Book of Kayal: Strength of Unity

by Stryker Nileson

  Thalia approached and said, “Scand bland”. Her unexpected outburst attracted the attention of the other two Parthans. “I noticed that Scand craftsmanship is rather bland. If an exaggerated degree of blandness is ever needed to express myself, I will be using the term ‘Scand bland’.” Thalia then continued heading towards the other rooms to inform the others about her epiphany. It was apparent to Ganis that she had grown accustomed to Scandur.

  “Would you like another potion?” Ninazu asked, thinking of no other reason Ganis would seek him out. For now, at least, he was right.

  “Indeed I would.” She sat on the bed closest to his laboratory, examining his herbs intently, scent and all.

  “How can I help?” Ninazu meticulously examined a few containers filled with dry herbs.

  “Can you craft a potion to compress and preserve blood? I cannot rely on hunting alone, unless I seek to expose myself entirely.”

  He nodded. “I can mix something that would preserve blood in its original state, and believe it is possible to condense blood somehow, but I have not tried developing such concoction before. It might take me some time.”

  “And I would patiently wait.”

  As she prepared to exit the room, Ninazu added, “I never intended to be distant from you, and cold. I truly appreciate your presence in our Ona, Ganis. You are a good addition to our strength.”

  With a smile on her face, the moroi returned to her room and started to prepare for the coming journey. The Parthans wasted no time and resumed their travels at first light.

  7

  Missing only Eirene, Monolos, and Sigurd, the Parthans returned to Hearthdale, using the same route they had escaped from. While traveling, they came across a hooded man clad in brown wool clothes standing at the road’s fork. The man ignored them and simply looked ahead, undecided about which path to take. They made no effort to conceal themselves as they approached him from behind.

  When the group came to pass the hooded man, Hephaestion’s curiosity obliged him to say, “Hail, traveler! You seem lost.”

  “I have been facing many choices lately and am beginning to confuse the important ones with the unimportant ones.”

  “Then allow me to assist you, friend.”

  The man then looked at him and smiled. “Apologies for my indiscretion, but it is me who has been sent here to assist you, friend.” The hood and cloak hid most of his features save for his bright brown eyes, pale skin and thick pink lips.

  The Parthans made no effort to hide their confusion, eyeing one another for answers that never came. “Let us move and not waste our time with him,” Ganis, impatient as she was and determined to proceed, suggested.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said. “I am Volition, and I have been sent here to deliver a message to you.”

  Dumbfounded, the Parthans prepared themselves, hands falling on steel and bodies tensed. After observing the situation, Hephaestion signaled his followers to stand down.

  “Were you the one who convinced King Ragnar to spare his prisoner?” Hephaestion asked.

  “Indeed it was I who did so. Nevertheless, that matter has been resolved and concluded by your friend there.” He pointed at Ganis. How did he know so much? Without giving them a chance to react, he added, “And now it is your turn to be given a choice. You can proceed to rally the Midlanders and continue on to the lands of the Scylds; or return to the lands of the Scands and polish your plan. The choice is yours and yours alone.”

  “We know of our choices, Volition. What can you tell us about the outcomes?” Ganis asked.

  “That both yield different results that I have not been made aware of yet.” The man then looked at the forked road and gestured, “Ah! I finally remember which path I must take.” Without warning or farewells he continued on the chosen path.

  “What does he intend?” Ganis asked of Hephaestion, eyes still on the man.

  “It is simply a mind trick. He suggested two choices to prevent us from considering others. By explicitly noting them, we become blind to a multitude of different options. We often use such tactics during war to maneuver our adversaries as we wish.”

  “So it was pointless?” Ganis was relieved, now shifting her gaze upon her captain.

  Hephaestion presented her with a brief smile and added, “Knowing of this trick does not make us any less susceptible to it. The damage has already been done. We have been blinded.”

  Volition disappeared on the road he chose and the Parthans continued on with their journey, towards Hearthdale as they intended.

  Part II: Leads to Distant Light

  Chapter 6: A Stand is Made

  ‘When a beast hides its claws for too long, it often forgets that it has them. Not only does this beast need to be reminded of its natural weapon, but it also needs to be trained in its use.’ Philosophical Lessons from Utyirth (Volume II: Second).

  1

  As the Parthans journeyed through the forests which had once welcomed them into Utyirth, they contemplated the strange development in their situation. In just a short period of time they discovered that Utyirth was in fact where their people came from, the lost art of the Unnamed Blade, and a race of sentient hounds hidden to the world.

  Yet the lands were marked with the taint of corruption, the very same taint which robbed Nosgard of much during the Council’s reign. For millennia the people of Nosgard had been living in a constant struggle for existence, with two known civil wars which all but tore the peoples of the continent apart.

  Unlike Nosgard, Utyirth had remained in darkness, with no Demigod to come to their aid as Servak came to Nosgard’s. But the Empire, an entity embodying the ideals of the Demigod Emperor Servak, has come to Utyirth in the form of ten Parthans.

  “Before we convince the Midlanders about joining our cause and taking action,” Hephaestion thought aloud while under the cover of a dying light, “we need to understand how they think.” The accumulated snow crumbled beneath his feet, sounding each step he took.

  “Hold your caravan of thoughts for a moment, captain.” Thalia stopped humming and started waving loosely with her hands, playfully accentuating her natural gestures.

  “What is it?”

  “This needs to stop. It’s been driving me insane,” Thalia said. “You keep stating the obvious and ranting on and on about highly specific and irrelevant issues. Just think your point through and work your magic, captain.” It was not the first time she made such a remark to Hephaestion, not even since his inheritance of Pertinax’s position.

  Hephaestion took but a moment to think of Thalia’s comment before deciding that it would be best to ignore her entirely. “We need to understand what has been happening with the raids and if all the Midland villages suffer from such attacks. We know the raiders are Scylds, but we do not know why they raid them. If we know the answers to these questions, perhaps it would be possible to convince them that the benefit of uniting with the Scands would far outweigh the risks.”

  “They are simple traders and farmers,” Ganis said. “They will find an excuse to avoid confrontation.” She held her unlit pipe in her hand, forgetting that she had run out of heaven’s weed and that it would be impossible to enjoy it.

  “If this cycle continues, there will be no more Midland villages. Their choice is simple, unite or get conquered.”

  “What a ruthless world they live in,” Ganis noted. She looked at her pipe then stowed it away in her cloak.

  “My only concern is that Naa’tas might have nothing to do with these raids,” Hephaestion said. “If this is true and he is not to blame, then perhaps we are wasting our time with this plan.”

  While on the march, Ninazu kept plucking herbs he found of interest. He was still testing different potions for Ganis’ request. “The villagers have been robbed of family, wealth, knowledge, happiness, and much more. It should not be difficult to convince them to stand against their oppressors. If we fail it would not be because of their weakness or cowardice, but because of our in
competence.”

  Hephaestion looked at the twins. Percival and Dindrane had been listening in silence, following them closely. “Are you certain you can convince them?”

  “Yes, captain. We know people well enough to know how to move them,” Dindrane said. She had a bruise on her lip from a sparring session she had earlier with her brother. Yet he himself managed to conclude the event unscathed.

  “Once again we put all our trust in you two.”

  “And once again they will succeed, captain,” Ganis said. “When it comes to knowing people, I believe they are second to none.”

  2

  Days of searching the forests for survivors from Hearthdale told nothing to the Parthans of the villagers’ fate. It was unsettling for Hephaestion, to be so certain yet find no evidence leading him to a decisive conclusion. His mind wandered to impossible outcomes.

  Yet the search eventually led them to Hearthdale, where they found the villagers behave as if calamity had never struck. New scaffolds were raised and repairs undergoing. Villagers worked, smiled and laughed as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  Once the six Parthans walked into the village, with every face turning towards them, their minds started to wander even further. Why did Hearthdale still stand?

  What trick is this? Ganis thought.

  The inhabitants greeted the Parthans and welcomed them back warmly. Percival and Dindrane, beloved as they were, had the bulk of the attention. The raid, it seemed, had never occurred.

  “What is this?” Ganis broke the silence.

  “A grand joke,” Thalia said. She looked at the sky and pointed two fingers upwards, addressing her god.

  “Ganis,” Hephaestion said, “what would be the first structure you would strike at during a raid?”

  “The heart of the village. It’s the quickest way to spread panic, or at least we were told as such in the Peacekeeper Core.”

  “Then explain to me why the Heart of the Hearth still stands?” He pointed at the building.

  Ganis observed the structure, it was where all government took place, and wondered. “No good reason comes to my mind.”

  “Do you think the Hearthwarden is involved,” Thalia asked.

  “They returned immediately after the assault,” Ninazu said. The villagers were fond of growing their own gardens to decorate their houses, and gardens needed tending. Some of their plants, Ninazu had learnt, would start wilting in a day or two if they were not tended to.

  A woman whom Thalia recognized, an engaging customer who would often come to her for repairs, approached. “Hail,” Thalia said.

  The woman curtsied in response. She wore a long brown dress which dragged on the ground as she walked, brushing dirt which blended in well with the color of the fabric. Like most of the women in Hearthdale, a tight corset, which would be loosened during work, held her breasts in place. Yet in spite of her groomed attire, her feet were bare.

  “What happened to your shoes?” Thalia asked the middle-aged woman.

  “I gave them to one of the orphans who tore her own. They are a little big for her, but we managed to tighten them with some well-placed hay inside.” She laughed. “The little child looks rather strange with such big shoes.”

  “Tell me, Lady Solea, what happened here?” Thalia asked. She finally remembered the name of her former customer – a mental effort well spent.

  Hephaestion interrupted, patience running low, “Where is the Hearthwarden?”

  “Staring at you.” She paused for a moment. “I am the new Hearthwarden.”

  “What happened to your predecessor?” Hephaestion asked.

  “He is no longer with us.” She hesitated. “I am ashamed to admit it, but my predecessor thought it best to keep some secrets from being revealed to you. He was untrusting to strangers, undoubtedly a result of his own experiences as a child.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was killed during the assault.” She gestured at her chest. “A spear hit him right in the heart while he attempted to guide some of the villagers into the hidden underground bunkers he had prepared to ensure the safety of whoever could make it there in the event of an assault.”

  Then it was not the Hearthwarden who planned the assault. He might not have been involved as I suspected. Ganis continued to cynically assess her situation. Everything was too ordinary to be ordinary.

  “He died a hero then.”

  The Hearthwarden nodded.

  “The secrets he hid from us,” Ganis said. “How inclined are you to reveal them?”

  “Completely inclined. You have stood by us like no other stranger did. Your leader, Pertinax, sacrificed himself to rescue the orphans. He will be remembered in Hearthdale, and it would be an insult to his memory if we did not take you in as our own.” She looked around her, scanning for anyone that was close enough to hear them converse.

  “Some of the villagers still believe it isn’t wise to reveal our secrets to strangers. I think it would be safer to talk in the Heart of the Hearth. Seek me out after you rest. For now, I have to tend to the orphans.” Before leaving, the Hearthwarden felt compelled to explain her haste and paused for a moment to add, “The most difficult time for an orphan is just after losing their parents, and many parents were lost during the last incursion.” She administered a gentle curtsey and walked away towards the Heart of the Hearth.

  No one would help the Parthans as much as the Hearthwarden, and they knew that it would be wisest to seek her out before they continued their investigation. The Parthans, as tough as they were, needed rest and food. Once more, they found themselves heading to the local inn.

  “It has been a long time, Stain Logain.” Percival shouted to the innkeeper as soon as he entered.

  The man was busy explaining to one of his new waitresses where everything was, pointing as he spoke. Percival’s interruption demanded his attention. He looked around, turning as quickly as his fat body allowed him, smiled, and said, “My friend.” He rushed to hug Percival.

  Percival took a deep breath, knowing that the man had a heavy hand, crushing him whenever any sort of physical contact was made. He grimaced in pain while being consumed by the massive arms.

  “How have you been?” Stain Logain winked at him and threw a nod towards the new waitress. “What do you think of the new girl? She is not married, you know.”

  Percival tiptoed and leaned to Stain Logain’s side to get a look at the shy waitress, averting her eyes as Percival dissected her. “She’s quite pleasant, but you know in my line of business starting a family becomes rather difficult.”

  “Well, at least think about it.” He patted Percival on the back, then looked at the other Parthans, nodding to them as he greeted. “How can I help you today?”

  “Warm beds and hot food,” Hephaestion said.

  3

  “Thalia, why have you not tried to craft Unnamed Blades? You had the chance to do so in Scandur.” Ganis waited patiently, looking at Hearthdale from whatever view her opaque window allowed her, for Thalia to wake up. As a moroi, she seldom slept as deeply or for as long as the others, a habit which gave her much time to think.

  The artisan rubbed her blue eyes to lift the sleepy haze upon them. “What torture. Asking me such hard questions just as I wake.” she lifted the warm sheets from her semi-naked body, a luxury only afforded when sleeping amidst four walls and the company of allies.

  Thalia sat on the edge of the coarse yellow bed cover and ran her fingers through her untied yellow hair, adding, “You really want to know.” She reached under the pillow at the far end of the bed, stretching her body, and produced a brown leather strap to tie her hair with.

  Binding her shining yellow hair, she said, “I haven’t decided yet if eternal life is a curse or a blessing. These blades present me with a moral dilemma.”

  “You’re starting to sound like Hephaestion now. Besides, I thought your faith in Pax should guide such choices.”

  Thalia smiled. “So did I.”
<
br />   “Do you think we should meddle with the affairs of Utyirth?” Ganis withdrew from the window. Her eyes fell on Thalia as she walked towards the door, standing by it; waiting for her to respond.

  “We Parthans don’t like this, you know. For many decades we were forced to bear arms for someone else’s cause, never our own, really. All we really long for is peace.” She looked at Ganis, eyes nostalgic for a time they never saw.

  “And Pax gives you hope that one day this dream would come to be.”

  Thalia nodded. “I doubt that a weapon would be fitting for the realization of such dream. The craft of the Unnamed Blade does not rest well with my heart, but one day, I fear, it will be forced upon me.”

  4

  Dawn rose, a good time to visit the Hearthwarden, Hephaestion judged. Ganis decided to join Hephaestion on his visit, a wish he had no intention of stifling. The others, he thought, could use some more rest, knowing the burden they would shoulder in the days to come.

  The night guard’s shift was coming to an end and the poorly equipped watchman, partly stripped from the equipment Thalia had made for them, eagerly awaited to be relieved. In his wait, he recognized two approaching visitors. “Pleasant night and warm day,” the guard greeted.

  Ganis had not heard this greeting before and knew not how to respond. During her earlier visit, she had busied herself with finding creative ways to avoid revealing her secret to the others, wasting any opportunity she had to familiarize herself with the local custom.

  Though Ganis’ curiosity did not prevent her from completely ignoring local customs, and she took careful note of the outfits the villagers wore. “What happened to your uniforms?”