A day had passed. The wind still howled over the rim of the canyon, but the Red Flood was dying. My men and Jorax's sat round a single Heliqari lamp whose fuel we had supplied.
We shared our hardtack and a thin broth made from our water supplies. In our camp there was usually joking and laughter but the gloom that reigned over the Qulomban camp had spread to my men. Jorax's crew kept their eyes on their captain. They were tired hungry and they were supposed to be payedout a month prior.
Kraz, the man I had seen examining the wagon, sat opposite to me. I studied his prosthetic arm in the lamplight. It was an impressive piece of steel and brass engineering. Both brass and steel were outrageously expensive. A prosthetic like that would cost a fortune. Kraz must have been a son of a wealthy Qulomban family, out here to prove himself a worthy heir or escaping a debt. He had the arrogance of someone who believed he deserved better than this and the desperation of a one who could not afford to fail again.
"Yet another day wasted in this place," Kraz said, looking up into the gently howling sand above. "And still not another sample to be found."
Jorax stiffened. "The Red Sand Sea is vast, Kraz. We all knew that the fungus is rare and well hidden."
"We knew we were hunting a fortune," Kraz countered. "Not wandering around wasting our time and endangering our lives for nothing." He looked at me. "And now we're wasting our water on Heliqari strangers."
"You're drinking our water!" Olen objected tensely.
"For now," Kraz said. "But if we don't find the Red Phoenix soon, Jorax, we're going to have to make some hard choices."
He was looking at me. The threat was clear enough. If their mission failed, Kraz was viewing our caravan as a backup plan. He was already doing the accounting.
"The mission is sound!" Jorax said with a voice rising uncomfortably high. "What we have in the wagon..."
Kraz didn't let him finish. "The wagon we can't look into," Kraz said.
The other Qulombans muttered their agreement. Tension spiked, and hands on both sides drifted toward their hilts.
I rubbed black Justice Stone in my pocket. It wouldn't work without a stage.
"Open the wagon, Jorax," Kraz said as he stood up. "You've kept it secret long enough. We need to see that it's still alive."
"I told you before," Jorax pleaded getting up and placing himself between Kraz and the wagon. "It's light-sensitive. If we let the light in we'll destroy our fortune."
"It's dark enough here." Kraz pushed Jorax up against the wagon. "If it's alive, fine, but if you're lying..."
Kraz made a hand signal and the majority of the Qulombans stood up, drawing their weapons. They were looking at us to make sure we wouldn't interfere in their business.
Kraz looked at me. "Stay seated, Prince," Kraz warned. "This is our business, not yours." He'd planned this and we were vulnerable. My men wouldn't win in this configuration.
Bastien shifted, ready to fight, but he could see the tactics were against us just as I did. We hadn't acted early enough.
If Kraz killed Jorax, he would turn on us next.
All I had was the stone. "Wait!" I said, standing up slowly with my palms visible.
"Sit back down, Heliqari," Kraz said.
"I cannot," I said, with a long pause.
Kraz turned his attention fully towards me, along with all the men from both camps.
"I said this is not your business," Kraz insisted.
"It is," I said, stepping out from behind the lamp's light. "Your quarrel is not with Jorax alone."
The wind hissed above.
I drew the Justice Stone from my pocket. "In Heliqar we don't settle legal accusations with blame, we settle them with evidence." The stone glinted oddly in the lamplight and I raised it to improve visibility.
"This is a Justice Stone. It comes from the First Empire." I announced. "It judges the act, not the man. If Jorax has defrauded you, it will show it. If he did not, it will clear him."
"Magic rocks?!" Kraz scoffed and looked at the stone with a sneer. "Is that how you rule in Heliqar?"
"It is a diagnostic tool," I corrected. "And I am using it now."
I looked at Jorax. He looked terrified. He knew he was trapped.
I framed the charge carefully so that it would be clear to both the stone and the audience. I had mentioned it was a diagnostic tool. I hadn't mentioned that I had barely begun to learn how it was used.
"Is Jorax guilty of the crime of misappropriating mission resources?" I shouted the question.
The stone lit up with a bright, steady light. Not the Red of a firm conviction not the murky indigo of a pained tuspak, but a vibrant Yellow.
My mind went back to the poem. I hadn't translated the lines but it was clear enough.
"A Yellow burst, the certainty still great, But self-defense or good intent dictates the rate."
"Yellow!" I called out. "The stone confirms the act! He has misused the group's resources!"
Kraz laughed triumphantly and his eyes focused on the Qulombans that had not taken his side. "See? Even the rock knows he's a thief! He's feeding a Zero!"
"But!" I cut him off. "It is Yellow! Not Red! Red is malice. Yellow is mitigation. It means there is a reason! A valid reason for an illegal act!"
"I don't care his reasons," Kraz spat with a snarl. He stepped up to me, his eyes fixed on the stone. "I care about my share. Dependency is theft. Theft is a crime."
He approached me and my hand went to my own sword hilt. I wanted to make sure he didn't think we were going to take this quietly. Kraz was already overcommitted, a man who needed the room to fear him because he feared losing it.
"That rock looks valuable." Kraz said. "I think it's mine."
"Do not touch it," I warned stepping away from him. "It is my legal property."
"Rules!?" Kraz said. "Laws are for people who can't afford brass."
Like lightning, his mechanical hand lashed out. The brass fingers snapped around the Justice Stone and wrenched it from my grip.
"No!" I yelled, reaching out instinctively. Bastien surged forward, shouting, but he was too far away to intervene.
"It's mine now," Kraz said, holding the stone up to the light. "Let's see what a First Empire gem fetches in..."
He never finished the sentence.
The yellow glow of the stone was long gone. It turned a light-devouring, perfect Black.
The noise was unlike anything I had ever heard before. The dissonance was like a bell being run and torn apart at the same time. It was a sound of pure agony.
The stone had detected that the process of justice itself had been violated. The stone could clearly read minds. I had not given Kraz the stone as the old woman had given it to me. There was no ritual incantation, nor a willing sharing for observation. His action was hostile. We did not need to wait to see the penalty.
Black tendrils of energy arced from the stone and started tracing the brass in his arm. It turned white hot and began to melt. The heat nearly burned my face from five paces away.
The tendrils shot into his shoulder, stopping his heart. His body stiffened as smoke rose from the joints of his now collapsing body. His prosthetic dripped into the sand below.
He was dead before he hit the sand. The stone rolled out of the slag in my direction. I had known the stone judged acts, but it had never occurred to me that it could defend itself. Kraz had killed himself by triggering it.
The whole canyon was silent. All the men stared at the body, their mouths open in shock.
Some of the Qulombans looked relieved. Others looked horrified, but most looked at me as if I were an ancient emperor miraculously descended from the heavens.
Bastien was frozen mid-stride. His eyes were wide with a mixture of confusion and horror. This was wrath.
I stared at Kraz with the rest of them, thinking about the stone's failsafe. Unauthorized access resulted in termination.
I stepped over to the smoking corpse and picked the stone up. It was as cool to my hand as when the old woman had give it to me.
The Qulombans were tripping over each other to get away from me. They looked at the stone as if it were ready to strike them with the same tendrils that had killed Kraz.
I turned to the terrified men. I seized this moment of fear before it turned into a chaotic panic.
"The stone has judged the thief," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "Now, let us judge the captain."
I walked to the wagon. "Open it, Jorax."
Jorax was shaking so hard he could barely stand.
I undid the flap. We all looked inside.
A man, maybe a couple of years younger than myself, lay on a cot. He looked terribly thin. His chest heaved with the effort of each breath. His skin was flushed a deep, unhealthy red, and his veins bulged against his skin like ropes.
One of the Qulombans gasped, stepping closer with the lamp. He kept a wary eye on me. "That's Lyas!" He said.
"He's supposed to be dead," another whispered, horror on his face. "You said you released him, Jorax. Four months ago. To the sand."
"When we found the mold," the first guard said, looking at Jorax with betrayal. "You said he was too weak to make the return. You said you did your duty."
Jorax slumped against the wheel. "I couldn't," he said teary eyed. "The Red Phoenix shriveled up weeks ago. But I couldn't let him die too. I used the water... I used the rations..."
"You harbored a dependent," the guard spat. "You stole our food, our water. It was a crime against the caravan!"
They raised their weapons. They had seen Kraz die, but this was a violation of their deepest code. A dependent was a parasite.
"Wait," I said, stepping into the wagon. I needed to see what I was dealing with.
I knelt by the sick man. I felt his skin. It was burning hot. I saw the way his chest rose and fell. He was hungry for air.
"Heatstroke?" the guard asked, peering in with disgust. "It's cooking in here."
"No," I murmured, pressing my fingers to the neck. His pulse was slow and pounding, like a hammer against the artery. "Not heatstroke. His skin is flushed, but he's not sweating. And look at the veins."
I traced the distended vessels on his arm. They were hard, ropy.
My mind worked its way through Elias' medical texts. I ruled out the common fevers. There were no convulsions. This was a systemic problem, but not contagious.
Erythrothromic Overload. A genetic marrow disorder. The body produces too much blood. It thickens, clots, overheats the system. It kills you slowly by turning your own blood into sludge.
I looked at the jars of black lumps next to the the dying man. Fungus phoenix.
"I assume you tried giving it water?" I asked, picking up a jar and looking at Jorax. The black lump inside was hard, looking charred.
"Everything," Jorax sobbed. "Nothing worked. It's dead."
I glanced back at Lyas and then returned to the fungus.
Red Phoenix wasn't a plant. It lived by hoarding salts. It pulled water straight from the air. It used a thin sheen of moisture to digest whatever organic matter it touched. Most of the time it worked at a slow, almost geological pace.
But if you introduced saline, iron-rich moisture, blood was perfect, the chemistry changed. It changed from a patient erosion to rapid growth.
And the Lyas... he was dying because he had too much blood.
Nature or the ancients had created a lock and a key, and Jorax, in his ignorance, had been keeping them apart.
"It is not dead," I announced. "It is dormant."
I stood up and turned to the men. I held the jar of dormant fungus in one hand and pointed to Lyas with the other.
"You think he is a Zero," I said, pitching my voice low and serious. "You think your leader has been harboring a worthless dependent. Wasting your resource. But you are wrong."
The guards frowned. "He's a dependent," one muttered. "He consumes without repaying."
"This fungus," I corrected. "Is rare because it has a specific hunger. It extracts all the water it needs from the air. It digests all organic matter slowly, but its feeding is catalyzed by blood."
I saw the revulsion in their faces, but also the interest.
"And this man," I continued, "suffers from a genetic condition that is killing him from too much blood. His body is overproducing it and it is killing him. His veins are full of exactly what your fortune needs to thrive."
I grabbed a small knife from my belt. I made a small, careful incision on Lyas's arm. Thick, dark blood welled up instantly, sluggish and heavy.
I let it drip onto the fungus on each of the jars.
The fungus softened. A slight give under my thumb. The guards leaned in expecting a dramatic transformation. They looked confused.
"That's it?" one muttered.
"It begins slowly," I said. "Quietly."
I held up the jar so they could see the faint darkening. "By morning, you'll see the first filaments. Bu tomorrow evening, you'll have visible growth. The Phoenix fungus is patient."
Their disappointment shifted into hope.
"Your fortune," I continued. "Depends on proper cultivation. The fungus feeds on organic matter, dry weeds, roots, scraps of leather, even rope will do. It digests so slowly you won't see results for decades unless you give it blood."
Their eyes flicked again to Lyas.
"Do not bleed him dry," I said sharply. "Small amounts. Just a few drops per day at first, then just a few per week. His condition means he will replenish what he loses faster than most men."
Jorax swallowed. He was clearly torn between guilt and comprehension.
"Keep dividing the fungus into more jars." I said. "As many as you can manage. Each will grow separately. By the time you leave the Red Sand Sea, you will have a harvest worth more than your caravan can carry."
The guards exchanged calculating glances.
Once you leave the desert, the fungus will languish. The air is too wet. Grow it here where conditions are perfect."
The logic settled over them.
"Do this," I said, "and you will go home rich. Fail, and you will go home as parasites yourselves."
I gestured towards Lyas but looked at Jorax until we made eye contact.
"I have something back in our wagon called Desert Starsuckle. It is a flower that grows in Heliqar. I can treat the fever with the flowers. It will treat the symptoms and give him time to recover. But bloodletting is the only treatment for his disease. He will make a full recovery in a few weeks and will be a valuable member of your expedition."
The guards stared at the reviving fungus, then at the young man. In their minds Lyas was no longer a sink for resources; he was a valuable component of the harvest.
"He feeds the fortune," a Qulomban muttered. "So we keep him?"
"You keep him alive," I said. "If he dies, the fungus starves."
I looked at Jorax. He was staring at the blooming fungus on his son's arm, tears streaming down his face. He hadn't known.
"Get the boy some water," I ordered the Olen. "He needs to make more blood."
I walked out of the wagon to get my pouch of Starsuckle, leaving them to their grim situation. I passed the charred body of Kraz. I had used the truth to save a life, but I had done it by turning a human being into a resource. In the Red Sand Sea, even mercy had a price.