Into the Fold
Page 22
The red, orange, and green-blue flames licked at the sky as smoke began to fill the air. A light breeze wafted the burning embers and bouts of smoke over the shouting crowd, masking their faces.
Drums continued to beat in the background as Aeden worked his way toward Thea. Ash stung at his eyes. Strange smells assaulted his nose and robbed him of breath. Yet, Aeden didn’t care. He couldn’t allow Rafe to steal Thea away from him.
He passed a few more people and approached the pair like a stalking animal. His heart pounded in his chest. His fists were clenched as he thought of what to say. He blinked away the smoke as the wind direction changed. There, before him, clear as day, were Thea and Rafe.
“Arden,” Rafe said in greeting, as he turned to face Aeden.
Rafe’s face was relaxed but his eyes were intense.
Aeden ignored him and looked to Thea. There was a moment where they locked eyes. Aeden could see the burning fires reflected in them, as if her very soul was burning before him. Thea blinked and looked away and the spell was broken.
“Let’s talk,” Aeden offered.
“I don’t feel like talking,” Thea replied.
Rafe watched from the side.
“Then what do you want?”
Thea didn’t respond. Aeden’s sense of hurt and anger only grew.
“Let the Trials of Ansuz begin!” Kaldi shouted, his voice somehow permeating the air with its own mass.
The crowd began to turn away from the fires, which burned less brightly now, as they moved across the small bridge and back into Andir.
“How about some friendly competition?” Rafe stated, looking at Aeden. Rafe then turned his gaze to Thea, “Is Arden any good at games?”
Thea smiled briefly and nodded.
“It’s settled,” Rafe stated.
At that moment Adel approached, followed by Laurent and Dan.
“Where’d you go?” Laurent asked aloud, as Dan shook his head.
Adel noticed the tension and spoke, “There’s games in town.”
Aeden nodded slowly.
“I know, Ralph and I were about to try them out,” he said, purposefully misstating Rafe’s name.
Rafe turned to look at Aeden. A partial smile spread across his lips as he nodded ever so slightly. His eyes, however, were hard as stone. They were flat as the snow-swept tundra of Artica, and cold as the highest peaks of the Isle of Fire.
Chapter 35
“Competition is the sin that set Verold burning.” Archdeacon of Trenton
Aeden was the last surviving member of the Thane Sagan, a warrior tribe feared by the powerful Caliphate of the A’sh. An elite clan whose very name had become synonymous with ruthless determination and savage martial skill. Their reputation had become legend, sung about by the remote Wildmen of Roewold, written about by the curious historians of the Imperium, and sought after by the Emperor of Templas.
Aeden himself, had been the finest the Thane had to offer. He had been raised to be the very best, nothing less would do.
His tutelage had begun under the watchful eye of Ayleth the Widow and one of the village grandmothers, Gosselin. They had taught him the value of obedience and the principles of discipline. They had taught him how to skin an animal and treat its hide for clothing, how to mend one’s armor, how to plow a field, how to plant and harvest a crop.
As Aeden grew older, and was still known as Kirin, he had apprenticed under the village black smith, the master healer, and of course the venerable master himself. He had learned a wide skillset, understanding each role in S’Vothe.
He had learned how to navigate by the sun and stars, how to hunt, track, set traps, identify edible plants, and where to find water. He had learned how to set broken bones, stitch a cut, and dress a wound. Most of all, he had learned how to fight.
Every step of his tutelage had been planned and watched over by the kovor, his father, an intelligent and capable leader who demanded perfection from his son. A son who had robbed him of his wife. A son who had been obstinate yet competitive. The kovor had pushed the young Kirin/Aeden to his limits and in doing so, had molded him into a living weapon.
The kovor had been grooming Aeden to become a man, to learn the ways of a warrior, and to learn the values that shaped a leader. It had been done through grueling testing, hardship, and intense training. It had been done from a place of love and a selfish desire to see the S’Velt continue to flourish.
Yet, none of that mattered.
Aeden’s village, S’Vothe, had been burned to the ground. His people had been killed. Now a cold, hard anger burned within. As the last of his lineage, as a warrior, as the final member of the Thane Sagan, he could not fail.
Yet, there Aeden was, sweat dripping off his brow, desperately cornered, staring at Rafe. A manic look was in Rafe’s eyes, as if a wolf had consumed him and taken his skin. A crowd had gathered about them. All pretense of competition had melted away.
Fear danced about the edges of Aeden’s perception as anger bubbled within. The dim purple light of the night sky, the last embers of a burning statue, the quiet breath of those gathered, were but hazy thoughts of broken memory. His hand tingled and his vision blurred. Something wasn’t right. Death felt close at hand. His promise to his people faded. Aeden struggled with his grip as blood dripped down his hand.
How had this happened? What had Rafe done to him?
Aeden’s mind moved slowly, like a receding glacier under a morning sun. He struggled to recall the shape of the night. The events that had transpired leading up to this moment.
Where had it begun?
Memory coalesced with emotion into a sharp point of detail. A competition. It had all started with the Trials of Ansuz. Recollection fell upon Aeden in a crushing wave of clarity.
“…the Trials of Ansuz aren’t easy,” Laurent warned matter-of-factly as he sidled up to Aeden.
Aeden listened as he followed Rafe and Thea back through the massive gates and into the Town of Andir. They had fallen in with the larger crowd, shuffling past the city walls. Rafe, Thea, Adel, Dan, Laurent, and Aeden were soon enveloped by the confines of the town itself.
The buildings on either side formed a shallow canyon. It was a canyon lit from within by a hundred burning beacons. From a distance the main street of Andir looked like a river of light.
Torches were set aflame in their sconces, highlighting the careful craftsmanship of each home. The light splashed upon the villagers who stood at their balconies, each overlooking the street with the casual curiosity of the lethargic. The flickering glow lit the path for costumed children who ran about, spooking those around them. Finally, it cast its warmth upon a group of friends and two competitors, who squeezed past villagers, and made their way toward the tents, toward the Trials of Ansuz.
“Harmon says the trials are geared toward weeding out the townsfolk,” Laurent continued.
Aeden’s mind was elsewhere. Laurent’s voice was consumed by the din of night.
The sounds of the inhabitants had become another layer to the tapestry that was Hearvest Eve. The deep purpling of night settled its weight over Mystes Mountain as drums continued to pound away and Laurent continued to talk.
Yet, for all the sound, movement, and light, there was an underlying stillness. It was a stillness born of anger. A stillness shaped by the greater events of Verold. It was the stillness of a distant fire, burning fiercely in the void of space, a fire that burned deeply in Aeden’s heart.
“…although I wouldn’t worry about the Sages of Umbra, I asked around, they’re not here,” Laurent said.
Aeden nodded, feeling the rising tide of tension mount as they approached the first tent. The group slowed and the crowd thickened.
Aeden found himself shoulder to shoulder with Rafe. His skin crawled at the contact. Somehow Rafe had come to stand between him and Thea. It was aggravating. It was the lever slipping beneath the boulder in anticipation of the fulcrum.
Aeden seethed.
He needed a distrac
tion. Glancing back, Aeden could see Adel, Dan and Laurent shuffling in behind them. Looking over their heads he could see Garit, who appeared to be alone. He could see Kallon, still looking somber. He saw Sakhira near Faro, and finally Janto and Caine. Caine looked up, as if feeling the intensity of Aeden’s glare.
All the old animosity flared anew. The remembered loss from the Isle of Galdor. The deaths of Headmaster Sund, John, and the University. It had all been because of Caine’s narcissism. Caine Tirrell, cousin to Rory Tirrell, the self-proclaimed sword master of Bodig and High Priest Godwin’s bastard son, had brought the Inquisition to the Isle of Galdor.
Aeden’s mind churned and his stomach soured. The bitter flavor of loss and ineptitude struck a deep chord. It blinded him to Caine’s expanding group of friends. It robbed him temporarily of the Sight.
“Nervous?” Rafe asked, studying Aeden.
The moment snapped into play before him. Aeden masked his emotions. Thoughts of Caine exploded in a shower of hot metal sparks.
“Are you?” Aeden replied, upset at Rafe’s studious indifference.
Rafe merely shook his head, looking as relaxed as one on a Sumor night.
Aeden was saved further shame by a costumed man, standing beside the entrance to the First Trial of Ansuz.
In a stage voice, the man bellowed, “For all those who dare enter. The brave. The courageous. Be warned, the Trials of Ansuz are fraught with danger and mystery…”
The man’s face was twisted in a dramatic display of showmanship. A yelp erupted from within the tent, as if to accentuate the man’s point. A puff of smoke exited the tent’s makeshift chimney, and a few in the crowd left the line.
Laurent leaned in, “Never mind about what I said before. This looks fun, should be safe.”
Aeden half-smiled and glanced back. He saw Adel shifting from foot to foot and twiddling his fingers nervously. Aeden grasped Adel’s shoulder and pulled him in close.
“It’s just a game,” Aeden said, “It’ll be fun, like the night we played drunken kayles somewhere in Gemynd.”
Adel nodded, only slightly appeased.
The crowd shuffled forward, as a group of six entered the tent.
Aeden glimpsed a few tables before the flaps fell closed. He then felt, rather than saw, Rafe lean toward Thea. Rafe said something that was lost in the noise of Hearvest Eve. Jealousy burned in Aeden’s veins, yet he did nothing. He knew if he were to insert himself, Thea would only resent him. She would see it as an act of weakness.
His heart pumped faster as Aeden clenched his fists. He had to win the trials. That would show Thea. It would embarrass Rafe and prove Aeden’s worth.
“Enter at your own peril!” The costumed man shouted.
Rafe held the tent flap for Thea and followed her in. Each small gesture was a knife in Aeden’s heart. Rafe was driving a wedge between them, riding the edge of social norms to do so. It took every ounce of Aeden’s control to not wring Rafe’s neck and stomp his face. With a grimace, Aeden stepped in, envisioning Rafe’s broken body on the ground.
Unable to look at him, Aeden looked away, watching as Adel, Dan and Laurent entered. He watched as the smoky atmosphere enshrouded them. Wispy fingers curled about the group and stung at their eyes. The pungent smell of singed hair lingered as a reminder of the dangers of the trials. The subtle note of sweat and alcohol hid in obscurity.
Thick candles lit the space, their watery light dancing upon the particulate material suspended in the air. It played with the shape of three wooden tables and glinted off the water within three large barrels.
From the shadows stepped forward two dark-robed figures.
“Teams of two, choose a table,” a familiar voice commanded.
It was Zabal Zabel, the grey-haired medius instructor from the Tower of the Arkein. Standing next to him was Master Cassius from the Isle of Galdor. Zabel was short and Cassius was not. Zabel’s features were stern, whereas Cassius wore his browless expression of endless surprise.
Aeden watched as Dan and Laurent paired off. Thea pointed to the table she wanted and Rafe stepped smoothly up to it. Adel was still fidgeting with his hands, as Aeden placed a comforting hand on his arm.
“It’s you and me my friend,” Aeden said reassuringly, his eyes still on Thea.
Adel only nodded.
Master Zabel looked about, his stern features taking in the room, before he spoke again.
“The first Trial of Ansuz tests fortitude,” he paused as if letting his words settle upon the floor, “It’s the brave who stand before danger. It’s the brave who must quench their fear in the face of the unknown.” A half smile claimed Master Zabel, looking odd on him, “Yet, don’t mistake insanity for bravery. Zealots and fools may run toward a fire without the knowledge of heat or the tools to mitigate it. Don’t be that fool,” his eyes settled on Aeden as the crease in his forehead sharpened.
Master Zabel had banned Aeden from defense classes. He had initially accused Aeden of being involved with Muriel’s death. He had berated him quietly. He had insulted him publicly. The master had become a constant thorn in Aeden’s side.
Master Cassius stepped forward, his face serious and masked by the caliginous atmosphere.
“Know your tools, know your capability. Couple bravery with the other aspects of the Ansuzian Man: acumen, fitness, and temperance.”
“Or Ansuzian Woman,” Aeden heard Thea utter from the other side of the room.
Cassius smiled, “or woman,” he amended.
Zabel seemed to not have heard. Instead, Master Zabel walked to Dan and Laurent’s table and grabbed a burning candle. The flame flickered as he moved it and held it up.
“Fire,” Zabel said, the yellow light pooling about his features like a coiling snake, “To command this element is to control an element of the gods. History speaks of men who learned to master fire through their deep understanding of the arkein. Men who shaped Verold,” the last was barely a whisper.
Zabel paused as he looked carefully at each table. He took in a slow breath and continued.
“Each table has three glass jars, three pottery bowls, two empty cups, one of which is graduated. You have an alchemy meter, a pestle, and a single candle.
“When I tell you to begin, you will choose the materials you need. You will assess the quality of the materials chosen, the appropriate amount of each material needed and mix accordingly. You will then place the solution onto your hand and using the provided candle, light your hand on fire. And this is the true test…you’ll do it without burning yourself!”
Laurent mutter to Dan, “Oh, without burning yourself, now it all makes sense.”
Aeden looked at Laurent for a moment before feeling his gaze pulled inextricably back to Thea. He listened as Cassius spoke, but his eyes were fixed on her.
He remembered their first morning in Andir together. Thea had found him in the bathhouse. She had sidled up to him, nude beneath the surface of the water. Her voice had been soft. Her questions had tugged at the lock upon his heart.
Master Cassius continued, oblivious to Aeden’s thoughts, “and a reminder, a man, or woman who controls fire is to be feared, but a man who is on fire will draw people for miles just to laugh and watch him burn. Please, if you don’t know the proper solution, don’t light your hand on fire.”
Memories rapidly engulfed Aeden. The images of a naked Thea faded and were replaced by those of a dark-winged creature, spewing death.
Aeden had only been thirteen, when he had watched his village burn. Fear had paralyzed him. Bravery had abandoned him.
It wouldn’t happen again.
Aeden forced the memories aside.
“You may begin,” the masters said in unison.
The words caught Aeden by surprise. His eyes had been temporarily screwed shut in an effort to rid himself of the images of burnt villagers and molten rock. He glanced up and made eye contact with Thea. She had been watching him. There was a hint of sadness in her eyes.
“What do
we do?” Adel asked, smelling each container in front of them.
All thoughts slipped away as competition claimed him. Aeden could not lose to Rafe. Action was called for. It provoked Aeden into movement.
“We identify our ingredients,” Aeden responded.
The two set to work, assessing their ingredients by weight, color, and odor. From what Aeden could tell they had two types of alcohol, water, one pottery jar with a petroleum-like substance, one with what appeared to be salt, and one filled with iron filings.
Aeden glanced up briefly and saw Rafe was already quick at work. With a grimace, Aeden removed one of the jar’s lid’s and placed the alchemy meter into the container. He watched as it bobbed and floated. The density of the meter was less than that of the liquid.
He didn’t wait to check the small letters written into the alchemy meter before he yanked it out and tossed it into the second glass container. It sank momentarily before rising up and bobbed about.
Close enough.
Aeden cast the alchemy meter aside and poured the glass jar’s contents into one of the cups until it was half full.
“What’re you doing?” Adel asked.
“Something I learned from the Jal’s chemist, you’ll see,” Aeden said quickly, hoping he had remembered the lesson correctly.
Under the Jal’s tutors in Sha’ril, he had learned a variety of subjects, to include the rudimentary principles of chemistry. One of two demonstrations had left a lasting impression. The first was the slow, painful death of a dog given poison. The second was the tutor’s penchant for showmanship, to include setting Aeden’s shirt on fire with a flame that didn’t burn.
He only hoped that he had remembered the ratio and ingredients correctly.
Aeden risked a quick glance up and saw Rafe mixing his solution. There was no time. He couldn’t let Rafe win. Not in front of Thea. Not when his relationship was at stake.
Aeden quickly grabbed the glass with water and filled the cup the rest of the way. He stirred hastily. He took in a breath, rolled up his sleeve, and poured the contents over his arm. Just as he was reaching for the candle, Master Zabel spoke up.