The Bearer's Burden

1. The Taken

1

The Taken

Through encoding, a Bearer can use a phantom to absorb the properties of the world around him. With careful practice, he can make himself lighter, heavier, or even stronger.

—Excerpt from The Book of the Traveler

One Year Later

One more day, Cade thought as he fell upon the broken stones of the road. It was a promise he made to himself far too often. He rolled to the side as a rusted blade swept down where he fell, cutting into the road, sending bright orange sparks scattering into the night. The weapon—clumsy and slow—a relic of the war—wasn’t meant for a human adversary, but the man hadn’t much of a choice after Cade stole his sidearm.

His opponent, overcommitting on his swing, was off-balance. Cade encoded tungsten into his left hand. Even under the meager scraps of light the night afforded, he saw his hand turn a dark silver, the color moving across his skin like a shadow. He brought his fist square into his attacker’s jaw, shattering it. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Cade crouched low to get a good look at the man’s face. He didn’t recognize him, but he did recognize the red robe of an Acolyte. The upstart rose from the ashes of the war and campaigned tirelessly for members while denouncing Bearers and anyone associated with them. Their presence confirmed his suspicions from the information he had gathered. These robed zealots were somehow wrapped up in systematic g******e. But why?

He sniffed at the air as he ran through the street, the tail of his duster jacket rustling behind him. The air was thick with an acrid smell, like wood smoke, only sharper. It was not unlike the smoke in the air at Gigan’s Hill, one year earlier. Am I too late? Every lead followed in the last year had left him empty-handed. Thousands of people taken, one town after another, and not a trace left behind.

Cade looked up to get his bearings but was met with a starless night—the habit still hadn’t died. There had been stars before the war—a reminder of infinite possibility. Now the night only brought the claustrophobic reminder of failure.

The sole source of light came from the Thread—the Wraith-controlled facility over five hundred miles to the east. Visible even in the far reaches of Chalice, the thin thread of white light projected straight up, piercing the sky itself. As he hurried through the town, arcs of energy from the Thread radiated through the night sky, like a cage of sinister energy.

Cade sprinted past building after building on the main street. All were quiet. I’m too late, he realized. Faint wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys of houses, where not a single person stirred within. It was if all the residents had just vanished. Almost no sign of resistance or struggle. Just…gone.

He ran, hope dwindling, until he came to an abrupt stop at the edge of town and looked across the hill at a group of buildings just outside the city.

In one of them, a candle burned to life.

Cade approached, taking careful steps and keeping outside the sight lines of the building’s windows. As he drew closer, he recognized the structure of a Bearer training camp. Bearer camps had been common in the Ends. It was critical to keep them far from the front lines to prevent the Wraiths from finding them.

He surveyed the area and found the camp to be almost identical to the one he trained in as a recruit: barracks, combat dummies, encoding obelisks, and a target range used for decoding practice. He made note of the layout. The locations of the stations here might be of use to him.

He crept his way up toward the lit building—a mess hall—careful not to alert the occupants. He noticed a small metal sphere, no larger than a piece of fruit, perched upon one of the window sills of the building. It hummed to life as he neared it. Cade froze and cursed under his breath. This was not the first time this had happened. Every time he neared one of these ancient machines, this would happen.

Careful. It’s a trap.

That voice again, Cade thought to himself.

Sometimes Cade heard a phantom he bore like a quiet voice in a storm. But this voice was strong and clear, as if there was someone talking right next to him.

You need to listen to me.

“Sure, whatever,” Cade muttered and thought better of it. He shook his head. Don’t acknowledge the voice, he thought. He was losing his mind. Hearing voices was a sure sign of it. But it didn’t matter to him if he could tell what was real and what wasn’t.

It is difficult for me to contact you. Every time I do, I risk detection.

Cade rounded a corner and saw that the flickering light was within the mess hall.

A familiar voice, thick and raspy, cut through the night. “I know you’re out there, Cade. Come on inside and let’s have a chat.”

Cade sighed and entered the hall, letting the double doors swing shut behind him. Dusty old tables and broken benches littered the room. Abandoned packs were tossed into the corner, and a lit stove warmed a battered copper pot. At the end of the hall, leaning back on two legs of a chair, sat a short and stocky man. He bore a wiry gray beard, making him look far older than his years would have suggested. He wore the deep red robes of the Acolytes.

“Rast? You’re an Acolyte now?” Cade asked.

“Cade! Thought you were dead, I did. At least that’s what everyone told me. Come on over and have a drink with me.”

Cade stepped forward and paused as he caught the faint glimmer of a tripwire. He halted and raised an eyebrow.

Rast shrugged.

“You always fought dirtier than most,” Cade said.

“And you never fought dirty enough.” A wide smile spread across Rast’s face, revealing worn teeth. “It’s been over a year since I last saw you on the battlefield.”

Cade shook his head. “We don’t have time for small talk. I don’t know what you’re mixed up in, but you can still help me. It’s not too late. All the people taken from the villages…you and I both know it’s not the work of raiders. What are the Wraiths up to?”

Rast looked down, a chuckle escaping his travel-chapped lips. He rocked back and forth, ever so slightly, his jaw tight, as if biting down upon an imaginary bridle. He relaxed and spoke.

“Dammit, Cade. You don’t know what you’re mixed up in.” He looked up and shook his head. “We can’t stop them. You don’t understand the Wraiths…what they are capable of. The things they have taught me make the encoding techniques we learned look like cheap party tricks. As an Acolyte, I have a chance. You still have a chance.”

“No. You were on the battlefield, same as me. We’re nothing to them.”

Rast snorted. “Maybe so. But I like my odds better on this side. The Wraiths left me behind for you. You’re lucky it’s me and not one of those other putty-brained Acolytes. They don’t even remember their own names.” Rast gestured to the door. “Take your leave and stop looking. It’s the least I can do for a fellow soldier.”

Two approaching from the back of the room. The voice again.

Cade would never stop, and it seemed Rast knew it. He looked down at the tripwire and closed his eyes. He readied the phantom within him.

Almost in range—now.

Cade kicked the tripwire and encoded with tungsten, the dark silver color eclipsing his arm as it hardened. The tripwire triggered an axe secured to a long pole from the ceiling. It swung out like a pendulum to greet him. Cade used his hardened hand to deflect it and sent it into the man on his right.

The other man took aim with his sidearm and fired off three rounds. The man-made firearm wasn’t powerful enough to hurt him while he encoded, but it might leave a mark.

This is what happens when you don’t listen to me.

Cade ignored the comment and encoded with aluminum, becoming lighter. He swung hard to his left and lunged toward his opponent, also adorned in the red robes of the Acolytes. He switched his encoding to lead and slammed his elbow into the man’s chest. The man groaned and collapsed.

Cade looked to Rast—or at least where Rast had been. The old soldier had always detested a fair fight. “Fair fights make for fair corpses,” he’d once said during his time in the Bearer Corps. Cade had half-expected the man to defect to the Wraiths.

Cade left the hall and scanned the camp in the dim light. No movement.

I can sense him.

Cade made his way to the looming obelisks in the training gauntlet. With them, Bearers learned to shift their body composition from flesh to a different material using encoding.

Each obelisk possessed a core element. Tungsten, aluminum, and even wood was utilized. It was much easier to encode when more of the material was available. The slabs towered over Cade and were large enough for even a neophyte Bearer to encode with the material.

There.

With so many places to hide, Rast had to be there. He made his way to the encoding area, staying low, careful not to give Rast any more of an advantage. Cade rounded the corner of the first obelisk—steel—when the obelisk slid forward and slammed him hard against another obelisk of solid stone. He encoded with steel to keep from being crushed between the two obelisks, but the pressure built until both obelisks came free and fell to the ground with Cade caught in the middle. He strained against the weight, but the steel obelisk on top of him wouldn’t budge.

The old soldier shook his head as he looked down on Cade. “You should have just died back on Gigan’s Hill.”

Cade grimaced under the tremendous weight as he tried to catch his breath. “I was never any good at dying.”

The man laughed. “I like you, Cade.” Rast, kneeling beside him, pressed his weathered hand down on the steel obelisk with phantom-assisted strength. “It’s a damn shame they want you dead so bad.” The man winced, his jaw tightening once more. He took a deep breath and refocused on Cade.

“Either your phantom will tire out and you’ll be crushed, or you’ll encode too far and become a permanent statue.” Rast shook his head. “But that’s just cruel, and I wouldn’t do that to an old friend.” He unbuttoned the holster strap on his right hip, pulled out his sidearm, and pointed it at Cade’s head. “You deserve a soldier’s death.”

Rast was right. Cade could die either of those ways. But as he had hoped, the man had underestimated him. Cade encoded to diamond and felt a rush of strength course through him.

He heaved the giant chunk of steel forward, flipping it onto Rast and pinning him to the ground.

Cade stood up and looked down at him. The man’s eyes were wide with surprise, and blood started to pool underneath him.

The soldier’s face paled, his breathing labored. He looked up. “You have more than one phantom kicking around in that thick skull of yours? Hells, I should have guessed.”

Cade kneeled next to him. “You don’t have much time. Tell me what the Wraiths are doing with them. And why are you and the other Acolytes helping them?”

The light in the man’s eyes grew dim as he coughed and shook his head. “Not much time…what a relief that is. I’m doing you a favor by not telling you a damn thing.”

Cade took a breath, trying to quell the anger rising within him. “We fought together once. Help me one last time.”

The man chuckled.

Cade’s eyes narrowed as he grabbed Rast by the collar, eliciting a bloodied cough from the wounded man. “You will give me answers.” He took his free hand and pressed the palm hard against the fallen obelisk, but a dull grunt was all Rast could afford.

“War’s over, Cade. We lost. But you’re still on the battlefield.” Rast snorted as a cruel smile stretched across pained features. “Don’t worry…I’ll say hello to your wife for you.” Rast’s breathing slowed, and he was no more.

As the old man’s body grew cold, so did the trail Cade had followed for the last year. He stood up over where Rast’s body lay, his head bowed low under the starless night.