Seed of Scorn

by Aaron-Michael Hall

Sahma’s head snapped up.

  “Our sons,” Ahvixx said.

  “As it was with Tardison, my birth was foretold. This is why I am, it’s why I exist. Eight years, Drah’kuu. The eighty-fifth year of Kehldaron.”

  “Eight years? What do you mean?”

  “We have but eight years to prepare. Mah’saahc has befouled a host, and seeks another. Two Nazilians are infected with her essence: one by blood and the other by bond.”

  “You’ve seen this? Who are they?” Kuhani said as the door banged open.

  “You’ve been among the Guardians?” Thalassa asked, catching her breath.

  Ahvixx nodded. “And there’s much to reveal.”

  Father’s Son

  Pentanimir halted his personal guards, pushing through the doors. He’d only managed a step before seeing Allister draped across the bed, weeping. He stood motionless, unable to coerce his feet to move. Pentanimir stared at Allister and Nikolina, encompassed by their pain.

  “There isn’t anything more that I can do,” Arilian said, stepping over to him. “I can’t ascertain any reason for her illness. It’s as if the life is being drained from her.”

  Pentanimir looked at her again, hardly recognizing the beautiful woman that she had been. “Are you certain? Is there anything we can acquire to help you treat her?”

  Arilian shook his head. “It’s a miracle that her son survived. Whatever this is, it could’ve eventually affected him, too.”

  “I appreciate you coming to assist. I know that you’ve been seeing to her needs during the pregnancy. As soon as Nikolina can be moved, we’ll arrange a transport for her. I’m certain Allister would rather her be in their home.”

  “What about her son? Will you release him as well?” Arilian asked.

  “Ihnat will remain in the citadel.”

  “Here? Why? Sir d’Garrion may lose his daughter, and you’d keep his grandson from him, too?”

  “Arilian, I know that you and Allister are friends, but you’re speaking of matters that don’t concern you. Nikolina isn’t in any condition to care for herself, and certainly not an infant. If Allister wishes to share the reasoning for this decision with you, so be it, but there’s no wrongdoing. Ihnat is where he belongs.”

  “Sir Benoist,” Allister sobbed. “Nikolina is leaving me.”

  Pentanimir’s heart ached for him, but there was nothing that he could do. After learning about Nikolina’s interest in Raithym, they’d arranged the meeting in hopes of discovering answers. They couldn’t have predicted the darkness that would manifest.

  “A shadow,” Pentanimir whispered.

  “Pardons, Zaxson.”

  “It’s of no importance. Please make Sir d’Garrion as comfortable as possible, and send for us if needed.”

  “Zaxson, are the guards necessary? Neither Allister nor Nikolina pose any danger.”

  “We must be sagacious, Arilian. Had you been aware of what precipitated Nikolina’s ailment, you wouldn’t speak so. The guards are posted for not only our protection, but for Nikolina’s and Allister’s, too. They’ll be doubled,” Pentanimir said, turning to leave.

  As he stepped into the corridor, Symeon came to his side. “Do you believe the reports, Zaxson?”

  “I don’t doubt them, but what they’ve described seems impossible. The AsZar has cautioned us about such enchantments, if that’s what this is. With the mounting uncertainties, it’s difficult to discern fact from fallacy. We will continue seeking answers, no matter where they might lead. For now, Ihnat is safe, and that’s of the greatest importance.”

  Symeon nodded as they approached the doors to the meeting chamber.

  “How fares Sarai?” Pentanimir said.

  “She’s doing well, why do you ask?”

  “I’m asking because of Ayrmeis.”

  “Ayrmeis?”

  “Yes, watching Nikolina deliver Ihnat caused me to think more about Ayrmeis. I know that the circumstances are different, but I can’t help but wonder how Ayrmeis’ absence is affecting Sarai. Brahanu and I accepted him at Sarai’s behest, but she mightn’t have considered the magnitude of her decision. He’s brought us great joy, of course, but I wouldn’t keep him from her if she wanted it otherwise. Regardless of anything else, she is his mother.”

  “She is, and it’ll take time for her to truly understand her sacrifice. Sarai was devastated after relinquishing Ayrmeis to you. She attempts to hide her grief, but I see it in her eyes, her mannerisms, and I can hear it when she speaks about him.

  “Sarai does love him, and I doubt if that will ever change. Ayrmeis was her first whether she’ll admit that truth or no. I’ve seen her watching him in the nursery. Sarai notices as do I the similarities in their features. He looks much like her.” Symeon smiled. “Regardless of how he came to be, she loves him.”

  “I’d hoped that she’d want to see him, but I was unsure if doing so would make this situation easier or more difficult. We won’t keep him from either of you. Indeed, Ayrmeis has the face of his mother, and both are beautiful. Sarai’s sacrifice was no small thing, my friend.”

  “That sacrifice was more profound than she was aware. I’m hoping once she feels life growing inside her again, her healing will truly begin. She’ll always love Ayrmeis, but she’ll love our coming child, too. Ayrmeis was her first, and he’ll forever be special.”

  “To all of us,” Pentanimir said. “She’s pregnant?”

  “She is.”

  “Congratulations, my friend,” Pentanimir said, pushing through the doors.

  As they entered the room, everyone stood, offering respectful bows. Pentanimir paused, gesturing for them to sit. Such displays unnerved him. He never felt worthy of his title and didn’t want extreme measures reminding him that he held it.

  “What have we learned?”

  “What Beilzen and Nakaris recounted falls in line with what’s written in the text,” Nzuri said. “If what they saw fleeing the citadel was truly a sentient shadow, Nikolina could’ve been the victim of a geas or possession.”

  “A geas?” Pentanimir asked.

  “Yes,” Ahvixx said. “A geas is an obligation mystically imposed upon another. In the case of Lady d’Garrion, her father revealed their visit to Sanctium. Though we’re fairly certain that he hasn’t disclosed everything, the AsZar informed us about this merge. Through our research, we know that the mage, Lilinth, inhabits the cursed isle. After reviewing the documents Sir d’Garrion relinquished, both the priests and I fear the extent of this possession.

  “The sentient shadow, as it’s called, could’ve been the essence of darkness as Tesu is that of light. We’re certain that Lady d’Garrion was, and probably is obligated to the mage. Albeit, until she wakes or her father comes completely true, we won’t know the depth of that obligation.”

  Beilzen was shaking his head. “I fear it may be both.”

  “Both? Explain.” Danimore said.

  Beilzen shook his head again, reliving each moment for the benefit of clarification. “It’s difficult to explain. She…it…they,” he paused. “When Nikolina went to examine Raithym and returned, her eyes, they weren’t really hers. Even her voice had changed, but the eyes…they were colorless. No. Not colorless, but whited over.” Beilzen shivered as the hairs on his arm stood on end.

  “Nikolina didn’t walk, but appeared to glide across the room. She had a purpose to be with your son—a purpose beyond what she’d said. When Sir Middleton intercepted us as we were leaving the citadel, everything appeared to change. Nikolina was in distress, like she was fighting against some unseen force. She screamed from…from fright or pain, or both. I don’t know. I’ll never forget the agony and confusion on her face when the fluids were forced from her as the shadow emerged.” His eyes reflexively closed. “She was suffering, horribly suffering. That…thing was no longer within her, and it was only Nikolina again, frail and pained.”

  Nakaris was nodding with every word.

  “We have much to learn,” Ahvixx said, interlacin
g his fingers. “Not only do we need to know why Nikolina wanted to see Raithym, but also exactly what took place when they visited Sanctium. The answers lie with Sir d’Garrion. There’s only so much we can discern from the parchments and codices. The AsZar has provided some assistance, but there were mysteries in her words as well. Once Drah’kuu Kuhani communes and translates the scroll, we’ll learn more. If the mage, this sycophant, used Nikolina to awaken one of darkness, the rise of the fallen might’ve begun.”

  “The rise of the fallen?” Temian asked.

  “Yes. Didn’t the AsZar inform you about the seal, Pentanimir?” Nzuri asked.

  “She did.”

  “Could it be through this fracture that the mage seeks to bring forth a Zon’Tul?”

  “A Zon’Tul?” Pentanimir repeated, his mind immediately recalling Angelaris’ warning.

  “A servant or gatekeeper, if you will,” Ahvixx clarified. “One who claims dominion over the darkness of the abyss.”

  “But from all we’ve learned, no entity from the Doh’Mahn Vwazi Tr’Eon can enter into the light world,” Pentanimir said. “In some instances, the blood of—”

  His words trailed off as an inundation of recollections surged through his mind. His eyes darted back and forth, as clarity pierced through any lingering vestiges of doubt. All color drained from his face as he looked at Danimore.

  “The blood of Oisin,” Pentanimir said, his voice cracking. “Raithym...No.”

  “What about Raithym, Brother?” Danimore asked. “What has she done to Raithym?”

  “No, not to him. What she might’ve taken from him.”

  “I don’t understand,” Danimore said more forcefully, rising from his seat. “Is my son in danger?”

  Pentanimir didn’t answer. He opened the door, motioning to Wosen. “Go to the nursery and bring Raithym here. Make haste,” he ordered, and then closed the door.

  “Brother, you’ve raised a fear in me. What’s the matter with my son? Tell me what you know.”

  “No, Dani. I won’t speak it unless I’m certain. When Wosen brings your son, then, I’ll know.”

  Silenced filled the room as the occupants fidgeted in their seats. Pentanimir paced nervously until Wosen returned with the child. Rushing forward, Danimore grabbed him from Wosen, cradling him in his arms.

  “Tell me now, Brother,” Danimore said.

  Pentanimir said nothing, lifting Raithym’s tunic over his hip. With his other hand, he pulled down his underclothing, revealing an olive-colored birthmark. The same birthmark Ayrmeis shared.

  He raised the tunic higher, noticing the small red puncture mark. Tears rimmed his eyes as he staggered back, shaking his head. “No. It can’t be. No.”

  “Tell me!” Danimore demanded, clutching his son tighter.

  “Raithym. Dani. Raithym, he’s…he’s Draizeyn Vereux’s son.”

  New Bond

  “Only you will travel through the wood,” the man said. “Nigel will guide you to Sanctium, but you alone will meet with the mage.”

  Molag’s brow furrowed regarding the old, disfigured man. The dim light in the room cast shadows over the faces of the three.

  “Alone?”

  “Yes,” the old man coughed. “She wants to meet Molag Bomgaard and none other. Through her, your greatest desires will be fulfilled.”

  “I’m just supposed to trust this mage?” Molag scoffed. “I’ve never even heard of her until coming here.”

  “Not everything is disclosed to the populace. Know that the Cha have always known and relied upon her wisdom and guidance. Now, they’ve been taken from us, murdered by apostates that elevate savages above the true leaders of Faélondul. The mage is seeking others with a like heart and mind, new leaders for our people.”

  Molag stood taller, thrusting out his barreled chest. “There’s no one more loyal to Nazil than me.”

  Nigel’s eyes rolled, listening to the blustering man. He bit back his comments, knowing Molag’s importance. He wouldn’t jeopardize his benefactor’s plans, or those of the one that he served.

  “Then prove that loyalty and waste no more time,” Nigel said, instead. “We’ve lost time distancing you from the bedlam you created.”

  Molag whipped around to face him. “Had my plans been carried out as I commanded, Nazil would be celebrating new leadership. My name would be on everyone’s tongues as they rejoiced in the streets of Nazil and Yarah alike. It’s the failures of my inferiors which caused this disaster, not the strategies that set them into motion.”

  “Enough,” the old man said, coughing. “It only matters that you’re here. Lilinth herself spoke the name Molag Bomgaard, and it’s by her command you’ve been spared.

  “She selected you over numerous others to lead this restoration. Lilinth must have great faith in you and your love for Nazil. There are men of greater station who covet what Lilinth offers only to you.”

  “She knows my heart,” Molag said, proudly. “Whatever she asks of me will be done. Nazil will be purified.”

  Nigel grinned wryly, aware of some of what awaited Molag on Sanctium. He was thankful that he hadn’t been chosen by Lilinth. From what his benefactor described, her needs weren’t easily sated, and her methods often brutal.

  “Not only does she know your heart, Molag, she knows that you’re a leader of the people. Our people,” the old man breathed.

  “Sir, should I send for the healer as we take leave?” Nigel asked.

  “He’ll come,” the old man said, motioning a shaky hand toward the divan. “That satchel contains what you’ll need. Take it now and go. Only Molag may enter the cottage, Nigel. Escort him to the water’s edge. From there, he must travel alone.”

  “As you say,” Nigel bowed, and then picked up the satchel, tossing it to Molag as he moved through the door.

  “You know where we need to go?” Molag asked, running to catch up with him.

  “Past the north gate and through the wood. What we need lies there. Make haste, if we’re to make the isle before the moon’s rise.”

  “We aren’t going to procure horses?”

  Nigel whipped around, scowling. “We’re traveling less than two and a half kilometers. There’s no need for horses unless you’d rather be in the cells. The guards would have no trouble spotting two men on horseback. On foot, our movements barely register as an animal in the woods,” he said, spinning back around and continuing.

  Nigel pulled up his cowl, wrapping his black cloak fully around him. He kept up a rapid pace until they’d reached the water’s edge. Molag followed behind, wheezing. When they arrived at the Nazil River, Nigel halted, resting a foot on the bow of the boat.

  “If your stamina is any indication of your fighting prowess, mayhaps you should surrender to the Zaxson now and lessen your torment.”

  “You needn’t worry about my skills,” Molag barked, panting between each word. “When the time calls for it, I’ll prove my prowess.” He moved closer, locking eyes with him. “You needn’t wait for the Zaxson. I’ll offer you a demonstration now if you’re eager to learn of it.”

  Nigel laughed. “If the mage hadn’t sent for you, I’d gladly answer that challenge and put an end to your misery,” he spat, motioning to the small craft. “Are you ready to meet the mage, or would you rather continue your inane chatter?”

  Molag’s eyes narrowed, stepping into the rocking boat. The thin ice rimming the river’s edge cracked as Nigel pushed off from the shore. They pulled their cloaks tighter, warding off the gelid winds wafting down from the mountains. When Molag positioned his cowl over his face, Nigel cleared his throat.

  “I’m only supposed to escort you across the river, not act as your servant,” Nigel said, pointing to the oars.

  “You’re supposed to take me there. Lilinth requested my presence, not some guard of Nazil.”

  Nigel smirked. “Indeed, this honor belongs to you. However, if you intend on knowing why, or witness her beauty—” he ended there, leaning back comfortably and pointing to
the oars again.

  With a derisive snort, Molag took up the oars, glaring over at him.

  “North for a quarter of a glass and then East,” Nigel said, tucking his gloved hands behind his head and closing his eyes. “That is: if your knots are consistent.”

  Molag cursed under his breath. I’ll be adjusting that smug attitude once the mage has shared her secrets with me, he thought, struggling against the strengthening current. Though the night was cool, sweat beaded his brow. It stung his eyes as he continued to strain to keep the small craft moving. When they hit the edge of the isle, Nigel yawned and stretched, although he hadn’t taken his eyes off Molag the entire time.

  Without speaking a word, Nigel maneuvered out of the boat, disturbing the dense fog blanketing the ground. As he tethered the rope, Molag stood, recovering his breath.

  “You’ll need to head north,” Nigel said, pointing. “Once you see the large tree with double knots, your path turns west. That’ll lead you to the clearing and the mage’s cottage. Make haste.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m remaining here.” Nigel pointed again. “I’ll set my camp just there and await your return.”

  Molag scoffed, adjusting the heavy satchel. When he attempted to move away, Nigel grabbed the strap.

  “This stays with me,” Nigel said, smiling.

  “He said that I needed what was inside.”

  “So you do,” he said, pulling out a torch and handing it to Molag.

  “What about the rest?”

  “Don’t I deserve some comfort as well?” he asked, feigning innocence. “You’ll enjoy the warmth and comforts of Lilinth’s home, and me, merely the cold ground.”

  “You play a dangerous game, guard of Nazil.”

  “And you waste time,” he sneered, moving off to set his camp.

  Molag cursed again, lighting the torch. Following his directions, he cautiously continued to the clearing. After nearly half a glass, he reached the dirt-covered patch, stopping and scrutinizing the area.

  His steps were hesitant as he moved forward, and then halted when the door slowly opened. For a moment, he craned around, looking back toward the path. But when Lilinth began humming, he smiled, setting his torch on a stone, and then stepped through the door.