you and the Champion are the only two survivors.”

Stunned, Ral stared at the merchant, then up at Dalsk’s angry face. Calkin and everyone else was dead? His confusion seemed to anger Dalsk even more and he shouted more angry words at the merchant.

“He’s saying you’re continuing your deception and calling you many expletives,” Kentor said. “Sir, can you please say something to calm him?”

This meant that Calkin and everyone else participating in the Trial was killed by… Mikol. That would be the only explanation.

“Mikol,” Ral said hoarsely. “What is going on?”

“I have been requested to not translate for you since I be biased,” Mikol said. His voice was flat, neutral, emotionless. Cold. “Dalsk doubts my Champion title. You are free to speak the truth.”

Ral clenched his fist again as Kentor diligently translated what Mikol said to Dalsk. Fine. “I finished the Trial,” he said to Dalsk. “I did it. So the Champion title should belong to me.”

Dalsk stared at him incredulously for a few moments after hearing Kentor’s translation to Yscian, then let out a long, unhinged laugh. He ranted after, slapping Kentor on the shoulder to urge him to translate.

“H-he doesn’t seem to believe your words,” Kentor said. “Most of what he is saying is expressing disbelief. He is calling you both a brazen liar and a coward. And… uh, some derogatory words which I believe means ‘whore’. He wonders what Mikol has done to entrance two young men to do whatever he wants.”

“Ask him what he thinks happened,” Ral snapped at Kentor, not wanting to hear any more of Dalsk’s stupid ramblings. “Maybe we can have a productive conversation for once.”

Dalsk then sounded condescending, speaking slowly and carefully to Kentor, letting him translate in bits and pieces.

“He says that Calkin and Mikol were…together before you arrived. Then you caused some sort of rift,” Kentor said, looking uncomfortable. “Because Mikol and Bette saw some sort of advantage with you… I think he means political advantage. They decided to get close to you. When the Trial came, Mikol was one step ahead and made you commit murder while he easily took the win for the Trial. He wants you to admit to Mikol’s manipulations. Your meddling means Mikol’s participation was not his sole effort and so his title should be rescinded - ”

“I have no idea what Mikol did,” Ral insisted. “And I have no knowledge of everything else that he’s saying. All I know is that I closed the Gate… the ‘doorway’ the way Ressol did. Me. I used the talisman Mikol had given me and he took it from me afterwards.”

Dalsk’s eyes burned with hatred when he heard the translation. He slowly leaned down to Kentor’s level and evenly grated out words into the merchant’s ear. Kentor’s voice audibly shook as he diligently translated: “This gentleman is saying he wants you to admit nobody completed the Trial and that the proof was faked somehow. He wants me to stress that Mikol has betrayed you to gain power within the Somas, and that Mikol does not deserve your sympathy, friendship, kindness or love. He does not need you to lie for him.”

Ral’s eyes found Mikol from across the shared area, past the faces of several Somas sitting and watching on the floor. Mikol was still, his emotions closed off in both his face and the Solvent. Helplessly, he looked over to Bette, who also regarded him coolly, face emotionless. Dalsk spotted their exchange and he spat out more words to Kentor.

“That woman doesn’t deserve it either,” Kentor translated. “Who do you think taught Mikol to use those who are close to him? That woman said your family was powerful, it was the reasoning she used to keep you here.”

Ral wordlessly stared at Dalsk, then back at Bette. Did he mean to say she wanted to use him?

“He is indicating your family is a Leader-in-kind,” Kentor said with difficulty after Dalsk spoke further in Yscian. “I believe he is trying to say ‘nobility’ from Caelis. Parts damn it, you’re Caelisian? He’s saying ‘son of suns’… you’re the Solaris?”

That question was from the merchant himself. Ral chose not to answer. “Ask him if he’s finished slandering his own people,” he said to Kentor who quickly translated to Yscian. “And that what he’s saying doesn’t change the truth.”

That settled as well as Ral thought it would with Dalsk, who shouted some more in Yscian. Ral understood most of it as it was mostly more swear words and disbelief and he mentioned to Kentor he didn’t need to relay all of that back. He stood with difficulty and nodded at the sweaty Gaian.

“I would find my first opportunity to leave and get away as fast as I can. Best if you forget everything you’ve seen and heard here as well,” he told Kentor. He then looked over at Mikol. “And if you still have a heart, Champion, you would help this man get out alive.”

Kentor gave a few frightened and incredulous sounds. He stammered out something that sounded like a question on what Ral meant, but Ral wasn’t going to stay there any longer. Ral shuffled stiffly down the narrow cavern paths out of camp again. He was hungry, but he didn’t want to beg for food. He felt pathetic enough. No, he was going to let the humiliation gnaw at his stomach until he could think about nothing else. Everyone there thought him a liar.

The thing that hurt the most was that Mikol didn’t say a single word to him.