Seed of Scorn

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  “Well said, Brother,” Thalassa said, moving past the awkward exchange. “Sir d’Garrion, tell us more about these texts and scrolls. Whoever sent the Chosen to your home must’ve known of their importance. The Mehlonii language is difficult to decipher. Was it the Cha’s practice to study the arcane language?”

  “I don’t know, Lady Ishida,” he said, handing her a small leather-bound book. “This aided them with their translation as it has me. The mysteries of the Cha were only disclosed to those of their choosing. Is this not so, Sir Benoist?”

  “You speak true,” Temian said. “During my time at the temple, such matters weren’t discussed, not with me. I learned about the Guardians from my mother, not the Brotherhood of the Cha.”

  “I’m certain that they didn’t share this information with those not of a like mind,” Thalassa said. “The Cha created the four Nazilian gods. Teaching about the true gods isn’t something they would’ve done. Their power lay in the deception they perpetrated. The truth they kept to themselves. Otherwise, they would’ve shared these scrolls and codices with the populace.”

  “False gods?” Allister asked. “How can you be certain they’re false?”

  “I speak the truths already known to you. There’s much we’ve learned while deciphering the ancient texts.”

  As she finished, a soft tap on the door interrupted their meeting.

  “Forgive me, Zaxson. I was in prayer when Sir Mallory arrived. He allowed me to finish communing before informing me about the meeting.”

  “Please be seated, Ahvixx. We’ve only begun discussing the book of the Guardians. Your skill will be needed to translate the text into the common tongue.”

  “Ahvixx?” Allister said, turning and regarding him.

  “Yes, I’m Ahvixx.”

  “Ahvixx Ahllendale?”

  Ahvixx’s brow knitted. “That’s my name, Sir. Have we met?”

  “Are you the son of Haden?”

  “Yes, my father’s name was Haden. Did you know him?”

  “Indeed,” Allister said. “And one of the few who named him a friend. I searched for you, Ahvixx. I thought you’d been killed, you and your sister.”

  Ahvixx took a step back. “Only my parents were killed that day, Sir. There were no friends present to speak for them before the Zaxson, and no one to claim lowborn waifs chased from the city.”

  With that, Pentanimir raised a hand to silence them. “Ahvixx, I’m certain that you’re curious as to how Sir d’Garrion knew your father, but now isn’t the time.”

  “Pardons, Zaxson. Let us focus on things of greater importance,” Ahvixx said, taking the text Nzuri handed him. As he perused the many pages, Allister continued to glance at him, as he recounted his meeting with Nigel and what he knew about the documents.

  After several turns of the glass, he returned home. Allister sighed in relief, hanging his wet cloak near the door. Once he’d checked his appearance, he went to Nikolina’s bedchamber. He hoped informing her about the meeting would help to lift her spirits. He also hoped the Benoists could unravel the secrets of the texts. Somewhere within those pages was a way for him and his daughter to be free from Lilinth. At least, that was his prayer.

  Allister tapped on the door, slowly pushing it open. His eyes widened, seeing Nikolina out of bed and at her dressing table, wearing a beautiful crimson and black gown that he’d never before seen. Her long, thick hair was pulled up off her full face, allowing her flawless complexion to shine. No signs of her ailment were present, and her skin glowed, appearing to shimmer in the lamplight.

  “I thought you were about the business of Lilinth,” Nikolina said. “Why have you returned?”

  “Don’t worry about my responsibilities, Nikolina. What’s happened? Why aren’t you abed?”

  Nikolina stood, kissing his cheek. When she moved away, her eyes flickered, showing bits of white before returning to pale blue.

  “I also have my duties, Father. I’m quite well, I assure,” she said, sliding her hands over her abdomen.

  “Arilian said that you should rest. The babe is overdue and could come at any time now. There isn’t anything that you need to do but rest. I’ll do whatever is necessary to ensure your safety.”

  She laughed. “My safety is no longer your concern.”

  “Not my concern? Nikolina, everything I’ve done is to protect you and my grandchild.”

  “As if your feeble efforts could protect me.” She scoffed. “You know not with whom you deal, Father.” Nikolina smiled as her eyes flickered again.

  Allister staggered back. “Nik—Nikolina?”

  “She, too, is here, my obedient lover,” she said, rushing forward and kissing him passionately. When he tried to pull away, she clutched his throat, continuing her kiss.

  “Mah’saahc has business this night,” she said, shoving him away.

  Allister stumbled further back, wiping his mouth in disgust. “Get away from my daughter! I won’t let you—”

  Nikolina’s hand shot forward, choking off his words. She laughed, tossing him effortlessly across the room.

  Allister groaned, clenching his eyes as he tried to recover. When he pushed to stand, Nikolina leaned over him, wielding a dagger.

  “Don’t be foolish, my sweet,” she purred. “You wouldn’t want to harm your daughter or your grandchild, would you?” She smiled, stroking between his thighs.

  Allister shook his head, sliding from her reach. “No…Nikolina...No. Please. I’ll do whatever you command, just please stop this. I’m begging you. Stop this.”

  Her smile took on a wicked edge, rubbing her rounded womb. When she approached where Allister lay, all coloring left her eyes.

  “No,” he tried to scream as she covered his mouth again. Allister struggled against the assault, knowing that it wasn’t his daughter, and yet, it was. He begged all the gods to free him from this torment. He’d rather die, and begged for death, feeling her hands between his thighs again.

  “Please, no…Please,” he begged.

  She laughed aloud, standing and removing her under-clothing. Before he could escape, she pointed the dagger at her womb. “Mayhaps the child will remain unharmed,” she teased. “Mayhaps not.” She ripped his trousers, exposing what lay beneath.

  “Please, I beg. I’ll do anything, anything!”

  Nikolina offered a serrated smile, moving over him. “You’ll do that and more.”

  He thrashed and gagged, trying desperately to get away. When he felt the poke of her blade, he froze, offering muffled prayers.

  “First, I’ll sample your blood, and then I’ll sample your daughter’s.”

  “Please, no.” Allister cried.

  “Please me well and your precious Nikolina will remain unharmed.”

  “Gods! Please help me,” he wailed, feeling a deeper stab. Allister’s tears were irrepressible as he followed her demands.

  Soon her feral snarls resonated around him as she made her satisfaction known. When she finally moved to stand, he rolled sideward, gagging until he retched. As he tried to crawl away, she gripped him by his hair, forcing him on his back.

  “No!” he shouted, pushing against her. “I won’t. Get away from me, you demon! Get away.”

  A hard backhand silenced him, causing his head to thud against the floor. For a moment there was only darkness, and he prayed it was the end. The darkness grew, creeping in from the corners of his eyes.

  Releasing a ragged breath, he lay motionless, never wanting to awaken. It didn’t come to pass, as he felt the intense stimulation. Wearily opening his eyes, he saw a blurry image. At first it was Nikolina, but it morphed into something horrid.

  “No,” Allister said, as she clutched his throat again. When he began to gag, she forcefully joined with him. The more he fought against her, the louder she moaned.

  “Like that,” she said in his daughter’s voice, slashing across his chest. Her grip loosened on his throat as she increased her motion, digging her claws into his neck. With a final snarl,
she scraped her claws down his chest, writhing like a serpent.

  “Again, you’ve pleased me,” she said, kissing him again before rising and straightening her gown.

  Allister cried out, rolling on his side and retching. He continued heaving, grabbing whatever he could reach, roughly wiping his face and groin.

  She cackled, relishing every moment.

  “Why? Why would you do this?” he cried. “Why?”

  “I could think of no greater torment for you, my obedient lover. Nikolina is Mah’saahc’s now, just as you are mine. Deliver the key to me, and we’ll release you. Fail, and your fair Nikolina will beg for death long before it finds her.”

  CHAPTER fifteen

  Warrior Priest

  Kuhani tucked his hands behind his back, standing with perfect posture. He stared at the young guard, taking full measure of his demeanor. Much had changed since their time in Bandari, and he was pleased with most that he’d witnessed. With a nod, Kuhani moved forward, circling around him. When Wosen attempted to speak, Kuhani upraised a hand.

  “You’ve been taught the importance of sustaining a healthy body,” Kuhani said. “Yet, without the mind, the shell in which you inhabit is nugatory.”

  He stopped, facing him. “Your mind is the most powerful weapon that you possess, Sir Neufmarche. Learn to master your mind, and the body will follow.”

  Wosen raised his head, looking into Kuhani’s eyes. As he opened his mouth to respond, Kuhani’s right palm shot forward, contacting him in the chest. The blow propelled him back, leaving him sucking in his breath and grasping his chest.

  “Why?” he asked, straining through the word.

  “I didn’t grant you leave to speak. Rise now and resume your position.”

  Wosen struggled to stand, still clutching his chest from the devastating blow. He couldn’t understand how such a move was possible. The priest stood just an arm’s length from him, yet had sent him sailing many cubits.

  Kuhani was always sedulous and philosophical, but now there was something else. Wosen was reluctant to return to Spero, even though he’d be with his family. He wanted to train, to divert all of his energy into his weapons, not be subjected to the chiding of a priest.

  He’d endured enough of Kuhani’s pontifications growing up in Bandari. But Kuhani seemed different to him somehow. He was from the desert isle of K’ohshul, like Symeon, and his warrior markings and braid spoke of that significance. Perhaps Kuhani had something to teach and now, Wosen had a mind to listen.

  “The extent of your prowess isn’t in question,” Kuhani said. “Sir Yego speaks highly of your competence. You’ve developed your mastery of your weapons and martial abilities, but weakness remains in your mind, and subsequently, your heart,” he added, stopping to face him. “Did you not attack your Third Chosen?”

  “I didn’t mean to harm him.”

  “Harm him?” Kuhani nearly scoffed, which was more emotion than he’d shown in the past. “Do you truly believe that you could’ve harmed the son of Manifir?”

  “I’m ashamed of my behavior, and regret my actions. I—I nearly killed Sir Benoist. If I had, I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

  “Indeed, your swords nearly found their mark. However, it was Sir Benoist’s restraint and superior training that thwarted your attack. Temian didn’t want to injure someone he respects so well.”

  Wosen’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look up. “I’m thankful that I didn’t fatally wound him. I wasn’t myself when the altercation took place.”

  “You should be thankful that the Guardians spared you. Temian Benoist isn’t merely superior to you in rank, but in skill as well,” he prodded.

  “Do you doubt my prowess?”

  “I don’t doubt the level you believe your prowess to be, guard of Nazil.”

  His head turned, following Kuhani’s movements. The dubiety prevalent in his mind perceived that as a challenge.

  “Shall I demonstrate what I’ve learned?”

  Kuhani held his position, initiating a series of complex exercises, readying his muscles and preparing his mind. Wosen was awed at the lightning-fast motion of his hands, and the agility of his body. Not even Thalassa’s movements were as fast and fluid.

  Kuhani slowed, focusing on, and flexing the muscles of his arms, wrists and hands.

  “If you have a mind, young guard, you may teach me that which you know,” he said, spreading both legs wide and assuming a partial crouch. He raised one hand forward, partially angling his fingers while the other was perched against his waist with an upraised palm.

  Wosen peered around the room, not only perplexed about Kuhani’s intent, but also how to respond. Although Kuhani had demonstrated some intriguing martial abilities, Wosen was confident that his recent training was superior. He didn’t want to harm the priest, but he didn’t see any alternative but to meet this challenge.

  Wosen also completed a series of complex forms, readying his body for the contest. When he assumed a defensive stance, he looked up, seeing Kuhani still crouched, awaiting his advance.

  Wosen leapt up, bearing down on his position. He appeared weightless as he brought his right leg up, keeping his left tucked beneath him, aiming for the crouching priest’s chest.

  “Jasiriaah,” Kuhani said, effortlessly gripping Wosen’s ankle, using his momentum against him. He spun a half-circle, sending Wosen crashing into the far wall.

  He grunted as his body slammed against the unyielding stone. Quickly rolling to his side, he resumed his stance, eyeing the crouching priest. Wosen was still recovering his breath, but launched another attack. This time, he approached carefully, strategizing the best method to break through his opponent’s defenses.

  Wosen came up with his left hand and then quickly retracted, coming across instead with his right fist. Kuhani’s arm moved only a fraction, blocking and absorbing the well-placed punch.

  With a shift of his trailing leg, Kuhani jabbed forward, meeting his exposed torso. Wosen’s breath sharply expelled from his body as the powerful blow doubled him over. Without giving time for him to recover, Kuhani gripped both sides of Wosen’s head, flipping him onto his back.

  When Wosen strained to rise, Kuhani swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. He groaned, grabbing his back as the excruciating pain radiated throughout his body.

  Wosen gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain, lunging forward and then spinning, attempting a side kick.

  Kuhani grasped his leg, punching him in the chest. Wosen yelped, sending several jabs and hooks toward him, but Kuhani was more agile than he believed. With seemingly unnatural speed, Kuhani dodged left and right repeatedly, never releasing Wosen’s leg.

  As Wosen pulled away, attempting to regain his balance, Kuhani clutched his crotch, lifting him from the floor. Wosen tried to bring his left leg around and clamp down, but Kuhani slammed him to the floor before he could complete the move. Wosen choked, coughing blood-tinged spittle from his mouth.

  “Dijnay ein faeduhn. Loss is death, guard of Nazil,” Kuhani said, resting his foot against Wosen’s throat. “Your body will recover. Do you desire the same of your mind?” he asked, moving away.

  Wosen continued to cough, trying to recuperate. When he looked at Kuhani again, he’d resumed his passive stance. His cassock hung open in the front, exposing the warrior markings on his chest.

  Wosen struggled to his feet, staggering to take his position.

  “You didn’t fail, Sir Neufmarche, neither in your sparring this day nor your actions in the citadel. The mind is complex and multifarious, even more so than the body itself. You must learn to control the mind, and never again allow it to control you.”

  Wosen’s eyes closed slowly and then re-opened as nausea washed over him. He grimaced, the pulsating pain reminding him of the usually gentle priest’s prowess.

  “How?” was all he managed, fighting the sickening feeling in his stomach.

  “Akilu,” Kuhani said, simply. “Allow me to commune wit
h you, and together we’ll free you from the bondage of your past.”

  Wosen offered a languid nod as Kuhani gripped him beneath his arms, steadying his stance.

  “On the morrow,” he said, helping Wosen from the chamber. “First, we’ll tend your wounds. Then, we’ll free your mind.”

  Gifts and Schemes

  Beilzen smiled, navigating the crowded market. New merchants had arrived from Noraa and Kaleo, and it appeared everyone in Nazil was eager to purchase their wares. It had been years since the human caravans frequented the white city.

  Beilzen ignored the merchant’s constant calls, enticing others to view their wares. His focus was on a singular task. After his extended stay in Yarah, he wanted something special for his son and his promised.

  He weaved in and out of the kiosks, searching for just the right merchant—someone he’d known for years, and would have exactly what he wanted.

  It didn’t take long before he noticed the flamboyant, multicolored awning with an image of jewels prominently displayed on the front. He wasn’t bothered when he saw the impressive crowd surrounding the merchant’s stall. Jabrail Qureshi always kept the best merchandise on his person. Beilzen paused for a moment, just observing him.

  Jabrail wasn’t much taller than Beilzen, and was just as slight. His huge robes practically swallowed him, and that brought a wider smile to Beilzen’s face. Jabrail waved his boney arms about, wearing the same nearly toothless smile he’d remembered from years past. His skinny arms jingled with gold and silver bracelets, and every finger was adorned with a different type of jewel of varying sizes. Even Jabrail’s ears had several holes in which the finest gold and gems dangled.

  Beilzen didn’t interrupt Jabrail’s impressive oratory technique, looking on amazed at the skill of his well-practiced performance. He lowered his head, suppressing his chuckle as Jabrail’s eyes began to flash in time with the wriggling movements of his jeweled fingers. The patron’s eyes followed the sparkle of those jewels, whilst listening to the entrancing suggestions of their owner.