by Olivia Ali
Chapter 25 - The Bearer of Secrets
When at last Tristan awoke it was like he had stepped out of his body, every effort to lift himself from the ground feeling weightless and almost ghostly. He wasn't sure where he was; it was a courtyard of some sort of which was overlooked by an ornate balcony connected to a large building. The room beyond the balcony was well lit, the flames of the torches visible in their dancing shadows and Tristan could just about make out dark wood bookcases as he rose to his feet. Looking down on himself as he brushed away invisible dust, he thought he seemed grey; his once brown tunic and leggings now a dusky colour. Even his skin seemed dull in the lack of light but then maybe that suggested that whatever world he was in he was just passing through. The world around him seemed so full of colour it felt odd to contrast against it as he did. As he scanned his eyes over the greenery and hedgerow with its surrounding masonry wall draped in climbing ivy, voices fluttered to his ears. For a split moment he thought he should hide, but considering how familiar and ghostly this world seemed, he decided to remain where he stood. The voices themselves sounded worried and scared. A man was shouting and another was trying to calm him down.
"Why can't we move now?" exclaimed the more scared voice. "I swear they're onto me by now."
"You need to stop worrying brother," the other voice cajoled.
The other voice seemed to be consoling him, and Tristan could just see him hushing his brother, dragging him into a corner where they would not be overheard. He took a couple of steps forward to hear what they were saying and get a better look. The figures seemed familiar to him; the first he saw was a very round man with a white tunic making him look fatter still. A leather waistcoat clung to his shoulders and barely reached the middle of his back with a large belt rested around his large middle and brown trousers covered his stocky legs with cloth soled shoes. His head was bald and his face chubby. The other man was exactly the opposite of him; an image of pure class. Thin and tall he stood with an air of glamour about him. How the two could potentially be brothers was beyond Tristan. This other man was dressed in a long black and grey robe that was split at the middle leaving black leggings visible, boots of a matching colour reaching his knees. His short hair was a dark grey and a stylised beard and moustache framed his chiselled jaw.
"But what if they find out what I did," the fat man kept shouting. "What if they catch us out before we even get to do it?"
"Boris..." Boris? "You need to calm down, I'm sure Herasin has everything in order. But you need to keep your voice down, someone might hear us..."
"Hagen is right!" Hagen? "We wouldn't want anybody to know what we were up to now would we?" The question was quite obviously rhetorical and spoken by a man Tristan had seen all too recently stepping into view. It was Charles, the man from his most recent memory of his own fall. "Now will you please pipe down, there is someone I would like to...reintroduce you to…"
"Meet our newest recruit!" Charles stated.
Through the gap in the banisters, Tristan could just about make out a shadow stepping forward. He couldn't make out much of its appearance, however he could tell the man was tall and stood as though people bowed down to him wherever he went. The word pompous came to mind.
"Hello gentlemen!" The voice was deep and raspy; one of those that women find insanely seductive and attractive, well pronounced and defined.
"You?" Boris cursed, spitting as he did so as though of all people, he least expected it to be who it was.
"Don't tell me you don't recognise me?" Said the voice again. "My brother was a good...friend of yours."
"How is he supposed to help us?" asked Hagen exasperated.
"Perhaps you might remember him as our pawn in the shadows...our light in the dark. My brothers this is how we win our war." Charles explained.
As the vision began to fade, his left palm tingled but he wasn't sure why. A new image formed, now he was in a narrow corridor standing beside...himself. He watched himself in colour, listening. He looked more tired than usual, dark circles under his eyes and a bandage wrapped around his left hand. He braced himself all of the sudden, two men shoving each other into the wall next to where he stood. Strangely, they seemed not to notice Tristan at all...unless the Brothers of Union had a way for concealing themselves from other Keepers.
"I said hush!" The two men grappled with each other, the thinner of the two was pushed up against the wall by a shadowed figure indescribable in features due to the darkness. It was much like the figure that had stood beside Charles when Tristan lost his memory. The man he held up was Hagen and he didn't look happy with him. "How dare you question my methods?" he yelled, again his voice unidentifiable.
"All I said was..." Hagen squirmed in his grasp.
"I don't care what you said...if Herasin trusts me then so should you. My methods are my methods and I won't have you question them. I will have my revenge whether the Herasin wants it or not. And if you stand in my way...you will only join them in time."
Again, his hand prickled as the vision faded only this time it was more painful and caused a ringing in his ears. He shut his eyes tight, the scene around him changing again. The pain became unbearable and he crumbled to the floor, clasping his hands over his ears as the ringing deafened him further. He screamed out, his knees landing hard on a wood surface floor as his head hit the deck, the pain and ringing subsiding momentarily. In its absence he looked up, looking around to find himself in a brilliantly coloured cathedral. Echoes of a voice reached him where he crouched making the ringing come back.
Through his scrunched-up vision, he saw a group of five men appear in the centre of the atrium looking up to the top of a huge hammer statue with something that glinted on the top. As the echoes of the voice cleared, he could hear what it was saying.
"Comes a man to rescue me," it chanted in a deep bellowing voice. "Comes a man who thinks himself worthy of me."
He could see one of the figures reach up and touch their head as though something pained them, one of them turning to him to see if he were okay. It was then that he realised the figures were him and his brothers but what they were doing here in this cathedral was unknown to him.
"Comes my vessel, my own storm." Came the chanting again. "Cry Brethren Cry, for the Betrayer hath cometh!"
As the chanting stopped, the pain became even worse, his head literally feeling like it was going to burst. The chanting began to echo in his mind until through the gaps in his eyelashes he could see a blinding light.
"Tell me, will your brethren cry," the chanting came again as the pain became excruciating. "Will they cry out for you to stop? I guess they think I will destroy you...and they are right for in time, I will destroy you all."
Yelling out, unable to control the pain any longer he began to surrender, letting it overwhelm him. The light began to fade and he felt as though he were falling, a strange symbol of Betrayal appearing on his left hand. But perhaps it wasn't Betrayal at all that had marked him but something completely different. A few of the features were different, dots in different places. Tristan, in the past, had a lot of secrets that he kept only to himself - he didn't even tell Cedric most of them. Perhaps the symbol was representative of those secrets; making him some sort of Bearer of Secrets. He felt himself land softly and once again he seemed peaceful, sleep befalling him as he rested his aching head, the mark remaining burnt into his left hand for all to see.
Chapter 26 - The City of Ghosts
Tristan's head collided with the desk as he shook himself awake, a sharp pain now greeting his forehead. As he rubbed it to soothe the pain, he realised this was becoming a habit of his and he needed to make it stop, else he might not have a head to bang.
"Honestly, I leave you alone for ten minutes whilst I'm in the john and you try killing yourself." Dante came dashing back into view from the entrance to the Shrine, holding out his left hand for Tristan to take. Receiving it also with his left hand, Tristan got to his feet warily. No sooner had he rose though, Dante sn
atched back his hand as though his touch had burnt it.
"Are you okay?" Tristan asked, feeling a burning sensation itch his palm.
He watched as Dante dared to look at his left hand before quickly recovering himself and smiling briefly.
"Everything's fine," he replied half-heartedly. "What did you see anyway?"
"That's depends on what's wrong with your hand."
Tristan already had an inkling he knew - perhaps this mark of his pained his own Betrayal mark...but then surely it was the wrong hand. Dante shook his head, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He was obviously nervous about showing it to him, so Tristan made the first move. Calmly, he held his left-hand palm up to show Dante the mark that had appeared. As Dante's eyes widened, he realised he had got the reaction he had expected.
"Where the bloody hell did you get that?" Dante gulped, his voice breaking slightly.
"I'm not sure how and I'm not even sure why. I just know that it's got something to do with the secrets I kept." Tristan explained, worry building within him as he started to doubt his suspicion.
"How do you know that?"
"Well in my memories, whenever it appeared I was overhearing or watching conspiracies of Dharsi. It always seemed to appear when I was stumbling across a secret I may have kept."
"Like?"
"Like the fact that Charles was the Herasin.” Dante looked oddly at Tristan, he didn’t know who Charles was and Tristan hadn’t remembered enough to be able to tell him, so he changed the subject slightly. “There's this figure that I keep seeing too. He seemed to be part of Dharsi’s plans but he's so shadowy I can't even make out what he looks like. It's like he’s wiped himself from my memory so that I won't remember."
"A figure huh. When did you see him?"
"When I forgot! I think he's the reason I did."
"I have something I need to show you."
Without hesitating any longer, he showed his left palm to Tristan, revealing the same mark they now shared. Now it was Tristan's eyes who widened; it was like he was showing his hand to a mirror.
"How do you have it too?" He asked, not even sure what to say.
"I've always had it. It appeared not long after I stumbled upon my own secrets. Like you probably did, I thought it meant that I was a traitor. I wrote myself off so and that's why I eventually did betray. However, I discovered that wasn't what it meant all too recently thanks to Cedric."
"Cedric?"
"When I appeared before him, it was one of the first things he noticed about me. He told me the mark meant I was the Bearer of Secrets, which is simply what it says it is. Out of all the Brothers of Union you have more secrets to hold because of the mark. Because of the mark you doubt whether you should tell your brothers about what you know. It's like the mark punishes you for keeping secrets from your brotherhood. Yes, it is very similar to the mark of Betrayal but I suppose by keeping things from your brotherhood you are betraying them. You're supposed to be united and how can you be if you keep secrets from them."
"So I'm not a traitor then?" Dante shook his head, his eyes filled with compassion and relief, probably to know that he wasn't alone with this mark that they now shared. "Are there others like us?"
"As far as I'm aware you and I are the only ones. And even if there are more there aren't many because everything that was ever written about them is through theories interpreted from prophecy. Nothing is known for certain about them at all."
"I wonder if I told anyone about my mark."
"I know I didn't, so if you did then you obviously had some inclination as to what the mark meant."
Dante was right, if he had told someone it would be Cedric most probably seeing as he knew what it was. He shook his head, bewildered as to why he felt the need to keep all the secrets he did.
"You know I think I need some fresh air," Tristan suggested with a tone that perhaps meant he wanted to be alone.
"You're telling me," Dante laughed. "If you don't mind, I'll walk out with you but I think I'll find a nice pub to relax in."
Tristan nodded and the two departed the Shrine together before parting ways outside the Compound. Dante headed in the direction of Frankie's pub, Tristan on the other hand remained where he stood observing the town in the darkness. But as they say, at night is when the city comes alive.
As Dante faded into the night air, Tristan looked around at the town that surrounded him. Many of the old town houses were bordered up, a few faint lights in the windows of those that were occupied. Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes; trying desperately to clear his mind of everything that made it want to burst. As the pain begun to subside, he eased his eyes open, the town before him seemed to change. He was marvelled by the sight. Night turned to day; barren and abandoned houses to a town filled with life and laughter.
Despite the clarity to the scene though, the edges had a slight shimmer indicating that perhaps what he was seeing wasn't really happening at that moment. Day turned back to night and still the hustle and bustle continued as though it were showing Tristan what Dilu was like when he was a Scribe; that carefree life that Frankie spoken of. Taking a few steps forward, he marvelled at the sight, his eyes truly overwhelmed by the spectacle.
As he stepped out of the vicinity of the Compound, a woman appeared a few steps away from him. At first, she had her back to him, long brown curls that reached the small of her back, the top layer of which was stretched into a plaited crown leaving the rest to hang free. The skirt of her dress was red and flowed around her hidden feet, sweeping the ground as she turned to face him, a sweet smile gracing her face. Her cheeks blushed for a moment, a sparkle shimmering in her green eyes. They seemed to blend in well with her golden corset that framed her bodice, giving the dress a sense of glamour that left the arms bare.
"Dags!" he yelled, hoping she would linger a while longer. To his delight, she did and she inclined her head as though she wanted him to follow her.
Obliging with a smile, he followed her into the square by the fountain which seemed to burst with life as water shot out from the top and disappeared into the ground through tiny holes. Rain began to fall from the dark sky just like it had the other night, and he watched as Dagnen turned to the doors of the Mason Tavern where Frankie worked as they opened to a figure stood by a woman on the deck. He recognised the pair to be he and Dagnen and from where he stood, he could just about hear their conversation.
"Tristan it's raining," Dagnen complained, pulling him back by his hands to the doors of the Tavern. "We'll wait till it stops and then we'll go back."
"Oh, come on Dags, where's your sense of adventure?" Tristan goaded, looking over at her with a cheeky smirk. "Besides, we'd miss curfew and we don't need to give Charles anymore ammunition against me."
"Well you go then, I'll wait right here."
"I'm not going anywhere without you."
"Then I guess we're staying."
"Don't tell me you're afraid of a bit of rain?"
"No, I just don't wish to get wet thank you very much."
"Oh don't you now?" Clearly his cheeky remarks towards women hadn't changed. And clearly their blushed faces hadn't either.
"You act like you've never seen rain before."
"Az Lagní has been suffering a dry spout. I haven't seen rain in over a year, maybe longer." He was joking clearly. Dazedly, Tristan stepped off the deck and into the rain, splashed a puddle as his foot hit the ground. He laughed as water splattered around, Dagnen flinching slightly as she feared it would land near her. "The feel of the rain on your skin...there's nothing like it."
Facing up at the rain, he held out his arms and it wasn't long before his clothes were drenched through, his hair now sticking to his face. Dagnen watched him in amazement, shaking her head as though she were watching a small child play amongst the raindrops.
"Come dance in the rain with me Dags." Tristan held out a hand to her, but she did not take it. Instead, she just stared, as though part of her wanted to but sensibility told her oth
erwise.
"There's no music..." was her reply.
"And everyone stared at those who danced when there was no music to be heard." He watched Dagnen's vacant expression, noting the sense of longing in her eyes. "Life isn't about dodging the storm Dags, it's about learning to dance in the rain." He held his hand out once more to her. "Do you trust me?"
"My mother told me to never trust someone who says trust me."
"That's why I didn't say it. I simply asked if you did."
Reaching out further forward, he held his hand steady and watched as she unfolded her arms, reluctantly taking his hand. Gently, he pulled her into the rain, the coldness trickling down her back and sending shivers through her as she embraced the frivolities of what she was doing. A smile eventually touched her face as Tristan let go of her hand and the pair swept along the fountain, water splashing around everywhere. They laughed together, causing shouts from an open window of a man who was trying to sleep. But when he saw the pair, dancing in the rain as they were, he simply smiled and closed his window to return to sleep. Young love!
As Tristan watched them dance towards the Compound, darkness became light once more and a new scene welcomed him as the town bustled with life. Looking around, he lost sight of Dagnen for a moment; panic setting within him. Luckily, he caught sight of her again moving between the people towards the building that was now the Barron's estate. He hurried to follow her through the crowds realising, as she was, that he was passing straight through them. As they neared the estate, it began to look completely different. The masonry seemed brighter and the domed brick central roof was now a glass facade with glittering colours that shone brilliantly in the sunshine.
But it wasn't the estate that she was heading for. Just to the right of the entrance was a flower patch that surrounded a wooden gazebo, roses of different colours entwined around the pillars. The wood itself has been painted white and within the gazebo appeared another scene from Tristan's past. Now, a woman stood with her back to a long queue of men who each stepped up to her, bowed before waiting a moment and then leaving towards the estate entrance as though a proposal of some form had been rejected. In their wake another would step up to the plate only to suffer the same dismissal.