Son of Ereubus

by J. S. Chancellor

  Aiden seemed to accept this explanation though it took him a moment before he replied. “You will feel better in the morning, I’m sure of it. You need to eat. That’s really what all this is about.” Aiden’s tone lightened to playful banter.

  Garren could only muster a tight-lipped nod. “Perhaps you’re right,” he murmured. I pray you are.

  The dining hall was draped in red fabric that covered the walls and laid in strips down the center of the tables. Garren entered through a large curtain, emerging on a tall platform that rose from the dark stone floor. Those who were gathered kneeled, keeping their eyes trained on the ground as his arrival was announced.

  When he gave his approval, they broke into praise and accolades. Giving a warm smile in return, he stepped forward to address them.

  “I am privileged to be home on this night, and blessed to be of Ereubinian descent. We have attained long-awaited victory, as the Laionai reign now expands over all of Middengard. Nothing gives me more pleasure than to celebrate this triumph with you. The will of the Goddess has been fulfilled. Rejoice!” He thrust both hands into the air and the crowd applauded and cheered. “Let us eat!” he cried.

  As he sat down in his chair, musicians began to play an old tune of which his father had been fond. He remained silent as the food was brought to the tables and the feast began. After prayerfully committing his food to Ciara, he ate and discussed matters concerning Eidolon with the other men. Discussions of this nature always excited him, and as the night wore on, he felt more at ease. The memory of the girl’s appearance was replaced by visions of a more powerful realm and the commendation of the Laionai before the coming observance.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  REVELATION

  M

  ichael was unable to speak. Jenner’s words came after a long pause and with much effort. “And your mother?” he asked. Ariana pulled the covers closer as she answered, her lack of awareness showing on her face. “Caelyn,” she whispered. “She was killed.”

  Jenner sat back on his heels. “Could it be?” he asked, looking at Aulora.

  Aulora rose slowly and hobbled to them. “Long have you suspected Tathan’s daughter to have borne two children.”

  Michael glared at Jenner, who gave an apologetic nod. “I have, but the thought had little merit until now. She needs rest, and has suffered much. Let this continue when she has had time to recover.”

  They moved into the hallway. Once they had closed the door behind them, Michael turned to Jenner. “Why would you keep this from me? If you suspected this …”

  Jenner gently cut him off. “It was merely a question in the recesses of an old mind, Michael. I am no longer a young knight, capable of giving room to such a fantasy. You know as well as I that there have been more pressing matters for you to contend with. I had no reason to bother you with an unfounded thought.”

  Michael felt the tension in his shoulders beginning to loosen slightly. What Jenner said made sense but it aggravated him nonetheless. “We are not finished discussing this. I trust you will say nothing of her identity to the others until I deem it appropriate. I cannot say how she will take it, and I would prefer she hear it from someone who knew Father, who is aware of her existence. If she is from Palingard …” he paused, a certain Braeden coming to mind. He could tell by Jenner’s expression that uttering the name was unnecessary. “I will speak with him tomorrow.”

  Jenner nodded, “Perhaps it will be some comfort to her considering all that she has lost.”

  Nearly half an hour after Jenner had left him, the door to the hallway opened. Aulora gazed down at Michael, who sat dozing upright at the bottom of the stairwell with his back against the adjacent wall.

  “You can come in now, she is asleep,” Aulora whispered, leaning down and nudging him.

  He opened his eyes and looked up at her. “You knew I was here all along, didn’t you?”

  Aulora grinned. Michael often thought she took amusement in her wisdom. His question was answered as he crept back through the door and saw that she had placed a blanket and pillow on the floor in the corner. The dog was sound asleep, having made his bed in a warm spot close to the hearth.

  Aulora laughed, mumbling something under her breath as she hobbled over to small spiral staircase that led to the room above. He listened as her footsteps grew faint.

  He sat on the blankets and leaned on a wooden chair. He couldn’t help but gaze at her as she slept, the firelight dancing on her soft porcelain features. She seemed so small, younger than him by at least ten or twelve years.

  Many thoughts ran through Michael’s head. He’d known very little about where he was born, only that, as an Adorian male, he had been taken back to Adoria to be raised. Trained Braeden males were the only Adorians allowed stay among the humans. His mother would have held to the account that she had miscarried the child and his absence would never be questioned. Ariana couldn’t have known about him unless their father had told her, but apparently he had kept their existences a secret from both of them.

  He thought about his father’s death, almost a decade ago. That would have left Ariana alone at the age of eleven or twelve, at the most. His heart sank at the realization. As devastated as he had been over their father’s death, he had been twenty-four, able to handle something so difficult. She had lost both a mother and a father before she was even a teenager. Gabriel had told him long ago of his mother’s death but not the details. Michael figured that if he needed to know, his father would have told him. It wasn’t something he had questioned until now. His mother’s death had been close to fifteen years ago, the same time as the failed attack by the Ereubinians on Palingard. His father had returned to Adoria several months later, devastated, staying a very brief time before leaving again, which made more sense now that Michael knew his father had a child to tend.

  There was a good reason that children who were brought back to Adoria were never told where their parents were. Had Michael known, he would have gone after his father on several occasions. Others would have done the same. Humans were never to witness them in battle or otherwise, so only on a rare occasion had a human seen a traditional Adorian male.

  Gabriel, being Braeden, was gone for long periods of time throughout Michael’s life. But he was present often enough to hold an important rank in Adoria and to serve with the council of elders.

  It made no sense to Michael why his father never mentioned Ariana’s existence. Why wasn’t she brought here after their mother was killed? What bothered him more was the likelihood that there were others of their kind who knew, but had kept silent.

  “You must have had a reason,” he whispered.

  Koen stirred beside the fireplace and lifted his head. He sat up, stretched, and ambled over to where Michael was sitting.

  Michael stroked the dog’s head and neck. He was a rather large animal, with a blackish-brown coat and white paws, ears that stood straight up, deep black orbs for eyes, and an indescribable presence, as if he carried all the secrets of the world.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” Michael whispered, scratching behind Koen’s ears. Koen panted happily in response. Michael had a dog once; he had looked similar to Koen except it had a much smaller body and a distinct reddish coat of fur. Michael had found the dog wandering outside of the Iidolis, where he grew up. It was a school of sorts, where the male children of the Braeden were raised. Originally they were trained in the same manner as the Braeden, in offensive warfare. This was before the Elders had ended the Age of Guardians.

  Michael, after growing up and leaving the Iidolis, remained a mentor despite his duties as Archorigen. The education had changed purpose since Gabriel’s death, focusing now on more defensive techniques. Their existence now was more for the protection of Adoria, should it be needed, than for foreign warfare.

  The select few who were chosen to become Braeden were raised in the Aidolis. Similar to the Iidolis, it housed the boys as they were trained in intensive warfare. There were only a handful chosen each
year and they were never the sons of Braeden, so as to not place the burden of loss too deeply on any one family. In keeping with custom, they were never told who their parents were, their allegiance rested on their leaders alone. Gabriel had been the last to guide them. The Aidolis now sat barren, its hollow shell the subject of heated debate concerning its future use.

  Michael moved the chair and repositioned his pillow and bedding. His body was telling him how late it had become. Laying down, he heard Koen scratching and shuffling around part of the blanket, exhaling noisily as he settled in.

  Michael closed his eyes, picturing as he drifted into sleep what his mother might have looked like. He imagined that Ariana favored her a great deal.

  It was mid-morning when Michael opened his eyes. The room was still dim, the fire having died down, but Michael could see a thin ribbon of light filtering in from beneath the door. Koen had moved and was sleeping on the end of the bed with Ariana.

  The air had chilled during the night and he rose to place more wood on the fire.

  Ariana stirred as the bark on the firewood scraped together, bits and pieces falling to the floor below. She had burrowed beneath the covers as far as she could, leaving only the top of her head visible.

  Michael stopped for a moment before putting the logs in the hearth and glanced over at her. He could barely see her without the glow from the fire.

  He turned and arranged the wood, picking up some kindling and stuffing it beneath the heavier pieces. There were enough embers left from the night before that with a few breaths it sparked back to life. Visibility returned to the room, tiny flecks of light dancing over the deep red hue of Ariana’s hair. His dark blonde hair had a tint of red to it. His skin was also pale like hers. Adoria was blanketed in snow for most of the year, so unless an Adorian was half-human, his complexion was naturally light.

  The homes in Cyphrus, the capital city, were nestled along the cliffs of two large mountain ranges leading down into the valley. The castle that housed the elected sovereign, all members of the council and retired members of the Braeden began in the valley, built along the edges of the mountain, and extended upwards to a high point on the far north side.

  The buildings were all cut from the radiant white stone of the Keil Mountains. Ornate carvings lavished the exteriors and rich colors from tapestries and paintings, all crafted by the ancients, adorned the interiors. Deep hues of blue with patterns of silver were woven into the rugs that ran the length of the halls in the castle. He had stayed there with his father when he was home, the only child who had ever been allowed to come and go from the Iidolis. He remembered his father teaching him how to wield a sword and shoot a bow. It was nothing like the training that he had received from his instructors — his father was unquestionably more skilled.

  He had only seen Palingard once, and it had been from a distance. Several years ago, he had detoured from his men on the return voyage from a brief skirmish near Cornumas, which lay south of Palingard.

  He had ridden at dusk through the Netherwoods, aware that it was risky coming so close. The other men had stayed far aside, riding straight through to Adoria, but Michael was curious. He had wondered how different their world was from his. He had met Ereubinians on too many occasions, every one of which was unpleasant. They were still humans, in a way. The two races had the same lineage thousands of years ago. But he had never actually seen a real human village, though he had been defending them and learning about them for as long as he could remember. He had slowed his horse as he approached the edge of the woods. The light from the fires illuminated the villagers with a soft glow. They were celebrating something.

  It had appeared to be a wedding of some sort. He was intrigued. It was nothing like a wedding in Adoria. Their weddings were very sacred matters, held in private. Michael had watched as the couple stood together holding hands in front of a man dressed in dark clothing. Everyone was silent as the pair was prompted to repeat things to one another. A few moments later, they had turned to face the crowd, and everyone cheered. Michael smiled. They all began to sing and dance. Long tables had been set out with food and drink. He couldn’t make out details, but he could see decorations had been put up everywhere. They were so full of life. He had spent so much of his existence focusing on duty and responsibility that he couldn’t pull his eyes away from them.

  As they had rejoiced, it had struck him why the Braeden were so different when they returned home. Once the young Braeden were ready to leave Adoria, they weren’t allowed to return for at least ten years.

  He had watched them for a moment, imagining what it would have been like to live among humans for so long. In the brief time that he had witnessed their private world, he felt extraordinary loyalty to their cause. He could not imagine how intense it would have become had he been there longer. Michael left, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. He had believed and put faith in his father’s words, but it was different seeing the very core of what he had been taught to protect. He would never be the same.

  Michael was still deep in thought when he heard her move. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed, staring into the fire. She shifted beneath the covers for a moment, before growing restless and sitting up. She looked around the room, trying to get her bearings, her brow furrowed. Michael looked up at her and placed his hand on the bed.

  “It’s alright,” he said. “Do you remember where you are?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  YOU LOOK LIKE HIM

  H

  is stomach was already coming dangerously close to being unsettled. Garren tried to drown out the sound of those who escorted him as he made his way through the keep, past the baths, and into the temple of the Goddess.

  Night had fallen and the high glass dome that topped the entryway appeared as black as ink above him as he passed the red-robed vessels, his boots loudly echoing off the stone floor. Polished to a high sheen, the floor had a mirror-like effect, catching the candlelight and sending it out among the pillars and carvings that flanked the walls, lighting everything as if the room itself were aflame.

  There was no need for his guards to be told they were not allowed past the great doors into the inner sanctum, nor would they have wanted to go if they had been invited. Garren didn’t normally feel so ill at ease approaching the Laionai, but his insides churned, fearful of what they would sense in him. Will they know of my betrayal?

  He clenched his fist before motioning for one of the vessels to usher him in, falling to his knees the instant he was in their presence.

  He never grew accustomed to it. No matter how many times in the past he had been witness to it, no matter how many moments he spent questioning it, he would never find himself used to hearing their voice, devoid of an echo, as if time itself had no hold on them.

  “You have pleased Her Holiness, High Lord, with both your faithfulness and valor.”

  Garren felt his stomach coming undone and coiling in on itself as they spoke. His pulse quickened, sending blood rushing through his body, lower extremities going numb as the blood pooled at his middle. He kept his head lowered as he responded.

  “I pray that I have pleased you as well, your eminence.”

  Their eyelids slid over black orbs, fluttering unnaturally before reopening. The movement seemed nearly human, but forced as if the skin was trying in some way to respond like it was still marked with responsibility, still burdened with the tasks of keeping the organs functioning, but finding it unnecessary as it performed them.

  “Yes, High Lord. We find your appointment appropriate, as we believed when we gifted it to you. In light of your recent achievement, it is time for you to be joined with a breeder. It is the Goddess’ will to reward you for your efforts. We trust this gratifies you?”

  The Ereubinians had been held to eugenic law for centuries. He understood the reasoning — it was the only way to ensure the continuation and eventual purity of the lineage. Humans were not allowed to bear children of their own, but a select few
were chosen as breeders to carry the blood of Saint Ereubus.

  “Yes, your eminence. Deeply.”

  “We trust you have seen to the position of High Priest?”

  Garren nodded, “Yes, your eminence, I informed Tadraem upon my return from Palingard.”

  A smile erupted across the thinly stretched, translucently pale skin of their lips, revealing an absence of teeth. They laughed; a low and guttural sound that sent shivers across Garren’s flesh.

  “Very well, very well, son of Ereubus. Then as custom dictates, may the High Priest choose one among the daughters of Middengard for you and those of your men whom he feels are worthy of the blessing.”

  “Yes, your eminence.”

  The shuffling of feet filled his ears, scraping and eating at the floor as they came to surround Garren. He swallowed before lifting his eyes to see what they had brought him.

  The Ordakai, childlike in stature, were deceiving in their guile and agility. Servants to the Laionai, they scurried about the keep and courts like diseased rats, eating what food they could find, and stealing what caught their fancy. Without language or gender, Garren doubted they would exist at all if not for their masters.

  Their horned heads turned, looking him over. A fat, clumsy one stumbled forward, holding a chalice in its hands and cooing as Garren pulled it from stubby, crusted fingers.

  Always cool to the touch regardless of the climate around it, the chalice had been blessed by the Goddess for use in worship and was half-filled with a pungent red wine. He held it in his hands, as he had done thrice a year for nearly five years, waiting.

  A side door squeaked open, the rusted pins groaning with the weight, and four vessels ushered in a bound human who futilely thrashed about, hissing his anger through his bloodied mouth.

  Their eyes met, and to Garren’s surprise the man seemed almost grieved that the High Lord was present, a noticeable withering of his spirit visible in the lines of his face.