The Inner Circle: The Knowing

  *

  Far-a-mael stalked into the room, examining the Ways and absorbing the scene before him. El-i-miir was leaning against the wall breathing in short and sharp gasps. ‘What happened?’ Far-a-mael demanded. He glanced at the open window beneath which Seteal had passed out on the floor.

  ‘You.’ Far-a-mael turned back to El-i-miir with a more purposeful grip on the Ways. ‘How dare you affiliate me! Did you really think I wouldn’t realise? Such arrogance. You’re really not that special, you know.’

  ‘I--I--I’m sorry,’ El-i-miir stuttered.

  ‘How long have you been making a fool out of me?’ Far-a-mael barked. ‘How long?’ When El-i-miir failed to respond he continued. ‘There will be consequences for this.’ He jabbed a finger at her. ‘Get Seteal to bed. I’ll go down and try to clean up your mess.’

  Far-a-mael turned and left the room in disgust. Such foolishness was to be expected from the likes of Seteal, but El-i-miir should’ve known better than to befriend a whisp-mutated animal. If Far-a-mael hadn’t been so angry, he’d have almost been impressed by El-i-miir’s focus in keeping him affiliated so long. But such a display of immaturity only served to discredit the young lady. Far-a-mael caught himself wondering if perhaps Seteal was a bad influence. She was a half-caste after all.

  Once outside the building, Far-a-mael headed up the street and shook his head at the carnage spread out in all directions. Blood was everywhere. The place resembled a battlefield. As he continued along the street, Far-a-mael was greeted only by more death and destruction until finally he came to a place where the devastation seemed to have simply . . . stopped.

  People were spread out all over the road moaning in pain or sorrow, but there, where the creature had ceased its work, most were still alive. Far-a-mael took a moment to glance about and see if there was anything he could do, but couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Turning sharply, he saw a darkly clad figure staring at him from across the crowded street.

  The watcher was dressed in a long black coat that hung well below his knees. With long sleeves and black gloves, the stranger was almost completely obscured. Only a pale, angular face could be vaguely determined from within the depths of a large hood. One distinguishing feature was the man’s disfigurement, a large hump on his back that forced him to stand hunched over. The mysterious stranger turned and scurried off against the setting sun. Far-a-mael paused, staring after him and wondered for just a moment . . . but, surely his eyes were playing tricks on him.

  The stranger couldn’t possibly be more important than the task at hand, so Far-a-mael turned back to the wounded and offered what little help he could.

  An old man--although probably much younger than Far-a-mael--sat on the road, his legs spread out and his clothing in disarray. Far-a-mael concentrated for a moment, stretching out his mind and touching the familiar energy that churned around him. The colours within the man’s aura were scattered and bounced about frantically, reflecting his inner turmoil. Tendrils of light trickled away from Far-a-mael’s fingertips, allowing him to penetrate and manipulate the aura. He eased the erratic motion of the darker colours and pushed them into the depths where they could be processed later. He carefully lassoed peaceful blues and whites before encouraging them to the surface. At last, he found some golden orange and pulled that up from the depths to increase the man’s strength and resolve. His aura came to life with feelings of empowerment and a sense of purpose. He stood up, dusted himself off, gave Far-a-mael a suspicious look and hurried across the road.

  Far-a-mael shook his head. Surely it wouldn’t have hurt to show at least a little appreciation.

  A little girl stood a few strides away, a steady stream of tears running down her cheeks. ‘Why did it hurt my mummy?’ Her voice was hollow. ‘I want my mummy,’ she sobbed, without removing her hands from her red face. Far-a-mael shuddered when he noticed the bloodied corpse fixed in her sights. He touched her aura ever so gently, intending not to startle her as he rearranged it: blue, yellow, white, a splash of teal, and some pink for good measure.

  Despite the toll it took on his aging bones, Far-a-mael got down on one knee, placed his hands on the girl’s shoulders, and looked into her eye. ‘Listen to me. I know it hurts. I wasn’t much older than you when I lost my mother. It’s going to hurt for a very long time, but I promise you one day you’ll wake up, the pain will have become old, and you will be okay.’

  ‘But I want my mummy!’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, of cause you do,’ Far-a-mael swallowed and squeezed the girl’s hands. ‘Sometimes, I want mine, too.’ It wasn’t like him to be emotional, but losing a parent wasn’t something easily forgotten. ‘We can’t bring her back,’ he leaned forward to whisper in the girl’s ear, ‘but I will make them pay.’ Far-a-mael rose to his feet.

  ‘Deenel!’ A young man hurried over and scooped the girl into his arms. ‘You found my sister,’ the man cried. ‘Thank you. Truly, thank you.’

  Before Far-a-mael could reply the man had hurried away, leaving him alone with the haunting memory of loss in a child’s eyes.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A SILT IN SITNIC