Rise of the Red Harbinger

by Khalid Uddin

  “No. I know exactly what my place is. You have forgotten yours. The title ‘Maven’ does not mean you can treat me like some dust-ridden child pulling at your cloak for money. You begged me to take you through the city and then left me in an instant. Well I am talking to my father now, and we have matters to discuss.”

  Savaiyon maintained his calm demeanor. “Very well, I apologize for offending you. If you knew the nature of my business in this city, you might be more forgiving. That being said, your conversation with Albarran can wait. He is not leaving for another four weeks.”

  Vasher glared at Savaiyon, more from incredulity than anger. “Were you spying from outside? How would you even know about that?”

  “Did your father not tell you he is leaving from Gansishoor? Do you not recall that my family lives in Gansishoor? Why do you think my family is so wealthy? They are the ship builders, fool. My own cousins will be manning the ship that your father plans to board. So you can rest assured that he will be in good hands. Now, we must go. I have gotten word that the Anonymi will see us, but our window is small. And we will have to ride to them from a certain distance.”

  Vasher looked to his father, who spoke before Vasher could get a word out. “He is right, Wassa. I will be here for some time. Go handle your responsibilities. Those are more important right now. You can always come back and see me before I go.”

  Vasher had been so fixated on his father that he didn’t realize Savaiyon had already created a bridge in the middle of the room. Savaiyon waited on the other side, facing away and tapping his boot against the dusty ground. Vasher hugged his father tightly for a moment then walked through the opening. He looked back at his smiling father just in time before the bridge closed. “Why do you call them bridges when they act more like doorways?”

  Savaiyon did not turn around. “A bridge connects two places that are far from one another. A doorway connects two rooms. Or separates the inside world from the outside.”

  “You step through a doorway; but you walk over a bridge.”

  “I suppose that we are both correct, then. So there is no need to change my terminology…Wassa?”

  Vasher snickered. “My oldest brother, Seylaan, could not pronounce Vasher when I was a baby. He could only say ‘Wassa’. Both of my parents call me that to this day.” He looked ahead at the desolate flatland before them. “Where exactly are we going?”

  A rider on a horse caught up to them from behind, leading two rider-less horses. Savaiyon raised a hand, inviting him to mount the chestnut horse. “We will follow him. Our destination is ahead, somewhere in that empty space of land.”

  “You were gone for less than a day. How did you manage to arrange this?”

  “It took some serious pleading and convincing.”

  Vasher smirked. “And I thought persuasion was my manifestation. You have been busy.”

  “I have been incredibly busy.”

  “I thought we were supposed to hatch a plan. Several plans, in fact, because we need to be beyond prepared for this meeting.”

  “The plan changed.”

  “You mean the plan to make a plan changed. We never actually made a plan.”

  Savaiyon simply stared at Vasher, as if to see if he had more nonsense to say. “We had two choices. See them now or wait weeks. We do not have the luxury of waiting.”

  “All right, all right. No need to get sensitive about it.” Vasher studied the rider next to him. The cloaked rider rode on his left while Savaiyon rode on his right. Aside from the billowing tan cloak, all Vasher could discern was a strangely colored helmet that extended further outward from the crown of the head to the bottom, toward the neck. The helmet was simultaneously several colors and no color. Only briefly did Vasher glimpse the face of the rider, which truthfully was no face at all. Beneath the helmet, the rider’s face was covered by a shiny silver face plate with barely any features, save for eye and nostril holes. Because his nation had bordered Fangh-Haan, Vasher had heard dozens of outlandish stories about the Anonymi, but he had never seen one in person.

  The rider never turned to face them. After they rode on for several minutes in silence, the rider extended his right arm vertically, clenching his fist. For a few hundred yards, Vasher wondered why the gesture was necessary. However, they soon came to an opening in the ground–a ramp that descended into darkness, as if there had been a door in the desert sand that someone had opened from below. Vasher ogled Savaiyon from the corner of his eye. The Maven simply put a finger to his mouth and followed the cloaked rider down the ramp. It became clear that Savaiyon would do the talking for the two of them. So much for manifestations.

  After descending several yards, the ramp led to a spacious chamber. Torches on the walls revealed a wide room with stone walls. Once they all reached a second chamber, the rider dismounted. Savaiyon and Vasher followed the lead as three figures identical to the rider entered and led the horses away. One figure led them forward through several more chambers. Some were dimly lit while others were bright; some were filled with weapons and armor, others had books stacked neatly from floor to ceiling. One or two were decorated with scriptures written in another language. Vasher knew it to be an ancient language, from the time of the Five, when the Anonymi were first formed.

  If Vasher had counted correctly, it was the ninth chamber that had drawn a deep curiosity from him. The ninth chamber had been the largest one yet. Along one wall, nine suits of elaborate armor stood side by side. Each set was identical to the rest and they all bore the same strange color that the rider had on his helmet. Vasher stared at them in wonder until he realized that the décor on the rest of the walls consisted of meticulously illustrated tapestries. The tapestries depicted several scenes of nine Anonymi warriors in combat. Distantly, Vasher heard Savaiyon clear his throat harshly and he scuttled ahead to catch up. Vasher wished there was someone to ask about that ninth chamber.

  They soon came to a stop in a dim chamber that led into darkness. The Anonymi that escorted him and Savaiyon gestured with his arm that they would walk straight ahead through the darkness, then turned and went forth. Vasher followed Savaiyon and dared to only walk in a straight line. He assumed that when it was time to stop, he would likely bump into Savaiyon. It seemed like a silly way to proceed.

  He walked on in the darkness. His only comfort was hearing the soft footsteps ahead of him. Vasher could no longer tell if he’d walked for one minute or for ten, but he suddenly heard numerous footsteps around him. A few pairs of hands grabbed him and halted him, but not violently. He panicked for a split second, then resisted the urge to defend himself. I am in the darkness of the Anonymi fortress. If they truly wanted to attack me, they could. Vasher breathed deeply and calmed his nerves. Something had been placed around his shoulders and then over his head. His eyes didn’t feel blindfolded, so it was likely a mask of some sort. The front felt cold while the sides and back felt soft and plush. Vasher did not attempt to touch his new attire, as the hands firmly held his arms and legs in place.

  The hands on his legs and arms let go and one set nudged Vasher’s back for him to move again. He walked forward for a few moments until he was led into a room with one small torch on the ground in the center, and it was now clear that he wore a mask, as he could see through small slits. Based on the shadows, it seemed that the room was circular and draped in black. The hands at his back belonged to a figure that stood directly behind him. Vasher did not bother to turn around or swivel his neck. He already had a hunch about the figure’s appearance. Several other figures filtered into the room and stood around the perimeter along with Vasher, forming a circle. He wondered where they had taken Savaiyon.

  Though the light was dim, Vasher could tell that the figures all wore black cloaks and the same masks as the rider he originally encountered. At once, the figures turned around and disappeared into the blackness of the walls. The hands on Vasher’s back spun him around and led him into an enclave, then forcefully sat him down, facing away from the center of the r
oom. So that’s where they all disappeared to. The hands then let him go and Vasher heard the echoing footsteps walk away. He was too awestruck to get up. This was obviously some sort of ritual, so he would play along. He wished he knew where Savaiyon was, though. This was twice in two days that the man had disappeared on him.

  Each person must have been situated in an enclave around the main room. Vasher sat on a bench in the tiny circular space and waited.

  “Let us begin, Anonymi.” A voice echoed deeply throughout the room and even more strongly into Vasher’s enclave. Goosebumps sprung from his arms and shoulders. The voice continued. “Descendant, you have come with a request for us. State your business. If you use any manifestation in here, you will die.” The echo made it impossible for Vasher to determine the speaker’s tone or even accent, or from which enclave it came. He understood immediately that that was the point. Vasher waited a moment, still assuming that Savaiyon would somehow speak for both of them. After a few seconds, the voice spoke again. “Very well. It has been concluded that there is no business to discuss.”

  Vasher panicked, “No! There is business! Please! I thought my associate would speak for us! Please allow me to state my request!” Sweat rolled down his neck and back, despite the chill of the room. Silence controlled the room for agonizing moments.

  “State your business now, Descendant.”

  The echo provided no comfort whatsoever. If anything, Vasher was awestruck. He was unsure of how loudly to speak, and raised his voice short of yelling. “My headmaster, Zin Marlowe, has requested your combat services in the event that Jahmash makes his return.” He hoped he’d spoken eloquently enough.

  “Why can you not defend yourselves? The very nature of your existence is that you can perform deeds that ordinary men cannot.” The voice surrounded him.

  “Zin Marlowe has put forth a decree that we are not allowed to practice violence, so that we may prove to Ashur that we are peaceful and trustworthy. It is his way of appeasing King Edmund.”

  “Zin Marlowe knows that the Anonymi do not take sides in the conflicts of men. We only care for the well-being of Ashur.”

  Vasher spoke up again, hoping that he wasn’t cutting the speaker off. “The work of the Descendants and the House of Darian is for the well-being of Ashur. We do not ask you to oppose any Ashurians, only to help us in fighting our greatest threat. If and when Jahmash returns, he will be the gravest danger that Ashur has ever seen. What better reason is there to support us? We cannot defeat Jahmash without you.” Vasher almost felt proud of himself. He hadn’t even used his manifestation and he’d presented a sound argument.

  “What you ask of us is revolutionary and falls outside of our responsibilities. We have no obligation to you. If we are to accept, then we ask that the House of Darian first meets a request of ours to maintain equilibrium on both sides.”

  Great, now they want favors. Marlowe didn’t say anything about bargaining, but he and Savaiyon will both be satisfied with an alliance if it means meeting a simple request. “Very well. What is it that you need from us?” Vasher assumed they wanted money or services in return. There wasn’t much else the House could offer.

  “You will kill two men for us. Violence is not your way, just as alliances are not ours. If you prove that you are serious about this alliance, then we will defend you to no end.”

  Vasher’s throat dried. He swallowed his spit several times just so he could respond. “It is not our way to kill innocent men. We are not murderers.”

  “Nor are we. Anonymi kill for justice. For balance. The two men you must kill are Ashur’s biggest detriments in the fight against Jahmash. By killing them, you are not only doing the Anonymi a favor. You are helping all of Ashur and help it prepare for Jahmash. Those are the terms. Do you accept or decline, Descendant?”

  Vasher shook his head. Of all times, Savaiyon picked now to be somewhere else. How is it that I am the one who has to make this decision for the entire House? He sighed deeply. “Very well. I accept.” He hoped a weight would fall from his shoulders. Instead, they grew tenser. “And these two men, where can we find them?”

  “The first is in Alvadon of Cerysia. He sits on the throne.”

  Vasher’s hands trembled. “K-king Edmund?”

  “It is no secret that King Edmund is the greatest oppressor of Ashur. Kill him and Ashurian conflicts will end.”

  Thoughts and questions flooded Vasher’s mind, almost carrying him away from the conversation. He shook his head vigorously. He would worry about how to tell Marlowe about this later. “Very well. Who is the second man?

  “The second oppressor is your Headmaster, Zin Marlowe.”

  “What? You would have us kill our own leader?”

  “There are many among your kind that would gladly bear that burden, given the opportunity. You must simply return home and give that opportunity a voice.”

  Vasher never cared for Marlowe, but that was a long way from wanting to see the man dead. “There has to be another way. Another person.” He yearned for the sweet melody of his manifestation.

  “None. If Marlowe dies by any other hand besides a Descendant’s, there is no agreement between the Anonymi and the House of Darian. You came to us. If you require our assistance, then accommodate our terms. That is all. You may go now.”

  Chapter 19

  A Mouse on a Ship

  From The Book of Orijin, Verse Thirty-Eight

  Salvation shall come from your faith in Us. It is not enough to practice righteous deeds or to have pure intentions. When you wonder why the righteous suffer and the mischievous find happiness, remember that each of you has a place in the Three Rings.

  Drahkunov finally stepped below deck once again and Adria smiled for the first time in as long as she could remember. The man was likely old enough to be her father and more persistent than any boy she’d encountered at the House. Oh, how I miss that place, though. She had forced herself to stop thinking about The House of Darian as much as she could. Adria had been gone for several months and she knew the Descendants had assumed she and Gunnar were dead. She would have made the same assumption.

  The strange thing, however, was that she was not necessarily happy to see Drahkunov walk away. Despite her being tied up to a mast and hardly fed, Drahkunov was decent company. Adria would have obviously preferred Gunnar, but who knew which of the hundreds of galleys he was on. After Gunnar, though, Drahkunov was preferable to most of the others she’d spent time with. Even some of the captives tried her patience. After just one conversation with Aric, Adria knew she had no patience to speak with him. The boy only cared for combat and strategy. Adria didn’t mind talking about those things, but Aric talked about nothing else. Just thinking about him made her bored.

  Then there was Bo’az. Bo’az was a nice enough boy, but his greatest talent was feeling sorry for himself. Granted, they were prisoners and it was easy to be sad and depressed, but Bo’az’s sadness hadn’t even come from being a prisoner. He droned on and on about a girl he’d loved and how everything always happens to him. Adria had only encountered him a handful of times, but she was actually thankful that Jahmash kept his captives separated. She would have hated to have been kept in the same room as Bo’az day after day.

  Jahmash. The Red Harbinger. It feels so strange to say the name. It’s like he was never a real person until a few months ago. Adria had seen the man, spoken to him, even had him repeatedly attempt to infiltrate her mind. She did not miss that, though since they set out on the galleys, she felt a jab inside her head every now and then. If she died on this journey, the thing she would be proudest of in her life would be that she’d resisted Jahmash’s power. It had been a scary feeling at first, like the edge of a dull knife trying to cut open her mind. She’d learned to harden herself and brace herself against the pain. Sometimes it was so severe that she would fall to the ground and writhe until he gave up.

  In the end, it didn’t matter anyway. Jahmash was smart. He threatened to kill her if Gunnar didn’t
direct the galleys to the House of Darian. Adria was sure it had been an easy decision for Gunnar, though Adria had tried to gesture to Gunnar to let her die. She knew that for Gunnar, there had never been a choice. He wouldn’t let her die. From the time the galleys had departed, Jahmash had controlled Gunnar’s mind, forcing him to use his eyesight manifestation to locate Ashur and then the island where the House of Darian resided. Adria had never known that Gunnar’s eyesight was that good. She knew he could see miles away, even in dim light, but they had been sailing for roughly a week. Either they were going to kill Gunnar with his own manifestation, or they were keeping him very well-fed. She assumed the former. Adria only hoped that the Descendants could defend themselves well enough to make it all worthwhile.

  For the first time since she’d initially arrived at the House, Adria felt guilty for not letting one of the boys influence her mind. Badalao had asked quite a few times to bond her mind, but she refused to trust him. She knew exactly what boys his age were capable of and had heard dozens of rumors about Badalao’s forays with girls. She assumed he just wanted her to be his next accomplishment. But even if her instincts about him were right, that bond would change the complexion of this surprise attack. She would have easily been able to warn him of their coming. Adria knew she would feel guilty for every casualty and injury that resulted from this attack. She only hoped that there would be Descendants left after this that she might be able to atone for her shortcomings.

  “Lost in thought?”

  She didn’t even realize Drahkunov had returned until he was sitting down next to her. Every time the man came close to her, he confused Adria even more. He didn’t touch her or make any advances. He didn’t outwardly flirt or make lewd remarks. He would simply smile and continue wherever the conversation had left off from the previous time. Adria almost swore that Drahkunov needed a friend more than anything else. “You could say that. So what exactly do you want with me?”