Children of Semyaza

by Kevin C Noel

  His emotions were all over the place. For the first time in a while, Garrick had no idea what he wanted. Was he sorry he had killed her? Was he saddened by her demise? He did not know. Garrick stood like a hopeless and lost man.

  “I’ve never believed in fate or prophecies,” Hagen finally said. His voice was not one of despair. It was measured and calm. “And now,” he continued, “now I am witnessing it first hand.”

  Garrick did not know what to say. He believed anything he’d say would come off as an excuse. He didn’t want to make excuses. Yet, he didn’t want to seem insensitive to Hagen’s pain. Garrick had betrayed him, after all. “I avoided…” he began but Hagen cut him off.

  “You tried to stay away, I know,” he said. He looked up at him. No tears illustrated his sorrow. Suddenly, he looked completely unmoved by what had happened. “But somehow, the two of you ended up in the same place. And I believe no matter where you went or how hard you tried, she would always be there. It’s all fate. It has always been fate.”

  Garrick thought Hagen wasn’t making much sense. “Did I ever tell you about the night I was Questioned?” Hagen continued. “It was barely a few hours after you were born. Celina was just a week old at the time. I used to moonlight as a Skotadologist. It started off as a mere fascination when I was a teenager. But when I met my wife, Serene, in college, it turned into our obsession. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into and soon, we were forced into hiding because of the Shimshonites who despised Skotadologists almost as much as they despised Atrumans. They believed we worshipped Atrumans. For that, we were traitors to humanity.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Garrick finally asked.

  Hagen did not answer He carefully lay his daughter’s body down on the ground and stood up. “Kal found me after you were born, you see. None of us knew who or what you were, which is why you’re still alive. He came to me for two reasons. He wanted to know about the Knoxian Heightening spell—possibly to use it himself; and he wanted to Question me. It was perfect for him—one of the greatest Atruman scholars at his service forever. But, even after my Questioning, I rejected what I had become. I didn’t follow him immediately. I tried to go on with my life.”

  Garrick’s eyes widened. “You were already an Incardian when we first met?”

  Hagen nodded. “Wasn’t even consented at the time. I dropped Celina off because I was scared she would share the same fate as her mother if I continued to deny my true self.”

  “Her mother?” And it all made sense to Garrick. “The Rage?” Garrick asked, and Hagen nodded again.

  “It happened so fast. I can’t remember how it happened. But when I regained my wits and saw her dead body, I knew I had to protect my daughter. And I knew I had to join Kal. I love my child, Garrick. And even though I understand the effects of the Rage all too well, I cannot let you get away with this. I wanted her to live a full normal life.”

  Garrick took several cautious steps away from him once he noticed Hagen had begun to display some emotion.

  “No matter how this ends, you are done,” said Hagen. Without warning, he threw a fistful of Skydust at him. As the blue fire enveloped Garrick, Hagen tackled him to the ground.

  It was immediately apparent to Garrick they were no longer on the road at Reading. He wasn’t sure where they had landed, but it was a deserted field in the middle of nowhere. The impact from Hagen’s attack broke several bones in Garrick’s chest and he writhed around the field in pain as they mended with cracking speed. Once he was on his feet, Hagen had landed several earth-shattering blows that incapacitated him. It was immediately apparent to Garrick that he had no chance of winning this fight.

  But he was stubborn. As soon as he could manage it, he jumped away from his assailant and summoned his Blood Cravers with a pinch of Skydust.

  “Shimshonite weapons,” Hagen called out as he walked causally toward him. “They won’t help you.”

  Garrick ignored this and charged toward him. He swiftly aimed one of his blades toward Hagen’s arm but was stunned when his attack was repelled upon impact. The loud clashing sound when it hit Hagen’s arm could easily be described as the sound from a clashing of swords.

  Hagen scoffed and punched him in the face sending him rolling a few feet away from him. With his face completely blood soaked, Garrick managed to ask, “how?”

  Hagen continued walking toward his target without a worry in the world. “Fate,” he said. “You killed my daughter in the same place I found your mother. What could it all mean?”

  Garrick was in too much pain to contemplate the meaning of anything. Instead, he shunned his emotions and utilized his intellect to come to terms with what was happening. He already knew Hagen would be a formidable adversary. But there was something about his strength that took him by surprise. As Hagen got closer, Garrick had a theory he was willing to sacrifice an arm to confirm.

  As Hagen powerfully sent another fist his way, Garrick raised his left hand as fast as he could. He could feel his bone snap upon impact when he blocked the attack and let out a cry of pain while he backed away and knelt. Through his excruciating pain, Garrick’s eyes remained fixed on Hagen’s posture when he attacked. He noticed the peculiar placement of his left hand over his left hip every time he struck.

  His theory was confirmed.

  “Hagen,” Garrick cried out. “You need to let me go! As much as I wanted her dead, I really did not mean for this to happen!” He squeezed the hilt of his weapon as he crouched to sprint.

  Hagen found his former nephew’s request amusing as he said, “I’m sorry. You must die. Is it not curious that the one who brought you into this world will be the one to take you out of it?”

  “Maybe it is fate,” said Garrick as he coughed out more blood. His left eye was swollen shut. He had never felt such pain. He was lightheaded because of it and feared he’d faint before he could enact his plan. “Maybe, this is a Greek tragedy. Maybe you were always meant to kill me. Or maybe I’m meant to kill you!”

  Hagen smiled. “Always the fighter,” he said. “This may mean nothing to you, Garrick. But I am proud of you. Goodbye, son.”

  For the first time during the entire encounter, Hagen jumped toward Garrick. There was so much power behind the oncoming fist, the very ground beneath Garrick’s feat trembled before impact. In his state, he knew this could be the end of him if he didn’t act fast.

  In the few seconds it took for Hagen’s fist to hit its target, Garrick was thankful for Octavius’ lessons more than ever. He jumped in the direction of his attacker. Hagen’s other hand was almost over his hip, but Garrick had pierced it with his blade just in time. The force of his jump sent him soaring in the sky several feet away from Hagen and, in his weakened state, there was little he could do but wait until he landed.

  Garrick closed his eyes while he enjoyed his short moment of peace with the cool breeze on his sore face. However, the peace was cut short the moment he landed and rolled on the fields. He did not want to be complacent, however, and stood up to make certain his attacker was incapacitated.

  Hagen knelt motionless in the distance and Garrick limped toward him.

  What Garrick had noticed during the battle was Hagen’s strength. At first, he assumed it was his advanced years under the tutelage of the High Lord of Terraincardia which gave him the advantage. But his suspicions were piqued when the Blood Cravers could not pierce his skin. And that was when he realized that Hagen possessed the second Incardian Inheritance—power. Those who possessed the second, Garrick remembered, often had mundane weak spots. Knowing this, an experienced user would carefully protect this spot. Garrick caught on to Hagen’s weak spot when he noted how he constantly protected his left hip with his left hand every time he was close enough to land a punch—so Garrick deduced, following the last blow he withstood, that the left hip must have been his weak spot.

  It was evident from the flames that had begun to engulf Hagen’s lower body that he was correct.

  Garr
ick knelt in front of him until they were eye-to-eye. Hagen smiled, his face reddened with pain, as he looked at Garrick’s mangled up face.

  “The smarter thing would have been to not draw attention to your weakness,” said Garrick.

  Hagen nodded and smiled as dark blood oozed out of his mouth. “I know that, son,” he said. “You know what happens next?” he asked. Garrick knew and he dreaded it. Life was not going to be comfortable for him—what else was new? He nodded in response. “I think you’ll survive it,” Said Hagen.

  Those were his last words.

  Rumsfeld played a game of chess against himself while he waited patiently in the hotel suite. He could think of no better way to relax. He tried using the wonderful facilities the hotel had to offer but could not help but wonder what his employer was up to. As he pondered on his next move, a loud flash followed by a thump and cry from Garrick’s room caught his attention. He opened the door hurriedly and was stunned to see a bloodied and almost unrecognizable Garrick on the floor.

  Hours passed before he could muster up all the healing spells he knew to speed up Garrick’s healing process. He had never seen an Incardian so beat up before and wondered if Garrick would survive it. But, not long after he had finished his conjuring, Garrick sat up on the bed with a concerned look on his face.

  “It’s over,” he said. “She’s dead.”

  Rumsfeld bit his lip and composed himself. “What now, sir? Will you enjoy the rest of your holiday?”

  Garrick chuckled softly. He had forgotten why he was in Los Angeles in the first place. There was no chance for a holiday anymore, he thought. “I killed a member of the Gore Council as well, Rumsfeld.”

  Rumsfeld gasped. “Miss Hagen’s father? Octavius filled me in when he returned.”

  Garrick nodded. “I will be branded a traitor. Every Incardian is going to be tasked with killing me. I am persona non grata.”

  “So, what do you want to do, sir?”

  Garrick shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far.”

  Rumsfeld left the room and returned with a brown envelope. “If I may suggest something, sir. I think we should pursue this. It was delivered in your absence.”

  Garrick opened the envelope and retrieved a plain white card with a few words scribbled on its center that read:

  Come to Yerevan when it’s convenient

  -ZAK

  “Who is ZAK?” he asked Rumsfeld.

  “Knox signs his correspondence that way. I can only assume the K means Knox, but I have no idea what the Z and A stand for.”

  “How does he know I’m here?”

  “Again, sir,” began Rumsfeld. “I have no idea.”

  Garrick stopped to ponder for a moment. He finally had a semblance of closure with Celina’s death, and had become a fugitive among the deadliest of Atrumankind. He was still skeptical about the Ambler prophecy, but he reckoned there was no better place for him to lay low than with the mysterious creator of the powerful Knoxian Heightening spell.

  “Pack what you need, Rumsfeld,” he said as he got out of bed. “Let’s see where this takes us.”

  Back in Reading, the County Sheriff drove up to the scene of the accident. Reading was usually relatively quiet, so he was shocked to hear about the ghastly accident that occurred on the outskirts of town. A woman reported she ran into a young man who fell off the bridge, possibly in a suicide attempt. What startled her, however, was the man seemed unhurt, despite almost totaling the car which ran into him, and left the scene of the accident.

  The Sheriff approached the woman who sat surrounded by deputies. She stared blankly and he knew not to ask any questions. “She’s in shock, Deputy.” he said. “Get her some help.”

  “Sir, we have another car on the bridge. It’s messed up pretty bad.” Said another deputy. The Sheriff followed her up to the bridge and noted the mangled-up Oldsmobile.

  “Shit,” he swore. “Coroner’s got the body already?”

  The Deputy looked around confusedly. “Uhm…. No, sir.”

  “Well, where is it then?”

  The Deputy looked at her notepad uncomfortable as the Sheriff glared at her impatiently. She stuttered for a moment before she said, “there wasn’t any, sir.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said the Sheriff. “Who drove it? The man who jumped.”

  “We can’t be sure, Sheriff. But we’ve gotten some reports that we don’t… well, we don’t quite understand them.”

  “What is it?” the Sheriff was getting angry.

  “Some eyewitnesses say they saw a wild animal leave the scene. Others said it was a person. But others… others…”

  “What do others say, goddamit?”

  “Sheriff, they’re saying it was Celina Hagen.”

  EPILOGUE

  1375. LOMA MOUNTAINS

  Half-dead from unknown diseases, Volant pushed himself through the uninhabitable forest. He knew not how long had passed since he decided to set off on this arduous journey, but he had gone far enough to eliminate all thoughts of retreat despite his immensely weakened constitution. He started with twenty of the strongest Samogitian warriors he could find, but now he pushed forth alone with an addled mind. He had fought many beasts on the way but could fight no more by that point. The few inhabitants of the land he came across said nothing to him. It was as if they could not see him or were instructed to act like they couldn’t. He did not know which was more perplexing. The water-filled blisters on his feet made walking a challenging feat, so he assisted himself with a makeshift walking stick he fashioned from a tree branch.

  Several hours later, when the prospect of dying in this jungle became almost certain, a man had appeared before him in the bushes. His skin was dark yet radiant; his hair was curly but long; his eyes were a bright emerald green; and his smile was the most inviting one he had ever seen. His body was covered by a dark cloak with golden images embroidered all over.

  “How old are you?” asked the man.

  Volant shuddered at the sound of his own language from the stranger’s mouth. “This must be an Atruman,” he thought. Yet, Volant was not driven by an urge to kill him. Instead, he answered the question. “I am Volant Aurimas Kesgaila,” he announced with fading pride in his voice. “Son of Mykolas and Agnes Kesgaila. I am twenty years old.”

  The stranger chuckled. “Tell me, Lord Kesgaila. Did you note the remains of all who have ventured here seeking what you seek?”

  Volant recalled the bones and skulls he saw on the path earlier. He suspected they were placed strategically to warn all would-be explorers to venture no further. “I did,” he said finally.

  “And what exactly is it you seek?”

  Volant fell to his knees. “I seek the means to destroy the ones who took my parents from me.”

  “Revenge?” said the stranger. “You do this for revenge? It is what has spurred you forward?” Volant nodded. “That is not enough, Samogitian. I cannot help you.”

  Volant was angered by this. “Then move out of my way,” he shot. “I have heard of one who resides in this unexplored jungle who can give me what I want. If it is not you, I would push on until I find him.”

  The stranger laughed some more. “And what happens when you get what you want?”

  Volant, with the aid of his stick, stood up again. “I will wipe them from the face of the earth.”

  The stranger examined his fuming visitor and shook his head slowly. “It is odd,” he said, “how fate works. A few like you have tried to gain the power you seek, but they all perished before long.”

  “Which is why none other has tried for years, I know,” said Volant.

  “And yet you still came?”

  Volant moved closer to the stranger until he was close enough to observe his surreal eyes. “If I cannot defeat the spawns of hell that prey on humankind—the ones who killed my parents—I do not need to live.”

  The stranger laughed some more. “Yes,” he said, “you do not.”

  He turned his back on Volant and walk
ed deeper into the forest. Volant attempted to stop him when he realized he no longer felt any pain or weakness. The blisters on his feet were gone and so was the fever. “What magic is this?” he asked in astonishment.

  The stranger looked over his shoulder. “I am the one you seek,” he said. “Over the millennia I have gone by several names. I have three I am partial to: Zina, Amadioha and Knox—but I am mostly known outside these parts as Knox.”

  Volant observed this ethereal man with curiosity and a sudden fear. “The Knoxian Heightening Spell,” he said.

  “Come, Lord Kesgaila,” he whispered with an outstretched arm. “Let’s make you great.”

  Gratitude

  Hi there!

  Thank you for reading the entire novel!

  As an independent author, your reviews on Amazon and Goodreads will go a long way in attracting more people to the Amblerverse! A short review would suffice and be hugely appreciated.

  Want More?

  Get the free story, ZAK, to learn more about the enigmatic and powerful Magirev, Knox, by joining the Ambler Accounts mailing list. You’ll only receive spam-free email notifications whenever a new book in the series or short story is available.

  Thanks again!

  Kevin C. Noel

  GARRICK WILL RETURN

  IN

  ARMY of SHIMSHON

  BOOK 2 OF THE AMBLER ACCOUNTS

  Meanwhile, go to my website to get a free short story:

  ZAK

  An Ambler Accounts Short Story

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kevin C. Noel is a Nigerian writer obsessed with fantasy, crime and historical fiction. He is currently working on the second book of the Ambler Accounts. If you’d like to know more about Kevin C. Noel, visit his website www.kevincnoel.com, follow him on Instagram @incardianambler, or like the Kevin C. Noel Facebook page! Also, feel free to contact him by email at kevincnoelwrites@gmail.com