by Lakshman, V.
“Even brothers quarrel, but seldom wish death upon each other.” Silbane looked at the younger master and said, “I know you want Piter’s death to have meaning. Let’s find it together.”
Kisan looked up and Themun could see tears in her eyes. She turned to the lore father and said in a choking voice, “I will not interfere with your decision. Silbane is right, and regardless, this mission is already a death sentence.” She lowered her gaze, as though her misery centered in her chest, but when she raised her eyes again, they flashed with power. “But I promise you this: Should Arek return alive, I will see him brought to justice for my apprentice’s death.” Kisan stood, looking at both the lore father and Silbane, before turning and walking out the door.
The chamber remained silent until Silbane broke it, saying, “You’ll not let her carry through on that threat, will you?”
“And how would I stop her? Frankly, how would I stop you if you got it in your head to kill someone? My hope is that with time, her anger cools and reason returns.”
“I won’t let Kisan hurt Arek. If any harm befalls him, she will answer to me.”
Themun knew civil war now threatened his tiny council. One wrong look, one wrong word, and the masters would face each other, crippling their ability to fight the real enemy. He could not allow that.
Still, though he would not have wished it, these circumstances gave him the freedom to push his agenda. “Perhaps Kisan offers a better incentive than any I can to take Arek off this Isle,” Themun offered.
Silbane shook his head with disgust. “You’ll use this too? Is there nothing beneath you?”
“That would imply the luxury of choice. I serve the land. The question is, do you?”
Silbane stood, his fist pounded the table and a crack appeared in the ornate surface under the force of his blow. “You let her near Arek and you’ll see what power is.”
Themun didn’t move. “I will keep this simple, before you destroy any more of my furniture.” He rose slowly and said, “It is best you and Arek left as soon as possible.”
Silbane didn’t seem to know what to say. Themun had not deigned to say it out loud, but the threat of sending Arek with Kisan was now a veritable death sentence, just as leaving him here on the Isle without Silbane’s protection would be, and they both knew it. He came to the only decision he could.
“The mhi’kra should accelerate Arek’s healing. If we gathered things and made ready, I could leave at sunrise, provided there’s nothing wrong with him we haven’t already seen,” Silbane said.
Themun watched the master, knowing the decision he must come to. Then, with a nod and a wave of his hand he said, “Make your plans. I have reached out to Rai’stahn and explained your coming.”
“Already?” When the lore father didn’t answer, Silbane continued, “And his response?”
“He did not seem surprised that I sought him out.”
“Do you think he knows of the Gate?” asked Silbane. “What do I tell him?”
“I would say as little as possible and stay truthful. It is not in Rai’stahn’s interest to see the demonkind set loose upon this world, and in that you have a powerful ally.” The lore father was unconcerned by Silbane’s apparent need to convince the dragon to help and instead asked, “Have you given any thought to whether the dragon can fly if Arek touches him?”
“As much as you have about putting my apprentice in the middle of all this,” Silbane replied sarcastically, but appeared to regret it. Arek’s life hung on his ability to act with consideration. “No, but as long as he covers his bare flesh, nothing dangerous should happen.”
“You have another advantage: Arek’s ability to mask.”
“His mask? You think it will hide an aura as big as a dragon’s?
Themun nodded and replied, “We both know it can. Have Rai’stahn fly to another point far from you. When Arek’s masking wears off, he will become apparent to any who search.”
“And they will be looking in the wrong place,” Silbane said. “A cunning plan, almost as if you had given it prior thought.”
The lore father shrugged and said, “I would not have reached out to him without a plan.”
“So all I have to do is convince him to help us.”
“And if you don’t?”
“Then this will be a very short mission,” answered Silbane. “Rai’stahn will either help us, or kill us, and there is little I can do to stop him.”
THE PRINCESS
It is only when the sand quickens
Beneath you and you begin to sink,
That you know your true friends.
—Altan proverb
Yetteje knew better than to dwell, but she couldn’t help it. The faces of her family kept coming to her mind. She remembered her mother, her hair shining black with pearls, her smile flashing white. She always had a laugh for her. Now, she was dead—or worse.
Her father had been a man of great wisdom. He had won the fortress of EvenSea through more than his strength of arms, but also his nobility and character. He had taught Yetteje that the measure of a person had to include their experience, education, and the philosophy by which they ruled. A kingdom should be left better by the Tir hand, not worse, and he lived up to that ideal.
Yetteje had rushed to the wall when she had heard the news and seen the horrible fate her father had suffered. The sight of her father, of the man she loved and respected so deeply, impaled on a spear, was more than she could take. Yet she could not get it out of her head.
Sobs took her again, but no tears accompanied them. In their place was the ache of a throat that had cried for hours through the night, the stabbing pain of lungs that had screamed and sobbed. Now all she wanted was to let this feeling of numbness overcome her. Drift away from all this pain, let her mind cocoon itself in the memories of nothing and sleep the sleep that let her forget.
However, something else grew in that space of emptiness... and it was not fear. It was a small flame, but a flame nonetheless, fueled by anger: anger that she would never speak with her father again, anger her family lay murdered by the Altan barbarians. She could feel it getting stronger, intensifying.
A tremor interrupted her thoughts, shaking the very walls and ground. She looked around in panic, wondering what new peril Bara’cor faced, but the shaking subsided quickly. Moments passed in silence and with nothing else amiss, she fell again into her dark misery.
Things had always come easily to the Princess of EvenSea, and her family had never wanted for anything. Between her time at court, the many social events and her own interests, nothing had interfered. She hadn’t imagined it could all be taken away so easily, like wind clearing the smoke and haze of an unappreciated life. Her last sixteen years of careless fun had been scattered to the winds.
Her eyes narrowed... Wind not only cleared smoke, it also fanned flames, and those who murdered her family would pay with their lives. She took a silent vow between herself and those she loved. Vengeance would be hers before her life ended.
“Are you all right?”
Yetteje started, not realizing someone had been standing at the entrance to her room. For a moment, her mind refused to focus on what her eyes were seeing, but then with a snap of clarity she was in the here and now.
“Niall... yes, no.” Her face screwed up and try as she might, she could not forget her father, impaled. “No, I’m not.”
Niall moved hesitantly into the room. It was obvious he didn’t want to be there, but he also didn’t want to leave his cousin alone. “I am so sorry. Your father was always so kind to me, and my aunt...” He trailed off miserably.
Tej nodded, but said nothing. Each moment seemed to go by both slowly and quickly, taking forever to pass, then impossible to forget. Finally she said, “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
“Like what?”
Tej looked up at her friend, as if seeing him for the first time. “Huh?”
Niall cocked his head to the side. �
��Stupid like try to attack the nomads by yourself? Or stupid like stay in this room?”
“What are you talking about?”
Niall looked in his friend’s eyes and said, “Tej, whatever it takes, whatever we have to do, I will help you avenge your family. You are not alone in this.”
Tears she didn’t know she had welled up in her eyes. She crossed her arms and hugged herself, but clamped down on the sadness threatening to overwhelm her. She would not lose control now... not ever again. When she looked up, the flame within her gave her strength and there was an intensity in her gaze that even Niall could see.
Without a word, Niall went to one knee and took Yetteje’s hand, intoning the oath his father had taken with Tej’s father. He said, “I hail you, Queen Tir of EvenSea, and pledge my arm and my life to aid you in times of need. You stand not alone, but always with your brothers of Bara’cor.”
“It is as it should be, Queen Tir.” King Bernal Galadine stood outside Yetteje’s room, along with the firstmark and the armsmark. “We come to pay our respects and fealty to you. I can think of no other I would call daughter. Hail, Queen of EvenSea.” Bernal went down on one knee and kissed the hand of Yetteje Tir. He looked up then and said, “My sister would wish no less. You stand not alone.”
Jebida stepped forward from behind the king, and he too went down on one knee. “My arm and my life I give to defend you in your times of need, Queen of EvenSea. You stand not alone.” He too kissed Yetteje’s hand, then moved back to make way for the armsmark.
Ash knelt in front of the young queen, who looked like nothing more than a tear-wracked sixteen-year-old girl. Breathing deeply he said, “Hail, Queen of EvenSea. Brighter days are ahead. The sun will shine on your seas again. You do not stand alone.” He kissed the girl’s hand, then waited.
Yetteje’s head sank to her chest, her heart breaking, her very being falling into a downward spiral of remorse and fear. Despite their offer of support, she did feel alone, and the thought terrified her. Who did she really have? What of her family, her home? As far as she knew, she might be all there was left of EvenSea, and that thought made her soul cry out for solace.
Then it happened. A strange feeling, as if an unseen force had entered the room. She could feel its presence, powerful but kind. Hands, warm and loving, embraced her. It was not a physical embrace, but one that seemed to envelop and succor her very being. It buoyed her up, and gave her strength to resist the pit of despair swirling through her thoughts.
She took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling her lungs fill with clean, fresh air. She swallowed past a knot in her throat, feeling it slowly unclench. The warmth of the unseen presence permeated her now, revitalizing her limbs with a tingle of power.
Yetteje’s head slowly came up, her amber eyes still shining but clear of tears. She rose, looking at the four lords of Bara’cor. She took another breath and felt it steady her more, the warmth washing away those feelings of hatred, vengeance, and despair within herself, giving her a moment’s respite. She focused again on those kneeling before her, and knew her duty lay in honoring their oaths as a royal heir should, not crying like a young girl.
“King Galadine, it is not fit for you to kneel before me. There will be many years before I am your equal. I am not the Queen of EvenSea.”
To the puzzled king’s look, she replied, “Your sister, my mother... may not yet be dead. I only know that the King of EvenSea has fallen. Until I know differently, I am still your humble servant and ward. I accept your pledge of kinship and offer you my own. My arm and my life, such as they are, are yours to command.”
She turned to Niall and said, “Prince of Bara’cor, you will always have my sword and my counsel at your side. Please rise and stand with me, as my cousin and my friend.”
She then addressed the firstmark and armsmark saying, “Rise, please. My arm and sword are yours. I am the queen of nothing and yet... EvenSea will rise again.”
As the men rose, Tej moved forward, embraced the king, and said, “My father...” Her voice cracked and almost broke, but she continued, “My father said to me he has never had a dearer friend than you. I thank you for that and for honoring me now. I know I am not alone.”
Journal Entry 4 (early)
That a simple request for aid could lead to this, and now I am here, but not as a hero.
Shall I be plainer? Very well, Rai’stahn betrayed me. I saved his people, who hid from the very nature of life around them in their caves, their holes in the dirt. They offered me a “vision,” as if I needed such charity, yet held themselves back from the bloody work, the warriors’ work.
Still, I cannot go so far as to say I do not understand. He did what he thought best, as did the rest. I must find a way to forgive them, but it is hard. Why do we hate those close to us more deeply than strangers? Perhaps because they betray our expectations of fairness, of justice? Nevertheless, I must forgive, for here hate is a terrible emotion, and terrible emotions give rise to terrible things.
Thoughts go to my brother. I hope he knows I did not falter or fail in the end. His need for assurance should be well-satisfied by our victory, which I do not doubt was achieved, thanks to me.
In the distance is what seems to be an abode. I make my way there, in hopes that there may be someone unaffiliated with the Aeris who can help me.
Those subjugated by the demon’s rule must exist and welcome a chance at freedom. All people of the known world split into factions, and I do not underestimate even the smallest creature’s ability to help...
SHADOW VOICE
When taking the killing stroke,
Kill quickly and cleanly,
And do not mourn the dead.
They brought themselves before your blade.
—The Bladesman Codex
Arek awoke to the strange sensation that something was wrong. There was a coldness to the room, a forlornness, if that was even possible. In the faint moonlight that streamed in from one tall window, he could see the other infirmary beds were empty.
A cool breeze from the ocean wafted through, but did not settle his unease. He quickly stifled an urge to ask who was there, but the sense of wrongness grew. Then the sound of footsteps came from the hallway; purposeful, not hesitant, as if the person knew his destination... and he was getting closer. A nameless fear gripped Arek, one that sent him back under the blankets in an infantile attempt at safety.
A figure in a hooded robe moved into the room as if materializing out of thin air. It glided toward him, pausing a few feet away. Arek couldn’t see under the hood, but he could feel the malevolence, the danger this person represented. For the first time in his life, he felt what someone meant when they talked about evil.
Then the figure did something unexpected. It knelt and whispered, “I exist to serve.” The voice was familiar, though he had never heard anything quite like it. The figure reached with one hand and pulled back the hood concealing its identity, then slowly raised its face into the pale moonlight.
Arek sat dumbfounded, as what he saw and what he knew were in direct conflict. “You’re dead,” he stated dumbly.
“Astute as always, I see.” The mocking voice of Piter echoed softly across the chamber, floating around Arek as if he heard it both in his mind and with his ears.
Arek stuttered, “N-no, I mean the masters told me you are dead.”
Piter smiled a cold smile. “I am dead, Arek. You killed me.” Piter looked around. “I’m surprised you are surprised. I mean, don’t you remember the begging, the pleading?” He stared at Arek, as if measuring him, then a sudden understanding seemed to dawn in his eyes and he said, “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
The shade of Piter rose, laughing. “The most shameful moment of my short life and you don’t remember it!” He raised his arms to both sides and shook his head. “Is there no end to the indignities I must face?”
Arek said softly, “I’m dreaming this. Either that or you’re not dead and this is some sort of sick joke
.”
Piter focused on Arek, his self-absorption gone. “Yes and all the adepts are in on it... does that make sense, you imbecile?” Piter stared at him a moment longer, then said, “They are plotting something, just not what you think.” He slowly walked over and sat down next to Arek on the bed. “I’ll enjoy watching the adepts sacrifice you.”
Arek didn’t respond to that, his attention completely on the shade’s appearance and substance. At this close range, Arek thought he looked quite alive and began to reach out to touch him to confirm it.
Piter jumped awkwardly away, yelling, “Idiot! Your touch will banish me!” The shade said this with an acid hate even Arek could read, as if being here was paramount to something. Piter smiled and pointed at the bed. “Look where I sat.”
Arek slowly turned his head and looked. “What? There’s nothing there.”
“Exactly. You saw me sit down. Are the sheets disturbed? Did I pull the blanket away from you with my weight?” Piter watched him for a few moments as Arek struggled to comprehend what was going on, then said with a smirk, “Quick as ever.”
“You’re really dead?”
He looked at Arek for a moment longer, then offered, “I am dead, now bound to serve you, and I don’t like it.” He walked a short distance away and looked out the window. “All I had has been taken from me, by you and your kind.”
Arek looked at Piter, still unable to believe his eyes. Clearly the shade was not happy to be here. Yet, Piter was answering his questions... but why? Arek was not so shocked as to forget that once out of childhood, he and Piter had never really gotten along. So why was he willing to answer anything, especially if Arek truly caused his death? Something wasn’t right.
He watched as Piter stood, patiently looking out the window as if he waited for something, or someone. It also occurred to Arek that he had never seen Piter kneel to anyone, and when this thing had entered the room... a sudden intuition forced him to his feet.
