“But what, my lord,” she asked, turning to face him.
“I sense you, but there is something else. As if a door has been there all along, hidden and concealed, and only now I am able to see it. But I cannot see into it,” he said as he examined her with his fountain.
There was a time when she erotically enjoyed the presence of his power inside her mind and soul, indeed, into the very fabric of her identity. She remembered the exquisite dark pleasure of having him probe into and join with all parts of her; but that was a long time ago. His control of her began as a simple expression of his natural dominance to blend with her innate submissiveness, but it slowly warped into simply an expression of him without regard to her. Though there were still times when she craved his strength of will and soul to command her, they were becoming fewer and father between with every tick of the clock. And now, standing before him as his hand continued to stroke her cheek mimicking his fountain’s stoking of her identity, she felt none of what existed before. Indeed, while she felt continued eroticism from him, there was none in her in response to his touch.
“I can assure you, Lord Kahl, I am as much yours now as I was before,” she lied again.
“No. But you will be,” he said as he cut his power abruptly off and turned to face the two girls, still consuming vast quantities of meet. “Their training begins again tomorrow.”
“Yes, My Lord,” she answered.
“Yours begins tonight,” he added. He did not wait for her reply before he briskly turned and exited the room.
There was very little about mortals that surprised him anymore. So developed was he with their examination that he could read and know someone within moments if he chose. This was one of the first and most important powers his master had revealed to him; thus, it was the one he devoted most of his time to exploring and perfecting. It had been a very long time since he had found something within someone he was not able to explore. Perhaps she did not even realize it was there; however, regardless of her knowledge, it existed nonetheless. But if it was there before, why had he not been able to sense it? And if it was not, then what change could have provoked the insurgence of another chamber to the composition of Vismorda’s identity? Both of those questions perplexed him causing him a moderate amount of vexation. Regardless of the existence of this new facet to her persona, he should have been able to explore it easily. That he could not, caused him more than a moderate amount of vexation.
He had seen deeply into the corners of the constable’s fear, a fear that not even the constable himself had recognized. He had easily unlocked the cause of that fear and been able to exploit it with just as much ease. However, what mechanism of power was preventing him from unlocking the door within Vismorda, the one person whom he knew without question? He resolved to answer it tonight. This was the evening before the next phase of his Master’s plans, and as such, there could be no existing conditions preventing their swift and utter completion. An unknown variable within any part of his contingency, regardless of its size or importance, was unallowable. And one within such an integral component was tantamount to blasphemy against Satan himself. And while he would have preferred to begin his exploration of her instantly, his presence had been requested elsewhere. Gogoziel waited.
Ever since he saved Jesolin’s life, the demon had become reclusive, choosing to remain in one of the Blood Keep’s high towers. Within, there was a constant emission of power as well as an the ever present, indigo glow. Though he did not know of its end purpose, he could tell the power was slowly growing, amassing into a potential preparing for something, something formidable.
As he approached the door to Gogoziel’s self-proclaimed room, it swung open to reveal the demon sitting cross-legged, floating in its center. There were numerous, unfamiliar runes inscribed into the walls and ceiling, each glowing with the same eerie color as the demon itself. As he traversed the threshold, he not only crossed into a different location physically, but what he could only describe as spiritually. So different was the energy in the tower that he felt as if he had left the world altogether. It was entirely unidentifiable as having any similarity with what he knew to be Avendia. That is not to say he felt out of place; rather, he felt more at home than he had felt in recent memory. But it was not his mind that told him this, it was his fountain of dark liquid asserting its nostalgic radiance as it echoed the power within.
Thickness, as if he was walking through a gelatinous substance, descended on his spirit, or heart, or soul, if he still possessed any or part of any of them. His muscles, while still responding to his voluntary desire for forward locomotion, did so as if they were bound by a heavier force than gravity. However, it was not toward the ground he felt the increased force emanating from, but all around him, as if its focus was set to pull against whatever direction his intentions drove him toward. And in this moment, his intent was fixed on walking toward and addressing Gogoziel. While he found his normal locomotion more difficult than it should have been, he did not, however, find it alarming. He found it comforting, the way a particular odor was comforting to those who dwelt within its reach while to all others, it was offensive.
“Do not be alarmed, mortal. You are protected,” said Gogoziel as he effortlessly floated in the center of the room.
“I do not require protection beyond what I have already been given,” said Jesolin defiantly.
“Your understanding of power is juvenile and fleeting, as your existence would be if He did not will it so,” reproached the demon.
“Perhaps it is you who does not understand power, demon. My mortality has been tested more times than you can know, and I am still here,” challenged Jesolin.
“No, it has not. But it will be,” said Gogoziel as he opened his eyes and placed his feet soundly on the floor. “Are your forces ready to march?”
“I respond and answer only to Satan himself. I do not attend to those beneath him,” challenged Jesolin.
A slight flare in the indigo glow was all that betrayed Gogoziel’s surging anger, “If we were standing in my realm, mortal, you would cease to be.”
“But we are not in your realm,” said Jesolin.
“No, not yet; but soon,” it said stepping closer to him. “Now, are your forces ready to march as previously dictated by our Master?”
“I told you, demon, I do not answer to any but Him,” said Jesolin maintaining his defiance.
“Then you are foolish for I have come at His request to ensure your success. Now, are your forces ready to march as discussed?” asked Gogoziel standing just inches from Jesolin.
“Yes,” he said after a momentary pause, “they are ready to march.”
“Good. Assemble them before the dawn breaks as you were instructed. The light cannot be present before they depart,” it said as it turned around and walked back to the room’s center.
“What are you planning?” asked Jesolin.
“To succeed,” answered Gogoziel. “Now go, I must prepare, as should you.”
His journey to finalize the last preparations of his Warbringers and their forces was not a lengthy one. Though their dedications to their own endeavors were beginning to assert themselves, they were not void of fear, fear of Jesolin, fear of failing him, and fear of failing his master. Under his instruction, their powers had grown considerably, but so had his. And while each of them had become a worthy adversary to most of mortality, to him, they would be barely more than a nuisance. As bold as they had become, possibly even bold enough to plot his demise while his back was turned, none of them would dare, even collectively, to challenge him openly. And disobedience was an open act of defiance which carried an inherent challenge. So, during his inspections, even of Vismorda’s Ravens, he found no deviations from his instructions. Indeed, all preparations had been executed perfectly. Their preparedness pleased him. Yes, it was a sign their obedience was still fully intact, but also, on this night, it gave him more time to see to Vismorda’s retraining and more time to discover what rested behind
the new compartment of her soul. So, after he had imparted to each of his Warbringers their new instructions, some generating much protest, he sought her.
He found her in the training hall working through several new martial techniques, techniques he had not shown her. She was radiant in the blackness of her skin-tight leather armor that left her shoulders bare to bathe in the pale moonlight, glistening from her perspiration. Her twin blades were mesmerizing under her precise and perfected commands as were her eyes reflecting nothing except hate, his hate. Had she engaged the erotic fluidity of her evil fountain, he might have become aroused, but its absence almost sickened him. As she finalized her technique, one he still did not recognize, her heavy breathing and sweat dampened hair would have aroused any mortal man to a singular endeavor, but he was not any mortal man, if he was still mortal at all.
“That was unfamiliar,” he said as he strode into the room, startling her.
“My Lord, I did not see you there,” she said as she gathered her composure.
“I know you did not. You did not engage your fountain. Had you done so, you would have sensed me long ago,” he said as he walked over to the weapon rack and picked out a rather devilishly looking, double bladed spear.
“Yes, there are times when I prefer to practice without its enhancements,” she replied coolly.
“I have not known you to do this before,” he said as she lazily swung the weapon.
“Perhaps there are still things you do not know about me, My Lord,” she said almost playfully, hoping it would hide her growing distance.
“Indeed,” he said as he looked directly at her. “Tell me then, my little Raven, whose techniques were you just practicing? I did not recognize them as mine,” he asked.
She did not miss the inherent threat to his question, “Did you not?” she replied. “Perhaps the weight of our coming campaign has occupied so much of you that you did not remember showing them to me?” She sheathed her blades and began walking out of the room.
“Yes,” he said, “perhaps you are correct. I have been under a great deal of strain. I am sure it is so,” he said still lazily twisting the double spear.
Turning just before the doorway, she said, “Thank you, My Lord. I am sure once your conquest is complete, you will feel the strain lessen allowing a return of your entire efforts on our continued training. If it pleases you, I would like to retire to my chambers. We have an early morning and it is important to rest,” she said as she turned to take his leave.
“Do you know what would please me, Vismorda?” he asked.
“What is that, My Lord Kahl.”
“It would please me if you would stay just a few more moments and show me the techniques I had forgotten I taught you. They appeared most effective,” he said stopping the lazy spinning of the spear.
“Perhaps I can be a more effective instructor in the morning, after we have both slept and are refreshed?” she asked.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said. She felt a moment of relief and exhaled visibly. “But then again, perhaps you are not,” he continued. “Often times, in the grip of fatigue and exhaustion, one is able to reach levels not available when rested and refreshed. Do you not agree?”
“Yes, My Lord,” she said resigning hope to avoid him this night.
“Good. Then please, instruct me in the methods of your techniques,” he said inviting her to join him in the training circle.
As she stood facing him, she knew there was nothing she could do to avert the end of his intentions, and she was sure that they involved much pain for her. With the full use of her power, she could only delay the inevitable. Long had it been since they had battled without the enhancement of the dark fountain, so long ago in fact, she had almost forgotten the last time she had bested him. Long before his ascension to chiefhood, she had taken it upon herself to begin training him in the ways of gypsy combat. Mimicking the light way gypsies lived, their chosen weapons were usually the bow and arrow, daggers, and the occasional short swords. They lacked the power of the city dwellers; hence, their weaponry was always light and easily concealable. Occasionally, a gypsy would try to master one of the heavier weapons, but Oolos was the only one she knew who used a long sword for more than a training partner.
However, gypsies gathered all forms of materials they could sell, and weapons usually fetched a decent price. In their collections, they had all forms of heavier weapons, one of which was a double-bladed spear. While lethal in the hands of a powerful soldier, it was slow and awkward when wielded by someone who did not possessed the necessary strength. However, at that young age, Jesolin was drawn to it and often chose to practice with it when training with Vismorda.
“Why do you continue to pick that weapon? It is too heavy for you,” she said as she lent him a hand helping him up from the ground.
“Because I like it. There is something about it that challenges me,” he said. “Besides, I might get stronger the more I use it,” he said standing up.
“Yes, you might get stronger, but you might also get dead unless you train with a weapon you can actually use,” she said as she laughed.
“That may be true, but where is the fun in that,” he said. “Again?”
“With pleasure,” she said.
And that was the last time she had been able to best him. Every day after that, regardless of the weapon he had chosen, he was able to successfully defend against her attacks and then counterattack effectively enough to be victorious. Over the following weeks and months, their rolls had slowly changed as he became the instructor and she the student. At the time, she had not known that this reversal was his design all along. While she had admired him before, as she stood across from him now, watching him wield the same weapon he did so many years ago, there was no admiration.
“No fountain?” she said.
“No fountain,” he agreed.
She tested him with a quick but lazy attack. He passed, matching her lazy effort. They circled each other. Then as she crossed the window allowing for the moon to enhance her natural, dark beauty, she launched into a flurry of swipes, stabs, and feints, none of which Jesolin remembered. However, memory was not a prerequisite for his defense. He parried each one of her attacks. As she sliced at his neck, he sidestepped, spun and caught her on her rear with the flat of his blade, stinging her.
“I said no fountain,” she hissed.
“I did not need my fountain to rebuff such a sloppy attack,” he returned not hiding disgust in his voice. “Where is the woman whom I just watched? Where are the perfect techniques I saw moments ago? I would have you show me them,” he commanded as he assumed a coiled stance.
“So be it,” she said. In one motion, she reversed the grip of one of her blades, the one in her left hand, and feigned to the right. Her speed even surprised herself as did her deception. He bit and bit hard using one of his blades to block her feigned attack. But instead of swiping with her right blade at his midsection, as her attack indicated, she used her reversed gripped, left-handed blade to pin his spear to the ground. He kicked in response, hoping to strike her side; but because of her momentum, his kick was ineffective and missed. She struck out with her left foot connecting to and buckling his exposed knee.
And there it was. Staring her in the face without hope, but with total certainty, was the opening she had secretly desired for longer than she cared to admit. In one moment, she saw her future completely change and knew her freedom was within the slight twisting of her wrist. With almost no effort at all, she could direct her blade to slice his exposed neck and render all continuance of her pain as final and forgotten. There was no room for hesitation, nor error, nor mistake, nor failure. If she was unsuccessful, he would surely respond more viciously and fully than he ever had before. Would he finally end her? Would he finally drink her soul? Or would he devise something more devious and more evil allowing her to linger in his torment for eternity? The toll of hesitation was too great, for her very life and that of her Ravens depended on it. Hold
ing on to the vision of both Malice and Vile reaching their adulthood without the possessing evil of Jesolin corrupting their hearts, she twisted her wrist and flicked her blade. And the world ended. Just before her weapon embedded itself into the flesh of her freedom, she felt him embrace and release the power of his fountain. She felt it, and nothing else.
As hard as she tried, as fully as she focused, and as determined as she was to free herself, and to an even greater extent, little Malice and Vile, she was simply incapable of advancing her blade the short distance necessary to draw his blood. So tightly was she held, almost suspended in time itself, all she could do was breathe, but even that barely.
He laughed a hauntingly slow and malevolently twisted sound conveying his dominance, superiority, and deception laced scheme. “And there it is. I should have seen it before. Well, perhaps not seen, but I certainly should have been able to figure it out without this charade,” he said as he stood up and straightened his clothing. “Though I will admit, it was moderately enjoyable engaging with you once again as we did in the past without the influence of our powers. Did you like the weapon I chose? I am sure you know it was purposeful,” he continued. “But enough of my gloating. I searched your motives while we were battling. Actually, it was your suggestion of excluding our power that enabled me to do so without your notice. And do you know what I found?”
She attempted to answer, but not even her mouth was able to move as she was still held trapped within his power.
“No? I found a doorway within you I had not seen before. Perhaps it was a door you were not even aware of, but nonetheless, it hid behind it something I was not able to see. I wonder what it could be,” he said tauntingly.
Lingering just on the outside of her grasp, her own fountain begged for her to touch it, to connect to it, to drink from it and accept its power as hers again. But the grip of his darkness was all encompassing; yet, if she could find a way, an opening ever so small and connect, perhaps she could move, perhaps she could escape. Her mind darted back and forth from its beginning to its ending of her knowledge about him. But the more she examined her knowledge, the more she knew he would have left no opening for her to find.
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