Saviors- Duty and Sacrifice

by Devon Vesper

  The man rushed forward as he reached behind him. He pulled a small wooden shield around as protection against Valis’ sword. It looked hastily handmade and useless, worn and beaten, and barely held together with rusted rivets and patched with cracked resin and frayed vines. What did he intend to do with that? Give Valis splinters? The man hunched behind the rotten wood, and with a wordless shout, he slammed forward. The knife struck out. Valis deflected it with his forearm. The shield hit his chest and knocked the wind out of him.

  His forearm burned with the cut. His chest ached. Valis swung without thinking. The bandit brought his shield around to block the blow. With a loud ring of steel and spray of splinters, the shield split in two. The bandit let out a bone-chilling scream. He tucked his broken arm to his chest and swung blindly with his knife.

  Valis leapt away easily. His mind grew blank as it normally did during forms. He swung in a high, wide arc. His blade rang as it hit the dagger the bandit brought up to parry. It didn’t give any resistance with the force of Valis’ blow. His blade never stuttered as it sliced through flesh and bone like a hot knife through warm tallow candles. Gore sprayed. It pumped out of the stump of the man’s neck as his head rolled a few feet away. In the next instant, the body’s knees gave out, and it crumpled to the forest floor with a dull thump.

  Valis stared at the severed head blankly. His gaze swung in slow motion toward the still body that rested on its back by his bedroll in a bleeding heap. When he shifted, his boots squished in the puddle of blood he stood in, the body’s neck still spurting the last dregs of its life onto his boots.

  Dawn’s early rays illuminated the forest just enough. Spits of crystalline snow swirled about him in a parody of purity among the gore. He looked down at himself in the morning light and frowned. His arm and clothes glistened with sticky red stains. The river from the neck finally subsided to a trickle on Valis’ boots instead of frantic gushes. The white flakes that tumbled down from the sky lasted less than a breath before being consumed by the thick pool that coalesced around his feet.

  Something tickled his cheek. He reached up to rub it and his hand came back wet with smears of blood.

  With a whimper, Valis stumbled back. His hands went numb and began to shake. Unable to feel his fingers, he dropped the sword and staggered to a tree to lean against it. A shudder ripped through him. It started from the crown of his head and ended in his feet. Tingles followed in unpleasant waves. It churned his stomach.

  It made him gag until he leaned forward and retched. He coughed up bile until all that came out was clear liquid, then sank to the ground. The tree’s bark scraped his cheek and temple on his way down and brought bright pain to his numbness.

  Steady tremors made his hands shake and twitch. Valis stared down at them, palms up, the right covered in red, the left smeared with stains and rivulets from the cut on his forearm. He gasped and his breath came back out in a low wail as he collapsed against the tree. Another breath, and the wail grew louder until his throat felt raw.

  Something crashed through the trees and underbrush. Valis barely heard it above his own cries. His heart hammered in his chest and threatened to break the cage that held it captive. His head pounded until the rush of his own blood roared in his ears, blocking out all other sound.

  A hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him up from where he’d curled into a fetal position. Darolen stared down at him, his face bloody. He threw off his armored gloves and his large, rough hands molested every inch of Valis’ skin. When he finished, the larger man turned his head and called back to Kerac. “He is whole. Only a few scrapes and a cut.”

  Recognizing Darolen, hearing his voice, made something inside Valis break. His wails turned into body-wrenching, wet sobs. He clutched at Darolen’s armor until the Aesriphos scooped him up and stood. As he carried Valis toward the horses, Kerac came up to them and frowned with worry. With a word, he pressed his hand to Valis’ brow and everything went away.

  When he woke, Kerac held him on his lap and rocked. Valis looked down with blurry eyes to find himself dressed in clean, warm clothes. A bandage compressed his left forearm. His skin felt raw. His hands held a rosy tint, and he smelled the herbal scent of soap.

  Kerac smoothed a hand over his damp hair when he realized Valis woke. “How do you feel?”

  Everything flooded back, and Valis’ lower lip wobbled as tears welled in his eyes. “I killed them,” he whimpered. “I killed them…”

  “Oh, love.” Kerac clutched Valis to his chest and bowed his head over him. “I am glad you did. I could not bear it if they had killed you.” His words shivered and when he looked up again, tears glittered in his gaze. They turned his eyes to liquid gold. “You survived, Valis. Please, don’t leave me now.”

  Darolen leaned over until he looked down at Valis, too. “I’m proud of you,” he said. “You did exactly what I taught you to do.” He reached up and brushed Valis’ tears away with callused fingertips, ran his thumb just below the fringe of Valis’ lower lashes. “Don’t ever be sorry for taking a life while defending another, even when that other is your own. You cannot save the lives of the good if you are dead by the hands of the corrupt and insane. Regret leads your heart down the wrong path, Valis. It will poison you if you let it in.”

  Valis sniffled and nodded. His heart ached. His whole body ached. His heart just ached more than the rest. “How do you do it?” He buried his face against Kerac’s chest and sobbed a breath. “How?”

  Kerac pressed a long, fierce kiss to his temple, and murmured against his skin. “There is never joy in killing for us. You carry each life with you every day. Every single one is a scar on our souls, whittling away at our innocence.” He held Valis tighter and rocked again. “Their weight will strengthen you. The scars on the surface shield and protect that which remains cocooned and unscathed inside.”

  “Cry it out, Son,” Darolen said near his ear. “It’s the only way to move forward right now. It’s the only way to let go.”

  As if he needed that permission, Valis clutched at Kerac’s soft shirt and cried. It seemed like hours went by in a torrent of tears, snot and choked sobs. Somewhere in the middle, Valis got shuffled from Kerac’s lap to Darolen’s. Sometime after, he cried himself to sleep with Darolen’s deep, rumbling bass singing in his ear, muffled and garbled by Valis’ broken mind.

  He woke again tucked in a bedroll with a stuffed nose, sore throat, headache, and ravenous hunger. Vague scents of something cooking chased away the cobwebs that clung to his mind, and Valis sat up.

  “Look who’s awake,” Darolen murmured as he pointed at Valis.

  Kerac’s head whipped around and he rose from beside the fire. Long strides carried him to Valis’ side, and he smoothed down his flyaway hair. “How do you feel?”

  “Awful, thanks for asking.” Valis rubbed at his eyes and stretched. When he relaxed back into a natural position again, he turned his head and sneezed, spraying snot onto the tree next to him in clumps.

  With a chuckle, Kerac handed him a square of scrap cloth for his nose and rubbed his back. “You had us worried. You slept through midday. We’re preparing supper.”

  Valis took the cloth and noisily blew his nose until he could breathe easily through it again. “I’m starved. It smells good.”

  “Valis.” Kerac hooked a finger under Valis’ chin and tilted his head up to look at him. The serious frown on his face made Valis’ hands sweat. “We need to talk over dinner.”

  “About what?” Worry flooded him, and Valis shrank back. “What have I done?”

  “Oh, no. Love, no.” The man pulled him into a hug and sighed. “Nothing like that. I am sorry. You have done nothing wrong. Worry not.”

  “Then why does it have to wait for supper?” he asked. The warmth of Kerac’s body and his scent drew Valis closer until he picked his favorite position and tucked his face into the curve of the Aesriphos’ throat. “What’s wrong?”

  Kerac purred and shifted to sit down so he could hold Valis pr
operly. “What was that look you gave me before I was unhorsed?”

  He shrugged. “I felt like I always feel before I get into trouble. My stomach pits and I feel an overwhelming sense of dread as if something evil is looming over me. I felt it when we rode through the town’s streets. Just before you got dragged off your horse, it got so bad that I felt sick.”

  “That sounds like a form of precognition,” Darolen said from the fire. “If he can be trained to hone that ability…”

  Kerac snorted and shifted. “I don’t think there is training for precognition. Either Phaerith strengthens it, or he does not.” He combed his fingers through Valis’ hair and sighed as he looked down. “The next time you have that feeling, Valis, tell us. It may save us all from future unwanted molestation.”

  Valis shuddered and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I will.”

  “Good.” He gave Valis a playful shove off his lap and swatted his backside. “To the fire. Supper is nearly ready.”

  Food sounded wonderful, but Valis hesitated. “There’s something else.”

  Both Kerac and Darolen looked at him, gave him their full attention. Darolen nodded. “What is it?”

  “When I was running, I glanced back. There were five guards chasing me, but something shimmered beside them.” He shivered and hugged his knees as he sat next to Kerac at the fire. The younger of the two Aesriphos wrapped a warm arm about his shoulders, just enough comfort that Valis went on. “An arrow narrowly missed my head, hit the tree next to me. It—it was… the shaft was surrounded by black magic.”

  Kerac hissed, but did little more than kiss Valis’ temple. “Let us worry about that. Darolen and I will shield us and keep an eye out. Let’s eat before your stomach starts scaring away the wildlife.”

  If he hadn’t believed them before, hadn’t trusted them, they now had all of Valis’ trust and more.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next week crawled by. The threat of his uncle chasing them seemed to be put to the side as Valis kept getting more morose every day. Valis shifted in his saddle and stared down at his hands. He snugged his winter cloak about his shoulders. Every time he looked at his hands, he saw the phantom smears of blood. Every time he smelled cooked meat now, he smelled the gore. He tried to turn his attention away from it. Even with gloves, he saw the blood, and it sickened him, and made him want to regress back into a catatonic state. But, he couldn’t do that to Darolen and Kerac. They had enough to worry about without him making things worse. He already made things worse, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

  The early days of winter raged around them, spitting snow some days, blowing gusts of freezing wind on others. The only sounds that reached his ears seemed to be the endless crunch of crusted snow under hooves, the creak and squeal of wagon wheels in desperate need of oil and repair, and the beasts’ snorts. The only reprieve from that monotony was that Kerac kept trying to talk to him, and that became a monotony all its own. Every time, he asked the same questions. Are you all right? Do you want to talk about it? What can I do?

  Every time, Valis answered with silence. What could Kerac or Darolen do? Nothing.

  “Talk to me, Valis,” Kerac murmured from his side. “I worry.”

  At least he started with something new. When he looked over, Kerac held out a pouch of jerky. Valis shook his head and returned his gaze to his hands, trying desperately not to see the bandits blood glistening at him. Trying not to hear the squish of his boots in the congealed mess after beheading the bastard. “I’m not hungry.”

  In truth, even the smell of food made Valis’ stomach roil with nausea. It took every ounce of his control and force of will to eat the three main meals, and even then he had trouble eating more than a few mouthfuls. Meat upset his stomach worse than anything else. Even though he knew it tasted wonderful, all he could really taste was tacky gore.

  Kerac pressed the pouch of jerky to his shoulder. “You need to eat, Valis.”

  Anger welled in his gut and he took a deep breath to try to tame it. “I told you. I’m not hungry.”

  Darolen glanced over his shoulder from the front and frowned. “You tried, Kerac. Leave him be.”

  When Darolen turned back around, Kerac sighed and tucked the jerky back into his saddlebag. Valis shivered and pulled the cloak about himself tighter. He ducked his head and pulled up the hood, more to block out Kerac’s worried frown in his periphery than to keep out the chill.

  “Valis…” Sorrow tinged Kerac’s voice, but he said nothing else. When Valis looked over again, Kerac had dropped back to the end of the line. He stayed there until they stopped to camp for the night.

  Once Valis dismounted, he set to work as he did every evening. First the tent, then the horses. Though, as he removed his father from the rump of the pack horse, he stared at him.

  Roba’s face, aglow with the golden stasis spell, stared up at him. His expression remained the same from when the paladins cast the spell. His brows knitted together with intent and rage. His mouth remained ever open in an unending silent scream. The tension and hate in those features opened an icy pit in Valis’ stomach.

  He dropped his father onto the ground and relished the meaty thud that met his ears. It took all in his power not to kick the prone man. Valis knew that if Roba had landed face up, he wouldn’t have been able to resist that urge. Even with the way he landed face down, his body contorted into a shapeless heap, he wanted nothing more than to kick and kick until his toes broke, until Roba’s entire body was a single mass of shattered bone, mottled bruise, and shredded flesh. Wasn’t that what he’d done to Valis all his life? He’d broken bones. Left so many bruises that Valis couldn’t remember them all. Left deep gouges in his skin and let them fester for days before he’d magically heal them so there would be no evidence if someone happened by for a visit. Now Valis’ soul cried out for revenge, and the only thing stopping him was a thin thread of thought that Sovras would be upset. He hadn’t dreamed of his God since before he’d left the farmstead, but even if the kind, gentle soul was only a dream, the thought of him stayed Valis’ reactions. …For now.

  As he tended the horses, though, Valis imagined what it would be like to finally be free of the man. He still couldn’t imagine the supposed blissful freedom, warmth and friendship his Aesriphos companions kept promising, but freedom from the monster who had made his entire life a living nightmare sounded like enough bliss to carry him well into his gray years. He shivered with the thought. No father, no uncle, no crazy aunt. Just Darolen and Kerac, maybe others he could learn to trust. A few people close to him to keep the nightmares of his youth at bay. It seemed impossible, and the more he dwelt on it, the more seething rage welled up in Valis’ gut and made the world tinge red. Chath shied away from him with a neigh as he went to remove his bridle. The horse refused to let him near. With a frustrated sigh, he stalked toward the beast.

  “Stop it, Chath,” he said through clenched teeth. He lunged for the reins and jerked them toward him. Irritation clogged Valis’ chest until breathing became a chore. When Chath sidestepped again, he lowered his voice another octave. “If you don’t get over here, you get no feed bag.”

  Chath neighed his distress and pranced to the side. With each jerk of the gelding’s head, Valis advanced and pulled the reins tighter. With each sidestep, Valis met him.

  “Valis!” Kerac shouted. “Be gentle with the horses. You made Chath step on your father!” He rushed over from the fire and knelt next to the Mage Lord to check his leg. “Be more careful. You could have injured him,” he stressed.

  Something in Valis’ mind snapped. He threw the reins at Chath’s face. With Darolen’s shield in place, Chath ran into the golden barrier and screamed. Valis ignored the beast’s frantic attempts at escape as he stormed toward Kerac and the heap on the ground.

  “So what if he’s injured?” Valis yelled. His hands shook as his lips writhed back from his teeth in disgust. “That monster killed my mother! He tried to kill me! He made my entire life into a s
ea of pain and misery, and you’re worried that I injured him?”

  Kerac reared back from the onslaught, eyes wide. “Valis, he—”

  “He should be dead!” Valis screamed. “Not in stasis! Not in comfort on a horse’s back! NOT ALIVE!”

  With each sentence, he kicked Roba’s side until his toes hurt. A hand gripped his shoulder and snatched him back. Valis twisted until he freed himself and landed another kick to the Mage Lord’s side with a scream that left his throat raw. “He should be dead! He has no right to live! No right!”

  That hand grabbed Valis’ shoulder again and jerked. Valis whirled around and swung his fist for Darolen’s face. The Aesriphos easily dodged. His fist caved in Valis’ gut and knocked the wind out of him so fast he gagged and spat rancid bile into the grass.

  “Enough!” Darolen roared. Roba’s voice overlaid it, just like it had back at the farmstead. Just like it had every time Darolen tried to assert his authority. For a single breath, Darolen and Roba were the same man, the same voice, inspiring the same terror. It was the same pitch, the same tone Roba used every time he came after Valis with either murder or savage delight in his eyes, bent on causing pain and injury for fun or grim necessity to his god.

  Valis struggled to breathe. His lungs heaved as he staggered back. Panic bloomed in his chest. The fury in Darolen’s craggy face turned Valis’ stomach to ice. He turned and ran. His feet flew over the grass, scattering the screaming horses to either side.

  Just as his breath came back to him, Valis bounced off Darolen’s shield. He shrieked. Trapped! I’m trapped! No… “NO!” His hands clawed at the shield as he tried to dig through it. It had never kept him confined before. He had always been able to pass through the shield, but now his nose bled, proof he had bounced off a golden, glimmering wall that suddenly seemed sinister. Darolen caught him by the waist and spun him around, sending another spike of panic into Valis’ blood.