by Clayton Wood
“What?” Yala blurted out. “We passed the other Trials,” she protested. “You can’t do this!”
“You didn’t pass the Trials,” Thorius countered. He gestured at Gammon. “Gammon won the first Trial, fighting valiantly against an Ironclad and surviving. Sukri won the second Trial. You two,” he added, gesturing at Udeln and Yala, “…contributed nothing.”
“What?” Udeln exclaimed. “We…”
“The Guild has chosen,” Master Thorius interjected. He gestured at Gammon and Sukri. “You may proceed.”
They both stayed where they were.
“Don’t do it,” Udeln urged. “Don’t do this guys…it’s just a test. You’re not supposed to kill us!”
“That’s right,” Yala agreed. “That’s the test.”
“Proceed,” Master Thorius repeated, his expression stony.
Sukri glanced up at Gammon, who stared back at her. She saw his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed, saw him turn back to face Thorius.
“This is murder,” he protested.
“Indeed,” Thorius agreed. “And you would be sentenced to death if anyone found out about it.”
“Then we can’t do it,” Sukri protested. Master Thorius turned to her.
“This is what binds you to the Guild,” he explained. “You and every Seeker who has ever passed their Trials.”
Gammon shook his head.
“This isn’t right,” he protested. “I won’t do it.” Thorius raised an eyebrow.
“If you fail to execute your responsibilities,” he replied, “…then your colleagues will be freed, and offered the same conditions for entry into the guild…by killing you two.”
“This is bullshit,” Udeln blurted out. “Don’t do it guys!”
“Indeed,” Master Thorius stated. “He would want you to spare him. Are you so sure he’ll return the favor?”
“You can’t do this,” Yala protested.
“Proceed,” Master Thorius commanded, “…or your roles will be reversed.”
“And what if we don’t kill them,” Sukri said, “…and they don’t kill us?”
“Then none of you will become Seekers,” Thorius answered.
“What does that mean?” Sukri pressed.
“Proceed,” Thorius replied, his eyes hardening. “I will not ask again.”
“Don’t do it,” Udeln insisted. “Guys, it’s a trick! Remember the last Trial!”
Sukri glanced at Gammon, who stared back at her. She shook her head. This wasn’t right…she couldn’t kill someone in cold blood. It was murder…and she was not a murderer. Neither of them were.
Gammon hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder. She felt a sudden calmness come over her, mixed with sad resignation. He withdrew his hand, turning to face Yala. He strode forward, stopping before the woman. Yala stared up at him, her eyes wide.
“Gammon, no,” she pleaded, shaking her head. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Gammon, don’t do this. I would never do this to you, you know that!”
“Don’t do this Gammon,” Sukri agreed. “This isn’t right.” But the big man ignored her, staring down at Yala, his expression flat. Sukri saw him grip his dagger so hard that his knuckles turned white. He raised the blade, holding it before him. Yala stared at it, her eyes widening, her face turning deathly pale.
“Don’t do it big guy,” she begged, shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t do it.”
Gammon said nothing, staring down at her. Then he reached forward, grabbing her by the hair and forcing her head back, exposing her neck. He placed the edge of the dagger against her throat, holding it there. His jawline rippled, his lips trembling.
“No Gammon no,” Yala pleaded. “No. Please god no. No!”
Gammon turned to Master Thorius, who nodded.
“Gammon, no!” Yala cried.
He turned back to her, then slid the blade across her neck.
Her pale skin gaped open, blood spurting from the great vessels of her neck. The Seeker holding her let go, and Yala fell to her knees, grabbing her throat with both hands, blood spurting between her fingers and streaming down her arms. She made a horrible gurgling sound, dropping one hand to the copper pan below and crawling toward Thorius, blood pouring from her mouth.
Thorius stared down at her impassively.
Yala slipped, falling face-first onto the pan, then got on all fours. The pulsing at her neck grew weaker, and she stared down at the expanding pool of blood around her, her face terribly pale. Her eyes rolled up into her skull, and she collapsed.
Sukri stared at her in horror, her heart hammering in her chest, sweat pouring down her flanks. She watched as Yala’s breathing slowed, then stopped. Watched her die lying in a pool of her own blood.
Fuck.
Gammon stared down at Yala, his face pale, his eyes moist. But he stood tall, raising his gaze to face Master Thorius.
“Well done,” Thorius stated, nodding at Gammon. He turned to Sukri. “Your turn.”
“No!” Udeln shouted, struggling mightily against his Seeker’s grip. The Seeker held him easily. “Don’t do it Sukri,” he begged.
Sukri stared down at Yala’s corpse, then realized that Gammon had extended the bloody dagger hilt-first toward her. She stared at it mutely.
“You can do it,” Gammon said. “You have to do it.”
“You can’t kill me,” Udeln said. “You can’t, it’s not right!”
Sukri glanced up at Gammon, swallowing past a lump in her throat. The big guy – her gentle giant, a man who wouldn’t hurt a fly – held the hilt of the dagger patiently, waiting. She shook her head at him ever-so-slightly, moisture blurring her vision.
I can’t do this.
Gammon his other hand on her shoulder, and she felt a terrible sadness come over her…and something else. A sudden, intense affection, and a profound protectiveness. A feeling so pure and complete that it made her want to cry. It was beautiful, this feeling. Something she’d been hiding for…
Sukri’s eyes widened, and she jerked away from his touch.
“Gammon?” she blurted out. He sighed, grabbing her hand and turning it over, then placing the hilt of the dagger in her palm and closing her fingers around it.
“Do it.”
She shook her head, her eyes blurring with moisture.
“I can’t,” she protested. “This isn’t us.”
“We can’t be us anymore,” Gammon countered. “We have to be Seekers.”
She turned back to Udeln, who was still struggling, thrashing against his Seeker’s grasp. The second Seeker came beside the first, grabbing Udeln’s head and forcing it backward, exposing the boy’s neck.
“No!” Udeln screamed. “No!”
Sukri took a deep, shuddering breath in, letting it out slowly. Then she put the knife in her lap, gripping the wheels of her wheelchair and rolling herself forward. The wheels hit the edge of the copper pan, and she pushed them hard, forcing the wheels up and over the lip of the pan. She went right up to Udeln, stopping before him.
We can’t be us anymore.
“No Sukri,” Udeln pleaded, tears dripping down his cheeks. A sob burst from his lips, and he began to cry. “Please. I have a daughter.”
She grabbed her dagger, holding it in her right hand. The hilt felt slick against her palm, and she gripped it tightly, her heart thumping in her chest.
“I have a daughter,” Udeln repeated, sobbing again. “Don’t do this!”
Sukri stared at him silently, her lower lip quivering. She pictured him with his daughter, a young girl smiling up at her father.
He’ll do it to you, she thought. He’ll kill you to save himself.
She grit her teeth, staring down at the knife in her hand, at the gleaming metal of the lethal blade. Then she looked up, nodding at one of the Seekers. A chill ran through her, making the hair on her neck stand on end. It was fear…but not of killing.
In that moment, she was afraid of herself. Of what she was about to becom
e.
“Bring him to his knees,” she ordered, surprised at the coldness of her voice. The Seekers obliged, kicking Udeln in the back of the knees, then shoving him downward. They yanked his head back again, and he shrieked, struggling valiantly. But it was no use.
Sukri swallowed past a lump in her throat, then raised her dagger to Udeln’s exposed neck, pressing the edge of the blade against his pale skin. She stared at the pulse there, suddenly terrified at how easy it would be to take his life. One simple act, and his life – his memories, his love for his daughter, his very being – would fade away forever.
I can’t be me anymore.
She turned to glance at Gammon, who gave her a sad smile, nodding once.
She closed her eyes, then cried out, yanking the dagger across Udeln’s throat as hard as she could.
There was a horrible gurgling scream, and then she felt hot wetness on her hand, tricking down her arm. Something struck her in the chest, and she flinched backward, opening her eyes and looking down.
Her uniform was red with blood.
She dropped the dagger and grabbed her wheels, pulling back on them frantically, her right hand slipping, coated with Udeln’s blood. Another spray of hot blood struck her, and she gasped, wheeling herself away quickly. The wheels caught on the lip of the copper pan, and her wheelchair tipped backward. She cried out, feeling herself falling…
And then big hands grabbed her wheelchair, catching it in mid-fall.
Gammon lifted the wheelchair up off of the ground, setting it well clear of Udeln. Sukri stared at her bloody hand and uniform, then turned her eyes to Udeln. Her brain screamed at her not to, to look away.
But she couldn’t.
The Seekers held Udeln’s arms back, keeping him on his knees. His head was tilted backward at an unnatural angle, the muscles of his neck severed. Blood spurted from his arteries, gurgling sounds coming from his severed windpipe. His eyes were wide with terror, his lips open in a silent scream.
Slowly, agonizingly, the spurting weakened, Udeln’s lifeblood draining from him. Sukri watched as it gradually stopped, watched as his life was finally snuffed out. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short gasps.
Oh god oh god…
The Seekers let go of Udeln’s arms, and he fell forward onto his face with a dull thump, never to move again.
Oh god what have I done…
Sukri looked down at her hand, at the hand that’d killed him. The hand coated in his blood. The hand that had murdered an innocent man. Someone’s husband. Someone’s dad.
She stared at that hand, then at the dagger lying on the ground. She had the sudden, mad urge to grab it and cut off her hand. Sever the limb that had done this terrible thing, so that it would no longer be a part of her. She glanced up at Gammon, at her gentle giant, a man who wouldn’t hurt a fly. At his big hand, spattered with the blood of an innocent woman.
What have we become?
“Well done,” she heard Thorius say.
She turned to him, staring at him numbly. He smiled down at her.
“Congratulations on passing your third and final Trial,” he declared. “You are now eligible to become apprentices of the Guild of Seekers…members for life.”
He gestured at the Seekers, who grabbed two black bags from the corner of the room, then slid the corpses into them. The Seekers dragged the bodies out of the room. Then Thorius turned to face Gammon and Sukri again.
“Your apprenticeship…your real training,” he stated, “…begins tomorrow.”
Chapter 29
Dominus limped down the long hallway toward the Royal Chambers, the clang, clang of his cane striking the granite floor echoing off of the walls. He passed row after row of Royal guards as he went, feeling their eyes following him They did not move, did not bow; they lived only for the king. Having spent years absorbing advanced combat skills from the most skilled warriors in the Kingdom’s millennia of existence, they were extraordinarily dangerous. No man in the kingdom could stand against them. A single guard had been known to kill over a dozen armed, skilled opponents single-handedly.
Dominus ignored them, continuing forward. His foot ached terribly, the pain having grown steadily worse over the last few hours. He grimaced, picturing his foot as he’d seen it that morning. The once pale flesh at the site of the amputation had turned bright red, yellow-white fluid oozing from the wound. This despite having finally retrieved the wild Ossae from Vi. A rib from a skarlnex, a small lizard with the ability to heal rapidly, he’d slept with it last night in hopes of absorbing that ability. When he’d woken, he’d half-expected to find his foot having healed somewhat.
How quickly reality had dashed his hopes.
Maybe I need more time, he thought. Some abilities took prolonged exposure to absorb, after all. But he had to be careful…prolonged exposure could, after all, result in unpleasant side effects. Visible side effects.
At long last, he reached the huge double-doors to the Royal Chambers. The single guard standing before it eyed him stonily, carrying a large hollow scepter in one hand. Dominus nodded at him, and the guard turned, placing the end of his scepter into a small hole in one of the doors. He placed his mouth on the other end of the hollow scepter, speaking into it.
“The Duke of Wexford is here to see you,” he stated.
Moments later, there was a loud thunk, followed by a grating sound. Then the doors opened outward, revealing a large room beyond. The Royal Chambers, where Tykus himself had slept for nearly a third of his lifetime. His essence was powerful here; even Dominus, with his formidable will, could feel it.
Dominus strode through the double-doors and into the room beyond.
It was surprisingly small, the king’s bedchamber, no more than ten meters squared, the ceiling a mere four meters high. It was by design, of course. The smaller the room, the closer every inch of it had been to the source…to Tykus. The furniture was made mostly of stone, a huge chandelier hanging above a large bed at the far end of the room. The chandelier was beyond ornate, thousands of crystals glittering in the light cast by lanterns bolted to the walls. The bed was more ornate still, its frame made of pure platinum, the densest of metals. The mattress was supported from below by a single large rectangular slab of transparent crystal. Crystal that contained the most valuable single artifact in the Acropolis…indeed, in the entire world.
And there, at the other end of the room, as far from the bed as possible, Conlan was pacing. He was dressed in a simple white, gold, and blue robe, the colors of the kingdom.
“You called for me?” Dominus inquired. Conlan stopped pacing, glancing up at him as if noticing him for the first time.
“Hello father,” he greeted. He frowned, as if trying to remember what Dominus had asked. “I did,” he replied at last. “Yes.”
Dominus just stood there, leaning on his cane and staring at his son.
“It’s annoying,” Conlan muttered, reaching up to grab the sides of his head. “He’s always here, like he’s trying to burrow through my skull.” He lowered his hands. “I’m fighting him – I am,” he added. “It’s just exhausting, you know?”
“I can only imagine,” Dominus replied. Conlan grimaced.
“You must be enjoying this,” he grumbled. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you father?”
“No,” Dominus answered. And to his surprise, he meant it. As egotistical as his son could be, watching him suffer…watching him struggle for his life, for his very soul…was difficult. Far more so than he’d expected.
“Yes, well,” Conlan muttered. “I’m strong. I’m still myself.”
“You are,” Dominus agreed. Still, he could already see some subtle changes. Conlan’s hair was a shade lighter, a bright golden hue. His skin was paler, his chin stronger. And he could swear that Conlan was a little taller. The Ossae were imposing themselves on him, slowly but surely. The transformation had already begun.
“No one has ever resisted him for this long,” Conlan continued, sti
ll pacing. “When I’m done proving my strength, when I’ve proven that Tykus can’t have me…”
He trailed off, stopping in mid-stride, staring off at nothing. Then he blinked, turning to Dominus.
“What was I saying?”
“When you’ve proven that Tykus can’t have you,” Dominus prompted. Conlan nodded.
“I’ll be king, father. I’ll be king. I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about the policies I’ll enact. How I’ll restructure the kingdom.” He shook his head. “Things have been stagnant for too long, father,” he added. “It’s time for change.”
“Perhaps so,” Dominus stated noncommittally.
“We have to change,” Conlan insisted. “Other governments have. Look at the Kingdom of the Deep,” he continued. “They’re not afraid of using wild artifacts. Of making people better, stronger, faster.” He shook his head. “What happens when everyone is doing that but us? We’ll be left behind!”
“No,” Dominus retorted, putting a hand on Conlan’s shoulder. “When everyone else does that, we won’t fall behind. They will. And we’ll be the last ones standing. The only kingdom left that will keep humanity alive.”
* * *
Hunter shifted his weight in his seat, his left butt cheek numb after hours of sitting. Vi, who hadn’t said much of anything since their last conversation, was staring out the window. The Deadlands had long since given way to the forest, the trees on either side of the King’s Road standing some thirty feet away. Far enough, Hunter imagined, to avoid corrupting the carriage…and the people within.
“We’re getting close,” Vi stated suddenly.
“Hmm?”
“To the jump point,” Vi clarified. “Another half kilometer and we should be there.”
“Then what?”
“We go through the forest on foot,” Vi answered. “And meet up with our guides.”
“Guides?”
“Seekers my client hired,” Vi explained.
“Wait, I thought hiring you was illegal,” Hunter pressed. She’d been the one to tell him that it was against the law to hire non-guilded Seekers, after all. She smirked.
