Dark Journey

by Elizabeth Monvey

  Ali crunched his abdominals and pulled himself up out of the water and spun around, his eyes wide open in fear. Yet that terror faded instantly to relief as he saw Cax holding the crying little boy. Cax patted the boy’s back in a soothing manner and gave Ali a wobbly smile.

  ****

  Cax took a deep drink of his warm tea, enjoying the warmth that coursed through his system. The blazing fire in front of him kept his feet toasty warm, letting him completely relax for the first time in months. It was a rare moment that he could sit back and drop his guard.

  “Gypsies,” Hark muttered.

  “Careful,” Cax murmured. “Your lordship’s snobbery is showing.”

  “Not so, I simply don’t understand the need to live off the land and constantly move from one place to the next under the guise of tradition.”

  “Your tradition will soon include moving from one place to the next,” Cax reminded him.

  Hark waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Entirely different. I shall be moving for a reason. They live off the land and scavenge for provisions, and sometimes that scavenging includes thievery.”

  “They should be given a measure of respect for their history. They are the First People of this land.”

  “This land is now civilized, and as such they should learn to integrate into society.”

  Cax raised an eyebrow. “And you should learn tolerance and humility.”

  Hark frowned but did not say a word, instead returning to stare at the fire. Cax didn’t tell that come the morning, Hark would be facing his own form of judgment as he confronted his first step into being accepted into the Mercenary Guild.

  Chapter Three

  The Guild was a sanctuary in the life of a Mercenary. Its outer walls were too high to breach in a forward assault, with a hundred turrets on the upper partitions where arrows could fly from if needed. The perimeter wall had been built back in the Dark Ages, when the different clans had made a bid to enslave each other. Through the need for peace, a group of men had formed a consortium to help the vulnerable, and Vermundir became the center city where the Mercenary Guild had grown. Soon other guilds decided to make the beautiful city their home, and people flocked to cast their bid into finding a position within the sanctified province.

  “Guild members are solitary creatures,” Cax murmured as they entered the portico of the Mercenary Guild. “Yet no matter how stealth-like we walk, no one goes unnoticed by the Provosts.”

  “Provosts?”

  “Mentors. Trainers. Every Mercenary has one.”

  “Who is yours?” Ali asked.

  “Dalten, the same man who recruited me almost a lifetime ago. Come, let’s find him before he finds us.”

  Cax walked through the quiet halls, followed by Hark and Ali, breathing in the tranquility of the moonlight splashing over the open courtyard. The square consisted of trimmed lawn, a fountain, and places to rest weary eyes and feet.

  The Provost quarters were located at the far end of the compound, away from the militaristic lifestyle of the hired men. They had once been Mercenaries themselves, but had been the lucky ones to survive their years of service to become more within the Guild, for once a Mercenary, a Mercenary for life. Cax had one dreamed of succeeding to the Provost quarters, but now that he had two companions, his thoughts for the future were upended.

  Despite the late hour, Dalten sat at his desk, reading and shuffling through papers and reports as Cax rapped upon the opened door. His Provost looked up and raised a brow. “You’re back. And I see you’re not alone.”

  Cax cleared his throat. “Um, yes. Dalten, this is Alisander, and that is Hark.”

  “Hark? Eyvindar’s Hark? Lord Hark?”

  “I no longer hold that title,” Hark murmured.

  “Ah.” Dalten nodded and wrote something on a paper in front of him, then stacked the papers in haphazard disarray to throw them in a precarious pile to his left. He then focused his gaze on all three men. “I think an explanation is needed.”

  Cax nodded and plopped down on a lumpy sofa in front of Dalten’s desk. The cushions had been around forever, yet their lumpiness felt reassuring. Hark and Ali moved in to stand behind him. Dalten glanced at each man speculatively.

  “I entered into a life commitment ceremony,” he said.

  “I suppose it’s a moot point to remind you that the Guild frowns upon life commitments.”

  Cax nodded. “Yes.”

  “Wait,” Hark said, holding up his hand. “Why do you frown upon that?”

  “Because,” Dalten replied, “a Mercenary’s life is dangerous. If his mind and heart are not engaged in his mission, he may not return from an assignment.”

  Cax didn’t miss the look Hark and Ali shared.

  “Which man?” Dalten asked, bypassing the awkward silence.

  Despite the sudden grimness that gripped them, Cax couldn’t stop the grin tugging on his lips at the answer. “Both.”

  Dalten remained impassive, except for the slight raising of his eyebrows. “Unusual.”

  “Yes, and that leads me to a request.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Hark and Ali want to join the Guild.”

  This time, Dalten couldn’t hide his surprise. His jaw dropped, but not a word came out, in an obvious sign of shock.

  “I would act as their sponsor,” Cax said quickly, trying to anticipate the next question.

  “Two companions taking the same test has never been done. I’m not sure you could even be a companion to two men at the same time.”

  “Ali and I can handle unprecedented,” Hark said.

  “You may, however, yet I’m unsure if the Guild could.” Dalten shook his head. “I need to bring this request to the Guild Court.”

  “And if they deny?”

  “Then I’m sorry, but their decision is law.” Dalten sighed. “Apprenticeship is the only way to gain entrance to the Guild. If they’re denied you’ll have to find other—”

  “Tell them I shall retire if they’re denied.”

  Silence descended like a heavy blanket. Cax hadn’t even been aware he was going to say the words until they fell from his mouth.

  “Have a care, Cax, with the words you use.”

  Cax looked down at his hands as his fingers twined together. It was the only nervous habit he had, and it only manifested in times of great stress. Right now was definitely one of those times. If Hark and Ali were turned down, what would he do? Who would he be? The only thing he knew in life was the Mercenary Guild.

  Ali laid a hand on his should, offering his support, and Cax laid a hand over it as he amended his thinking. Of the two things he knew in life, the Mercenary way of life and the two men he loved, the more important were the men standing with him.

  “You are like the father I never had,” Cax finally murmured. “But I stand by my life companions. Without them, I advance no further in the Guild.”

  “Understood,” Dalten replied. “You will have the Court’s decision in the morning.”

  ****

  That night they lay together in one big bed. A taste of desperation hung in their lovemaking, as if they knew that on the morrow their fate would be sealed. They would either continue on their planned journey to be Mercenaries, or they would return to Eyvindar to rethink their future. Their kisses lingered, their hearts beat faster, and every drop of pleasure they milked from one another only added to the layer of uncertainty.

  “They must give their blessing,” Hark murmured afterwards, as their hearts slowed and the sweat cooled off their bodies. “Mustn’t they?”

  “I don’t know,” Cax replied softly. He lay staring up at the dark ceiling. “I’ve never faced a Guild judge.”

  “What will we do if we are rejected?” Ali asked.

  “We’ll figure something out.”

  Ali’s hand touched his, and Cax linked their fingers together.

  “I admit, I’m a little afraid,” he confessed to his lovers.

  “Why?”


  “Because I don’t know how else to be but a Mercenary.”

  His companions didn’t respond, and he didn’t blame them. What could they say? He had neither the patience nor time for wasted platitudes.

  In the morning, they washed and dressed quietly before making their way to where the Guild Court was housed and waited until a bailiff came to escort them into the courtroom. Inside was a typical setting among the lawmakers. A raised bench where the five judges sat, a witness stand, and a jury box all encircled them.

  The judge in the middle banged a wood gavel. “We shall begin. After careful consideration we, the five Guild judges, have come upon a solution.”

  Cax’s heart sped up. Are they about to grant their blessing?

  “Mercenary Cax, step forward.”

  Cax did so, focusing his attention on the main judge.

  “Your record is exemplary,” he said. “Every contract you’ve fulfilled dutifully and quickly. Do you feel ready to take on not just one, but two apprentices?”

  Cax had no hesitation. “I am.”

  “You, and you alone, will be responsible for their training, understanding, and ultimately, any failures they might accrue.”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  “Very well, all three of you will travel to Wymerian and find the Faither.”

  Cax quickly searched his memory but couldn’t remember where Wymerian was located. He’d have to study a map. He’d been expecting the test to be performed within the Guild walls, like his own test.

  “And what are we supposed to find there?” he asked.

  “That will be your test.”

  The judge banged the wooden gavel once more, dismissing court, leaving Cax to fume silently from the lack of information.

  Chapter Four

  They set out early in the morning, once again on the back of broolhorses. This time, however, Hark had no complaint about the animal because his mind was preoccupied with the upcoming test. Whatever the hell that meant. He could use a drink to steady his nerves and damned if he hadn’t given up all his vices. It was enough to sour his disposition.

  As the hours passed, the clouds drew together in a dark blanket as a light rain fell, gracing them with a chill in the air. When they arrived in the small province of Wymerian, it was to a stark landscape of small huts and patches of vegetable gardens and not much else.

  “Is it the rain or the lack of sunshine that makes this place dreary and desolate?” Hark muttered under his breath.

  “Are there even people here?” Ali asked.

  “There,” Cax said, pointing. “That’s where we need to go.”

  He pointed to a small dwelling, built with round turrets behind a fallen down wooden fence. A smoking chimney stood against one side. Its defensive walls didn’t bode well, and Hark wondered briefly which god the Faither inside vowed loyalty to. Cax seemed to have no hesitation and walked up to the entrance where he banged heavily with his fist. Immediately, the door flew open, and a wrinkled face stuck out to glance around.

  “Go away,” she growled at them and tried to close the door.

  Cax’s hand kept it open. “I believe we have need of your skills as a Faither.”

  She tried rattling the knob free. It was clear she didn’t want to help them. “What do you need with a Faither?”

  “The Mercenary Guild sent us.”

  She paused, her eyes narrowing as she looked, really looked, at him. “You’re already a Mercenary.”

  “They are not.” Cax nodded his head to the side.

  The old woman glanced first at Ali and then Hark, lingering a little longer on the taller man. Another long moment passed as they stood in the rain, until she nodded and stepped back to allow them in. She was short, slightly on the plump side, with gray hair that stuck out in several different directions, which had several large knots tangling it together. Several times she scratched at her scalp. She was attired in a dress patched together from different materials and patterns. There was a distinct odor floating from her layered garb, which caused Hark to clear his throat as he turned away to adjust his sense of smell.

  She led them down a short hall to a partitioned room where there was no other entry except for the one door. Hark assumed this was the old woman’s personal study since the area was crammed with everything from books and parchments to dried herbs. A fire crackled, heating a cauldron. The warm glow beckoned him to lower his hesitations and rush to stand in front of it. His eyes closed on a pleasurable sigh.

  “Let’s have a look,” the old woman snapped, striding over to Ali. She grabbed one of his earlobes and yanked him down to her level as she studied every part of his face, even using one dirty finger to open his mouth to examine his teeth.

  “Something weighs heavy on your gentle heart,” she murmured. She tapped her finger first to her heart and then to her temple before making her way over to Hark. Ali scrunched up his face as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Hark was prepared to knock her dirty fingers away when she stuck a finger under his nose.

  “You have lost your way. Perhaps they are not meant for you.”

  “Get away from me, you old bat.”

  The Faither cackled.

  “Are you going to help us or have you wasted the Court’s time?” Cax demanded.

  The Faither turned toward her table where various jars sat around, some half-filled and some empty. Once again, she ignored the question. “Sit down over there,” she ordered with a nod at the floor near the fire.

  The three men glanced at one another. Cax went first, and Ali shrugged before following. Hark wasn’t so sure he wanted to be vulnerable to this woman. She bustled around gathering items from different shelves and different jars. Hark immediately recognized moon ivy as it lay twirled inside a dusty container. A hunger roared through him, begging to be satisfied. He knew somewhere in that compendium lay the answer to his thirst, and he wanted to go to her and shake it from her so he could drink and satisfy the demon inside that wanted the forgetfulness only the drug could provide.

  One drink. One little drink, what could it hurt? It would steady my hand, sharpen my thoughts … just one little drink…

  “Are you going to obey or not?”

  The Faither’s question snapped him back to attention. He turned away from the jars and pushed his maddening thoughts aside. It was there, scratching at the surface, and he just had to learn how to ignore it.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, he sat next to Ali. In a copper bowl, the Faither tossed several ingredients, not measuring them directly, a pinch here and a shake there. The last thing she added, before she started mashing everything together with a large wooden spoon, was a dark, thick syrup.

  “Yes, yes,” she muttered. The Faither held up a clear glass that reflected a deep violet in the amber light. She filled two more containers before holding them out. “Here,” she said, presenting one to each man. “For your vision.”

  Cax took the glass, smelled it, and wrinkled his nose. He downed the potion in one gulp before easing down to lie on the floor, close to the warmth. One second passed, then another. He tried to set the glass on the stone hearth but missed. The glass hit it and shattered.

  “Cax?” Ali asked, sounding alarmed.

  Cax started to convulse in spasmodic jerks, his arms going rigid and the fingers curling inward upon themselves. Hark rushed to his side and grabbed each arm. “Cax!”

  He stopped convulsing as quickly as he’d started. Cax’s sky blue eyes shot wide open, staring as if dead. A trickle of the purple syrup stained his teeth and ran down his chin.

  “Cax!” He looked at the Faither. “What the hell happened to him?”

  “Is he alive?” she asked, not sounding the least bit concerned.

  Hark pressed his fingers to the side of Cax’s neck. “Yes,” he breathed, relieved.

  “If he survived the crossing, he will be fine.”

  Hark stared at her incredulously. “If he survives? You poisoned him?”


  “Of course not,” she muttered, pushing him aside to angle Cax’s head this way and that as she stared into the dilated eyes. “He needed to go first to help you find the path.”

  “The path?” Hark practically shouted. “Are you out of your mind?”

  Her look was of pure disdain as she swished by him and down the hallway. Where she went, he did not know, but it was good to have a moment alone with the unconscious Cax.

  “What do we do?” Ali asked.

  “I don’t know,” he replied, looking around.

  In the gloomy light he couldn’t ascertain much, so he leaned in close to try to see Cax’s pupils better. With one hand he tried to close the eyeball, but the lid popped open the second his fingers released. Then he tapped Cax on the forehead with his middle finger. Other than a “thunk” sound, he got no response. As Hark eased back and crossed his arms in front of him, he noticed Ali studying the purple liquid.

  “Don’t drink that.”

  “What if our test is trust?” Ali asked.

  “I can’t wake up one life companion,” Hark muttered. “I don’t want to risk losing you as well.”

  Ali touched his shoulder. “We need to trust this is the path to go.”

  “Did you not hear I word I said?” he snapped

  Ali lifted his chin. “And have you not heard a word I said? I am not your servant anymore. Please listen to me, Hark.”

  They stared at one another, and as much as Hark tried to push his will into Alisander, the younger man simply lifted his chin. Ali was one strong-minded guy. He may not have the outward, physical assets like most warriors, but his inner strength could break the strongest of men. But that was all right with Hark. Not everyone could be a fighter or should be one. Ali was a nice balance to their threesome.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly.

  “Are we ever sure about anything?” Ali shook his head. “No, but that’s probably why our trust is being tested.”

  Ali lifted the glass cylinder and swallowed the purple liquid in one gulp. Almost immediately his eyelids drooped and as he lay down next to Cax, his body began to shake. Seconds later, he lay comatose as well. The foundation of Hark’s world shook as he looked upon the two people he loved most lying deathlike on the ground. He knew this was not a future he wanted. He couldn’t not follow them into whatever world they crossed into, so he slid down the wall next to the body and rested his head against the bricks. Tears pooled in his eyes, and he blinked furiously trying to banish them. He couldn’t cry. He was a warrior, soon to be a Mercenary, which meant there wasn’t any room for soft-hearted emotions. It was one reason why he’d taken to drink, in an effort to not care, and right then and there, he wished he could not care again. Then as if a benediction had been handed down, his gaze landed back on the cluttered table of the Faither. A hundred jars must have littered the surface, all filled with herbs and liquids. It actually started to make him hungry, and then the hunger turned sharper. More defined. There was a gnawing at his belly that started to climb upward, weaving and burning its way up. It hit his tongue and left it dry before the hunger hit his brain.