The Tale of Briton's Fury

by Janelle Garrett

  “I’m not a Brother,” Colin said, but then stopped. Why was that the first thing out of his mouth? When was the last time he had had even interacted with a women? Months, at least.

  “Pardon, Master. I...” she stopped, looking from one to the other.

  “You have a need, Lily?” Braille asked kindly. “Is your father bothering you again?”

  She hunched her shoulders and glared up at Braille. “I can handle him.” She straightened her spine and looked at Colin. “Where do you travel?”

  “Shroud,” he answered through a dry mouth. Small as she was, she projected an aura that was, what? Enticing? No. Confident. Maybe both.

  “I would like to come, if you will have me.” She looked back to Braille. “Things have become unsteady at home.”

  “Has he hurt you again?” Kind Braille, ever the blunt one. Even though Colin didn’t know exactly what he meant, his blood boiled. A man who raised a hand against a woman was no man at all.

  “Nothing I cannot handle!” she snapped, but her cheeks turned redder. “I go to Shroud to visit my aunt Rosa, and enquire after her son, Jace.”

  A rustling in the woods behind her made her wheel around, backing up toward Colin. A man of perhaps forty winters emerged from the wood, a thick stick in hand. His facial features resembled Lily, but he stood several inches taller. His flashing eyes cooled when they landed on Colin and Braille. But they leapt afire again as he looked at Lily.

  “Come, now, daughter. It is high time you returned home.”

  “The Brothers told me they will accompany me to Shroud, Father.” She touched Moon, her back against Colin’s leg. He resisted the urge to scoop her up and place her behind him on the blanket that covered Moon’s back.

  “That is not their decision to make!” The man gripped the stick tighter, and Colin filled himself with the Deep. It rushed forward like a tide filling in every available space in a cave. The anger in Colin’s chest subsided.

  “Think reasonably, Brock. Lily is eighteen winters. She is old enough to know her own mind.” Braille’s loud voice was now soothing.

  “She will tend to me and her family!” Brock snapped, taking a step toward her. Lily gripped Moon’s halter.

  “Step back, Master.” The order came from Colin’s very soul. If the man so much as looked at Lily wrong again...

  “Or you will stop me?” Brock sneered, raising the stick. “Come down from your lofty mount, foreigner. Ever fought a Jin’tai on his own mountain?”

  Colin snapped a tendril of the Deep at the stick. It snapped, and Brock yelped and jumped away.

  “Ever fought a warlock?” Colin let the question hang in the air.

  Brock’s face drained of color.

  “Tread carefully,” Braille said, eyes on Brock with sadness. “A man’s deeds will eventually become known, and circle back on his own head.”

  “You are no daughter of mine!” Brock turned a rage-filled gaze to Lily, who stiffened against Colin’s calf. “If you leave, don’t ever return!” He spat at her feet and then turned, stalking down the path.

  She shook violently, and Colin dismounted and laid a hand on her shoulder. She wiped a quick sleeve against her eyes with a sniff before turning to him. “Thank you, Master.”

  For some reason his heart raced as her gaze fell on him. He swallowed and nodded.

  Braille chuckled. “Well then. Looks like we have another member of our party. The more the merrier, as the ancients said!”

  TIBERIUS SHIFTED IN his seat, rubbing his aching knee.

  “Leave the warlocks to their business!” Yoro spat and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. Several voices shouted in affirmation. Tiberius looked about at them, their eyes alight with passion. The men of the village numbered a hundred in all, if not a little more. Some women had joined, though not many. The members of the Women’s League never wanted to be left out of anything. Truth be told, if he wanted something done, he got the Women’s League on his side. If they disagreed, he had no hope in the sphere of getting anything accomplished.

  “We offered them shelter, not safety.” Rhem shrugged, eyeing his wife, the leader of the Women’s League.

  Krysta shook her head, and Rhem clapped his mouth shut. “Little can be said for a man who goes back on his word to a warlock. Not only is it shameful, but dangerous.”

  “They will not hurt us. We kept them clothed and fed for three months while all they did was talk, talk, talk. What more could they ask for?” Yoro tipped forward in his seat, glaring at Krysta. “You and the Women’s League should have left with the others! Go into hiding with the other women and children that Rosa protects.”

  “Don’t tell my wife what to do,” Rhem said with a grin. “I’ve tried, to no avail.”

  A nervous laugh echoed in the meeting chambers as Krysta turned a languid eye to Rhem. “Well spoken, husband.” She turned a fierce glare at Yoro. “Don’t worry. If you are scared you may run, Yoro. I will protect you.”

  Yoro’s face turned so red it almost appeared purple. Tiberius stifled a laugh. The man was a fool.

  “What say you, Brother?” Krysta raised an eyebrow and looked at Tiberius.

  “I would rather face Briton than face you, Krysta Fleet Climber.” He nodded at her.

  She smirked and shook her head. “It’s a wonder you didn’t find a wife.”

  “The Brotherhood resists such a distraction, as you well know.” Tiberius smiled thinly. “I am reminded of why this very moment.”

  Krysta burst into laughter, and the men all joined, save Yoro. Even the women chuckled. Tiberius raised his hands for silence. “Come, let us agree to make a decision this night. Briton waits for word.”

  “He has agreed to not enter the village?” Rhem raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “He knows he is outmatched, since sixty warlocks reside here.” Tiberius massaged his left hand, an aching in his joints from the cold. “And I can Delve him, whether he wants me to or not.”

  “You would do it without his permission?” Krysta’s tone was disapproving, but Tiberius didn’t care. He was too old to give much credence to what people thought of him.

  “He’s a madman.” Grapple Light Peak didn’t seem to care, either. He stated it as if it didn’t matter, as long as the man was considered crazy. Tiberius didn’t disagree. There were some things that were worth doing for the greater good.

  “Delving won’t solve the issue, Brother.” Ven Light Peak was also part of the Women’s League. She tended to speak only when necessary, so she must feel strongly about this particular topic. Tiberius shifted in his seat. “A warlock can access more of the Deep than a Brother.”

  Tiberius’ unease turned to irritation. “We do not use the Deep in the same way, it is true. But that doesn’t mean Delving is any less significant than accessing.”

  “I meant no disrespect, Tiberius. I only meant that an accessor makes a Brother look...” she stopped.

  “Weak?” Tiberius sighed and continued to massage his hand. Maybe he cared more what people thought than he cared to admit.

  “No. Trustworthy, I was going to say. An accessor has no qualms about using his power for his own ends. The Brothers only care for others. It would go against your nature to Delve without permission.” Her soft answer turned away the rising anger in his chest. Tiberius relaxed in his seat as Ven looked to Krysta. “Whatever is decided this night, let us first remember we are all human, and made in the image of the Creator. We reflect him, and must remember to love first.”

  “I am not required to love a man who whispers lies and would throw the Lands into a tumult.” Yoro sat up straight. “The war will not end of Briton doesn’t cease with his talk.”

  “What exactly does he say that is so dangerous?” Grapple shrugged. “I cannot see a reason why the warlocks shouldn’t take a side in this war!”

  “It would be disastrous!” Krysta scoffed. “Besides, what side should they take? None of the Kings rule for the good of the people. They are all corrupt. I
f the warlocks choose to throw their might behind a despot, the Lands will be no better off.”

  “Anything must be better than war.” Grapple’s voice lowered to almost a complaint.

  “Not true, friend,” Rhem argued. “Think of the Revolter. He destroyed his kingdom, without any war, either.”

  There was an uneasy silence that descended on the Hall. Tiberius sighed. “Listen, friends. We are Jin’tai. We keep to ourselves unless needed. Now? Our hand is being forced.”

  “We cannot let these bricking accessors decide our fate!” Yoro stood to his feet, face red and body shaking.

  “Your anger does you no credit, Yoro. Yet your heart is in the right place. Rest easy. No one forces the Brotherhood to do anything we don’t decide is best for the good of all.” Tiberius smiled at Yoro, and the man huffed and sat back down. A short answer turned away rage, but a word spoken in haste stoked the coals. Wisdom dictated gentleness to soothe the brash.

  “The village should also have a say, Brother Tiberius.” Krysta raised an eyebrow. “You are a servant of the entire Jin’tai people, it is true. Yet we of Shroud will be the ones most directly impacted.”

  That wasn’t necessarily true. There was a tickling in the back of his mind, one that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried to scratch it. Wherever Briton seemed to go, chaos followed. And the chaos extended beyond the borders of the Lands, beyond the boundaries of villages.

  A door opened at the back of the room. Brother Walker’s slight frame was a welcome sight. Tiberius grinned and waved a hand. Walker strode forward, followed by the fifteen men from his Library.

  “Got started without me, Tiberius?” Walker held his right arm with his left, the stump of his missing left hand glaringly obvious. “Losing my hand to the komph for you doesn’t warrant patience?” His teasing tone sent a shaft of laughter through Tiberius’ chest.

  “Briton the Brown would be the only possible reason to force me to make haste without you, Brother.” Tiberius stood to his feet and engulfed Walker in an embrace as the other Library Brothers greeted the others present. Tiberius stepped back from Walker and gripped his forearm above the missing hand. “I will be eternally indebted to you.”

  “Your friendship pays that debt,” Walker said, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Come, now. Enough with the love, and more talking!” Krysta didn’t sound angry, only slightly irritated by the interruption. Her mouth was in a thin line, but it peeked up at the corners as if she was trying to hide a smile. Women. There was no understanding them.

  LILY’S SMALL BODY PRESSING against Colin’s back was warm and comforting. He almost forgot the ache of riding the donkey for the last day. Almost. He shifted again, resisting the urge to get down. Time was of the essence.

  “Look there.” Braille pointed a fat finger toward the sky. Colin followed his line of sight to Bat Mountain, shading his eyes against the sun. “For in the Time of Dawn’s first light, stood the beacon of safety for weary soul aflight. Come, see the sentinel in the skies! See the hope of rebirth for downtrodden eyes! Loom so large, my forgotten friend. Scream for the silence, the fury, the end.”

  “What does it mean?” Lily shifted, presumably to look over Colin’s shoulder at the sentinel above.

  “One of the earliest records in existence, save Frides. The translation from the ancient tongue into Jin’wok is Guarding the Way. The poet was only known as the Searcher. He claimed that there were certain stamps or portals that were stronger with the Deep than any other point on the sphere. Like a cork in a bottle. Bat Mountain is thought to be one.”

  “But what is that you quoted? Part of his work?” Lily’s breathe tickled Colin’s neck. It sent a chill straight to his toes.

  “Yes. The general consensus is that it is a reference to both the Deep and the Rift being strong upon the mountain. Safety and rebirth, for the Deep. Fury and silence, for the Rift.”

  “I don’t see silence as being from the Rift,” Lily countered. Colin’s vision blurred at the corner as she waved her hand. “Silence is wisdom, for certain cases. And fury when directed at unrighteousness is not misplaced. Rebirth means death had to occur. And safety is an illusion. For some.” She slunk back against him, her head shaking. “What say you, Brother?”

  Braille chuckled. “You counter the argument like a true Brother!” He turned his eyes back to the mountain peak. “What, or who, decides what is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’? Is it our perception? Or, is there something fundamentally guiding our morality?”

  “There is an obvious answer,” Colin muttered, but then wished he hadn’t when Braille turned the full force of his gaze on him. Going head to head with the leading philosopher in the whole sphere was a bad idea.

  “I assume you mean the Deep and the Rift.” A small smiled tugged at the corners of Braille’s mouth. “The Deep is goodness and the Rift is evil?”

  “Isn’t that obvious?” Colin was in this fully, now. He couldn’t back out.

  “How so?”

  “The Deep is where accessors draw their power and strength from. The Rift is the counter to it. Evil creatures seep from its depths. The Liar is holed away there. What other explanation is there?”

  Braille nodded his head, and then glanced at Lily. “What do you say to that, my dear?”

  She chuckled. “That argument is so full of logical holes I don’t know where to start first.”

  Colin’s face heated. Good thing she couldn’t see him.

  “Pick one,” Braille said with a laugh.

  “To begin, the assumption is that because something evil lurks within the Rift, that automatically makes the Rift evil. It is like saying because oil is dropped in water, then the water is now oil.” She laughed, her body shaking against his back. “And following that, the second assumption is—”

  An arrow whizzed by Colin’s head. It was so close he heard it as it passed by, and the wind tickled his ear. Braille cried out as it embedded in his shoulder. The donkeys panicked at the scent of blood.

  Colin filled with the Deep and shoved Lily from the donkey’s back, picking her up in a flow of air and tossing her into the woods to their left. Another arrow shot from the woods to this right, and he threw up his hand and blocked it with a shield. The head of the arrow splintered as it hit the wall of power. Colin arched the shield up to cover him and Braille, who had fallen from the other donkey and was lying on the road.

  Several Jin’tai men rushed from the underbrush, brandishing clubs and staves, murder in their eyes. Brock led them.

  Enjoying this story? Check out part 1 of the Steward Saga: Rift in the Deep in print, eBook, or Kindle Unlimited. If you haven’t already, sign up for the author’s mailing list to keep up to date on everything to do with the sphere, and for giveaways, freebies, and promotions.

  PART TWO

  THE FLICKERING FIRE cast shadows on the ground, dancing in the darkness. Tiberius yawned, lifting a hand to try to cover his mouth before anyone noticed.

  “Are we boring you, Brother?” Walker’s tone was teasing, as it usually was when he was addressing Tiberius. “Go, get some sleep. We can come to a decision without you.”

  “I’m too old for this.” Tiberius stifled another yawn, groaning when Walker chuckled. “You will soon learn the cost of aging.”

  “I’ve learned the cost of many things that I had no desire for. But aging is something I look forward too. It brings even more wisdom.” Walker grinned, and Tiberius turned to the others present. Yoro, Rhem, Krysta, Grapple, and Ven were the only remaining after the others retired for the night. Even the Brothers who came with Walker were asleep in their tents a few yards away. The whole village was quiet. Hopefully they slept peaceful, for perhaps it would be the last time in a long while.

  “I think we have finally reached an agreement.” Krysta pulled her fur-lined cloak tighter around her shoulders. Rhem shifted to place an arm around her. His face was drawn and sober. Had they, then? Perhaps. What else was there to do but hope and pray that the Truth pre
vailed over the Liar? It wasn’t beyond reason that Briton could perhaps be an embodiment of the Liar, overtaken for use of his physical flesh. There were several documents that corroborated such a theory. What were they called again? The Overtaken? Or maybe he was a Soulbound. That was just as scary.

  “We stay out of it.” Walker sighed, and the light of mirth faded from his eyes as he stared at the fire.

  “The warlocks are not our concern.” Yoro didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was pleased with their decision. He drew symbols in the dirt with a stick, probably to distract himself from the fatigue that lined his eyes and furrowed his brow. “You will not regret this.”

  “Yet Briton has made no move to enter the village.” Krysta frowned. “Why is he keeping his word? I hear tell he is stronger than any with his accessing.”

  “There is no way he came alone.” Yoro shifted, and tossed the stick into the fire. It sparked as the flames devoured it. “We should check to make sure none come after him.”

  “We are not warriors,” Rhem said, glancing over at Yoro. “What do you suggest?”

  “I will leave and scout the area around his camp. They will not be expecting anyone this late.”

  “It will take you an hour to reach his camp. And several more to do the searching. Will you be back in time to deliver your news before Briton meets with the Warlock Council?” Walker straightened his back and stretched, yawning. Why had he been teasing Tiberius if he was just as tired? Bah. The man loved a good laugh as much as he loved a good scroll. Tiberius shook his head.

  “I will take a pigeon.” Yoro stood to his feet and bowed low. “The Truth guide you, my friends.”

  “And you,” Tiberius responded with the rest. A sense of foreboding filled his chest. Yoro was brave. But he was no wielder of blades. What would they do if Briton had brought anyone with him?