by Marc Mulero
The assassin returned a piercing stare. “I’m here because of Valor and Aslock. I can use the power that they wield to end these threats.”
“You’re in for an interesting ride…”
Their boots were saturated from crossing over the wet sand. Bitter cold climbed their limbs and slowed the blood flow, freezing their veins. Every minute spent in the tundra was another to delay them. But they steered onward. They had to. Away from the ocean’s waves and icy grounds and toward a landscape blanketed with snow.
Wooosh.
Vapor kicked up from the wind, spraying into their mouths and swathing their bodies, leaving Blague and Lesh to shiver as they trudged on, but not Orin for some reason. It was as if he’d learned to manifest Cryos as heat, like the Neraphis had for the Citadel…
Hm… Blague couldn’t help but wonder.
Finally, Orin peered up from his trance and then turned quickly behind. Here, there, everywhere… they’d crossed into a realm of natural structures – where rocks were tall and twisted like buildings of earthly stone. But while he was preoccupied, Blague and Lesh were both drawn elsewhere - to the sky. Their heads lifted to track a hint of movement on one of the rocks. When their vision focused, it had already disappeared, fleeting like a spot in their vision. But there was something.
“What was-” Blague tried to say as his father pushed past them like it didn’t matter at all.
Orin just continued peering at the ground and kicked some snow from his trail. “Pay it no mind. Just a scout. The Neraphis now know of our presence is all.”
The assassin removed the layer of clothing blocking her knives, suffering the cold to gain some comfort.
“Relax, my dear,” Orin said, wiping snow from the floor with a bare hand. “If we were in danger, you would know.”
The ancient man appeared satisfied with the symbols he found under the frost. He rose with an eye pinched closed and one arm held outward, assessing a path that seemingly led straight into the rumbling ocean, toward a gigantic edifice in the midst of it. After a long breath in, he walked a rigid line as he’d done many times before.
That’s when it hit him – Blague’s mind was suddenly struck with a flash of recognition. “This is it,” he answered, looking toward a structure of entangled stone looming over them. “This is the one.”
A tower different from the rest, but not to the naked eye. No. You had to know what you were looking for… that tint of blue outlining its shell ever so faintly. Cryos. It was the Cryos radiating to warm it. Something that, when seen, couldn’t be unseen. The ridges were more uniform than its counterparts too. Organized, manmade – or Neraphis-made rather.
The symmetrical outlines all climbed upward toward the sky pointing above the stone were something he’d only heard of from Biljin, from the stories when Aslock had captured him. A prismatic casing, like glass, or something else translucent to the point of almost being invisible. Looking upon this place took his breath away, just like Biljin said it would.
Blague shook his head free of wonder and leveled his gaze to the tower’s long and wide foundation that stretched down into the ocean’s depths like roots of a tree, forming a burg of fitting size to hold an entire community. How the Society constructed such a home was beyond their knowing.
While Blague was admiring, however, Orin was doing – he paced forward with his two travelers at his back in single file. Where was he walking? Straight into a body of water? Why wasn’t he slowing down? The other two grew more hesitant with every step. That is, until something profound took hold of Orin.
“His feet… they aren’t sinking. What-” Lesh turned to Blague in a brief moment of awe.
Orin’s boots barely skimmed the surface with every step. There was nothing under them for it to make any sense. Nothing at all, just the sea.
Lesh unsheathed two knives out of habit. It was clear she was uncomfortable.
And as if things couldn’t get any weirder, the vast entrance began to beam a vibrant blue… challenging them all… to what? Turn away? Runic symbols became resplendent one by one, from the middle cascading outward. All the while waves crashed into the stone walls and broke off, stirring small clashes of thunder every time. All of it was daunting. Turn away, indeed.
But then Orin folded his cloths back to reveal two Cryos stained forearms. A counter, a response. With tightening fists, he ignited his arms to life with blue fire. He bolstered them, signifying that he knew how to activate the chemical, that he was worthy to enter.
What must have been the Citadel’s door replied back with highlights of its own. More symbols became resplendent with promise and the entrance cracked open with acceptance.
“Okay…” Lesh said, not sure whether she should be more disturbed or more at ease.
Then a hooded figure suddenly emerged out front, standing draped in a black cover with silver trim, beckoning his guests with silence.
On his pass through into the enclosed intermediate hallway, Orin gave a nod to Aslock, who awaited their admittance.
Blague rested a hand on the Neraphis back and said, “Glad you didn’t have to knock me out this time.”
Lesh gripped her knives tightly even though the man’s mantle was familiar, eyeing his obscured face without fear.
“I guess you can see right through me now, Blague,” Aslock said, removing his hood to reveal a long face and lengthy silver locks. “Orin, it has been too long, old friend.”
Orin stood facing the wall that blocked him from the rest of the Society, his cloudy eyes shifting to meet the Neraphis’. “It has. It is unfortunate I come with matters in need of urgent attention.”
“Business as usual. Only showing face when you need something,” Aslock responded lightly. “Do not worry, Halewyn knows you are here.”
The intermediate structure ignited with Cryos markings, and proceeded to open.
“Does she come with a key?” Aslock motioned to Lesh.
“I have eight keys that open plenty,” she responded sharply, twirling one of her knives in hand.
Aslock laughed. “Is that any way to greet someone who saved your hide?”
She smirked.
“Valor will have to vouch for her admittance and there will be a price for anything further,” he warned Blague.
“We’ll speak of such matters in private. If you will, Elder, we need to get started,” Blague respectfully requested.
The construct opened to reveal the tranquil, humid palace that was the Neraphis main hall. Lesh wanted to take it all in… the strange smell of sulfur, the rows of cloaked monks seemingly in a trance, the steam blanketing the air, all of it, but Orin wouldn’t let her.
“Give my regards to Soros,” he told Aslock before stomping past all of them, breaking the quietness of the space like a bull in a china shop. There was one destination. Just one: Halewyn, who waited at the foot of the steps to greet an old adept.
Hood pushed back, wavy black hair cascading down to his neck, glowing eyes accentuating that tribal marking coming to a point under his lid, the silence was deafening until the Eldest broke it.
“Orin, welcome home.”
Eugene surrendered to the spectral matter beckoning him. He closed his eyes, allowing dark tendrils to spin webs around his body, to drag him under from a realm of anxious thought.
“Hmm,” he sighed audibly, sinking lower with less anguish and little care. His face was last to be swallowed – tendrils wrapping him like streaks of hot tar, but it didn’t hurt. He could still breathe even though it looked like he was being smothered. Dark and grimy as these vines may have been, they felt like cool comforters – a wet towel on a hot day – relief. And with that came a sense of protection.
“M-mom?”
He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe a feeling of being devoid of responsibility. Nothing could reach him in these depths. Not his haunting regrets nor his lack of control. This was the solitude that he’d sought.
Now he could lay weightless in the midst of a black sea, whe
re he was spilt into a universe with an underwater sensation. He couldn’t see water, no. There was no evidence of it, but it was there. Right? Even though he could see clearly… he was underwater, wasn’t he?
“No need to panic.” His breathing was infinitely slower than it was above. “This dead space is a godsend.”
Looking to his left he felt his arm rise, then to his right, more of the same. The darkness was cupping his limbs, forgiving him for his transgressions and lifting the weight that he bore for a lifetime.
“I wish the world felt like this back when I was in it…”
Gravity was that of a lesser planet or a moon. It was bliss - a womb of nurture, a realm of unburdening nothingness. And after a long inhale with closed eyes, they relaxed open to see a dim light flickering into existence.
“Another memory.” He started to see it form. This one wasn’t forced on him though… or at least that’s what he thought. “It’s okay. Play it out. Go ahead,” he whispered to the light. “Mmhm. Go ahead.”
There was nothing challenging about this reminiscence, nothing to cause him to run.
“Oh that’s why I said it,” he said to himself, almost laughing completely out of character.
His mother materialized, smiling at him, then after a sole blink, he was on an unending beach right beside her. He watched her flick sand off his eyes, making him feel like a small child.
“Mom,” he repeated, meeting her smile, admiring her dirty blond hair that was just like his. He went to feel a strand that fell over her leaning shoulder, to make sure it was there. It was. He could feel the grains of silt tucked in between her hair, could see them sparkling in the sunlight surrounding her form. She looked like an angel.
“This is what it was like, Genie,” her soft voice spoke. “We used to do this every day when I was your age, back when the world was free.”
Eugene’s eyes became heavy with comfort. The warmth of his mother’s voice and the sight of her face drew him back to adolescence. Responsibility was on her to keep him safe, letting him enjoy this moment.
She looked away to grab sunblock. “Now things are a little different, but your father works hard for us so we can share days like this one.” She turned back with a handful of white cream that she playfully slapped on young Eugene’s chest. “When you’re all grown up, you’ll be a great Remdon protector of the Hiezers, like your father is. You will be proud and strong.” She took his arm and flexed it for him. “You’ll find a beautiful girl, and you’ll take her to the beach when you’re able. You’ll have beautiful kids with her and do the same for them.” A smile brightened her face as she lathered him up and spread the lotion onto his skin.
A serene grin crawled up his face. “I could stay here forever,” he told himself, bending his arms to rest his hands behind his head. He could almost smell the ocean brought forth by the wind, and the fresh air that came with it.
“It’s going to be tough, Genie, but mommy will always be with you.” She cupped his face with her warm hands, staring lovingly into his eyes.
She then strolled away from her son and rested on the blanket rippling in the wind, pressing her elbows into nooks of sand while enjoying the heated breeze. Eugene looked to her and felt a tingle of coziness run from his scalp down through his spine. A euphoric sensation of security relaxed his entire body. He sighed, but not his ordinary disapproving exhale - this was one of reprieve. Whatever plane of consciousness he had sunk to, it was the most peaceful experience in his adult life. The memory revived a very infantile time in his being, one of pure lightheartedness and total reliance on another to protect him.
The guilt of betrayal escaped his mind, and tension caused by looming threats gradually left his bones. Relentless reminders of failure were fleeting out from his mind, until there was nothing but the sound of seagulls talking, a beachy waft passing, and waves breaking all around him.
“It’s okay,” he told himself. “It’s all going to be okay.”
Muffled shouting shook the quiet end of a bolted door, testing Kentin’s courage. He had paced away from the unwelcoming entrance over and over with second thoughts, each time bested by fear. Nightmares of his father dying to protect him were drowned out by something even worse: Dendrid.
All he could remember from that horrific night was turning around to see a set of dead eyes above him and the shine of a sharp blade ready to claim his life. And now, he contemplated facing that terror again. With time, he summoned the nerve to face his demon. The boy’s hand was trembling, but curiosity pushed it forward.
Milos was right behind him for support, feeling the same storm of emotions as his closest Sin… but for different reasons. It was the death of a friend - a broken promise - that caused his tremors. Flashes of Oosnie’s face may as well have been a recurring night terror for how often it made him quiver. Anything to distract his mind from Oosnie would do. Anything.
He rubbed his rusted shackles together to scratch nervous itches on his wrists. “I won’t be a ball of useless energy,” he spoke lowly to himself. “I won’t. No matter how much it hur-” he stopped himself. Here it came… that lump in his throat he had to force down for the umpteenth time. He reached into his pocket again. He had to. He had to look at the silver case once more.
Click.
He had unfastened its lock with two fingers and popped open the container, holding his breath all the while. It was hard for him to stare down at its contents - the flower - but he did, and what he found was the same dark comparison as before. A wilted, deathly thing, like she now was.
His black hair fell over his treasure like a weeping willow. “I know I can’t keep my promises, Oosnie, but I can’t give up either, can I?” He clapped the case shut with a grip so tight that his knuckles turned white. “And to you, mom, I’ll make you proud.”
The boys entered a room to see eleven battered souls venting their sorrows toward one man. One man stuck in a single prison. Dendrid paid them no mind though, sitting patiently behind bars with arms resting over knees – long fingers hanging to his shins were meant to play the largest piano of the Old World, in another time maybe. Layers of dark blue hair dragged down, covering his face, shutting the mob of families out.
Why were they standing so far back from his cage as if an invisible divider prevented them from getting any closer? They shouted at him, questioned him, and cried at him, all at once. But were they scared?
The Mentis Shade lifted his head to stare at the faces twisting to admonish him. “Fear and anger are comical when acting together. Words contradicting actions… how pathetic,” the tone of his scratchy voice broke through the screams. “Step closer to your demon, Sins, if that’s what you desire,” he said with a smile.
Milos pushed forward first, nudging Kentin out of his way to walk in between the rift that separated mob and murderer. The act disrupted the entire area, vanquishing all voice and all sound so abruptly that the silence left a ringing in the boy’s ears. All attention was his now, nervous and otherwise. Even Dendrid, whose eyes followed him as he fearlessly approached the cage.
“You think making fun of these people is going to get you out of here?” Milos asked, his voice hoarse from mourning.
Dendrid flinched, causing a woman to shriek and grab Milos’ shoulder to pull him back. The boy shrugged the woman’s panicked hand off of him and looked back at her. “Don’t worry, miss, I’ve had his sword around my neck, and I’m still here. He won’t kill me,” he said, fixing an eye on her through his curls.
The boy turned back to the killer, who smirked at him. “Didn’t you hear Blague when he sentenced you? These are the families that you tore apart,” he said, slowly wrapping his hands around the bars. “You should be begging them for forgiveness.”
Dendrid hopped onto his feet and knelt to be eye-level with Milos. “You have neither fear nor anger in your heart, child. Could it be?” He paused to peer into the boy’s eyes. “Are you a killer, too?” he toyed with Milos, pretending he didn’t witness him open the
guard’s throat in Death Valley.
Fearlessness may have separated Milos from the people around him, but guilt rang loudly between his ears, bringing him back to level ground. He let go of the bars slowly, pulling away from the man so accurately scrutinizing him.
“I had to,” he whispered.
Dendrid sneered and said, “We are the same, then.”
“Far from it!” Kentin exclaimed, appalled at the idea.
Dendrid ignored the stocky kid’s outburst and kept his fixation on Milos. “I was around your age when I took my first life, too.”
“Then how can you sit there and smile at us, like this is all a big joke?”
The Mentis Shade zoned out, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath of pleasure, briefly experiencing a different plane. After a long, uncomfortable silence, he finally broke it. “You will see one day, that if you’re meant to do something, the world will bring you to your knees and compel you to do it over and over again.” He balled his fists. “I’m a slave to my talents. I returned here in faith to use them with a more noble idea fueling them.” He raised his eyes to the families behind Milos and said, “You see, the amusement, is that I am here again as a slave, despite my efforts.”
“You should be tortured and hanged for what you’ve done to my wife!” a man shouted through gritted teeth.
Dendrid stared at the man, unfazed by his anger. “I should, it’s true… but what a waste that would be.” He turned around and made his way back to his seat. “If not me, it would have been someone else. Maybe even an army. The certainties remain. Mulderan would have been broken free. It was just a matter of when and how. Using me was the road of least casualties. I am merely one of many tools for war. The Sins would be wise to get off their high horse and use the weapons they’re gifted.”
Milos peered over at Kentin, giving him a look of agreement with the bloodthirsty prisoner. “He could’ve killed us in Death Valley,” he said quietly while the families picked up their own chatter.
