by Cole Pain
The guard’s face registered surprise, but he bowed and retreated. Ramie could almost feel Reese’s excitement at being allowed to witness the exchange.
“I want you both to be on your best behavior. Make these two feel welcome.”
Before he could say more the door opened and two men were ushered inside. The first was tall and thin, with a long cream cloak hanging loosely about him. A dark brown cowl covered the man’s head and shoulders, completely concealing his face. He carried a book in his gloved hands. It was the patoi of magic.
Arri stepped forward, white eyes regarding Ramie with a shadow of a smile. Before the silence became awkward Presario’s advisor tone sliced through the air. “It seems you’ve put me in an awkward position once again, my king. You left the book and I had to stare at it until my conscience couldn’t forgive me unless I delivered it to you myself.”
Ramie smiled, unable to contain his delight. “You will train my men?”
The cowled form gave a slight nod. “Yes, but understand I’ll leave as soon as I feel you can manage on your own.”
“We march tomorrow at dawn. I can wait no longer. You’ll come?”
Ramie held his breath. After a few heartbeats the brown cowl bowed. “I can teach in the saddle.”
“That’s all I can ask of you, Presario, and that’s far more than I expected.”
Ravi’s breath caught as soon as Presario’s name left Ramie’s lips. Before Ramie could stop her, Ravi walked to Presario and took one of his gloved hands. Ramie tensed. If he chastised his daughter, it would embarrass Presario more than if he did nothing. So he did nothing.
Ravi reached out and touched Presario’s hood. Presario grew taut. Ramie closed his eyes, praying to the Maker Ravi wouldn’t do what he knew she would.
When he looked again Presario’s hood was off. His face looked even more horrible in the light of day, but Ravi remained unflinching. The air thickened with silence. Ravi stood on her tiptoes and kissed Presario’s cheek. After a few breaths, Presario pulled Ravi into an embrace.
Ramie turned away, too overcome for words.
Chapter 4
Davis peered into the Yor Lake and wiped his brow. If it hadn’t been for the circumstances he would have laughed at his reflection. His shaggy brown hair was now cut close to his scalp and dyed a midnight black. His royal clothes had been discarded for a tattered green tunic and well-worn doeskin trousers. He carried a sword but it was cheaply done and had no ornamentation.
Ramie would never believe he was Davis Tresvent, prince of Fest. Actually, he wouldn’t be surprised if Ramie laughed in his face. Sighing, Davis straightened and walked toward the Crest Castle. It rose before him in both beauty and splendor. It turrets were a rich cream, decorated with gold ribbons and glittering stone. All windows were filled with stained glass images, some of scenes, others just awash in an array of colors. But despite its ornate trimmings the castle was built for beauty as well as protection. Every few cubits richly polished wooden machicolations blended in with the decorations of the castle and would be open if attack was imminent, housing guards with quivers of arrows or boiling kettles. The gates surrounding the keep were high and housed armed gatehouses every twenty paces.
As Davis approached the inner wall, a procession came out with Ramie leading. Davis picked up the pace, running through the crowd. He had been so preoccupied he hadn’t noticed the large ship docked in the lake. From the way Ramie was dressed he wasn’t leaving for an afternoon ride. He was riding to war.
Davis pushed his way to the front of the crowd. The things his father had revealed to him came back in a maddening rush: the needles, Korin. Holy Maker.
Ramie had almost reached him when a guard shoved him back.
“Out of the way, friend.”
“Please,” Davis said, “I need to speak to the king.”
The guard looked at his clothes before shaking his head. “Not today, son.”
Davis held up the message with the wax seal of his father. “I have a message from Lorlier.” Although it was Lorlier’s seal, Davis knew the guard wouldn’t believe him, not with the way he was dressed. The people jammed closer, shoving Davis back. The guard turned away, ignoring him.
Ramie walked by him.
Davis cursed and shoved past the guard, shouting Ramie’s name. His heart raced. He had to reach Ramie. He had to tell him Lorlier would meet him at the split in the Divi.
The guard caught his shoulder and threw him to the ground. Davis grabbed the man’s leg and twisted, toppling him, knocking over other onlookers. When the guard regained his footing, he forced Davis to his knees and manacled his hands. Davis looked up at the king, now halted before him.
A brief flicker of recognition passed over Ramie’s face, but before Davis could speak the guard brought him to his feet and shoved him back through the throng.
“My king, a message from Lorlier!” Davis shouted over his shoulder. “I have a message from Lorlier!”
Davis was unsure if the king heard. The guard dragged him forward. The crowd parted.
Then the king was before of him, peering up at him with questioning eyes.
“My lord,” Davis breathed frantically, “a message.” Davis diverted his eyes to his pocket where he had placed the message. “And a request to join you on board the ship.”
The guard guffawed, but Ramie’s eyes stayed on Davis.
“I was sorry to hear about Davis,” Ramie finally said. “Lorlier must be heartbroken. I can’t imagine losing a son, but these are dark times. Were you close to the prince?”
Davis nodded, catching Ramie’s hidden question. “Yes, my lord.”
Ramie walked past him without even reading the message. “This one comes with me. I’m in need of a new attendant.”
- - -
Bentzen fell, but he did not feel. He hadn’t eaten in days. He hadn’t slept in days. Part of him knew he was slowly going mad. At times he didn’t remember. Other times he did. When he remembered he gave himself more pain. He deserved it. He had failed, miserably failed.
His breath came in shallow gasps as he lay there. He suddenly wondered why he was on the ground. He couldn’t recall. But the grass felt good. He decided to remain there for a time, until he remembered why he wanted to leave.
His eyes opened and he watched the treetops sway in the breeze. He heard their rustle and exquisite dance. As a child, when the buds were new and the chores done, he used to escape to their highest branches. He loved to sit and listen to the breeze talk to the leaves, stirring them into song. Trees made him feel like he was above the world.
He decided he wanted to climb one.
Slowly, he moved. His feet dug into the grass. His hand pushed his weight.
Then he saw the blood.
What had happened to him? Blood coated his arms. A moan escaped his lips.
Tol had been taken from him. Tol had died in his arms.
He began to weep. He had never cried before. He never knew he could cry. The tears felt odd against his cheeks. One fell into his mouth. It tasted salty. The taste startled him. He licked his cheek. Yes, he tasted salt, but it was mingled with another flavor. He thought about it for a short time: salt and moisture and … pain. That was it. Tears even tasted like pain.
Why did the Maker have to take Tol away? Why couldn’t the Maker have taken him: a man who would never be missed, a man who had never looked at someone with such love or need, a man who wasn’t innocent?
He had grown up with unloving parents. His father stayed drunk and beat him every night. His mother watched but never intervened, never shed a tear. He held no love for either of them.
When he was thirteen his mother had given him a large sum of coins to purchase supplies for the winter. He had never returned.
He went to the next town and found employment with a farmer. He had always been tall and broad and was able to pass for being older. He worked there three years. The owner treated him admirably. He was well paid and well feed. The farmer’s daug
hter tried to talk to him on more than one occasion but he just smiled and walked away. Why would he want to let anyone close if his own parents could be so cruel?
That was why he was the way he was. When he left the farm he had gone directly to Stardom to try out for the guard. It had been a mere dream in his mind. He couldn’t even hold a sword. But he had a driving need to try. When Ren had allowed him in, despite his clumsiness, Bentzen had been humbled. His prince believed in him when all others took him for a mere beggared. He would do anything for Ren.
As Bentzen watched the trees bend in the breeze he suddenly hoped Ren knew how much he respected him. Even when Ren asked Bentzen to be in the guard little if any emotion had touched his face. He had decided long ago to feel no more. His parents had taught him that.
Now he knew love. Bentzen felt the knife wounds on his arms from where he had sliced his flesh in punishment. Would he have rather never felt love? He thought about it for a time. He honestly didn’t know. He was used to being unfeeling yet determined, liked but unknown. No, he didn’t want to be the old Bentzen, but he didn’t know if he wanted to be this one either. The pain was too great.
He heard horses. Bentzen lifted his head. Galvin and Neki cantered across the field. Neki had a cocked arrow aimed at a scurrying doe. Bentzen cried out, but his voice was only a whisper. He cursed himself for his stupidity. He owed Ren a report yet he had wounded himself almost to the point of death. He could always end his life after he had done his duty. Now he may have ended two more lives he cared about, that Ren cared about.
“No.” Bentzen forced his legs to stand. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
A horse stopped beside him. Bentzen looked up into Galvin’s dark eyes.
“Fates, Bentzen, what’s happened to you?” Galvin bent down, encircled Bentzen’s waist, and heaved him up on the palomino. “Hang on. I’ll take you to camp.”
Bentzen leaned into Galvin, feeling the other man’s heat. He felt so cold.
Bentzen forced his eyes open when Galvin’s mount came to a stop. Quinton and Markum tended a fire, but Ren was nowhere to be seen. Bentzen furrowed his brow. Where was Ren? From the looks of it the camp had been set up for quite some time. Neki dropped from his horse and flung the doe before the fire, lips broadening into a wide grin.
“We eat well tonight, my friends,”
Quinton looked up from the fire and smiled. His eyes flickered to Bentzen. Then a hollow curse escaped his lips.
All eyes turned to him. Bentzen smiled, managed a wave, and fell. Galvin caught him before he hit the ground. The world swayed. The faces surrounding him were fuzzy. Galvin’s deep voice yelled for water. Almost immediately cool water entered Bentzen’s mouth. He drank greedily. He hadn’t had water in days.
He mumbled for more. He heard someone say not to give him too much. Someone else started washing the wounds on his arms. He tried to shake them off but he only managed to flop his arms like a fish out of water. More water entered his mouth. He drank again, this time not as quickly, hoping they would let him have more if he slowed his pace. They did not.
He heaved a sigh as cool salve was applied to his arms. They were healing him. He didn’t want to be healed. He deserved death.
“One of the Collective captured Renee and Marva. He’s taking them to Ista. Tol is dead, he died in my arms from the pain. I don’t deserve to live. Let me die. Please let me die.”
- - -
Ren woke, disoriented and confused. Every limb ached; every muscle throbbed. He twisted to get a better view of his surroundings. He was in the middle of a forest path, encased by tall spindly trees. Vines clung to their trunks, threatening to choke them. Some of the branches were already shriveled, the vines cutting off their vein of water.
Nothing looked familiar.
Ren rubbed his neck. A sharp pain shot through him. Then he felt the welts.
Visions of the stark white hand flashed through his mind. It had choked him, burnt him. Ren felt around his neck. The claw marks were real. The welts were real.
The images were real.
Truth above all. He had to trust the Oracle’s commands. He had to betray his mother, deny his love, and destroy his soul. He had no choice. If he disobeyed worse would happen.
He needed to see his friends. He desperately needed to feel the touch of another human being. He stood and looked around him. There was no clearing, no remaining rubble, no large trees, and no air of life.
The Oracle was no more. Not one stone remained.
It was turning dark. Ren started down the path, knowing his friends would be worried. His mind turned to the paintings, the words, the stone faces, the hand, and soon he was running to escape the things he had seen, what he had to do, and who he was.
The wind picked up. Tree branches thrashed down, blocking his path and slashing his skin. They cut him time and again, but he welcomed the pain. With each cut the physical pain demanded his concentration and steered him away from the emotional pain. But after each assault the internal pain seemed to escalate, giving his soul to bleed. He ran faster, pushing on until he saw the light of a fire in a distant clearing.
He heard the familiar sounds and smells of camp: Neki’s sarcastic laughter, Markum’s soft voice, Galvin’s worried speech, the smell of boiling tea, burnt wood, and roasted game.
A debate was taking place. Neki said they should search for him. Galvin agreed, saying he had been gone too long. Markum refuted. Sometimes the Oracle kept people for weeks, he insisted. They shouldn’t worry yet. Besides, Markum said, if he hadn’t emerged the Oracle still had him and there was nothing they could do. Despite Markum’s words his voice was fraught with concern.
Weeks?
How long had he been gone?
Ren stumbled into the clearing, startling them all. Galvin caught him before he fell.
Ren barely heard Galvin’s demand to bring food and water, that he had lost weight. Ren thought about the air of life. It had kept him alive. At the mention of water, real water, his stomach rumbled.
“How long?” he whispered.
“Ten days. You’ve been gone ten days.”
Ten days? How could he have lost that much time?
Markum put a bowl of stew before him. Ren picked it up and slowly began to eat. It tasted bland. The air of life had been so sweet nothing could compare, but as his stomach began to fill the memory of the air dissipated and the stew began to form a flavor.
The water felt cool sliding down his throat. He had never tasted anything so good. It almost felt purifying – almost. Nothing would be able to purify his soul, not after the Oracle.
Ren forced his mind from the images of the Oracle and surveyed the camp. Something was wrong. His eyes fell on Bentzen.
Bentzen was supposed to be with Renee. Blessed Fates, was it already starting? Ren rose to his feet and stumbled to the swordsman. He fell before Bentzen and gripped his hands. The desolation in Bentzen’s eyes terrified him. Ren turned to the mounts tied a short distance away. Michel and Quinton’s horses weren’t in the group.
He turned back to Bentzen. “What happened?”
One of the Collective took Marva and Renee.” A silent tear fell down Bentzen’s cheek. “Tol died in my arms, Ren, from the pain.”
Ren placed a hand on Bentzen’s shoulder, heart melting as the swordsman bowed his head and wept. When Ren spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “The band didn’t work?”
Bentzen shook his head. “It worked, my prince. The man took it from him. I didn’t notice until it was too late.”
Ren turned to Galvin, the silent question in his eyes.
“Quinton and Michel are after them. They left as soon as they heard, just after sundown.”
Choice’s words echoed in his mind.
It had begun.
The Oracle’s meaning was clear.
Galvin stepped forward, broadsword propped on one shoulder. “If you want to go after them I suggest we leave now. They were riding fast,
but if we hurry we can catch them.”
“No.” He said it too quickly. He saw the look of surprise on Galvin’s face and closed his eyes, trying to banish the image of his mother’s torture. This was his choice. This was what he had to choose. The Oracle had ordered him to allow fate to play her course. He couldn’t help his mother. He had to continue his search for the One.
He understood. If he went back Ista may claim him and he would be unable to battle the darkness that would lead to the Lands ultimate destruction.
He remembered the scene from the pyx where his mother laughed as people died around her. If he went back that was her fate. He felt the white hand encircling his neck. He couldn’t search for Renee.
Choking back his anguish, he looked up at his friends’ stunned expressions.
“It’s probably better,” Galvin said. “Michel and Quinton would be the Abyss to catch.”
“Burning cinders, Ren,” Neki said, trying to lighten the mood. “Those two lit out of here as if the children of the Mynher were after them. Fates, they didn’t even take their packs. I had to chase after them until they slowed enough to let me hand them over.”
Ren managed a smile before he buried his face in his palms, unwilling to meet his friends’ eyes. All thought he had just betrayed his mother. And they were right.
But he couldn’t tell them why. He couldn’t reveal what the Oracle had told him.
Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he looked up into Markum’s worried gaze.
“Are you all right, Ren?”
Ren blinked up at him, specters of the Oracle dancing in his eyes. “I’ve never been worse, Markum. I’ve never been worse.”
- - -
As Korin approached the inner ward of the castle, he felt the noose tightening. The presence was a heavy constant in his mind, a force he couldn’t deny. One of the Collective swung the gate open without even asking his name or interest, and Korin didn’t volunteer the information. He passed by without a smile, a nod, or a word.
Ista already knew he was there. He didn’t have to say or do anything to gain entrance to Stardom. His life was Ista’s to command. After she used the Red Eye on the Chosen, she would use it on him. As of today, his life didn’t matter.
