Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  And it struck. As if there was a solid target held suspended above the second rune, his power found its end and was gathered into a sphere of indigo luminescence. As much as it was a source of energy on its own, the radiant, indigo sphere was also consuming all other energies within the room. Everything from outside of the sphere was being pulled into it, including himself. He looked down to the dead young woman lying at his feet and saw her skin and other tissues being pulled from her body. He saw his own substance being pulled the same as hers. He immediately engaged his dark fountain and used it to separate himself from the physical effects of the glowing orb, now radiating so much power it forced him to turn away. Such was the amount of gathered power inside the sphere, that even with his fountain flowing through him, the resulting explosion knocked him backward into the wall leaving him dazed.

  When his bearings had returned, and he focused his faculties on the second rune, his eyes beheld the physical manifestation of Satan’s Gift. Its skin, the same color of the indigo orb, dark and malevolent, was highlighted by a faint, wisplike midnight-blue flame. The whole of this being held all the defining attributes of mortality. It possessed a head similar to a man's. Its arms and legs were defined by a similar muscular and skeletal structure as all men. Even its eyes and facial structure reflected a complete familiarity to those defined as human, but there was something otherworldly about it. As if it exerted its own gravity possessing a density greater than granite, it seemed to exist more fully than anything made from simple bones, muscles, and blood. Echoing in the knowledge of all things evil, Jesolin heard a single phrase - Gogoziel had come.

  *******

  As she watched him leave, she could not help but wonder what had happened. When she would have normally taken hours to recuperate from his episode of brutality, she felt barely winded. She took a few more moments to survey her body and mind. She slightly, gingerly moved her limbs fearing the lancing pain that was sure to grip her. She slowly arched her back bracing herself for the arching pain she was sure to feel along the entirely of her spine. And lastly, she inhaled deeply, but when she did not feel her lungs burn from the very passage of the benign air, she exhaled in relief. What had happened indeed?

  She remembered everything until the moment when she felt the last of her held breath expel its usefulness for maintaining her life. In that moment, she was sure she was going to die. However, not only did she live, but she somehow managed to avoid the effects of what brutality had already been rendered and what had undoubtedly followed during her period of unconsciousness. A voice, she remembered a voice. She reached out to hear from it again, to thank it for whatever it had done. However, there was no trace of it. Had she imagined it? Had she been taken so far that her mind had been broken and she hallucinated? No. As much as she could tell, she was whole and well, at least as well as one could be in her situation.

  Her Ravens. She must get them back. Not because he commanded it, though she was still bound to complete his commands, but because they had somehow become a greater mission to her, a greater motivation, perhaps even a greater identity. Did she actually care about them? Was she still capable of caring for something beyond herself, or had she been ruined by evil so completely that her motivations were still selfishly designed? These were questions she was unable to reconcile for the moment. All she knew is that she needed to get them back.

  As much as her ravens had become her driving motivation, she would be in denial if she did not recognize her growing curiosity for the man whom she had fought. In their first exchange, she had emerged the superior force and was sure she was going to end him quickly enough to apprehend his two younger partners before they were able to escape. But the longer their battle continued, the more adept he had become at thwarting her attacks, both physically and mentally. She had been forced to acknowledge his combative talents transcended beyond the natural.

  Then, when she was sure she had finally gained the advantage enough to finish the fight and spill enough of his blood to render him helpless, she missed. Or rather, she had not. Her blade found its mark, that is, found where her mark should have been. But what she had expected to feel as her blade slicing through his flesh was nothing more than air. That is not to say he dodged her attack. He just simply vanished.

  She had remembered frantically turning around and around, searching the room for him only to see nothing. She had extended her ability to sense life around her and knew he was still in the room, but she was unable to identify any substance to his presence. Until, that is, she felt a strong blow to her shoulders and legs that saw her hit the ground, hard. As she looked up, she saw him dissolve back into her sight with the very tip of his blade resting against the nape of her neck.

  "Finish it," she bid.

  "It is already finished," he whispered back.

  "Do it," she said more firmly.

  "It has already been done," he whispered in return.

  "Kill me or I will kill you," she said again.

  "You already have," he whispered for a third time. Before she was able to say anything else, his fist crashed hard against the front of her face rendering her unconscious.

  What did he mean?

  Mercy was such a foreign concept to her that she could not begin to contemplate its origin, let alone its manifestation. Was it even mercy he had offered her? Her continued existence under the hateful thumb of Jesolin was anything but merciful. Yet, mortality defined death as the greatest of ends. Perhaps he had offered her a show of mercy, even if it led only to more pain. No. She would find this man. She would find him and kill him because she owed him a debt. After all, what was mercy when stacked against the vengeance driven heart of collection. And with vengeance, there can be no mercy.

  Plendos

  (Colors)

  "I cannot say that I have seen a man that fits that description," said the elderly man as he carefully examined the fruit he was going to purchase.

  "Are you sure? You have not seen anyone at all. Even in the custody of the guards?" she asked, her voice beginning to grow desperate. Judging by the almost complete descent of the sun into what little of the horizon yet remained visible while they were within the keep city, they would soon be in violation of the curfew. Although she had considered being arrested as a means to extract information regarding Borinth, because there was not much known about the new lord and his treatment of criminals, she thought better of it than to help him establish his new policies. Yet, because they were unable to secure any hopeful information over the last two days, their desperation was growing.

  The elderly man looked up at her when he heard her reference the guards. He squinted his eyes as if that act alone would increase his perceptive abilities. "Why is it you are looking for him again," he asked.

  "He is my uncle and I am trying to deliver this letter to him about my mother. She is gravely ill and I would like to see him before it is too late," she said as her eyes began to well with tears.

  "I see," said the old man, his eyes squinting a little more. "Well, I have not seen anyone at all like what you have described. Is it possible you have made an error in your description, my dear?"

  "It could be possible. I have not seen him since I was a little girl," she said continuing her ruse. "But I do remember him well and do not think any of the details I have given you would have been mistaken. Please sir, can you think of no one you have seen who resembles him? Even if just in passing?"

  The old man considered for a moment as he went back to inspecting his fruit, "I am sorry my dear, but I cannot say with any amount of certainty that I have seen him. But you might want to ask the registrar. If anyone has seen him, he would have."

  "Registrar?" asked the woman.

  "Yes, the Registrar. Have you not reported to him yet?" asked the old man as he looked up at her again.

  "I have not. But I must confess, I did not even know I was required to visit the Registrar. Or that there even was one," she said as she looked around the open market. The diming sunlight ha
d winnowed the casual shoppers leaving only those who were about their necessities.

  "Did you not hear of the edict?" he asked as he squinted again.

  "I did not."

  "How long did you say you have been here?"

  "I only arrived this morning," she lied.

  "I am surprised you were not assigned a guard to escort you directly to the registrar. What gate did you say you entered from? On second thought, do not answer that," he said. Apparently, the old man had lived his share of life, and at least a portion of it had allowed him to understand when a story did not quite fit. "I have lived long enough to know when I need to stop asking questions, my dear. But if you wish to avoid an elevation to your trouble, I would make sure to visit the registrar as soon as you can lest you wish to have a very unfriendly encounter with the guards. They do not take kindly to citizens without the necessary documentation."

  The mention of the guards heightened her awareness causing her to look around the market for a second time. She did see four guards standing about fifty feet away from her, but they were busy talking amongst themselves, currently paying her no attention. From behind them, she saw Ronialdin walking toward her. She noticed he was careful not to reveal his face to them by pulling his hood up slightly allowing his face to sink deeper into its shadows.

  He, his sister, and their companion had certainly surprised her in the weeks and months following their rescue from their goblin captives. Though Borinth had offered them employment within their band of mercenaries, she had a great amount of doubts regarding his decision. None of the three had the look of one who would survive the harsh lifestyle of a mercenary, most noticeably, the two women. They looked scared, soft and full of youthful innocence; an innocence that would surely see them dead within the first month.

  And yet, in spite of her initial assessment, they still lived. After a very rough first two weeks, while their bodies adjusted to the physical demands of a life spent in training and traveling and killing, all three of them began to show the beginnings of hope. Looking back, she had now been glad Borinth had not listened to her council when she insisted they should cut their losses and leave them behind. Borinth had always been able to see the best in people and get that best out of them. This was not the first time he had chosen to take in an unfortunate soul, and would not be the last; well, at least it would not be the last if they can locate him and then rescue him. But she was no closer to finding him than when she had first come into the stone keep.

  When Rony was a few feet away from her, he stopped, looked around and adjusted his clothing, straitening its disheveled appearance. "Have you found any information regarding his location?" he asked.

  "What happened to you?" asked Dianali.

  "Me? Oh nothing," he said as he finished tightening his leather belt.

  "Nothing? You do not have the look of someone returning from nothing," she said as she reached toward his face to touch a fresh bruise.

  He instinctively withdrew his head sharply and sighed. "Alright. It was not exactly nothing."

  "And," she said expecting him to continue with more details, but when he just looked at her with a merciful plea, she continued, "Fine. Keep your secrets if you need so long as it will not hinder our efforts to rescue Borinth. To answer your question, I have not found any more information that would directly lead to him." When she finished, she could see the physical manifestation of his hopelessness imprint itself on his youthful face. His eyes seemed to grow distant, the way one does when staring into a void. But, when she told him of the Registrar and the likelihood that he might possess some further information of Borinth's whereabouts, his eyes instantly transformed back to their youthful spark.

  "Before you get your hopes up, we should find Zyn and Liani and ask them of their progress," she said as they both began walking toward the designated rendezvous.

  "Do you not think it would be better to seek out this Registrar first?"

  "No. It is getting late in the evening and no doubt the imposed curfew will soon be in effect, though I did not want to ask specifics regarding its time. It would not do well if too much attention was drawn to us. I may have already drawn too much by questioning several people in the market. We should find the girls and then secure lodging for the night. We can visit the Registrar in the morning," she said.

  As they walked through the small, inner city streets toward their meeting spot, Rony was able to observe, for the first time, some of the details he had missed when he was singularly focused on finding Borinth. Though the physical structure of the Stone Keep had lived up to the descriptions passed to him by various traders through the years, those not defined by brick and mortar were very different. Its people seemed to be out of phase with the pace of normal mortality. They seemed to function on an almost imperceptibly slower speed. At least, that is what he perceived; however, his perceptive focus was constantly being pulled away from gathering any meaningful information by the plethora of hideously carved statues. Just as he was about to make a conclusion regarding the people of the stone keep, something he could identify as certain, his eyes were pulled to yet another wicked depiction erasing any progress his perception had previously made.

  And then he felt it. A succinctly definite perception of evil sharing similarities with the demons he had previously faced penetrated his awareness causing him to stop in his tracks leaving Dianali continuing to walking without him. He turned to his right, the direction of the evil presence, and saw an indigo glow emanating from within the top window of the highest tower. Deep inside him, from the very same place first catalyzed when he faced the demon whose human form was known as Miligos, and then again at their meeting with Du'tothin, he could feel the righteous rage start to rumble, as if his gut had managed to grab and hold the rolling thunder of a storm yet far off, but ominously threatening as it slowly but constantly approached.

  Dianali, once she noticed Rony was not answering her questions about his thoughts on the city, stopped and looked back. She saw him slightly crouched as if he was set to begin a predatory stalk. She walked over to him, touched him lightly on the shoulder and said, "I have seen that look before. What it is?"

  "Power,” he answered her with a voice as distant as his eyes, “Purely evil, and purely powerful.”

  Dianali followed his stare to the tower, "Well, you had better not do whatever it is you do.”

  "I cannot believe its power,” he said dismissing her concern. “Miligos was strong, and the second demon we faced was stronger, but this," he paused as if struggling against something she was unable to see, "is something I am not capable of explaining." Although he was still many years her youth and continued to possess a youthful naivety regarding many things about the world, when he spoke of demonic powers, his authority was something she was not willing to challenge. She watched him silently struggle in an internal battle for a few moments. "We should go," he said, regaining himself. "I do not like being here and wish to be away as soon as we can. Which way is it to meet Zyn and Liani?"

  She led him through the evening throng of the Stone Keep's inhabitants, all of whom were completing whatever they had most recently been set upon. Every so often, they would hear some comments regarding the new leader and how impressed they were when they heard him speak. They would continue to promote the changes by stating that “control was necessary” and how “it was about time the streets were finally getting cleaned up”. They seemed completely unaware of what Ronialdin had sensed. He even saw many of them standing in front of one or more of the hideous statues while smiling and nodding their heads in approval. It was as if, though they were looking at the same things, their perception of right and wrong, on a soulful level, had been fundamentally altered to accept that which should never be accepted.

  Though the statues and other physical changes were not made of living, demonic material, they nevertheless affected him in a similar fashion, albeit very minimally. But seeing the inhabitants of the stone keep standing in front of them, almost wor
shiping them, coupled with the intense demonic presence in the tower caused him to physically wretch. Dianali felt a similar emotion, but hers was confined to a minor nausea that made her stomach momentarily dance. However, when the sight and sound of Rony's vomit combined with its stench infiltrated her senses, it was too much for her and caused her to empty the contents of her stomach as well.

  "Pardon me," said a voice as the two of them were recovering from their unity of stomach dancing convulsions, "I could not help but notice that both of you seem to have been afflicted by some sort of sickness." He paused for a brief moment allowing them the opportunity to respond, but when they remained doubled over attempting to catch their breaths between the final bouts of upheaval, he continued matter-of-factly, "It appears the timing of my arrival is quite fortuitous for you both seeing as you obviously require a respite from your illness, whatever it may be.”

  He waited again allowing them several minutes to recover, straighten up, and look him in the eye. Between gasps and wiping her mouth with her sleeve, Dianali managed to regain her strength first and addressed him, "Excuse me, but who are you?" The man was impressively dressed wearing the finest, multi-colored silks woven into an intricate and extravagant pattern. Dominated by a pale blue, it was outlined by brilliant yellow and red lines of cloth stitched into an interlocking latticework. He had a very long, but very thin beard speckled with greys and blacks. His moustache was equally long and equally thin. As it spilled down his chest, it faded from black to grey to eventually white. By the time it ended, it was long enough to reach his rather intricate leather belt that was supporting several pouches and vials of multicolored liquids. With a final inhalation, Dianali focused on him through still tearing eyes and asked a second question, "What makes you think we are ill?"

  "Pardon me?" replied the elderly man with an inquisitive look on his face. "Why, the fact that you just vomited," he said as he looked down to a rather odd device on his wrist as he held it up in the sun, "for about five minutes straight. Quite an impressive display, actually."