by Davis Ashura
Early in his life, he’d raged forth from Clarity Pain and battled the traitorous dragon, Antalagore the Black. He’d even faced off against Shokan’s steed, the mighty Aia, a great cat. His thoughts grew grim as he recalled that battle. Aia had raked the right side of Shet’s face, ruining it permanently.
As they pushed forward, the worrisome smell, the one Sapient couldn’t identify, grew stronger, and fear, an unknown sensation, wormed its way into his pustulant heart.
“One of our kind died here,” said Manifold, his harsh voice a curse against the tomblike silence. “I know not who.”
Sapient gestured sharply in rebuke. Sound was a sacrilege in Clarity Pain. No one ever spoke loudly here. “Silence,” he hissed in a voice like a drawn knife.
They strode more swiftly toward the heart of the temple. The smell grew stronger, and Sapient’s fear climbed.
They eventually reached a crumbled doorway, the wood rotted to sawdust, and the fear-inducing smell became blinding. On the other side of the doorframe was a broad room, deep and tall. The ceiling stretched yards above, held aloft by a bevy of jeweled columns and arched beams. More vines, brothers to those outside, had found purchase here, and dim urine-yellow lanterns, still alight these thousands of years later through Shet’s incomparable weaving, brought a wan illumination to the space.
Sapient didn’t require their luminescence. His eyes easily penetrated the deepest black, and he noticed the cobwebs filling every corner, covering crumbled chairs, sofas, and the altar at the far end of the space. He also discerned spiders the size of his forearms scuttling about. They had a scorpion’s stinger and seemed to stare balefully at the necrosed. One, larger and prouder than her brethren—definitely a female given her size—crawled too close.
Sapient crushed her. The creature stabbed at him, but the poison couldn’t harm that which was already dead. The other spiders took this as a sign to flee, and Sapient pressed on.
He marched across the room, his bare feet raising dust from the threadbare rug that stretched from the entrance, past the altar, and all the way to the massive throne from whence Shet had once ruled. As he paced forward, Sapient saw that the dust had already been disturbed. His mouth twisted in outrage. Human bootprints and the paw prints of some kind of cat. A small one.
On the far side of the altar Sapient climbed the dais leading to the throne. There, the fear inducing smell was greatest. Hidden there he found the source, the crumbled corpse of Grave Invidious. A hole the size of one of Manifold’s sizeable fists had been punched through the dead necrosed, penetrating through both face and chest.
Sapient blinked in astonishment, and a single word reverberated in his head. How?
His head shot toward the throne.
Undefiled Locus.
Sapient spared Grave no further study. The sword should have rested next to the throne, in a sheath made from the hide of Antalagore the Black. He found nothing. Human footprints had gone to where the diamond blade should have rested, and there the boot marks had paused.
“A human killed our brother,” Manifold said, sounding bemused.
“No human did this,” Sapient growled. “It was a holder.” Fury rose in him, too hot to contain, and he forced his necrosed to experience it. He wanted them to share in his lava-hot rage.
He screamed, suspecting who the holder might be: the one touched by that fool, Kohl Obsidian. He’d murder the boy.
In that moment he also recalled his Lord’s final command, and he carried it out. Good. I’ll inspire the boy, guide him to the Treatises and have him learn of firewagers. And with that false hope implanted, I’ll destroy the boy.
SEEKING HELP
April 1990
* * *
William tried not to scowl like a sore loser when the drill ended. His squad had been defeated by Rukh’s and they shouldn’t have been. All they’d had to do was defend a fortified position and prevent Rukh’s unit from getting past them.
They hadn’t been able to. They’d lost. Badly. It had been swift and sudden, as if they hadn’t spent any time training at all during the past two months. It shouldn’t have occurred like that, and William couldn’t figure out what had happened. Was it because Rukh was that skilled a commander or because Ward Silver was that poor of one?
The anger inside of him—the snarling animal of hate—was ready to rage, but William managed to keep it under control while stomping away from the others and toward the stacked canteens.
Ward called to him. “We’re not done yet!”
“I need a break,” William shouted over his shoulder. It was the truth, but not all of it. The truth was he needed distance from the rest of the Ashokan Irregulars. There were twenty-five of them now, and right now, one wrong word from any of them was sure to set him off.
William reached the far end of the field, where it bordered Sita’s Song and wiped the sweat from his brow. The muggy weather had returned, and he cursed it anew. Only a few, scattered clouds drifted across the blue sky, and they did little to shield anyone from the sweltering mid-day sun. River Namaste rumbled and gurgled and far away, those playing enrune seemed to be having a fun time of it.
William unstopped his canteen, drank the warm water, and eyed the enrune fields and those playing resentfully. Enrune. A stupid game played by stupid people. They have such an easy life, no worries to keep them up at night. For them, Sinskrill and Shet are as far away and unreachable as the moon. William sipped more water and continued to glare at those leading carefree lives while his thoughts returned to the recently lost drill. We should have won. We would have if Ward had done what I told him to.
Rukh approached, and William offered him a sullen nod. “Commander.”
A scowl of disappointment or disgust swept across Rukh’s features. “You may have your notions of what should be done,” he said, “but your unwillingness to carry out Ward’s commands is the biggest reason your squad keeps losing.”
Outrage at Rukh’s criticism rose in William’s heart. So did the red-eyed beast. “I do what I’m told,” he said. He kept his tone civil by the barest of margins.
“No, you don’t,” Rukh said, “and even when you do, you act like a jackhole. Do what you’re told next time and do it without complaint. If you’d only followed your orders today, we wouldn’t have rolled your left flank, the side you were meant to protect.”
“But then the center wouldn’t have held.”
“Yes, it would,” Rukh said. “Jake, Lien, and Daniel attacked you there, but Ward had Jessira held in reserve to defend the center. There was no need for you to rush in like some stupid, avenging angel. You allowed Jason and me to collapse the flank, and Jessira fought unassisted against us.”
William smirked. “Is that the real reason you’re angry? Because Jessira was defeated?” The words made him want to smack himself, and he mentally gaped at his stupidity, but the anger wouldn’t recede. He couldn’t control his words.
Fear slowly overcame anger when Rukh stepped into his space, obviously furious. “This is only a drill. Jessira has little to fear, and I have little to fear on her behalf. This criticism is the truth of what happened,” he growled. “Stop griping like a child and take this criticism to heart. Anything less is pathetic.” He stepped closer, his face inches from William’s. “Or quit. Right now. You’re not doing anyone any good. You’re useless to me, behaving like this.”
The last of William’s anger collapsed, and the beast of anger snarled fitfully as it faded. He could think again. His shoulders slumped, and he struggled to meet Rukh’s eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t stop being so angry all the time.” He hesitated. “I need help.”
Rukh exhaled heavily. “Yes, you do, and I commend you for recognizing your need.”
William took heart from Rukh’s mild praise. At this point, with a sense of failure and fear hanging upon him like a wet blanket, anything the slightest bit positive felt like sunshine on a cloudy day.
“Your anger stifles your every attempt at success,�
� Rukh added.
Silence grew between them, and William shifted in nervousness as Rukh measured him. “I’ve heard about the cause of your anger,” Rukh eventually said. “Have you heard anything from the raha’asras?”
William nodded mutely. “They’re looking into it, but . . .” He shook his head. “They haven’t figured out anything that can help me.”
“Then consider this: grave odds can break the strongest of warriors. Rather than confront such obstacles head on, remember the green reed. It bends in the wind and is stronger than the mighty oak, which breaks in the storm.”
William recognized the words as a saying attributed to Confucius, but the aphorism didn’t offer any illumination. He frowned in confusion. “Sir?”
“Perhaps you need to approach the anger from a different direction,” Rukh said. “Rather than banishing it or mastering it, perhaps you should seek to channel it. Have you tried to engage it? Let it flow through your mind and into your muscles, nerves, and bones? Once it passes, only then will you be able to fight with clarity.”
William thought about Rukh’s advice, but it made no sense. Once awakened, the beast raged. It would never pass out of him. It would storm inside his mind like a lightning-laced, bruise-colored cloud. Plus, he knew the anger wasn’t a part of himself. It came from elsewhere, from Sapient Dormant, similar to how it had once come from Kohl Obsidian.
“Think on it at least,” Rukh said.
“Yes, sir,” William replied.
Rukh gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze and left him.
While watching the other man return to the other Irregulars, William took a sip of water and considered what to do. A moment later, his head snapped to the east, and he spun about. He stared into the distance, somewhere far away. The monster inside him erupted to life. He couldn’t think straight, see straight. He worked his jaw, clenching and unclenching it in rage.
An image rose in his mind, the same one he had seen twice now, the albino necrosed, Sapient Dormant, diseased, decayed, and furious. The desire to bend a knee to the creature came over William as well as a notion to find something lost, a book perhaps.
The image and notion faded, and he shuddered.
A hand landed on his shoulder. He flinched and spun around, a shout at his mouth.
“What’s wrong?” Serena asked. She stood in front of him, eyes wide and frowning.
William shuddered again and explained what he’d seen. He rubbed suddenly chilled arms. Goosebumps had risen on them. “I keep seeing him. Sapient. Hearing him. Kohl’s blood gives me a connection to the other necrosed, and it scares me.”
“It scares all of us.”
“What am I going to do?” William asked, despair filling his mind.
Serena flung a small stone into the ocean and lost sight of it the instant it hit the waves. She stared at the water for a moment longer while the wind whipped her long, dark hair. She and William had decided to wander along a rocky stretch of beach directly north of Lilith Bay. Here, the soft, golden sands gave way to glassy stones the size of marbles. A shingle beach, Mr. Zeus would have named it. A briny breeze blew off the water, and it carried a sulfurous stink like an asrasin weaving Fire. This stench, though, came from algae and seaweed.
William took a step toward the ocean and threw a stone as far as he could. A gusting wind held it up, and the rock barely made it twenty yards. It plunked with a pitiful splash.
Serena chuckled.
William shot her a look of dismay. “The wind held it up.”
“Of course.” She dipped her head to hide her smile.
William muttered something under his breath, and they continued their walk.
They had the beach to themselves, the first time they’d been alone together in weeks, and the only sounds to be heard were those of the crashing surf and a few white birds crying out as they skimmed the water’s surface. The wind whipped again, and Serena’s hair got in her eyes. She made a mental note to braid her hair or put it in a tie next time she came here.
“Hold up,” William said, pointing to the horizon. “Look. It’s almost sunset.”
They paused and faced west, watching the sun. It glowed red and sullen, hanging only inches above the western horizon. They stood in companionable silence as the sun briefly dipped behind a cloud. It re-appeared a moment later to cast a few final bars of light. The beams reflected off the glassy stones of the beach and set them gleaming like the iridescent patterns of an anchor line.
Serena broke the silence. “This afternoon could have gone better.”
William didn’t reply. He stared at the sunset. His jaw clenched, and he scowled. An instant later, the anger seemed to leave him in a rush. “Yeah,” he replied with a sigh. “Sapient Dormant can talk to me.”
Serena gave him a sympathetic gaze. “I already figured as much.”
William faced her, surprise on his face.
“Most everyone else has figured it out, too,” Serena said in reply to his unspoken question.
William rubbed his arms as if they were cold. “Do you know what it means? To hear the Overward’s call?”
Serena frowned. “We know he’s the reason you keep flying off the handle, but . . .”
“I can sometimes hear his thoughts, too,” William said. “He’s always angry, furious, and all he ever thinks about is killing.” He grimaced. “He fantasizes about it. It can be pretty graphic.”
Serena tried to imagine what that was like, but she couldn’t. To have someone else’s blood-soaked thoughts in her mind . . . She shuddered. It would be horrible.
William scowled and stared at the water. “Remember how mad I used to get back at St. Francis?” he asked.
“A little bit.” Serena vaguely recalled his anger, but for her it hadn’t been much to remember. What she recalled most of William at St. Francis was a sweet, young man and his friends, all of them innocent. She missed that about them.
“My anger nowadays is like that,” William continued, “but the last time it wasn’t nearly as bad, and it only happened because Kohl did something to me after he murdered my parents. At least that’s what I figure must have happened because that’s when I started getting faster and stronger.”
“I thought you got faster and stronger when Kohl’s blood got in you.”
“I did,” William said, “but the changes really started with the murder of my parents. I’ve thought about it a lot. Anyway, after we killed Kohl the anger kind of went away. It sort of vanished.”
“And now it’s back, and you think Sapient is the reason?” Serena guessed.
William gave a hesitant nod. “I think so, and I think I can hear Sapient because of Kohl’s blood.”
Serena tilted her head in thought as she assessed William’s hypothesis. It made sense, and she wished it didn’t. She also wished she could see him smile more. Even prior to the intrusion of Sapient Dormant, he’d been too serious. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen him truly happy. Maybe at the Chinese New Year celebration, but that had been months ago.
She viewed him through considering eyes. Sometimes he laughed when she made fun of him. “What makes you think it’s Sapient and not you being a jackhole?” she asked.
William groaned. “You’ve been spending too much time around Rukh.”
Serena wore a wide-eyed look of innocence. “What did I say?”
“Jackhole,” William answered. “That’s something Rukh and Jessira say all the time.”
“It’s a portmanteau,” Serena said in a tone meant to convey that she thought she was being helpful. “It’s a word that means—”
William cut her off. “I know what a portmanteau is.”
“Ah. In this case jackhole hole is a combination of—”
“I think I get it,” William said with a wry chuckle.
Serena smiled, happy to see him laugh. “At least now you know why you’ve been a jackhole for the past few months.”
William didn’t respond. Instead, he stared quietly at the
last of the day’s light with a pensive cast. The tiniest rim of the sun hung above the horizon.
While they waited for it to dip below the ocean’s line, an idea formed in Serena’s mind. “If the raha’asras can’t help you, maybe you should talk to Travail.”
“Why?” William asked.
“Because he’s calm and controlled all the time,” Serena said. “Maybe he can help you figure out how to be the same way.”
William’s brow creased, and his mouth pursed in apparent thought. He gave a slow nod. “That’s not a bad idea.”
They fell silent again until Serena spoke up. “Has Jake talked to you about Daniella Logan? I was given to understand that he was interested in her.”
“He is. Interested, I mean,” William answered. “But no, he hasn’t asked her out yet. I think he’s still having trouble letting go of the past.”
Guilt crawled up Serena’s spine. “His life since I came into it has been nothing short of a disaster. Kidnapped, brutalized, tortured, and nearly killed in battle. It’s understandable that he’d hate what he’s become.”
“Understandable, but there’s nothing he can do to change that, either.” William’s voice held a hard, brittle quality and his face betrayed judgmental anger. His jaw clenched. A second later, his entire body shuddered. “Sorry about that,” he murmured, bending his head and sounding contrite. “The rage-beast woke up.”
“Is that what you call it?”
William shrugged. “That’s what it reminds me of: a red-eyed, rage monster.”
“Then we’ll have to find a way to kill it.”
“Or kill Sapient.”
Serena nodded agreement. “An even better solution.” She only hoped they could manage it before William lost himself to the anger.
William and Travail perched on the edge of a cliff, their feet dangling as the ocean stretched out far below them. The surf surged, smashing against the dark expanse of the cliff and the boulders strewn along its base. It sent spray climbing high but none of it came close to reaching them. A rainbow arched through the mist raised by the pounding water, and a gusting breeze carried a mixture of brine and minerals. The sun, still early in the sky, beat down on their backs and slowly warmed the black stone upon which they sat.
