Keys of Candor: The Red Deaths

by Casey Eanes

  The aberration slammed its fist against the glass, causing Hosp to flinch, and Abtren’s voice grew stronger than a thunderstorm.

  “WORDS. How can I trust that you are able to serve me? Your promises mean nothing to me.”

  Hosp’s countenance firmed as he gazed deeper into the portal. He lifted his bleeding hand from the glass and firmed his grip on the dagger.

  “I came fully expecting to prove my allegiance and my strength, my Queen. I merely wanted to ensure the portal was legitimate and that Seam was truthful in his claims. I will pour myself out to you, to the point of death, and I only ask for one thing in return. I beg to see your face.”

  His request was met with cold silence as the form stood motionless behind the vaporous cloud that shrouded her. Hosp grasped the knife and recklessly plunged it into his stomach. The dagger’s bite drove deep. He drew it out, wet with blood, only to let it drink again, slicing open his arm. A waterfall of crimson poured on the ground beneath him, rushing toward the foot of the mirror where it seeped into the glass with an acidic sizzle.

  Excruciating minutes passed as Hosp panted and bled in silence. Each heartbeat brought on a new surge of sacrifice, and he fought to maintain his footing. He supported himself against the mirror. The cold air of the room was replaced with a ferocious heat that radiated from the glass, causing sweat to drip from his brow as he waited, staring with a fading hope for a sign from the figure behind the fog, for something. Anything. The gloom of death wrapped around him, and his vision choked in the darkness. His heart continued its fatal duty, pushing out his life with each rhythmic beat. He realized that it would be over soon. He would either fade away, merging with the darkness that circled him, or his eyes would see the glory that his ancestors once knew. He grasped the mirror’s edges with all his strength and braced himself for what would come next. A single pinprick of white light broke through the hazy fog that swirled in the mirror. It grew exponentially, filling the darkened tent with hot, radiant light.

  The coming burst of light forced Seam to retreat from his hiding place for fear of being discovered. The thought of Hosp being alone with the mirror turned Seam’s stomach, but he knew he had no choice.

  Abtren’s emergence was captivating, and Hosp wheezed with anticipation as she appeared through the dissipating fog. Her beauty was indescribable, and her naked, full form was exposed to Hosp as he fell in fear and devotion to his knees. Her skin glowed like lightning and her eyes looked like the deep furnaces of the sun.

  Her voice thundered in Hosp’s ears, yet they were filled with an unspeakable tenderness, “You have done well, Hosp. If you are strong enough to survive your sacrifice then I may yet have a use for you.”

  She ran her hand down the glass and pointed behind Hosp.

  “Know this. You are my protector now. No one must come between us. Especially not the High King of Lotte.” Her voice turned grim, “He is not one of us. Conspire and plan what you must, but you must eliminate him. He holds the key that binds me to this cursed prison.”

  Hosp crumpled to his knees as he grasped at the mirror. Hot tears mingled with his own blood.

  “Of course, my Queen. He is seeking out the other keys. He believes that he is the Keeper and has dreams of restoring order back to Candor.”

  “And you must help him. Help him find the other Keys of Candor, for only when he holds all of them can we be released. Yes, you must help the young fool find all of the keys and release my kin. And then you must strike him down. My brothers and sisters have been calling out to me, for they have sensed my awakening. They are...hungry for justice. For revenge.”

  Hosp whispered, his mind exploding with awe and desire. “Direct me where I am to begin, my Queen, and it will be so!”

  Abtren smiled and spoke softly. “I know where only one of my brothers is bound, faithful Hosp. Arakiel’s portal is buried deep within the bone field of Zenith. He is so very close to us; I can feel him calling out to me. He alone knows where the others may lay.”

  “I will find where he has been kept, my Queen.”

  “Hosp of Intryll, you are the man of destiny. Take your rightful place and you will know more of me and the Dominion that is to come.”

  “You have my word. You have my life. I am yours, my Queen.”

  A smile slid across Abtren’s face as the vapors of the mirror began to swallow her. She left with one last word.

  “Very good. Your sacrifice is noted, and it has given me much strength. I will require no more blood from you this day, faithful servant. I look forward to our meeting outside this cursed portal. Serve me well.”

  The mirror went dark and Hosp collapsed to the floor, swallowed by a pool of his own blood and sweat. He climbed to his knees and crawled for the door where he finally called out for Seam.

  Seam burst through the curtain to the sight of Hosp lying prostrate on the floor with a trail of blood leading to the mirror. The air in the room had grown frigid, and Hosp’s pale skin had become sickly white. This was worse than he expected.

  Seam recoiled at Hosp’s mangled body. “You fool! I thought you said you knew how to summon her. What were you thinking?”

  Hosp grinned as he looked up at Seam and said, “I know exactly what I am doing.”

  Seam lifted the Surrogator from the ground and ran him back to the outer room of the tent. He set Hosp down in a small chair. In the light of the room, Seam could not believe the damage that Hosp rendered upon himself. It both disgusted and terrified him. He screamed out for help, his eyes unable to turn away from the deluge of crimson pouring out from his ally’s body.

  Bronson broke through the door and stopped in shock at the sight of Hosp’s bloodied body and the trail of blood leading to the inner chamber. He did his best to shake the realization that Hosp had nearly been killed in the mirror room. The horrific image of Abtren’s face that night at the Crossroads hammered in his memories. He stammered as he fought to hold onto his sanity.

  “What are you waiting on, you fool? Get help!” shouted Seam.

  Bronson broke himself free of his nightmares and shouted for help.

  “MEDIC!”

  A medic rushed in and went to work without a word, spraying a disinfectant and wrapping thick layers of gauze tightly around the open wounds on both Hosp’s palm and wrist. Blood still poured out of him, and Seam grimaced as Hosp smiled like a wild man, wild-eyed and oblivious at his own condition. Bronson slipped from the tent, knowing he had to find an escape from these dark matters. His exit was unnoticed as everyone poured over Hosp.

  “Will he live?” Seam asked, full of doubt.

  The medic flipped down his eyenocular visor and took a quick scan of Hosp’s body. “The knife nearly got his stomach, but it looks like he’s safe. It’s just a puncture wound, a bad one, but it only cut through flesh.”

  “Good,” the word came out quick, but rang hollow to Seam’s ear.

  The medic pulled out a vial and loaded his syringe-gun. He shouted to Hosp who writhed on the floor in a show of disturbing ecstasy. “This will be painful, Surrogator, more painful than the wound itself. Brace yourself.” Hosp nodded and the medic thrust the metallic gun down into the gaping hole in Hosp’s stomach. With a loud bang, he emptied its contents. Immediately Hosp’s flesh began to grow over itself, and he howled out in pain. In a few minutes, a hot-white scar bubbled up over the wound, singeing his skin with new growth.

  “That is only a patch, Surrogator. The skin will be soft, weak, and thin. Please take precautions not to overexert yourself, or I guarantee you it will open again.” Hosp kept his eyes shut but nodded. “As another precaution, I’m calling in a transfusion for you; your scan indicated that your blood count is severely low.”

  “Thank you, medic,” Seam whispered, wiping the sweat off his brow and glancing around the room. He leaned in close and whispered to the doctor. “It is vital that you keep this...this little incident off the record. The Surrogator’s wellbeing will not be compromised to the Grogan forces here, is that
understood? Please ask Bronson to report back to me as well.”

  The medic nodded and stammered out an affirmative response before leaving the tent. As soon as the two were alone again, Seam yanked Hosp to his feet.

  “What are you trying to do?” Seam looked over his shoulder to the tent doors. “We are trying to begin the process of ending this charade, not send it into oblivion! How am I to explain a dead Surrogator of the Grogan people in the midst of peace-talks?”

  Hosp chuckled and made an attempt to brush Seam away as he stumbled into a nearby chair. He looked back to the opening that led to the mirror as he lowered himself into the seat.

  “Seam. I am no fool. I have dreamt of that moment since I was a boy. I knew full well what I was risking, and I know the risk you and I will both have to make to continue our plans. These are risks worth taking, and there will be many more in order to fulfill our destinies.”

  Seam paced the floor, looking back to the door, waiting on the reappearance of the medic with the transfusion needed for Hosp. He lowered his voice as he spoke.

  “You know what we need. The two remaining keys. Once we have them secured we will be able to secure the remaining portals and re-establish the Dominion. We have both studied the black book. It is not a question of if, but when we gather the keys.”

  A smile snaked across Hosp’s face as he nodded in agreement. The sound of approaching footsteps led him to lean in close to Seam’s ear and whisper, “I know where to find Arakiel. She told me.”

  Seam’s eyes grew wide in awe as Hosp sat back in the chair with a victorious smile. The medic burst into the room with two blood bags in each hand. As he set up the transfusion equipment, Seam’s gaze never left Hosp’s face. His smile was not that of a liar. He’s telling the truth. He knows where to find the next Serub, but there is something else. Something he’s not telling me. Despite hearing part of Hosp’s secret conversation, he knew Hosp was hiding something from him. Seam fought the urge to throw the medic from the tent and strangle the secret from Hosp, but he knew that he couldn’t. He needed Hosp to finalize this war.

  Seam put his arm on the medic toiling over Hosp.

  “Please do whatever you can to ensure his comfort. We have a very important announcement to release to the entire continent of Candor within two hours. Will he be stable enough by then?”

  The medic nodded, “Not to worry, my king. I can use some stabilizers and adrenaline to make sure he is ready.” He reached for a syringe and several capsules. He loaded the syringe and plunged it into Hosp’s leg. Hosp winced, but his eyes were still filled with uncanny ecstasy. The medic emptied and reloaded the syringe, “Surrogator, you will feel terrible tomorrow, but as for two hours from now, you will be as good as new.”

  Hosp offered a congenial smile and nodded, “Thank you.”

  Seam excused himself from the tent and stepped out into the desert sun to think over what he just witnessed. Hosp knew something. That much was clear, but Seam had also learned a new secret. Hosp was no Grogan; he was from Intryll. The snake he long tried to tame was an imposter from Riht.

  Bronson approached Seam and bowed his head. “The medic sent your summons. How can I be of assistance, High King?”

  Seam smiled and motioned his head toward the tent, “Keep an eye on that one, Bronson. Be covert, but watch him. I don’t trust the man.”

  Bronson’s heart sank to the depths of his stomach as he tried to imagine some way to escape from his duty, to leave Seam behind, but he was trapped. His destiny had been tied to a mad man. He let out a sigh as he answered.

  “Yes sir. As you command.”

  ***

  Every datalink and service screen throughout Candor flashed to life as a force feed was pushed out over all the network servers. The screen was focused on Seam and Hosp standing with Evan, Filip’s son and the new leader of Elum. In addition there were several Alephian monks and Rihtians standing amongst them. Behind all of them a new flag flew in the desert air, flashing red and blue, the colors of Lotte and the Groganlands intertwined. A shield made of flames burned squarely in the center of the new banner.

  Seam stepped forward and addressed the cameras, “To the citizens of Candor and all the people in all of the Realms. Today is truly a momentous day, and it is with great pleasure that I address you all here in what was once Zenith. Today is a new day for our world, for this pronouncement is not just for the denizens of the Groganlands and Lotte, but for all people who are on the continent. Too long have our nations been at war. Too long have our people, all of our people, been subject to bloodshed. We have marched for generations to the steady, never-ending drumbeat of war. This ends today, my friends, my countrymen. The most recent conflict between the Groganlands and Lotte, I am happy to announce, is now over.”

  Silence filled the pregnant pause between Seam’s statements all over Candor. The masses braced themselves for what would come next.

  “The Kingdom of Lotte and the mighty people of the Groganlands have agreed upon not just a ceasefire but also an Alliance, and this Alliance is supported and held up by our brothers in the nation of Elum, the Order of Aleph presiding in Preost, and the remnants of the once proud nation of Riht where we now stand. Our world has been groaning in pain for peace for hundreds of years. Wars, disease, and disasters have threatened to wipe us all from this planet. We have survived, but as the human race we have struggled far too long. We must stop our selfish self-destruction. This day we make a new vow. A vow that we shall not threaten our species’ existence anymore. Finally, we shall stand united!”

  The soldiers in Zenith burst into a roar of applause. Cameras buzzed overhead, capturing the euphoria unfolding as both Grogan and Lottian soldiers laid down their weapons and began to shake hands and embrace one another.

  The broadcast feed focused back onto Hosp as he approached the wide podium set before the two men. He lifted his hands as he spoke, “To all of my fellow citizens of Candor, welcome to a new world! A world that is built upon diplomacy and honesty and a willingness to share our burdens and joys with one another! We have identified and punished those responsible for our most recent conflict. However, we ask for your help and support as there are a few conspirators still on the loose. The armies of Lotte and the Groganlands are performing an exhaustive pursuit for a trio of coconspirators that sought to create confusion and incite aggression amidst our people.” Hosp paused, as if weighing his word carefully. “Once their plot was uncovered Seam and I knew that our fighting must cease and that peace must prevail. We cannot allow terror to bind us any longer. We must be set free from our bondage of fear; our bondage of hatred and bigotry toward one another. We must band together to stop these radicals among us, these traitors that kindle the flame of hatred and distrust between our mighty nations, reigniting the fuse of war. They may have lit the fuse, but, my friends,” Hosp smiled broadly, “we have snuffed out their fire before it destroyed our world.”

  The roar of the crowd died down. Seam stepped to the podium again and pointed to the screens flanking the stage.

  “I want all eyes in Candor to look at the faces set before you. These three individuals have led an assassin’s guild aimed at the destruction of peace. They sought further power and control through the weapon of fear. We have lost too much to their bloody hands. Hagan, the mighty leader of the Groganlands, was poisoned and killed by their conspiracy. Filip, the rightful ruler of Elum who has long championed for peace and diplomacy, was struck down. And I…” Seam paused as his voice cracked with emotion. “I lost my very father to their murderous hands. I want everyone to see the faces of these killers and bring them immediately to me.”

  The data feed changed over first to an image of Willyn as a mechanical female voice announced her name and nation of origin. “WILLYN KARA OF THE GROGANLANDS.” Willyn was followed by an image of Grift Shepherd. “GRIFT SHEPHERD OF LOTTE.” Finally, the screen froze on the image of Wael. “MASTERMONK WAEL OF PREOST.” The image of Wael brought an audible gasp of discontent from
the crowd of soldiers at Zenith, and a buzz grew before Seam readdressed the broadcast.

  “I know. It is terribly unsettling to have learned that our own Mastermonk of the Alephian Order was involved in such a terrible plot. However, sources from both Lotte and the Groganlands' intelligence have linked Wael of Preost to the other two individuals shown. He cannot be trusted and is extremely dangerous. If you see him, notify enforcement officers immediately. Do not attempt to apprehend any of these individuals on your own! Notify your local authorities! Though their actions have leveled untold amounts of pain and loss on our nations, we must apprehend and investigate in a civil manner. You, dear people of Candor, are better than them, and we ask that you not resort to their level of violence.”

  The murmur of the crowd continued until Hosp spoke again, taking the microphone. “This news is troubling indeed, but we must not focus on the negativity of these terrorists. Their goal has been to undermine our sense of security and ensure that the old ways and the old seats of power were preserved. It has worked until this day. We must now rejoice and celebrate our new peace. Those responsible have now been marked and will soon be brought to justice, but today, my brothers, my friends, rejoice in your new freedom and peace. We have entered into a new age!”