Scion’s Sacrifice

by R. Michael Card

  Chapter 11

  Emberthorn blazed with blue fire and Eaglewing was held ready, string pulled taut and nocked with an arrow pointed at Davar. The two scions were ready for a fight...if it came to that.

  Cassine held her breath, waiting and hoping.

  “Shadowfang,” Davar said and the light-sucking blade appeared in his hand. He winced, gritting his teeth, then released the sword. It clattered to the ground and Davar took several steps away from it.

  “Take it away,” he said harshly. “I don’t want to be anywhere near that thing!”

  Wyllea released the string slowly, the arrow vanishing as the flames of Emberthorn also disappeared.

  “Well, that’s certainly a change,” Senia said with a shrug. She knelt as a monk handed her a thick blanket in which to wrap the dark blade. She bundled it and hefted it, moving into the keep. Davar came to Cassine and embraced her; his two guards, like twin shadows, not far behind.

  She returned the embrace, squeezing his large form as best she could. “I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

  He released her stepping back slightly. “When will I see you today?”

  “Soon. I’m almost done my healing rounds with the Daughters. I’ll be with you after that.”

  He smiled at her, his eyes showing concern. “You look tired. Are you sure I’m not working you too much?”

  She leaned in kissing him lightly on the cheek. “No, it’s my choice. I’ll be fine. I can rest… later.”

  He nodded then returned her kiss, his lips hot on her cheek. “See you soon, then.” He left.

  She made her rounds of the wounded, most already healed from the injuries taken in last night’s combat. Despite Ragnalla’s prediction that they would win this war, the fighting was still as intense as ever. That said, fewer of the defenders had been injured in recent days, probably due to the efforts of the two scions who seemed to be everywhere in the night.

  Davar hadn’t been wrong about how tired Cassine felt. Night after night, she healed the wounded as they fell and continued that work through the morning until the High Sister dismissed her. Then she would go to Davar and work on lifting the darkness from his soul, even more exhausting work. She knew she’d been pushing herself too hard, working for Davar longer than she should, sacrificing her time in the afternoon set aside for sleeping, but she wanted to heal him with all haste. She knew he wanted it as well, which is why she pushed so hard.

  By the time she got to his chambers that day, she was so tired she could have fallen asleep on her feet. But when she entered his room to find him in his usual position, lying down, shirt off, ready for her, she perked up. Seeing his chiseled features, the thick rolling muscles of his arms and torso kindled a fire within her.

  She knelt next to the bed, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and put her hand over his heart to begin. She delved in, seeking another dark thread, some evil from his past to soothe as he dealt with the darkness in his own way, dispelling it.

  She started awake, wondering when she’d fallen asleep. She lay on his small bunk with Davar, still shirtless, on his side next to her, gently stroking her hair.

  “I told you, you needed more sleep.”

  “No, you said I looked tired, that’s different. When did I fall asleep?”

  “Almost as soon as we started. You just kept leaning over me a little more until your head was on my chest and you were asleep. I laid you on the bed figuring that would be more comfortable.”

  “Oh. How long has it been?”

  “The noon watch was called not long ago.”

  “That’s hours! You let me sleep for hours? And what did you do?”

  “Watched you. You’re so peaceful when you sleep. I wish my dreams were as kind to me.” He poked her in the side. “You need more sleep. There, now I’ve told you. I think we can be done for today.”

  “Davar, no I…”

  His finger moved to her lips, hushing her. “You know how much I want this and I know you want it just as much.” He leaned down over her, his lips replacing his finger in a long, deep, sensuous, kiss that left them both a little breathless. When his mouth retreated, taking its sweet warmth with it, he sighed heavily then said, “But I’m not willing to sacrifice you to get what we want. Rest today, come back tomorrow and we’ll try again.”

  He was right. She needed to rest. She kissed him lightly, savoring the moment, then got up from his bed, and smoothed out her skirt.

  “Tomorrow, my love,” he said.

  She smiled, a great warmth filled her to hear those words. “I do like the sound of that. Good-bye, my love.” She blew him a kiss and left, returning to her chambers to sleep the afternoon away.

  She didn’t get to her scheduled healing with Davar the next day. She was a little upset, but more curious at the strange summons.

  After her rounds with the wounded, she'd been summoned to the High Abbot’s chambers. She'd stopped by Davar’s cell to tell him she’d been called away and his understanding and patience amazed her. It made her affections for him grow even stronger. She'd kissed him and left, hurrying to the High Abbot’s rooms.

  There she found several monks she didn’t know along with the High Abbot standing around the large table in the room. Laid out on the table was Shadowfang.

  “Thank you for coming Cassine,” the High Abbot said evenly. “We may have need of your talent with souls. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Sit, we have a story to tell you.” The older woman ushered Cassine to one of the large chairs by the fire. The High Abbot also sat and one of the monks an aging man, sat as well, directly across from Cassine. The other younger monks remained standing, silent.

  Cassine waited patiently to learn why she was there.

  The High Abbot indicated the aged man, who Cassine despite having spent some time in the abbey, had never met. “This is Anar, our High Archivist. He and his team of monks,” she said motioning to the others Cassine was unfamiliar with, “spend their days deep within the abbey with the many artifacts we keep here and our vast library of secrets. More-so than even I, these are the keepers of Embreth’s knowledge. We sent Shadowfang to them to study in hopes of doing something about the corrupted blade. Anar, tell Cassine what you found.”

  The man was frail and withered with a fringe of long unkempt hair sprouting from a mostly bald head. His skin was wasted away on face and hands, making him seem drastically emaciated. Yet he still managed to have an air of spritely energy about him at the chance to speak. His dark eyes lit up, and a smile creased his wrinkled face.

  “I will tell you a tale, youngling, of a scion of old.” He sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward excitedly. Frail hands shook as they moved in animation of every word. “About two hundred years ago there was a woman, one of the last known scions in all the lands. Her name was Thiona. She stayed here with us for a time, so we have very detailed records of her abilities, her Aehryn-Gift, and her appearance. One young lad even sketched her likeness, but that’s no matter now. At that time, the Blacklord was a new but growing threat to the lands, having conquered a third kingdom in the east, expanding his empire out from Nustaria, his homeland. So this scion woman, knowing such a threat could not be allowed to spread set out to fight the Blacklord himself. She never returned and nothing is known of what became of her.” The aged man grinned eagerly. “Until now!”

  Despite the man’s growing excitement at his story, Cassine had a growing sense of dread. She was quite sure she knew where this was going. She might even know part of the story this historian did not. But she’d never tell anyone of such horror.

  “This sword,” Anar pointed with a trembling hand, “Is hers! Or at least it once was. The details of the blade were explicit and match this blade almost identically except for one thing. The blade of the scion’s sword was iridescent silver, glowing with an inner light, where this one, as you know, devours light with its own inner darkness. We believe the Blacklord turned a blade once dedicated to light, into one of shadow the opposing element of
magic. And!” His finger jabbed up into the air. “And we think we know how to return it to its former glory!”

  “Thank you Anar,” the High Abbot said seemingly amused by the old man’s excitement. “Cassine, dark magic was used to corrupt this blade, magic of the soul.” She paused, checking the room. “What I tell you now is known to only a few, though others might suspect as much. Each Aehryn-Gift contains an ancient soul, one dedicated to an element of magic. This is how Aehryn put such power into her artifacts. She used the souls of once great and powerful men and women. After their death, their souls were some of the most puissant to pass into the Heavens. When Aehyrn gave up her life to create these weapons, she infused those souls into them, each with an element that matched their soul. This is how the artifacts were created.

  “When the Blacklord took this sword from the scion he twisted that soul. It must have taken him years of work to corrupt a soul of that power and vigor, but he managed to turn it into a vile opposition of what it once was. We believe with your help it can be returned to its former glory.”

  Cassine sighed heavily. First Davar, now his sword as well, more time taken from working with him exclusively.

  The High Abbot continued. “What we are uncertain about is how the Blacklord bonded the sword to Davar if he wasn’t a scion to begin with?”

  Cassine was torn. There was a secret she knew, one so very personal to Davar. She looked away, uncertain.

  “Cassine, are you well?” the High Abbot asked. “Do you think you will be up to healing this sword as well as Davar?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’ll do what I must. But that’s not what bothers me. There is… I may know how the Blacklord bonded the sword to Davar. But it’s his story to tell, not mine.”

  Something occurred to Cassine then. She sent out her mind talent and found Davar’s mental essence alerting him she wished to mind-speak.

  Yes? His voice echoed strong in her mind. His mind talent was much stronger than hers.

  Can I tell the High Abbot about your mother? We may be able to fix the corruption in Shadowfang, but they need to know the whole story.

  He didn’t respond right away, though she could feel thoughts racing through his head through their link. Finally, reluctantly, he said, yes. Tell them what they need to know.”

  She sent him a thought-smile. Thank you, I know how hard this is for you. I will tell you more later, when we have a moment.

  She broke the link and drew a long breath. She spoke to the others in the room. “May I have a moment alone with the High Abbot?”

  The High Abbot gave the others leave to depart and they did, leaving Cassine alone with the elderly woman.

  “I have permission from Davar to tell you his story.”

  The High Abbot raised a brow but did not question how this communication had happened.

  “The Blacklord didn’t have to bond Davar to the sword. Davar is a scion. The scion woman who went to fight the Blacklord, Thiona...was Davar’s mother, or so I believe.”

  The High Abbot sat back slowly, considering. “That was over two hundred years ago..."

  Cassine nodded. “Davar is over two hundred years old. The timing works.”

  And so she told the High Abbot what she knew of Davar’s horrible creation and the death of his mother. It was not a pleasant afternoon.

  Chapter 12

  The memory was deep, long forgotten.

  Davar was in a small chapel of Hothar, God of Order and Justice. The priest was using it as a school for the children of a farming community on the fringes of the Kingdom of Kath’Ahan. The priest lay dead on the floor before him, blood pouring from the gaping wound in his belly. The children were screaming. Davar was alone. He could do as he wished. He wished for the kids to stop screaming.

  His large hand grabbed one by the top of the head, easily picking the flailing child from the floor. The boy couldn’t be more than six years old. It was so easy to crush his skull, Davar’s fingers sinking into the goo inside before the rest of the body fell to the floor. He tossed the fragments of bone and gore away and sought his next victim.

  He scooped up another boy by the leg, feeling the muscles and bones crush under his grasp. The boy screamed louder. To silence him Davar swung him like a club, smashing the boy's head into a little girl’s. Both went silent instantly. There were eight more children, six boys and two girls. They were quiet now, eyes wide with shock. But he was having too much fun to stop. Perhaps he did like their screams after all.

  They all died screaming. The last one, an older boy, he took his time with. He crushed one finger after another, then each toe and each foot. He broke every bone in the arms and legs. Then ever so carefully, he used Shadowfang to make a delicate slice over the boy’s chest, just breaking the skin and peeling it away. Then pushing his fingers into the boy’s chest and through his ribs. In one swift motion, he pulled out the heart. The boy remained alive for a moment, seeing his own heart pulled from his chest, before dying. Davar had smiled, chomping down on the heart as he left the chapel.

  The memory was too much. Davar screamed as such a wave of guilt, horror, shock, and shame hit him like a tidal wave and drowned him in remorse.

  Davar snapped out of the trance he fell into when Cass did her healings. He pushed Cass aside, rolled off his bed. He searched for the chamber pot as a rush of sickness overwhelmed him. Not able to find the container he scrambled to a corner of the room where he was violently ill for some time.

  After a while, he felt a soothing hand on his back. “They’re getting worse, aren’t they.” It wasn't really a question. Cass knew.

  He could only nod.

  “I could feel the pain, the sorrow in that last one, it was so intense, I… I can’t imagine…”

  “No,” he said, wiping his mouth, still unable to look at her. “You really can’t. And I don’t want you to try.” He spat out more of the bile that burned this throat. “I’m…” No, he couldn’t think that way. “…I was… a vile man. I’ve done unspeakable things.” He began trembling and was too weak and tired to stop himself. He began to cry. “I don’t know if I can go on. Those memories that remain are the darkest, the most horrific. Even I had blocked them from my memory. I can feel the rest of them, writhing like worms, they’ll only get worse from here.” He shuddered. He didn’t want to delve into them. The revulsion at the mere thought of them nearly made him sick again.

  Again, she rubbed his back. “And you’re stronger than they are.”

  He shook his head, full of doubt and fear. The trembling and tears intensified. He wept like a babe, ashamed and relieved at the same time. She held him then as he let all his grief and self-loathing pour out. He couldn’t image being this vulnerable in front of anyone else. With her he was an open book. She knew his pain, the filth piled up within him, and still she loved him. There were times, quite often actually, where he didn’t know how she did it. It was so easy to love her, she was pure and kind and helpful, but he couldn’t imagine what it must be like to love him. He didn’t love himself at all at the moment.

  After some time the tears stopped and he began to breathe deeply through his mouth to calm himself. He was able to look at her then. What he saw in her eyes, the love and concern, nearly made him weep again. He embraced her and she him, holding each other for some time.

  “Things are only going to get worse from here,” he said drawing back.

  She grimaced. “I don’t see what you see, I don’t know what you’re reliving, but I can feel it. I know it’s hard. I know that you’re trying to undo hundreds of years of hate and anger and evil. It won’t be easy, but I’m here for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think we’re done for today, though. I need to save some energy for dealing with Shadowfang, or should I say Starsong.”

  “I still can’t believe my sword’s real name is Starsong. Not very masculine.”

  She laughed. “Did you want to come and watch?”

  He shook his head. “No, not yet. I
don’t like getting too close to that sword. Let me know when it starts being… different and I may come along.”

  She nodded her understanding, then kissed him on the cheek and rose. “I’ll check in on you later.” She left.

  He pulled himself together then asked one of his guards to fetch a bucket with water for him to clean up his mess.

  Once that was done, he felt restless. He needed air and decided to go for a walk in the bailey.

  His guards kept a respectable distance behind him, which he thanked them for. He didn’t want to be around anyone right now. His thoughts were dark, remembering the evil he’d dealt with this morning with Cass. When they’d started, almost two months ago now, it had been easy. She’d started with the minor tarnishes on his soul and he’d accepted and dealt with them usually with little effort. They could get through dozens of memories, hundreds on a good day. This morning they’d only made it past two in so many hours.

  He’d reached the bailey. The yard of the abbey was vast so despite there being hundreds of men and monks coming and going or resting and recovering from wounds, there was still lots of room to walk without being too close to others.

  It was a bright, warm day, the antithesis of his mood and thoughts.

  He shook his head, still feeling the corded, twisting knot of darkness in him. Soul was the weakest of his talents, but he’d been working with Cass long enough to see and feel his own clearly now. He knew it would still be some time before he was free of the evil that had been bred within him and in which he’d reveled and wallowed for so long. To a degree, he was fine with how long this would take. It meant he was putting off returning to the Blacklord. He didn’t think of the man as his father so much these days.

  He was not looking forward to that quest. If he was honest with himself, it terrified him. Even with two scions and Cass beside him, he still doubted their chances. So if this darkness within him took a while to undo, perhaps that was for the better.