Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1)

by Jonathan Michael

  Navimar is a prestigious boat-builder’s village upriver at the head of the Scarlet. I’ve never seen it with my own eyes, but I’ve heard stories about the Navimar people and seen many of their vessels at the Crimson Harbor. My father, always trying to bestow his knowledge upon us, said the Navimar villagers are a race of their own, and their unique talent is the materialization of lightweight ironwood that can float downstream like a feather on air yet withstand the punishment of the most brutal water hammers generated in the Grimm Rapids. They build the fastest, lightest, and strongest boats that float the Scarlet. I suppose he did bestow some knowledge upon me.

  “Is that our destination?” I ask as we carefully approach the village, hugging the tree line adjacent to the bank.

  “Sshh! What is the point of quiet footsteps and the concealment of the tree line if the assassin can’t keep her tongue in her mouth? Yes. That’s our destination. Now, keep your thoughts in your head where they belong. I will hear them, nonetheless. I’ll assist you until we gain access to our target, but when the time comes for you to unsheathe your sword, I will not interfere. That is all you need to know.”

  “Ellia?” I seek permission to speak.

  “What?”

  “Why must I use a sword? Why not a fukiya like you?”

  She comes to a halt. “Do you want your first to be so pathetic? There is no gain in that. No satisfaction. You must conquer your inevitable hesitation and look your target in the eyes before you steal his last breath. And not until you are confident in your tact and have mastered the sword will you be dealt a weapon for the weak.”

  “I don’t understand. You use one.”

  “‘Nobody’ has mastered both tact and the sword along with countless other weapons, and ‘Nobody’ has also taken far too many last breaths from strangers. It doesn’t matter what I use anymore.” A transitory pause. “I no longer have anything to gain. Only those around me will gain from my doings…or, undoings. Your test starts now, so keep your tongue restrained or you’ll be freed of it. That is your last warning. Guile and precision from here on, and nothing less.”

  The village is silent. It is early yet, and only the sound of the cooing pigeons can be heard along with my footsteps. Ellia moves with secrecy, but not me. As we walk down the boardwalk, somehow, I find every squeaky board as Ellia swiftly and silently holds our pace. I try my best but can’t figure out how she does it. I soon give up trying to avoid the creeks so I can keep up with her.

  We stop at a small shack on one of the piers. She motions for me to flatten against the wall. I’m not sure exactly how leaning up against a wall can keep a person from being seen, but it seems to be a choice action when lurking where one shouldn’t be. I obey without hesitation, then she follows suit.

  The wall behind me suddenly moves up and down. I jump away. Ellia pulls me back, not without a glare that tells me I’m going to pay for my reckless actions. She points down at our feet, and naturally my eyes follow the direction of her finger. I see the wall we’re leaning against isn’t a shack built on the pier but a shack floating in the water. A virgin sight for me.

  Ellia motions for me to remove my shoes. I look at her silently, communicating only with my face the confusion that I have. She insists, so I proceed.

  “It will help you be silent,” she whispers. Then Ellia creeps onboard the floating shack with me in tow.

  My heart is in my stomach, and my thoughts are running rampant with the possible outcomes of this situation. I make sure to follow Ellia’s every movement so as not to mess anything up.

  The hull and deck of the boat, or floating house, or whatever it is supposed to be, is constructed of wooden planks just like any other boat. It’s certainly not ironwood like the stories depict. It is a much lighter-colored wood with almost a greenish hue to it. Teak, maybe.

  The rest is far from any other boat I’ve seen. The cabin consumes almost the entire deck, leaving only a tight walkway. It seems odd to me someone would want to live on the water when their home is tied to the land. I keep all my derisive comments to myself, though, to avoid getting flogged by Ellia.

  The cabin itself, including the door to enter, looks like ironwood. A heavy and unnecessary wood to be used on a boat, if you ask me. Maybe it’s the lightweight variety the Navimar are known for.

  My suspicions grow as we stand outside the entrance to the cabin, and I wonder if whoever is on the other side has this defensive structure for a reason. It’s possible he has many enemies he wishes to keep out. He could be some type of chronic killer or maybe a member of the Celestial Cloaks gone rogue. If that’s the case, these are certainly my last moments.

  Ellia grabs the handle on the door and shifts her weight, putting pressure on the hinges. Or maybe she’s relieving pressure from the hinges. I’m not sure, but she opens the door without a sound and sneaks into the cabin. I squeeze through the small opening right behind her.

  The interior of the cabin is far from sophisticated. In fact, it resembles the yurt I called home not too long ago. We stand in a large, rustic room with a small kitchen on one side and a bed on the other. The only separation is a partition expanding half the length of the room. There’s one other door in the kitchen, which I presume leads to the lav.

  The home looks as though it’s been ransacked. The sleeping quarters are toppled with soiled clothing and bedding. There is almost no place to step without having to move something out of the way. Whoever lives here is a degenerate.

  Ellia pushes forward, seamlessly navigating the disaster strewn across the floor. I follow her footsteps, arms extended for balance. My wobbly steps don’t maneuver about as quietly as Ellia. She makes her way to the bedside and lightly peels back the bed covers. To my surprise, there is a man sleeping underneath all the clutter. Ugh. And he has left over scraps lying next to his face. Repulsive. Ellia retreats.

  “He’s all yours,” she whispers in my ear then dips behind me to the door.

  I take a deep breath and look over my shoulder to see if Ellia truly intends for me to go solo. She stands at the door, ready to vacate, and gives me one last nod and gestures for me to unsheathe the sword from my back. I face the man I’m about to murder and do as she commands, gripping the cold leather in my hand. I scan the blade, running my fingertips up and down it, checking for defects that might give me an exit out of this situation.

  Ellia glimmers in the reflection of the blade, standing close behind me as I delay the inevitable. From behind, a shocking force pulls at me. My clothes are ripped from my body, leaving me standing in the flesh with nothing but a blade in hand. In utter disbelief, I turn to see Ellia standing in an open doorway, twirling her kukri in her fingers with a subtle grin. My clothes blend in with the collage of objects on the floor. Ellia gestures for me to keep quiet with a finger at her lips then sticks out her tongue and acts as if her knife is cutting into it.

  I’m aghast! But what can I do? I keep my mouth shut. Ellia slams the door with the rustle of a fastening latch to follow. Abandoning stealth, I yank on the door. It wants to open, but I’m not strong enough. I push on the door. The same. She’s locked me in. She locked me in! She locked me in with nothing but flesh, a blade, and a target. Susy save me.

  “What do we have here?” A scratchy voice calls. “A youthful morning surprise? Just the fix I need. The sword is a nice touch. Aggressive. But intriguing. We’ll just have to be careful how we use it.”

  The man tears the blankets free from his body and gets to his feet. Unlike myself, he is freely standing in the nude. And even more alarming, he is already at attention.

  “Excuse me one moment while I drain the bladder, will you? Then we can get to it.”

  What does this man think we’re getting to? He walks toward me casually. I stagger backward, naturally trying to flee from an old, naked man heading my way, and trip, landing on a pile of soiled yet plush bed sheets. The man, still at full attention with a penis aged fifty seasons, ignores my naked body lying on the floor and carries his large
gut straight to the water closet.

  Thus far, there isn’t anything malicious about him. Although he’s off putting, I would expect most men to be fully attentive and eager when waking to a naked girl in their sleeping quarters. And he walked right by me, sprawled across his floor, without even a glance. But why is he not surprised to see me?

  The man disappears into the water closet. Enough thought about whether he deserves to die or not. I need to get out of here. What was Ellia thinking? She didn’t say anything about doing this in the nude. I get to my feet and head for the exit. The door still won’t open despite my best efforts tugging and pulling.

  “Ellia! Ellia!” I exclaim while whaling on the door. “Let me out. Let me out, Ellia!” No response.

  “What’s all the uproar?” The scratchy voice jeers. “I thought you were here for me. Having second thoughts? No worries, young lass, I have gentle hands.”

  “Ellia! Ellia, let me out. Please!” I bang on the door a few more times.

  The man approaches me. I backpedal again. This time careful of my foot placement. There’s a window near the bed. I run to it. It’s fixed. It doesn’t open. I look for something to throw at it. I see a boot lying on the floor under the bed. I rush to grab it and toss it at the window. Glass shards fly, mostly outward, but some ricochet back and fall to the floor inside the cabin.

  “Whoa, young lady! You’re going to have to reimburse me for that.” He approaches more hesitantly as though I were a feral cat. “How about you just drop that sword and we have ourselves a good time. That’s enough payment for my liking.”

  I’m armed! I was too caught up in the fact that I’m naked in a room with a naked man. I wanted nothing but to escape the situation. I have the leather pommel gripped so tightly my knuckles are turning white. I stare upon them, wondering if the weakest blood cells escape my knuckles first. I awake with realization. I didn’t come here to prove how weak I am. I came here to prove how strong I am. And he won’t come near me with a sword in hand.

  I squeeze the pommel with both hands. I take a deep breath. My chest throbs up and down, and I see the man’s gaze admiring what he sees. “I came here with a purpose,” I say barely above a whisper. I lower the sword, placing the tip on the ground, one hand on the pommel, and I gently place the other overtop it and taunt him with a flirtatious rear.

  “So, you’ve remembered why you’re here, have you?” He moves closer with a lustful smile.

  “I don’t want my first to be pathetic,” I mutter to myself.

  “First?” His lustful grin grows. “It won’t be pathetic. I can guarantee that.”

  The man closes in and puts a hand on my shoulder. A fleeting shudder disables me before raw emotion takes over. I swipe the blade upward across his chest.

  A large laceration splits open along his abdomen, but not so deep that it’s fatal. The man’s eyes, a rusty color, open wide with rage. He firmly grips my throat and squeezes tightly while shoving me back against the wall. Inadvertently, I let the sword escape my grip.

  As he pins me against the wall, I recognize the pain pulsing through my neck. This man is familiar with his talents. The pain is excruciating. I grab both of his wrists and return it. At the same time, I lift my legs and slam them against his bloody chest. The air escapes his lungs, and a vast amount of blood sprays from his wound like a fountain of redberry wine. A taste graces my tongue. It’s much more pungent and metallic than wine, which forces reality upon me. Suddenly, I want to run. I want to flee this lust-stenched bedroom that is turning into a murder scene.

  The man releases me and falters back. I hesitate. I can climb through the window and get out of this mess right now. I would endure several lacerations from the glass, but more so, I would have to endure the consequence of the Shadow. I’ve never received any discipline from her that was too harsh, but I believe her capable of far worse than what this man can do to me. There is an unsettling dark side to her.

  I gather my courage and rush him with my sword outward as if I were engaged in a jousting match. The blade pierces his abdomen and drops him to his knees.

  “I’m only fifteen, you pervert!” I pull the sword from his gut and swiftly motion to decapitate him. But I halt with the blade at his throat. “No…” I pause. “You don’t deserve such an easy death.”

  I drop the blade and grab his neck firmly with both hands right under his jawbone. Flesh against flesh. “This is what it means to have talent.” I spit in his face then jerk upward with full strength. His head tears from his shoulders. All the flesh and sinew connecting his neck separates and liquifies into a black sludge beneath my palms. The skull is still attached by the spine, but not for long. The cancer spreads rapidly, and I give one more solid tug to completely remove his head. The body falls to the floor.

  The lifeless man lies on the ground, headless, with blackened flesh enveloping it. The cancer spreads from the neck to the upper back, down his arms to his wrists, down his back to his rear and upper thighs. The cancer comes to a halt, leaving only two legs, a few digits, and one member remaining.

  As I stare down at the decomposed remains, I realize I’m still holding the man’s head. His eyes are dark and empty and ripping apart my soul. I mentally grasp what I have just done. The disgust overwhelms me. Though, I know I must tuck those feelings away and never let them show or there will be consequences. I must be strong. Like Ellia. I chuck the head through the broken window for both spectacle and to relieve my frustration with the situation. It doesn’t relieve me at all. I reach for the discolored penis lying on the floor and throw it out just the same. It felt like the right thing to do. Either that or shove it down Ellia’s throat, but that wouldn’t get me very far. I drop to my hands and knees, splashing the cancerous blood-soup medley that saturates the floor. And I start dry heaving.

  The door to the cabin creaks open on its rusty hinges. Ellia steps in with a stern look on her face and her kukri blade still in hand. “You survived,” she says, suggesting astonishment. “He was corrupt. He was one of the merchant lords trying to force claim over all the trade commerce amidst the river channels. His death is only one of many you will endure. Someone else will replace him in time. But what you did here will slow the evil in our world. One day, maybe we will change the culture of man, but not likely. Not while the Taoiseach is alive. No, it will take a mind that puts righteousness over life.” She stares at the decomposing body on the ground for several moments. Not disgusted or satisfied. Just deep in thought.

  “Come here.”

  My body trembles. I languidly climb to my feet and approach Ellia, hoping for a sympathetic gesture or motherly love. Instead, she grabs my chin and forces my mouth open. She pinches my tongue between two fingers and slices it off with her knife. “I told you to restrain your tongue. You’ve failed.”

  The new generation plays with death as a toy. They don’t respect it as they should. And the crimson shadows continue to grow because of it. I don’t ask for fear, only respect. Where are their deathly instincts?

  32 Goose

  F ollowing my near-fatal mistake, I merely received a few disappointed stares and nothing more. It happened, and it was over. The villagers, and more importantly, Graytu, Fairview, and Zoie all quickly forgave my ignorance and aided me in my recovery. As far as I can tell, there is no resentment toward my actions or consequences for my failure. It’s a lifestyle befitting me, but not one I’m accustomed to. Failure should be followed by discipline and consequence, not generosity and kindness.

  A month has passed, and I’m unable to walk properly. I sit in an awkward position on one of the many empty benches in the treetop plaza to dissipate the pain. Graytu had a few of the warriors aid me in getting here, despite my resistance. The chief would not let me be left out of the evening celebrations. “Today is the day!” he said as he always does. But this time he followed it with “…you will get to relax and enjoy the celebration of life.” Chippie, perched upon his shoulder, chirped with gratification. I was grateful, but
I knew there would be another meaning behind his words. And now I’m here. Sitting awkwardly alone on a bench, as all the other villagers dance and parade among the treetops. Neither Zoie, Fairview, nor Graytu have acknowledged me as of yet. I suppose they may be furious from my actions even if they don’t show it.

  A blazing fire centers the celebration, and the canopy is lit up with thunderbugs as it is during every evening celebration. And the drums and the pounding footsteps resonate through the treetops. How do they not get exhausted partaking in this each and every evening? The first dozen were enjoyable, but now…

  “Do you know what that fire represents?” Fairview interrupts my sulking thoughts and plops down next to me rather exuberantly for her old knees.

  “Fairview! A pleasure. And…” I pause to look down at my twiddling thumbs. “…I’m sorry.”

  She whacks my leg with her walking staff. I cringe and do my best to refrain from moving for it will only cause more pain.

  “Let it go, lad. We all have. It’s time for you to rise up from your mistakes and learn from them. Don’t dwell on it, or you’ll never get up. So…the fire?”

  “Death,” I reply, mocking her question out of pure bitterness of my situation.

  “Wiser.”

  I tilt my head and give her a sidelong glance.

  “Or a mocking smart ass,” she adds. “They are often easy to confuse.”

  “How does fire represent death? It offers heat. It offers energy. It offers warm meals and protection. It offers so much.” I shake my head at her.

  “You’re the one who said it, not me,” she replies. Then she smiles. “Sorry. A few too many decades with Graytu, I presume.”

  I give an empathetic smile.

  “It represents death because it is destructive. You may not see it, but when it offers heat and energy, it takes it from another. When it offers that warm meal, it does so by killing another. When it offers protection, it causes only harm. It may be all those things, but with a cost. And the more you feed it, the more the cost. It won’t stop. Aside from that, it is one of the very few things that can truly kill an Azurian. Did you know that?”