To Redeem a World
an excerpt

He strode into the room, silver eyes seeming almost white in the darkness of the room. The eyes of the people in the tavern flicked toward him, but somehow, as few times as each native looked at him, the foreigner always seemed to be staring right back at them, silver-white eyes as blank of emotion as a mask, staring them down until they drop their gazes back to their drinks.

“Innkeeper,” says the foreigner in a voice that was soft but still rang clear and loud through the room. He stepped up to the counter, leaning lightly against the bar beside Daavis.

The hand Chora used to hold the pint he was supposed to be giving to Daavis trembled – though it was hard to figure out why. Anger? Fear? Who knows? “Yes, Gatra Gentlsi?”

The foreigner’s silver-white eyes slanted to one side, glaring at the floorboard he stood on. He must not hold a quarrel against these people. The floorboard creaked audibly, even though he had not move or shifted his weight at all, as if his gaze had had a weight to it. He would be leaving in the morning, as soon as the roads out of this town were cleared. The floorboard uttered one last shriek of stress, then became silent.

“A pint of brandy, please,” murmured the foreigner as he lifted his silver-white gaze to look into Chora’s chocolate brown eyes. “It does not need to be your best,” he added when he noticed the quality of brandy in the pint Chora held.

Chora clunked the pint of brandy he held in front of Daavis. “This was not for you anyway,” he said, voice neutral, face and expression as blank as stone.

The foreigner nodded. “Take your time,” he spoke.

Chora thunked a pint of one of the worst beers in the stock in front of the foreigner. “Three bronze,” he said shortly.

The foreigner’s silver-eyed gaze seemed to blaze with something – anger? – when he heard the price – after all, Chora was overcharging him by nearly two bronze pieces – a brandy of such low quality normally cost only one bronze piece and maybe a couple bronze pennies. But no one in the tavern saw – the foreigner kept his eyes fixed on the pint of brandy. The brandy bubbled softly a couple times, as if it had been boiled recently, but no one except the foreigner saw. There will be no quarrel here. There will be no quarrel – he will pay the high price, he could afford to, after all was said and done.
“Add it to my bill, innkeeper,” said the foreigner, as he closed his fingers around the handle of the pint of brandy.

Chora sniffed. “You already owe me -” he paused to count on his fingers, muttering, “Five silver, four bronze, three silver …”

The foreigner closed his eyes. No quarrel … “I owe you no more than two gold pieces, three silver pennies, and one bronze piece,” he said, before coolly lifting the pint of brandy to take a large gulp. When he placed the pint down on the counter, he gazed at the innkeeper with calm, distant eyes. “No more than that, and no less.”

Chora sniffed again. “According to my calculations, you owe me three gold and two bronze.” His eyes glinted.

The foreigner’s silver-white eyes flashed. No quarrel … There will be no quarrel here. The silver-eyed gaze turned away from the bartender, turning instead to the brandy in the cup in his hands. The liquid in the cup immediately leapt up in small bubbles – as if it was being heated quickly. Once again, the only eyes that saw this were eyes of silver-white. “I owe you two gold pieces, three silver pennies, and two bronze pieces. I will pay that exact amount tomorrow morning before I leave.” He raised the pint of brandy to his lips to drink another sip.

But the moment the liquid touched his lips, the foreigner gasped and pulled back from the drink. He gazed carefully into the cup, then lowered the pint slowly to the table. The cup hit the tabletop with a soft clunk. No one noticed the foreigner’s hands shaking and trembling. “Do you have any water?” asked the foreigner. “I find I have no taste for brandy any more.”

Chora’s nostrils flared. “You want water? There’s plenty of water raining out of the sky outside, and that’s exactly where you are going to stay tonight!”

The foreigner gazed at the innkeeper for a long moment. No quarrel here … “You are evicting me?” asked the foreigner.

Chora swallowed, then doubled his fists and shifted his weight. “Yes,” he said. “Forcibly if I have to.”

The foreigner glanced at the cup of brandy he’d left on the counter. “Forcibly?” he said in a mild tone. “Does that means you do not wish to be paid, innkeeper?”

Chora glared at him. “Of course you will pay me – with everything you left in my rooms and stables.”

The foreigner blinked. He must have no quarrel here … He sat back in his seat. “Ah, so I was wrong to call you innkeeper. I should have called you thief.” No quarrel …

In a moment, Chora and several others had leapt at the foreigner.

Silver eyes turned white, then black as the abyss, and suddenly glowed with as much light as the sun. The light poured from the emptiness of his eyes down to the floor, up to the ceiling, flooding the whole room in a moment.

NO! There must be NO QUARREL HERE!!!!

And the light suddenly vanished. The people who had not moved to attack sat for moment rubbing their eyes. The darkness of the room was almost palpable after that searing light. When they could see again, this was the scene that faced their unbelieving eyes.

The foreigner stood alone, deadly eyes closed, in a crater about five feet wide and three inches deep, where he had been standing before. The part of the bar within those five feet had shattered into a thousand splinters. The other stools and chairs in the five feet range had not, strangely enough, been torn apart. As for Chora and company, they lay on the ground just outside the five-foot radius, still as death.

---

The girl reached the stables just in time to see the strange foreign man finish saddling his horse, just in time to watch the man swing up into the saddle. She saw in a flash that the man still had his brilliant unnatural eyes closed.
The man froze when she took a step into the stables, crunching straw under her feet. “Whoever that is,” the man called, eyes still closed, “get out of my way. I am leaving and I am leaving now.”

The girl hesitated at the door. “Your eyes –” the girl began.

The man stiffened. “What about my eyes?” he demanded.

The girl shifted uncomfortably. “Do all silver eyes have …”

“Do all of us with Erosian silver eyes have magic, you mean?”

The girl shifted again. “Yes.”

“No.” The man kicked the horse forward. “people with magic eyes are as rare back in Eros as they are in Eris. Now get out of my way.”