by Khalid Uddin
Marshall understood. “He wanted me to fight back. He wanted me to be violent and attack him. But Desmond and Tasz stopped him. And you two did not even use violence. You just contained him. Violence would get me put in the dungeon or expelled from here. So what, does somebody want me to be dismissed from here?”
Max shrugged, “That seems the most logical explanation.”
“But who? And why?”
“I do not have an answer for you, my friend. However, Reverron unwittingly gave you an opportunity to get into the dungeon.”
Marshall looked at Max curiously, “How’s that?”
“He works in the dungeon. Reverron is the one who brings food to his countryman down there.” Marshall furrowed his brow in confusion. Max quietly uttered, “The Prince. Remember, he is Cerysian. Reverron is very proud of his people and his nation, despite how they treat Descendants. Find him. Think of a way to threaten him and have him do your bidding. One way or another, you must use this opportunity to get down there if you wish to see…the captive.”
Marshall gritted his teeth. “Coward. Let us see how he runs away when I have him by the neck, pinned against a wall. Thank you for the advice, Max. I will extort him. My word is my bond.”
Chapter 17
Solitude
From The Book of Orijin, Verse Three Hundred
O Chosen Ones, We shall challenge you with crucibles more difficult than most can handle. Once you overcome, your faith shall be unbreakable.
“Only the Mavens and a few others know that you are even here. Most of them would have you hanged. In fact, they grow angrier with each day that you are still alive.” Garrison’s Uncle Roland sat outside the bars of the dungeon cell. Garrison had not known much of his uncle, and hardly had any recollection of him. Roland Edevane was his mother’s older brother and had left Cerysia before Garrison had been born. While he enjoyed the security of having a family member to be concerned for him, Garrison wished that his uncle offered more sympathy and less bluntness.
Garrison had hardly the energy to speak with any gestures of animation. Since he’d been thrown into the bare cell, he’d been given only enough food and drink to keep him alive. Before he had left Cerysia, his stature was quite full and muscular from rigorous combat training and scores of missions. He now resembled a beggar. “Perhaps you could do more to raise my spirits?”
Roland scoffed and ran his hand over the stubble of hair on his head. “Raise your spirits? Boy, look at your body. They do not treat you this way as some idle threat or as a lesson. The only reason you have any nourishment is because I am here. Did I not make myself clear? These people want to kill you. And rightfully so. How many of their kind did you kill? Torture? Hunt? If I was not your uncle, I would want the same justice. The only argument in your favor is that Orijin knows the hearts of all men. If he manifested his gifts in you, then perhaps you are worth saving. That is the only argument I can present to Zin Marlowe and the Mavens.”
“They have to know that I have changed.”
“And why is that? Why do they have to know that? Until, what, a year ago, you were hunting them down. You were leading armies throughout Ashur to find them. You struck down so many of them for bearing the very mark that undeservingly stains your face. I want you to do something for me.”
Garrison looked Roland in the eye, “What?”
Roland returned the stare. “Recount the last Descendant that you hunted down. Take a few moments to remember, and then tell me the details. I want to know how you felt. How many men you brought. How the killing was done. And how much satisfaction you got from doing it.”
“Uncle, I…”
“No. If you are going to refuse, then do not call me that. Tell me what I ask or I shall no longer help you. My word is my bond.” Roland stood and turned.
“Wait. I will do it. I will tell you.” Garrison closed his eyes and breathed deeply for several moments. He rubbed his face with his hands and then clasped them on his lap. The stone floor felt even harder and colder beneath him. “We were at the Sanai, about to cross into Shivaana. We wanted to watch the animal fights in Sundari–my men had been teasing me about having never seen a vrschika. By then, I had already known that I no longer wanted to kill Descendants, so I thought that would be a nice, time-consuming diversion that would get their minds off of killing.
“Right after we crossed, some of our scouts were waiting for us on the other side with news of a nearly a dozen Descendants hiding in Rayan, a city in Fangh-Haan not far across the Sanai. We had sent those scouts out weeks before–they had taken so long that I did not expect any results. We shifted our course. I could not ignore the findings even if I had wanted. My men smelled blood. They were killers once more. Rayan was less than a day’s ride, so there was no stalling. Thirty of us arrived in Rayan just after midday. The gatekeepers did not even protest; they let us right in. We essentially stormed the city. My men invaded a few houses and inns, grabbed random people and dragged them into the center of town. I will never forget the looks on people’s faces as we rode through the streets. Nobody objected. They were like cattle accepting that lions had come to thin out their herd. They simply moved aside. If you are unfamiliar with Rayan, it thrives from its fishing industry. Every wide road in the town has large wooden platforms lining the middle of the street; a stranger would assume that Rayanese love to hang people, but the platforms are used to weigh their hauls.
“We brought our hostages to the center, climbed atop several platforms, and demanded that the Descendants be brought out of hiding. At first, nobody moved. Then one of my men, Trevor, sliced open a middle-aged man’s throat. I remember fighting back tears at that. Within seconds, mobs of Rayanese ran through the streets, storming houses and buildings. Three Descendants were brought before us. Defiance marked their faces and they struggled until they saw that we had hostages. I commanded them to kneel before me with their arms behind their backs. They looked at one another and then back at me. They stood there for moments, simply scowling at me. Trevor killed another innocent bystander–walked around to face him and then planted a dagger through his gut. Trevor shoved the man down and let him squirm for minutes until the life drained out of him. The three Descendants just stood there watching.
“I was already sick to my stomach at what had transpired, but there was no saving any of these people. If I had tried to stop my men or commanded them any differently, they would have killed me as well.” Garrison paused and rapped the back of his head against the stone wall of his cell a few times. He sighed and continued, “I raised my arm and signaled for my men to draw their bows. In another moment, all three Descendants had arrows through their skulls. Just as these three–all three of them were men likely not much over twenty years–just as their limp bodies fell, another five were being led toward us. They arrived just in time to see the others die. This group consisted of two boys and a girl near my age, a woman old enough to be my mother, and…” Garrison closed his eyes once more and paused for several moments.
Roland urged him on. “Go on. And?”
“And a little girl. Likely no older than seven years. She probably had not borne the Mark for very long. When I saw them, I knew I could not hide my emotions any longer. I donned my helmet to avoid having my tears seen. My men cheered at the site. They thought I was ready to take part and copied me, putting their helmets on. Willard, my second in command, came to me and said that they wanted me to kill the first of this new batch. I had already sworn to myself that I would no longer kill Descendants. I refused Willard. It took me several moments to think of a reason. Finally I told him that I had already killed so many that I wanted the rest of them to start catching up. I gave him my sword. Willard took it as an honor. He asked if he could kill all five. I left the decision to him.
“Willard was smart. He allowed four others to take part so there would be minimal chance of the Descendants fighting back. Willard killed the little girl first. I turned away, but it was obvious he’d beheaded her. It is a very
distinct series of sounds, from start to finish. As for the others, I think seeing the little girl killed made them reckless. Made them feel like they had nothing to lose. The other girl, the one closer to my age, took one of my soldiers gently by the neck and kissed him deeply. In seconds he dropped to the ground, lifeless. One of the boys raised his hand toward our horses and beckoned. Every single one of our horses, save four, ran from the platforms toward the edges of the city. The other four ran to the Descendants. They mounted and raced off as my men shot arrows at them. We swore that we had shot all four of them down, but when we went to inspect the fallen bodies, nothing remained. It was an illusion.
“We demanded for the remaining Descendants to be brought to us. Two men came forward and informed us that they and their families had been housing the other three Descendants, but that the ones who stole our horses had taken them. I believed them. I nodded to Willard to indicate as such. He misinterpreted my signal. You see, there was a time when the same deliberate nod was a signal to kill them. Willard slit their throats. Once again, I nearly retched. Willard asked if we should kill both of their families and I stopped him. I told him that killing those two would be enough of an example. I told all of my men that I believed the two men and that we would have to accept that the Descendants escaped.
“We left Rayan immediately. Luckily, the nearest city in Cerysia was not far across the Sanai. It took us almost a week to walk to Killington and get new horses. That was the last time we ever killed a Descendant on a mission. I felt so relieved watching those four ride away, and even more joy when we realized that we had not killed them. That was the turning point. The whole mission confirmed my doubts.”
Roland sounded skeptical. “How long ago was that?”
“Somewhere around two years ago.”
“So for two years, your father and your soldiers have allowed you to simply stop hunting and killing Descendants? I find that hard to believe.”
“It was not as difficult to fool my father as it was to get my soldiers to understand me. You have met my father. He is easily satisfied if you are telling him what he wants to hear. For almost two years I simply lied to him. We would depart on missions and I would make up stories of Descendants we killed.”
“And your soldiers–how did they come to see the light?”
“I killed Willard.”
Roland looked impressed, but only for a moment. “Do tell.”
“On our next mission, a few weeks later, we rode out to Galicea. As soon as we crossed the border, I insisted that we set up camp for the night. As we ate, I commanded them that no Descendants would die on the mission. That we would no longer kill Descendants at all. They all laughed. They thought I was joking–understandably so.
“I had Willard stand up next to me. You see, my manifestation is the ability to invent and create things, and over the years, I have focused on creating weapons. I dabble most with elements like poisons to see how they will react with nature–things like water, blood, air, wood, and saliva. Once I find results that I like, I create pouches of the mixtures and assign different colors to them.
“The two greatest things about Willard are that he is eager and that he is an idiot. As everyone watched, I handed Willard a black pouch and instructed him to pour some of his water on it, then immediately empty the pouch into his mouth. I sat back down. He thought nothing of it. He likely thought I was giving him dessert. He followed my orders. In a few moments, Willard was writhing on the ground, coughing hysterically. His clothes decayed and his body turned black and then all of his blood oozed from his skin as he clawed at himself.
“The others stood and looked on in horror. I watched their reactions. I stood again, unsure of whether Willard had even died yet. I repeated my command. ‘No more killing Descendants.’ I told them that if they disobeyed or betrayed me, I had enough pouches to kill all of them. They would suffer the same fate if anyone outside of our company was notified. Future missions would include only the men present. If they failed to report, I would find them and kill them. When we returned to Alvadon, we would say that Willard was killed by a Descendant, and we quickly carried out vengeance on his murderer. Going forward, we would travel and upon return, I would give my father the report.”
“And for how long did you fool King Edmund?”
“The entire time. We continued missions until I finally confronted him that I wanted to come to the House of Darian. You know him, he does not question it if he likes what he hears. I concocted dozens of fantastic stories of hunting and killing Descendants. He had no reason to doubt me. In retrospect, I was likely better off being honest with him much earlier. Maybe he would not have disowned me.”
Roland stood and walked to the bars of the cell. “Do you…”
Garrison held up his hand to cut off Roland. “I know what you are going to say, Uncle. Save it. I understand the hypocrisy of my actions. Of my life. I also understand why everyone hates me and wants to see me dead. But they cannot be so stupid to think I would come here if I had not changed.”
“Do you think changing, after all that you’ve done, excuses your past sins?”
“That is for the Orijin to decide, not men. If they would call themselves ‘Descendants of Darian’, then they should follow the word of the Orijin as well. Only minutes ago you said that the Orijin knows the hearts of men. If I was only meant for evil, then why would he bless me with a manifestation?”
Roland nodded. “That is true. But before I say anything to Zin Marlowe on your behalf, convince me of why I should defend you.”
Garrison shook his head, then summoned his strength. He stood and walked to face Roland. “If I wanted to, I could have stayed in Alvadon. If I was truly as evil as everyone here thinks I am, I could have stayed put and lived out my glamourous princely life in which I would have anything I want at a simple request. My life in Cerysia consisted of traveling Ashur, returning home to feasts, merriment, commanding an army, and best of all, sleeping with a beautiful woman who only wanted to please me. On top of all of that, I was destined to become King of Ashur. Most men have nothing beyond a small home that they can call their own; from the time I could ride a horse, the Stones of Gideon were my personal place of serenity. If I truly wanted to destroy the Descendants, I could have simply waited for my turn as King and continued to hunt them down.
“I willingly sacrificed all of that. I have even killed my own men to stand up for what I realized too late in my life was right. I threw a helmet at my father while he sat in his throne. I abandoned my brother and my best friend and left them to form an army that would defy my father. I fought alongside Taurani to kill my own soldiers. I stayed in the Tower of the Blind and worked with Taurani and the Blind to deceive the King’s men.”
This time, Roland held up his palm. “All right, I see your point, boy. That is enough. More than enough. I may need some help from Vasher in convincing the others, but I think that you have a solid argument. I am curious though, you were in the Tower. Did they share any prophecies with you?”
“Only one. I did not really know what to make of it, as it seemed rather outlandish and cryptic. It was about Jahmash’s return. Something about a night of fire and water. A man was being killed in the middle of a town called Haedon. It was a tremendous rainfall but a fire broke out. They told me that this occurrence would signal Jahmash’s return.”
A Descendant came running over from down the corridor, with two small balls of fire hovering in front of him the whole way. The boy grabbed the bars to Garrison’s cell with one hand while the two fireballs hovered on each side at eye level, “What did you say about Haedon? About the man being killed in the middle of town?” He was of an age with Garrison; his complexion placed him as Shivaani, though his accent contradicted that.
Garrison eyed him suspiciously. He must have been listening to them the entire time. “Excuse me. Who are you?”
The brown-skinned Descendant’s mouth worked faster than his words could come out. “My name is Baltaszar Kontez
. I am from Haedon. Did you not just say that name?”
“Why are you listening to our conversation?”
“I apologize. This is my first day of dungeon responsibilities. I did not know how else to pass the time, aside from honing my manifestation.” Baltaszar nodded to the fireballs.
Garrison had not expected an apology, and lightened his manner after a moment. “A Blind Man shared a prophecy with me that a night of fire and water in the town of Haedon would mark Jahmash’s return. And now you claim that you are from Haedon. Where exactly is this place?” Roland turned to Baltaszar as well, waiting expectantly.
Baltaszar rubbed his temples with both of his hands. “Haedon is a mountain village a few days into the Never up north. Just north of Vandenar, across the river. You said a night of fire and water. That was just over three months ago. I remember it well because it was the night my father was hanged. It was the same night that I left Haedon to come here.” Baltaszar took a deep breath and looked back and forth at Garrison and Roland incredulously. “The Blind Men’s prophecies are always true, correct?” Garrison nodded at him. “Then all of this is real. It’s all true. Jahmash is coming. Truthfully, according to your prophecy, his return started months ago.
“What do we do now? I mean, should we not do something? Tell Marlowe or someone else that this is the case? This…this is a huge bloody deal!” Baltaszar stepped back toward the corridor wall and leaned back, breathing heavily. Roland looked at Garrison; his right eye twitched rapidly, and hurried away. Baltaszar slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground and continued to breathe loudly.
Garrison sat back down as well. “He is likely off to report this to Zin Marlowe.”
Baltaszar half-smiled and then looked around suspiciously. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Marlowe has done nothing to prepare us for Jahmash. We cannot learn combat. We are not allowed to use our manifestations for violence. All we do is learn about history and the world. Sure, those things are interesting, but they are not practical when a Harbinger wants to kill you.”
