Son of Ereubus

by J. S. Chancellor

  She remained still while he wrapped the cloak around her, angry that he would automatically assume she’d pried it off of some dead, unfortunate Ereubinian. She stepped back, holding out her hand.

  “I could care less about the sword, but the dagger I want returned to me.” She paused, and when he made no move to retrieve it, she felt the edge of her restraint crumble. “It has sentimental meaning, and it’s rightfully mine. I think exchanging what is plainly more valuable in return for something that I’ve had for years, a gift mind you, is more than fair — it’s outrageously generous.”

  Astounded, he turned and opened the drawer of the night table, pulling out her dagger. She took it as soon as it was offered and started toward the door.

  “And just to make certain that you understand, I didn’t find the cloak.” Duncan would be more than entertained if he were alive to hear this.

  She had pried the door partially open when he stopped her.

  “Was this given to you?” he asked sharply, motioning toward the cloak.

  She contemplated a sarcastic answer, but his expression belied his composure. Sighing, she turned back around to face him. “What else would I have meant?” she huffed. “He followed me into the Netherwoods, I fell, and after — brief conversation ...” her mind wandered for a moment, his words coming back to her. You are not human. “He told me to hide until nightfall and shoved the cloak in my hands.”

  Michael’s eyes for a split second lit with unbridled anger before returning to meticulously maintained stoicism. “What did he look like?”

  Beautiful. “Dark hair, strangely colored eyes — violet. He had a scar.” She traced her jaw, seeing it in her mind for the first time as she pictured him.

  “Garren,” Michael growled. “His motives were not benevolent, I assure you.”

  His sudden intensity led her to accept his gesture and she pulled his cloak tighter around her shoulders.

  A knock at the door interrupted as she opened her mouth to thank him.

  “I thought I heard voices,” a gray-haired Adorian peered in, greeting them with a poignant smile. “Ah, the child is awake.” He said melodiously. “Michael, have you spo…”

  “No, I haven’t.” Michael waived Ariana over the threshold, motioning for the other Adorian to follow. “Do you mind escorting Ariana someplace where she could get some fresh air? Something has come up that needs my attention.”

  Jenner nodded, placing his arm around her shoulder. “I would be delighted. In fact, I know just the place.” He looked down at her. “Though only if my lady wishes it.”

  She nodded, feeling at least somewhat at ease with him. “Please.”

  Michael, without another word, breezed past them, making his way up the stairs and around the corner before they’d touched the first step.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  She smiled. “I suppose.”

  “Good, good. I cannot imagine you remember my name. It’s Jenner.”

  She nodded, relieved to be free of the cluttered room, its suffocating warmth, and Michael’s chatter.

  As they walked, she noted the shades of Jenner’s hair varied from light silver to a sooty black, falling neatly plaited just below his collarbone.

  Despite the softness about him, the gentle touch of one arm on her shoulder, she could not mistake the scars that marred his neck and hands.

  He laughed, noticing her scrutiny. “He wasn’t always this grave, and I wasn’t always so old. Michael has lost a wife, as well as a mother and father.” He straightened the hood from Michael’s cloak, patting at the fabric once it was in place.

  “This life — these sacrifices take a toll on all of us.” He ran his finger across a particularly deep scar on his forearm. “Though bearing in mind those whom we have become united with under such trial makes it bearable, if not pleasurable. Give Michael time. This is not easy for either of you.”

  They came around the corner, passed through another door, and exited to a courtyard. The air nipped at them, whipping Ariana’s hair around her face and neck. She considered correcting what had become a shared delusion, but decided against it. He seemed pleased to imagine her one of their kind, and she didn’t have the heart to seem ungrateful for their hospitality. She had a hard enough time believing that their world was real and not some figment of ancient man’s patently bored mind. She’d deal with the rest of it when she had time to let that thought grow conceivable.

  They walked in pleasant silence for quite a while, wandering through well-kept winter gardens with snow-covered statues, all the while staying near the keep. All she could think about were the stories Sara had delightedly recited to her over the years, the wonder and faith that had been ever-present in her smile. Where are you now?

  Passing through an arched doorway into a partially open pavilion, she heard a ruckus followed by grumbling, and what sounded like the pounding of a nail in wood.

  Off in the far left corner, a wingless being stood, the apparent source of the displeasured ranting, a shadow obscuring all but the outline of his figure. As they neared, another — this one winged — stood next to the first, clutching rolled papers in his hands.

  “All this time. All of this effort spent on … Doesn’t he have someone else who can do this?” He pushed away the papers that had been held toward him in an uncoordinated gesture. “No, I don’t have time to listen to it. It’s meaningless anyway. You see what we have become. Slaves, servants in a realm that supposedly know nothing of slavery,” he griped.

  “But my Lord Braeden, it is the proposal of the Archorigen, and his wish for you to consider it.”

  “I was fighting battles before the boy was drawing breath. Archorigen or not, if it’s that important to him then he can speak with me himself.”

  Mere steps were all that remained between them. Light streaming in from the octagonal opening attached to the lower spires of the keep illuminated tan skin, and weathered, war-worn features. He continued to mumble, oblivious of their arrival.

  Ariana didn’t notice Jenner’s retreat as her hand gripped the dagger that she had pulled from her sleeve. She drew back and hurled it at the post, pinning the man’s sleeve.

  He wrapped his hand around the dagger to yank it free, when he slowly uncurled his fingers, exposing the gilded handle.

  “You should recognize it,” she spat. “Or has it been so long ago that you left us that your memory is dull?” She blinked back tears that were clouding her eyes, angry when she failed to keep them from rolling down her cheeks. The confusion, pain, and loss she could handle in due time — even the outrageous claims of familial ties, but this was too much.

  Without turning around, he lowered his head to where his sleeve was pinned, and rested his head upon the post. “Ariana,” he whispered.

  “You might have been better off pretending that you haven’t any knowledge of me, of any of us,” she choked, “Where is my father?”

  He removed the dagger and turned to face her. “I thought you were ...” his voice faltered and faded against the sound of its echo.

  “What, Duncan, dead?” she laughed bitterly. “I was told as much concerning your whereabouts, as well as father’s. That lie is abundantly clear.”

  He started forward, a shamed expression on his face. “Ari, please forgive me.”

  “I’m not even certain what to forgive you for!” she said angrily.

  She looked back at Jenner. “You led me here on purpose,” she accused. “Do not act as though I am incompetent or too faint for truth.”

  Whirling back around, she glared at Duncan. “You knew better. Of all who have known me, you couldn’t have forgotten what little patience I have for lies. Is what Michael speaks about me true?”

  Duncan hesitated and she winced. Her exaggerated movements and the strain on her throwing arm had irritated her side. Biting back the pain, she snapped, “Answer me!”

  “Yes,” Duncan said gravely. “You are and will always be a full-blood Adorian.”

 
The air seemed devoid of oxygen, her chest struggling to hold its own against her shock. The sharp, undeniable pain felt far too much like betrayal to be anything else.

  He continued, “Ari, you have to understand that we were sworn to keep your existence from the Ereubinians. Your father had good reason for his actions. I never questioned that.”

  She shook her head. “My father can speak for himself. Where is he?”

  His eyes glossed over. “I’m sorry, truly. I thought — I assumed you knew.”

  Had she been able, she would have left them then, gathered what little she still possessed, and taken Koen as far from this place as she could go. Though she wanted — willed them even — her feet would not move.

  “How would I have known?” she asked softly.

  What a foolish, foolish girl I’ve been. I should have listened to them. How many days, years were lost imagining that my father lived, believing that those who had told me otherwise were wrong.

  Jenner rested one hand on her shoulder, turning her face toward his with the other. “I should have expected your father’s spirit in you. Michael and I both thought a familiar presence would comfort you, not wound you. It seems perhaps we have not fully considered your feelings.”

  She turned cold eyes toward the man who had been like a father to her. “There was a time it would have.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE WILL DO

  C

  ompletely circular, with a dark stone floor, the room held ninety of Garren’s officers awaiting his arrival. Without any natural light, it was pitch-black save the faint glow of the sconces that lined the outer walls.

  As soon as Garren entered, the Ereubinians knelt down before him, the sound of their swords brushing the floor mingled with the soft scuffling of his guards’ boots falling into alignment at the threshold.

  “You may rise,” Garren said. “The Laionai have commanded that a new regime shall be brought forth against Adoria. An army strengthened by the hands of men. You shall depart to each of the provinces of Middengard and gather the strongest among the vessels. Train them in our methods — equip them with our weapons. You have been given less than one year’s time to complete this preparation.”

  “My liege, has it been decided which of the provinces we are each to attend to?” Jules asked. He was one of a handful of seasoned officers, well set in his ways. His overzealousness to please often annoyed Garren, but today it seemed slightly more palatable.

  “I have drawn up scrolls for each of you, sending you to a province according to your ability. Each of the regions has its own natural strengths and I have decided accordingly.”

  “And what of you my Lord? Will you be in charge of a region as well?” Aiden asked. Garren could barely see him from the back of the assembly, his face shaded by darkness.

  Surely he won’t question my authority here, now.

  “As High Lord, I fail to see where my dealings are of any concern to you.” He gritted his teeth, his blood boiling just below the surface at the boldness of the question and the mere suggestion that he needed to answer it. He desperately wanted Aiden to shut his mouth, but this streak in him made Garren wonder where his friend’s loyalties were. There was one sure way to find out.

  “As for your assignment, it is to be in the southernmost region. I expect all of you to ride out at dawn.”

  Aiden stepped out of the shadows. “The southern region is almost desolate. Only Ruiari remains intact, I would be of better use elsewhere.”

  A chill fell across Garren’s features. “You seem to have lost your wits today, Aiden. Go back to bed and pray to the Goddess you awake with better sense.”

  Aiden seemed to consider this, but his body grew rigid and he took an aggressive step forward, his hand balled into a fist, evidence that he’d decided against his better judgment.

  Garren closed his eyes, willing Aiden to fall back before it was too late. “Rese fixous necromai.” He lifted his hand, gesturing toward Aiden, pausing just long enough to give him one last chance to back away.

  “Eritrev chorak.”

  The final word of the reprimand crossed, as a whisper, over Garren’s lips. He opened his eyes and though his expression displayed nothing but righteous anger, his heart ached for what he had done.

  The others froze as they watched Aiden fall to the ground, his body twisting unnaturally, sending his arms and legs into strange contortions. Mangled words came indecipherably from his lips as he writhed in pain.

  Garren stood over Aiden in silence for a moment before speaking to him. “It’s your speech that leads you into such dissonance, so you shall be without it.”

  All were silent as they watched Aiden continue to seize, unable to open his eyes or speak. Blood began to drip from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin to form into a puddle on the dusty floor. Aiden reached up and clasped a hand around his throat, coughing and gagging. A sickening cry erupted as he tried to speak and found himself without a tongue.

  The others had backed away far enough to kneel and still appear under Garren’s command, but their eyes were trained on Aiden. Tadraem, clothed in the elaborate robes of the High Priest, was the only man present who kept his proximity and likewise his ability to hear the High Lord’s hushed words.

  Garren leaned down, whispering into Aiden’s ear. “I consider it a measure beyond grace that you’re still breathing, despite your inability to take seriously the corrections I generously offered you. Don’t disappoint me again, or this will seem but a pleasant dream.”

  Rising, he motioned for Tadraem to see to Aiden.

  “I will get him cleaned up, my Lord. I have left the scrolls in each of the officer’s chambers,” Tadraem said, lifting Aiden. With staggered steps, they made their way to the guards, who escorted them into the hall.

  “Do not mistake me. Compared to the Moriors, my kindness is more than unmerited.” Garren paced in front of them as he spoke. Not a single one dared utter a word in response. “Do you think my judgment unfair?”

  Jules stepped forward, and knelt. “Your commission by the Laionai is without question, my Lord. Your command through the Dark Goddess is unquestionable; therefore your judgment is as well. Blessed am I to be among your favored.”

  Garren would have rolled his eyes, or even chastised Jules for taking patent advantage of the situation, but even the ingratiating proclamation was a respite from the actions Garren had just found unavoidable.

  “Your allegiance has earned you Aiden’s position,” he said soberly. “The Southern region would be my support, training with my forces in Eidolon. Considering Tadraem has retired from his command, a commission is in order. That commission was to be Aiden’s, but now you shall step up in his stead.”

  Jules kept his head bowed, smiling as Garren revealed his decision.

  “I am honored my Lord. You will not regret my appointment.”

  “For your sake, let us hope that I don’t.”

  Garren’s head pounded, partly from tension, partly from lack of sleep. “I release all of you for now. Go, read over your decrees — Nech ordai neroman.”

  Voices joined in a reverent echo as they left him.

  Aiden had never so much as whispered a word of defiance before. Garren felt a twinge of remorse as he realized that he’d never hear his friend speak again, but his words weren’t worth hearing if they were going to invite insolence against him.

  Suddenly unable to contain his frustration, he grabbed a chair and smashed it against the wall.

  “Are you ready, my Lord?” Tadraem asked, as he returned to the room. “Aiden has been taken care of.”

  “I had no other choice.” Garren had never before felt the urge to justify his actions to anyone, let alone Tadraem.

  “My Lord, I have been expecting this for some time. Jules is a much wiser choice for my former standing. He is more reserved in his opinions and though he’s a bit pompous, he’s reliable.” He walked over to Garren and glanced at the floor. “Did the chair say someth
ing offensive as well?” he mused.

  “No, I’m redecorating.” Garren gave him a half grin.

  “With one less voice to cause disunity among the forces, you’ll feel at ease before long. You sensed this as well. You haven’t been yourself since our return.” Tadraem began walking with Garren toward the door. “I chose to avoid the topic with you, but it seems now that you were simply being cautionary. I owe you an apology.”

  Garren considered telling Tadraem about the girl and his visions of her, but something kept him from speaking the words.

  “Is there something on your mind, my Lord?”

  “What would my father have done?”

  Tadraem took a moment before answering. “He would have made the same choice, had he the ability.”

  As they made their way through the courtyard, Garren thought of his father, Seth. He’d never known his mother. She died early in his childhood, though it wouldn’t have made much difference had she lived. She was human and would not have been allowed to spend much time with him. He recalled very little of either of his parents, his father having lost his life in battle with the Adorians around the same time as his mother’s death. Tadraem, Seth’s friend and commander, took Garren as his charge. He’d practically raised him.

  “If it suits you, my Lord, I will sit with the two of you. The Goddess shines her favor upon you with this union, and I would not dream to offend her holiness or your wishes by my choice. I trust this meeting will address any changes that may be necessary.” Tadraem paused before the threshold.

  “How long has it been since she lost her soul?”

  “She was taken from Ruiari.” Tadraem opened the door to the outer courts, and without further conversation, they made their way to the temple. Once inside the sanctuary, they passed the altar and the pulpit, walked through a high-framed doorway and entered a small room beyond. There, the girl sat at a crudely carved table, her hands neatly folded in her lap.