On the fifteenth day, the morning hours passed, and the sun rose to its highest point in the deep blue sky. They had finally made their way out of the vast desert they had entered nine days ago. Over the last couple of days, the ground had slowly transitioned from dunes to shrubs and finally to consistent vegetation. Before them now spread grasslands with sparsely placed trees, and by early evening, Zauvek and Waremasu found themselves approaching a settlement.
Zauvek eyed a sign on the side of the road: “Free town of Vira. Outsiders, meddlers, and kings are not welcome.“
“Waremasu, look,” Zauvek said over his shoulder.
Waremasu lifted his gaze from the ground and centered his hat. He eyed his new surroundings, from the deteriorating farms and orchards at its outskirts to the small, neglected wooden buildings of its interior. They walked toward the main thoroughfare of the tiny town. They saw no defenders, no walls, and no towers. The town looked dilapidated in all ways.
The few humans in view were shabby and poor. Their clothing was covered in filth and torn from overuse. Many wore cloth shoes with holes in them. Rarely did they see a human wearing a weapon. All the weapons they did see were daggers or knives, nothing worth being proud of, in Zauvek’s opinion.
Upon reaching the town’s center on the main road, they saw the town’s lone church. Several holes marred its unsightly roof, and one of its front doors was tilted on loose hinges.
“Humans.” Zauvek spat.
Waremasu tapped Zauvek’s shoulder and flashed a couple of hand gestures, the last one a directional cue.
“Agreed. I will leave the outlying farms to you. I shall question the locals about Razbijen during your absence.” Zauvek started walking toward the largest building. He briefly peered back at Waremasu and caught a final hand signal before looking away. “Fine. I will not kill them while you are gone.”
Zauvek continued toward the building he had picked as his first place of inquiry. He hobbled over to the front doors with the help of his staff and opened one of the small swinging doors with his free hand. Upon entering the establishment, he noticed a bar along the left wall as well as numerous tables and chairs spread across the large room. The heads of trophy kills adorned all four walls. His face scrunched up in protest of the musty smell flooding his nose. Many weathered faces stared at the stranger stepping into the tavern. His disgruntled face returned an unkindly glance. He shrugged off the annoying stares and walked over to the bar.
The barkeep was drying off glasses with a dirty rag, “Wha cinnae dae yoo forde?”
Zauvek was irritated by the man’s odd speech pattern. “Do you know an individual named Razbijen?”
The barkeep laughed. “Thas an odd name. Dinnae believe I’ve hirde him befaerde.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yah, but hold on a sec.” The barkeep leaned to his left, looked past Zauvek, and yelled, ”Ay! Dae anybody recall a man named Razbijen?”
Blank stares and shaking heads were the only answers to his question.
“An’thin’ else?” the barkeep asked Zauvek.
“No.” Zauvek’s head twitched to the side, and he fought the desire to slam the barkeep’s face into the bar. He turned away and walked toward the door, but before he could exit, his chest seized his forward momentum. He clasped his chest with his free hand, and his body shook. He leaned forward and let loose a horrid bout of coughs. At its end, blood streamed from his mouth as he gaped in pain. When the fit came to an end and his muscles relaxed, Zauvek noticed the tavern had gone silent, and all attention was placed on him.
“Awright ya?” the barkeep shouted.
“No,” Zauvek whispered and rushed out the swinging doors. He took several steps beyond the threshold before hesitating and thinking about the convulsion. This one was much stronger than any previous fit, and concern seeped into his mind. He quickly shook off the feeling and moved on to his next destination. He knew if Razbijen was not here, then they must leave as soon as possible. They had to find him. Zauvek knew what was to come. Time was growing short.
◆◆◆
Waremasu walked from farm to farm in an unhurried manner. He took one step at a time and enjoyed the sights around him. With every poor farmer he met, the same answer was given to him. Waremasu’s peaceful demeanor showed his belief that they would eventually find Razbijen. After reaching the final farm and hearing the same answer he had heard all afternoon, Waremasu simply turned around and began walking back to the church. He saw a beautiful sunset on his way back and watched the first stars as they appeared in the darkening sky.
It was not long before Waremasu was standing before the church. He looked around the destitute town for any sign of Zauvek, but there was none. Waremasu decided to wait for his cohort. As he stood before the church, he watched passing villagers stare at him warily. He stood as a statue, unmoving, except for his swiveling hat as he watched those who came near. A decent amount of time passed, and he glanced to the star-filled sky. He moved, deciding he would go search for Zauvek now as the old man had still not shown. He passed by dark homes, only stopping at those with light inside. He knocked on the front doors, and as every door opened, it appeared as if he was ignoring the answering hello. He peered over the inhabitants in search of his friend. Upon not finding Zauvek at each location, he turned around and walked away from the confused families within. After he had searched a handful of homes, his eyes fell on a rather large building.
He walked toward the building, believing he might have a better chance of finding Zauvek at the larger location. Many sounds and lights emanated through its open windows. People occasionally walked in and out through the swinging doors. A sign hung above the doors. It moved slightly with the soft breeze. The sign was not particularly helpful, reading “The Grimy Corsair.” He eased one of the swinging doors open and walked through the threshold.
Upon entering the tavern, he noticed the long bar to his left and the many tables strewn about the room. The ramshackle establishment was packed with drunkards, thieves, and bar wenches. All the customers were shabby and filthy. A thick stench permeated the air from their unhygienic garments. The barmaids were the best dressed and the only ones who had recently bathed. The tables held card games, and the bar was topped with numerous empty glasses. The laughter slowly died down, the belligerent yelling subsided, and the tavern entered into an uncomfortable silence. Everyone stared at the oddly clothed individual at the entrance. Waremasu’s head slowly swiveled as he looked around the room. He glanced from face to face and did not find the one he looked for, though he did notice the unkind expressions of a few men. After a moment of scouting the room, Waremasu turned and eased the doors back open. He stepped out of the tavern and down the front steps. He was unsure where to continue his search for Zauvek, so he decided to head back to the church.
He took a few steps away from the tavern and heard the doors swivel. Wooden boards creaked as numerous pairs of feet ran down the front steps. Waremasu heard the followers, but he kept walking. There was a small bounce in his short footsteps. It did not take long for the church to come into view. He still did not see Zauvek standing in front of the church.
“Ay!” someone shouted from behind Waremasu. “Ay yoo! Am talkin’ tae ya!”
Waremasu stopped and turned around to see his followers. He counted eight men, all of whom were wearing ragged and frayed outfits. Each carried several small daggers fastened to various parts of their bodies. One had an eye patch, and another had no teeth. Half the men wore no footwear, and their feet were stained dark with crusty dirt. The man on Waremasu’s far right had dark bruising around an eye that was bright red with blood. The lead man moved and angled his head about in hopes of catching a glimpse of the individual hiding beneath the unusual clothes.
“Ay, ya not fraem around ’ere by the looks of it. Might be a bit o’ coin in yaer pocket too, accaerdin’ tae ya fancy clothing. Why daentcha hand over ya valoo’bles?” the quite hairy and unbalanced man at the group’s forefront shouted.
Waremasu attempted to communicate as he signaled several hand gestures.
“Ay, what arya doin’? Why dae ya not speak?” The man grew irritated.
“Might be castin’ magic, boss,” another man urged as a noticeable twitch jerked his head to the side.
Waremasu hoped the cutthroats would understand his gestures and tried once more to communicate.
“Oooh! So yae iz a mute, arya?” The man smirked and approached Waremasu. He grabbed the outsider’s cloak aggressively. “Hope ya aren’t dumb and deaf too. Give oz ya coin aer we’ll take it by faerce if need be.” The man’s comrades supported his claims by stepping closer with repugnant sneers.
Waremasu did not react. He knew they could not understand his sign language, but he could not speak to them either. He wished for no confrontation yet he must wait for Zauvek to return. He had an idea. He lifted a hand and pointed his index finger. He started to write something in the air, but the man smacked his hand away. The cutthroat thought the outsider was trying something funny. The leader was not sure what magic this newcomer had at his command, but he would not be so foolish as to let this stranger best him with weird tricks taught by old wizards. The burly figure stood tall and would show this stranger who was boss around these parts.
The man’s face surged with anger. “Ay! Hand oz ya coin, or I will slit yae throat!”
The cutthroat shoved hard against Waremasu’s chest. The angered man caused the foreigner to stumble back and drop to one knee in order to stabilize himself from falling. Waremasu looked up at the man just in time to see the burly figure readying to attack.
“Hey!” A familiar voice roared from behind Waremasu.
The high-strung leader hesitated and looked in the direction of the new voice. He assessed the newcomer. “An’ who arya?”
Zauvek hobbled past Waremasu and sneered at the men. He placed most of his weight on his faithful staff, and from beneath his wiry locks he stared at the front man. The old angel sized up his opponents and scoffed at their pitiful might. Then he looked down at his kneeling ally and wondered why Waremasu humored these unworthy humans.
“I will have to ask you not to bother my friend here.” Zauvek motioned to his cohort’s crouched form.
“Yaer iz friend?” The man smirked.
“Ya am, arya a fool?” Zauvek mocked with his rendition of their accent.
The insulted cutthroat stepped back and puffed out his chest, “Yaer friend won’t speak to meh. I demand that ’e does!”
“He cannot speak to you,” Zauvek announced to the ignorant man.
“Why cinnae he speak to meh?” the agitated leader roared.
“Well, you would all go insane,” Zauvek informed him. “He shows you a gesture of kindness I do not agree with. I believe you deserve the result.”
The cutthroat was confused by the old man’s words, “Ol’ fool, ya and yaer friend best hand over yaer coin, or me and mi boys will put ya in yaer graves.”
Zauvek erupted in laughter. “We have no graves.”
“Wot?” The man’s confusion deepened.
“I refuse to hand anything over to such a fool as you!” Zauvek’s voice crescendoed.
That was the last straw for the man. He punched Zauvek across the jaw with one of his broad fists. The old angel recoiled slightly from the unexpected attack but stood firm with the help of his staff. The furious cutthroat waited for the old man’s compliance. Zauvek returned a piercing gaze, and his demeanor altered, causing an uncomfortable stir among the man’s followers. The powerful angel stood up as tall as he might, rising well over six feet in height. He gathered the strength within to stand on his own two legs. The staff was no longer an aid but firmly held as a weapon in his left hand. His long cloak released its folds and hung from its intended height. His wiry hair fell back and revealed his rough facial features. His silver irises gazed down into the nervous man’s eyes.
The disdain in Zauvek’s face was unnerving. He raised his staff off the ground and slammed it back down. At the point of impact, the ground cratered, and the land beneath them shook. A spiderweb of cracks radiated outward from the staff’s strike, spreading chaotically across the ground and through the nearby buildings.
“Attack me as you wish. I will give you nothing,” Zauvek decreed.
The burly man was anxious but angry he was being talked down to. “Iz only tricks, men. We can best a wizard, done it before. Grab iz friend!”
“Attack my friend, and I shall kill you!” Zauvek proclaimed.
“Awright! Boys, grab the ol’ geezer and bring meh iz staff. That should shut ’em up. He cinnae do anything without iz magic. And give ’em a beatin’,” the frustrated man shouted.
Zauvek froze; he felt an overwhelming surge of power. In the instant before the men took a single step toward Zauvek, Waremasu appeared before the man. The sound of metal unsheathing had not come, though Waremasu’s katana lay across the man’s neck. Even at such a close distance, the man could discern nothing beyond the shroud of darkness between the high collar and the hat. Everybody was surprised by the figure’s speed; no blur of movement had been seen. The burly man quivered in fear as the sharp blade pressed deeper across his neck, and blood began to trickle down his skin.
The air grew heavy, and it became harder for Zauvek to breathe, though this time his heart was not the cause, but Waremasu’s darkening soul. Zauvek hesitated before the unpredictability that was Waremasu. The instability within the chaos angel teetered on an edge. Zauvek feared his ally and did not wish to fuel the darkness within the ancient warrior. He knew Waremasu’s destructive power would be absolute. Lives would be taken. He cared not for the humans, but his own life might be forfeited, too, if Waremasu unhinged.
“Ay, ya know wot?” the nervous man yelped. “We woz wrong! Aha-ha! Tha’s right, ya dinnae have any coin, silly us. We woz mistaken of course, and we trooly are sorry tae’ve troubled such fine folk as yaerselves.” He apprehensively smiled at Zauvek. “An’ honest, ya dinnae look that old. Oh, an’ look at that! The wrinkles are disappearing by tha second! Good ol’ man, can ya calm yaer bodyguard? Ya know we would be leavin’ now . . .” The man trailed off in mounting anxiety as his eyes opened as wide as they would go.
Waremasu’s irises began to glow and change colors erratically. They were vibrant and entrancing as they pierced through the darkness under his hat.
The man’s eyes widened as fear consumed him. He stared into those unnatural eyes and wondered what form of beast the enshrouded individual was. His legs began to shake, and tears welled in his eyes. The man’s breath quickened and shortened as he, too, felt the heaviness of Waremasu’s soul pushing on the atmosphere and making it hard to breathe.
“Waremasu,” Zauvek called out calmly.
No answer came as a moment of silence lingered.
“Waremasu,” he called out again. “Calm yourself.”
The unsound angel eased his grip and lowered his katana. His irises faded back into the darkness and disappeared once more. The air’s heaviness eased. Zauvek relaxed slightly and breathed easily again.
The trembling leader placed a hand on his neck and felt the warm blood trickling down. His legs were shaking visibly, and he stepped backward with unstable footing. He tripped over his own foot, and a couple of his men caught him. Groans of fear escaped them as they stumbled and fled from the fearsome outsiders. The troublesome men raced through the tavern doors and avoided a potentially gruesome fate.
After a short silence, Zauvek tried to grab Waremasu’s attention. “Waremasu?”
The hazardous angel pivoted to look at Zauvek. The old angel had underestimated Waremasu’s instability. The fuse of Waremasu’s soul could ignite at any moment and without more than a nudge, ultimately reducing all nearby to dust. Zauvek realized he must tread lightly in the presence of Waremasu.
Zauvek calmly beckoned. “If you have calmed, we should leave. Razbijen is not here.”
Waremasu sheathed his katana, and his hand disappe
ared beneath his cloak once more. A calmer aura surrounded the angel, and his old companion breathed a sigh of relief. Zauvek lowered himself back into his previous hunched posture and leaned heavily on his staff. His muscles ached, and a couple of his joints popped. When the needle-point pains subsided, he started down the road, and Waremasu fell into place some distance behind him. They followed the road toward the northeast without looking back at the failing town.
Zauvek hobbled along, and Waremasu bobbed behind him. The capped figure peered up into the starlit sky yet his face could not be seen through the darkness. The moon was now some distance above the horizon, and their monotonous walk took hold of them once more.
Chapter 9
“Fail Not”
“The first angel will have good heart and good spirit. He will be stronger than any mortal mind is able to fathom. As his memories return, his power will accompany in measure. A witness will feel terror each time the angel remembers.”
The Ikalreev Prophecies 4:1–4
The new day had already begun. The sun’s rays were warm on Faolan’s face as he breathed in the refreshing morning air. He released a deep breath and glanced toward his fellow patroller, Gavina. His eyes looked over her tense and focused expression. While looking at her, he realized he still did not really know her all that well.
He broke the silence. “The past couple of weeks have been quite unusual for me.”
Gavina shifted her gaze to him as the unexpected comment rolled out of his mouth. “Really?”
“Well, yes. There was the Nathra charge on Darnum. Then the king offered me the chance to be a Shadow Guardian, which is great, but I do not understand why. My actions in Darnum were hardly deserving of any honors,” he said.
“Rushing to another’s aid is undeserving?” she asked as she glanced around their surroundings.
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