A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [69]
“Better?” Ferrin asked.
“Less weird,” Rachel acknowledged gratefully.
Jason smiled. “I’m Jason. This is my sister, Rachel. Looks like you got beat up.”
Ferrin flashed a lopsided smile. “The price I pay for being wizardborn.”
“Was your father a wizard?” Rachel asked.
“Are you two as naive as you act?” Ferrin asked. “How can that be?”
“We’re from far away,” Jason reminded him.
“So far away that you haven’t heard of displacers or the wizardborn races? Never mind, I don’t mean to pry; you two just saved my skin. Rachel, when I say ‘wizardborn,’ I mean metaphorically. My race did not occur naturally. Displacers were created by wizards.”
“I see,” Rachel said.
“None of the wizardborn get much love from regular humans,” Ferrin continued. “But displacers are especially despised—partly because we’re hard to distinguish from regular humans, partly because our race is dying out, making us easy to pick on.”
“Some bullies figured out you were a displacer?” Rachel asked.
“They were merciless. Once my head was in the sack, they kicked me up and down the road. A real group of princes, let me tell you. I suppose I should be grateful they wanted me to die a slow, torturous death, because now I may actually survive, thanks to your kindness.”
“Did you know them?” Jason asked.
“Not personally. I saw them in an alehouse west of here. They must have followed me out of town.”
“Where were you coming from?” Jason asked.
“Away farther to the west. I should have seen it coming. Too many of these small-town bumpkins prey on outsiders.”
“We’ve noticed,” Rachel said.
“Do you travel a lot?” Jason asked.
“It’s all I do,” Ferrin replied. “Displacers are wanderers. We’re not like the drinlings or the Amar Kabal, with a homeland to call our own. We’re unwanted, so we try to keep our identities secret and get by however we can.”
“Do you know how we can get to Trensicourt?” Jason asked.
“You follow this road to the east, then take the northern fork when it splits. I happen to be going eastward myself. Unless you object to the company of a displacer, we could travel together. These are dangerous times.”
“We’d enjoy some company,” Jason said, looking at Rachel.
“We’ve run into some unpleasantness as well,” she added.
“There can be safety in numbers,” Ferrin said. “Fair warning: Traveling with a displacer can occasionally be troublesome. If others recognize my true nature, you could share in my unpopularity.”
“To be honest,” Jason said, “traveling with us might be risky as well.” Rachel gave him a worried look, as if concerned he might say too much. “Servants of the emperor might be hunting us.”
Ferrin clapped Jason on the shoulder. “I’m not surprised. Youthful siblings would not roam so far afield without reason. Maldor harasses everyone. He is not fond of travelers or visitors from distant lands. I am certain he has no great love for me, either. I will gladly risk traveling with you, if you will brave my company.”
“It would be nice to have a guide,” Rachel said.
“I agree,” Jason said.
“Then it’s settled!” Ferrin brushed some of the dirt from his sleeves and torso. “If I can’t trust the pair who saved my life, who can I trust?”
They set off down the eastbound road.
“How do you make a living?” Jason asked.
“I do whatever I can find. Never one thing for too long. I’ve been a sailor, a horse trainer, a butler, a merchant, an actor, a farmhand, a hired sword—you name it.”
“Sounds like an interesting life,” Rachel said.
“Too interesting, sometimes,” Ferrin replied with a grimace. “How about the two of you? What do you do?”
“We’re students,” Rachel said.
“We interrupted our studies to travel,” Jason added.
“Ah,” Ferrin said, nodding in approval. “The education of the open road. Reading about Trensicourt is no substitute for walking its streets.”
“That’s the idea,” Jason said. “Do you know why traveling is so discouraged?”
“I can speculate,” Ferrin said. “Maldor occupies this land, governing largely through officials selected from among the local populace. To discourage unified rebellion, he stifles interaction