“I have been to Mindra’s Haven . . .” Arva recited the old saying softly, breaking his silence for the first time. The large man stopped at the splashing fountain and looked at the blossoms for a long moment. “I thought it was only a myth, but they are truly amazing.”
“Indeed, they are,” Beck responded, watching Arva’s face closely.
“It begs one to wonder, however . . .” Arva paused as he picked up a newly wilted petal and watched it disintegrate in his fingertips. Brushing the dust from his hands, the large man looked at Beck. “What do you suppose the Guardians were trying to tell us?”
Beck watched the flowers bloom and die around them. The only sound in the room was the splashing water of the fountain. “If you are interested in such things, we have many scholars who have devoted their lives to that very question. I’m sure they would be happy to explain their theories—”
“I’m sure their answers would be fascinating and well versed,” Arva interrupted Beck curtly. “But I am not asking them, General Beck Al’Beth, I am asking you.”
Beck held the other man’s gaze for a long moment before looking to the stars above. “I’m sure the Guardians’ message was several fold, Lord. But if these flowers have taught me anything, it is that . . .” Beck met Arva’s eyes with intensity. “We humans are not as important as we like to think.”
Arva slowly smiled.
After several silent moments, the men exited the Night Gardens and continued walking. Moving through a wide carpeted vestibule lined by lanterns, they came to a large golden-ceilinged antechamber. As they approached the great double doors that led into the High Council’s meeting rooms, Beck saw a platoon of High Council Honor Guard standing at attention next to a platoon of soldiers from Farden.
Beck nodded to both captains as he continued forward. Pushing the doors open, Beck could hear voices coming from within the grand chamber. Inside were Mehail Bander, Jaiden Zeer, and High Priest Trailen Kaftal. They were seated at a large table with an empty chair. The hall about them was exquisite. It had smooth marble floors wrought with gold inlay and a vaulted ceiling of crystal that clearly showed the moons and stars above.
Pausing at the door, Beck locked eyes with Mehail. Mehail stood and smoothed out his long councilor’s jacket. Mehail’s coat was made of a sheer grey material with modest gold inlay on the cuffs and low collar. It was unbuttoned, showing a formal yet unpretentious white shirt and grey pants beneath. Around his neck, Mehail wore an intricate pendant necklace of finely wrought metal. Other than the pendant, his attire was modest, which only did more to accentuate his striking features. Beck had never met a leader who commanded attention like Mehail. Within minutes of meeting the Chair of the High Council, people would do exactly as he told them to, thinking all the while it had been their idea in the first place.
Standing next to Mehail, Trailen Kaftal, High Priest of the Eastern Order of the Arkai, smiled at the newcomers. The priest wore ornate golden robes befitting his position and had long silvery hair that shone in the moonlight that cascaded down from the crystal ceiling above. Cinched at the waist by a belt of woven silver, his robes gracefully eddied about his body as they flowed down to the marble floor. Unarguably, he was the most powerful man in the room. One of Trailen’s many duties was overseeing Mindra’s Temple, and he was at these meetings to moderate and speak on behalf of the Eastern Guardians. Trailen was one of six living people to have a Rune that directly connected him to a High Arkai, thereby allowing him to possess a sliver of the being’s mysterious power. The Rune was clearly visible on Trailen’s brow now, penetrating deeply into the flesh of the man’s forehead. His smile was warm, but guarded, as if he understood a difficult truth few others could comprehend.
At the other end of the table, Jaiden Zeer stood as well. Strikingly beautiful, she wore a long-sleeved black dress over black leggings and high boots. Inlaid with subtle dark-green scrollwork, the dress was both elegant and functional, with sleeves hanging over the backs of her hands, supposedly concealing two long daggers on either forearm. Matriarch of the Eastsouthern forests of Farden, Jaiden was said to be a perfect example of her people: she was extremely thoughtful and reserved, but when provoked, her wrath could be quite devastating.
This will be a tough group to find peace with, Beck thought as he and Arva approached the table in the center of the large chamber.
“Welcome, Lord Arva Vatana,” Mehail said, spreading his arms wide. “I hope General Beck Al’Beth kept you entertained on your way here.”
“He is a very cordial man, Mehail,” Arva said with a thin smile. “In addition, he showed great wisdom by accepting my bodyguard requirements. Only on equal ground will peace be found in Devdan.”
“I could not agree more. General Beck, please have the temple’s fire lit to let the citizens know that we have begun.”
Beck bowed deeply to Mehail and turned back toward the doors.
“Oh, and General: one more thing.” Mehail came over and put his hand on Beck’s shoulder. Together they walked halfway to the door. Mehail paused and carefully removed his necklace. Holding the intricate pendant in his palm, Mehail closed his eyes for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone was much quieter. “Take this for me, my friend. I no longer have need of it.”
“My Lord, I’ve never seen this off of your neck.”
Mehail had once told Beck that the pendant was a gift from the High Priestess of the Southern Order of the Arkai. He had been told that the pendant, given to Mehail when he was only a child, was an ancient Runic relic. It was not a gift given lightly, then or now.
“It might just be an old trinket,” Mehail said, smiling, “but I’ve always felt safe wearing it.”
“Lord, I cannot take this from you.” Beck’s voice was low, but there was intensity in his words. “We both know it is no trinket, and you need it now more than ever.”
“You must take it, Beck. I cannot enter these meetings with thoughts of the old times plaguing my mind. Wars have been won and lost by the two leaders behind me. Our friends and countrymen have fallen to their blades and arrows for countless years. Sadly, these are not easy things to forget.” Mehail’s eyes traced the scar on his general’s right cheek. “Despite this, I’ve prayed for peace my whole life. And now, with unification within my grasp, I cannot carry any lingering remembrance of the past which might threaten my blossoming hope for the future.”
Beck looked down as Mehail placed the pendant into his palm. Mehail then closed Beck’s fingers around the necklace. After gripping Beck’s hand, he turned to walk back toward the others.
“Lord.” Beck reached out and grasped Mehail’s arm. “I still do not think it was wise to agree to Arva’s demands.”
“As you know, the High Council’s eventual vote was unanimous, and with the Bankers Guild’s looming insolvency, our decision is backed by the majority of the other Guilds, too.”
“Eventual? So the usual voices in the council were able to sway all others?”
“Yes, both Councilman Larrl and Berath strongly urged us to agree to Arva’s terms. But they have always wanted peace in our realm.”
“Is it peace they have wanted, or capitulation to Asura’s Northern Empire?”
“Beck,” Mehail said with a sigh, “there comes a time when one must put down the warrior’s sword so a palm can be opened in friendship and trust.”
“Lord, I trust you and Adhira’s solders with my life.”
“Then trust me now and trust in the wisdom of Adhira’s Council.”
“Even if they can be trusted, without my men in the city we will be defenseless if something happens. If anything happens. There is a difference between trust and recklessness, Lord.” Beck paused, weighing his words. “Mehail, no one will know if I bring several legions over the channel by the cover of night. With those extra men, we would be prepared if—”
Mehail placed a reassuring hand on Beck’s arm, silencing him. “Nothing is earned without risk, my old friend. Nothing.”
; Aleksi stood in the dark and stared at the apothecary’s boarded door. The planks that barred the entrance looked old and half-rotted. The store’s windowpanes were covered in a thick layer of grime and Aleksi wiped his hand over the hazy glass. Inside, the building was dark and dirty, possessing a few pieces of cloth-covered, decrepit furniture. The bookshelves were empty and there was nothing else distinguishable inside the otherwise barren room. There was no grand answer and no shining light at the end of the tunnel—only dust and memories held by people long dead.
I finally found it, Aleksi thought bitterly, but what for? What am I supposed to do now? Closing his eyes to fight back tears, the youth felt his gut tighten. The pain rekindled a sadness both familiar and raw.
Aleksi’s last memory of Rudra flashed before his eyes. Bathed in the early morning light of the Zenith, the black-hooded silhouette of his once-beloved Master was walking away from the Eastern Academy in exile. The Masters had tried to execute Rudra after his trial, but Rudra’s Runic power was too great and the council, unable to slay him, was forced instead to condemn the Southern Master to exile in Vai’kel. Although Rudra’s final words to Aleksi had been a whisper, they had rung in the youth’s ear like a deafening blast. “Do not be afraid, my Apprentice, for I will come back for you.” It was five years ago that Rudra had been banished, and the memory was forever engraved in Aleksi’s mind.
Where are you, Rudra? Aleksi felt his body tense with resentment and anger. Why would you send me here for nothing? You wanted me to find what? This rotting store? Why didn’t you come back for me like you promised! Why?
The boy rested his head on the door of the dead apothecary. A silent tear ran down his cheek. Aleksi’s breath was heavy and it blew back hot on his face. What am I supposed to do? Break into this damn place and rummage through the drawers? I risked everything for you, Rudra . . .
Through teary eyes, Aleksi looked up at the glowing stars. His throat was tight and his chest ached. Why did you have to leave me? Aleksi sucked in air through gritted teeth and clenched his fists.
“Why?” Aleksi felt himself punch the door. “Why? Why? Why?!” Aleksi struck the door harder and harder. On the final blow, he felt the wood splinter beneath his strike.
Aleksi stared down at a small trickle of blood dripping from his hand.
“To receive such punishment,” a weathered voice casually said from behind Aleksi, “that door must have wronged you greatly.”
Aleksi spun and his left hand flashed to the sheath of his blade as his right grasped its hilt. Aleksi saw an older man dressed in rags leaning against a building across the alley. He was slumped on the cobblestones and wrapped in a torn cloak. His eyes were a milky grey green and unfocused, and his face was spotted with unkempt scruff. A bottle lay in the man’s lap—he was the epitome of unthreatening.
Aleksi shook his head and took a deep, ragged breath. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sir.” Dropping his hand from his sword, Aleksi turned away. “Please excuse me—”
“I’m the one who’s sorry, my boy,” the man responded before Aleksi could take a step.
Although rough, the old man’s voice was strong, despite his ragged attire. Free of a beggar’s cant, his tone filled the empty alleyway and rang out as if it had once commanded attention and respect, albeit a very long time ago.
Aleksi turned around to face the man. His green eyes seemed to stare past Aleksi. He’s blind. Taking a step forward, Aleksi could see that this man was no common vagabond. A drunkard, yes, but not the common drifter trash he had heard about at the Academy. Upon closer inspection, Aleksi noticed that although disheveled, the man was mostly clean. His clothes were free of stains or smell, and what had appeared to be common rags upon first glance was in fact an old military uniform from the Vai’kel Unification War. Any further details, however, were impossible to tell from its frayed state.
“Why are you here, old man?” Aleksi asked, his voice growing soft. “Do you have nowhere else to sleep other than the street?”
“Ha! Without anger like yours,” the old man chuckled, “I bet I sleep better than you do, no matter where I lay my head. Come closer, boy, you sound like a youth with a purpose. What is it, I wonder, so late at night? Why are you here?”
“My purpose is my own,” Aleksi said sharply, wiping the tearstains from his face.
The old man’s thin lips stretched into a slight smile. “Ah, the joys of youth. So full of passion and purpose, and yet possessing so few manners . . .”
Aleksi’s jaw tightened and he widened his stance, causing his right boot to make a slight scraping sound on the cobblestone.
“Easy now, son. No need to take offense. My Lord used to have a saying, ‘Only a fool hears truth and becomes offended.’ I take it that you are young, but no fool.”
Aleksi remained silent.
“If you’re looking for the owner of this apothecary, his name was Eamon. He died some years ago. He was a good man, generous and fair. He took me in after . . .” The old man then took a swig from his bottle and said no more.
“You know about this apothecary?” Aleksi asked carefully. “You knew the owner?”
“Indeed, I did, and quite well. He said my blindness was curable, although I never believed him. But he never believed how I was blinded, so fair’s fair, I suppose.”
Aleksi ran a shaky hand through his long hair. “I . . . I was told to come here, to find this place . . . I don’t know why.”
The old man precariously rose to his feet. Steadying himself on the wall behind him, he took an uneasy step forward. Aleksi leaned back in reflex, once again placing a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“No need for that, I just wish to see you.” The old man slowly put his hands on Aleksi’s face. They were soft and their touch was soothing.
The old man first felt Aleksi’s cheeks and forehead, then his jaw, nose and eyes. “Saven?” The old man whispered. “No, impossible . . . Then you must be—” Suddenly, the old man gasped, jerking his hand away as if scorched by a flame. Stumbling back, he braced his hands in front of him as if expecting an attack. Aleksi took a confused step away as the old man cried out, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
“What? What are you—”
“I . . . I did everything I could,” the old man stammered. “We never had a chance against him! No one did!”
“What? Against who? What are you talking about?”
The old man reached into his cloak and removed a half-broken pendant from beneath his shirt. “I . . . I always knew you both survived . . .” he said between gasps. “No one believed me, but I always knew he didn’t kill you . . . Not even he could kill infants.”
Tears were now openly streaming down the man’s face. Seeing tears come from blind and unfocused eyes sunken in a face so full of memories and anguish disturbed Aleksi deeply.
“Who are you?” Aleksi asked softly. “What are you saying?”
The old man thrust the damaged pendant out and fumbled it into Aleksi’s hand. Split down the middle and strung on a chain, half of a pendant choker rested weightlessly in his palm. What remained was carved with intricate Runes. It looked like a House Rune, but with half of the Rune missing, it was impossible to know for sure.
“Take it, boy. It is yours. Your birthright . . .”
The material was a matte black and like nothing Aleksi had seen even in the Masters’ Academy. At its severed center, a circular black stone was split in half and somehow was miraculously suspended at the pendant’s former core. The stone was solid like steel, but its surface was soft like leather. Somehow, Aleksi felt as if he remembered the touch of it. Distant and hazy, the memory floated in his mind and then disappeared. Try as he might to recall it, however, the sensation faded away like he had imagined it in a forgotten dream.
“Which one are you, I wonder?” the old man said. “No, it doesn’t matter.” Suddenly, he stood up and tried to leave.
“Wait!” Aleksi grabbed the man’s arms with a power stronger than his yea
rs. “You must answer my questions. Where did you get this? What does this have to do with the apothecary and how do you know who I am?”
The old man winced as pain and guilt spread across his face. “No, not the apothecary. That’s my story, not yours. But yours is not mine to tell. You must find your truth for yourself. Please forgive me, young lord . . .” The old man went weak in the knees and was held up only by Aleksi’s firm grasp.
Aleksi slowly released his grip and the old man slid down the wall and hunched over on the cobblestones. Aleksi looked down at the pendant. A strange feeling clung at his heart. “Tell me, please,” Aleksi whispered, kneeling down beside the man. “Did you know my father?”
The man wiped his eyes on his sleeve and raised his head. “Yes. It was he whom I served. Until Terra’s Bane . . .” The man shook his head. “It is a miracle you survived . . .”
“Terra’s Bane . . .” Aleksi murmured. “I’ve heard stories, but my Master never told me what truly happened.”
“You must go to Vai’kel to find your answers. Follow the great scar of Terra’s Bane to its end. In the valley of Vandeen’s Grove you will find”—a look of nausea passed over the old man’s face—“you will find the ruins of a cursed house. Although once beloved, it fell to darkness. And then, by the hands of the Howler, it met its death.” The old man raised his hand as if to touch the boy’s face again. “But you live . . . and your house is dead no longer!” A wide smile spread across his face, giving contrast to his wrinkled and tearstained cheeks.
“So, not for the apothecary . . . ,” Aleksi whispered. “You are why Rudra sent me here—”
The old man cried out as if kicked in the stomach. Stammering, he fearfully pushed himself across the cobblestones, trying to get away from Aleksi. “That’s why he took you . . . He claimed you for atonement? And now he has sent you here to enact your revenge!”
“You have nothing to fear, old man. I mean you no harm.”
Rune of the Apprentice (The Rune Chronicles) Page 8
