The back of Grandon Faust’s hand struck across Chazod’s cheek and the boy fell over. Chazod held his mouth as he looked up at his master. “He’s the one I should have bought three years ago.” said Grandon. He looked down at Rook. “This one here earns his keep.” He looked back down at Chazod. “Boy, I should have cut out your tongue that day for poisoning my thoughts. I could have had this one.”
Chazod cast Rook a fiery gaze. “He’s been earning money!”
Grandon eyed Chazod skeptically. “Get up.” He turned to Rook. “That true, boy? Your master been letting you keep earnings?”
Chazod slunk back to his feet, his venomous eyes catching Rook’s. He pointed at him. “He thinks he’s gonna buy Kierza. Says he wants to buy her. He sneaks around here and meets up with her.”
“That’s not true.” said Rook. “He was—”
Rook felt the fabric of his shirt tighten as Grandon grabbed him by the collar and drew him in, lifting him up so that he had to stand on the tips of his toes. Grandon turned to Kierza. “You been whoring yourself to this boy?”
“No!” squeaked Kierza. “I would never—”
“Girl,” said Grandon. “I find out you’re lying…”
“She’s never done that.” said Rook, placing his own hands around Grandon’s thick, hairy wrist. “Let me go.”
Grandon smacked him across the face. “Boy, you learn your place with me. You tell me the truth now. You been sneaking around, meeting with my property?”
“I’ll buy her from you.” said Rook. “Let me go.”
Grandon tightened his grasp. “Your master letting you earn wages?”
“Rook!” came a loud voice that seemed to rumble the night air. “Rook!” called Callad again as he lumbered quickly down the road. Callad Venzi was something of a mountain of a man. He was tall and burly with hands more like bear paws. The flannel shirt he wore could hardly contain his barrel-chest, and thick hair sprouted from the top like weeds. He ran one of his giant hands through is short, soot-streaked hair as he came upon them. “Rook, son, you all right?”
Grandon released Rook, practically tossing him aside as he turned to face Callad. Grandon, in both size and stature, was dwarfed by Callad, but Rook had seen Grandon fight in the arena. Grandon was a championship swordsman and was fast, powerful, and deadly in combat. “Your boy here thinks he can take off with my property.” he said, pointing a meaty finger toward Kierza. “I know she’s damn-near worthless—can’t hardly please a man to save herself—but she’s mine nonetheless.”
Callad stroked his ham-hand down his bearded chin and looked at Rook. “Rook, son, tell me what’s going on here.”
“Buy her,” said Rook, looking at Kierza as she stood slouched in the shadows, holding her broken veil over her face. “You can’t let her stay with them. Buy her from them.”
“She stays wherever we want her to stay,” spat Chazod. “You can’t—”
“Boy, shut your damn mouth before I break that jaw of yours.” barked Grandon. He turned to face Callad, placing his arms akimbo. “Your boy there is out of line, Callad. You’d do best to teach him some proper respect. Stop making him think he’s your son and teach him what it means to be a proper slave.”
Callad scowled at Grandon briefly and then knelt beside Rook, placing his hands on his shoulders. Rook could smell the pleasing scent of woodsmoke and coal on him. “Son,” he said softly. “You know it’s not like that. You can’t just tell a man you’re going to—”
“Buy her.” pleaded Rook. He peered into Callad’s deep, brown eyes. “Use my money. Use all the money I’ve earned. I don’t care; use it all. Just buy her. Please.”
Callad breathed out loudly through his nose, it smoked in the cold and ruffled the coarse coating of beard on his face. His lips pursed into a frown. “Son…”
“Your boy ain’t allowed to have money.” said Grandon. “I hear you’ve been letting him take earnings. I could report you.”
Callad turned his eyes up to Grandon and scowled. He lumbered back up to his feet. He looked down to Rook. “Son, let’s go.”
“No!” cried Rook. “We can’t! Buy her!”
“She ain’t for sale to you.” said Grandon. “You’re a slave, boy. Not his son. You’d do best to learn that. And as a slave, you can’t buy anything. But I’ll tell you what, if you want her to go home with your master so badly, I’ll make you a proposition.”
“What?” shot Chazod. “You can’t—”
Chazod’s head whipped to the side as Grandon’s hand smacked him across the cheek. He faced the boy and jammed a thick finger into his chest. “That’s the last warning I’m giving you tonight, boy. You mind your place.”
Chazod nodded meekly as he held his cheek.
Grandon turned to face Callad. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll trade you. Your boy for my girl.”
“No!” barked Callad. He shook his head vigorously. His giant hand clenched down on Rook’s shoulder. “Come on son, let’s go.”
Rook tore himself free. “Yes. Fine. I’ll trade.”
“Absolutely not.” said Callad. “Let’s go.”
“Then let our boys fight.” said Grandon. “Your boy beats mine,” Grandon slapped Chazod on the shoulder, “and you can have her free. But if my boy wins, I get to keep yours.”
“No!” said Callad. “Absolutely not!”
“Yes,” said Rook. “Let me do it. I can fight him. I can beat him.”
Callad’s eyes flashed with an anger Rook had never seen before. “Rook, this is not up for discussion.”
“Callad,” said Grandon. “If you’ve been letting your slave earn wages, that’s an offense. I’ll turn you in and they’ll take him. Then neither of us gets him. They fight. Right here, right now. Winner gets to keep the others’.”
Callad regarded Grandon, and Rook was certain he saw fear on his father’s face. “Grandon…”
“It’s done.” said Grandon. “You got nothing to bargain with. You’ve been letting your slave earn wages. I could have him taken from you this very night. Now, we’re going to do this my way. We both win. I get a chance to get the slave I should’ve bought, and you get the chance to keep your slave without me turning you in.”
“And we get Kierza,” said Rook, pointing to her. “If I win, Kierza comes home with us.”
Grandon nodded. “That was my deal. But you ain’t going to win, boy.”
“I’ll do it.” said Rook.
“Son…” Callad placed his hand on Rook’s shoulder. “These boys, they fight, Rook.” he said softly. “They train. They train to fight and kill.”
Rook looked up at Callad. “I can fight too.” he hissed. “Diotus has been—”
“Rook, I told you I don’t like you and that Diotus—”
“You have to let me do this.” said Rook. His eyes pierced into Callad’s. “Somebody once told me that when you look upon evil, you cannot blink. You can’t be afraid. You have to let me do this.”
Callad closed his eyes and shook his big head softly. “Rook, son, you can’t save everybody. Me and Sierla, we love you. If we lost you…”
“But we have to do this,” said Rook. “Sometimes we have to do things that are scary. Sometimes, that’s what good requires. If we don’t stand up for her, who will?”
“You can’t stand up for everybody, Rook.”
“I can stand up for her today. And one day, I will stand up for everybody. And everybody else will stand up too.”
“Come on, Callad.” growled Grandon. “The night’s wasting. I ain’t going to offer you this chance again. We do this right now or I’ll report you. Then we both lose.”
Callad exhaled, his eyes pinched shut and his hands squeezed Rook’s shoulders.
Rook patted the top of Callad’s hand and then peeled himself away to face Grandon. “I’ll do it. It’s a deal.”
“The sword.” said Callad, pointing at Chazod. “No weapons.”
Grandon blew out a plume of smoke and nodded at Chazod. “Knock him out. How I showed you.”
Rook watched as the older boy unfastened his scabbard and it fell to the ground at his feet. He didn’t immediately see the dagger on him.
“Rook, son,” said Callad, placing a giant paw on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this.”
Rook looked up at him. “Yes, I do, dad.”
Callad closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.
Grandon Faust gestured to his boys to make room and they formed something of a circle around Rook and Chazod. Rook felt his heart beating faster. His breath smoked in the chill night. His hand found the Golothic in his pocket; that small, red, sandy-textured stone in the shape of a partially closed fist. It was the demon, Bulifer’s, promise to him; their covenant. Rook had traded his and his sister Ursula’s safety for it three-years ago. It was always warm to the touch, but right now it seemed to burn in his pocket. Chazod was with Grandon Faust the day he was up for sale on the platform. The Golothic had burned in his pocket then, prodding him to be taken by Grandon. Rook had seen to it that Bulifer did not get his way that day. He wondered if the demon might get his dues tonight.
Chazod stood about five-feet from him, his green eyes catching the light of his master’s cigar, giving them a terrible, fiery intensity. “You won’t think you’re such a prince once you’re living with us, brat.”
“Girl,” said Grandon. “Get over here. You’re going to watch your brother bloody up this fool. And boy, you best not damage him too much. I want his skills.”
Rook watched as Kierza slunk toward her master, her head down and her hand holding the veil over her ruined face. He could see the slave brand on her neck, the scar tissue standing out in pink contrast to her pale skin. Rook squeezed the Golothic, taking its fierce heat into him. He hated that there were slaves. He hated what the people of Narbereth did to their women. He hated kings and nobles, but most of all, he hated the Saints Caliber. They would all get their’s one day. His covenant with the demon was for a weapon. One day—and he did not know how far away that day might be—the demon would come to him for a weapon and he would have to make it for him. Such was their pact. Rook was still determined to give it to the demon, right through his heart. And then he would turn that weapon upon everyone he called his enemy.
Rook looked at Kierza. He smiled at her. “Take off your veil.”
Kierza turned her brilliant eyes up to him. He could almost detect a faint smile from beneath the veil, but she shook her head softly.
“Take it off, girl.” said Grandon. “Let him see the creature he’s fighting for.”
Kierza let the veil fall into the snow. She turned her noseless face away.
“No matter what, I’ll be able to protect you now.” said Rook. “I won’t ever let them hurt you again.”
Chazod and the other boys all snickered. “You can’t even protect yourself, brat.” spat Chazod. “Look at you: you’re a little prince weakling.”
“Princess.” corrected Nyal, to the laughs of the others.
The words stung Rook more than any of them knew. He hoped he would do a better job protecting this girl than he had done with his sister, Ursula.
“Enough chat.” said Grandon. He puffed at his cigar. “Get this over with, boy. I want to go home for supper.”
Chazod moved in at Rook and swung a punch. Rook ducked and moved in but Chazod brought his knee up into Rook’s chest. Rook felt himself stumble backward and then Chazod’s fist struck him across the face and he tripped and fell onto his butt. The boys all laughed.
“Get up, prince!” yelled Chazod.
Rook wiped at his bloodied nose and got back up. His lips furled in a snarl. He heard his dad say something to him, but all his attention was focused on his opponent.
Chazod moved in again, swinging his arm. Rather than dodge, Rook pushed forward and brought his own fist up, striking Chazod in the bottom of his chin. Rook had to eat Chazod’s punch as well, but it was worth the sacrifice. He was now inside of Chazod’s reach. He brought his own knee up into Chazod’s groin and reached his hands up, clawing at the boy’s face. Chazod snarled like a rabid dog as he brought his fist down on Rook’s back, over and over again. Rook went to his knees and found the inside of Chazod’s thigh. There, the hard leather of his armor gave way to soft fabric and Rook chomped down as hard as he could.
Chazod howled and fell backward. Rook scrambled on top of him, blood from his nose leaving a gruesome trail up the boy’s body, and he struck at his face. Chazod flailed his arms against the attack and then finally got his legs up and kicked Rook off of him.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” snarled Chazod as Rook found himself on the ground. In the next moment Chazod was on top of him. “I’m gonna kill—”
Rook spit right in Chazod’s face and the boy recoiled for just a moment, but it was long enough for Rook to twist his way out from beneath him and get back to his feet. Chazod came at him but Rook threw himself into the boy, head first. He felt his skull knock the wind from Chazod’s body and the older boy fell backward onto his butt.
Chazod bounded back up, blind fury twisting his face into a hideous mask. “You fucking brat! You fucking brat!”
Chazod came at Rook, but Rook noticed something glint in the boy’s hand. It was the dagger. Chazod brought his fist down in a stabbing arc and it was all Rook could do to grab his wrist with both hands, stopping the dagger just short from plunging through his shoulder. As he struggled with Chazod he could hear Callad yelling, something about “no weapons!”.
“I’m gonna fucking gut you, you fucking brat prince!” Spit flew from Chazod’s mouth as Rook struggled to keep the dagger from biting into his shoulder.
Rook growled as he held onto Chazod’s wrist with both hands, but the boy was just too strong. Then Chazod’s other hand went over the dagger’s pommel, and Rook felt the dagger start to sink into the soft flesh beneath his shirt. Anger welled inside of him. The Golothic burned in his pocket. His eyes darted to the side, and he could see Kierza standing there alone, bathed in the soft gaslight of the lamppost. At her feet, Rook could see a ring of fire sprouting from the brick road.
Behind him, Rook now felt his hair ruffled by waves of heat, as if he were standing before the furnace of Callad’s smithy. The Golothic in his pocket burned ever more intensely and he could feel it searing his leg. The fires welled inside of him, anger and wrath filled him as the blade sunk deeper into his flesh. And then all at once, he felt his arms ablaze with fire. Ash swirled around him. He looked up at his arms, but they were not his own. They were hulking, monstrous arms, charred to blackened crisp. Veins of fire flowed beneath their cracked surface and he felt himself push Chazod’s arms up until the dagger slid its way out of his shoulder.
From behind him hot, stinking breath burned his cheek. “Do you remember me upon this night, Rook?” the guttural voice of Bulifer was unmistakable. “I was with you then.”
Rook twisted and spun, throwing Chazod against the wall, taking control of the dagger. They struggled with the blade for a moment, Chazod trying to force Rook’s arms up and away from him, but it was useless. The boy screamed as the dagger’s perfect, deadly tip began inching toward him.
“Were you looking for a second chance?” asked Bulifer. “Looking to redeem yourself for your sister?” The demon chuckled cruelly. “You think I betrayed you, but I did not. Your sister lives. But this one, I won’t help you with. Just look at her: So precious; So helpless. And you’re going to drag her into the fire.
”
Rook looked to the side. Kierza was standing within a circle of fire as she watched him. Her eyes flickered, the flames illuminating her ruined face and the slave brand upon her neck.
“Our time nears, Rook.” said the demon from behind him.
Rook snarled and growled as Chazod screamed. He forced the boy’s own hands down, bringing the dagger ever closer to his neck.
“You wanted that knife to taste blood again, didn’t you?” said the demon in his infernal voice. “Your anger and hatred called out to me on this night. I beckoned to call, and you took my hand willingly. Do you not remember?”
Chazod howled in pain as the deadly tip began to draw blood at the base of his shoulder.
Rook’s chest heaved with every fiery breath he engulfed. Spit and blood bubbled upon the edges of his mouth. Blood flowed out from his own wound.
“You can always find me on the other side of the fire.” said the beast, his hot breath searing Rook’s cheek, causing charred flesh to flake off and swirl up into the night sky. “I came to you this night because you are my sacrifice and I will never let you go.”
Rook growled furiously as the knife sank into the base of Chazod’s neck, right between his shoulder. The boy howled and fell to the ground, blood running from the wound, the crimson liquid sprouting into flames. The fiery tongues lapped at Rook, growing into towering pillars that surrounded him. Searing winds blew, sweeping the fires in circles.
The flames spiraled around Rook, his body smoldering to ash and soot that was carried off into the heavens by the swirling vortex. Rook cried out, and through the searing fires Kierza’s arms wrapped around him. She hugged him tightly as flames rose and swirled around them, giving way to a grassy field at night.
Kierza looked up into Rook’s eyes. They were both older now. He was a man, young and slender and muscular. He wore his black outfit, the one he usually wore when working in the smithy. He had his leather apron draped over his body and it was streaked with oil and soot. He smelled of coal and burnt metal, and Kierza hugged him close, taking in his wonderful scent. She looked up to him and saw fire gleaming in his eyes. She turned away, and to her horror, there stood a hulking beast. Its flesh was charred and blackened, and through it fiery veins of heat pulsed. It had large horns upon its head that curled up and over and around the sides of its face. And it stared at her with eyes that were like the smoldering ash of Grandon’s cigars.
Here Shines the Sun Page 2
