by T B Phillips
“Rest easy, Kalani, your death was not in vain.” She spoke the words for the priests standing around her, waiting to anoint the body. In her mind she screamed opposition. Of course, your death was in vain. All of you have sacrificed young lives for nothing.
She paused when her eye caught a glimpse of a dark object that had rolled onto the floor. The covens revered the oracle beads as relics and the source of omniscience. But Fatwana knew the truth thanks to the work of her brother, Samani, who had been hiding in Andalon. She defiantly left the black bead where it lay, a discarded symbol of her faith in the Council, and left the priests to their ministrations over the body.
A figure stood outside when she opened the door to the oracle room. “Fatwana. Another dispatch has arrived from the Council.”
“Thank you, Adelina.” As the lead sister turned toward her cell, she noticed that the young woman lingered, eyes locked on the white room as the door closed. “Is there something else, sister?”
The girl lowered her eyes submissively and shyly shifting her weight before answering, “One of the initiates told me that Kalani gave the ultimate sacrifice.”
“Yes. I only just left him. Why don’t you walk me to my cell?”
“Thank you.”
“You look troubled, sister. Tell me your concern.”
“Kalani and I…” Adelina blushed and Fatwana could tell that the youth had shared intimacy. “We were friends.”
“You mean that you were lovers?”
The girl blushed a deeper shade. “Yes, lead sister. I’m sorry.”
“There is nothing to apologize for, sister Adelina. You have not broken any rules.” All four oracles urged celibacy, but sexual interactions were not forbidden within the covens. “The dangers of forming a relationship are great, though, as I believe you are experiencing. Do you need a day or two for mourning?”
“I… Yes, please. And may I see him? To say goodbye?”
Fatwana shook her head. “I am sorry. Once the priests have taken over, we are strictly forbidden to have contact with the soulless husk.”
“He had something of mine, a favor that he kept in his pocket.”
Alarmed, the lead sister stopped abruptly. “Now that is against the rules, sister. We may not keep property.”
“I know, lead sister, and I’m sorry.”
“What kind of favor are we talking about? A trinket? A note?” Fatwana resumed walking and Adelina followed.
“A ring, lead sister.” Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes and she stopped, burying her face in shame.
Fatwana approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. “This is indeed a violation. Jewelry is strictly forbidden, as I am sure that you’re aware.”
“I’m sorry, lead sister. I truly am.”
“You’re to be confined to your cell while I decide your punishment.” She wanted to act with leniency and compassion, but her foremost task as the lead sister was to enforce the codes of the coven. “But I will tell the others that it is for mourning and I want you to treat it as such. Do you understand?”
The girl nodded. “Yes, sister.”
“Good. Now go and leave me in peace. I have work to do in my own cell.”
The girl scurried away and Fatwana opened the door. She flipped a switch on the wall. The overhead lights were dim and illuminated a simple apartment free of adornment or decoration. In the corner rested a small bed for sleeping and a chair for sitting or reading. In the opposite corner sat a single writing desk. Atop the desk rested one of only two computers allowed in the coven.
She sat down and accessed the network. The connection was painstakingly slow as usual. The Winter Oracle was situated high in the mountains north of Astia, and the transmission lines were buried long ago. She had once read that people of the world had long ago communicated via objects that floated in the sky, but that was before the Great Eruption first ionized the atmosphere. It was also before the Final War when all of the great nations destroyed each other out of greed and survival.
Her connection to the network was confirmed and she quickly found the dispatch from the Council. The statement was vague in details but clear in direction. The Council demands the immediate return of all oracle representatives. Arrive with haste. Fatwana frowned, thinking about the disastrous outcome from the last time they had summoned her. She had been put on display and forced to announce the emotants, as if she were responsible for their awakenings. Fatwana sighed. She had no choice but to obey the summons.
Adeline left the lead sister in a hurry, embarrassed that she had admitted to breaking sacred laws of the coven. Tears flowed and her sobs were inconsolable as she sprinted down the passageway. Luckily the halls were deserted during mealtime, so no one saw her unsightly state. She began to hyperventilate and paused to catch her wind.
One hand rested on the wall as she bent over, shaking as she focused on each breath. But she tasted more salt from her tears than felt air enter her lungs. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she began to breathe with control and regularity. Footsteps sounded around the corner and they were coming closer. Panic took her breath a second time.
Embarrassed by her condition, she ducked into the nearest door, shutting it quietly behind her. She leaned against the cold metal, listening to the sounds on the other side. After a moment the footsteps passed by and she felt that it was safe to move. She looked around and instantly realized where she was.
She gasped. This is the room in which he died, she thought. For the second time in several minutes, Adeline had broken another rule of the Coven. She had desecrated the oracle chamber with her unclean presence. She fell to her knees and wept silently, hands over her mouth and thinking about the horrific consequences that awaited her.
Even the body of Kalani was missing. Only a few minutes had passed since Fatwana had exited the room, but everything had changed. When Adeline had previously peeked inside, she had clearly seen the priests standing over her lover’s husk. But the altar stood empty. How could they have moved his body so quickly? Fatwana’s cell was not far away down the passage and she had not heard them leave. Where did they go?
Curious, she stood and walked the room running her hand along the stone slab, still warm where his body had lain. Bending over she placed her cheek in the spot upon which his head had rested. With her right hand she gently caressed the surface where his chest would have breathed his last. Fatwana was correct that they had formed a relationship, but it was not a mistake as she had suggested. Their love was as true as any lovers from legend and she must seek him in the afterlife.
She knew what she must do. As soon as her mourning period and punishment ended, she would request to move up in rotation. She was not due again for another month, but she would volunteer for extra assignments. She wanted to endure the Ka’ash’mael and hoped that it would bring death. She yearned to transcend her soul and leave her husk behind.
Muffled screams beyond the wall caught her attention. She snapped back to reality and stood, leaving the altar behind. The stone is thick, how can I hear through it? She felt along until she found a slight depression atop one of the edges and pressed. A hidden door slid open and the hideous screaming overcame her ears.
Softly she tiptoed down a corridor, careful not to reveal her presence. She knew that she should turn and run but fear and curiosity pushed her onward, down the dark hallway toward a glowing sliver of red. She arrived at a door, slightly ajar, and discovered that the light came from within. Silently she crept forward until she could see inside.
Six coven priests stood around a polished altar very similar to the slab in the white oracle room. Except this entire room was carved out of a deep onyx. The ceiling, the walls, and even their robes were darker than the night. Sinister lights glowed red, casting a strange shadow on each of the faces within. Adelina gasped when she recognized her lover’s naked form atop the slab and fear locked her fe
et in place.
Mesmerized she watched as one of the priests fell to the ground in agony, spilling a bowl of oracle beads. The others kept at their work, ignoring both their comrade and the round white balls rolling across the slab. Adeline stared as dozens bounced on the floor, one even rolling near her hiding place at the door. Why are they white?
She strained her eyes to see her lover spread out on the table. The priests stood over his body, chanting and waving their hands over his skin. Another fell to the ground writhing in pain like the first. His body shook and convulsed. Why don’t the others help them? After the third fell to the floor the fourth placed his hands atop Kalani’s forehead. With his eyes closed, his muscles spasmed in rhythm with the convulsions of the others. It’s as if he is drawing power from them! And then Kalani sat up from the table.
The three men on the floor rose up and helped Adeline’s lover into a standing position. Then, one of them brought a robe and dropped it over his head. Another placed a feathered collar around his shoulders and then she understood. She had seen one of the Falconers during her vision of Fatwana’s brother several months before. She could no longer contain her fear and let out a single gut-wrenching scream.
Everyone in the room looked at the door but no one moved toward her. Kalani stared blankly, apparently not recognizing his love. One of the priests placed a black bead into the Falconers mouth and his pupils instantly dilated. Fear sent Adeline racing from the room and down the corridor, hoping to get free but not knowing where she could hide. When she entered the oracle room she slipped on a forgotten black bead on the floor and fell. Her head struck the stone altar.
The corners of her vision swam as everything around her pulsed. She rolled over and tried to stand but wisps of air wrapped tightly around her hands and feet. She lost her balance a second time and toppled forward, splitting the skin above her left eye on the stone. Through a crimson smear she made out the Falconer looming above. With a weak voice she begged, “Kalani! Stop! It’s me!”
“Kalani?” Her lover appeared confused.
“Yes! You are Kalani! I know that you are in there!” She slipped in her own blood, smearing it against the white and ruining the purity of the sacred place. “Come back to me, Kalani!” Sobs caught in her throat and she coughed. Tears and mucus streamed down her face.
“Yes. I recognize that name,” the Falconer said, “I am Kalani.” One of the priests whispered into his ear and another wisp of air noosed around Adelina’s neck.
Gasping, she clawed at the invisible rope, feeling, but unable to grab ahold of the strands. She felt as if she clawed at water, trying to grab a reflection. Tiny speckles of light and darkness danced in her vision. Her eyes bulged as she fought to breathe. There would be no afterlife for Adelina as darkness won out over the light.
Chapter Five
The spring sun warmed Pirate’s Cove while birds sang songs of life and restoration. Three months had passed since the tidal wave cleansed corruption and greed, ushering in a new era of change. All around the city people worked to rebuild their livelihood as well as the buildings around them. But their work was not drudgery. Their tenacity and willingness to strengthen and recover after the setback represented the resilient spirit of freedom.
Freedom rings with complexity and the word meant so much more than independence to the townspeople. They enjoyed choices unavailable to the rest of the world and each person had settled for different reasons. Some arrived with comfortable means and looked to increase their wealth, while others arrived with nothing and aimed to create their own legacy. Whether choosing a quiet life in the town or a daring and bold one on the sea, the decision had belonged to them. But none of them had expected their lives to change so quickly with the arrival of Braen Braston.
The sun had risen over a solitary figure pushing a broom in the streets. He looked out of place with his tall and muscular frame bent over the simple tool. A passerby would correctly guess that the Northman had been born to wield an axe or push a plow into the hard and frozen ground of his former kingdom of Fjorik. But his choice every morning was to help another family rebuild from the disaster that he had brought in the name of liberation.
At first the people feared him and that was understandable. He represented change that challenged their comfortable patterns of convenience. But each day they emerged one by one to work beside him and their sentiment shifted. He met each citizen with a warm smile and tender sincerity. Calm and caring, his patient nature comforted and offered a future without kings and harsh taxes.
But Braen Braston was a man of controversy. Word had spread of his past and especially of his birthright, both of which were secrets he had worked for years to hide. As the oldest son to the late Krist Braston, he should have inherited the northern kingdom and its wealth of resources. Instead, his younger brother had usurped his claim and blamed him for the murder of their beloved father and ruler. But that was only the first regicide of which he was wrongly accused.
More recently, the mainland civil war had dragged him into dark politics. Artema Horn, the former ruler of The Cove, betrayed Braen with intent to sell him to his brother. During that fateful night and failed exchange, the Queen Regent’s own Captain of the Guard had seized an opportunity to assassinate her in favor of her son, Marcus. So far, the rumors had fueled a slanted perspective regarding the real nature of Braston.
On this day, the bearded captain had chosen to clean a storefront overlooking the once magnificent harbor. He paused to gaze upon the naturally defensible position, with gun turrets protecting the single entrance made narrow by treacherous reefs. These battlements had been ripped apart during his attack, the hardware tossed into the water by legendary creatures. Their intervention had earned him the whispered title of Kraken King. Now recovered, rebuilt, and restored, The Cove again enjoyed protection.
Below his vantage point he observed the progress made on the new wharf and pier. The tidal wave had splintered the old, but his engineer had quickly rallied the rebuilding effort. Six strong vessels tied off with newly stained wood shining in the rising sun. Beyond the ships, three new drydocks stood proudly and shipwrights added to the fleet. His eyes focused on the third dock, covered with tarps to hide the project within. The new ship was to be a surprise even for the Kraken King.
Thoughtful Sippen, he thought with a smile. This day marked the christening of the vessel and he could barely contain his excitement. Braen hated surprises. When he tried to sneak a peek under the tarp, his own crew had escorted him back to the palace, teasing and laughing at his impatience. Everyone understood though, he had sacrificed his famed Ice Prince onto the rocks below. Only his securely packed wine stores had survived the wreck. He planned to use one of those special bottles during the launch of his flagship.
The door behind him opened and Braen turned to greet the shop owner. The man wiped his hands on his apron but made no attempt to reach out a hand in greeting. Instead he crossed his arms across his chest with defiant indifference. Braen nodded his understanding and spoke apologetically, “I was just finishing up and will be out of your way.”
At first the man said nothing, staring at the large man with a questioning and cold calculation. Finally, he spoke, “We were fine, you know. We didn’t need you to save us from Nevra.”
This was a common sentiment among the townspeople, who cared not who ruled The Cove. Leaders were only figureheads to whom they owed their taxes. Braen again nodded. “I’m not here to convince you otherwise, Sir.” He gestured at the window of the storefront, now free of mud and debris. “I’m just here to clean up my mess.”
The shopkeeper laughed despite his attempt to remain apathetic. “You’re a piss poor nobleman, do you realize that?”
“I get that a lot.” Artema Horn had often told him the same and he had always answered with, “No, that ship has sailed. I have no titles.”
“I hear people throwing around the title of ‘Kraken K
ing’ behind your back. Isn’t that what you are, now? Are you our new king, Braston?”
“Not a king and barely a Braston.” His conversations with the townspeople usually went this way and were always awkward. He did his best to speak candidly, and again seized the opportunity to explain his vision. “The Cove doesn’t need a king. I’m proposing a new type of governing body with elected officials. Three leaders with clearly distinct and separated powers. They will represent your interests, and serve terms agreed upon by you.”
The shopkeeper chuckled. “And you’re running for one of these positions?”
“I am. But only to get things started before I move along. I hope that you vote with your heart.”
“My heart?” The man’s face darkened. “My heart says to kick you off my doorstep. My wife and I are old and can’t make any more children.” His eyes misted as he talked. “You nearly took our child from us. Charleigh was outside playing when you hit the town with your magic. She was lost for hours.”
“But you found her alive?”
“We found her. She was barely breathing and buried in the mud over the ridge. Buried with the soldiers that your people killed.” Tears completely filled the man’s eyes. “She still has nightmares, Braston. She dreams that she’s drowning every night and it’s your fault.”
Braen didn’t argue or try to defend his actions. The shop owner’s words begged for listening, and that was a skill the large man had perfected in the past months. When the man had finished, Braen simply stated, “I am deeply sorry that my brashness has affected your family.”
“Well.” The man scoffed. “That proves you’re not a nobleman.”
“Why is that, Sir?” Braen noticed that the man had uncrossed his arms and appeared more relaxed.
“Noblemen never apologize for what they take.”
“Thank you for your time and your story. I’ll get out of your hair.” Braen turned to leave.