Blood Requiem

by Christopher Husberg

  Still time. Why did Alain feel like he had already run out of it?

  “I want to share something with you,” Brother Maddagon said. “It may help with this. May not, I don’t know. It’s something I wish I could have told you at the community, but… well, the reason I’ve come here is to tell you in person, where the rules of the community don’t apply.”

  Alain cocked his head. What could Maddagon possibly want to say to him that would have necessitated a journey to Mavenil itself?

  They sat down across from one another at the table in Alain’s chambers.

  Maddagon scoffed. “I’m not even sure why I’ve come, to be honest. You’ve always been impervious to my lessons.”

  Alain laughed, the sound a welcome ease from the tension in his gut. “But you insist on giving them, anyway.”

  Maddagon sighed. “That I do.”

  “You were always different than the other monks,” Alain said. “That’s why I liked you so much.”

  “That’s part of why I’ve come to speak with you. You did not trust anyone at the community, especially the monks. Why was that?”

  Because they were idiots, Alain thought to himself. Not the truest reason, but a reason nonetheless. “Because they didn’t know anything about what it was like to suffer the way I did. The way all of the convalescents did at the community. They did not understand the first thing about the Madness.”

  Brother Maddagon nodded. “Indeed. Why, then, did you trust me?”

  Alain thought about the question for a moment, but eventually shrugged. “I suppose you… you always seemed to understand, even if you weren’t mad along with us. You listened instead of taught, maybe.”

  “I have something to tell you, Alain, and it concerns the Madness.”

  Alain could not stop his eyes from widening, but Brother Maddagon shook his head.

  “Before you start comparing us, I want to be clear that I don’t suffer from the Madness, not in the way you do. I know how incredible it is to find someone who understands you in a very specific way, and I’m afraid I cannot offer that to you in the way you expect. But I can give you some measure of it. I used to drink, you see. A great deal. More than any man should.”

  Alain’s eyebrows knitted together. “Drink? You mean you used to drink spirits? Alcohol? I thought that was forbidden by the Order.”

  “It is, but I was not always a monk, if you can believe that. I once had a very different life. A family. A different occupation. I was a different man.

  “The details do not matter. What does matter is this: I drank a lot, and then I drank too much, and then drinking was all I did. It became the most important thing to me, and that is a form of madness, son. I drank when I should have worked, I drank when I should have loved my wife and children, and I drank when I should have done anything else on this Sfaera.”

  Maddagon paused, clearing his throat. “I lost my family. It was my fault. I suffered for many years because of that loss, but eventually—I know you don’t like to talk about the Goddess, but it was only by a series of miracles—I found the Order. Their teachings do not help everyone, I’d be the first to admit it—for Canta’s sake, their teachings hardly help their own Order most of the time—but they helped me.”

  Alain sat there, blinking. “Why didn’t you share this, at the community?”

  “The community does not encourage monks to share personal details about themselves,” Maddagon said. “That is a serious error in judgment, in my opinion, one that obfuscates and damages progress in many cases, but a rule nonetheless. Here, outside of the community, I feel confident enough to forget the rules and say what I need to say to you.”

  Alain processed what Brother Maddagon had said. “You… you think your obsession, your addiction to drink, is like my Madness?”

  “I think there are similarities. I understand what it’s like to feel helpless, to feel completely out of control.”

  “But you don’t drink anymore?” Alain asked.

  “No,” Brother Maddagon said. “Not anymore.”

  “How did you do it?” Alain asked, eager. “How did you regain control?”

  Brother Maddagon laughed. “You really are impervious to my lessons, aren’t you? I’ve told you time and time again, son, this is not about regaining control. It’s about giving it up.”

  Alain frowned. “I know. And I’ve told you time and time again, I don’t care about this Goddess of yours.” Maddagon had spoken of “giving up” before, always in the context of giving up one’s life and will to Canta. It sounded too much like becoming a monk to Alain, and while he respected Maddagon for that choice, it was not one he would ever make.

  Maddagon shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. Who we give control up to does not matter. It only matters that we give it up. The more I tried to control my life when I drank, the more out of control it became. These things aren’t intuitive. In the physical world, if something is about to slip out of my grasp, I tighten my hold on it. That doesn’t work with things of the soul. The way up is down, son. I needed to let go, to admit I had no power, no chance whatsoever at control. Only then was I able to bring order to my life.” While Alain’s emotions had calmed since first seeing Brother Maddagon, the familiar, ever-present panic still simmered. He could never escape his own fear. “How can you do such a thing?” he asked. “How can you give up control entirely, to a being”—he refused to refer to the Goddess-damned Goddess—“that you don’t even know exists?”

  “It is a terrifying thing,” Maddagon admitted. “And excruciating, especially at first. But it became easier for me the more I practiced it. And it didn’t matter to whom or what I gave control—I just had to give it away to someone, something more powerful than myself. That is the first thing I’ve learned in my life, son. Trust in a higher power, trust enough to give up your own right to control.”

  “The first?”

  “Yes, the first.” Maddagon smiled, and reached across the table to grip Alain’s arm. “The second is to share my experience with others.”

  “Like you’re doing right now with me?”

  “Like I’m doing right now with you, yes, but also as I’ve done the entire time I’ve known you. The Order does not allow me to refer to my past, but I can still share my experience through anecdote and principle. You remember about making amends?”

  Of course he remembered. It was what had gotten him into this bloody mess in the first place. “Living a decent life, and helping other people.”

  “Helping other people,” Maddagon said. “Between that, and trust, there is nothing more I need from life.”

  Alain could not imagine himself ever saying that. If he could live without fear for just a moment, that would be a miracle. He certainly wanted that. For the first time, Alain realized, what Brother Maddagon said sounded appealing.

  “Can you teach me how to do this?” Alain asked.

  Maddagon smiled. “Of course I can.”

  A rapid knock sounded on Alain’s chamber door.

  It was Fedrick.

  “Your Highness, His Majesty the king demands your presence. Immediately.”

  “Very well,” Alain said. “Tell my father I am on my way.”

  “I’ve been ordered to escort you, Your Highness.”

  Flames scoured Alain’s mind, both of fear and anger. Was he a prisoner, now?

  “You cannot control your father,” Brother Maddagon said quietly across the table, “only whether you trust in something greater than yourself, or not.”

  Alain took a deep breath. Bloody bones, this was going to be painful.

  He stood. “I’ll accompany you,” he told Fedrick, “but only if Brother Maddagon comes along.”

  Fedrick shrugged. “His Majesty requires Brother Maddagon’s presence as well.”

  Alain narrowed his eyes, and began to walk. Time to see what this was all about.

  * * *

  The king and his wife waited at the head of the map table in the Decision Room. Code was there too, le
aning against a wall.

  “Alain,” Gainil said. “It is about time.”

  Alain popped his knuckles as he walked in. The emptiness he’d felt earlier was gone, as was the peace of speaking with Brother Maddagon. Now, the familiar beginnings of panic burned inside him, flames rising high, intense pressure building up with every heartbeat.

  Code had told him Nadir’s avatar was in the palace. Looking from Fedrick to Lailana to Gainil, Alain realized it could be any one of them—and he would have no idea.

  It could even be Taira. Taira, who was not here.

  “What have you done with her, Father?”

  Gainil grunted. “Don’t worry, son. Taira is safe. She’ll remain safe, as long as you cooperate.”

  Safe. He could not trust anything his father said.

  “You did well last night, boy.”

  “What I did was wrong.”

  Gainil shrugged. “So what if it was? You burned a building to the ground, murdered a dozen people with it. You’re the prince. Such is your right.”

  “No,” Alain said. “If that’s what you think, Father, you’re less fit to be king than I thought.”

  Gainil’s face darkened. “Easy to say when you’ve never ruled. Keep that attitude up, boy, and you might not see your chance.”

  Silence reigned in the Decision Room for a few moments. All eyes remained fixed on Gainil and Alain. Then, Lailana leaned over and whispered something in the king’s ear.

  Gainil smiled. “Fear not, son. You have much to do for me, yet. Your usefulness will not expire for some time.”

  Alain began to count. A part of him wanted to let go, here, in this room. Only Brother Maddagon’s presence stopped him.

  No further harm.

  “I won’t kill anyone else for you,” Alain said, between counts.

  Gainil laughed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to, son. You don’t have any other choice.”

  Then, Alain exploded. Just briefly, just for a moment, but enough to project a column of flame toward his father. The king dodged behind the table, narrowly escaping. Alain sensed movement behind him, and turned to see Fedrick reaching into his tunic, surely for his blowpipe. Alain reached out a hand to the Scarab captain.

  “Don’t do it, Fedrick. I could do a lot worse to you.” Probably. Alain had rarely attempted to direct his power; it was too easy to lose control completely. But the emptiness called to him. He was beginning to not care whether he had control or not.

  Slowly, Fedrick took his hands out of his tunic, raising them both in the air.

  Beneath them all, the ground began to shake.

  “What in Oblivion is that?” Code asked, steadying himself against the wall.

  Alain tried to control his breathing. Earthquakes never happened in Mavenil. Never had before, anyway. Not until the Madness.

  Not until people like Morayne.

  “That’s someone getting revenge,” Alain said. The Denizens were retaliating. He didn’t dare hope that it was Morayne among them, but he could not help the blossom of anticipation in his chest.

  The tremors got worse, and for a moment Alain wondered whether the Decision Room might collapse on them all. A loud crack echoed in the distance, as if a mountain had just broken in two.

  Goddess, I hope Taira is safe, wherever she is.

  The tremors ceased.

  Code reached into a pouch at his belt, and took out a small crystal. He placed it in his mouth.

  Alain looked at him. “What was that?”

  “A bit of courage. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, we need to find whoever is doing this.”

  Alain’s father stood, leading the way out of the Decision Room. “Finally, someone talking sense. We’re under attack, and we’re bloody going to crush whoever it is.”

  Alain hesitated before he followed. He wasn’t sure he’d be obeying anything his father said, ever again.

  * * *

  A complement of Scarabs awaited them in the courtyard, but the other figure with them surprised Alain. Relief rushed through him.

  “Taira,” he said.

  “Hello, Alain.” She kept her distance. He could not blame her.

  “Are you all right? I heard they—”

  “They held me hostage, for a time. But I’m all right.” She glanced at his father. “We need to find out what is going on.”

  “Of course,” Alain said. “Stay with me. We’ll be all right.” He held out his hand to her, surprised at his own boldness. She would be safest with him; he didn’t trust anyone else in their group, with the exception of Brother Maddagon. And the monk wouldn’t be much use in a fight.

  Instead of taking his hand, Taira walked right past him to stand beside Gainil and Lailana.

  Alain lowered his arm slowly, staring after Taira in shock. How could she trust his father over him? The man who had taken her captive?

  There was no time to think. A new party entered the courtyard. A group of armed men and women, among them two people he recognized: Sev and Morayne.

  “That one’s the Denizen we followed to find the Chain,” Fedrick said, nodding at Sev. He turned to bellow at the newcomers. “Stop in the name of the king! You’ve attacked the Crown, and are subject to His Majesty’s judgment.”

  “We will not let attacks like the one last night go unpunished,” Sev said, ignoring Fedrick and looking directly at Gainil. “The king broke the treaty. He started all of this, but we will end it.”

  The king? Gainil had told Alain that the Denizens had broken the treaty.

  “I do not need to defend myself to you,” Gainil spat, glaring at Sev. “You’ve attacked the royal palace, and you’re subject to my judgment.”

  Sev raised his sword. “We won’t accept your judgment any longer. You orchestrated the attack on your own carriage, risking the lives of innocent civilians, just to prove a point. You then ordered the destruction of an entire building last night, once again without regard for innocent life. You must be stopped.”

  Alain turned to face his father.

  “That was you?” he demanded. “You arranged the attack on the carriage? You’ve been behind everything?”

  Gainil looked right at Alain. “What they say doesn’t matter,” he growled. “They’ve been foolish enough to deliver themselves into my hands. Do your job, Alain. Kill them all.”

  Alain looked from his father to Morayne, who glared in return, eyes hooded. He’d led the Scarabs to Sev, who in turn led them to the Denizen Chain. And then Alain had massacred them. He’d destroyed everything she stood for.

  No longer. He was through being his father’s puppet.

  Despite the crushing anxiety in his chest and the flames rising in his mind, Alain met Gainil’s eyes. “I won’t do it. Find someone else to be your weapon.”

  The king’s eyes bulged, and then he grabbed Taira, drawing a dagger and holding it to her neck.

  “If you don’t do it,” the king said, “I’ll kill your betrothed.”

  Alain was about to protest, when something made him hesitate. He looked at Taira, held captive by his father, but there was no fear in her face. Instead, she returned Alain’s gaze. She glared at him.

  “He won’t buy this,” Taira said, tearing free from the king’s grasp. “He isn’t that stupid.”

  Alain looked from Taira to his father, everything coming together in his mind. Taira had never been in danger, she was here to make Alain do what the king wanted him to do.

  Sparks burst in the air around him. He’d gotten it wrong. He hadn’t been his father’s puppet—he’d been hers. Hot shame burned his face, and the dark fear tightened further around his chest. He wanted to begin counting, knew he needed to begin to count, but he did not have it in him. Fear battled anger inside of him, and he did not know which he wanted to win.

  Alain took a step towards Taira. “How could you?” he asked. “We’re betrothed.”

  “I’m not betrothed to you any longer, Alain. I haven’t been since you killed my parents. Don’t act surpr
ised; you should have known.”

  “Taira… I’m sorry.”

  Taira laughed mirthlessly. “Your apology means nothing to me unless you do as your father says.”

  Alain met Taira’s eyes, then looked to Brother Maddagon. The man didn’t say anything, but Alain remembered what he had said only a short while ago.

  Amends should never cause further harm.

  He would spend the rest of his life paying for what he had done to Taira’s parents, but that did not mean he had to submit to his father, to real evil, to make up for it. Taira could not use him like this.

  “I won’t, Taira,” Alain said. “I’m sorry.” This time, he would do what he thought was right.

  Gainil growled in rage. In one smooth motion, he sheathed his dagger, drew his sword with the other hand, and stepped toward Brother Maddagon. Before Alain could react, he shoved the sword into Maddagon’s chest.

  “No!” Alain shouted. He rushed to Brother Maddagon as he fell to the ground. Gently, Alain cradled Maddagon’s head in his arms.

  “You’ll be all right,” Alain said quietly, knowing the moment he said it how untrue it was. “You’ll be all right,” he said again, with a sob that racked him, that moved in time with the flames and the fear writhing together inside him.

  “They cannot hurt me,” Maddagon whispered. “You were my life’s work, son.” Then, his gaze shifted, and Alain followed it to Morayne. “You both are. You can do so much together…”

  Maddagon gasped, and Alain felt blood leaking onto his fingers, arms, soaking through the knees of his trousers.

  “Two things,” Maddagon said. “Share what you learn with others. And… remember… to trust…”

  Maddagon stopped. Alain held an empty shell.

  With the inevitability of a sunset, Alain’s sanity drowned in the boiling panic, and an inferno raged within him. The fear, the anger, the powerlessness he’d buried for months erupted to the surface. His breaths came so quickly he hardly had time to notice them, and hot talons of dread gripped his chest.

  A ring of fire flashed outward. Everyone in the courtyard was knocked to the ground by the force of it.