by Jeff Gunzel
“Their olds lives? What is that supposed to mea—” Her eyes bulged out. “The soulless,” she whispered. “No... It can’t be.”
Azek’s smile widened. “Yes.” He let the simple answer hang in the air.
She hadn’t made the connection until now. When the savage humans were no longer under Dragot’s control, they had been forced to adapt to modern society despite being fifth-generation men and women who knew nothing of the world outside of stone prisons. They couldn’t communicate, had no skills, and were nearly afraid of everything. Even now they were shunned for their lack of refinement, despite the incredible progress so many had made. Even though unjustified assaults on their kind were a daily occurrence, the Queen’s soldiers often looked the other way.
Some were learning trades. Others worked in the palace, cleaning, cooking, and even learning to play music. But no matter how hard they tried to fit in, they would always be branded for life. Whispers in the streets followed them when they walked by. Be careful. It’s one of them. Forsaken savages. Hide your children from these monsters. They are soulless.
And so the name stuck. The soulless would never have purpose in life. Never would they be fully accepted, no matter how hard they worked to discredit the myths and rumors. The seeds of prejudice were planted deep, and would no doubt fester for years. In regards to this unfortunate reality, they truly were soulless.
“The upcoming war is of a more...personal nature to them. Wouldn’t you agree?” said Azek, his face hard as stone once again. “For once in their lives they have been given a purpose, a chance to get revenge against the darkness that once enslaved them. To rise up and grab this vile force by the throat. After all, what does one have to lose when it seems he never should have existed at all?”
Ilirra raised her fingers, rubbing circles around her temples. “Why did you show me this?” She sounded tired. “What does any of that haunting image have to do with—”
“You and I can’t stop this dark force that threatens our existence. Were those not your exact words?”
She stared at him blankly.
His voice softened. “You and I are not alone in this. Those brave men have made a choice and are determined to see it through, no matter the outcome. The Gate Keeper himself should have died many times already, yet he still draws breath and pushes on.” He softened his voice to a near whisper. “Jade still remains at his side. Despite all odds, I’m beginning to think those two can move mountains when they work together.”
Ilirra opened her mouth to speak, but only nodded in response.
“Don’t take the weight of the world and place it squarely on yourself. We are not alone in this, and I swear to fight on as long as our friends do. Hope just may be our strongest ally.”
Feeling numb, she collapsed against his chest. “Aid to our cause seems to come from the most unlikely sources,” she whispered against him. “If this is to be our end, I’ll look our enemies in the eye before I fall. I swear my resolve will not waver again.”
Azek held her close, time slowly passing by. Standing together in the street, not a single wagon rolled by. The stars twinkled away peacefully, the night sky watching over them.
Chapter 3
The High Priestess leaned forward in her skeletal throne. A white table with empty chairs, all assembled from polished bone, spread out before her. Shantis gripped her silver goblet so hard it began to creak in protest, threatening to collapse in her hand. She tipped it back, downing yet another swallow of ice-cold water, then relaxed her grip, rolling it around in her hand. Tiny jewels encrusted around the rim sparkled in the lamplight. Hiding her growing impatience was becoming more difficult by the minute.
Shantis hardly noticed when a servant scurried up and refilled her goblet from a plain silver pitcher. She was too preoccupied, bouncing her gaze between the doorway and the bone-framed oil paintings on the wall. One of her favorite pieces portrayed a ritual of sorts. Both crytons and humans joined hand in hand, circling an open fire. The artwork was very old, even by cryton standards, and she couldn’t help but wonder when it was painted. Was this before the Undead War? Were the two races allies at this time, or was the portrayal nothing more than a fool’s wish? Then I am the greatest fool of all, she thought.
Her champion, Brinkton, stood to her right with his back pressed firmly against the wall. His eyes were small, like little yellow beans, and his nose was wide and flat. An underbite made him appear as if he were constantly growling, but his reputation had nothing to do with his looks. This brute was one of the finest warriors amongst the crytons. A killer amongst killers, he was the personal bodyguard to the High Priestess.
On this day in particular, Shantis looked to share her bodyguard’s scowl while continuing to frown at the doorway. Once again she had called another meeting to discuss recent events involving the Gate Keeper. As usual, the other representatives were taking their time to arrive, forcing her to wait, testing her patience.
“Who do they think they are?” Shantis grumbled to Brinkton in their native tongue. “The humans have reached out to us. Eric and his friends have proven to be substantial allies. Yet here we sit doing nothing to aid them. What more has to happen to our village before we take action?”
“Since when does mindless action seem more applicable than wisdom and common sense?” came a sharp reply from outside the room. Shantis stood from her chair. Two tall men entered the room, each wearing a scowl similar to her own.
“Coompall. Graten. I’m glad to see you’ve finally arrived. I was beginning to think something had happened to you both, seeing as I called this meeting to start some time ago,” said Shantis, trying to force down her anger.
“By the looks of things, I would say we’re early,” said Coompall smugly, the taller of the two.
Shantis ignored the sarcasm and waited for them to sit before returning to her own seat. The same servant ran up to them and placed silver water goblets in front of each. Shantis ran her fingers through her long white hair, drawing it back. It was thin by human standards but marvelously thick for a cryton. Her numerous gold and silver bracelets clacked away even with the gentle movement. She ran a hand down her white dress worn only for these meetings, smoothing it out. She was stalling, composing herself so as not to say something out of anger. “Yes, I suppose you two are the first to arrive. I assume the others will be here soon enough.”
“You assume much,” said Graten, a broad man with eyes smaller than Brinkton’s. He blinked constantly, those yellow dots darting all around the room.
“My patience wears thin with these constant delays,” Shantis hissed. “I’m having a hard time believing the true Gate Keeper’s sudden appearance is of such little importance to everyone. The prophesies are unfolding right before our eyes, yet all we do is delay.” She rose from her chair, her bright yellow eyes piercing through each of them in turn. “For years we have avoided the humans. We hid like animals, afraid to let our presence be known to the world. But my friends, the Undead War was a long time ago. The Gate Keeper has come! Crytons and humans will once again work together. We must stand together and face the darkness that threatens our world. When this vile force brings pain and death, sweeping across the world like a raging forest fire, it will show no prejudice. All are fair game in the eyes of the darkness. We, too, must show no prejudice. We must stand together with our brothers and sisters.”
“Brothers and sisters, she says,” came a taunting voice from outside the room. In walked a tall female wearing a low-cut red dress. Her white hair was even thicker than Shantis’s. Long and wild, it flared out in all directions like a sunset, each braid ending in a tiny red ribbon. With gold and silver bracelets running up each arm and several hoop earrings to match, it was clear this woman had gone to great lengths to make an appearance.
“How good to see you, old friend,” said Shantis. Instead of standing, she drew herself up in her chair, back straight as a board. Filista Umyon was more than a little familiar with the High Priestess. She ofte
n voiced her opinion against Shantis’s authority, and had long made it clear she could better serve the crytons if given a higher rank. But her obvious lust for power and occasionally alarming temper made the others think better of it.
Despite her shortcomings, this woman was no fool. Shantis knew this. When under control, she actually made for a good advisor. She was a competent woman who was not afraid to speak her mind. Therefore, she was always asked to attend such events, if only to get an extreme opinion on the subject at hand, a daring assessment few others would offer.
“Please have a seat, Filista, then perhaps we can finally get started,” said Shantis, her voice calm despite her growing irritation. “It’s high time we made some decisions, and I—”
“For once we agree,” interrupted Filista. “It’s time some decisions were made.” She remained standing, leaning back with one foot planted against the white wall. With her high cheekbones and small mouth, she always looked to have a permanent smirk. Like someone with a secret they weren’t willing to share. Right now, it was difficult to tell if that smirk was genuine or not. “It seems you’ve taken more interest in this ‘human’ than you have for your own kind. My people expect a bit more from their High Priestess...old friend.”
“Your people?” said Shantis, struggling to contain her anger. “And since when have you become the voice of the people?”
“Since you’ve turned your back on them in favor of a weaker race. Ever since you’ve started chasing this ancient myth—”
“Ancient myth?” Shantis growled softly. Her eyes squinted into yellow slits. She slowly rose from her chair. “How can you possibly still doubt the coming of the Gate Keeper? Did you not see what he is capable of? Were you not there when he—”
“When he what?” she shot back. “Led those black creatures straight to our village? Tried his best to eliminate our people once and for all?”
“How dare you?” Shantis shrieked, finally losing her composure. “We performed the ancient ritual. You were there, damn you! It was—”
“It was never completed,” said Filista flatly. The room fell silent. Pulling herself off the wall, she stood tall and confident. “Not all of us are blinded by the tricks of the humans. That man knew what the outcome would be. He willingly played along, knowing he had already fooled our gullible High Priestess. When it was clear he was about to be revealed as the false god he is, he summoned those demons to interrupt the ritual.”
Shantis trembled with anger; her knuckles popped as her fists clenched tightly. “I’ve heard enough of this treachery,” she growled. “Your pitiful twisting of reality is nothing more than a manifestation of your own fear. If you are afraid to answer your calling, then so be it. The glory will fall upon us while you cower like a rabbit.”
“Oh, my dear friend,” said Filista, her gentle voice dripping with false sympathy. “Being led to slaughter by a false god has nothing to do with glory. For years we have lived in peace without those butchers getting involved in our lives. Has any race ever shown such knack for turning against one another? They kill and pillage as often as children argue. The humans come here with their lies and tricks, easily deceiving our mighty leader.” Now she was talking more to the others than to Shantis.
“That’s enough, Filista,” said Shantis. “The humans have...self-destructive tendencies, I agree. As time passes, they will learn.”
“Thousands of years were not long enough? Lizards display more adaptability.”
“I said enough! None of this is relevant. You do not speak for the people, and I’m sure the others will—”
One by one, armed men began to march into the room. Shantis watched while five men took positions around the room, each pointing a spear in her direction. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, old friend. I do indeed speak for the people,” said Filista, her permanent smirk appearing quite genuine all of a sudden.
Graten and Coompall each thrust their seats back, holding up their hands innocently. “High Priestess, we knew nothing of this,” stuttered Coompall. “We–We take our leave.” They scurried from the room.
“Your hunger for power is so great you would commit treason?” Shantis thundered to Filista.
“Protecting the lives of my people is not treason,” said Filista calmly. “I will not allow you to lead them to certain death all because a mere human deceived our leader. Please come quietly...old friend. I know you don’t see it now, but this is best for everyone. In your stead, I will see to the people and tend to their needs—a thing I find of great importance. An issue you seem to have forgotten.”
Shantis unclenched her fists, then pointed across the men with a sweeping finger. “Stand down now! I can see you have been tricked, and I will take that into consideration when deciding your punishment. I am your High Priestess, the only true authority in this room. I say once more: stand down.”
“We–We no longer answer to you,” said one of the cryton soldiers. He shook his spear in Shantis’s direction, glancing periodically at Filista. “C-Come with us now. We don’t want to have to hurt you.” The other four visibly tightened their grips on their spears, but didn’t advance, each waiting for the others to take initiative.
Shantis slowly shook her head and sighed. A deep sadness showed in her eyes. “Then it seems I have no choice,” she whispered. “For what it’s worth, I forgive each of you, and may the gods do the same.” She bowed low to the ground then stood up straight. Their eyes went wide with horror. “Die with honor.”
Smooth and quick, she blazed across the room and was on the first soldier before he could blink. Grasping his spear just below the tip, Shantis brought down her forearm, shattering the weapon in a spray of splinters. Keeping her momentum, she spun about, driving a vicious elbow into the soldier’s throat. Windpipe instantly destroyed, the man released a wet, gurgling gasp as he hit the wall, then crumpled to the ground.
In one clean motion, she reversed her spin, driving the splintered spear tip into the next soldier’s eye. Dead instantly, he collapsed down next to his gasping comrade. With a kick, she flipped the table towards the other three, forcing them to scatter before it crashed against the wall. Shantis dropped down low, palms flat and one knee to the floor, showing her teeth.
“Don’t just stand there, take her down,” barked Filista, moving near the doorway. It was unclear if she was blocking any escape attempt, or simply trying to get out of harm’s way.
Shantis rose back to her feet. “You heard the coward hiding in the doorway. Come, take me down. Forfeit your lives in the name of her cause.”
Blinding pain emanated through the back of her head, driving her back down to her knees. A second blast sent her skidding across the floor. The room spun and her vision blurred in and out. The warrior rolled to her back and looked up into the eyes of her champion. Weakly, she reached up to him with a trembling hand, only to have it kicked to the side. “Why, Brinkton?” she mumbled softly. “I trusted you.”
For a heartbeat, his stern face saddened. His hard eyes softened with sympathy, looking down at his leader, his friend. An instant later, the flash of compassion disappeared like smoke. His permanent scowl deepened into a hateful glare. He drove his fist down into her face once, twice... Her head bounced off the floor with each solid hit. Clinging to consciousness, she rolled to her stomach and tried to crawl. The futile attempt was stopped easily when he dropped a knee into her back, all his weight pinning her down. He gripped her hair, pulling her head back sharply.
Filista marched over to the helpless warrior. Her arms hung limply like a scarecrow’s. “Why must you be so stubborn?” said Filista, her face only inches away. “Can’t you see this is for your own good, for the good of the people?”
“I sssee the acts of a traitor,” Shantis said in common tongue, knowing no one would even understand her. “A coward who betraysss her own people, all for the sssake of personal gain. You ssspin the facts as a ssspider weaves a web, all ssso you look
to be a sssavior. Sssave them? You’ve doomed our people.”
Filista just shook her head. “Even now, the devils’ language drips from your mouth like venom. Take her away.”
* * *
Large red flags hung from the rooftop, drooping low in the breezeless night air. Vivid and easy to spot even in the black of night, they clearly marked the private hut. No one was to enter here without permission, and most avoided it altogether. Guards patrolled the hut day and night; spears in hand, they watched attentively through their wicker helmets. Tonight there were two at the doorway, three others patrolling around the building.
The night had been uneventful as usual, but that was no excuse for growing complacent. Kelus’s orders were clear: protect the Shantie Rhoe...at all costs. The two at the doorway stood at attention, their spears locked together, crossed over the doorway. Their eyes remained focused straight ahead. The other three soldiers passed in front of their vision once again, continuing their march in an endless circle.
The moment the three disappeared around the corner, one of the door guards brought a hand up to his neck. The tiny jab felt like an insect bite. The other ignored his partner, eyes still scanning across the plentiful bushes and trees. Nothing seemed out of place. A tiny sting at the side of his own neck made him jump. The two looked at each other, eyes wide, the fast-acting poison already working. A white-hot burning sensation moved through their necks, all the way down to their toes. Voices failed when they tried to call out for help. The sky began to twist and spin as consciousness left them. But instead of hitting the ground, they each fell into waiting arms and were quickly dragged into nearby bushes.
Eric sat up on his bed. Not sure what had disturbed his sleep, he looked around the room. He detected no movement or any other evidence that something might be wrong. Of all your senses, trust your eyes the least, his father used to say. Your eyes are always in a state of overstimulation. They see what they want to see. If you really want to see the truth, don’t use them. “I remember, father,” he said out loud, then closed his eyes and began to focus, listening, feeling.