Reawakening

by CM Raymond

  The magician wanted to confirm precisely how vicious this man was. “So, you’ve made an honest woman out of one of your servants? I have heard such things.”

  “Honest?” Girard’s heinous face twisted into a sneer. “Sure, I make them all honest for an hour or two, and then I send then back to sleep in the barn. Wouldn’t want the livestock thinking they’re part of the family.”

  An honest smile spread on Ezekiel’s face. “Can’t let animals think they’re human, after all.”

  Girard drank long from the mystics’ elixir. He was enjoying himself more than he had for years. It had been too long since he’d been with someone with similar tastes. “That’s exactly right.”

  But that enjoyment was about to come to an end.

  Ezekiel stood and simultaneously broke the mental magic that had altered his appearance. Girard’s eyes grew wide as his goblet of wine clattered to the floor. A sick fear filled the man’s heart as he finally realized where he recognized his guest from. Girard stuttered out a response, “You’re… you’re…”

  “That’s right, you craving beast. I am the Founder. You would have done well to have recognized me and better to have remembered my wrath.”

  The powerful magician felt rage run through his body, and he allowed the passion to take over. Girard instantly began weeping terrible tears that would do him no good.

  “Please,” he sobbed. “I’m like you, a magic user. A noble man.”

  “You’re no man,” Ezekiel whispered. “And we can’t let the animals think they’re human, after all.”

  The man saw the murder in Ezekiel’s red eyes and ran for the door. But Ezekiel was too fast. He raised his right hand and snapped his wrist like he was throwing a curveball. A small wooden table flew across the room. It made contact with Girard’s legs, and the old man landed hard on the stone floor.

  As Ezekiel walked toward his prey, he rubbed his palms overtop of one another and a dagger of ice appeared. He stretched it out into a spear, a move he learned from Hannah, and stabbed it through Girard’s thigh, halting his pitiful attempts to crawl away.

  Ezekiel knelt beside him. He wanted Girard to look into the eyes of justice one more time before leaving Irth.

  “You’ve had your chance, ‘old friend.’ And instead of using the power granted to you to make the world better, you became a petty tyrant. A monster in human flesh, and a terror to all beholden to you. I wasn’t here to help those whose lives you destroyed, but I’m back now. And before long, I will rid the world of creatures like you.”

  Ezekiel snapped his fingers, and his staff flew into his hand. Spinning it, he brought it down with the force of ancient justice. Girard’s face snapped to the side and back. The man still wept.

  “Please.”

  Ezekiel cracked him again and again. Finally, taking the staff in both hands he raised it toward the ceiling and then rammed it into the man’s chest at the point of his heart. The sound of shattering ribs fill the room, and Girard was gone.

  Half an hour passed before Ezekiel rang a bell, calling for the doorman, Bradshaw. When the weaselly man arrived, he saw nothing of the carnage Ezekiel had wrought upon the place. The room looked as it always had, and his cousin Girard sat comfortably in his large wooden chair. But he was alone. Their wealthy guest had disappeared.

  “Master, where has our guest gone,” the Bradshaw asked from the doorway.

  Ezekiel, disguised as Girard, smiled. As he responded, his voice sounded gravelly, just like Girard’s, and he waved his hand the way he had seen Girard do it. “Our guest had to leave suddenly. But in the short time, he has helped me to understand the errors of my ways.”

  “Errors, sir?”

  “Yes. It appears we haven’t taken full advantage of our status here. He has shown me a better way.”

  Bradshaw grinned. What was good for his cousin usually worked out well for him. “Superb. Where do we begin?”

  “First I need to talk with one of our farm hands. You know the one, the stout woman who works in the garden.”

  “Do you mean Gwen?”

  “Of course. Fetch her for me. There has been a grave injustice that needs to be fixed.”

  ****

  The winter chill had descended upon Cella and its surrounding regions earlier than most years, and only a month later it was downright freezing. Lord Girard had not issued the servant's new clothes for the coming winter, so they huddled in a mass in the back corner of the barn for heat. Gwendolyn had gotten used to the stink of the others when they were still strangers, but now, after years of servitude, those strangers were the only family that she knew. Whether it was the communal toil, day in, and day out, or the common abuse they all suffered under the hand of Girard, she couldn’t be sure, but now, she would lay down her life for any of them as if they were a brother or a sister, son or daughter—and she knew that most of them would do the same for her.

  As the barn door creaked open, she cursed under her breathe. Apparently, the master was lonely—which in his world could only mean horny. She should have expected it—and tonight would probably be worse than normal. Today’s bad omen almost guaranteed it.

  She knew from the outset that she shouldn’t have spoken to that strange bearded man. But Girard’s slavery hadn’t ruined all sense of manners Gwendolyn possessed. And despite the risks, an old timer in need was worth helping.

  But then when he spoke so keenly about Girard’s evil, she was crossing a line that would have consequences. But there was just something about him... something that spoke to her, willed her to speak the truth. It made her feel human for the first time in a while.

  But now, in the dead of night, she felt nothing but fear and anger.

  All of this led Gwen to a point of decision. She could either offer herself to save her family, or try to fade into the dark corner of the barn and pray that Bradshaw, the hook-nosed scumbag, would go for one of the others. While it didn’t always help, she usually chose the former, because the latter, watching another be taken instead of her, hurt far too much. The abuse had become mechanical, as much as rape could. Over the course of many years, she had almost learned to close her mind and shut out the violence of the master of the house. Almost. That kind of violation could not be altogether shuttered.

  “Gwen, Lord Girard would like a word with you,” Bradshaw said.

  Hands gripped her shoulders and torso. It was more a sign from her friends that they cared, even if they knew they couldn’t stop that which was about to happen.

  “It’s OK,” she whispered to them. “At least I will be warm for a minute.”

  “More like fifteen seconds,” a younger girl next to her quipped.

  Gwen couldn’t help but laugh. Making fun of their master was one of the few joys they had in life. But it was a joy that wouldn’t help her much within the castle.

  She followed Bradshaw back to the house, ready to open her legs and close her mind.

  ****

  “Have any strangers been on the property today?” Ezekiel, still in the form of the tyrant Girard, asked Gwen.

  She stood straight and proud before him. There was only a slight shake in her hand. She knew that if she expressed any hesitation, gave him any sign that she was lying, he’d turn from questioning to violence. He might even if he believed she was telling the truth.

  “No. No one my master.” Her voice held strong.

  Ezekiel raised a finger along with his voice. “I will only give you one more chance, girl. Has there been a man here early today, someone around my height—white beard and hair with a robe of purple?”

  “No, sir, no one.” Her shaking increased. She knew it was foolish to lie. She had no connection to that old stranger. He was nothing to her. And yet, he treated her like a human. Something she hadn’t experienced in a while. For some reason, it was enough for her to keep her mouth shut, no matter the price.

  She said a silent prayer to the Matriarch, begging her for strength.

  Over her shoulder, Bradshaw smi
led with joy. While Girard liked to take servant women into his bedroom, Bradshaw enjoyed taking them to the torture chamber—although Girard only allowed that on rare occasion. Damaging the goods was bad for business. But Bradshaw knew from the tone in his cousin’s voice that there was a good chance he’d get a new plaything tonight.

  “Guards,” Ezekiel shouted in Girard’s raspy voice. Two gendarmes entered in regal uniforms. Ezekiel had not seen the men before, but could sense them in the house. It was all he could do not to laugh, thinking of the dead master’s hubris in his need to have this kind of protection. He glanced up at Bradshaw who was about to bubble over with glee. Ezekiel pointed right towards him and shouted, “Take my cousin outside and throw him in with the pigs!”

  Bradshaw’s smile slowly faded as joy was replaced by confusion. He looked right and left, trying to figure out who his master was referring to. “Sir, me?”

  “For too long, I have spent my days dishing out injustice, and my nights drinking in vice. My conscience can take no more.”

  Gwendolyn couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her captor had never given an ounce of kindness. She wondered if her prayers had been heard.

  Ezekiel rose from his chair. His raspy voice now booming.

  “Tonight, I leave on Pilgrimage, a great journey to see if there is any way to cleanse my soul of its wickedness. You, dearest cousin, will seek your own penance by shoveling shit. From now on, you serve at the pleasure of Gwendolyn here. And if I hear that you have disobeyed her in the slightest, I will make sure that my greatest vice lies in the way I disassemble your body piece by piece. And then, you will become slop for the pigs you tend to. Do you understand?”

  The man could hardly nod. His legs went limp as the guards grabbed his arms and he needed to be dragged outside.

  After he had left the room, Ezekiel looked down at the equally shocked serving woman. “Gwendolyn, you have sacrificed all to this place, though not by choice. I am sorry. I know that I have no right to ask anything of you, but these lands require more from you. I am placing you in charge, making you the head of the house in my absence. I have ruled this land poorly, but I trust that you can make things right. Do you accept?”

  Gwendolyn stared at the man. It made no sense, yet she sensed no malice in him. This was no trick. She thought of the Matriarch and the stories she had heard about how well she led. Then she thought about the children sleeping the freezing barn.

  She made up her mind on the spot.

  “I accept,” she said.

  Ezekiel smiled. “Good. I have instructed the guards to obey your every command, and I trust that the rest of the servants will follow suit. In addition to my authority, you will have control over all my resources, to do with as you please. I may not be able to find redemption out on my pilgrimage, but I know that you can begin the work of restoration here.

  As her master’s words fell over her, Gwen was full of questions. “How long will you be gone?”

  Ezekiel rubbed his beard, which looked shorter to the people in the room than his actual one. “That is hard to say. My sins are many. I…” Ezekiel grasped for words, then smiled as an image of Hannah floated before his mind. “I have been a douche nugget. Atonement could take some time.”

  The woman’s face was serious. Already she was thinking of the work that needed to be done. “I don’t understand.”

  Ezekiel smiled. “I know. Sometimes when your eyes are opened to the truth, it’s shocking how long you could not see. And you opened my eyes, Gwendolyn.”

  She nodded. There was no warmth in her expression—years of abuse couldn’t be undone in a single night—but for the first time, she felt the tiniest glimmer of respect.

  The old man was an omen, after all, she thought.

  Ezekiel moved from his chair toward the door. But he looked back to offer one more piece of advice.

  “While I’m away, there may be some who come asking the same questions I did, about a mysterious old man. I want you to make sure you tell them exactly what you told me. Do you understand?”

  The woman nodded. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going back to Arcadia. There are more things that need to be made right.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “This way!” Hadley yelled, pulling on Hannah’s arm.

  The small dirt road that ran in front of Ophelia’s was marked by bedlam. Rearick ran in every direction. The air was filled with the sound of screams and dust from a catastrophe she had not yet seen. Holding onto the back of Hadley’s shirt, Hannah made herself as narrow as possible so they could move swiftly through the shifting crowd. At the end of town, they reached an impasse—a wall of men surrounding the collapsed mouth of the mining shaft.

  “Let us through,” Hadley yelled, as he shoved his way to the pile of boulders. But as the extent of the damage became clear, his mouth hung open. “May the matriarch and patriarch have mercy,” he said.

  “Forget the Bitch and the Bastard,” Hannah yelled. “What can we do?”

  But Hadley had no answer.

  In front of them, a group of rearick pulled at the stones with their hands, trying to clear a path into the tunnel. An older rearick led the group. His strength was unearthly, and he was moving boulders that likely weighed more than himself.

  But despite their efforts, it was clear to Hannah that they were getting nowhere. Finally, rearick pulled back from their labors to regroup and formulate a plan. It was then that Hannah recognized who the old rearick was.

  “Karl?” she asked.

  The rearick’s eyes darted in every direction. Finally, they landed on her. He recognized her immediately. “What the hell are you doing here, lassie?”

  Hannah looked down into the friendly eyes of the rearick that had saved her life from a charging boar outside of the tower. She kept the dagger he gave her in her belt.

  “It’s a long story,” she said. “I’m training with the mystics.”

  Hadley jumped in. “Rearick, please let us assist you. What can we do?”

  Karl looked the young man over. “Damned if I know. Your magic makes no sense to me. What the hell can a mystic do in times like these? If we keep digging, we might never get to them. But worst case scenario, if we dig far enough, it might just dislodge some of these rocks on the other side. We can’t keep moving if we know there are people trapped behind this wall, or if they have found some shelter further back.”

  Hannah thought of the old Rearick from Ophelia’s restaurant, whose mind she had just wandered through. She feared that it really was his last day in the mine, and his last day on earth.

  Hadley grinned down at the rearick. “I guess you just told me exactly what a mystic can do to help in the situation.”

  Before Karl could respond, Hadley closed his eyes and began to hum slightly to himself. Suddenly, his eyes opened, shining bright white. Hannah knew that he had left his body, projecting his consciousness into the mine.

  “Damn mystics are crazy,” Karl said, shaking his head to Hannah.

  The rearick and mystics had an amiable enough relationship in both work and as neighbors in the Heights. Protection was something that the rearick could offer the mystics, both during pilgrimages, but also as they exported their elixir around the Arcadian Valley. The sales of their drink were largely what financed their monastic tradition, but they weren’t strong enough to leave the confines of the mountains without their stout companions. Most rearick, like Karl, appreciated the greater pay they received from the mystics. The mystical people were gracious with their earnings and always treated their bodyguards well. Nevertheless, the rearick, at least most of them, didn’t fully buy into the magic of the mystics.