Three Acts of Penance [01] Attrition: The First Act of Penance

by S. G. Night

  And before Oron could even open his eyes, Racath lunged again, throwing his shoulder into his teacher’s chest. It drove the wind from Oron, knocking him backward against the wall. Relentless, Racath struck Oron in the breastbone with his foot, pinning him to the wall with his heel.

  Gasping, his eyes wide once more, Oron gaped at Racath.

  Racath grinned at him triumphantly. “Really? Is that all you’ve got for me?” Racath challenged. “Come on, old man. You can do better than that.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  The Heart of a Dragon

  Two days later, Racath sat cross-legged near the edge of the cliff overlooking the bathing pool, glowering down at the dousing needle in his hand. Periodically, he would glance at the tome that lay open at his side — a textbook called Aspects of Rotendrial Imbuement. And about every five minutes or so, he would swear quietly to himself.

  Nelle stood watching him in polite silence, about five feet to his back. She was biting her lip, pensive, rocking back and forth on her heels.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” she finally asked.

  Racath looked over his shoulder at her. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “A few minutes. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Hmm,” Racath grunted, returning his attention to the dousing needle.

  “How long have you been sitting there?” she asked archly.

  He shrugged. “I dunno. Since noon?”

  “It’s almost sunset, Racath,” she told him. “What have you been doing up here on your butt for the last six hours?”

  Racath gestured absentmindedly at the waterfall. Its throaty purr gently stirred the air. “The sound…helps me think.”

  Glibly, Nelle hopped over and plopped down beside him. “And what’re you thinkin’ so hard about, huh?” she prompted, hugging her knees against her chest.

  Racath didn’t answer. He was too focused on one of the runes inscribed into the dousing needle to hear her. What was that…endek? Maybe that would do the trick….But no. When he thought about it, he couldn’t come up with any new way to make the rune’s rotendry work to his purposes. “Piss….”

  When he didn’t offer any verbal explanation, Nelle thumped her forehead against Racath’s shoulder.

  Racath looked down at her as she leaned on his arm. She had the wide-eyed, expectant expression that a toddler waiting for candy might give you.

  “Pay attention to me,” she chirped in a high, childlike voice.

  He laughed in spite of himself. “You silly,” he said, adopting the same tone. He tapped her nose and Nelle scrunched up her face in response.

  “Uh huh! Adorable, too.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  The playful augur bonked her head against him again. “What are you doing?”

  Racath gave another noncommittal shrug. “Just…fiddling with some stuff.”

  “Oooo,” Nelle said, lifting her eyebrows at him. A grin was tugging at the corners of her cerise lips. “Fiddling, huh? With stuff? You should be careful, Racath — they say you can go blind doing that.”

  Racath’s rolled his eyes. “Not that kind of stuff, pervert.”

  “Uh huh,” Nelle giggled. “Sure. That’s why you’re blushing right now.” Her eyes became impish. “You know, it’s none of my business, but I hear tell that fiddling works much better with two people.”

  Racath stared blankly down at the dousing needle, not really seeing it. “I’m not really sure how to respond to that.”

  Nelle giggled again and gave him a friendly shove. “You’re cute when you’re awkward.”

  “I’m not awkward…” Racath muttered.

  “Are too.” Nelle leaned over to see what he was working on. “So, if it’s not that kind of stuff, what kind of stuff are you fiddling with?”

  “Dosdom stuff,” he answered.

  “Ah ha…” Nelle said, nodding. “This looks like rotendry, not meditation.”

  Racath made a face. “I gave up on that. It wasn’t getting me anywhere.”

  “Where’d you get stuck?”

  “Well, Oron said I should feel a strong attraction to my type of energy, plus exhibit some degree of natural talent with it.”

  Nelle frowned at him. “Yeah? So?”

  “So, none of the energies I’ve toyed with satisfy both those requirements.” Racath answered. “I like electricity, but I’m terrible with it. I’m pretty good with telekinesis, but it’s just so boring. Light Magicks are just too flashy for me — I like showmanship as much as anyone, but there’s a point where it starts to become impractical. I’m completely ambivalent toward cognitive Magicks and illusion.” He sighed again and shrugged helplessly. “I’m just not getting anywhere. So I’ve been trying to find a way to modify this thing so that it’ll tell me what my specific dosdom is.”

  Nelle looked thoughtful. “Uh huh…having any luck?”

  “Not at all,” Racath scowled. “The runes just aren’t working.”

  “It’s been tried before,” Nelle remarked. “Scholars looked for an easy way of discovering a person’s dosdom for decades, but never found anything useful. Meditation and practice are really the only methods.”

  Blowing a sigh out through his teeth, Racath set the dousing needle down and closed the cover of Aspects of Rotendrial Imbuement. “Should’ve figured. Everything’s gotta be done the hard way.”

  Nelle gave a wistful shrug. “Nothing important is ever easy.”

  Silence fell between them for a moment, and they both turned their eyes outward toward the sunset. The illusionary skies of the domus were ablaze with color, bright and fiery. Time passed them by, and Racath forgot about his dosdom trouble for a moment.

  “It’s easy to forget it’s not real.”

  He turned his head to look at her. The red sun was dancing in the augur’s golden hair. “What isn’t real?”

  “All this,” Nelle answered, gesturing out at the massive circle of hills, trees, and streams. “The domus. It’s easy to forget that it’s all just…a façade. An imitation of reality.”

  Racath pursed his lips. “I’ve thought that, too. It feels so real in here sometimes. Real and safe. So much better than outside.”

  “It almost makes you want to stay forever, right?” Nelle mused, leaning back on her elbows. “It’d be so easy, if you think about it. Just hide out in here for the rest of your life. Forget about the Demons, the rain…forget about everything, and just stay here in paradise…”

  “But…?”

  Nelle shrugged. “But I still have a responsibility to uphold. I still owe my life to God, and I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I let Him down.” She looked at him curiously. “And what about you? What would keep you from just giving up and bedding down here?”

  Racath didn’t answer. He remained silent for a long time, thinking quietly.

  Eventually, Nelle seemed to forget the question. Her gaze wandered down to Racath’s forearms, his markara. Tentatively, she reached out with a single finger and traced the black, flame-like curves of beveled skin, like she was reading an etching on stone.

  It was an extremely personal gesture, something you would allow only those closest to you to do. But Racath didn’t mind it from her at all. Although the leather barrier of her glove killed the intimacy a little bit.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said. Her voice was distant, melancholic, like she was talking to herself. “They used to say that every markara is unique, and every markara is perfect, because they’re painted by the finger of the Mother Herself.” Something different appeared in Nelle’s eyes. Something that looked like longing. “Yours is…striking. There’s beauty in its asymmetry. Like the stars…they look so random, like they were just tossed across the sky. But if you look, really look, you can almost see a pattern to them. A greater design amidst the chaos. It embodies you.”

  Racath watched her closely. As she admired his markara, he looked down at the fine black leather of her gloves. The gloves she neve
r took off. They were glossy, reflecting the light like they were refusing to let it in.

  For the first time, Racath noticed a pair of Rotenic runes etched into them. They were the runes aguäe and skjölek — they meant “water” and “to shield” respectively. He recognized the pairing; it was the rotendry for waterproofing, the same set of runes that Alexis would carve into every piece of Genshwin equipment.

  It occurred to him then as she touched his flesh that he had never seen her markara before. “Nelle…” he said slowly, gradually finding the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

  “Hmm?” she answered, still staring at his markara.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “Why do you never take your gloves off?”

  Nelle’s eyes snapped upward to meet his. Her jaw was clenched shut, and a scarlet blush burned her cheeks. “Anything except that.”

  Racath raised his eyebrow. “Why not?”

  She looked away from him, her expression strangely panicked. “Just…don’t ask. Please?”

  Racath’s brow furrowed suspiciously. “What could you possibly have under there that you don’t even take them off to bathe?”

  “Nothing!” Nelle shot back, suddenly defensive.

  “Oh really?” Racath challenged, starting to get irritated.

  “It’s none of your business!”

  Racath held up an accusatory finger. “So you admit it is something.”

  “I never said that!” Nelle snapped. “It’s nothing!”

  He reached out and gripped her forearms. “Don’t lie to me, Nelle.”

  When Racath grabbed her gloves, all the blood drained from Nelle’s face. She was white as a ghost. “Racath, please, don’t—!”

  “We said no secrets. What are you keeping from me?”

  “ Please, Racath, leave it alone!”

  “Nelle—!”

  Nelle jerked away from him, but Racath didn’t loosen his grip. As Nelle moved, the gloves slipped off her arms before she could stop them.

  Racath saw what was beneath. His heart jumped into his throat. A flush of shame and contrition climbed his neck. “Oh. Oh, God…Nelle….”

  “Happy now?” Nelle visibly deflated, seeming to shrink inwards as her shoulders hunched inwards. “Go on then,” she sulked as she thrust her bare arms at Racath. “Take a good look. You might as well get an eyeful now.”

  Where Nelle’s markara should have been, there was only a field of ragged, angry red scars. Splotches of satin white skin remained visible between the rip-like blemishes. It looked like someone had forcibly peeled her markara off both arms, like skinning a cat.

  Nelle wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes were squeezed shut, a mix of shame and self-loathing spreading across her face.

  “How…?” Racath choked. “Good God…Nelle — what happened?”

  “The Demons happened,” Nelle answered bitterly.

  “What did they do to you?” Racath asked, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Is this even…possible?”

  “Yes.” When she looked out toward the horizon, her eyes were cold again, as if she would freeze the sunset. “There’s a Magick — a foul, evil Magick — called the Ripping. I’ll let you guess what it does.”

  “When?”

  “Krvistata. When we were holding it against the Dominion at the beginning of the Occupation.” A tear broke through, splintering down her cheek like a trail of ice. “I was in the outer courtyard of the fortress when they breached the first wall. Goblins, Arkûl, and a few Demons. They pinned me in a corner during the retreat…the Demons would have just killed me, but….”

  Nelle swallowed hard. She took her arms back from Racath and wrapped them tight around her midriff. “…But the Goblins wanted me. So they hexed me. The Freeze, to keep me from using magic. And the Bind, to keep me from moving. Then they started the Ripping.”

  Her voice cracked on the last word. A single sob rocked Nelle’s chest. Guilt pierced Racath’s heart like a poisoned knife. He wanted to reach out to her, to hold her close, but he wasn’t sure if she would want him to. Helpless, all he could do was sit in terrible awe and listen as she continued.

  “I can’t describe what it felt like,” Nelle wept. “It’s like being peeled open. And the blood…so much blood…you would never think a person could bleed so much. And suddenly…it was all gone. One second it was there, and the next I couldn’t feel magic anymore. It was just gone.”

  The absolute horror of it turned Racath’s tongue to lead. The markara was sacred. Intimate.

  It’s hard for non-Majiski to understand. Let me put it like this: your markara is like your house, your home. Strangers may enter it with your permission. Those closest to you could come and go as they pleased. It was something to make you feel safe, something sanctified. And if someone were to violate the sanctity of the markara, it would be like someone breaking into your house in the dead of night. Shattering that sacred, personal feeling of safety.

  But it was even more than that — it was your Majiski birthright, a privilege from God Himself. Your markara was unique, one-of-a-kind. It identified you, it embodied you. It defined you as a Majiski.

  What those Demons had done to Nelle was indescribable. It would be like someone breaking into your home, destroying all your family’s precious heirlooms, and burning it to the ground. And it was worse than that. Worse than rape. Not only had they violated one of the most sacred parts of the Majiski race, they had effectively crippled her, too.

  Oron had demonstrated the Freeze hex on Racath a few weeks prior. He remembered the cold, terrifying feeling. The helplessness of not being able to use magic. Reaching for the energy, feeling it present in his body, but being unable to grasp it.

  But the Freeze was temporary. This was not.

  “That’s when Oron found me,” Nelle concluded. “Oron, and his commander, Micah Killian. They saved me. But not before the Demons had finished the Ripping.”

  “Nelle…” Racath breathed. It was like his heart was breaking. Breaking for her. “Nelle, I’m so sorry…”

  “Don’t be,” Nelle sniffed. “Don’t be sorry for what they did. Don’t be sorry for making me tell you. I shouldn’t have hidden it from you. I did say no secrets…I owed you that much honesty.” Her tears started to flow freely now, pouring down her face. “It was just…so awful. I try to forget about it. I try to cover it up. But it doesn’t go away.”

  He didn’t know what to say. What to do. He just watched her cry for a minute, frozen by indecision. He had never felt so useless.

  But after a few minutes, words started to come out of him. The right words. It was almost involuntary — he hadn’t thought about speaking, it just sort of happened.

  “I was born in the mountains,” he began. “About twenty miles north of here, in a secluded little valley, near Mount Tarek. Far away from civilization. I was the second child. My sister Emma was forty years older than me. My mother had dark hair, shiny and beautiful. My dad was strong, but he was bitter. He was angry at God for abandoning us. I have his eyes.”

  As he spoke, Nelle turned her head and watched him curiously, listening. Racath wasn’t sure why he was telling her this — he knew that she already knew all of it from her visions, but it didn’t seem to matter. It all felt right to him. So he kept going.

  “I was never allowed to play outside the valley. My mom taught me Jedan doctrine when my dad wasn’t listening. She taught me that God loved me and wanted me to be happy. She taught me that the mountains were a fortress that He built to protect us. That the mountains were our friends. She always said that Mount Tarek would watch over us because the Demons were afraid to come too close to it.

  “I never really understood what was happening with the world. All I knew is that the world beyond our valley was dangerous, full of creatures that hated us. I never understood who the Demons were, or why I should fear them. Why I should hate them. They were never a part of my life, so I did
n’t really care. Blissful ignorance….”

  The memories were rousing in his mind. Memories that he had tried for years to bury. He could feel his own tears rising behind his eyes.

  “One evening, when I was nine, I was out playing in the pine trees. I had wandered just a little too far from the edge of the valley. Before long, I got lost. By the time I made my way back to familiar ground, the sun had gone down. I knew my parents must have been worried sick about me. On my way back I’d thought about what I was going to say to them. A little apologetic speech about how sorry I was I’d gone out of bounds, and how I’d never do it again. But when I saw the cottage, I forgot about all of that. Forgot everything.”

  An arctic void formed in Racath’s chest. Nelle watched him intently with red-rimmed eyes. He shook his head once, cleared his head, and continued.

  “The house was on fire,” he said. “And I don’t mean that it was burning. It was worse than that. It was more like the house, the entire structure, was just…engulfed in a tower of flame. Not so much on fire as it was in fire. And a mob had formed around the house.

  “Goblins. I recognized them from my dad’s stories. Dogs. They walk like men, but they’re still just dogs. There were too many of them for me to count. The burning house was at their backs, so they were all cast in silhouettes. Like shadows, ghosts.

  “Two Demons were with them. One was tall. Thin. Lanky, like a stretched skeleton. He wore a robe, a hood covering his face. The other could have passed for a Human or a Majiski. That one had a hood, too, and he wore dark armor that hugged his body. Maybe leather or something. He was leaning on this…sword….” He shook his head again, smiling joylessly. “I still remember that sword. It was massive, with a single edge. Like an enormous cleaver, only more subtle looking. Elegant, even.”

  He bit down on his lip to keep it from trembling. The first tear fell. “The Goblins had my family. The Demons were watching off to the side. They dragged my dad from the house by his arms and legs. He tried to fight them off, but there were too many of them. Five of them forced him down on his knees and held him there. Three more beat him with clubs and flails and whips until he stopped moving. Then they all fought over his body, tearing him up with their teeth.”