The Day's Wake

by Erik A Otto

  “Nala?” Paulo asked.

  “I’m sorry, what? I wasn’t listening.”

  “The man has granted an audience with the Truthseeker. We will also be allowed to stay the night here.”

  It seemed almost too easy. Paulo must have been generous. “Well, thank you,” she said to the armorer, even though maybe she should have thanked Paulo.

  “Don’t get too excited,” the armorer said, with one cheek rising into a lopsided grin. “In traveler’s tales the Truthseeker sounds like some kind of a magician, but really he’s just a crazed priest. I know. I went to see him. He doesn’t talk much, except to the Bronté half-wit, but at least you can say you saw him before the monks took him.”

  Nala didn’t expect to see Sebastian so soon. She could feel a well of nervous energy in her chest. During the walk over to the prison tent she was in a daze, wondering what he would look like, wondering what she could say, wondering what he would say.

  At the prison tent a sleepy sentry let them by after a word with the armorer.

  It was dark inside, sparsely lit by only three flickering wyg lamps. Along the back of the tent, three prison cells made of rough wood timbers had been erected. As the group of them entered, two other Fringe—a man with a bandaged leg and a woman—both stood up in their cells and came to the bars to take stock of her and Paulo. The third cell harbored a more hunched form, sitting on the ground with legs crossed. Another man in a Thelonian uniform sat close by this man just outside the cell. The Thelonian appeared to be sleeping, about to fall out of his chair. Closer to them was a rotund and sickly looking jailor with an array of colored Matar bone keys hanging from his belt.

  “What’s this?” the jailor asked.

  The armorer responded, “I promised them they could speak with the Truthseeker. It’s business, so let them have their fun, and then take them to one of the free tents nearby when they’re done, will ya? I’m going to bed.”

  The jailor showed his missing teeth and nodded. The armorer did an about-face and left.

  “Hey, Bronté, you hear that?” the jailor called out to the man in the Thelonian uniform. “I can’t leave here, so you’ll have to take them away when you’re done. Try to behave.” He turned to Paulo and Nala, twirled his finger around his temple and said, “He’s a bit messed up in the head, but don’t worry, he’s harmless.”

  Nala could see the now-awakened Thelonian in the corner nodding in the gloom. She couldn’t make out his face, however. He was in the darkest precinct of the tent.

  There was a pause as no one moved. Nala looked up to Paulo, who closed his eyes and splayed his hand out in front of him, letting her lead the way. She moved cautiously toward the seated man in the last cell, almost on her toes. “Sebastian? Is that you?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. She could tell all eyes in the tent were on her.

  In the dimly lit corner cell the cross-legged man slowly raised his head. Then, just as slowly, he sat up from his hunched position and pulled his hood off, revealing a long beard and a scraggly head of hair. His voice was unmistakable. “By Matteo’s grace, what a gift it is to hear your voice, Nala.”

  Nala ran over to Sebastian, bursting into tears in the process. She slowed only when the jailor and the Thelonian stood up tensely. Her arms were out, and she wanted to hold his hands through the bars, but the jailor called out, “No touching, and stand back from the bars.”

  Nala did as she was told. She stood just outside the cell, practically on the toes of the Thelonian soldier. Here she could see Sebastian’s face more clearly. The parts that were visible were drawn and dirty, lined and worn, but his eyes were vivid and strong. Those same eyes moistened as he looked at her in wonder. The sight of him unearthed a rush of recognition. She could see Sebastian jumping into the waterfall in Albondo, and smiling at her over his worn Book of Canons. The memories filled her with a wave of uplifting energy.

  “Nala, you’re a wonder of light, a ray from Matteo’s moon. I don’t know what has brought you here. Only that I am blessed,” Sebastian said.

  “Oh, stop it. Of course I’m going to come help a friend,” she said. She knew she sounded ridiculous, but she didn’t care.

  Sebastian smiled, his grin defied by a tear that escaped his brimming eyes. “I must say, as Truthseeker, as truthspeaker…that I’m sorry. I’ve treated you shamefully in my thoughts. I failed to recognize your worth until recently, Nala. In fact, I’ve come to recognize that you are one of the few people under Matteo that is truly devoid of evil. It may be hard for you to see, but Matteo has graced you. It…makes me so glad to see you in my last days.”

  “Don’t speak that way, Sebastian. Trust in Matteo. The monks will find you innocent, I’m sure of it.”

  Sebastian only shook his head. For a while he seemed satisfied to simply stare into her eyes. It was an exchange of happiness and melancholy at the same time. She felt like they were alone together, even though everyone in the tent was surely watching them.

  It was during this exchange that a spark lit up in Sebastian’s eyes, and his whole face changed. The drawn lines tightened, and his jaw flexed. It was like a great weight fell away from him, and it thrust him up into a standing position.

  Scanning about, as if aware of the people nearby for the first time, he projected his voice across the prison tent, “It’s time,” he said. “Time to say what I need to say. There are enough of you, and at least one of you with a pure heart. Nala—thank you for coming. If you hadn’t, I might have gone to my grave with this. But you being here is enough; enough to make me believe there are some under Matteo’s moon that want to do what’s right.”

  Nala backed away, surprised at the change in his countenance. It sounded like he was about to make some kind of speech. She nodded encouragingly, happy to offer him any kind of consolation—anything that would fulfill a remaining wish.

  Sebastian continued, his voice elevated so everyone could hear. “Please, all of you, listen to me, for when the monks come, my time will end, and what I’m about to say will be lost forever.”

  It was as if the whole tent had stopped breathing. Even the jailor listened, his eyes wide with curiosity.

  “I’ve traveled far in search of the truth. I’ve nearly starved to death, been chased by Matagon Monks, and been a prisoner of war in the bottom of a dour Sambayan silverstone mine. I’ve seen ghastly beasts, including a gargoyle and a vile creature many times the size of a horse that can suck out the life of a man in an instant. I’ve felt the Red Rains fall on my cursed hands. These are things that are hard to believe, I know. But I swear on the Book of Canons; what I speak of is truth. And yet, in all of this, I haven’t found what I was looking for. It may be that Matteo intended that I find something I wasn’t looking for. It may be that Matteo intended me to learn of the doom that confronts us and to impart it to you before I embrace him. You may be infidels and criminals and heathens, but maybe one of you can help before it’s too late.

  “There was a man in the mine. His name was Thedric Ysodore. He had no reason to tell me what he did, and yet he told me. I think it was divinity that was telling the tale; Matteo’s hand thrust him unto me and forced his voice. His story was told just as the world started to turn, and then soon after, as he died in my arms, smote on a high wall of the mine, his leg first broken, then his heart.

  “This is what I know. The Cenarans come for the Internecion. They come not to trade, not to scout. No, they will come by the hundreds of thousands, and they come to destroy us. They will march through Thelonia and through Belidor, and they will not stop there. I don’t doubt they will rid the lands of Belidorans, Thelonians, Pomerians, Fringe, and even of the Jawhari. They have a solitary purpose: to fulfill the prophecy of the Internecion, to rid all the lands of those who aren’t of their faith. Unlike Belidor, their Canons are not metaphorical. They are literal. They remember their defeat hundreds of years ago, and since then they have been preparing for this day.

  “There will be no salvation. The wheels are alre
ady in motion, and it may be that nothing can be done to stop it. For this enemy is not only in the north. They have treasonous agents everywhere that will ease their passage, many who act against their good conscience because they have their children held hostage in the Cena schools. The Cenarans will not be satisfied with expansion of their faith, or even subjugation. Their intent is only to kill or, for those children they find, to enslave after they maim them so that no children can be born from heathens of other faiths.

  “They have already begun. This war with the Sambayans is their work, and I’m sure the failed assassination attempt in Jawhar was orchestrated by them. This serves to keep the great nations occupied and distracted while they bide their time for the real offensive. When they attack, they will strike at the beating heart of Belidor, where all the knowledge, and all the faith, emanates. They know if they capture this gem, they can break us. This place also has secrets; secrets and the keys to unlock thousands of beasts like the ones I have mentioned, hidden away in Forefather ruins. With control of this place, and these beasts, their power base will be complete. The place they seek, this gem, is the stage of their greatest embarrassment, a disfigurement on their psyche to which they now return, seeking revenge.”

  Sebastian continued to scan the eyes of the room, all of which remained at attention. “On the first day of the Internecion, they intend to take the Old Keep, and I fear that if they do, any remaining hope will be lost for the millions they intend to exterminate.”

  There was a quiet in the room for a moment. Everyone was waiting to see if Sebastian had any more to say. The jailor then cackled and said, “Wow, what a story! You really are a crackpot.” Then he addressed Nala and the Purveyor. “Well, I think he’s done. You’re lucky, he gave you quite a performance. If you don’t mind, though, maybe you should get going. I don’t want him worked up like this all night.”

  Nala had to admit, Sebastian did sound unhinged. The only Cenarans she knew were weak-willed traders or indentured slaves. She couldn’t believe they would ever mobilize for war. At the same time, Sebastian never lied. Maybe he was under duress or even partially insane, but he truly believed what he was saying. Then there were the things she’d heard Paulo say on the road. Was this what the Fringe feared? Was this why they needed to obtain the silverstone from the Forefather ruin, to buy their freedom from the Cenarans?

  Sebastian began again. “I say this in the hopes that you may be able to help. Tell someone, and do something—”

  “I’ll do something right now.” The jailor thrust a long staff through the bars, hitting Sebastian in the stomach. It made him double over in pain and drop to the floor. “Shut it, Truthseeker. Enough madness for one day.”

  The jailor looked happy with himself. He turned to Nala and Paulo. “Sorry, Fringe, you have to leave. Darian, take them away.” He waved at them with the back of his hand.

  The soldier named Darian stood up and loomed over them. He gestured for them to move, so they began shuffling to the tent door. Nala looked back to see Sebastian watching her from a fetal position on the floor. His eyes had retained their fervor, but no more words were imparted as she left.

  Darian showed them to another tent. This soldier was a strange man. He whispered to himself like he was holding a conversation with the night air. As he left them, he said, “If you want to see Sebastian again, come by the prison tent at first light, but no later. A different jailor will be there. He will let you in.” Then he turned about and left.

  They prepared for slumber in the small tent. After travelling together for such a long time they had settled into a routine; Nala would change first and clean her teeth with a small pick and mintwash while Paulo waited outside, then Paulo would do the same while she turned away.

  On this night, as she sloshed the minty water through her teeth, her mind was turbulent. She kept thinking about what Sebastian had said. It saddened her to see him so distraught in his last days. More than that, some part of her wondered if there was actually any truth to what he was saying.

  She was probably just worn from the emotional meeting, and having trouble processing. Between the theories from the Purveyor and Sebastian’s empassioned speech, it was enough to make anyone confused.

  When they finally settled into their wool sheets, she asked Paulo, “Do you believe Sebastian about the Internecion, Purveyor? I mean, there have been other Internecions, right? And we’re still here.”

  “Yes, there have been two other Internecions, it’s true.” Paulo answered. “There were quite a few casualties, but there was no genocide, according to the Book of Canons and the Fringe Arcana. I’m sorry, Nala. Sebastian is a troubled man. Being shunned by his own faith and the emotional trauma he has endured from his quest may have broken him.”

  Paulo poured out the wyg lamp water just outside the tent flap, and the light started to fade.

  “You know, you and him are alike in some ways, as much as you might hate the idea,” Nala said.

  “Are you saying I’m mad?” The Purveyor seemed offended.

  “No, but even though you misled me for a while, like Sebastian, you don’t lie, or at least I’ve never caught you in one. Despite your differences, it’s a great virtue that you both share.”

  She wondered if he would understand her implication: that he didn’t really answer her question. There was quiet for a time. Then, in frustration, Nala asked, “So tell me again, without evading the question this time, is there anything to this Internecion he is talking about? All of this about the Cenarans seems like a tall tale. Why do you think he would say those things, even if he’s mad?”

  Nala just wanted some reassurance. She expected the Purveyor would provide the rational response as he always did. She expected him to prepare an answer that would show why Sebastian might suspect this Cenaran onslaught but at the same time confirm that it was a gross exaggeration. She just wanted to know why Sebastian could be so deluded. A simple explanation would be enough to let her sleep.

  The Purveyor waited a long time before responding, and Nala imagined him doing his calculations, weighing this and that, figuring out how to explain it in simple terms to the naïve country girl.

  Finally he said, “You’re right about me, Nala, and you deserve the truth. Your friend is troubled, and I don’t agree with him on many things. But…sometimes truth doesn’t cut cleanly, sometimes it doesn’t fit the mold we desire nor expect. On this account, I’m sorry to say, it is the rusty blade he speaks of. On this account, I’m sorry to say, he speaks truth.” And he turned away from her in the tent, ending the conversation.

  With those words to keep her company, Nala slept little that night.

  Chapter 25

  The Good Son

  Darian was spending much of his time in the prison tent with the Truthseeker, so Baldric had seen less of him. The arrangement worked for the jailors because they needed to have two men in the tent at all times. With Darian there, one of the jailors could pursue other endeavors—like drinking in the main mess tent—while he remained.

  Baldric was of two minds about it. Darian’s fits were becoming even more frequent and pronounced, so the break from Darian’s company was a relief. But it also made Baldric nervous. Why would Darian cavort so much with this Marked Man? Darian couldn’t always control his disorder, yet here it was as if he was being purposefully insolent. Keeping company with criminals wasn’t the Bronté way.

  As a result, Baldric was gearing himself up for another talk with him. He had to explore new strategies for shaking him out of his multiple personalities.

  This time, Darian came to him first.

  It was late in the evening, and Baldric had already gone to sleep. Darian’s voice woke him. “Baldric, can we talk?”

  Baldric was annoyed at the hour, but it was rare for Darian to come to him, or to ask questions at all for that matter. He thought it best to oblige. “What is it?” Baldric said. He sat up in the tent and wiped the crust from one of his eyes.

  “I think Sebastian
is innocent.”

  Baldric sighed. It seemed so hopeless. “Really, Darian, I don’t know what your connection is with Sebastian, but you need to sever it. You need to look out for yourself, for your family, and not for some doomed crazy man. Don’t you see how it makes you look, spending all that time with him in the tent?”

  “He speaks truth,” Darian said meekly.

  Baldric grabbed Darian by the shoulders again. “Listen to yourself! They call him the Truthseeker in jest, Darian. This is his madness, his so-called passion for the truth. What may be truth in his mind is a blasphemous fairy tale. Think how people will see you if they hear you say these things. Think what they might do to us!”

  Something changed in Darian in that moment. He seemed to go through a fit of multiple transformations. His expression became deep and thoughtful. Then his thoughtfulness deflated, and his eyes shifted downward. Finally, in another turn, Darian’s chest puffed out, and he spoke again. “You’re right, Baldric. He’s lost to us.”

  Baldric could tell it was the one called Reniger speaking, but his words were strange. He didn’t expect Darian to be contrite, especially when impersonating Reniger. Regardless, he seized the opportunity to reinforce what he was saying. “Thank you, Darian. I’m glad you understand.”

  Darian paused, then said, “I never told you what happened to me up north, just before the Day.”

  Again it was said in Reniger’s voice. “No, you didn’t,” Baldric responded slowly, squinting his eyes to see Darian’s face in the shifting light. Baldric had indeed been curious, but whenever he inquired about Darian’s time before the Day it seemed to trigger a worsening of his disorder. Besides, it was long ago, and it seemed so inconsequential compared to what they faced with the scout and this Marked Man and all the pillaging and burning, so he kept forgetting to ask.

  “Well, I did spend time with Sebastian, like I said, but what I didn’t tell you is that afterward I was taken in by General Granth and the monks. I was interrogated. They asked me if I had seen Sebastian, and I said no.”