Dagger nodded. When he spoke, it seemed to him that he was somewhere else listening calmly to his own voice. “How long has it been going on, friend? How long have they been gathering in the belly of Skyrgal?” He gave him back what was left of the jointee, with a trembling hand.
“Some time…” Ash answered, taking it back. “But now the situation is precipitating faster. The rift between those of the Hammer and the Sword is getting deeper, the air is thick and full of corruption and those…those guys meet more often. Also, they seem in great turmoil, don’t you think? Are they organizing something? Probably. What? Who can say? Sooner or later I’ll find out what Warren has meddled himself in, I assure you. I would recognize his shadow even in the dark, and when he got back he was limping.”
“What is he waiting for to become a Guardian? He seems the most experienced among you, instead—”
“It’s like he’s doing it on purpose, right? It’s like he doesn’t want to pass his Test, not yet, because first he must resolve something concerning us novices. Oh, I hadn’t thought of that! I believed it was the usual story of the older brother trying to do the little one in. Well, those shadows are that something, I tell you, or at least a means to get to the heart of the problem. If he became Guardian, War could no longer follow them. My brother is very clever, at least as much as he is an asshole.”
“Shouldn’t we talk with someone?”
“Yes. Someone who might try to silence you, I’d suggest. They won’t let you smoke to relieve your pain when they’ll rip up any part of your body not necessary to survival.”
“So what should we do, then?”
“We’ll do what you’re worse at, it seems,” the other retorted. “We’ll wait! We’ll look.” He turned to the yard. “I know my blood. If Warren has got himself in such a mess, it’s just to see how deep the enemy’s lair goes, how rooted is the cancer that’s devouring the Fortress from the inside. He hopes this will lead him to discover the truth about the death of our father, the only thing he can think about from when he wakes up to when he goes to bed, unable to sleep. Poor, forgotten soul….” Ash snuffed out the cigar against his palm, closing his eyes, but with no expression of pain on his face. “Only one more deluded guy, destined to an endless unhappiness.” He dropped the cigar-butt outside and grabbed the Arsis around his neck, opening it and dwelling on his mother’s image.
“The ones you saw tonight are just bit players,” he stated after a time that Dagger could not define—everything was flowing slowly now. “If you’re as smart as you look, you’ve already figured it out. The real threat is bigger and is hiding beyond the curtain. It’s greater than our ability to react and understand; it comes from the east and it’s not the shadows, nor the Ktisisdamn wolves. It’s ourselves, our unburied corpse left lying in the sand for too long, beyond the door closed on our unconscious.” He closed the pendant, angrily, observing the silent Glade.
“Ash, what happened to your mother?”
The white-eyed boy made an amused sound, difficult to interpret. “Just an accident,” he replied. “I was seven. We had just accompanied my father to a private audience with Marduk, to talk about…a war, I think. We were playing on the top of the Delta tower, we were alone and, at a certain point, she began to walk toward the balcony. Never to stop.” He laughed ominously.
“Just so?”
“Just so. Do you know that look? The look of a child who watches his mother—” Ash bowed his face. “Who do you think believes me? The wife of a Pendracon suddenly jumps into the void, without notice, without saying anything. If I were a little older at the time, I would have ended up on the towers along with the Gorgors, but things turned out better for me. I only served seven years of guilt and remorse, one for each year of my happy and carefree life.” He turned to look out once again, longing for the clear air of the night. “This place looks so peaceful, doesn’t it? The sacred, cursed forest, a rocky dome in place of the sky and waterfalls. Waterfalls everywhere, with rows of walls that defend you from whatever lies beyond. It’s all a deception, Dag—the destabilizing element is always about to hit and it’s within us. It’s folly made substance as the portal from which we’ll be struck. There are too many people who do not sleep at night; you saw it. Who’s going to take a step and leap into the void? Who will open the doors to the forgotten madness?” He jumped down from the ledge and went to bed, lying down on his side. “Nothing is ever really still, if not dead, and everything is in constant movement toward the inevitable boundary. Good night Dag. Welcome to the Fortress!”
* * * * *
7. Training day
“You let down your guard too often!” Olem growled. “Close! Hit! Pull back! Are you waiting to die again to understand it?”
Dagger stood up, holding the sword with his bloody hand and using it as a support. “You’re getting a little repetitive, Drac!”
“No. Don’t call me that. Don’t get familiar with me. The fact I can’t kill you is the umpteenth injustice these tired eyes must endure!”
“Well, you can always give it a try. At worst, I will rise again.”
Olem grinned and accepted the invitation.
Clang! Clang!
Dagger counterattacked on the side. However, the teacher proved faster again. He disarmed Dag with a kick and knocked him off his feet, bringing the tip of the sword to his throat. From there, the boy could only watch the dazzling smile at the end of the blade.
“To tell you the truth, I’d do it on a whim!” the Dracon said, putting all his weight on his opponent’s stomach. He laughed and pushed. “I’ll tear you to pieces. I’ll watch you suffer, then I’ll send you to Daddy. It will be worth it.”
Despite his immortality, Dagger had a desperate need to breathe. He spread his arms to surrender.
Seeing him, the Dracon stopped laughing and shook his head. “You haven’t learned anything yet.” He moved his foot to the boy’s chest, then to his face. “Never give up. Death will not be granted to you. Pain will be eternal in their hands. Can’t you understand?”
Dag tasted mud and blood under his master’s boot. His nose was on the verge of breaking. Every time he thought he had made some progress, Olem increased the power of his attacks and disarmed him mercilessly, never denying himself the pleasure of humiliating him. Luckily, that time it didn’t last long—the Dracon let him go, went to get a bucket and emptied it on him. Only the freezing water awoke Dagger from dizziness. He sat on the floor and tried to breathe more slowly.
“What are you doing, taking a break?” the master yelled. “Or are you about to burst into tears as even your silly friends would never do? Hotankar! I see you always stick together. You’re just adorable. But let me tell you something, the speed with which you forgot about Kugar, to run between the legs of that little whore Erin, is incredible.”
The boy struggled to get up—he would not give in, not before his eyes.
“How did you convince yourself?” Olem continued. “I don’t want to be alone? Never say no to an innocent sex session? The things you do because of loneliness, right Dag? It’s all an illusion…fall in love and then what? Think you can have a family?”
“Ask your Muse,” Dagger answered, knowing perfectly well what would come next. He didn’t even realize where the punch came from that made him fall to the ground again.
“You little bastards talk too much about things you don’t understand!” The teacher covered the boy’s entire face with his huge hand. “My personal life is not subject of gossip! I swear, the next time I’ll rip off the ears you use to listen to this crap and have you eat them with your ass! You know I never say anything just to say something!”
Dagger stretched his hand to grasp his sword, ignoring the cries of pain from every single muscle of his arm. He gritted his teeth and tried to hit Olem, who jumped back.
The boy was immediately up and attacked, again and again.
Clang. Clang! Clang !!!
The Dracon withdrew and pushed him back.
&nb
sp; “AH!”
They stood looking at each other in silence.
“A coin for your thoughts,” Olem said, turning the rough training sword in his hand. “What are you thinking behind those shiny eyes? The mommy? Or was it the mummy?”
“Leave her alone!”
“You’re the result of the rape of a god. Stop considering her your mother,” the Dracon calmly explained. “She just wanted to have it put in her—”
“LEAVE HER ALONE!” Dagger attacked him again.
CLANG! CLANG!
“Take that, boy!”
The boy eluded the lunge in a flash, finding himself in a position of advantage with Olem unbalanced forward. He sliced the air from top to bottom with such desperation that, if the teacher had been careless, Dagger would have split his head in two.
From Olem’s laugh, however, he understood that the Dracon had planned everything again and was just having some fun, offering him illusory breaches in his impenetrable defense. When the blade fell, he was already gone.
“Look at that!” Olem said. “You would have killed me with no hesitation and no remorse. You don’t think about anything when you kill, huh? Good!”
The same teaching as Sannah, Dag remembered. There’s not much difference between a murderer and a Guardian, after all.
Any other speculation was interrupted when the master piled it on.
CLANG CLANG CLANG!
“You’re ridiculous all wet, a bit like your mother when Skyrgal took her from b—!”
Dagger lowered his head to avoid the flat of the blade, which would have left him dazed for the rest of the day. Then, he threw himself forward with closed eyes and his sword held tight in both hands.
Olem shook his head. He just needed to deviate from his course and push him to the ground with a slap on the nape. “Control your anger!” he said, seriously. “Do not let anger control you! That’s your problem!”
“Why do you hate my mother?”
“Why? Because she was a coward and a traitor whore, like all Nightfall, in blood or in law. This is why our cemetery is full of them. Cemeteries are always full of cowards, just like your albino bitch girlfriend in the world Beyond. What was the story? You buried her with your bare hands? Ahahahah! I can imagine the scene!”
Dagger jumped forward in a new attack, this time keeping his eyes open and aiming for vital points.
It wasn’t easy for Olem to counter him. Or at least the master gave that impression before grabbing Dag’s blade with his hand. He locked his fingers around it, staring straight in his red and desperate eyes. “Anger can be power! It lets you not feel the pain,” he said as a red tear dripped on the bare metal. “Anger fills any void left by other superfluous and unnecessary feelings. Anger is the only human sensation you will never be denied, and that will never be a total illusion. Anger. Anger can be power!”
“Talk less and fight!” growled the boy, pulling the blade from Olem’s hand. He tried to hurt him with a series of increasingly powerful lunges that made Olem pull back to the wall. The master really seemed to be in a spot…then he laughed again and disarmed him, landing a boot on his groin and pushing him to the ground.
Dagger breathed pure agony as he slid on the blood-soaked straw. He curled up on one side as tears welled in his eyes. “Ouch!” he let out, hands clasped on his lower abdomen.
“Obviously, pain is the other feeling that will never be a total illusion,” Olem dryly commented. “That’s enough for today. You’re making some progress, I’d rather not ask too much of the desperate condition of your tiny muscles. Spare them for that slut, what’s her name again…Erin!”
Dagger put his defenses up despite the agony. He feared it was all a tactic to distract him.
However, Olem threw his sword to the ground. “The lesson is really over. I’m not that much of an asshole. Not always, at least.”
“They accepted you in their home as if you were their child.” Dag took a step forward. “You had to be there with Crowley when they tore him to pieces!”
The master of the Sword was silent and all trace of mockery left his face. He pointed his finger at Dagger. “I don’t like the tone of your voice. You don’t know SHIT about what was there between me and Crowley!”
Dag dragged himself on. “You had already decided that he had to die, right?” he continued. “All of you.”
Olem walked in lockstep and grabbed the boy’s neck with one hand, clutching as if to choke him until he stuck him to the wall. “I told you to get over it! I’m your master and you open your mouth when I tell you, okay?”
Dagger stared at him.
The Dracon interrupted eye contact with a header, before letting him go. He walked to the stairs, keeping his head down, then stopped in the doorway. “You know your father was not alone, when he left Agalloch,” he said with a low and troubled voice. “But you don’t know that…not all who left with him, that damn night, did not return. You forget this is the Fortress, Dag—here nobody ever tells the truth. Perhaps only its walls.” He opened his mouth, as if to say more, then he probably came to the conclusion he had already said a lot, if not too much.
The boy pondered those words. So, at least one of the Faithful Twelve who left the Fortress with Crowley, that night, did return. But who? And what did he see?
Those questions continued to haunt him as he climbed the stairs of the arena, directed toward his favorite shelter. It wasn’t very far from Angra’s kennel. Walking down the guts of earth, beyond a narrow rocky arch, Dagger followed the voice of a spring and came to a cave. It had a system of pools created by the erosion caused by the unceasing water flow; filled the upper ones, water poured into the lower ones and then flew away in an underground river. The warm glow of six braziers danced on its undulating surface and on the statues of Angra, placed alongside each of the six openings leading into as many caves.
He dived and climbed the pools until he found one with a suitable temperature—water gushed hot from the bowels of earth and cooled along the way. He stayed afloat, letting the gentle waves massage his battered body, then he went below the water and sat on the bottom enjoying the warmness. When he opened his eyes and looked up, he saw the dark silhouette of a boy against the orange light. A sudden sense of danger swept away that barely found peace. He came back to the surface and saw that it was Warren.
The son of the late Pendracon was balancing with bare feet on the edge and looked down on him. “Uhm, your lesson was over early, today.”
Warren dived into the water, and Dagger saw on his hand the wound bequeathed by the blade that had baptized him as a Disciple. The bruises on his body had instead become green and yellow, like the consequences of an intensive training.
They stood with their backs resting on the pool’s opposite sides, without speaking as if ignoring each other’s existence.
Then a third individual came, wearing a black robe with the red hammer. His eyes were cold and black, his skin white and his head completely shaved, except for the long braid of purple hair falling from the back of his head onto his chest.
Hard to forget a similar hairdo, Dag thought, recognizing him as the Grand Meister who’d slain the virgin in Skyrgal’s womb. The way he kept his eyes fixed on Warren suggested he had followed the latter there.
He acted as if Dag didn’t even exist. “A little tired, War?” he said, grinning. “You spend more time resting than training, a bit like your brother and those pussies of your Hotankars.”
“Did you talk or fart, Heathen?” Warren asked, his eyes still closed. “Forgive me. This water smells of sulfur and it’s hard to tell.”
Heathen joined them into the water. “Don’t act the white blood with me!” he barked. “The same moment the skull of your father split against the ground, you got back to be a jerk like everyone. I am the son of the Pendracon and I will never obey a coward!”
“The skull of my father didn’t split open,” the first-born of Hammoth answered. “It seems they found him with his head on his folded
arms, as peaceful as a sleeping child…although he was resting on his guts. Yet this is only a marginal error in your words, the real crux of the matter is: facing the possibility to choose, who would follow someone like you when he could follow someone as fucking cool as me?”
Heathen’s anger flashed.
Warren continued to speak, “Now, ignoring your questionable haircut—”
“They cut their hair like this!” Heathen interrupted.
“Maybe, but it doesn’t suit your delicate little face. It’s like if a wanker—as, after all, you are—tries to appear more menacing by cutting his hair in a certain way, getting instead the opposite effect. Look at the beautiful mane of your brother, his hooked nose, the way not a single emotion ever shines through his eyes as he watches everyone from above. Ours is the face of a leader—the look I’m afraid you will never have. There are qualities that are delivered only once in a lifetime. When you were born there was just a big sell-off of squalor. Nobody trusts anyone who hides continually behind his father and brother—you get me?—or in the shadow of the bombastic name of Sabbath! Sabbath here, Sabbath there, and my father is the Pendracon and my brother blabla. Ah. Fuck you. You get me?”
The Grand Meister slammed a hand on the water, capricious.
“By the way,” the white blood continued, indifferent. “I mean to propose something to the Pendracon himself, your father, as you always remind us. That turret you have in the desert should be demolished, now that we know for sure we’ll be attacked from the heart of Golconda. Now we’re all nobody, and we must work for the common good, just like your brother and I are doing—we, who have the faces of a leader.”
Dagger 2 - Blood Brothers - A Dark Fantasy Adventure (Born to Be Free series) Page 17
