Now another mystery had shown up. Who wrote this, and how had they gotten into her room? She didn’t like it one bit and called for more guards to stand watch by her door. She’d ordered Müninn to survey the area as well and keep watch throughout the night. The raven could warn her and show recorded visions from overnight, but there was little it could do if an assassin were actually lurking outside. She needed her guards for that and had a few guards stationed out by the cliffs. Anyone caught trying to get in was to be captured alive and held for questions.
Then, before she went to bed, she went to Trinity sobbing and afraid.
23
Ben
Kokopolis, Ney
A cool breeze swept over Ben’s shivering body. He felt a thick wool sheet by his side and buried himself underneath. His teeth were chattering like cicadas, and his skin was covered with gooseflesh. His head felt light and foggy with a crushing sensation that made his skull feel too small for his brain. His temples pulsated in angry cadence every time he looked near the braziers and windows. Closing his eye only made the pain worse. The fog over his head wasn’t entirely from the hypothermia—at least, so far as he could tell. He had difficulty concentrating for more than a few seconds. He would often attempt to leave his bed only to have a sharp stabbing pain in both of his legs remind him that they were both broken. They were both heavily bandaged and splinted. He couldn’t quite recall what had happened, and by the time he lay back down, he had forgotten why he wanted to get up in the first place.
He didn’t know where he was. The sunlight was simply too painful for him to look outside to orient himself. The last thing he recalled was fighting the swarm of ferals. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d killed many of them. The creatures were beyond reasoning with—not that his Nephilim mode would have allowed it. He’d fortunately regained control soon enough so as to not cause any harm to his friends.
Next, he remembered jumping into the river. His body was shivering, still recuperating from the freezing water. More than the hypothermia, his head was pounding, most likely from the recent overuse of his powers that had brought on his current state of confusion. His human mind was not quite equipped for processing the abilities of an Enochian. The unfortunate result, he’d now discovered, was not only a migraine but a series of seizures following profound overexertion of his powers. Since arriving in this room—wherever that was—he often lost consciousness and eventually woke up in varying states of disorientation. He had no idea how many seizures he had had in this room. He didn’t even know if he had been in the room for a few hours or a few days.
The room was small with smooth mahogany floors and soft beige walls decorated with colorful nature-themed tapestries. An end table on his left was littered with trays and scraps of food. He had a voracious appetite, and someone had been stopping in his room periodically to continue feeding him. For all he knew, there was someone just on the other side of the door who only dared to enter when Ben was unconscious. Maybe they were afraid of him. He had no idea who they were or what they knew about him. A frightening thought crossed his mind that he had been captured by Ænærians again.
By the next day, his fears of capture were extinguished. Ben learned that he had miraculously arrived in Ney. He had arrived at his destination after all. A twenty-something-year-old healer named Gus came to his room in the evening explaining that Ben was being held in an infirmary for the past week.
Gus was unlike the other Orks Ben had encountered. He had a full head of dirty blond hair and a face empty of tattoos. He even spoke in full, clear sentences. The healer was like any other human. Sometimes Ben forgot that the Orks were indeed more human than himself.
Gus offered Ben a wheelchair that was fairly similar to his aunt’s. His legs were still too weak to support his full weight, and the healer explained that even after a week of bed rest, his muscles would begin to atrophy.
“That is, they would in theory,” Gus explained. “You’re quite different from my average patient. You see, you suffered some extensive injuries, not the least of which were in your legs—both of your ankles were shattered, both tibiae crushed from the impact from the fall, and in my original prognosis I predicted that if you were to ever walk again that you would have lost at least three inches to your height. You also have a torn rotational cuff on the right shoulder along with a fractured humerus and clavicle. Then there were the numerous lacerations from your fight with the ferals. I cleaned them all myself and prepared to suture them when I found that the deep layers had already begun healing. That was my first clue into your, shall we say, odd physiology.
“Then, of course, there were your seizures. At first, I thought those were sequelae to some sort of head or neck injury from your fall, but aside from the cuts and bruises from the ferals, your head appeared untouched. Your friend, Mandi, didn’t know if you had a history of epilepsy, but she did say you’d been having migraines lately. I will say that you’re perhaps my most interesting patient yet. And I’ve seen quite a few in my day.”
Ben’s ears perked up at the mention of Mandi. “She’s alive? How is she doing? How about Darius, have you seen him, too?”
Gus continued to push Ben’s chair down the long hallway of the infirmary. Ben worried that his friends may be in one of the rooms that they were passing.
“Your companions are fine. Not nearly as injured as yourself.”
Ben relaxed his posture in relief. “You said I’ve been here for a week. Where have they been all this time? Did they pass the trial?”
“Naturally. Only those who pass the trial or carry a proper offering are permitted entrance into the city. They are in the outer ring, where most guests live.”
“Is that where we’re going?”
Gus remained silent for a few painful seconds. “No,” he finally said. “I’ve been given strict orders to bring you to before the Sachems.”
Outside of the infirmary, there was a bustling city of stone illuminated by starlight. Houses and towers were scattered across the city. None were so tall as those crumbling within the forest. This was a city rebuilt by natives who had laid claim to this land long ago. People roamed the sandy streets laughing and drinking. It was a festive and tribal atmosphere with incense and candles and music. There were dancers and jugglers performing for crowds of varying sizes. They performed to the beats of the brawny drummers who beat on stretched skins over tall wooden barrels.
The locals conversed in the unfamiliar tongue of the Orks. All had facial tattoos of some variety. Many of the women wore long fang-like lip piercings similar to Draka’s. Only Ben and Gus had faces as plain as the days they were born. In fact, the healer’s face was much plainer than Ben’s. He had no scars or distinguishing marks like Ben’s missing eye. It was painfully obvious they were both outsiders.
Gus waved for a carriage driver by the side of the street. They exchanged a few words in the native language, and the healer offered a handful of bronze coins to the driver. The driver’s tattoos were not of a skull, at least not a human one. The features were elongated and some of the shapes were distorted. Ben was hoisted from his wheelchair and into the back of the carriage by Gus and the driver.
They rode in silence while Ben peered out the side panel to observe the locals. He had seen culture and festivity like this before in Parvidom, the crossroads town of southern Ænæria. They were not truly within a single province and therefore had near autonomy. It was a place where people didn’t seem to bother with the matters of the outside world. Where people from all backgrounds joined together and formed their own lifestyle. It was the one place where Ben had thought Julius’s reign had worked. Even in the Penteric Alliance people lived nearly day by day. There were culture and religion in many of the settlements, but they typically involved laws and ceremonies of transition after death. People rarely had fun for the sheer pleasure of it. And now Ben had seen the bliss of life in a new land. But he was hesitant. What were these people doing to afford such happiness? What was the cost of p
eace?
They arrived outside a long mansion ornamented with skulls of various animals and scrap metal that had survived from the Old Days. A garden of white and purple flowers and small fruit-bearing bushes decorated the pathway leading to the mansion. The doorway’s tympanum was decorated with carvings of large horned beasts, a man radiating like the sun, and a group of skinny people on all fours. Ferals, probably, Ben thought.
Gus made a hard and single knock that was drowned out by the distant merrymaking. The doors immediately opened inward, and a flood of light poured outside. A man inside with a short, pointed beard and simple red and blue tattoos beneath his eyelids and lips bowed before Ben and the healer. He was dressed a long purple-wine colored robe made of a material that looked as soft as clouds.
“Fiq’yupa!” the man said. He bowed again.
Gus bowed in response. He elbowed Ben on his way down. “Just do as I do, and keep quiet until I say so.”
Ben bowed as best he could from his chair.
The robed man rattled off something else in his language. The healer gave a short response and gestured toward Ben’s splinted legs. The man frowned and made a tsk-ing sound. He said something else to the healer and then waved for them to follow him.
“You’ll have to wheel yourself,” Gus said. “In the house of the Sachems, it is not proper to show weakness. Just follow by my side for now.”
They continued down the hallway over a long and thick green rug that made it rather difficult for Ben to roll his chair. It had a mind of its own, wanting to steer itself into a wall, and he had to continue to make slight adjustments to keep it straight. I have the power to lift something quadruple my weight, and yet I’m being bested by a chair.
At the end of the hall was a wide chamber with rows of black pillars with elaborate gold bases and a floor covered in shining black tiles. At the end of the room was a stage lined with an array of blue and green flames that provided all the light in the room, giving everything a distinct cool glow. Atop the stage were three tall glimmering thrones occupied by three imposing figures. Their faces were almost completed covered in ink. The base of each tattoo seemed to resemble a skull like many of the other Orks. It appeared that these tattoos were later edited to display layers of muscle with detail so fine that Ben could see the lines of single strands making up the tissue. Their eyelids were decorated with tattoos as well. When the woman on the left closed her eyes, it gave off the illusion that her eyes had transformed into the slit eyes of a viper. The top of her head was bare, as with many other Orks, save for a long braid that hung from the base of her head. The man on the right wore a headdress fitted with antlers of a great stag. When his eyes closed there were dark and horizontal pupils similar to that of such an animal. Then there was the man in the middle. His head was decorated the horns of a mighty beast, and his eyelids were bright yellow like those of a lion.
The robed Ork knelt before the three rulers. Gus followed suit. Ben couldn’t kneel so he hoped that bowing his head would suffice.
Gus spoke in the language of the Orks—the only words of which Ben recognized were ‘Freztad’ and his own name.
“My Sachems,” Gus continued, his head still lowered to the floor in a bow as he spoke. “Benedict does not speak the local language. Would you grant us the honor of speaking our common tongue?”
Our, Ben thought. So Gus is actually a foreigner of Ney. Is he from Ænæria or the Penteric Alliance?
There was muttering in the Orkish tongue behind the glimmering flames. Ben pondered the nature of the colored flames and compared them to the green aura of the Voidsweeper. The green ‘fire’ of his sword acted more like a liquid that ebbed and flowed with battle. These looked like typical fires that roared and breathed. He assumed the green and blue flames were meant to impress and intimate anyone in the presence of the already daunting Orkish leaders. If that were the case, then Ben was afraid that the effect was lost on him. After dealing with so many important figures, he’d nearly become numb to the novelty of being in their presence. And after learning of the existence of angelic beings from another world, he had come to the conclusion that regardless of status or power, humans were simply that: human. Their power lay only where people thought it resided.
The low voice of the woman spoke. “This is acceptable.”
“Thank you, Sachem,” Gus replied.
“You may approach,” the female Sachem said.
The antlered Sachem rumbled something in Orkish to the robed man who’d escorted Ben and Gus and gestured for him to leave. The man bowed and exited the chamber with his hands hanging below the waist, buried in opposite sleeves.
“Follow me,” Gus told Ben. They moved closer to the Sachems at the base of the platform. Ben had to arch his neck up to see them from his seated position.
“Benedict Limmetrad,” the snake woman said. “You are from the west?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Is this how you know Augustus?”
Ben resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure who that is.”
The stag Sachem laughed. “You do not know the man who nursed you to health?”
Oh, Ben realized. He turned to the healer. “Your name is Augustus?”
The healer shrugged his shoulders. “You can call me that if you’d like.”
“But is that your name?”
“I see you have not before met,” the snake Sachem said. “Fate is funny that way, to separate souls when neighbors only to unite them when afar.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Ben said to both the Sachem and the healer. “Are you from Freztad, too? Did you leave during the exodus with Julius?”
The man sighed. “No, to tell you the truth I’d never heard of Freztad before meeting you and your friends. I’m from one of the Northern Kingdoms. I was forced into exile when Xander conquered my land and formed Ænæria.”
“He is modest,” the snake Sachem said. “Augustus is not from just any of the Northern Kingdoms. He hails from the great land of Marzora!”
The humble healer had become more interesting than the three great Orks sitting their colorful, fiery thrones. Marzora was the capital province of Ænæria, the greatest of the kingdoms before Julius took over. “You’re a long way from home,” Ben said to Gus, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Indeed,” the Sachem replied. “He has been our ward since Marzora’s fall into the hands of its usurper.”
“Sachem, I would prefer if we did not go into this right now. We are here to speak about Benedict Limmetrad.”
“Perhaps.” This came in a low and deep voice that sent a shiver across Ben’s skin. It was the middle Sachem. The one who wore the skull of the horned beast and mane of a lion. “The boy may be the concern of this night. It will not change your destiny. Sooner or later you must face it.”
Gus bowed his head. He remained silent.
“Do not continue making me wait,” the middle Sachem ordered. His eyes stared intently into Ben’s own. “Why have you come to Ney?”
Ben swallowed and took a deep breath. “It’s a long story.”
“Then you had better get started.”
He started from the beginning, with the capture of Rose. He described the events in the order in which they had unfolded, paying particular attention to his interaction with Skalle and Gal. The Sachems showed no hint of recognition to their names or descriptions, though they hardly displayed any expression throughout his story. By the end, Ben had told them everything he knew about the Vaults, Enochians, and the current struggle with Ænæria. Still, they appeared unmoved.
Ben then finally explained the reasoning for his journey. “I understand that the war with Ænæria isn’t your fight, but the fight against the Enochians is; it is all of humanity’s fight. I know there is a Vault somewhere near Ney, and it gravely concerns me to know that it has been opened recently. Finding out who opened it, and how, could save our planet from total annihilation.”
Quiet. The only sounds were the
crackling flames across the platform. Ben stared at the Sachems intently. They exchanged glances among one another. They did not speak. They did not even grunt. Ben looked up to Gus for reassurance. He opened his mouth to ask what was happening. Gus put a finger to his lips and shook his head as if to say now’s not the time. Ben sat patiently. There was nothing else to do but stare at the dancing flames.
He was worried. He knew nothing of the Sachems or of Orkish culture. His story could have offended them beyond forgiveness, his words sheer blasphemy. They had no reason to believe or trust him. He was just an outsider who arrived in their land uninvited and fed them a story that he himself would have considered mad just six moons ago.
Except he had been invited. He’d been given the fang of an Ork and assured that it was a token of entry into Ney. He had even passed their stupid test. Ben deserved more than an audience and their attention. They should show him respect, and the Sachems were treating him like a child while they stared at each other wordlessly.
“I know it’s a lot to chew on,” Ben said. “But at some point, you’re going to have to swallow and say something.”
“Oh boy, here we go,” Gus said.
“Look,” Ben said to the Sachems, ignoring the glib remark, “I’m here with a purpose. I went through all the obstacles it took me to get here. You must’ve wanted to meet with me or else I wouldn’t be here right now. If I’m not going to be taken seriously then I would like to be on my way. I’ve already wasted far too much time in recovery. Tell me where my friends are, and we’ll be happy to leave!” He didn’t notice until he stopped that he had been yelling.
The Sachems looked at Ben coldly. They did not blink, and he could see the reflections of the colored fire flickering in their black eyes. The Sachem in the middle stood from his throne and lifted his arms above his head. The flames erupted into blazing towers and billowed against the ceiling. Smoke filled the room. Ben’s lungs could handle the smoke, but Gus coughed and waved it from his face. It only lasted an instant. The fire shrank back to its foot-high reach and was now a sunset red.
The Heir of Ænæria Page 29
