Son of Erebus gol-1

by J. S. Chansellor

  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

  His 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 reas
oning — 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.

  "You look like him," the human whispered.

  Garren rose to his feet and approached him, amused at the meaningless chatter. The moment he touched the man he knew. "Adorian." Confused, he looked to the Laionai.

  "A new age has begun. This night's worship, and this Adorian's blood sacrifice, celebrates a turn of the tides for Adoria. An army of humans, legions of those whom the winged ones have for so long protected, will rise against them. Do not question the divide, High Lord, for Her Holiness has spoken in faith that it will fail them when they need it most. Your commanders have been given one year's time to ready this army."

  "Then blessed are you to be consecrated this night." He glared at the Adorian and the vessels that struggled to hold him. "Tadraem has chosen well." Dismissing them to the sanctuary, Garren turned back to the Laionai, and knelt before them. He repeated the prayer of Saint Ereubus, the sound of his words almost overpowering the sound of their exit as he was left alone.

  With nothing but the familiar walls of the inner sanctum to keep him company, he lifted his lips to the rim of the cup, sipping a small portion. A smile deepened across his face as he stood. He extended his arms, speaking the words to dedicate the spoils of his victory and the communion wine to the Goddess. As he did so, a light surrounded him, shimmering golden in the darkness. It started from the floor at his feet and wound its way up his body like a great snake, twirling and hissing as it went. He could feel the power surging through his veins, connecting him to the great Mortal Coil just as the Goddess had promised her chosen ones so long ago.

  But as he opened his eyes, just beyond the radiance that enveloped him, the face of another peered back. Her hair appeared as a burning red flame swirling around her face, her eyes a piercing blue. She wore a deep purple cloak, its hood concealing only a fraction of the light, far stronger than his own, that shone forth from her.

  Dropping to the ground, he brought his arm over his eyes in a poor attempt to shelter his face. A voice came from the vision, speaking what he thought to be Adorian, leaving his body shuddering in fear as he listened. Only when he felt both his own strength and the girl's dissipate from the room was he quieted.

  Still trembling, he dropped his arm by his side and stared out into the shadows. His breath came fast and heavy, his chest burning from the exertion. He rubbed his hand over his breast, clenching his teeth. He had yet to regain his composure when he heard another voice outside of the room.

  "My Lord?"

  The guards. Garren struggled to his feet and rushed to the door, grasping the iron handle with his hands and bearing his weight against it to keep it closed. His tone belied his answer.

  "I am in prayer!" he barked. Garren felt his knees go weak, falling to the floor with his back against the wooden door.

  They made no protest. It meant nothing to him that the very act of doing so would likely gain him an entirely new set of faces to detest — ones far less willing to abandon him at his request. It was a wonder any of his guards lived to old age. It wasn't until he looked down at his hands and saw the red hue staining his breeches that he realized what he had done.

  What little of the wine was left had settled into a shallow puddle on the floor. Groaning, he made a futile attempt to salvage it. Once it finally occurred to him that it was useless, he pulled a kerchief from his pocket to soak up what hadn't seeped into the stone.

  Frustrated, shaken, his head filled mercilessly with the girl's voice, he made his way to the kitchens with as much discretion as possible, considering his position. He found a suitable wine, allowing one of the Ereubinians serving there to refill the chalice.

  Garren hesitated in the doorway to the sanctuary before entering. It looked like service had begun long ago, but he had just entered the inner sanctum. Hadn't he? He grew disoriented, unsure of how much time had passed.

  Candles were lit along the pews, revealing rows of vessels dressed in white robes behind all those of the lineage who attended. He had seen the humans in this attire for observance his entire life, knowing that though he would not live to see the day, it would come to pass; eventually humans would no longer exist in this state. There would be no need for separation, for they would all be of Ereubinian descent.

  Garren entered. He had taken no more than two short steps when, in complete accord, every human turned at once to face him. The room grew quiet as prayers hushed, the attention causing a succession of heads from the front of the room to turn also in his direction. Startled, he froze, trying to understand what had happened, but realized he would do better to ignore any significance in the event. After shaking himself from his shock, he walked to his seat beside Aiden, just a few rows from where he'd been standing. As he sat down, he realized that he had been holding his breath.

  "Garren," Aiden whispered. He appeared horror-stricken at the humans' recognition of Garren. "I believe we have something to discuss."

  Garren said nothing. He remained unmoving, his head bowed, following along with the recitations.

  "Did you hear me, Garren?" Aiden asked.

  Garren glanced at him, narrowing his eyes. "We will talk about it after service." He bent his head back down, his eyes staring listlessly at the floor. He felt his friend lean back onto the pew and join voices with the others. After a few minutes, the room again grew quiet as the candles that lined the pews were blown out one by one. All that remained alight was a single flame on the altar. Garren lifted his head and watched as a tall Ereubinian approached, kneeling in front of it.

  The black-robed Ereubinian raised both hands into the air and spoke in the language of the Laionai.

  "Nech ordai neroman," the words echoed in the sanctuary. From the sound of his voice, Garren recognized him as Kolevar, the retiring High Priest. From the center aisle, two more figures in similar garb entered the room with the captured Adorian between them, his head peering at the floor. The Adorian was clothed in white and wore a gold c
loak. The cloth of his shirt had been gathered at his neck, revealing only his pale face, framed by the hood that rested on his shoulders.

  Garren watched, speechless, at the willingness of the Adorian, who was left standing untethered at the altar before Kolevar, who had risen. Was this not the same creature he'd beheld?

  Tadraem, who had been announced earlier in observation as the new High Priest, had already been given the blade that would take the Adorian's life. As he came to stand next to Kolevar, his gaze turned to Garren, who suddenly realized that in his truancy, he had failed to bring the chalice to the altar.

  "My Lord Garren, it is only fitting that tonight's sacrifice come from your hand, for no other is as proven in service or faith to Her Holiness."

  When the knife was placed in his hands, he should have felt pleasure. When he lifted the chalice to the Adorian's lips, he braced himself against rebellion, only to see him accept it of his own accord. Garren should have felt peace. Instead, the blade rested like a leaden weight in his grip. He swallowed an unnerving and unwelcome measure of disgust as he looked into the Adorian's eyes, to see that beyond the facade of subservience was something far less understandable.

  You look like him, the Adorian had said.

  Unwilling to show reluctance, Garren did not hesitate in sliding the blade across the Adorian's throat, spilling blood onto the unblemished sacrificial garment. Before taking his seat again, he paused for only a moment to allow the denial of any merit in the words.

  Aiden hit the floor hard. Garren rushed upon him, picking him back up by his collar, pinning him to the wall next to them, their eyes level.

  "You will not address me in that manner. Friend or foe, I will not accept it."

  Aiden wordlessly lowered his face, peering down. The blood from the Adorian was still shining wet on the leather of Garren's boots.

  "Our discussions are my preference." Garren said, leaning in closer. "What brings on this insubordination from you?"