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“—Yes,” I cut him off with gritted teeth. “I have my signed repeal, estimated length of departure, planned departure date, passport, application for a passport, birth certificate and every other thing on your list.”
“Lord Strigaix,” the receptionist said, the picture of calm. “It is against protocol to scream at government workers, even lowly ones such as myself.”
“I. Am. Not. Yelling.” I enunciated every word.
“What Elder means,” Mishmaer interjected, “is we only want to make sure everything is up to code.”
“Yes.” The receptionist glanced at me and then placed his full attention on Mishmaer. “Truth be told, the higher ups heard about this before you both even arrived. You’ll have to wait a bit, but someone will call you to get you both set up with the proper equipment.”
“Thank you for your work.” Mishmaer flashed the receptionist a smile. Oddly, there was no reaction from the human male.
The receptionist merely nodded and departed into some back room. Since we were in a reception hall reserved for Strigaix, the chairs were made of wood from the nearby forest, emitting a faint glow. They weren’t even as intense as the skin of the gorlashiya, but they typically had tiny fragments of light crystal to mimic the same effect of light running through the lines of woods. It was the multi-colored gleam which gave it away. Real bark from the Trees of Light had a distinct green-gold radiance.
On the chairs were soft cushions which gave the impression that “a little while” would likely be for much longer than anticipated. To pass the time, I mentally went over various mathematical formulas, solving hundreds upon thousands of problems. Unfortunately, we were here to get our portable communication crystal, and even if I had the permissions for a home and work computer, I didn’t have the ones needed for a portable computer, or wireless access to my databases for that matter.
So quadratic equations it was. For the first couple hours it worked, the logic of numbers producing fixed answers preserved what remained of my sanity. On the third hour I began muttering them aloud as Mishmaer held a one-sided conversation with something which either didn’t exist or I couldn’t see.
“Only time will tell.”
“I know.”
“Who’s to say?”
Unable to make sense of Mishmaer’s clipped sentences, the strangeness of the situation perturbed me. Should I call that brat to figure out what was going on? No, the little shit probably wouldn’t answer and at this time the rest of our brothers and our father wouldn’t answer. There was Mother, but that would mean having to bow my head and complete something else to earn her forgiveness.
“You’re focusing on the wrong things.” The voice in my head was that traitor Yareth’s.
At the thought of him, I frowned. It had been my intention to punch him in the face and demand answers for his little trick, but until this moment he had completely slipped my mind. When I really thought about it, everything that happened was all because of Yareth.
If I hadn’t flown with Yareth, if I had never been trapped, I would have never met The Shadow and he would have never led me to the Nameless God.
What was it The Shadow said at that time? I remembered The Shadow’s words:
“Something called to us, asking us to leave our place and seek retribution.”
Had this all been planned? I dismissed the thought as soon as it came for shortly afterwards The Shadow elaborated with:
“Because it was false. I only heed the call of my Creator.”
At that time, why hadn’t I inquired deeper? Why had I stopped asking what he meant? My mind wandered back to the conversation I had with Shareth. I never directly asked him if he had been behind this latest murder attempt. I merely took my assumptions as fact.
What if there was someone else playing me like a puppet? Not that prick of a God or Mishmaer, but some other unseen figure?
I went back to my calculations. With my emotional state returned, I supposed this was proof of my own mortality: the unwillingness to face a truth, which would spiral my already fragile psychological state. I placed two fingers over my pulse. Yareth and whatever happened to him could be dealt with later. I couldn’t do anything while I was still incomplete. So numbers and sequences it was.
The movement added with my usual internal bodily temperature regulation kept me in control of my facilities. For a while, this proved to be the most satisfactory method.
Then the sixth hour came and I glared at the empty receptionist desk.
Mishmaer asked, “Is the Department of Provisional Travel usually so empty?”
“Unless you’re a diplomat or it relates to your fated mate, is there a reason to want to leave your homeland?”
“I suppose not.” He laughed. “But since the option was never there for me, I was curious. Besides we can’t be the only Strigaix in Talgazmear requesting permissions.”
I froze, eyes nearly popping out of my sockets. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
