by Casey Eanes
The monk broke off his prayer for a quick pause. “Rot,” the monk said.
The hound whined and ceased his grumbling, but continued to monitor Kull and Ewing with suspicion.
Silence followed the man’s prayers, and the lull lingered and built until Kull felt like he could stand it no longer. He was about to step toward the bowed, silent stranger when Ewing swung his hand around and grabbed Kull by the arm.
“Selah.” The stranger’s whisper was barely audible.
Without any warning the monk stood to a great height and opened up his eyes, looking down at the two who were trying their best not to interrupt his meditations.
He smiled, showing his crisp, white teeth, as a deep, earthy voice rolled out in greeting. “Arthur Ewing, my friend. I am glad that you are here.”
The voice. It boomed with a depth and tenor that was sweet and serious, fluid and solid, as if everything in the world was boiled down into its essence and then wrapped up into a sound. As if this were not enough, Kull was taken aback by how tall the man actually stood. Bowing, his figure was imposing, but standing, his presence was unmistakable. He was easily a foot taller than Kull, if not more. His taut arms, muscled frame, and stature radiated with a strength that could not be hidden under his simple gray robes.
“My dear, Wael. So pleasant to see you again. May Aleph’s blessing be upon you.”
Kull’s eyebrows rose to the sound of Ewing’s strange talk. Ewing was actually showcasing piety and reverence, and it was, to boot, believable. What is going on? Kull was dumbfounded. Gone was the sly cunning and sharp tongue that marked his friend so well. He glanced over at the man who had been his father’s companion for what seemed like ages, confused by this sudden shift in his demeanor.
Wael’s face frowned as he glanced at Ewing’s leg. “My friend, it is you who looks to be in need of a blessing. Is this the work of Grogan hands?”
Ewing coughed, embarrassed. “Unfortunately so, my friend. Cotswold will never be the same. The Grogans all but burnt it to the ground, but our town fought the best they could.”
Wael winced at the news. The large hound by his side stood up and sat by his master, continuing to stare at them with his good eye full of distrust. Kull could clearly see now that what the dog lacked in looks, it made up in strength. Sitting down the muscular hound’s head came above Wael’s hip, taller than any dog Kull had ever seen. The beast made Kull’s mouth dry out with fear. What kind of man keeps an animal like this?
Wael spoke, “It is terrible to have them on the warpath again. They are a hard people whose lust for power rivals any I’ve met as a member of my Order. The Realms cannot continue to handle all of this upheaval and bloodshed.”
“Have you gotten word, Wael? Have the other Brothers sent you to bargain?” Ewing’s question made no sense to Kull.
What are they talking about?
Wael replied, “Yes. I am going directly into the Groganlands to seek and broker a truce. I am to meet with Sar Hagan himself, if he will have me. This war must end. I am shocked to think Hagan would even allow such brutality. The Alephian monks have...” Wael trailed off, his eyes for the first time focusing on Kull.
Kull swallowed hard.
“Who is this you have brought to me, Ewing?” The monk’s voice seemed to flow into Kull, causing his heart to explode with a quickening.
“Oh, yes...my apologies, Wael. Let me introduce to you someone you know quite well.”
“What?” Kull blurted out.
Ewing shook his head, “Yes, Kull. This is Wael, the Mastermonk of the Alephian order. He comes from the Sanctuary of Preost. Rose and Grift had him bless you when you were born, though I’m sure you were too young to remember that.”
Memory washed over Kull’s mind like a wave.
Cotswold fields.
A family gathering.
Laughing.
A celebration.
His mother was there, smiling with pure, unmarred vitality, her long auburn hair flowing. Whatever disease she bore could not be seen now. Grift was there too, and he was smiling. It was an odd collage of youth and happiness that seemed foreign to Kull. It was something he had not seen much of growing up. They had been together as a family, and the sun warmed them as the dark man, this man, poured oil over the baby’s head. The baby. That was him.
Kull looked away, the memory receding from his mind as he fought the tears welling up in his eyes. It was as if he had been transported to another time, as if a dream had become reality. Wael kindly glanced at Kull with a knowing look and smiled quietly.
“I believe Kull does remember me, Ewing, but I was only a footnote on that day. Young man, you have grown, and I can see much of your father in you...as well as your mother.” The pause lingered as Wael weighed his words. “And now you are both here. I take it, Kull, that you wish to join me in searching for your father in the Groganlands?”
“How did you know that?” Kull was shocked to know this monk knew of everything already. Ewing had not communicated his plan to anyone on the journey to Vale. The thought that he may have some inside information on his father’s disappearance caused a great uneasiness to rise in Kull’s chest. Was it possible for this monk to have helped lead to his father’s capture?
Wael cleared his throat and glanced at Ewing with a smile. “It seems since your mother’s sickness, your father has done you a disservice in not getting you involved within the fold.”
Ewing coughed nervously and smiled, trying to avoid Wael’s keen gaze.
Wael continued, “Kull, maybe you haven’t been taught about my kind. In my Order we have certain...certain gifts that have been passed down for generations. These gifts are given from Aleph, and we use them to conduct the work of Aleph on this plane. The memory that fell into your mind was one that I projected onto you. It is my memory and mine alone...I just wanted to share it with you.”
Kull did his best to comprehend the vision of seeing both his mother and his father together, young, full of life, and carefree. The thought roared in his heart and choked him up with another swell of rampant emotion. How could such a reality exist? All his life, Kull had known two absolute facts; his mother was sick and his father was a Guardsman. Those two facts meant that he would have to bear his family’s burdens alone. Turning back to the monk, Kull muttered out a single question: “Why?” The emotional turbulence of this encounter was something he had not prepared for, and he did not understand how any of it related to rescuing his dad.
Wael leaned down and put his hand on Kull’s shoulder. “I need you to trust me. If you are to come with me to the Groganlands, as I believe you wish to do, then I hope that by sharing that memory I can earn your trust. I know both your father and your mother very well, and they share a special bond with me. It is for this reason I am going to help you find your father.”
Wael glanced down at Kull, his eyes widening. “What do you have?”
“What?” Kull didn’t understand.
“Did your mother give you something?” Wael’s eyes stared at Kull’s chest, directly at the charm his mother gave him, hidden underneath his shirt.
Kull reached for it and pulled it out. The rune for Aleph bounced in the candlelight. “This?”
Wael stared at the pendant, his lips pursed. “Yes. It was good for your mother to give you the emblem. She understood that you needed it now.”
“It was you?” Kull asked, stammering. Ewing shuffled nervously behind them as Kull lost himself deep within the monk’s wide eyes. “You were the monk that gave her the necklace. I do remember you.”
Wael smiled and spoke, “Your memory serves you well. I gave that emblem of Aleph long ago to your mother, and now she has given it to you.” The monk leaned in closer as a serious whisper crept from his lips, “She asked you to find your father, didn’t she?”
Kull was floored, but he spoke boldly. “She did. She told me to go after dad. To bring him back. She said it was more important than staying with her. She gave me this pendant, and t
hat is why I am here.”
Wael nodded, allowing silence to fill the room. “She gave you much more than a pendant, Kull, but that is a tale for another time. That gift will help you greatly to find your father.”
Kull stared at Wael. “Can’t you just use your...gifts and find him?”
Wael picked up his ironwood staff and shifted his weight onto the massive weapon. The hound stood up with him.
“Kull, I wish it were that easy. Unfortunately, Aleph’s gifts do not grant the bearer with unlimited scope or insight. I do not know if your father is still alive. So we must hurry. If Grift still lives, then I fear for his safety. If he spends too much time in the hands of the Grogan interrogators his mind may never return. The Grogans,” Wael paused, “know not only how to kill the body, but are also skilled in flaying one’s spirit and mind. We need to get to Grift quickly.”
Kull’s head began to spin as his heart throbbed inside his chest. Each breath became heavy and labored. The thought of losing his father was unbearable. Kull straightened himself up, shaking off the fear and doubt that had begun to weigh on him.
“So you don’t know if he is alive?”
“Kull, I cannot promise you the outcome you desire.” Wael closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “There will be much to do and much for you to learn along the way.” The monk held out his powerful right hand. “You must make an oath to me, Kull Shepherd, to follow my instructions once we leave Lotte. The way to the Groganlands is fraught with many dangers, and I must have your absolute cooperation if you and your father have any hope of surviving."
Kull’s hand folded over Wael’s. “I promise.”
“Very well then. We will leave tonight.”
Ewing piped in. “Wael, what can I do for you and the boy?” Kull had nearly forgotten about Ewing during the exchange.
The dog by Wael’s side suddenly began to growl, its bristled hair springing up from its back in alarm. An eruption of noise sounded from all sides of the chapel, a huge rolling roar of people screaming. It was unlike anything Kull had ever heard and instinctively the thought of Grogan rooks ascending from the horizon filled him with a rush of panic. The dog was barking madly as long ribbons of drool fell from its maw onto the chapel floor. Wael placed his hand on the beast and it instantly became calm. The monk closed his eyes as the rumbling din receded.
“What was that?” Kull shouted.
“Lotte has just crowned their new king. That was the sound of Seam Panderean ascending to the high throne. The people are now rejoicing.”
Wael showed no sign of joy or appreciation as he mentioned the new king’s ascension.
Returning to Ewing, Wael continued, “We are going to need you to stay here, Ewing. We will need a reliable contact within Vale. Those who we could trust are becoming...unreliable. I’ll send word to you once we learn Grift’s fate. Are you able to stay in Vale?”
“Aye,” Ewing said nodding his head. “I’ve got an appointment here anyway,” He winced as he glanced down at his gnarled stump of a leg. “How do you plan to make the trip into the Groganlands? In a time of war there is no way you can ride the line cars.”
Wael smiled with a knowing look. “That’s where you come in, my friend. Do you still have any of your old logging trucks in the city?”
Ewing nodded. “I believe I can pull some strings for you, Wael. My logging business in Vale all but folded years ago when I settled in Cotswold. I still have some friends here, though. I’ll see if I can’t pull a few favors.”
“Pull all the strings you can, Ewing,” said Wael. “Kull and I are going to need all the help we can get.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Deep pain rolled through Seam with each shallow breath. As hard as it was to focus on his new duties as king, his wounds reminded him of one thing: he was alive. His first experience of having to kill another man had not gone at all as he expected. He had trained, of course, in the Academy for combat, but the thrill that came with defeating a true attacker was so…intoxicating.
The new king continued to shower himself with inner accolades over his first victory. He was the first, but he won’t be the last. Others will come. They will come to take me away from the Path, but I’ll kill them before they stop me. Seam shuddered as he reveled in the dark thought of having to take another life. He did not tremble from fear or disgust, but out of a strange sensation of fulfillment as he imagined himself conquering his foes. He found himself running his long fingers across the dusty old bookshelf hiding his most prized possession. Day after day, he would orbit his private sitting chamber, just to be near it. Behind his bolted chamber door he was free, finally free to delve deep into the lore of the forsaken tome that revealed his path to him and to hold the key that had been unhinged from his late father’s broach.
As Seam turned the key over in his hands he noticed its intricate design. Two beasts, serpent-like in their design, were locked in conflict, their mouths touching, forming the key’s bow. Upon further inspection, small markings of an ancient script flowed from the sides of it, markings identical to those on the spine of the ancient relic he recovered from the library.
This Key will unlock my path, my purpose, he thought to himself.
Soon all of Candor will be swept up in this one bold act. They will be free once more. Free at last to bring order to this cursed continent. Free to establish and usher in my new reign.
The king has requested you to transport him to an undisclosed location. Report to him immediately.
Bronson stared at the message blinking on his datalink. It had only been three hours since the coronation ceremony, and it seemed that the king was disregarding all of the galas and parties that had been meticulously choreographed in his honor. He could already see that his work was cut out for him as the new head guardsman. This most recent request confirmed his fears about his new sovereign. How am I to advise a king who wants no advice? Not only did the request burning on his screen throw out all sense of protocol and security, it seemed especially risky considering the recent assassination attempt. It left a bad taste in Bronson’s mouth and made him nervous. He punched a quick response into the datalink on his wrist, the blue letters ticking off in a rush: I’m on my way.
Bronson knocked at the king’s chamber door and waited. He could hear Seam’s voice, muffled by the thick oak frame.
“Come in.”
Bronson entered and bowed. He rattled off the excuse he had been reciting before answering the king’s call, “My king, I came as quickly as I could. Gathering a convoy together in the midst of the coronation celebration was no easy task on such short notice.”
Seam’s reply was short as he snatched up a book from the bookcase, “I don’t need a convoy, Bronson. If I needed one, I would have asked for it.”
“But, but sir, the king’s detail always travels by...”
“Not this time, Bronson!” Seam’s fist fell down on the desk with a resounding thud. “Now let the security detail go celebrate or do whatever else they wish tonight. I simply need you, and that will be all.”
“But...”
“Do not question me again, Bronson. Is it the captain of the guard’s job to question his sovereign’s requests?”
Bronson’s eyes lowered, “No, my lord.”
“Then listen to what I have to say.” Seam’s eyes tore through him as he sneered.
Bronson was both appalled and shocked at the verbal lashing. For decades he served the Pandereans faithfully. Camden had only been supportive of his painstaking efforts and focus for detail. He assumed it was his thoroughness in all situations that propelled him to this new post.
Bronson stammered a weak reply as he backed from the room, “Yes, sir. I understand. You can meet me at the rear concourse, and I will have a vehicle ready. We will be sure to slip away quietly.”
As Bronson hustled away from his quarters toward the transport hangar, Seam glanced into the satchel he had collected containing his treasured book of writings and the key he received from h
is father’s cold corpse.
Tonight will be special. Everything is coming together. Soon this will all be worth the struggle.
Bronson left the royal chamber as hot anger washed over him. He had not had much interaction with Seam during the later part of his father’s rule, but he always assisted with the security of the royal family, and never had he been so insulted. Aleph, what an idiot. He’ll get himself killed, and then I’ll be next if I’m not careful. To Bronson, Seam was still a child, and an insolent one at that.
Mischief and rumors had never been too far from Seam when he was growing up in the palace. The Realm had long been filled with sordid stories of the young prince’s late night soirees and antics. But this behavior, this is something different, Bronson thought to himself. In public, Seam appeared to be the future king that all of Lotte expected him to be; brave, strong, and resolute. Yet amid the private staff who served him personally, stories were being traded about the royal’s erratic nature. Stories that painted him as increasingly unstable. As if some form of mania was taking root within him, some sort of dark madness. Bronson saw no evidence to validate the rumors, but he noticed even during Camden’s reign how the prince’s hands would often shake, and at best his concentration in the royal proceedings was aloof. What concerned Bronson was the rumor’s increasing frequency. He kept hearing from others within the palace that Seam was changing. That the young royal would not sleep, spending his nights locked in his study, talking to some unknown party. Was he talking to himself? Or with someone else? Bronson couldn’t be sure.
He slipped himself into the oversized, black military vehicle and turned over the ignition. The engine rumbled with anticipation. He rolled up to the side gate of the palace and muttered to himself, “Something might not be right with him.” He felt for the sidearm he carried on his belt.
As soon as Bronson parked the vehicle, the door of the transport flung open. Bronson’s heart jumped, and his hand gripped for his weapon. He turned only to notice that the King had entered the vehicle cloaked in a long black cape. It was as if a blur of shadows had been swept into the cabin.