by Sean J Leith
“She sees you,” the Oracles said, as the central flame grew more intense, and then split into two that circled one another. “But she is not the only one.”
Not the only one? He wished to ask what they meant, but the Oracles were not to be addressed until they asked a question. If he did interrupt them, their predictions may fail, or he could be executed for disrupting the ritual.
“You will conquer,” the left Oracle said. The torches burned bright red. Saul was taken aback, but didn’t show it. How does one conquer without an army? he wondered. How does one conquer in exile?
“Yet your fate will bring death,” the right Oracle said. A rush of wind swished around the room, causing the red flames to swirl faster. It sent a shiver up Saul’s spine.
“And yet, that is not your only fate,” the far Oracle finished. The wind calmed.
“What is your family’s call?” they all chimed.
“One who would not die for honor, never lives,” Saul replied calmly. My father died for his beliefs.
“Your name will be true,” they said. “We shall reveal the fate.” The Oracles held each other’s hands, outstretching one from his left and right toward Saul.
Saul grasped the hands of the Oracles to complete the circle and initiate the ritual. Their skin was as rough as gravel.
“Close your eyes, Saul, son of Greln.”
Saul closed his eyes as ordered. Behind his eyelids, he could see a red light flow further from the center, heat crossing where their hands connected, and circling around his back. Suddenly, his arms felt as though he shoved them into a flame, burning and crackling and flaring his nerves. He put all his control into not gripping the Oracles’ hands too hard or revealing any hint of pain. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t. My father died standing strong in the face of black flames. I can do the same. This is but a touch of fire.
He felt his left arm sear all the way up, as if encapsulated by a fire. He wished for it to end but did not voice it; his desire laid in having a purpose before he left the Vale. I will not falter, I will make my family and clan proud, despite my exile.
Both arms burned. He did not understand, thinking it was marking but one. However, no one revealed to him how the ritual proceeded. Perhaps it represented the circle of flame, the life that he now belonged to.
He heard the blaze behind him fly up to the ceiling, and he could feel heat and light all around. The light was so bright he could still see the colors shift from red to blue and back again with his eyes closed. He felt lines of agonizing pain draw on either arm, as if the gentlest touch came with the sharpness of a knife. He clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to let go or scream.
But as the carving reached his shoulder, the pain disappeared as if it never existed. Is it over? His hoarse, pained breathing was the only sound that remained, and the light reduced to nothing. The winds faded, leaving silence behind.
“Open your eyes, Saul Bromaggus,” the Oracles whispered. He opened them finally. The flame was gone, and the room was pitch black.
“Go now. Seek your fate,” they said in unison. “The gods will be watching.”
Saul rose to his feet. He was told by his father to say nothing, to leave silently. Yet he disobeyed. “Thank you, Oracles.”
A long silence followed as Saul turned his back, beginning to walk toward the main forum once more, barely ducking before the arch to exit the room. A light beckoned him back to whence he came.
Along the hall, he heard the voices of the Oracles whisper in his ear. “Do not thank us, we are but messengers. Your fate is up to you now. Your name runs true.”
Saul dared not say another word. What of my name? He walked through the dark hall, leaving the spider-like Oracles behind him. He was given his fate, which he would only see when the others do, as he entered the light of the grand forum. As the light touched him, he heard gasps of awe from the onlookers of the forum.
“Two?” one said.
“Two?” another called.
Saul looked to his arms, and both had markings. This was unheard of. Never before did a Broken display the Mark of the Oracles on both arms. On his left was the color red, the slayer. The first mark was the three crashing winds, the second, the sharp-edged wing of the dragon, and third, the drop of blood.
Death.
He wished to slay the dragon in the name of justice, but this? He was a strong fighter, but no dragon slayer. Even if he desired it so. Am I to die? My father was given victory, but died in vain. What fate awaits me? He remembered the few Broken who bore the Dragon slayer markings in the past; each disappeared within a fortnight. Fear crept into his mind like a spider.
The whispers and comments continued. Some Broken backed out of the temple, others huddled together, whispering vicious tones while watching Saul closely.
The color of the protector laid on his right arm. The god’s mark was of a six-pointed sun. He did not recognize the symbol whatsoever. What god would choose me, if I do not know them? The next, a simple circle, a race or species he did not recognize. Last, the drop of blood again. What in the hells is this? Saul felt his fate was all he had left, and it showed his death.
“What treachery is this?” an old priest yelled. “Two markings? Clearly, the Oracles made a mistake.”
“Impossible!” another individual yelled. “The Oracles are never wrong! This is a sign!”
Mirakia Othellun stormed up to him, gripped his arms like a vice, and pulled each close to her eyes. She kept a close eye on the surrounding Broken that began crowding around them. “Do you understand what this means?” she whispered harshly. She seemed to harbor more emotion than before, with a drop of concern. Her pale white ring seemed to shine brightly in the dim light.
“I am not afraid of him.” He was. He watched the one he cared for burn days ago and he now feared the same for himself. Should I run? Or should I stay, and die for my fate?
“Well you should be. If I were him, I’d kill you the second I heard. The last one who received the dragon slayer mark died mysteriously two days later.”
“That was long ago. I will be exiled. Is that not sufficient?”
The Warmaster grew irritable. “If you make it that long.” She eyed him up and down, then sighed. “Let me embark you with a bit of wisdom, Bromaggus.” She ushered him to follow her to the front of the temple with a hand on his back, and he obliged. “I was a friend of your father; do you know why?” Her eyes darted around the hall, to each of the Broken standing nearby. Her other hand laid on a sword hilt at her side.
“No.” The gasps continued as they walked. He heard curses and whispers, mentions of blasphemy and treason, and some of a blessing from above.
The Warmaster began to push Saul forward as she sped up. “It’s because I believed in him. I don’t like being ruled,” she said poignantly. “Your father wasn’t a fool. What he did, he did because he knew it would ignite a fire within the hearts of our people.”
He died for nothing. Everyone lives in fear now, Saul thought. It was all trivial; his father sacrificed himself so that everyone would be pushed further under Obelreyon’s rule. I wish he was here to see me receive my fate. Two markings is a gift, despite both showing death. Although, I fear what it could mean for me in the days to come. Some may believe it is treason, and others, blasphemy. Some would fear two fates and some would admire them. The ones who fear them may be the most dangerous. As they arrived at the stable she said a few last words of wisdom as Saul mounted his Ravager once more.
“Do not let the fire be extinguished.” She backed away and drew two blades. “You would do well to cover your arms.”
Several Broken ran out of the temple, armed to the teeth. “Get him! Get the heathen! His fate shows he will attempt treason!”
“Go, ingrate!” Warmaster Othellun smacked the Ravager’s behind with the flat of a sword, causing it to run ahead. Saul grabbed on and rode as was commanded, looking back to see her slice through limb and throat with her slick dance of blades, roaring at the
m with a mighty battle cry.
Chapter Seven
The Meager Truth
Kayden Ralta
Kayden sauntered through the cracked stone temple hall. When will this end? she thought. Her pace gradually quickened in hopes that it would be over soon. The fact that it was pitch black, save her torchlight, didn’t help either. I am not afraid, I am not afraid, she chanted as a mantra to herself. She heard hollowed wind through the hall in front, leather and plate footsteps, and Vesper nervously rambling to himself. He always rambled when he was nervous.
Why is there wind here? The air flowed with a subtle howl, as if beckoning them forward.
“Kayden, could you slow down a little?” Lira asked. “Magnus can’t keep up. He isn’t as quick as you are.”
Kayden scoffed at the idea. Who does Lira think she is? She looked intensely into Lira’s dark eyes. Her skin shone a dark copper and hair black as the shadow of the hall, both rare in the west, or so Kayden heard. It was more than common in the deserts in the east. She was a simple-looking Human, but not a ‘runt.’
Sighing, she knew she shouldn’t be so hard on the poor, cow-eyed girl. She did find the passage for them. And sewed her arm. “Listen, princess, I’ll walk as fast as I want. I’m trying to get us out of here,” Kayden said. Even though Lira towered over Kayden by a foot, her personality was soft as a feather.
“You’re getting you out of here,” Domika jabbed. “I want to get back to my brother as much as the next girl, but you should slow down a little before you hurt your pretty little head.” Her words sliced sharply, almost as sharp as Kayden’s—but to no avail.
“Don’t test me, flame-breath,” Kayden shot back. She was not Domika’s biggest fan, and the feeling was mutual. It at least helped that the flame atop Domika’s long black hair gave a bit of light.
“Now, now, I am able to keep pace. Do not worry,” Magnus said.
He’s so slow, Kayden thought. Sure, he’s wearing heavy plate, but his size should accommodate for that. At the same time, her concern drove her further toward getting out before they were all caught. “Listen. I know I’m moving fast, but we either keep a fast pace, or we’ll speedily go back to jail,” she asserted herself. She didn’t need other people to tell her what she should do, let alone what was best. If escaping jail was the task, she was best suited to handle it. If she was going to be in the dark, it wouldn’t be for long.
“You’re right, but you can’t just go around barking orders like a bossy little wench—no one likes that. Try being a little nicer next time.” Domika sneered at Kayden.
“What Domika might mean to say is that people respond well to kind direction, rather than being a little rough. That’s all,” Lira said.
At least Lira attempted to be nice. Domika, on the other hand, has a different idea in mind, Kayden thought.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant,” Domika said snarkily.
Kayden swiftly turned and pointed a fierce finger in Domika’s face. “You better back off. At least the princess here has some respect. You’re just stirring the damned pot.” Kayden knew Domika wouldn’t respond well to this, but she hated seeing an attitude like hers get in the way of the task at hand. A howling wind came from the hall beyond, sending a chill up Kayden’s spine. She turned and raised a brow.
Behind, Vesper swished his finger in an eccentric circle. “Now, now my comrades, why are we in such conflict? We are having a lovely stroll through a temple path, are we not? Can we not simply walk in silence? Can we not we walk with meaning? Maybe we will find treasure, or possibly a way out of this death trap. I feel like we should worry about these things rather than keeping blades at each other’s vitals!” Vesper was exhaustingly long-winded.
He’s right, Kayden thought. Not that she would ever admit it. She turned back to the group. “Come on, I think I see an end to this god-forsaken tunnel ahead.” She continued walking again—this time, slightly slower.
The temple tunnel became more and more rough-walled, and parts of the ceiling had fallen and damaged the floor. She swore it could all fall on her at any time. This had better not be a waste of my time. “How’s the speed?” she asked Magnus.
“Better. Thank you, my lady.”
“Don’t thank me, thank the princess,” she diverted the comment to Lira. Kayden wasn’t one to accept thanks, and rarely gave it.
“She has a name,” Domika growled.
“It’s all right, Domika, I kind of like believing I’m royalty.” Lira said, attempting to soften the mood again. The others didn’t reply.
Kayden just chuckled. Soon, a switch of light came over down the tunnel. “Look, an opening!” Kayden dashed to the end of the hall, and found an opening into a ruined temple forum. It was as unsafe as could be, evidenced by the small ceiling stones that dropped to the ground as they walked through it. She wondered if a larger stone could fall on Domika, chuckling to herself and secretly hoping a ‘happy accident’ would occur. Leader’s sister or not, she was not Kayden’s chosen type of companion.
There were no doors, no extra tunnels, nothing else in sight. There was just a massive hall, with an altar for worship at the end. A white marble statue of a woman stood behind the altar. Well, we’re in trouble. She stood in full plate armor, kite shield on her left arm, and a winged-hilt longblade raised in her right, with long wavy hair flowing down her back. A symbol on her shield resembled a shining sun with six points, waving out from the rim to a point. An inscription in the common tongue was carved into the wall behind, without meaning, we have no power.
Kayden sauntered up to it. You must be Shiada, she thought. What have you done for me? She’d never paid much attention to military or religious figures. They never had any relevance in her life; the kindness of gods was absent in every aspect. She believed they either didn’t exist, or they hated Humans and all other races.
Kayden’s life had been a fight the whole way through. Her family was poor, forced to scrounge for food day by day in her hometown of Kwora, near capital of the sands, Zenato. She would steal a loaf of bread or an apple from the market and bring it home for her parents to share whenever she could. She was an only child, without a sibling to help. Her mom and dad raised her until she was barely eight years old.
But then the stench of rotting flesh and the light of searing flames flashed across her. The image of their bodies in the inn rafters shot into her mind. The day her spirit died. Sometimes she even smelled the flesh no matter how clear the air or how succulent the feast in her present circumstances.
Her brow furrowed, and fists clenched as she remembered the past. Damned be the gods, she thought. They gave her nothing except scars and took everything. She made her own fate. She mockingly growled at the statue and threw a stone at it.
Lira walked up behind her. “Kayden, don’t.” She held a hand to her chest as if she believed all the teachings. Kayden knew who the goddess was. She’d read all about her and the history that surrounded her. She had ages to read and spent most of her empty childhood studying whatever she could find. While she stayed in Orinas, she lived in the library, until she was sent to prison for a string of crimes.
Ridiculous, Kayden thought. Gods and religions were a bunch of crap.
“She’s the goddess of protection, serving the people, the weak and the helpless. Protecting us from the god of shadow, Lornak,” Lira continued.
Kayden almost laughed aloud over the ridiculous nature of it all. But she was a little curious. “Oh, who is that, exactly?” Kayden asked. She knew, but they didn’t need to know that.
“The god of power, you wench,” Domika snorted. She sleekly strolled onto the scene, but spoke her next words in a quiet tone. “One who promises power and strength to all who worship him—at a cost,” she continued. Domika loved knowing more than her, it seemed.
Lira nodded. “But the bringer of darkness. He spread chaos through the land, so he was struck down by Shiada herself two millennia ago—that’s how the story is told, anyways. His follo
wers nearly conquered the land, but her heralds fought them back. They say they he still exists in the nightmares of men, corrupting their minds. But Shiada holds them back.” Nodding, she said, “This was a temple of Shiada. That’s how I knew of it.”
Gods, goddesses, and demons were ghost stories intended to scare children. Her parents told her the story when she was young, but she knew now it was a bunch of ridiculous fluff to inspire and frighten.
“Ahem, excuse me, my comrades,” Vesper confidently spoke up. “I believe we have a more serious situation at hand. We have nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide. Will we go back? What will we do with the guards if they find us?” he hammered her with questions yet again.
Kayden just got more and more flustered. He needed to stop. “All right, all right, let’s all just shut it. We can drag the guard in here, seal the wall, and try to get out. They’re gonna kill us if we get caught, and eventually, even if we stay. Damn it, we’re stuck.” She paced back and forth, frustrated. If this torch goes out, I am going to lose it. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, exactly; it just unsettled her a little. Okay, maybe she was a little scared. The past scarred deep.
“Oh gods, I cannot and shall not go back.” Vesper declared. He scratched his wire-haired head frantically.
Kayden ignored his input. She looked to Magnus, who seemed as if he wondered what color the sky was. He’s no help. He’s slow, both in movement and thinking. It’s a surprise he even survived a battle. She dared not ask Domika, who gave her a dirty look. “Princess,” Kayden called. At least she will help and not be a drake about it.
Silence. Hard to believe.
“Princess?” she turned around to find her kneeling before the statue, praying. “For the love of—Lira!” She swiftly paced over to Lira and tapped her on the shoulder. “Would you stop that? We need to figure out how to get the hell outta here!”
Lira carefully looked over to her. “I’m asking Shiada for help. You may not believe in higher powers, but I do.” She returned to praying, which only angered Kayden more.