by Cole Pain
All the while Manda was at the foremost of his mind. Something was special about her, something almost sacred. She had been in unspeakable pain, but not for herself. Her only concern was her brother. It was the mark of true beauty: caring for another so much you were oblivious to your own pain.
Valor had betrayed both his children.
Anger rose inside Aaron like a torrent of darkness. It almost blinded him.
Stardom’s main entrance was open. The guards beside it had run for their lives.
He dismounted, letting some of his power remain around his horse. The black stallion sizzled with sparks, protecting it from any who may try to stop him, though he knew none would.
Aaron drew his golden sword in the silence that had descended upon the castle and lifted his head to the balcony where he felt the betrayer’s heartbeat. A breeze swooped down from the north, causing his cape to billow behind him like wings of death.
His eyes locked on Ista’s deformed face. Her gaze displayed no concern. She knew he didn’t seek her. She hadn’t betrayed anyone for she had never loved anyone, and she had never insinuated otherwise. But she was black with deaths, and her soul was condemned hundreds of times over.
Then he saw the betrayer backing into the shadows. The Avenger shifted his gaze, watching the betrayer watch him. The betrayer’s heartbeat quickened in the Avenger’s ears. The king of Crape, ruler of Newlan, turned this way and that, seeking escape.
The betrayal sword began to sing a song of blood. It hungered for it. The Avenger turned and strode into the now deserted hallway.
The betrayer’s heartbeat continued to sound in his temples. Valor’s murmurs echoed like screams in the Avenger’s mind. The Avenger thought of Manda again, her lost innocence, her broken body, and her tears. He wanted to make this betrayer suffer a long time.
He continued onward, drawn by the betrayer’s blood. The guards he passed fell back. Some cowered like wounded animals. The Avenger walked on, his footfalls tolling like knells of death.
As he entered a long-domed hallway, Aaron recalled the stories Fraul had told him about Ren. He could judge enough about people through others to realize this Ren was someone he would be proud to know. In a strange way he felt like he was avenging Ren as well. It was the betrayer who had taken over the crown prince’s kingdom.
As he walked up the black marble stairs leading to the upper reaches of the castle his vision narrowed into one path, directly to the betrayer. A doorway to the left was where the pathway stopped. The Avenger marched on. With each step his blood pumped with a greater drive toward vengeance. With each step he breathed in more of the betrayed’s pain.
The Avenger reached the landing and turned toward the door. He clutched the golden sword tighter. Its hunger for the betrayer’s blood escalated in intensity. When he opened the door the betrayer looked at him with the same green eyes as the betrayed. The ruler of Newlan fell against the stone balcony, begging for forgiveness, weeping in fear.
The golden betrayal sword now sung with a deafening pitch, shrieking its hunger for the blood of the betrayer. The Avenger licked his lips in anticipation, yearning to feel the sword’s tip find the betrayer’s heart and drink the blood of a man who didn’t deserve to live.
The Avenger raised his sword and put its tip over the betrayer’s heart, pinning him to the balcony. The betrayer murmured to the Maker, but the Maker had already turned his back on the scene. The Avenger was the Maker’s righteous judgment. When Aaron was born the betrayer had lost all chance of salvation. Slowly, the Avenger sunk the golden tip of the sword into the betrayer. The power surged through the Avenger like a deluge, flowing through the sword and inside the betrayer. The Avenger began reliving all the pain of those before Manda. Their pain rose inside him, seeping into his sword and out the tip into the betrayer’s heart.
The betrayer screamed in agony as the sword’s magic began to work. Both the physical and the mental pain churned inside him, condemning the betrayer to the fates of every betrayal Aaron had ever avenged. Valor was burned, drowned, raped, beaten, starved, cut, and skinned.
Aaron felt it all as well, surging inside him, sending all the pain with white-hot fury into the betrayer. But the Avenger was used to the pain, the betrayer was not. As Aaron relived every sin of every betrayer and felt the pain of each betrayed Valor died as the horrors of each betrayal happened to him, was condemned as all of the betrayers’ sins weighed on his shoulders, and through it all Valor felt no remorse.
Then Manda’s own pain surfaced: the cry for her father as she realized the horror of his betrayal, her rape, her beating and her suffering for Chris. All came in a torrent of force. Valor released an agonizing cry as Manda’s pain tore through him. The Avenger stood in judgment, watching as his own hand took the life of another. Although he hungered for the betrayer’s blood there was no joy in the act, only profound sorrow that he had to stand in judgment at all.
Valor’s punishment was unmatched by any other before, just as the last Aaron’s sword had pierced was unmatched by his precursor. With each additional betrayal there was that much more pain. The Avenger watched Valor’s body slowly begin to incinerate as the love and pain of the betrayed damned his soul.
After Valor collapsed in death, the Avenger turned to look at the woman crouched in the corner. Ista’s eyes were wide, but they held no fear. She only cowered to avoid the sparks from his body. He could see her trying to determine how she could capture him, use his power, as she had done, and would continue to do to many others.
Aaron stepped closer, feeling as if he were wading through diablerie as he did. Despite the repellent sensation he leaned down until he was only a hair’s breath from Ista’s face.
“You want me, Ista?”
She remained quiet, but her eyes flashed with hunger. Aaron breathed in his power, letting a few sparks fall dormant to the ground. “Make this sword turn gold again, Ista. You can have all of me then. I promise you that.”
Ista’s eyes flickered to where the betrayal sword had turned its true silver, satisfied with the betrayer’s blood.
Aaron waited until Ista’s eyes refocused. When he spoke his voice was low, grating. “May choice evade you, may chance turn from you, and may the Maker’s fates condemn your soul.” It was an ancient curse, one he had never spoken before.
Turning, he strode back the way he had come. No one stopped him. No one dared. The Avenger walked with righteous judgment, and all knew they were deserving of his sword.
- - -
When Lazo left the tunnels the Mar had yet to claim him, but he could feel it swelling inside him like an underground stream. Soon the stream would overflow and he would be drowned.
Lazo was tired. His back ached from the weight of his emotional burden and the blazing sun left him parched. His bare feet already had blisters from the rugged terrain and it was just after midday.
Ever since he was born he had been in schools and palaces, obtaining knowledge and training to become an advisor. The extent of his travels had been from one school to another, and during those travels he was either reading in a private room on board a ship or being read to as he rode across country.
What was he to do about food? He knew all about animals and vegetation, weapons and strategies, but nothing about making a trap or carving an arrow. If he lived he would entreat the Advisor’s Convent to teach its pupils how to survive without castles and servants.
Lazo was so engrossed in his thoughts he didn’t hear the pounding hooves until it was too late. He began to run with all his might but his lungs were on fire and his feet stung with each step. Then the horse was beside him. Lazo fell to his knees, knowing escape was futile.
“Running from Stardom?”
Lazo looked up into golden eyes. Small pinpricks of power surged over a muscular body.
Lazo nodded, unable to find his voice.
“Ally of Ren.” It wasn’t an inquiry. It was a declaration.
Lazo nodded again.
The Av
enger studied him, dark hair billowing in the wind. The Avenger looked into Lazo’s soul, stripping him of all sin, dissecting each action and each step his life had taken. The Avenger extended his gloved hand. Lazo took it and swung up behind him. Profound relief flooded through him as the horse began to move faster than the wind. He turned to watch Zier become only a small dot on the horizon.
It was the end of his life as he knew it. He would never hear Jasta or Justin’s quiet murmurings. He would never share with them a silent inner smile. He would never again be part of something as wonderful as their siblinghood.
Lazo collapsed on the back of the horse. The grief he hadn’t allowed himself to feel stole over him like a thief. The stream rose higher. A silent trickle of despair leaked free.
He fought to damn the water. He couldn’t give into the Mar. It was too soon. The water stilled. The trickle abated.
When gentle hands lifted him from the horse, Lazo opened his eyes. The Avenger still glowed with a soft light but it had lessened. A gray-haired man looked up from where he knelt by a fire. Something tugged at Lazo’s memory. It was Fraul, Ramie’s captain. Lazo noted the concern in Fraul’s gray eyes as he looked down at the girl bundled in blankets beside the fire.
“I’ve broken her fever, Aaron, but she won’t stop shivering.”
Lazo was shocked. How had Fraul met the Avenger? It seemed they were close. Lazo questioned his former conclusion. Maybe he had been mistaken?
No. The man glowed with power. The man’s horse rode the wind. There could be no mistaking the man’s identity.
The Avenger walked over and knelt beside the girl, whispering words in a foreign tongue. Lazo stepped forward, feeling out of place but somehow drawn to the bundled form by the fire. His eyes fell on the mound of red hair.
“Manda!”
Aaron turned. “You know her?”
Lazo nodded, leaning down to take Manda’s hand. Her face was severely battered, her jaw broken. Fates! What had happened to his Manda!
When Manda had first visited Stardom they had grown close. She followed him everywhere, fascinated by his contrasting eyes. He tried to coax her to play with other children, but she always replied he was the only friend she needed. It had touched him deeply.
Every year thereafter when she visited Stardom they spent countless days together. Manda told him it was her mission in life to see him smile. And smile he did. Manda’s cheerfulness and winsome charm could bring a smile to any man’s face. The older she became, the closer they grew. They would sit for days and discuss books and history. She was voracious for knowledge, soaking up every morsel of information he could give. He loved to teach and she loved to learn.
Manda was the only person besides Ren who saw him not as a triplet, but as an individual. He was twenty years her senior but he carried a love for her that was a mixture of romantic and fatherly love.
Now, he almost didn’t recognize her. A slow understanding crept over him. He turned to the Avenger.
“Valor?”
Aaron nodded. “She needs you, my friend. She needs you to talk to her, bring her out of this. She isn’t sick in a physical sense; she’s sick at heart. She’s afraid to awake, afraid the world will bring her more pain. I can’t help her for I am pain.”
Lazo nodded, sensing the truth in Aaron’s statement, and moved closer to Manda. Fraul and Aaron walked away, talking softly. Lazo lifted Manda’s head and placed it gently in his lap. He took the towel Fraul had been using to cool her brow and dotted her forehead. Inside, the stream calmed, for his fears lay forgotten. Lazo began speaking to Manda, telling her how much her laughter meant to him.
Chapter 22
They had entered a region of Crape where rolling hills ceded to dense forests. The abundant hickory and spruce allowed brush and vines to grow freely, sometimes impeding passage and daunting swiftness. Ren much preferred the large redwoods of Zier that kept undergrowth to a minimum, but he had to admit the way the sunlight filtered through the branches of the hickories and skipped over the flowering vines gave this particular region of Crape a special enchantment.
The path they rode was well traveled and the new growth did little to hinder their passage. The sun’s rays were stifling without the shade of overhanging branches but the light was welcome. The past few days had been filled with erratic downpours, putting everyone except Neki in a gloomy mood.
With each day they moved closer to the ruins of the Alcazar, but Ren was growing restless. As if he could see the stars in the bright of the day, Ren squinted up at the sky. The previous night the foggy haze Grauss had given the cognomen of “The One” had moved closer, but Ren didn’t know if he was approaching the One or if the One was approaching him.
Ren clicked the reins, urging his mount faster. The mare broke into full gallop. Ren gave her free rein, welcoming the hurried pace. With each day that dawned he felt more urgency to find the One.
His mount seemed eager for the ride. She moved so quickly Ren thought he heard the wind scream his name. The trees moved inward with daunting swiftness. Occasional rocks and rubble blocked the trail, but Michel had the mare well trained. She took the obstructions with little difficulty.
The mare skidded to a sudden halt and reared. Ren was unprepared. He landed on his back with a heavy thud. The horse bellowed a warning and cantered back toward the others. Ren rolled to his side and gasped for air. When it came, he swallowed greedily. Nothing was broken, but his back would be sore for days.
He stood in a slight clearing where the path broke in two directions. He saw no sign of danger.
From the distance he heard Markum scream his name. When he turned to answer his call the words he was about to voice froze on his lips. The sphinx stood before him, heralding an invitation to the Oracle. Ren blinked in awe as the majestic stone figure came to life. Its beauty was something he could never put to words. A woman’s face gazed at him from the white stone, but instead of appearing hard her face was delicate and sensuously curved. Her hair tumbled halfway down her lioness body, accentuating taunt muscles and subtle curves.
As if sensing his thoughts, the sphinx smiled. “Answer my riddle and you shall pass. Miss it and you shall die.” Although her voice rumbled with a rich, amiable tone, there was a warning as sharp as a sword’s edge slicing through its warmth.
This was his last chance to retreat. If he refused the riddle he could walk away, but he would never again have the chance to enter the Oracle. Ren swallowed back his fear and nodded.
“No!”
Markum’s scream echoed in the clearing, but Ren barely heard. He remained transfixed by the stone eyes before him. Markum’s hands tugged at his tunic, but Ren didn’t turn. Galvin’s voice drifted to him from some distant place: “It’s too late, Markum.” The hands left him.
The sphinx straightened and focused her arresting gaze not on him but through him, as if delivering a herald of death. “I’m not something you acquire,” she said, “but you must work for me each day: intangible and invisible, through fields of fire I am made. I am stronger than your fear and more powerful than your blade. I can damn you or I can raise you, be your curse or be your stave.”
Ren stood as still as the sphinx: something that could damn him or raise him, be his curse or his support.
“Time is running out,” the sphinx purred. Ren thought he may have detected a hint of compassion in her tone, but when he looked into her eyes he saw no resonance of that emotion.
The sphinx had said ‘fields of fire.’ That could only mean hardship. What was something he would he have to work for constantly, something intangible and invisible, something that could see him through hard times?
Ren smiled. “Faith.”
Not even the leaves stirred in the breeze. It seemed the very air had gathering to wrap him in the folds of silent suffocation. He heaved for breath. The air was heavy, solid; but just as quickly as the air coagulated it dissipated into a refreshing breeze. The sphinx smiled and stepped aside.
“Cleve
r,” he whispered as he passed her. The sphinx purred in reply.
As he brushed by her he thought he heard her murmur, “Go with the Maker.”
Ren slowed his step. The sphinx moved back into place as some of his men tried to follow. Ren looked around him in silent awe. He walked where few had ever been and where even fewer returned. He was about to meet the guardians of the Oracle.
Turning back to the sphinx Ren opened his mouth to ask where the ancient temple resided, but his voice waned when he saw he stood alone. The sphinx, the clearing, and his friends had disappeared. In their place was a long, serpentine trail, reaching farther than the eye could see.
Ren followed the trail in front of him, expecting the temple to appear around the next bend, but the dense forest seemed to have no end. He had always thought the Oracle would be visible right past the sphinx. He was wrong. Ren trudged on, watching the sun dance across the sky until he knew he had traveled for at least half a day. A twinge of frustration surfaced but he quickly brushed it aside. He couldn’t question the Oracle’s idiosyncrasies.
His mind wandered until his own footfalls lulled him into placid contemplation of the surrounding woods. After a time he began to wonder if he was supposed to turn in a different direction or walk through the dense brush to either side in search of the ancient temple. Almost as soon as the thought was out he caught sight of vegetation he hadn’t seen before. Trees, gnarled in a silvery gray, dotted the woods, and when he peered farther into the distance they became more prevalent.
With quick calculation he concluded more than ten men would have to encircle the trees’ trunks from fingertip to fingertip to encase their monstrous diameter. Fur-lined vines drooped from their branches, enwrapping the trunks in an affable embrace. Ferns with triangular leaves and exquisite white blossoms grew around the their bases, emitting a balmy fragrance.
