Rise of the Red Harbinger

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Rise of the Red Harbinger Page 41

by Khalid Uddin


  Garrison eyed him suspiciously once more. “Tell me something. Do you know who I am?”

  Baltaszar twisted his mouth and shook his head. “No. Why? You are a Descendant, so you cannot be that bad, right? I figure you’re in here because you refused to follow Marlowe’s directives or maybe you broke one of his rules.”

  “Before that one night, had you ever left Haedon before?” Baltaszar shook his head to refute once more. “Now I understand. You lived in the middle of the forest for your entire life. You never learned about the rest of Ashur? Why did your people hide away in the forest then?”

  “I never even knew there was a rest of Ashur until I left. Never really put much thought into it, to be honest with you. As to why? I am still trying to investigate all of the details about that myself. However, Marlowe will not let me leave until I have finished reading The Book of Orijin. I have a few dozen pages left. And should I know who you are? Marlowe instructed me to not interact with the prisoners and to ask no questions. But then you were talking about that prophecy and it was too important to simply stand over there and stay quiet.”

  “I am Garrison Brighton. Former Prince of Ashur and now prisoner of the House of Darian. My father, the King, raised me to hate Descendants, despite the Mark on my face, and so for many years, I led battalions to hunt down and kill Descendants. At a certain point, I started to wonder about why I was killing others with the same Mark that I bear, so I educated myself about the Orijin and the Harbingers. The more I learned, the more I realized that my actions were wrong, and over time, I stopped my hunts and finally renounced my future throne. My father made me a criminal in my own country, so I fled to here, where they also viewed me as a criminal for killing scores of Descendants. And that is why I am in here. You obviously knew none of that, which is why you did not judge me, nor did you hesitate to speak to me. Even my uncle thinly hides his disgust for me.”

  “I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you, nor have I heard of you. It would be silly for me to judge you just because you are in that cell. Especially after having spoken to Marlowe a few times and having seen how he treats us. I am not saying that I completely trust you–you are a prisoner, after all. But there is no reason for me to disrespect you. Ashur is still new to me, as is the House. I think that if I was to go around making assumptions about everyone, it would be nearly impossible to find a place in this world.”

  “Do you plan to stay here or eventually return to Haedon?”

  “There is not much for me in Haedon. I will return the first chance I get, but only to see a girl. She has likely forgotten about me by now, but I can’t say the same for myself. I need to put my mind at ease about whether there is still hope for us.”

  “Aside from your father, you have no family there?”

  “My mother…died…or was kidnapped–when I was a baby. My twin brother and I went separate ways when we left Haedon. He stubbornly wanted to return to Haedon, though I hope he was not so foolish. They would have killed him if he had. So when I do return, I hope that no one there has any news of him. That would give me the most hope that he is alive.”

  Garrison waited thoughtfully before answering; too many times in his life, he ignored the struggles that others lived with regularly. He realized more and more, each day that he sat in the cell, that on every one of his missions, he’d seen hundreds of people living as poorly as he currently was, except that they were free and could not afford any luxuries. Because of his father’s taxes, none of those people would ever live comfortably. That was why so many of them would ignore him, spit at him, or turn their heads away whenever he and his company rode by. He had always ignored it, and until recently, thought he was being noble by restricting his men from killing them or apprehending them. In retrospect, many of those people would probably have welcomed death over the daily suffering they faced. He looked at Baltaszar once more. “Your father, why…” before Garrison could finish his sentence, Baltaszar tapped on the line intersecting his left eye.

  “Haedonians do not know about Descendants or manifestations or the House of Darian. I never even knew about manifestations or that I had one until days after I left Haedon. Mine is that I can control fire. But nobody told me that throughout my whole childhood. So for years and years, accidents would happen every now and then like burning down a store or a house, and it was always blamed on my father. Not long ago, one of the fires killed a girl and my father took the fall. The whole town thought he was doing dark magic or something. He died for me and all we had to do the whole time was leave Headon. And since he was branded a criminal, Bo’az and I were ostracized as well. Our chancellor never came out and called us criminals, but the rest of Haedon didn’t need him to. So we fled on our own. After our father was killed, there was no point in going back.”

  “Except for the girl?”

  “Her name is Yasaman. You don’t understand. I have seen and encountered many women on my journey down here and I have yet to see one that compares to her beauty. She turned me away, I think because after my father was sentenced to death, she was afraid to be associated with me. That, and her parents did not approve. But we had love. We had passion, humor, everything. I would have married her. Had children and grandchildren with her. And if there is a chance that she still feels the same, then I have to know. The only way I can move on from her is if she tells me that that is not possible.”

  “You sound rather matter-of-fact about moving on.”

  Baltaszar half-smiled. “I don’t mean to. I just know that there is a possibility that I’ll have to. Since leaving my home, I have come to realize that the easiest way to handle life is to mentally prepare for the worst, but hope for the best. And have no expectation of any person or situation. Expectations breed disappointment.”

  Garrison contemplated for a moment once more. Looking at Baltaszar, he saw an unassuming boy. But that ‘boy’ possessed a wealth more wisdom than he let on. Despite all his former wealth and luxury, Garrison realized he and Baltaszar were strikingly similar in spite of their vastly different backgrounds. Neither of them knew much of how the world worked. At least Baltaszar had had an excuse. Garrison had likely seen more of the world than anyone else in Ashur, but in the past several months, he realized that he barely knew anything about Ashur.

  Just as Garrison raised his head to ask Baltaszar about Haedon, another Descendant rushed down the hallway.

  ***

  Marshall grew suspicious at how empty the dungeon seemed. Maven Maximillian hadn’t sounded as if he was exaggerating when he gave Marshall such a foreboding warning. No one guarded the entrance. No sentries at the top or bottom of the staircases. He’d run through three corridors and finally he found a single Descendant–Baltaszar of all people–slouched against the wall, sitting and talking to a prisoner, who he now realized was another Descendant.

  “Tasz? What are you doing down here? And where is everyone?”

  “Marlowe just appointed me to the dungeon today. I think he felt like it was a favor since I played peacekeeper between you and Reverron. He wasn’t even angry about the burnt grass–then again, your friend Maven Maximillian was furious.”

  “Why are you the only one in the dungeon, though? And why are you so casually talking to a prisoner? Maven Max seemed quite adamant that things were run very strictly down here. I truthfully just walked right in here and had free rein.”

  “Both of your questions lead to the same answer. I was stationed toward that end of the corridor,” Baltaszar nodded down the hallway. “I heard Garrison here talking about my village to another Descendant. It had to do with a prophecy about Jahmash’s return. Turns out Jahmash has been active for a few months now and could likely strike at any time. That was what sent the other Descendant running. I imagine the others followed, then. So much for discretion.”

  Marshall froze for a few moments, then swiveled his head back and forth between Baltaszar and the prisoner. “Now I understand why your disposition is such.” Marshall sat down next t
o Baltaszar and leaned back against the wall. He looked Garrison directly in the eye. “I presume you are the Garrison? As in the Prince of Ashur?”

  Garrison closed his eyes and nodded his head. After a few more moments of silence, Garrison responded, his annoyed countenance clearly expecting more questions. “Is that all? Do you have any other questions or are you just going to sit there?”

  “Sometimes I sit. Sometimes I like to sit down and think. This is one of those times where the latter is necessary. I have heard of your crimes, even so deep in the forest, gossip reaches the Taurani village.” Garrison trembled and attempted to speak, but Marshall cut him off. “You are not dead. Which means that they did not capture you. Your crimes are against more than just man. You have spit on the very foundations of everything the Orijin has created. Despite Marlowe’s utter hatred for violence or aggression in any form, I have to believe that if anyone here encountered you outside of these walls, they would have killed you. So you came here on your own. I suppose wealth and royalty do not guarantee intelligence? And even Marlowe is not powerful enough to protect you from the masses here that would rightfully hate you. Scorn you. Despise you. So either your being here is a secret. Or you are being protected by others besides Marlowe. Or both.”

  Garrison stood up and crossed his arms in front of him. “I meant to employ diplomacy with you before you cut me off. But apparently you think you know everything about me and my situation. You claim that you are Taurani, but you look nothing like one. And no Taurani would step foot into the House of Darian, much less side with Descendants.” This time, Marshall attempted a retort but was shut down as Garrison raised his voice. “Listen to what I am saying, Taurani. Because you have much to learn, despite what you think you know. I left my nation and family, renounced my throne, and killed my own people to come here. I am no prince now. You are right, my uncle protects me here because he knows that I am genuine in having changed from my old ways.

  “I can help the House of Darian. I stopped hunting and killing Descendants years ago. You are right, my crimes are against the Orijin himself. But even the Orijin made clear that we will all be judged by man before we are judged by Him. So sit there and judge me. But I have repented. I have faced my sins and have vowed to change. The Orijin knows there is goodness in my heart, otherwise I would not have this Mark in the first place. And before you label me a hypocrite, perhaps you should look in the mirror.” Marshall knew his annoyance was visible at that remark, but Garrison would have no way of knowing about his reflection. “Were you sitting here comfortably while your village was destroyed?”

  Marshall could barely contain his anger. “No…”

  “Let me finish. I am not done. During my journey down here, I met Taurani on the way. We fought alongside one another, despite our different views. Despite my crimes. They knew where I was headed. They vowed to help me get here before setting off on their own journey.” Marshall’s anger cooled and transformed into curiosity and intrigue. But Garrison spoke again before he could decide what question he wanted to ask first. “And despite all that, you were living here comfortably, were you not? Eating a nice hot meal while three of them risked their lives to get me here. You slept in a nice warm bed while we hid in trees, while Kavon accepted death in order to let me, Yorik, and Marika escape.”

  Marshall jumped up to meet Garrison’s eyes. “What were the names you said? You said Yorik, Kavon, and what was the last one?”

  “Marika?”

  “And where is she? Where did she go? You said Kavon died, but you, Marika, and Yorik moved on and they helped you get here. Where did they go? Tell me now?”

  “What is it to you, coward? You abandoned them.”

  “I am the only one of my people who was able to fight back, you damn imbecile! I fought one of Jahmash’s generals with an arrow in my shoulder. Three of us engaged him with swords and I am the only one who survived to tell of it. I did not flee our village, Your Majesty. The Descendants found me there, unconscious, and brought me here. I woke up a week later. I did not ask to be here. More importantly, where are Yorik and Marika? Marika is my mother. Yorik my uncle. Since waking here, I have vowed that I would find my mother. I have already buried my father and two sisters. I knew my mother would still be alive. But my uncle as well – that is incredible news.

  “So please,” Marshall did not bother to hold back the tear that formed in his right eye. “I apologize for judging you and for speaking to you so offensively. But please, where did my mother and uncle go after the helped you to get here? I need to find them.”

  Garrison dropped to his knees and looked at the ground. After a moment, he looked up at Marshall, his eye glistening. “You never told me your name, but I know that it is Marshall. I know it because Marika spoke of you. She assumed you were dead. That is why she fought so ardently to protect me. She knew we were of a similar age and refused to let me die. It is my turn to apologize to you, Marshall. Yorik died fighting our attackers. It took four men to bring him down. And your mother–she sacrificed herself so that I could cross the Serpent and flee the remaining soldiers. She turned the river to ice, and they killed her right after.” Marshall dropped to his hands and knees. He heard nothing else that Garrison said. He punched the stone ground for so long that he could no longer feel his hands, despite both of them being misshapen knobs of blood.

  Chapter 18

  The Son of a Daughter

  From The Book of Orijin, Verse Twenty-Eight

  Envy not those around you. Each of you has a story. A hardship. A weakness. A secret.

  Vasher Jai slowly exhaled a puff of tambaku from his pipe. He always used the kind that was infused with mint when celebrating, and because his victory came in Fangh-Haan, he bought a bag that used Fangh-Haan mint. The flavor was stronger than the Shivaani mint, but also sweeter. “Sweeter flavor for a sweeter victory,” he mumbled to himself.

  “I’m sorry?”

  He had temporarily forgotten that Maven Savaiyon sat beside him. “Nothing. I was merely appreciating my tambaku. Last offer. Are you sure you don’t want to at least try it? It is not often I share tambaku this good.”

  Savaiyon smiled. “Once again, no thank you. My father smoked tambaku every day that I can remember. Anything that would make a man cough so much cannot be good for him.”

  Vasher knew that that was an indirect hint that he should stop. Back at the House, a few of the boys there would be more than happy to share. He actually looked forward to bringing back the Fangh-Haan mint. He normally met with Baltaszar, Lincan, and Desmond to share a pipe on Abraday evenings. Vasher looked forward to returning to his friends. He had been on this mission for a month, cut off from anyone he knew. “Why exactly are you here with me? You could have easily waited to come here once I was ready. And you don’t seem like the type to watch beasts fight to the death.”

  Savaiyon looked around at the other people sitting in their vicinity, then lowered his voice. “Truthfully, I only want to take in Sundari. It is quite literally the only city in Ashur that I have not visited.”

  Vasher nearly scoffed, but kept it in. “But you are Shivaani. How is that possible? Not even once?”

  “Well yes, I came once with my father when I was much younger, but I did not have the luxury of taking in the city. And since then, I have always felt insecure about coming here alone. News travels fast to Gansishoor and all Shivaani love to gossip. I would bring shame to my family if they heard I walked these streets. As far as anyone here knows, I am here so that my desperately curious nephew can place a few bets on a silberlow.”

  “I see. So I am your nephew, then?”

  “Most of Ashur thinks all Shivaani look the same. No one here will question it. Besides, if someone questions us, all you have to do is persuade them otherwise. Is that not your specialty?”

  Vasher waved off a man selling pastries. “That is why I am here celebrating. But you are not very creative. I have been to these pits dozens of times. People likely recognize me. Growing u
p, coming here was the only way to have my tambaku without my mother finding out.” Vasher looked around him, now paranoid. Nobody else bothered to glance at him, even if they had heard him speak. They were too busy watching a vrschiika–a giant scorpion indigenous to the largest island of the Wolf’s Paw–use one claw to clamp down a twenty-five foot long bhujanga, a venomous serpent known for hiding in the caves of the Shivaani Mountains. The bhujanga slithered and writhed to get free, which only deepened the gash from the vrschiika claw. The vrschiika used its other claw to pierce the giant snake’s skull, driving it deep inside and then ripping the bhujanga’s head in half with ease. Vasher shuddered. He peered at Maven Savaiyon from the corner of his eye; the man looked down at his hands, showing the smallest evidence of discomfort. “If you’d like to leave, I would not object. Give me a few minutes to finish my tambaku, though.”

  “I will wait for you outside the nearest gate. Then you will explain to me your upbringing and the Daughters of Tahlia.” Without hesitation, Savaiyon arose and descended the arena steps.

  Vasher did not mind the solitude. He preferred to focus on the tambaku and savor it as much as possible. Any companion would take away from that. He supposed that was why he had always come here to smoke. Nobody bothered him and so many others smoked as well. He blended right in, even at an early age. He remembered often resenting his mother for having to sneak off to the beast pits to smoke, but as he matured he understood why she did not approve. The more he analyzed and spoke about his upbringing, the more Vasher realized how different it had been from every other child of a Daughter of Tahlia.

  “Daughters of Tahlia,” he chuckled. His laugh was more at himself than anything else, though he looked around to see if anyone had taken notice. Vasher then remembered that Savaiyon was still waiting and arose to go meet him. He brought his pipe with him, certain that Savaiyon would not object. He easily eyed Savaiyon leaning against one of the arena’s stone walls. Savaiyon was often the tallest man in sight. “You blend in quite well.”

 

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