Into the Fold

by Chase Blackwood

  Slowly, atori gave way to greater awareness and Aeden felt the tingling presence of someone watching him. The movements fell away and Aeden dropped his arms, looking about until he found the set of eyes watching.

  “You’re a dancer,” a male voice said, calling out to him.

  Aeden had already identified his stalker, it was Rafe.

  “Thea told me you enjoy the gardens from time to time,” Rafe continued. “The movements are very pretty,” Rafe paused as if thinking of what they reminded him of, “They’re reminiscent of ‘The Dance of Maera,’ one of my servant’s favorites.”

  Aeden’s face flushed red. Not only had Rafe interrupted a sacred time and space but insulted him to boot. The Dance of Maera was a play about a girl on the cusp of womanhood.

  “I meant no offense,” Rafe said quickly, noticing Aeden’s mood, “I really do enjoy dance.”

  “It’s not a dance,” Aeden said through partially gritted teeth.

  “No?” The smile on Rafe’s lips slipped a bit.

  Aeden took in a breath, looking away for a moment. There was no one else around that he could see.

  “Those aren’t the fighting forms of the fabled Thane Sagan, are they?” Rafe asked with just the right amount of surprise in his voice.

  Aeden studied him as strange thoughts played upon the sleeping part of his mind. They tickled at his intuition and ached to be heard, like the distant cry of a dying animal.

  “What’re you doing here?” Aeden asked.

  “One could ask the same of you,” Rafe replied.

  Rafe’s answers were quick and smooth and confident.

  “Seeking solitude from others.”

  Rafe nodded his head, the smile never quite leaving him. He raised his hands up defensively, and his smile grew wider.

  “I wouldn’t want any trouble from a member of the Thane Sagan,” he paused as if searching for the right words, “I was simply curious and wanted to broach the subject of Thea.”

  There it was. The real reason Rafe had disrupted Aeden’s solitude. Thea.

  “Thea’s my girl,” Aeden said, trying to control himself, “Stay away from her,” the last was said with more aggression than he had intended.

  Rafe’s hands remained up as he took a step back, nodding. His face was now a solemn mask, appropriately serious.

  “I understand.”

  With those words Rafe took one more step backward before dropping his hands and casually walking away, as if he had decided to go for a stroll through the garden, but in another direction.

  Aeden watched for a moment as Rafe walked off before allowing himself to take in the gardens once again. That’s when he saw Thea, standing in shadow, partially concealed and watching him.

  She stepped out from the shadow but made no move to come toward him. There was no anger on her face. Her expression was neutral. Her features were soft in the light of early morning. Much like a water painting.

  Aeden knew it was useless to try to resume the gevecht. He let his frustration slip away and he approached Thea, unsure of what to expect.

  He only took a few steps forward before she ran to him and jumped into his arms. It wasn’t what he had expected. Her legs wrapped about his waist, as he supported her weight. She wasn’t heavy.

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. He had been forgiven.

  If only she had known what he had done, not two years earlier.

  Chapter 30

  “Death is a river flowing backward.” Emperor Karaka – Savikko

  Aeden was returning from one of Master Xuban’s private lessons when he had heard the screaming. The sounds tore through Bellas tower like a broken storm, grating upon the walls, and scratching at his ears. They were the sounds of fear and anguish. They were the sounds of death.

  Two hours earlier, Aeden had been sitting in Master Xuban’s office. It was situated higher in the tower, tucked into a hidden corner of the third floor of the great library. A stone wall of flowering plants obscured the entrance and marked it in shadow.

  Within, the space was devoid of the clutter of Master Glass’ office. In contrast, Master Xuban had a single desk, clear of unnecessary chaos. Instead, a solitary book rested in a corner, its edges lined up with the lines of the desk.

  A single bookshelf fit perfectly flush within a nook in the wall. Each book was the same height, standing in a neat row. There was a thin window that provided a sliver of light. It highlighted the dust-free space and distracted Aeden.

  “You’re thinking again,” Master Xuban’s deep voice rang out.

  Aeden grimaced slightly. Master Xuban had set Aeden to accomplish one simple task, free his mind of thought. Thus far, Aeden had been failing miserably.

  Atori was a state of awareness he’d learned through the practice of the gevecht. It was a meditative state of body awareness that allowed for greater refinement of martial movement. What Master Xuban wanted was different. He wanted emptiness. He’d described it as a shell without air, a mind without reason, and a state of hyperawareness without thought.

  Aeden took in another slow breath and began running through the mental steps Master Xuban had taught him. He envisioned all emotion bleeding away from his body. He felt the layers of stress that coiled about him, releasing in a slow wave of unfurling tension.

  Aeden closed his eyes and took in another breath, feeling himself slip into a state of clarity.

  Master Xuban had taken that moment to move silently forward and slap Aeden in the face.

  “No,” he said, “this isn’t a quiet meditation. It is a flowing state of attention. The true master of the arkein, like a swordsman,” he pointed to Aeden’s sword, “can react to the intention of the world before movement is manifested. Try again.”

  And so Aeden tried repeatedly. At times Master Xuban sat still as a stone. At other times he threw something at Aeden to see if he was awake. It was frustrating, and strangely exhausting.

  At the end of their two hours, Aeden left the master’s room feeling like he’d regressed in his studies.

  He worked his way through the library and to a winding set of metal stairs. He paused on the first level. Aeden had originally planned to do some reading, yet his mind wasn’t in it. He glanced briefly at the three massive ledgers at the center of the open space, before turning away and heading to Bellas Tower.

  His mind was consumed with his failure. How could he better clear his mind? Was Master Xuban hyperaware of his surroundings and all actions?

  In many ways, Master Xuban reminded Aeden of the venerable master from S’Vothe.

  Aeden’s mind continued down the rabbit hole as he crossed from one tower to the next. The wind buffeted him. It tousled his hair. It slapped him in the face. He paid it no mind.

  The faint purpling of the sky, as the Fold transitioned to night, painted the scene in amethyst tones of sadness.

  Aeden glanced briefly at the first hints of gloaming and wondered at what hidden mysteries lay await. Why was the south considered more dangerous than the north? What lay at the heart of Skadoian Valley?

  The warmth of Bellas Tower soon enveloped him. The stone walls stood heavy about him with their own remembered weight of history. Yet, this too was lost on Aeden.

  It wasn’t until he heard screaming that he finally shed his thoughts like unwanted armor. His awareness snapped into focus. The wailing cries were coming from the women’s portion of the tower.

  Aeden ran as fear settled into his stomach. What if something had happened to Thea?

  He couldn’t bear the thought and it slipped away like pollen to the wind.

  Aeden rounded a bend and took a set of stairs upward. He emerged with labored breath, following the howling wail of one in despair. His heart constricted in anticipation.

  He took a few more rapid steps and entered the female dormitory. Oria lay upon the floor crying and shouting. Hanging from one of the rafters was Muriel. Her face was pale. Her lips were blue. Her tongue hung from her mouth like a forgotten
expression.

  Aeden leapt onto a bed and cut Muriel down. He caught her in his arms and carefully laid her down. He hardly glanced up as Thea ran into the room, followed by Tilly Steck and Rafe.

  Aeden felt for a heartbeat. Nothing. He listened for signs of breathing. Silence.

  Muriel was dead.

  He glanced up as Master Towne and Master Zabel entered the room, followed by Laurent and Dan and Adel.

  Aeden stepped back as Master Zabel approached. His forehead creased into an expression of intense concern.

  “What happened here?” Master Zabel asked.

  Oria continued to cry in the corner, taking in gulping mouthfuls of air between bouts of wailing.

  “I heard Oria,” Aeden replied, “and ran here to find Muriel hanging from the rafters.”

  Zabal Zabel looked up at the frayed end of the rope, still swaying slightly.

  Aeden glanced up again as he saw Kallon enter the room. Kallon searched about and found Oria in the corner before he turned to look at Masters Towne and Zabel.

  “What can I do,” he offered as a student rector.

  For some reason Aeden looked up and caught the faintest hint of a smile on Rafe’s lips as he surveyed the scene and walked out. Tilly Steck was quick to follow.

  “Leave the room,” Master Zabel shouted.

  Aeden moved back.

  “Not you.”

  Aeden froze as he caught Zabel’s eye. Aeden then glanced to Thea and Adel. They looked stricken. Adel’s eyes were glued on Muriel’s lifeless form. Thea was looking from the rope to the masters to Aeden.

  Thea grabbed Adel’s arm and pulled him from the room.

  “That’s weird,” Laurent whispered to Dan, as they too left. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  Aeden took a few steps toward Oria. He placed a hand on her back in an effort to comfort her, to stop her wailing cries of despair. She glanced up and grabbed his knee as her body shook. She squeezed him tightly as she struggled to ground herself.

  “Not another one,” Master Towne whispered so quietly as to not be heard.

  “Fetch Grandmaster Kaldi,” Zabel said as he turned back to Muriel.

  Master Towne walked out, pausing by Kallon who stood at the doorway, white as a ghost. Kallon’s face was fixed in an expression of wild disbelief. His hands were shaking. His breathing was shallow and a cloud of mournful silence enshrouded him.

  Master Towne placed a hand on the student rector’s shoulder and whispered a few quiet words into his ear, before disappearing into the darkness of the corridor beyond.

  “Tell me everything you saw,” Zabel said, turning to face Aeden and Oria.

  Aeden took in a breath and spoke.

  Chapter 31

  “The shape of morality is as fluid as a body of water.” Valik the Philosopher – Bryn Yawr

  It was the last day of the month, two weeks after Muriel’s death. It was a day of rest that originated when Ansuz himself slumbered after the creation of Mystes Mountain and Skadoian Valley. It was an observed tradition nearly lost to time. A tradition whose origins were remembered only by the grandmaster and his predecessors before him.

  The masters ceased classes and found solitude away from their students. The students could be found sleeping in their respective dormitories, strolling the Gardens of Andir, or gathered in the courtyard of Bellas Tower.

  It was one group that could be found farther afield, huddled about a table within a meager inn. This group could be found, if one knew where to look.

  A small sign hung over a narrow doorway, off one of the many stairways in Andir. The sign read: Stairway Inn. It was not a particularly clever sign nor was it much of an inn, with only a single bed for rent. It did, however, boast a cozy atmosphere.

  The glow of a crackling fire radiated warmth upon the group. The weight of the Fold’s watery light spoke of a Mystes Mountain morning. This group of friends, Aeden, Adel, Thea, Garit, Laurent and Daniel, hardly noticed the light. Instead they each sat contemplating the shape of the day.

  Therefore, it was no surprise that a colorless silence hung about the table, defined by the flickering of the fire, the shuffling of cards and the faint feel of mist upon the window. The stillness of the moment reflected the quiet of the day. Even the affable Laurent had succumbed to the subtle tranquility.

  Aeden stared intently at the cards in his hand before looking at the triolet card upon the table. It was the prince of swords. The simple lines of red and black demarcated a sword-wielding knight on horseback. The card seemed to glare defiantly at Aeden, pulling him from his insipid thoughts.

  He rubbed at his forehead and glanced across the table, seeking a distraction, anything to dispel his mental wanderings. Dan and Laurent sat side-by-side, like a painting. Dan, with his hand on a cup of spiced ale and Laurent with his mouth partially agape as he seemed to study his cards. They too seemed lost in thought.

  Garit stared out the window, through the soft textures of glass and moisture. Adel pulled thinly sliced almonds off his pastry and neatly set them in a pile upon his plate. Yet, despite Aeden’s observations, his mind still wandered.

  A hand gently caressed his arm. It was a reflexive gesture, something Thea would do from time to time. Aeden didn’t think she even knew when she did it. He mused at how something as simple as a touch could pull him back to the present.

  It was her warmth, her touch, that finally brought a moment’s clarity. With this moment of lucidity, a thought sprang into Aeden’s mind. It beckoned him to break the tranquility. Aeden obliged, disturbing the stillness, as if reaching into a painting and animating the figures within, enticing them to respect the reality of his perspective.

  “Is morality real?”

  Aeden wasn’t fully sure what prompted the question. It had simply come to mind. Perhaps it was stimulated by one of the books he had recently read, Ethics and Moral Cognition. Perhaps it was something deeper and more pervasive. Was his sleeping mind wrestling with his conscious mind? Maybe it was a glimpse at the consequences of his actions, and the weight of responsibility tying him to them. Or perhaps he was still thinking on Muriel’s death.

  Yet, sometimes reality was far simpler than that. Aeden felt guilty. He wore shame as if it were a noose tightening about his neck. He felt culpable for his actions, for those he had killed and for those he had let die.

  “What?” Laurent coughed, startled into thought.

  Aeden continued, attempting to clarify his thoughts by speaking aloud, “Are there absolute moral truths that guide us, or is morality a sliding scale of perspective and cultural acceptance?”

  Adel stopped picking at his pastry and looked up. Garit slowly pulled his gaze from the window, drawn to the question like a beggar to a crowd.

  “That’s heavy,” Thea commented, “What prompted it?” Her face was neutral, but her eyes were studying him, like some lost curiosity from a forgotten corner of Verold.

  Aeden shrugged, “I don’t know, something I was reading. It made me wonder, is there actually right and wrong,” Aeden glanced across the table, “or are these simply ideas created to placate and control, and just, temporarily agreed upon, for periods of human history?”

  Dan looked up as if deep in thought. It was Laurent who replied.

  “This is about Muriel,” Laurent said, “about whether suicide is morally right, and what the Church of Salvare says about such things.”

  It was partially a question and partially a statement. Aeden was shaking his head. Thea looked down at the table. Garit stirred uncomfortably in his seat.

  “I thought you said she was murdered,” Dan replied questioningly, staring at his friend.

  “Well,” Laurent continued, “that was my assumption after talking to Harmon.”

  “Murdered?” Adel said in shock, but Dan and Laurent ignored him.

  “Harmon’s ideas are crazier than yours,” Dan said, looking at Laurent.

  Laurent huffed but didn’t say anything.

  “Oria said she�
��d been feeling sad,” Adel stated, careful to avoid using Muriel’s name, and still in shock at the idea of murder.

  “She did,” Thea responded, “and I’d rather we didn’t talk about the dead at the table.”

  Thea squeezed Aeden’s arm slightly. She had learned he didn’t care for such talk.

  “You were saying?” Thea looked sternly about the table before turning her gaze to Aeden, prompting him to continue.

  Aeden took a moment to gather his thoughts. He attempted to use the techniques Master Xuban had been teaching him.

  First, he let go of the images of Muriel hanging from a noose, still as a door. He blinked away her pale face and unmoving limbs as she had laid upon a bed. She’d been so beautiful. What of her love for Kallon? It just didn’t feel right.

  Yet, unlike the prior Tower of the Arkein student deaths, Muriel’s death had the look and feel of a suicide. Oria had stated to Zabel, once her sobbing had come under control, that Muriel was fretting about her classes and talking about those she lost at the University of Galdor. Perhaps Muriel couldn’t handle the stress as well as the others. Perhaps she’d become trapped in a loop of self-loathing and despair.

  The final pieces of that night fell away as Aeden let the tension fall from his body. He took in a calming breath and picked up the broken remnants of his previous subject, morality. He stitched it back together as he spoke.

  “Morality just seems complex to me. It appears to affect people differently,” he said, “and I was simply wondering what you all thought. Are there underlying base moral values? Are there absolutes?”

  Laurent leaned forward as if to answer. Dan shook his head.

  “My turn.”

  Laurent frowned.

  “You lost the last bet,” Dan replied.

  The frown slipped away and Laurent gestured grandly to his friend.

  Daniel smiled and began. Adel looked up attentively, cards still in hand. Garit pulled his attention from the window. Even Thea was listening.