by Jeff Gunzel
“Yes,” Assirra confirmed again, feeling bad she hadn’t cleared this up earlier. She didn’t know this false memory had been haunting him all this time, or she would have already said something. “Xavier, she is fine, but I don’t know for how long if we don’t reach her soon. You have to come with me.”
The relief was so sweet, it warmed him to his core. It was like getting a second chance at life. Wiping tears of joy from his eyes, it was all he could do just to focus on the conversation at hand. “You could not have brought me better news.” He shook his head, trying to pull his head back into the conversation that seemed to be going on without him. “But Assirra, what do you mean by we? I assumed you had already gone as far as you planned to. I figured that by now you would have already gone back to your people. After all, this was never your fight to begin with. So you’ve decided to join us?”
It was Assirra’s turn to scoff. “My people,” she mocked. “As far as my people are concerned, I am already dead.” Xavier shook his head, confused. “As much as you have changed, I too have changed significantly, Xavier. Did you not see what I did on the battlefield today?”
“Of course I did. And your show of power came as no surprise to me,” he lied. It was quite shocking, actually. He had no idea she was capable of such things. But who was he to claim to know the limits of the High Cleric? “Once again you have shown me that Odao gives you great strength.”
“If that is what you saw, then you are very wrong!” Xavier leaned away, caught off guard by her defensive response. In truth, it was hard for him to stay focused on her words at all. The wonderful news was still dancing about in his mind, and not much else seemed to matter right now. “But I can’t blame you for thinking as such,” she went on, softening her tone. “You still see me as the High Cleric, just as my people once did. That title no longer means anything to me.” Now that comment did catch Xavier’s attention. What was she talking about? Odao was her reason for living.
“I will explain everything in time, but you must first know this,” she went on. “I am no longer a cleric. Furthermore, I resent the title. What you saw back there was a result of my own power, not that of a deity. Odao has betrayed me, so I in turn have turned my back on him as well.”
“Your god betrayed you? How?”
Assirra took a deep breath. “Xavier, Thatra is dead.” She paused to let her news sink in. Xavier looked away. She watched him deflate, shoulders drooping. She hated having to tell him that, especially right after lifting his spirits with the good news about Viola. But he needed to know. He needed to understand what was driving her. “She died right in my arms. And as I watched her helplessly, I prayed to Odao, promising him that I would do anything. Still, he did nothing but force me to watch her take her last breath. For that, I cannot forgive or serve him ever again.
“So you see, I can’t go back home, for I have no home to go to. I am a traitor to our faith, and I admit it proudly. My place is here with you and the others. This mission is my calling and I plan to see it through. We’ve all changed, Xavier, but that doesn’t mean we stop being loyal to each other. I accept whatever change has happened to you, and the others will as well. Come with me and I will prove it to you.”
“You accept my curse?” Xavier all but laughed. “You have no idea what you’re saying. I made a choice, Assirra, and it turned me into a monster. One does not simply accept or forgive such a thing.”
“You are wrong, Xavier. You underestimate your friends. They will always accept you no matter what.”
“You still don’t understand.” He stood up and stepped over to Assirra. Cupping the much taller woman’s cheeks to ease her down, he kissed her on the forehead. “What I do, I do to protect you as well as the others. Thank you for telling me the truth about Viola,” he whispered. “The truth about everything. And although my heart sings for her, it also bleeds for Thatra.” He stood and stepped back. “I do not even trust myself, so why should anyone else trust me? Maybe I will return someday, but not before I have slayed this demon inside of me. Tell the others not to mourn for me, because I have been dead for some time.” Just like that he turned and stalked away.
“If you leave us now, you are a coward and a traitor!” Assirra shouted at his back.
He stopped and glanced back at her, a deep sadness in his eyes. “Indeed, that is exactly what I am,” he agreed before disappearing into the night.
* * *
The jungle village was especially active today. Shirtless men and women stalked about, many with white and red paint decorating their dark skin. Most of the women had low, hanging earlobes, stretched and gaping from oversized plugs. The men all had pierced noses, some with rings, while a few preferred animal bones. Women carried water buckets up from a nearby stream, using wrapped clothes to balance them on their heads.
Just beyond the huts made from dry grass and bamboo, children played a game called “bones” near the edge of the village. Tossing rat and bat bones onto a large flat rock, the objective was to try to knock the other children’s bones off the slate. The game could go on for hours and did more often than not.
Both men and women practiced their war craft near the village center, sparing hard with spears and dulled blades. While fatalities were rare, injuries were not. Pushing themselves the way they did usually meant needless bloodshed, but it was a price they were all willing to pay. One day the prophesies would come true and they would have to go to war. It was not a day they feared, but one to be relished, celebrated. They would be ready when the time came, and each passing generation hoped it would be their turn.
A charging man broke through the bushes and everyone turned, spears leveled, all standing in perfect formation as if they had been given an hour’s notice prior to attack. But this was no attack, it was one of their own tribe and he was moving with great urgency. Recognizing him as one of their many spies sent out beyond the village to gather information, the surrounding warriors relaxed. Still, he could have gotten himself killed by rushing in unannounced like that. Strange that he might be so careless.
Rushing straight towards the center hut, he slid to a halt as two men crossed their spears to block his path. The guards were large, even by the standards of a village where everyone seemed to be much bigger than folks found in Ayrith’s main cities. “Let me pass!” he demanded, his words raspy as he tried to catch his breath. “I must speak to Aurabelle immediately.” Not unlike the two blocking his path, he wore nothing but a loincloth and face paint. But his feet were cut and bloodied from running through the forest so recklessly. His nose was pierced with a gold ring, and his dry, gritty, black hair was matted down so it nearly covered his eyes.
“You know we can’t let you pass,” the first man said, the many large hoops in his ears clacking with just a modest head shake. “Aurabelle will not see anyone until the third moon has passed. You know this, Banglaha,”
“Of course I know that, but this cannot wait,” Banglaha hissed, his clenched fists trembling with frustration. “If you would just listen to what I’m—” The second guard held up a finger to silence him. Leaning back over his shoulder, he nodded as if acknowledging some unspoken instruction from within the hut. With neither guard saying another word, they lifted their spears to allow him passage.
After flashing them an angry glare, Banglaha pushed through the beaded doorway. The room was smoky with a thick, spicy scent. Tribesmen were all around the room, sitting on individual rugs while smoking pipes attached to bubbling glass vases. The furniture was modest, save for a large bed at the far side of the room. Weaving and tiptoeing, stepping over sleepy-eyed men and women who had yet to even notice him, he made his way over to the veiled bed in the back.
Seeing her shadowy outline through the thin blue veil, he dropped down to one knee at the side of the bed. “Aurabelle,” he rasped, suddenly having trouble finding his voice in her presence. “Aurabelle,” he repeated after clearing his throat. “I am sorry to trouble you, but—”
“Yes,” she s
aid, her soft, delicate voice carrying off the walls with authority.
“Er, yes,” he replied, clearing his throat a second time. “I bring news. It is just as you suspected. Several of our spies have reported spotting another.”
“Another?”
“As you foretold! Your prediction has come true. A man who has the gift was spotted not two nights ago. No doubt the gods have sent him to stand by your side. It is a sign. It must be!”
“And where was this man spotted?”
“He was last seen in Dawsbury. He used his abilities in public, defending the town from the white demons.” He paused a moment, thinking. “But that was the last reported sighting. By now I can only assume that he is long g—”
A brown vine snapped right through the curtain, wrapping around his neck and pulling him in close. Before he could blink, he found himself face to face with the bare-breasted woman, one half of her face covered with green scales. With hair white as snow, one eye black as midnight, her stare bore into him like a nail. He gasped, hands tugging and clawing at the vine. But the attempt was futile, even making the vine squeeze tighter.
“Find him,” she said, her calm voice at odds with the fire in her eyes. “Find him and bring him to me.” Face turning bright red, he nodded furiously.
He dropped to the floor and gasped when the vine slithered away from his neck. “I’ll go gather others to help,” he croaked, rubbing his neck. “We shall find him as quickly as possible.”
“You have three days,” she said, sliding the curtain back into place. The man turned and ran from the hut. He knew better than to take Aurabelle’s words as some idle threat. If she said three days, then that was all the time he had.
Chapter 18
“Give it back!” she growled, her flesh blades forming tauntingly slow to make her point.
“Why should I?” he asked, sinking his teeth into the back of the severed human hand. “It was fair game the moment you walked away from it,” he spoke into the hand, his voice muffled as he drank.
“It doesn’t work like that!” she said, crouching down like a coiled snake ready to strike. “I can’t help it if you’re too slow and weak to catch your own food. It’s probably more likely that a human would eat you!”
“Silence, bitch!” He tossed the hand aside.
“Or what? It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it.” She stepped over to the hand and kicked it back near his feet. “Here, you scavenger. If stolen scraps are the only thing you’re capable of hunting, then by all means take it. Just make sure you stay out of the way when the real hunters go out to gather more humans. Tend the fire or something. Maybe sweep the cave up a little. I just hope you can handle a broom better than you handle a sword.”
She ducked at the last second as his flesh blade slammed into the cave wall just above her head. The stone cracked, proving the blow was meant to be much more than a warning. It was meant to be fatal. Sidestepping his second strike, she rushed the lerwick, throwing herself against his chest. Clawing wildly, she raked his face and eyes for several seconds before a clean, rolling right hand sent her sprawling across the cave floor.
Face bleeding, his twitching right eye hot and irritated, he raced over and threw himself on top of her, then began raining punches down on her face. Pinning her shoulders down with his knees, at least ten landed clean before a choking tug at the back of his collar sent him flying. Crashing against the far wall, the winded lerwick slid down to the ground with the wind knocked out of him.
“What is going on here?” Jarlen roared, his red-hot glare shifting back and forth between the two.
“It was her fault!” he rasped, pointing across the way.
“Says the thief who stole my food!” she shot back. Even with her face swelling up, she looked as if she might rush him again.
“Enough!” Jarlen shouted in frustration, turning away with his fists in the air. Had he not gotten back when he did, these two just might have killed each other. At the mouth of the cave lay the two fresh corpses he dropped when he saw them fighting. Already, a number of lerwicks had made their way over to them, certain to drink more than their share if he didn’t keep an eye on them.
“The enemy is out there!” Jarlen shouted, pointing towards the mouth of the cave. “Or have you already forgotten that? Every time I turn my back, it seems as if you’re at each other’s throats.” He looked around the cave, addressing everyone within earshot. But the looks on everyone’s faces bothered him even more than the fight itself. Barely listening to him, expressions dreary and uninterested, it seemed as if no one cared that these two were about to kill each other. They had just watched the whole time while no one even lifted a finger to stop it.
Jarlen sighed. After his years in the pit, he knew what a beaten man looked like. He knew when a person had given up all hope and was resigned to his fate. He recognized that same look all around him now. Lerwicks sat on the filthy cave floor with their backs against the wall, their chins tucked between their knees, eyes often closed or just staring off at nothing. This was different than the low morale typical of soldiers when things weren’t going their way. This was a mentally beaten group that probably wouldn’t stay together much longer. Worse, Jarlen had no idea how to fix it.
After promising them a life filled with victory and hope, a future where the humans bowed down before the true masters of this realm, all he had given them was a cold, dark cave to sleep in, and barely enough food to survive day to day. Something would have to change soon or he would lose them completely.
There just might be a few more stragglers out on the road tonight, he thought, eyeing the drifts of snow just outside the cave. It seemed unlikely, but bringing back some more fresh blood seemed like a good idea. Anything he could do to help raise the morale until he could think of something better.
Eyes already on the cave entrance, Jarlen tensed when he saw a flicker of movement just outside. A second later one of his men came rushing in, fresh off a scouting run. The brief scare served as yet another reminder of how unprepared they were for an attack. “Jarlen! Jarlen!” he huffed, sliding to a stop. “There has been—” He swallowed, gulping air down his dry throat. “There has been another attack. Word is spreading across the realm. The ghatins—” He gulped more air, bending over with his hands on his knees.
“So?” Jarlen said impatiently. He could no longer tolerate any more of this mundane information that had no bearing on him or their situation. “This is not news. The ghatins attack the humans all the time. You ran all the way here just to tell me—”
His head shaking even before Jarlen finished, the scout threw down a handful of rolled parchments, scattering them at Jarlen’s feet. Not appreciating the aggressive gesture, Jarlen picked up a few and began unrolling them. “This is but a sample of the urgent messages that came out of Redwater,” the scout said as Jarlen glanced over them one at a time. Having caught his breath somewhat, the scout now appeared more composed and confident. “The ghatins have purged the entire city. None were spared.”
“Indeed,” Jarlen said, a grin slowly creeping across his face. Unable to hide his amusement, he even barked out a laugh as he sifted through the notes. These pleas for help were so urgent, so desperate. He found a strange satisfaction in knowing that the men who wrote these pleas were now dead, no doubt. “An entire city, completely wiped from the realm,” he said, crumpling one note before opening another. He really was enjoying this. “So the mighty city of Redwater is now nothing but a ghost town.”
“Not exactly,” the scout replied smugly. Jarlen glanced up from the message he was reading, sensing that there might be more to this report. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, inviting the man to continue. “The humans have been slaughtered, yes. But the city is now occupied by the ghatins. Not only have they purged the city, but they have taken up residence there as well.”
Jarlen’s look of confusion slowly turned to one of astonishment. “Are you telling me—”
“No ash, no
returning to where they came from.” The man grinned, enjoying his leader’s undivided attention. “Somehow, someway, the curse has been broken. They are free to roam as they wish.”
Jarlen stood in stunned silence as the realization slowly sank in. The humans’ greatest enemy had been unleashed on the world. This was going to change everything. “You have done well,” he praised the scout, prompting an even bigger grin. “But ultimately meaningless if we can’t figure out some way to take advantage.”
It was true enough. As both fascinating and satisfying as it all seemed, it really didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. In Jarlen’s mind, the humans were the true enemy and always would be. He didn’t care one way or the other about the ghatins. If they ended up killing off more humans, then so be it. In the long run it just might save him the trouble, but that didn’t mean he held any loyalty towards the ghatins.
Looking around the cave, seeing all the long faces as the lerwicks sat on the cold cave floor, inspiration struck like a lightning bolt. He knew exactly how to take advantage of the situation.
Several lerwicks had already gathered around them, listening to the news of Redwater’s fall. Jarlen motioned for the others to come closer. “We’ve just learned that the human city of Redwater has been overrun by the ghatins,” he began, his voice carrying off the walls so even those in the back could hear him. “It seems that they are no longer bound by the curse and can move freely throughout the realm. My friends, I believe we are witnessing the beginnings of a new era. Soon, the humans will be on the run with nowhere to hide. But let me remind you, this does not mean that the ghatins are our allies.”
“But aren’t they helping us?” came a voice from the back.
“An unintentional outcome, nothing more,” Jarlen pointed out. “Their agenda is their own. But once the humans have expired, who do you think they will focus on next?” An uneasy stir emanated around the cave. “No, they are not our friends in this war. We alone stand at the top while they are simply tools to be used in our favor. Soon, we shall take the first steps towards securing our legacy. My friends, my loyal subjects, everything they take from the humans was rightfully ours to begin with. Stealing from the humans means stealing from the lerwicks.” He paused to let the weight of his words sink in. “And that is why we are taking back the city of Redwater.”
