Crenen was terrifying, certainly, but Jenen was just as creepy; his own brother, and he’d let him die. I wasn’t sure which twin I disliked more.
“Said like true dog, eh, Sick Nasty Dog?”
We all three spun on our heels to face the pitch-darkness to my left and saw—nothing. It was too dark.
“Master?” Menen asked the trees.
“Yes, Tall Strong Jerk?” It was faint, but it was Crenen’s voice.
Menen dove into the trees after his master, while Jenen and I hung back, less than thrilled to see the trouble-making murderer return. A gasp from Tall Strong Jerk, however, sent me crashing through the undergrowth to see why he’d made such an uncharacteristic sound. My eyes were slowly adjusting, but I didn’t need to worry as I broke through the foliage; Crenen was sitting in a small moonlit clearing—
Drenched in crimson blood.
Crenen, meanwhile, grinned and chuckled, then coughed up blood. “Matter, Strange Coward Boy? Blood scare you?” He raised his dripping hand in the direct path of the streaming moonlight, his bloody teeth glittering. “Come.”
Riveted by his expression, unable to fight his commanding tone, haunted by the image of Kirid's broken neck, I stepped forward.
Then I was there, standing before the sharp-toothed maniac. I’d felt fear before—felt the overwhelming numbness as it took over my body. But this was in a whole different league. I was terrified. Truly, honestly terrified down to my toes. Beneath my skin. Inside my bones.
“Vendaeva,” he whispered, sending a chill through my half-numb body. “Swear you will serve me, Vendaeva. Swear you will not betray me. Swear you will not aid the Kirid in their cause.”
I stared, unable to speak.
Why should I...? What could I do...?
A million questions flooded my overwhelmed brain, with theories about being Vendaeva, and that Crenen might kill me for it, most prominent in my mind. So, he wanted to ensure that I would not use whatever I had against him? Why would I agree to such a thing?
“Kneel,” Crenen ordered.
My knees buckled and I knelt before him, shaking like the leaves overhead.
“Swear,” he growled, still whispering.
Rage welled up, breaking through the numbness. I was kneeling, but I would not be forced to swear allegiance to him. I was stronger than that. I wasn't a coward.
“No,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut.
“For the sake of my people, swear!” His voice cracked.
Eyes snapping open, I found his eyes. Was it really not about him? Wasn’t this the same man who had murdered his enemy without pause? Or had his cause been right?
“You hold the fate of Paradise within your unstained hands. Look.” He beckoned to Menen, who knelt beside his master. Crenen brushed aside his thick black hair, smudging blood on his servant's cheek, to reveal a scar weaving along the side of Menen’s face. “Scarred.” Crenen pointed to Jenen. “He, too, carries scars. Not one person in Paradise, man, woman, or child, is without blemish. But you,” he turned back to me, “are unmarked.”
I wasn’t about to ask how he knew that, but he was right. I’d always found it odd that while other boys compared their scars, I had none to speak of. Every injury inflicted upon me had vanished with time; nothing lasted after the scab fell off.
“Swear, Vendaeva. Save my people from the Kirid. Save my people from our torturous end.”
I remained silent. The facts were too few. Who was to say his side was right? From what I’d seen thus far, Crenen and his cronies weren’t exactly angelic.
I sighed. “I swear to help Paradise however I can—but that’s all I can promise.” I was no fool. Liar or no, cheater or no, there are some things you don’t swear to unless you plan to keep the oath. “And,” I continued, “I will serve you until I think it’s just plain stupid to keep doing so.” I didn’t know why I pledged that. I knew I’d regret serving Crenen.
Sometimes I could just kick myself.
7
A Misty Vision
“Well said, Strange Coward Boy!” Crenen clapped my back with his bloody hand, then turned his toothy grin on Menen. “East, Tall Strong Jerk.”
East? I decided not to ask. I had the feeling I’d find out sooner or later.
Menen climbed to his feet, bent down, and scooped his master into his arms. Crenen cried out.
“Master, your injuries are severe.”
“Tell us something we not feel already, dolt,” Crenen hissed, clonking his cousin on the head. “Not worthy of carrying. Not worthy even of touching.”
“Shall I put you down, Master?”
Crenen glanced at me, probably noting my small build, and then at Jenen, probably aware that he wouldn’t carry him if his life depended on it. Then he scowled at Menen and hit him again. “Dolt. No thinking, just do.”
Some family reunion. Twins that loathed each other (at least on Jenen’s part), and a cousin used as a personal slave. Homesickness twinged in my stomach.
We headed east after Crenen finished abusing Menen. Not that I could tell which direction was which. I’m no sailor, and stars are hardly my thing. As we began to walk, I glanced back and saw Jenen following at a distance. I wondered what had happened to Crenen's encampment.
Knowing the only way I'd find out was if I asked, I decided to brave Crenen's attention. “What about your people?”
Menen halted and turned to give Crenen a full view. His expression was decidedly condescending. “What about?”
“Well,” I shrugged, “you wouldn't leave them behind to face the Kirid alone, so...?”
Crenen arched one eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Why not? B-because they're your people.”
“They always fine against Slimy Bad Kirid. Best warriors in whole of entire world.”
Menen turned back around, apparently sensing that Crenen was finished. They kept walking, leaving me to mull over his words. So, in his twisted, megalomaniac way, he did care. That, or he knew exactly the sort of words to use to sound awe-inspiring.
But then, so had tyrants throughout history.
We trudged through thorny brambles and over giant roots for hours. The sun had risen forever ago, but we never stopped. An age had passed since I made the pledge to serve Crenen.
I gathered more information about the events of that night as Crenen and Menen discussed it in low tones. Apparently the Kirid army had come from the west, just as Crenen predicted. The clan leaders, Crenen and Kirid had met and discussed the terms of the duel, and then they faced off, which was about the time I showed up. Crenen never brought up how he escaped from the Kirid warriors after they pounced on him—probably because he wanted us to imagine the most impressive means possible. All I could conjure up was him gnawing everyone's arms and legs off with his sharp teeth. That gives you some idea how tired I was trudging on and on.
The sun was high in the sky as we stepped from the dense forest and found ourselves in another Yenen Clan encampment. I stared blearily.
Crenen flashed me that irritating grin of his and pointed at the rawhide tents. “Sleep. Food. Drink. Welcome to Paradise.”
I nodded and dragged my feet toward the tent.
“Sa Vais,” a large man cried out from the center-most tent, voice booming. He rushed forward to greet us, and I halted, glowering at the man who dared to stop me from claiming my rest. He wheezed a little before he spoke. “Eyia sovei cir hej slovej. Veys irefen ii cran yas.”
Crenen offered the babbling man his evil, toothy grin. “We relieved, too,” he said in English, and I wondered if he spoke it for my benefit. “We tired now, so taking Breathless Noisy Dolt's tent and going for nap, yeah?”
On cue, Menen carried his master toward the large center tent, and Jenen and I trailed after them.
Glancing back at Breathless Noisy Dolt, I expected to see some kind of dismayed expression; either at his nickname or the fact that his tent was being confiscated. Instead his expression was gentle, a tiny smile on his seasoned face.
Everyone in this world was demented.
As soon as I entered the dingy tent, I plopped down on the packed dirt, legs burning, feet throbbing, and closed my eyes. Sleep had never beckoned louder…
“—ward Boy!”
My eyes snapped open and I found Crenen across the tent, his form lighted by a single candle. “Yeah?” I muttered.
“Eat. Then sleep.” He motioned to Menen, who set a plate of grapes before me with a frown that carved lines in his forehead.
Wait—grapes? Sweet, heavenly, beautiful grapes? No way. There was something wrong. There had to be. This place was hellish; it didn't have pleasant foods. Only slimy fruit and stale bread.
I plucked one plump grape from among the rest, plopped it in my mouth, and chewed. Once. My mouth puckered as the sweet flavor exploded, overpowering my taste buds. These were good grapes—scratch that. Amazing grapes. These I liked.
“Ha! He like.”
“Yes, Master.” Menen's tone was flat.
I pulled my eyes from the luscious grapes long enough to take in Crenen five feet away, sitting cross-legged on his new rawhide fur. His black top and red wrap were gone, and bandages now covered his torso. Tape covered his left cheek, and one hand was wrapped like a mummy, though the blood still soaked through. Menen was just finishing his medical duties, tying one final knot behind his master's back. Cousin, slave, and doctor all in one. How come I’d never been so lucky?
“Paradisaical Purple Fruit—tasty and healing. Best medicine we ever needing, yeah?” Crenen batted at one of the dangling ties on his hand.
I bobbed a nod as I savored another little morsel. Healing? Yeah, my soul felt like singing.
“Also known as gerani,” Menen said as he raised Crenen’s hands above his head.
Gerani was a beautiful word.
He slipped Crenen’s tattered shirt back over his head. “This fruit is healing to a certain point, but it’s also very addictive.”
Well, duh. Nothing this good couldn't be.
“Tall Strong Jerk not like Paradisaical Purple Fruit—think it bad for body. We say if good for mind, good for body. Tall Strong Jerk have different feeling.” Crenen pulled his shirt down over his bandages and allowed Menen to drape the red cloth over both shoulders, then lay him down on the fur and cover him with another rawhide.
“It’s not good to eat it often,” Menen said.
“So say servant. Not so say master.”
“Yes, Master.” Menen bowed his head and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I must attend to duties outside. Don’t eat any, Master.”
“Yeah, yeah. Leave,” Crenen said with a dismissive wave of his uninjured hand.
Menen left and I returned to the most important matter at hand: my Purple Fruit.
“No need ferment Paradisaical Purple Fruit. Already plenty strong, yeah?” Crenen chuckled.
I stopped chewing. Was this like some sort of alcohol and that’s why I felt so…intoxicated? “I’m too young to drink,” I said after swallowing. I gazed at the fruit.
“Technically Strange Coward Boy eat instead,” Crenen said as he wriggled out of his covers, reaching with one clawed hand, and snatching a single grape from my bowl. He popped it in his mouth and flashed me his toothy grin as he gnashed the fruit to bits, miraculously keeping the juices from dribbling down his chin.
He did have a point. I took another.
“Excellent.” Crenen dipped his hand into the bowl for another helping.
“Master.”
Crenen snapped his hand away from the grapes. “What, Tall Strong Jerk?”
“No gerani. Consider your condition,” Menen growled. He scooped my bowl off the ground. I watched in horror. Those were my grapes.
“Our condition hardly dictate if we eat Paradisaical Purple Fruit or not, Tall Stupid Jerk.”
“Your condition dictates just that, whether you like the idea or not, Crenen.”
Crenen’s metallic eyes narrowed. “Leave!” He pointed to the door flap. “Out!” He tossed his pillow at Menen. “Banished! Never return.”
I stared.
Menen stood there for a moment, and then bowed low. “As you wish, Sa Vais.”
Crenen growled, eyes sparking. His claws flexed and his sharp teeth clenched. For a moment I saw a wild beast about to lunge at its prey, but then a ragged cough broke his stance and he doubled over, hacking up blood.
Menen dropped the bowl, grapes scattering across the dirt floor, and knelt beside his cousin. He placed his hand on Crenen’s shoulder. The latter attempted to shove him away, but another fit took him, and he collapsed. He curled into a ball, hugging his ribs.
I stared as Crenen continued to cough. Menen whispered to him and ran a hand along his back. At last the fit ceased and Crenen gasped for air, sweat trailing down his face. Menen turned him over and helped him sit up, propping Crenen against himself.
It’s all right,” Menen said as he held Crenen in place. “You’ll be fine now.”
I don’t know how long I sat there, gazing at the ground before me. Darkness had fallen outside before anyone stirred. It was Jenen who broke our silence as he entered the tent. (When had he left?) “The Kirid are on their way,” he announced, glancing at his sleeping twin. “I’m taking the boy before they arrive.”
Say what? These Kirid were certainly persistent, but then, I might be too if my leader had been cut down by a creature like Crenen—assuming I had a leader I cared about. And asserted myself more. And killed people.
I glanced at Menen, then Jenen. Then I stood. “I'm staying here.”
“You've little choice in the matter,” Jenen said.
I nodded to Crenen. “I’m his servant. You witnessed me swear an oath to serve him. Are you going to make me break that oath?” I didn't really want to stay with Crenen, but I wasn't about to head off someplace with Sick Nasty Dog in the dead of night either. Had he been trying to kill me right before I ran into his homicidal twin for the first time?
Jenen nodded. “Yes. I am.”
“You're kidding.” I made a mental note that in a war-torn, primitive world, honor didn't mean much.
“Strange Coward Boy speak true,” Crenen said. Pain lined his face, but his eyes were pinned on Jenen. “You not take him, yeah?” I concluded that “yeah?” wasn’t a question. It was a command.
“I don't have to listen to you.” Jenen snapped his hand out and, grabbing my muddy red jacket, pulled me closer to him.
“Try it, Sick Nasty Dog. Try, and we show you true meaning of torture—future leader of Yenen Clan or no, yeah?” Crenen’s hand flexed, as though he was determined to vent his frustrations and his bloodthirsty desires on the one person who dared defy his will. Which was just fine with me, since I wasn’t the one trying.
Jenen tugged again on my jacket, and I scowled. This was no time to get possessive—and why the heck did he want me, anyway? What use was I to him?
“Vendaeva is no good to you,” he said. “I will use this boy to change things in the best way possible. Don’t be selfish, Crenen. This isn't the time for it.”
Oh. Vendaeva again. Stupid prophecy.
“Won’t!” Crenen shouted, jumping to his feet, ignoring the blood seeping through his bandages just as he dismissed the pain.
One second Menen was kneeling behind Crenen, the next I felt the other side of my jacket being tugged. I considered pulling free of the jacket and running away from all of them, but a second glance at the claws surrounding me made me stay very still.
“You can’t keep him, Crenen. He’s of no use to you—you haven’t a clue how to even use him.”
“True,” Crenen said with a grin. “But we in possession of Seer.”
My gut tightened as I felt something big taking place—something I had no clue about that held my sorry fate in its big, twisted hand. Stupid hand.
Jenen’s expression darkened. “How did you manage that?”
Crenen’s grin widened. I began to worry that in the moment I pledged my loyalty
to him, I’d sold my soul to the Devil. Oh well. If this really was Hell, who better to swear allegiance to than its overseer?
“Never minding details,” Crenen said. “The point, Sick Nasty Dog, both you and Strange Coward Boy come with us or never fulfill Vendaeva. Sick Nasty Dog must speak with Seer, yeah?”
Jenen scowled, but the fire left his eyes. He was in too deep to turn back now. I suspected that had been Crenen’s main reason for keeping me: to make certain Jenen would stick around, so he could be properly coerced.
The sound of distant thunder jolted me.
“Kirid,” the three men hissed, sounding very related. I kept this thought to myself.
Jenen and Menen released me and I glanced around for a chance to escape. I caught Crenen's eye and he shook his head with a smile. Even in his weakened condition, I knew I'd never make it before he captured me again.
Menen turned to his master. “We must leave.”
“No, we fight,” Crenen said even as he swayed on his feet.
“You're in no condition—”
“Stop,” Crenen hissed. “We feel plenty well enough.”
Menen sighed, bowed his head, then seized Crenen and swung him over his shoulder. “You'll forgive me,” he murmured; then grabbed me by the collar and swung me over his other shoulder despite my own protests. Strong was right; this guy was amazing. He appeared slender, but I credited that to his height, which seemed to hide the massive muscles that had to be under his clothes.
Jenen led the way from the tent as the Kirid struck.
I’d played my share of video games, so I thought I was prepared for the scene of battle—but I was wrong. The view before us filled me with a horror I could never forget. In a matter of seconds bodies littered the ground, lying in their own blood. The clash of weapons filled the air with the sound of death, while the smoldering of several burning tents blanketed the sky with thick black smoke and an awful stench.
Several men struggled not far away, and I watched as one man jammed his clawed hand into the other's eyes. Blood sprayed into the offender's face. A scream rent the air, joining a chorus of others.
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