Aeden then turned to Caine. His expression had changed. It had become darker than the night. It was a haunting vision of pent up rage and unexpressed violence.
Caine’s eyes grew wide as Aeden swept forward. He moved so quickly that Caine only had time to blink. One moment Caine was standing, hands before him, then next he was sailing through the air.
Aeden had struck him so hard as to knock Caine away from the ring of firelight and into one of the bamboo structures. Aeden didn’t wait for Caine to get up. He leapt forward like a cat, sword drawn, pressed to Caine’s neck.
“Stop!” Oria shouted.
Adel had let go of Garit and ran toward them. I watched in desperation, feeling powerless to affect the moment. Sakhira had a hand around me, as if attempting to protect me from my own stupidity.
Adel now kneeled before Aeden, hands up, pleading.
Even from my vantage point, I could see the murderous intent in Aeden’s eyes. They were like two black coals filled with indignation.
Kallon had finally stepped forward, but not so close as to participate.
I watched as Adel pushed Aeden’s sword to the side, gentle as a whisper.
Aeden turned to look at his friend. His features softening, like molten wax. He took in a slow breath
Oria now stood beside Aeden, tugging ineffectively at his arm, as if she were trying to uproot a tree.
There was a tense moment of dread. It rang out with purposeful intent. Aeden sheathed his sword, silencing the raging storm of violence. He spat at Caine.
“Don’t you touch her ever again,” he whispered.
Caine made no move to remove the spit. He uttered no words. His face was a white sheet of fear.
Sakhira had finally let me go. I ran to Aeden and Caine. I glanced at Adel and Oria. My mind struggled with thought and emotion.
Pride, confusion, and fear swept over my heart.
Aeden had threatened Caine because of me. He had flown into a blind protective rage in defense of me.
Confusion choked me as a fearful elation lay claim to my heart.
I watched Aeden walk back to his spot, beyond the light of the campfire, as I rubbed at the swelling bruise upon my cheek and was left to deal with a storm of raging thought.
Chapter 56
“History is a muddy bog, fed by multiple rivers.” Emperor Suda - Savikko
The following day was uncomfortable. An invisible line had been drawn, separating us from each other in different ways.
Caine’s hatred of Aeden had grown to a palpable level. They couldn’t share the same space, let alone cast eyes upon each other. As soon as Aeden was out of earshot, Caine would deride, insult, and talk about Aeden. If you hadn’t known their relationship, you would have thought Caine was obsessed with him, like some twisted love affair.
No one spoke out. Which, I found interesting. I assume we all had our superficial reasons. I maintained a certain level of anger that I wore as justification. He’d let my father die, a little ridicule could serve him well.
I cannot speak for the others, I could however, surmise their thought process.
Adel didn’t hear too much of it as he spent part of his time away from the group, with Aeden. The other part of his time he had spent with Janto and Caine, as if attempting to facilitate some sort of truce.
Garit was likely fearful. He had been more outspoken before. He had typified what most were feeling deeper down. Now, he was quiet as a glade. We all wanted to avoid conflict. It was easier. Safer. We all knew Caine was a verbal bully, and somehow, we hoped that by remaining quiet it would just go away.
It didn’t.
As evening descended, we built up the campfire.
Its golden light danced upon the ground, casting light and shadow in equal measure. The faint glow of lightning beetles sporadically illuminated the shadows.
Oria now looked less often at Aeden and had turned some of her affections to Kallon. Although, I was happy she wasn’t paying Aeden so much attention, it galled me how quickly she adjusted her affections.
Kallon, as a man, played his part. He joked. He lowered his voice. He told stories, and he entertained her.
Garit remained quieter than usual. Contemplative. In many ways he mirrored Sakhira’s usual pattern of behavior.
It was our tenth evening since leaving the village of Andir and the Tower of the Arkein. The moon edged further into the sky as the curtain of night fell upon the Fold.
“I propose a truce,” Caine said, breaking the relative silence.
The fire continued to crackle in the background. Sakhira continued to whittle away at a piece of wood. Otherwise we had stopped what we were doing and listened, even if we didn’t look him in the eye.
It was strange. Caine was like a beheading. As much as you wanted to look away, you couldn’t. There was a morbid curiosity that kept us watching, kept us listening.
“Our smaller group,” he gestured to those surrounding the fire, clearly excluding Aeden, “should be friends. We should work together. I am willing to forgive and forget, provided I get an apology.”
Caine’s eyes settled on Garit.
There was a terse moment where Garit contemplated his next action. Yet, Garit folded like old paper.
“I’m sorry,” Garit said.
It was uncomfortable to watch. Why should Garit apologize for Caine’s temper? Caine had called his mother a whore. Yet, Caine had a way of blaming everyone but himself.
I wouldn’t have apologized.
Caine nodded his head.
“I think it’s Garit’s turn for a story,” he said, taking a seat next to Janto.
Garit was staring intently at the fire again. He then looked up as if measuring the crowd. Only two had resumed chatting, Oria and Kallon. Garit watched them for a moment. Janto cleared his throat.
Kallon had stopped flirting long enough to notice Garit watching him. Kallon wrinkled his brow in discomfort.
Garit widened his eyes and gestured to the group. Kallon turned a brilliant shade of red.
“It’s Garit’s turn,” Kallon announced, in an effort to save face, and redirect the eyes now on him to Garit.
Garit cleared his throat, gathering everyone’s attention. He slipped right into his story as if he had been waiting to tell it.
“Let me tell you of an Ancient Empire…” he said, his face suddenly expressive, his gestures grand.
“…Long before the Imperium and the three kingdoms, Gemynd, Bodig, and Sawol. Even before Winter’s Bind and Mende, before the Calenite Empire, or the Amevi of Dimutia or even the ancient Templas Empire, was another, older group. A people that predated the Schism and populated most of Verold.
“It is said that these people were direct descendants of the gods themselves. That this Verold-spanning empire had developed to such a level as to make Templas and the Imperium seem crude and forlorn.
“These peoples had created the Protos Empire. They had created the original great north south road, they had extended the River Lif to the Imperium Gulf and the Dath River to the Gulf of Chur.
“The Protos Empire began in Dimutia and swept across the Imperium and finally settled in Templas. They had created impossible feats of engineering, never again seen by man. They had learned to make unique metal alloys, and incredible weapons, and had made the greatest army Verold had ever seen.
“They had written great texts, lost to history. Works detailing the ideas of creation, of time, about the arkein and the very gods themselves.
“It’s whispered that they were the first to have glimpsed the Dup Shimati.”
Caine cut it, disrupting the flow of Garit’s story.
“The what Shimati?”
“Dup Shimati,” Garit repeated.
Caine and Janto seemed to be discussing it, as the others gave them looks. His blatant disregard for social etiquette was galling. Caine demanded admiration and respect and in return doled out insults and slights.
“The Scrolls of Destiny,” Sakhira said in clari
fication.
I notice Aeden glance up from the distance. He was following the exchange with a strange curiosity. His face was a mask of serious lines, but his eyes, they were soft, almost sad. Although it was hard for me to tell. It’s possible I was assigning emotion when all I saw were shadows.
“Let Garit finish,” Adel chimed in, annoyed.
Kallon jumped in as well, “We all had our turn,” he said, “It’s only fair.”
Oria nodded in agreement, putting a hand on Kallon’s shoulder, as if assessing his worth through the hardness of his muscle.
Caine and Janto fell quiet. Garit glanced once more around the campfire, ensuring he had their attention before continuing.
“Where was I,” he said to himself, before resuming more loudly, “The Dup Shimati had been kept secret by the most powerful of the gods, Enlil. He hid it away, only to be tricked by Ansuz. Under Ansuz’ care, the Dup Shimati was vulnerable.
“It was known that the most powerful magics lay hidden and locked within the scrolls. Magics that allowed one to shape the world, to create life, to manipulate the very fabric of reality.
“They were too important for any one person or any one god. They were locked away and hidden and spread across Verold, only to eventually be found. One of the boxes was uncovered by a team of rogue mercenaries, employed by the gods.
“They uncovered only a piece of the scroll, unlocking secrets of metallurgy and pieces of the arkein. They became known as the Soldiers of Huta, men dressed in the darkest armor to have ever existed…”
“Wait,” I said, cutting Garit off, “We had an agreement.”
Garit smiled oafishly, as he looked anywhere but me.
“I want to hear more,” Adel said.
“I don’t,” Caine yawned, “Again with the Inquisition. You need a girlfriend,” he said, looking lazily at Garit.
Janto chuckled. Garit turned red in the face. He looked ready to launch into another furious tirade of kicking limbs. Caine noticed and redirected his insults elsewhere.
“Or two,” Caine continued, gesturing to Kallon and Oria.
“What?” Oria looked taken aback. “We’re not together!”
She practically shouted as she subtly scooted away from Kallon, removing her hand from his arm.
Kallon remained quiet and looked most anywhere but Caine or Oria.
“Aeden was allowed to talk about the Inquisition,” Garit pleaded.
But no one was listening. Arguments broke out about mourning periods and who was dating whom. Oria stood, pretending to be too hot and upset, as a pretense to move away from the group and to get closer to Aeden.
Adel scooted closer to Garit, presumably to hear more of the story.
“We could focus on the riddle,” I said, “We still don’t understand the second and third stanzas: shield your notice from life’s unseen breath, then follow the hard-green line…” but my words were lost to the din of argument.
Caine stoked disagreement and smiled. Garit turned away from Adel to defend himself. Kallon explained his aggrievement for Muriel. Sakhira picked apart Garit’s story. I watched as the moon’s wide gaze had stirred our hearts and filled the air with the pent-up tension of her slow passing.
Chapter 57
“Life resides on the other side of fear.” Saying of the Thane Sagan
The following morning, I awoke with a headache. I had been dreaming about the Aria Plains south of the Lufian River. The dark images had sliced at my awareness with a strange cruelty. The nightmares spoke of hidden pain. They spoke of death.
I shivered and struggled to sit up. I blinked away the gummy residue of too little sleep. Bloody memories haunted my mind. The images of my dream were still sharp as broken glass.
I blinked into the darkness, only to replay the specter of being trapped within the plains of razor grass. The grass cut and burned at my skin. It sliced through the soft meat of my being, until there was nothing left but bone. I had become a lone skeleton bleeding into the soil, struggling to scream, struggling to be heard.
Closing my eyes, I took a calming breath. I was too old for such dreams to plague me. The images faded as my arm continued to throb dully. It was a visceral reminder of the danger that lay ahead.
I ran a hand over the scab. There was no blood. They were nothing but dreams. I shivered again and reached for the blanket. It was tucked under Oria. She’d rolled to my side again.
I debated for a moment, waking her, and grabbing back the blanket. Instead, I decided to get up. I knew I couldn’t sleep. There was little purpose even trying. With a breath of dew laden air, I sat up and peered out the doorway.
Stillness.
Anxiety danced about the edges of my stomach as I slipped out of the shelter, letting the morning hush envelope me.
The air was brisk and brittle. It was at rest and it was quiet. The sky was a deep purple as the sun remained tucked away in its nightly cradle. The moon, showed her proud face, full and bright as a chandelier.
I glimpsed movement just beyond the campsite. It was slow and deliberate, like a hunter stalking its prey. My skin prickled with gooseflesh.
Curiosity claimed me. It doesn’t make sense, much like a Bodigan play in which the damsel is drawn to the cave only to be eaten by the monster, I was drawn to the movement. I rationalized it away: If I was going to die, I wanted to know what was going to kill me.
With determination in my heart, I skirted the slow burning embers of our once great campfire. It was then that I saw him. It wasn’t some mythical hunter, or great beast of a man. It was just Aeden.
I let out a subtle breath as my heartbeat continued to flutter in my chest.
Aeden had been practicing the gevecht. His Templas sword cut graceful lines through the air. His muscular body radiated heat as he moved. His white hair rippled from an unseen breeze.
I couldn’t help but stop and stare. He was so secretive about the gevecht. It took me nearly a year just to know that’s what he called the dance of martial movement he so often practiced. At times it was slow and controlled. At other times it was explosive and rapid, like a striking cobra.
I could have watched longer, but he felt my gaze. Aeden slowly came to a stop and turned to look at me. He stared directly at me, even though I was half-hidden behind one of the shelters, and the sun had yet to make its appearance.
Part of me wanted to run up to him, like I had before. To feel those powerful arms encircle me, to feel his body pressed against mine. I wanted to hear him whisper sweet words into my ear. Instead, I remembered what he’d done. It was like a cold shadow passing over a warm Sumor day.
The thoughts left in a tumbling heap of discomfort.
I glanced away, took in a breath, and walked to the singular boulder. I paused by the stone marker before glancing across the bridge and to the south. My stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot. My mouth fell open, and I simply stood, momentarily in shock.
The Aria Plains were illuminated by thousands of pinpoints of light, as if the stars had settled onto the razor grass. There were yellows, whites, blues, and greens.
I stood for a moment, mesmerized. I watched as the lights slowly moved about the field. I was so entrenched in the scene that I hadn’t heard Aeden approach. Although, to be fair, I rarely heard him approach.
“Follow the hard-green line to your nearest sign,” Aeden whispered.
I looked back and saw him standing nearby, peering into the razor plains. What was he talking about? My mind was consumed with his proximity. I could smell him, it was a musky and spicy scent with an underlying current of sweet. It’s hard to describe, but for some reason it was strangely intoxicating.
With a slow breath I looked back to the Aria Plains. I cleared my head and the third stanza from the third riddle, repeated itself, follow the hard-green line to your nearest sign.
“There it is,” he said, pointing to the open space.
I struggled to focus on where he was pointing. He had taken a step closer. My anger and a
hint of desire welled up in a confused ball of emotion. I wanted to yell at him and tell him to step back. I wanted him to grab me like I was his.
It was infuriating.
The emotions faded and I resumed my search of the fields. I watched as the various colors drifted laggardly over the plains of razor grass. I strained to differentiate the colors and began to notice a trend.
The green lights appeared to be more clustered, forming a line southward, through the plains.
“We have to go now,” I uttered, my mind reeling.
Aeden nodded and stepped away. He had been thinking the same thing.
Chapter 58
“The universe is one vibrational degree away from inciting madness.” A Study of Vibrational Congruencies – Master Polyas
The Aria Plains stood before us like the black sea. Hues of yellows, whites, and blues danced above the undulating razor grass. Their flickering light competed with the soft wash of luminescence pouring from the wide face of the moon.
It looked as though a member of the Scapan had reached into the heavens and yanked the stars from the night and sprinkled them over the fields. The Scapan had shaped the flat lands, the distant mountains, and had whispered into the ears of the scintillant beetles.
A steady line of luminous green stretched over the dangerous plant life, migrating southward, pointing the way.
I drew in a breath of the night’s air. It was cool and sweet. It filled my lungs and gave me a moment’s courage.
“We’d better begin, before the sun comes up,” I said, with a slight quiver in my voice.
I was nervous. My heart was pounding away in my chest like an angered monkey. My imagination played with me the way a cat plays with its prey. It cut into my awareness and slashed at my fortitude.
“What’re we waiting for?” Garit asked.
He was looking at the group. His casual expression of genuine confusion bespoke an ignorance to the pain of the Razor Plains of Aria.
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