Rise of the Red Harbinger

by Khalid Uddin

  As he gritted his teeth to concentrate harder, a storm of arrows rained down around them and the wagon. Varan Ika had still been sitting in the front as three arrows pierced the thick man through his chest and head. Baltaszar and Horatio simultaneously ran and crouched behind the coverless wagon. “You hurt?”

  Horatio sighed, “I’m fine. Our merchant is dead.” Arrows continued to pierce the wagon and road, some falling only inches away from them. “The second they let up, we have to attack. Are you ready? Focused?”

  Baltaszar reddened. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t focus. I can’t seem to get that feeling back. There’s just too much in my head.”

  “You have to try. I cannot do this by myself. Look at all of the arrows coming down.” Deep red wine seeped down the sides of the wagon as more and more arrows pierced the barrels and flowed onto Baltaszar’s shoulders looking like blood. The arrows came to a stop. “Now Baltaszar. Stand and embrace your manifestation.” Horatio stood and stepped toward the left side of the wagon to face their attackers. Baltaszar mirrored his actions on the right of the wagon. As soon as Baltaszar stepped to the side of the wagon, an arrow pierced his right thigh. The impact was so strong that it knocked him to the ground, which turned fortuitous as another arrow whizzed by right where his head had been.

  Baltaszar hit the ground with his shoulder blades and rolled behind the wagon once again. He sat up and stretched his legs out in front of him, elevating the injured one. His thigh burned deeply as blood quickly flowed from the wound. Baltaszar took the curved knife from his belt and cut a long strip from his cloak. Now comes the difficult part. He would only be able to completely remove the arrow if he broke it first. It would have to be cut and the motion of that would hurt even more than the burn in his thigh. Baltaszar wrapped the strip of wool tightly around his thigh above the wound. He breathed deeply then gripped the arrow with one hand and struck the shaft with his blade in one quick motion. The burn flared through his leg from the vibration and he clenched his jaw from the pain. To make matters worse, gripping the arrow with his burnt hand only elevated Baltaszar’s pain.

  Waiting to pull out the other piece would not do much good. Baltaszar grasped the shaft protruding from the back of his leg and pulled as hard as he could. Droplets of tears formed in the corners of his eyes as the burns in his hand and thigh grew unbearable. Baltaszar relaxed his leg and finally the arrow shaft came out completely. His hand and the ground beneath him were stained crimson. Focus on the task, not the pain. Baltaszar thought only of what needed to be done, rather than the excruciating burn in his thigh. He cut more fabric from his cloak and wrapped it tightly around the wound. Once satisfied, he inspected the arrow he’d just pulled out of his leg.

  The entire shaft was completely smooth. He was nearly positive that no splinters remained in his leg, which was the only encouraging part of the whole situation. Baltaszar had been so focused on his leg that he’d forgotten about Horatio. Oh no, what happened to him? It was only then that Baltaszar realized that blasts of light had been radiating the sky the whole time he’d been tending to his leg.

  ***

  The King’s soldiers were almost completely depleted as the road ahead was littered with men in silver armor and helmets with red horse-hair ridges. Horatio had put down nearly two dozen men with the lightning and twice that many had fled as a result. He assumed Baltaszar had been injured, but Horatio needed to focus on the threat first. He and Baltaszar had gotten lucky with these soldiers. They grew arrogant with their numbers and fought out in the open. Likely, the soldiers didn’t expect that a boy could control lightning. But Horatio found that to be the oddly marvelous thing about manifestations. It was nearly impossible to imagine just how many different things people could do with them. Something like lightning was violent by nature, so of course it made for a considerable advantage in combat.

  But then again, the King’s soldiers had been hunting down Descendants for years, so this squadron should have known better than to take anything for granted. Horatio considered that perhaps the soldiers had grown so accustomed to killing and defeating Descendants that they simply expected to defeat any they encountered.

  Two soldiers remained roughly fifty yards away. They were searching their dead counterparts for more arrows. Horatio still clung firmly to the focus of his manifestation and the melody flowing through his veins. He cleared his mind and willed two more streaks of lightning upon the two crouching soldiers. One fell but Horatio had narrowly missed the second. The soldier spun and wildly fired an arrow back at Horatio, catching him off-guard. Horatio reacted barely in time, as the arrow grazed the left side of his torso. He clamped his hand to his side and knew instantly he would need someone to bandage him up, but it was still a blessing that the arrow hadn’t impaled him. The graze would burn more than it would bleed.

  Quickly regaining his focus as well as he could, Horatio summoned down five more bolts of lightning upon the soldier. There was no point in risking a miss with just one bolt. The soldier convulsed and fell over immediately.

  Since his first incident when he’d developed his manifestation, this was the first time Horatio had injured or killed anyone with it. He’d expected that his conscience would weigh heavier for such a thing, but he wasn’t bothered at all. His father had taught him that violence was acceptable when fighting for what one believed in or when defending one’s life. Horatio shook his head at the thought. Wait. How could he have taught me that? He was never around. For years now, Horatio had wrestled with his memories and whether or not to believe them sometimes. His mind had proved to be a strange thing quite often.

  He’d spent so many years adjusting to the idea that he’d had no father, yet at times, he could picture in his mind exactly what his father looked like. There had never been a single instance in which his father had returned to Damaszur, or that his mother or anyone else mentioned even seeing his father. Horatio did not remember ever seeing any man he’d even slightly resembled anyway. Yet, there was a specific image in his mind of his father, and even rare times in which a memory, or what Horatio assumed to be a memory, surfaced of his father.

  Too often Horatio succumbed to these ponderings and got lost in this maze of thoughts and questions. And when that happened, he would snap back to reality at some point and realize he’d been staring off into nothingness for several minutes, sometimes hours. He shook his head vigorously once more and turned toward the back of the wagon. He clutched his side to temper his open wound.

  So many arrows had rained down upon the wooden wagon that every barrel of wine had leaked its contents and the wood and surrounding ground were soaked a deep red. Baltaszar had propped himself up against the back of the cart and was holding his thigh with his left hand while his right hand was tucked firmly under his armpit. Clearly the boy was in a great deal of pain. Judging by the amount of blood soaked into Baltaszar’s pants, he’d taken an arrow right through his leg.

  “They’re all gone,” Horatio declared with relief. He walked to Ika’s body and ripped off a portion of the man’s shirt, then tied it tightly around his torso. It would do for a bandage until they reached Khiry. “Got speared through the leg, huh? Have you tried to walk yet?”

  Baltaszar smiled. “I’m so light-headed, I can’t tell if I bled too much or if the wine soaked right through my skin. I don’t think walking is such a good idea right now. And you can thank me later for getting rid of all the soldiers while you sat back and did nothing.”

  Horatio let out a hearty laugh. Now that he was paying better attention, he noticed Baltaszar’s head was swaying. They would need to get to Khiry quickly. “We’ll have to get you on a horse. All of ours have either been bombarded with arrows or have run off from the lightning. But a few of the soldiers’ horses are still over there at their camp. You get hit in the hand too, or is that still the burn?”

  Baltaszar took a moment to respond. “Burn.”

  A deep realization erupted through the surface of Horatio’s
mind. Right here, at this time and place, was the beginning of something much larger than he could fully comprehend. He shook his head at the notion; this wasn’t the time to be lost in thought. Horatio knelt down and wrapped Baltaszar’s arm over his shoulder, then lifted the boy to a stand. “Lean against the side here. And don’t fall. I’ll be right back with a horse.” Horatio sprinted over to where the soldiers had set up and approached a brown mare that seemed the least skittish of the bunch. He mounted the horse and rode back to Baltaszar, who thankfully still stood. “I’m going to hoist you up. But once you’re on the horse, please don’t fall off.” He couldn’t tell if Baltaszar had nodded in response or if the boy’s head was just swaying more wildly now.

  Horatio was thankful that he was somewhat taller and bigger than Baltaszar, who wasn’t skinny, but lean, and was a few inches shorter. He hoisted Baltaszar up, holding his injured leg so that Baltaszar could throw his other leg over the horse. Horatio’s wound from the graze burned. The moment Baltaszar had settled into the saddle he tilted forward, but managed to steady himself on the horse.

  Horatio considered for a moment the best arrangement for both of them to ride the horse. Oh man, what do I do here? This is going to be awkward whether he’s in front of me or behind. Horatio sighed audibly. The ride to Khiry is still an hour’s ride. If people see us, will they think he’s injured or will they assume something? What if Baltaszar gets the wrong idea about me? Oh Orijin, why does this have to be so awkward? “Baltaszar, you still there?” His injured companion slowly nodded his head. “Good. Listen, we have to ride the same horse. You’re too injured to ride alone and Khiry is still an hour away. I’m…um…I’m going to have to…sit right behind you on the horse so I can keep you steady and hold the reins. Don’t uh, don’t think the wrong thing, it’s just because…you know…because you’re hurt that I…”

  Baltaszar cut him off in a hoarse voice, “Horatio, can we just go. I’m going to die on this horse if you keep going on and on about how you’re just doing this to save my life.” He slumped forward once again.

  “Sure, sure.” Horatio mounted the horse behind Baltaszar and took the reins. As he looked behind them at the wagon, he realized other merchants had resumed their travels as well, as they littered the road as far back as he could see. Great, now everyone will see us. Horatio commanded the mare to a gallop and they were off.

  ***

  Horatio sat at the table in the corner, his back turned to the rest of the room. The Weary Traveler was an inn that was quite friendly to Descendants, but after the altercation he and Baltaszar had had on the Way of Sunsets, Horatio wasn’t up for any similar encounters any time soon. Despite having been bandaged up, his side still stung. After the shock of fighting and racing to Khiry, coupled with the drain from summoning the lightning, he was too exhausted for anything except eating and sleeping. In truth, the ride to Khiry hadn’t been as bad as Horatio feared. He’d been so determined to get there and keep Baltaszar alive that he barely had time to entertain the foolish thoughts he’d had before.

  Now he could relax for a short while. Baltaszar was upstairs being tended to and would likely sleep until midday tomorrow, despite the fact that it was still only early in the evening.

  He dug into the roasted half chicken on the plate before him. The inn-keeper, Soren, had insisted on serving it to Horatio, along with a chunk of bread, peppered corn, and a glass of deep red wine. Horatio decided it futile to argue and accepted graciously. The moment Horatio had walked inside the Weary Traveler, Soren, a tall stocky man with a booming voice and the yellow-hued skin typical of Mireyans, had rushed to him and Baltaszar and tended to their every need. It hadn’t been a surprise, honestly. Once Horatio saw the inn’s name outside, he was sure they’d be welcome here. In his travels through Ashur, he’d learned to look for signs and symbols marking those who were friendly to Descendants, especially in nations and cities that were notorious for being enemies to those with the black line on their faces. From what Horatio had learned, Mireya supported the Descendants rather than the King.

  Any inn that welcomed Descendants had a lowercase “l’ in its name, and the inn’s name was written outside so that the bottom of the “l” extended lower than the rest of the letters, so it resembled the black line of the Descendants. It was how Horatio had known to stay at the Happy Elephant as well.

  After Soren had gotten his maids and nurse to attend Baltaszar, he’d set Horatio up with a room and a change of clothes. Horatio had decided to eat before going to his room. He knew that once he went upstairs again, very little would be able to pull him away from a bed. A couple of maids had brought him up briefly to bandage his torso while the rest tended to Baltaszar.

  The common room was busy with the murmur and bustle of merchants, travelers, and gamblers. Every town had at least one inn like this. Horatio knew, however, in certain nations, while inns like this were welcoming to Descendants, certain people frequented them just to spy. Soren sat down across from him. Horatio was about to speak but the broad-shouldered man held a hand up to stop him. “Eat boy, eat. An’ let me know if ya want more. Got plenty o’ food.”

  Horatio realized that although Khiry was a long way from Vandenar, the accent was still the same. Soren continued as Horatio bit a huge chunk of meat from a chicken leg. “Yer Shivaani friend’ll be back ta normal soon. Lost a lot o’ blood but he was smart enough ta tie up the wound I guess as soon as it happened. Likely saved his life.”

  Horatio cocked his eye, “Shivaani?”

  “Yeah. The boy ya came in with. Got that brown Shivaani skin from the east.”

  “He told me he’s from Haedon, and not far from Vandenar.”

  “Impossible. Nobody on this side o’ Ashur looks like that. An’ I never heard o’ Haedon. Maybe he’s makin it up. Ya know how ya Descendants are. Always tryin’ ta be mysterious an’ all. Anyway, he just needs ta rest fer a day or so an’ take it easy. Let him rest today an’ tomorrow. Ya can explore Khiry if ya want. Let me know if there’s anythin’’ I can get ya. Doesn’t look like either of ya got any coin. Anythin’ ya need, horses, food, clothes, just let me know boy.” Soren stroked his slicked-back hair.”

  Horatio swallowed a gulp of wine. “Well wherever he’s from, we’re both very thankful. But why are you helping us so much? The moment we walked through your door, we were in need and you haven’t stopped helping us since. Why?”

  Soren’s eyes narrowed. “The King, curse his name, sees all o’ ya Descendants as abominations. Like yer lower than everyone else or somethin’. Been livin in Khiry my whole life, never seen a single Descendant wanted ta cause trouble. Ya ‘Black-liners’, as we call ya in Khiry, were always in an’ out o’ this city until Edmund’s soldiers set up camp on the Way o’ Sunsets. That’s when all the trouble started. Ta hell with the King an’ his soldiers. They can all rot in Opprobrium.” Horatio listened intently as he wolfed down his food. Soren continued, “There’s a war comin’, boy. Whole world knows it’s only a matter o’ time before Jahmash comes back.” Horatio nervously looked around at the rest of the crowded room. Soren reassured him, “It’s no secret. They all know, too. An’ they all think the same way as me. If he does come back in my lifetime, I’ll bet the ‘Traveler’ that ya Black-liners stand a better chance against him than King Edmund does. That’s why I take care o’ you an’ yer folk, boy. We need ya. The world needs ya. It’s wrong the way yer all treated. Yer lives are graced by the Orijin his self, yet ya live like ghosts. Yer the Ghosts o’ Ashur.”

  “Are there any others here now? Other Descendants?”

  “We haven’t had any o’ ya in months. Them soldiers out on the ‘Way’ been deterrin’ Descendants fer years now. Even when we do get Black-liners here, they usually come in like ya an’ yer friend did. Hurt, dead tired, in need o’ medicine an’ nurses. Pardon me fer bein forward, but how did ya manage ta get past the soldiers anyway?”

  Horatio finished chewing and hesitated another moment, then spoke quietly. “I can control th
e lightning. They bombarded our wagon with arrows. Killed our merchant and took down Baltaszar before he could attack. I was able to take enough of them quickly from a distance, which caused most of them to run away. Those that stayed were either badly burnt or killed.”

  Soren nodded. “Ya see what I mean, boy. It took one o’ ya ta defeat dozens o’ them. What good are they ta the world if they’re attackin’ our only hope? Anyways, I only sat down here ta check on ya. Make sure ya got everythin’ ya needed. Eat ‘til yer stuffed. An’ like I said, when ya go out inta town, come back an’ tell me before ya decide ta buy anything. I’ll give ya the money fer whatever ya want.”

  “Thank you, you’re too generous. I’m already stuffed, so I think I’ll go check on Baltaszar and then get to sleep. I’ll be sure to visit the markets when I wake up in the morning.” Horatio arose from the table with Soren and picked his plate up with him.

  “Leave it boy, we’ll clean it up fer ya.”

  Horatio nodded in appreciation and walked upstairs.

  ***

  Baltaszar groggily awoke to a pair of women sitting beside his bed talking quietly. Another unfamiliar bed. When he tried to move, they sprang from their chairs and forcibly held him in place. Both women possessed similar features to Anahi, yellowish skin and almond-shaped eyes, though both were older than her. One was slender and not well-endowed as Anahi had been, while the other was plump with a small nose. Both wore frocks similar to the maids in Vandenar, except these were dark blue.

  The chubby one spoke first. “Please don’t move sir. We’ve given ya lots o’ herbs an’ ointments ta help with the pain, but as ya see, we’re not nurses. We can only do so much. If ya start movin’ around, ye’ll certainly start ta hurt again.”

  Baltaszar could barely remember any of the past day. He remembered leaving Vandenar with Horatio and trying to use his manifestation. He also remembered coming upon soldiers on the way to Khiry and being hit with an arrow. Everything after that was lost to him. “What happened to me?” His words were somewhat broken, likely from not having spoken in a while.