by Jon Monson
Byanca entered the room, dressed only in a thin nightgown, a brown leather book clutched to her chest. Her hair was braided and still wet from her bath, although several strands had escaped. Breathing heavily with flushed cheeks, it was obvious she had dashed here from the other side of the manor.
“Byanca, what are you doing here?” Aydiin asked, running to her.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, collapsing into his arms.
“Yes, I’m fine. What’s wrong?” Aydiin asked again. The woman seemed to be near hysteria.
“I guess it seems silly now that I know you’re okay,” Byanca said, calming herself.
“Everything is alright,” Aydiin said, not wanting to excite his wife any further with the truth.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she said, looking into his eyes. Then her eyes drifted towards the window and the glass that was spread over the floor. “Okay, what happened in here?”
“The Count tried to kill our young friend,” Seb piped up and Aydiin winced. That’s not exactly how he would have liked to have told her.
“So where’s the Count?” Byanca asked.
“Well, he’s um,” Aydiin began.
“He’s lying dead on the ground outside the window,” Seb finished for him.
Byanca shrieked and ran to look out the window. Aydiin had no desire to see the Count’s body lying lifeless on the grounds below. The thought made him shiver.
“What’s that book in your hands?” Aydiin asked, trying to get Byanca away from the window.
“Well, I couldn’t sleep,” she began, turning back towards Aydiin and Seb. “I went to the library and found a secret passageway to a strange room with a blood-stained altar. On a shelf, I found this book.”
She handed him the book, its cover blank. Aydiin flipped it open to see handwritten text. The handwriting was delicate and had obviously taken someone a long time. It reminded him of the texts used by the Priests in the Basilica of Surion back in Maradon. He flipped to the front of the book to see if there was a title page.
Prophecies of the Return
The name wasn’t familiar, which surprised him. A book this old should be at least addressed in his studies. The words seemed ominous, and another chill ran down his spine that had little to do with the breeze drifting in through the window.
“Do you know what this is?” Aydiin asked. “Prophecies of the Return – I’ve certainly never heard of it.”
As he said the title, Aydiin noticed Seb pale slightly, but otherwise he remained unchanged. Did he know something? Or did he also just feel the same strange effect from the words?
“I’ve certainly never heard of it,” Byanca said. “I was hoping my scholar husband would know - or maybe his rescuer who seems to know something he’s not saying.”
The last words were directed at Seb, who kept his face impassive.
“Alright, I guess I can’t keep this from you any longer,” Seb sighed. “Aydiin, I know exactly who has been trying to kidnap you.”
“I knew you couldn’t be trusted,” Byanca exclaimed, but Aydiin placed his hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sure Sebastian had his reasons for keeping secrets,” Aydiin said. “After all, I kept plenty of secrets from you and yet you can trust me.”
“Seb, I trust you with my life,” Aydiin continued, turning to his friend. “It’s been apparent from the start that you’ve known more about my situation, and I’ve been more than happy to let you have your secrets. However, I think the time has come to be completely open with one another.”
“I believe you’re correct,” Seb grunted. “Before it’s been all conjecture on my part, and I wasn’t about to break my sacred oaths on a hunch. Now, I know for certain what’s happening.”
“That book in your hands,” Seb continued, pointing to the tome Aydiin secured. “It’s no ordinary text. It’s the most holy of scripture for those who worship the Undergods.”
“So Uncle Mateo was one of – them?” Byanca asked, her skin paling slightly.
“It appears that he’s a high ranking member of the Most Holy Order of Knights of the Raven,” Seb sighed. “That’s the formal name at least. More commonly, they’re referred to as just ‘the Order’. That altar down there has seen its share of human sacrifice, making this place sacred to those devil worshippers.”
“And I just killed him,” Aydiin said as cries of dismay sounded from outside as servants came to investigate the sound of the crash.
“I think our time here is about to be cut short,” Byanca said.
“We have to find Joon and get out of here,” Seb said. “Even if most of the servants and soldiers here aren’t members of the Order, they’ll all be rather upset we killed their employer.”
“Let’s not waste any time then,” Byanca said. “I don’t want to spend another minute in this Divine-forsaken place.”
“Wait a second,” Aydiin said, an idea coming to his mind. “Byanca, do you know where Mateo’s study is?”
“It’s next to the library,” Byanca replied. “What does that –“
“If he’s getting correspondence from the Order, we could take this opportunity to get some valuable information,” Aydiin cut her off before turning to the grizzled veteran. “Seb, go grab Joon and meet us in the stables. Have the horses and Askari ready to go.”
Seb nodded wordlessly and rushed out of the room. His footsteps pounded on the floor. Aydiin looked at Byanca as the sound faded.
He realized for the first time how strange it was that she was only in a nightgown. It didn’t show anything that her normal dresses didn’t, but it still felt improper. He also liked it.
Now’s not the time to be ogling my wife, he reminded himself. There would hopefully be plenty of time for that later.
“The study is this way,” Byanca said, grabbing Aydiin’s hand.
She led him through the dark hallways. Shouts from outside grew louder as more and more voices joined in. Getting out of here might prove tricky.
“I wish he’d slammed into the wall instead of that window,” Aydiin whispered to Byanca as they sped through the hallways.
“If he was shocking you, I somehow doubt you had the presence of mind to think about anything beyond saving yourself,” she replied. “How did you beat him anyway?”
“I used my Wave-Crafting skills,” Aydiin smiled as he said those words. After so many years without divine powers, it felt odd to not only be a Wave-crafter, but to be the most powerful one in the world.
“Are you telling me you defeated a Jolt with decades of experience?” Byanca asked without slowing. “You haven’t even had any formal practice.”
“I got some training from Katala,” Aydiin said. “It’s odd how using the powers just feel natural.”
“Well that’s good to hear, because I have a feeling we’ll need them tonight,” Byanca said as they reached a wooden door. Without announcing it, Aydiin knew they had arrived.
Byanca jostled the door handle, which did nothing. The door was locked. Count Visconti was no fool.
“Well, we’re going to be heard anyway,” Aydiin whispered as he motioned for Byanca to move.
He raised his foot and sent it crashing into the door. The wood splintered and groaned but held firm. He raised his foot again, launching it into the door with even more force.
This time he backed up to the other side of the hallway. He pounced and launched his shoulder at the door, slamming into the wood with all his might.
His shoulder howled in protest. Still, the door didn’t budge.
“We’re going to wake up the whole manor,” Byanca said, seeming to forget that everyone was already waking up. “I think it’s time to move on – there can’t possibly be anything that important in that room.”
“You’re right,” Aydiin said, rubbing his shoulder. That last attempt would leave a bruise. “Wait, I think I have an idea.”
Aydiin focused again on the water molecules in the humid air, bringing them
together into a snake-like rope. Byanca gasped as he motioned the liquid into the keyhole. Then, he commanded the water to freeze.
As the water expanded, the lock gave way. With a loud crunch, the metal within snapped and the door swung open on its hinges. Byanca gave him another look of amazement. Aydiin rushed into the room, knowing there wouldn’t be any time to spare.
The study looked just as one might expect. There was a leather armchair in a corner next to a fireplace. A few animal heads hung on the wall, trophies from the Count’s many hunting expeditions. Against the far wall sat the real treasure.
A desk littered with papers sat waiting to be examined. A small box, hand-crafted from cherry wood, sat stuffed with letters and reports. It wasn’t apparent if any of it would be useful, but some of it was bound to be interesting at the very least.
“These just look like letters,” Byanca said, sifting through the papers strewn around the desk.
“Take them anyway,” Aydiin responded, opening up a few drawers. One contained a sack of coins and bank notes, which he stuffed into his pocket. “A seemingly innocent letter could be code for something dire.”
“Do you smell that?” Byanca asked.
The shouts around the manor were growing more frantic, the sounds growing louder. Aydiin sniffed the air to see what Byanca meant. Mixed with the shouts was something else – the smell of smoke.
“That doesn’t smell like a campfire,” Aydiin said, and Byanca nodded in response. The smell was of burning carpet and hardwood floors. It was the smell of a fire being lit in the manor itself.
“Grab the box and let’s get out of here,” Byanca gasped, and Aydiin rushed to do so.
The couple dashed into the hallway, the scent of nearby smoke growing stronger. Byanca grabbed Aydiin by his free hand and led them through the hallways. There was no sign of the smoke’s source.
Reaching the front entrance way, Aydiin still couldn’t see the flames, but the smoke began to hang heavily in the air. The massive front door stood close. It also had a most unpleasant looking figure standing guard.
“I’m afraid the Son of Alarun must stay here with us,” Pia, the head of the Count’s household, said. Her eyes were cold as steel, a wicked smile spread across her face. “You may have defeated the Count, but the Master will have you.”
The woman’s hands began to glow, the Markings of a Fire-dancer coming alive. Her smile widened. The woman raised her hands, launching a stream of fire directly at Aydiin.
Both Aydiin and Byanca jumped out of the way, the fire slamming into a tapestry behind them. The cloth caught flame and more smoke began to fill the room.
Summoning the water molecules in the air, Aydiin created another whip. It was much thinner than his previous creation – the smoke was drying out the air quickly. It would have to do.
The smoke now filled the room obscuring his view along with the darkness. Pia had taken the opportunity to hide – apparently, she had decided Aydiin was dangerous enough to take seriously. That made things worse.
Soft footsteps could be heard in the smoke.
I can’t tell if it’s Byanca or Pia, he thought to himself. He couldn’t call out, risking fire being rained down on him. Yet he also couldn’t strike in fear that he would hit Byanca. He also couldn’t just make a dash for the door, leaving his bride behind.
Red Markings again lit up on the other side of the room. Without thinking, Aydiin sent his water whip careening towards the light. The water cracked as it made contact, followed by howls of pain.
Aydiin ran towards the sounds to see Pia lying on the floor, her hands completely severed by the water. The woman lifted bloody stumps to her face, curled and howling in pain. The hands lie limp on the floor beside her.
The sight made his stomach lurch, and his dinner almost ejected itself. He had seen what the water could do in his vision, but he hadn’t imagined the actual effect on someone. It felt wrong.
I shouldn’t be allowed to do this. I’ve misused divine powers. I’ve done something wrong.
“We need to get out of here,” Byanca said, grabbing his arm.
He let her pull him away. He ran alongside her as they fled to the stables where Seb and Joon sat waiting with their mounts. He mounted Askari as the group fled from the now burning manor.
Yet his mind remained locked on the woman without hands.
Chapter 29
Barrick grasped onto the reins of his horse, the rain and wind attempting to drive him back. The freezing water had soaked through his coat and trousers until every inch of him was sopping. Still, he had to keep moving.
Lighting flashed and his mount screamed, panicking at the sudden crack of thunder. His hands nearly slipped, but he managed to hang on long enough to calm down the terrified horse. The beast still panted as Barrick kicked his heels into his sides and the horse continued in its sprint.
It was hard to tell how much of the liquid coating the animal’s coat was water and how much was sweat. It didn’t really matter – he knew the horse was close to breaking. He himself was exhausted, but none of that mattered.
Ahead, a small stone hut sat huddled into a green hillside. Smoke rose from the chimney, bringing the promise of a warm, dry shelter from the storm. That, however, was not the reason his heart soared at the sight.
Barrick leapt from the still moving horse and bounded towards the door, still securing steed’s reigns to prevent it from running at the next peel of lightning. The horse came along without hesitance, seeming to understand Barrick’s impatience. Or his insanity.
“Please, I need your help,” Barrick shouted, pounding on the wooden door. Exhausted, he sank to his knees, oblivious to the mud that was soaking into his already filthy trousers. The answer had to be here.
“You best be leaving,” a voice from the hut’s interior called out. “There’s nobody here to help you.”
“I need to speak with the Healer,” Barrick shouted, his hands sinking into the mud along with his knees. “She’ll die if he doesn’t come soon.”
“The Healer’s already dead,” the voice called back. “The Divines have spared no one. The only thing left is to pray to Ninazu and hope the Goddess listens.”
This can’t be happening, Barrick thought as he rose to his feet. He felt only numb as he grabbed the horse and looked into the creature’s eyes. He could tell the ride back could be its last.
He hopped onto the saddle, the rain still unwavering. Water dripped down his hair and into his eyes. He wanted to wipe at it, but his hands were now caked in mud.
Slamming his heels again in the horse’s flank, the creature planted its hind hooves into the mud and took off. The wind was now at his back, the rain driving into his coat instead of into his face. It would be almost pleasant if he didn’t dread what he would find upon returning home.
“Ninazu, Goddess of Health, hear my cries,” Barrick prayed as the horse took him away from his last hope. His prayers were without faith, without expectation. He knew that nothing could stop this.
The sun began rising ahead of him, the grey light of dawn breaking through one of the darkest nights of his life. As he rode the now exhausted horse, he knew the daylight would bring little relief. In fact, he knew things would only get worse.
Trees lined the mud road, spring leaves just starting to greet the world after a harsh winter. It was almost beautiful, but he passed through the forest with only his destination in mind. Springtime was for others more fortunate to enjoy.
As he reached a clearing, a small log cabin became visible. No smoke rose from the chimney. There was no more firewood to burn. There was no one to tend to the fire even if there had been anything left.
The horse nearly collapsed in exhaustion as Barrick again leapt from the saddle. Without bothering to tie up the frantic animal, Barrick rushed into the cabin, oblivious to the mud and rain caking his boots, trousers, and arms. Mud was of little concern.
The one-room cabin contained a rough wooden table with two chairs. A small kitche
n with a few cabinets and sink served as a place to prepare simple meals. Yet in the corner was Barrick’s life.
An old bed with a colorful quilt took up nearly half the room. The smell of wet straw hung in the air, the musk unavoidable in the winter along with bedbugs. Yet it was the beautiful creature lying within that drew Barrick’s eyes.
“Jacalyn,” Barrick called out as he ran to the woman he loved with all of his heart.
Her hair was the color of pure gold. Crimson lips adorned a porcelain face. Blue eyes more fierce than the coldest of winter days shone with intelligence and wit. She wasn’t just the most important person in his life, she was his life.
Yet now those lips were cold, tinged with blue. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, their twinkle long absent. A single, delicate porcelain hand dangled from the mattress.
Barrick bent to his knees and grabbed that hand. His filth spread onto her delicate fingers, but his panicked mind was oblivious. Placing the cold fingers to his lips, he let out a single scream.
The scream turned into wailing, and soon the tears began to flow. Sobs racked his body as he doubled over onto the floor. Still clutching that hand, he continued to wail as if his very soul were being ripped from his body.
She was gone
Jacalyn
Gone
Barrick sat up in his bed, covered in sweat, tears streaming down his face. The dream came far too often. Soon, it would stop.
“Jacalyn,” he whispered as he arose from his bed.
His bare feet felt cool on the tile floor. The grey light of pre-dawn was just visible through his open window, the night still fighting to maintain its hold over Maradon. It was almost time.
Walking through his room and into the bathroom, Barrick poured some water from a porcelain pitcher into a bowl. He splashed the cool liquid onto his face and wiped the sweat and tears with a damp rag. It would be most unfortunate to show signs of weakness this morning.
Yet thoughts of his lost love wouldn’t abandon his mind. He tried pushing them away. Yet they stayed, determined to stand their ground.
