by Clayton Wood
“Thank you, Farkus,” Dominus stated suddenly.
“For what, your Grace?”
“For taking care of me all of these years.”
“I took care of us, your Grace.”
Dominus paused, staring at his hives. Then he sighed.
“If you were my blood,” he stated quietly, “…I would have made you my heir.”
“I know, your Grace.”
Dominus leaned forward then, gripping one of the wooden frames from the nearest box and pulling it upward. Bees buzzed around him disturbed by the movement, but he paid them no mind. He peered at the honeycomb, at the cells within, but saw only drone cells.
He lowered the frame, picking up the next one…and smiled.
There, at the bottom of the frame, was a large, domed cell hanging downward. A queen cell, already sealed. After he’d killed the failed queen, the nurse bees had been alerted. A larva had already been fed the royal jelly, that mysterious, powerful essence. It alone had the power to make a queen, and make a queen it had.
Dominus stared at the cell, wondering if this queen would be strong.
He replaced the frame carefully, grimacing as a bee stung his hand. He ignored this, wheeling himself away from the boxes, bees crawling over him. He waited for them to leave, which of course they did. Then he sighed.
His hives would not survive in their current state, he knew. The next Duke would not be interested in maintaining them, not well anyway…and Farkus could do it, but he was too old to live much longer. The integrity of the hives would become compromised, losing their carefully bred excellence over time. Their neglect would lead to the loss of their fine qualities, to the inevitable descent toward mediocrity.
Dominus stared at the boxes, the product of a lifetime of care, countless hours of work. That they would all be lost not to destruction or disease, but to sheer entropy, was almost too much to bear.
He had the sudden urge to destroy them.
He turned to Farkus, and nearly told him to arrange for it. But then he saw one of his guards walking into view, striding through the long grass toward them. He frowned.
“What is it?” he asked as the guard stopped before him, bowing deeply.
“A visitor, your Grace,” the guard replied. “A Seeker.”
“Bring her here,” Dominus snapped. “At once.” The guard hesitated.
“It’s a man, your Grace.”
“Then bring him here,” Dominus commanded impatiently. The guard bowed, leaving them. Dominus saw movement to his right, and glanced to the side, realizing that Farkus was holding his cane, offering it to him.
“In case you feel like…walking, your Grace,” Farkus explained with a slight smirk. Dominus took the cane, holding it in his right hand.
“Thank you, Farkus.”
Moments later, the guard returned with another man at his side. Somewhat shorter, with broad shoulders and short brown hair. A mutt; hardly representative of the great people of the Acropolis.
“Duke Dominus,” the man greeted, bowing deeply.
“Edgar,” Dominus replied. He glanced down at the man’s hands, in which a sizable obsidian box was clutched. Obsidian, formed of molten rock deep within the earth, what some called neutral stone. It was the standard container to carry an important artifact in.
“Show me,” he ordered, gesturing at the box. Edgar complied, unlocking the lid, then opening it. He hesitated, glancing at the guard, then pulled something out of it.
A head.
Dominus stared at it, his breath catching in his throat. It was an Ironclad, that was clear. But a thick, translucent membrane sat atop its skull, traveling down to the back of its severed neck. The membrane was collapsed, folded on itself, but faint blue light came from it, the thinnest film of luminescent fluid held within. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt the faintest glimmer of hope.
“Put it back,” Dominus ordered. “Hand the box to me.”
Edgar complied, and Dominus set the box on his lap, resting his cane against his wheelchair. He looked up at the Seeker.
“What of the others?” he inquired. Edgar fidgeted.
“Traven is dead,” he stated. Dominus’s brow furrowed.
“Who?”
“The Seeker I was with,” Edgar clarified. “That kid killed him. Almost killed me.”
“The Original?”
“Yeah,” Edgar confirmed.
“So he’s still alive,” Dominus murmured. Edgar nodded silently. “What of Vi?” Dominus pressed.
“She came out of the cave before the kid,” Edgar answered. “Gave us the head. She was hurt pretty bad,” he added. “Arm was chopped off. She said something about an Ironclad…something bigger than that one,” he added, gesturing at the box on Dominus’s lap. “A female.”
“A female?” Dominus inquired, raising an eyebrow. He frowned then, gazing at the hives nearby. “And what of Vi?”
“Dead,” Edgar answered. “Traven killed her.”
“You’re sure?” Dominus pressed. Edgar nodded.
“Saw it myself,” he confirmed. “Squashed her head like a melon.”
“And you burned the body, of course,” Dominus stated. Edgar stared at him.
“Uh…”
Dominus sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. It was moist with sweat.
“You didn’t, did you,” he muttered.
“No your Grace,” Edgar confessed.
“I specifically stated that her body was to be burned if she retrieved the head,” Dominus pressed. Edgar swallowed visibly.
“We couldn’t,” he protested. “She pulled herself out of a stream…she was soaking wet.”
“Ah,” Dominus replied. “I see.” He lifted the box from his lap then, twisting around and placing it on the ground beside him. Then he turned back to Edgar, smiling at him. “Thank you for your services,” he stated. “You’ve done well.”
“Thank you, your Grace.”
“You are dismissed,” Dominus stated. Edgar hesitated, then bowed deeply.
And Dominus reached for his cane, pressing the button on its head with his thumb. He unsheathed its blade, slashing the man’s throat in one smooth motion.
Edgar stood up from his bow, not even realizing what had happened. His head continued to fall back, the severed muscles at the front of his neck unable to counteract those on the back. The wound on his neck gaped open, blood spurting from it in long, crimson jets.
Edgar fell to his knees, clutching at his throat, his eyes wide with shock.
Dominus watched as the man struggled in vain to staunch the bleeding, crawling over the ground on his hands and knees. Terrible choking and gurgling sounds came from his throat, blood spraying on the grass beneath him. Edgar made it a few meters before collapsing, before his life was finally snuffed out.
Dominus sighed then, reassembling his cane and setting it aside, then picking up the box and putting it back on his lap, ignoring the blood that had spattered his clothes. He glanced up at his guard, who was staring at Edgar’s body mutely, his face pale.
“Dispose of the body,” Dominus requested. The guard turned to him, bowing deeply.
“Yes your Grace.”
Dominus nodded at Farkus, gesturing at the castle. The servant picked up Dominus’s cane, then got behind him, wheeling him through the grass. Dominus glanced at the body as he passed, then eyed the guard.
“And burn the body,” he added, giving the guard a tight smile. “Please.”
Chapter 38
Sukri sat in her wheelchair in the great hall of the Guild of Seekers, a huge two-story room as big as a large chapel. Gammon stood at her side, looking rather handsome in his crisp white initiate uniform. Over a hundred Seekers stood behind them, with Master Thorius standing a few meters to the side. One story above, at the front of the great hall, was a large, white marble balcony. She glanced up at it, feeling ill at ease. It wouldn’t be long before the ceremony began – their formal ascendance to apprentices of the Guild of Seekers.
But she’d always wanted more.
Her mother had tried to steer her away from these ideas. Foolish dreams, she’d called them. A woman should find a good man, start a family. Women were nurturers, after all, not fighters. But in the end, Sukri had been, well, Sukri. She’d never known how to be normal, and frankly, never wanted to be.
Sukri glanced at Master Thorius, who gave her a slight smile, nodding at her. She forced herself to smile back, knowing that she was supposed to be happy now. Her lifelong dream was finally coming true, after all.
But she didn’t feel happy.
She glanced sidelong at Gammon, who was staring up at the balcony above. They hadn’t spoken much since the night of their final Trial. Not of anything substantial, anyway. She felt guilty, knowing how hard it must be for Gammon. He’d finally confided in her, revealing his terrible secret, and she’d rejected him. Thrown it back in his face. He’d sacrificed everything for her. Killed for her.
The sudden, low beat of a drum sounded from above, like the heartbeat of a great beast echoing through the great hall. Sukri returned her gaze to the balcony, spotting a man walking up to the edge, tall and regal. He was dressed in the typical black and gold uniform of a Seeker, but with countless rows of medals on his chest. A black and gold cape flowed behind him, so long that it touched the floor. He had snow white hair, long and wavy, with a full beard and striking silver eyes. He must have been in his sixties, but few lines marred his face.
Everyone in the room bowed deeply. Sukri and Gammon followed suit, having been prepared by Master Thorius.
“Good evening,” the man greeted, resting his hand on the ornate stone railing. His voice was deep, almost hypnotically so, and it carried across the huge room effortlessly. “I am Zeno, High Seeker of the Guild of Seekers.”
The drums stopped.
“We are here today to celebrate our newest candidates for the Guild of Seekers,” Zeno stated. He smiled down at Sukri and Gammon. “Congratulations on passing your Trials.”
The gathered Seekers applauded, and Zeno allowed this for a moment, then raised one hand for silence. The crowd hushed.
“Becoming a Seeker is a great honor,” he continued. “And a grave responsibility.” He gazed at the two. “As a Seeker, your allegiance is to the guild, and the guild only. There can be no other.”
“Yes High Seeker,” Sukri stated, Gammon doing the same. Again, as Master Thorius had instructed.
“You must trust that the wisdom of the guild is greater than your own,” Zeno stated sternly. “That my wisdom is greater than your own.” He paused. “Do you swear allegiance to the guild?”
“Yes High Seeker.”
Zeno smiled tightly.
“Prove it.”
Sukri heard shouting from behind, and she turned, seeing two Seekers entering the room through double-doors at the rear of it. They were escorting two boys, each dressed in white and blue uniforms…the regalia of lower nobility. They looked like teenagers, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with long blond hair and blue eyes. She realized that their hands were bound behind them…and that they were the ones who’d been shouting.
“Release me!” one of them ordered, trying to shove the Seeker holding him. The Seeker pushed the boy forward, making him stumble, falling flat on his face on the marble floor. He cried out, and the Seeker strode forward, grabbing him by the hair and yanking him up to his knees. Blood poured from the boy’s nose, dribbling down his chin and dripping on the floor. He spat, turning to glare at the Seeker. “When my father…”
“Shut up,” the Seeker growled, slapping the boy’s ear…hard. He fell to his side, his head bouncing off the floor. This time he lay there silently, looking stunned.
The Seeker hauled him to his feet, bringing him to stand in front of Gammon, forcing him to his knees before the big man. The other boy was placed similarly before Sukri. Sitting in her wheelchair, his eyes were level with his. He stared at her silently, and Sukri stared back, swallowing in a dry throat.
He looked frightened. No…he was scared shitless.
“These minor nobles,” The High Seeker stated, gesturing at the two boys, “…were declared missing a few weeks ago.” His eyes went to Sukri and Gammon. “They are good boys, both of them. Upstanding citizens of the aristocracy. Their families assume the worst, and have already begun preparations for their funerals.”
“Traitors!” the boy with the bloody nose shouted, glaring at the gathered Seekers. Though on his knees, he stood tall, ignoring the blood dripping down his face. “When the king finds out about your treachery, you’ll all be hung!”
High Seeker Zeno ignored this, gesturing at the boys.
“These boys are innocent,” he declared. “They have committed no crime, done no great wrong. They are fine representatives of the kingdom.”
His gaze turned back to Sukri and Gammon.
“Kill them.”
Sukri stared at Zeno, at first not registering what the man had said.
Then her blood went cold.
She glanced sidelong at Gammon, who glanced back at her. She saw him swallow, saw him turn back to face the boy in front of him. She did the same, staring at the poor boy. His eyes were wide, sweat glistening on his forehead. He shook his head, his eyes moist.
Master Thorius walked up to Sukri, handing her a dagger. Then he walked up to Gammon, handing the big man a sword. He stepped away then, returning to where he’d stood previously.
Sukri glanced up at High Seeker Zeno, who was staring down at them impassively. She lowered her gaze to the boy before her, the handle of her dagger slippery in her sweat-slicked hand.
“Don’t,” he pleaded, his voice cracking.
“You can’t do this,” the other boy complained, spitting blood that had dripped into his mouth. “We haven’t done anything wrong!”
Zeno gestured at the boy.
“He is correct,” the High Seeker agreed. “If you kill them, you will be committing capital murder. But in doing so, you will be removing a threat to the guild. For if these boys were to escape and tell the Acropolis of our treachery, we would all be put to death.”
“So you’d kill us for the crime of being illegally kidnapped?” the boy retorted incredulously. “You’re nothing but terrorists!”
“You murdered your colleagues during your third Trial,” High Seeker Zeno stated, “…in order to save yourselves.” He raised an eyebrow. “Would you not do the same for your guild?”
“This is madness!” the boy shouted.
“You have your choice,” High Seeker Zeno stated, nodding at Sukri and Gammon. “Make it now.”
Sukri looked down at the dagger in her hand, surprised at how calm she felt. There was no fear, no horror. She’d chosen this, to become a Seeker. There was no turning back now.
She glanced up at Master Thorius, remembering his words to them on the day they’d been accepted as initiates.
I suggest you enjoy your self today. Treasure your final moments as you. I guarantee you they are your last.
If only she’d known what that meant.
Sukri took a deep breath in, letting it out. She was not fully herself anymore, and never would be. She was part of something greater than herself now. She was a Seeker…and so was Gammon.
She glanced up at the big guy, her gentle giant, catching him looking back at her. He put a big hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t feel the usual sense of calm radiating from him. She was already calm…that was her emotion. A wave of affection came over her, and Gammon smiled at her. She smiled back.
That was hers, too.
She nodded at Gamm
on.
Gammon lunged forward, slashing at the boy’s throat.
The blade cut cleanly through his neck, his head falling from his shoulders and striking the floor. It rolled to a stop, blood seeping from the neck, while the boy’s body fell forward, striking the marble floor with a thump. Blood spurted from the stump in pulses, shooting across the floor and spraying Gammon’s legs, staining the pure white fabric a brilliant crimson.
Gammon backpedaled, standing well clear of the deluge, his eyes on the boy’s disembodied head. Then he looked upward, nodding at the High Seeker.
Zeno’s eyes turned to Sukri.
“Don’t do it,” the boy before her cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. He shook his head. “Please, I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything!”
The Seeker behind him kicked him in the back, sending him face-first into the floor, his arms still bound behind him. He was hauled to his feet then, his face a bloody mess. He groaned, spitting blood onto the floor…and a tooth.
Sukri set the dagger in her lap, gripping the wheels on either side of her and pushing them forward. She wheeled herself up to the boy, a fraction of a meter away. She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes level with his.
She wanted to remember his face. Had to remember his face.
“Please,” the boy whimpered.
Sukri grabbed the hilt of her dagger, then grabbed his hair with her left hand, yanking his head back, exposing his neck. He screamed, the sound going straight to her soul, goosebumps rising on her arms. She ignored it, pressing the edge of the dagger against his neck, then slicing it with one vicious jerk of her arm.
Hot fluid sprayed on her neck and face, and she flinched backward, dropping the dagger and grabbing at the wheels of her wheelchair. She pulled backward at them, her hands slipping on them. She felt her wheelchair being pulled backward, and knew without looking that it was Gammon. He pulled her clear, and she wiped her face with her sleeves, her heart pounding in her chest. She stifled a sob, gritting her teeth against it, refusing to let her body betray her.
