Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1)

by Jonathan Michael

  Fairview grips her own blade and puts it through his thigh. The man acts as if he’s not aware. He doesn’t flinch the slightest. He sees me staring down at his leg and looks to see what I’m seeing.

  “Fairview, you shouldn’t do that.”

  The man is completely unaware of the dagger in his leg until he physically sees it. Who is this man?

  “Goose, run!” Fairview manages to spurt out one more time, not without more blood. Then the man pulls the dagger from his leg, once again without flinching, raises it above her, and puts the blade straight through the top of her skull. She falls limp and hits the ground in front of her wooden rocking chair.

  The man looks up to me. “The bitch won’t recover from that one. Eh?”

  I turn and run.

  It was a test on humanity. They introduced themselves to death and dissuaded it. The weakened state of mankind has grasped this idea and raises it high above themselves. With the Taoiseach and the destruction behind them, the Advocates have replaced the Hybreed, the false god, with the true god, Susy—the creator of the seasons, and thus, faith is born.

  50 Ellia

  T he door to my chamber swings open, and in rushes a petite frame. Jaymes is distressed. She makes mistakes when she’s distressed. She still lets her emotions get to her. She’s drifted from my influence and taken on the Taoiseach’s. He’s going to destroy her.

  I put down the bolts I’m tipping and rise to my feet.

  I draw the shades and see morning has come. She was spying again. Why? She knows he knows.

  Jaymes tugs at the doors to her wardrobe, sending them flying open to attack the wall and retreat. She starts scouring through her belongings, which are mostly comprised of warrior’s garb and weaponry. “I’ve been banished,” she speaks.

  My eyes go wide. She speaks! I’m not surprised she can still speak, but she hasn’t spoken in front of me since the day I carved her tongue. I look to Elder but cannot see his expression in the shadows. He may have already known. Her lisp is a bit repulsive. We’ll need to fix that.

  “Banished?” I repeat. I hate it when people do that—speak what has already been spoken.

  “I’ve witnessed things I shouldn’t have,” she says in a calm voice while disrobing. She kicks the black night-attire to the side and shuffles through her wardrobe again.

  “Things the Taoiseach believes you shouldn’t have, you mean,” Elder corrects her from where he lies on the bed.

  She pauses, alarm showing on her face from his presence, but she doesn’t cover herself. “Yes,” she responds.

  Her physique has developed quite a bit this summer. She came to us a petite, frail girl. Although still petite, she is defined. Curves and muscle in all the right places. She is shaping into the part, but whatever decision she is making tonight will likely bring it to an end.

  I place a hand on her shoulder and study her. She stares back. Calm except for a racing heartbeat. I try to pierce through into her thoughts, but she holds a strong wall these days. There’s nothing to see. “What do you know, Jaymes?”

  She inhales a slow steady breath. Her eyes flicker to Elder, then back to me. She ponders whether she should divulge her secrets. She’s certainly taking sides with the Taoiseach.

  “A sinister man named Carib. He dabbles in what’s taboo. He wasn’t afraid of the Taoiseach.” Her brow crinkles, and fear reveals itself in her eyes.

  The Taoiseach is the ultimate power to her. If there is another who acknowledges he’s more powerful, then he will only take the place of the current tyrant. I don’t fault her for being afraid with the knowledge she has.

  “Carib Reign,” I whisper.

  “You know of him?”

  “I may have…created him.” I think back on our history. This man was weak. Not a man, a boy. “I punished him for things he’d done. I mistakenly thought him dead when I was finished with him. He survived only to cause more harm. The Taoiseach had a moment of weakness and was merciful because he was only a boy. He banished him. Most others would have been assassinated, evidence or not. And I…with the punishment I awarded him, I showed him the potential of his talent. He survived the black rot, and a transformation within him began.”

  Goose prickles cover Jaymes’s body as she realizes she’s still standing within her wardrobe in her undergarments. She continues shuffling through it and pulls out a midnight-red, armored-silk cross-sash with a hood and matching greaves. She plans to murder the Taoiseach.

  “The Taoiseach would not banish you for discovering an enemy of his. He would only banish you if you discovered you are capable of more than what he desires. And he has obviously grown attached to you, otherwise you would be dead. You don’t exist, Jaymes. Not to the public. He could have killed you without consequence. Why are you so special? Your talent is great, but not so great he would veer from his principles. What else do you know?”

  She finishes pulling on her form-fitting greaves and looks up to me. “Nothing,” she responds untruthfully.

  My probing is too aggressive. She fears to give me too much information.

  “I know what you are about to do,” I suggest. “Don’t do it. You’re not ready.”

  “No, I’m not. It’s not easy for me, like it is you. It may tear apart my soul. But if it means freedom for Stone and Goose, it’s worth it. He’s only a man.” Jaymes straps on a belt and a cross harness to hold a pair of katanas, which she pulls from the back of the wardrobe. Then she slips on a pair of red, fingerless gloves and pulls the hood over her head. “Do I at least look ready?”

  She reaches into the wardrobe and finds two kukri blades. She spins them in her palms and tucks them into her belt. She stands tall with a fierce expression. She looks stunning. She looks beautiful. She looks cunning, confident, disciplined, seductive… She looks… ready.

  “You look fierce.” Elder jumps from the bed to move closer. He ogles her up and down.

  I place my hand on her jaw and turn her attention to me. I give her a nod. “But you’re not.” I put it simply. “You’re going to die. This is the Taoiseach, Jaymes. You’re not ready.”

  “I am ready to face death.”

  “And what is your plan?” I ask. “Do you plan to knock down his door, walk right up to him, and pierce his heart?”

  Her eyes narrow, and her features look heartless in the shadow of her hood. “Yes. And I plan to kill anyone who gets in my way.”

  Elder steps back. She holds her glare on me for some time before turning and exiting the chamber.

  She attempts to kill death himself. She knows not what she’s doing. And she has vital knowledge on Harris and Carib, maybe the Seasonal Sciences as well. She cannot walk to her death and keep that information to herself. I must stop her. But the only way would be to kill her…maybe amputate her legs. I shake my head at the ridiculous thought. Stone. Her brother may be able to help persuade her.

  Life will flourish with faith and fact carrying equal weight. That is the scientific theory. The crimson shadows brought on by The People’s War are receding into the soils. It may be generations before peace brings the return of the seasons and healing of the land. I will do what is necessary to keep man under control. Balance, a force that governs them all.

  51 Harris

  “G

  entlemen, I have some great news… I witnessed something new today in the garden of gloom. A colony of ants behaving in a social anomaly. It was splendid.” The men of Parliament obediently sit attentive, tolerating my passion for knowledge. “The ant is an extremely social creature, you know, with a hierarchy unlike any other…even man. This hierarchy is unchallenged and untainted. It is natural law. Yet today, I witnessed the queen being attacked by soldiers of her own colony. She was out for a jaunt amongst her lowers, and she was attacked by those she trusts. It was complete anarchy. I must add…I doused her with a pheromone from another colony, but that is all it took. She was the same queen, simply with a different scent, and her own colony lost sight. It was complete anarchy when t
he queen was slain. Ants chaotically scrambling, unsure of their purpose. Devastating, how easily the balance is disturbed.”

  The men sit patiently, some rapping their fingers on the large oak slab they sit at. They are all so naïve to what is important in this world.

  “Now…on to business.” I look to Architect Lumen, my delight quickly changing to gloom. “No more excuses. I don’t want to know how long you think it will take or when it is supposed to be done. Just give me the date it will be complete. You are wasting valuable resources that will only be recovered once the trade route is open. When will it be finished?” Honestly, the project is irrelevant. It is the purpose it gives men that is important.

  “Due to all the replenishing we must endure to our stores of ironwood, it will be no sooner than the next turn of Cerise,” the Architect replies.

  “I’m going to hold you to it,” Nigel Whitewater exclaims.

  Being the Magistrate and caretaker of all commerce in the realm, he has genuine concern in the timeline of the completion of this project, so I pardon his rude remark this time.

  “Thank you, Magistrate. Now, Architect Lumen, what of this ironwood you’re having to replenish? What is the cause?”

  “Thieves, Taoiseach, sir. Entire stockpiles have been disappearing overnight. We have set watch and continue to lose men in the process. Because we are so close to completion, we have decided to double our efforts in acquiring the wood rather than continue to lose men to the bandits that are making leave with it.”

  “Bandits would not take wood unless they are building an army,” I reply. “Shogun, your thoughts?”

  “Yes, sir?” Shambrock replies dutifully, but he’s obviously not fully attune to the conversation.

  “The thieves, you imbecile, making off with our ironwood supplies. Why do you think this is happening?”

  “I…uh…I suppose there could be a rebellion in the making, sir.”

  “Why are you even in this room if you do not know what is becoming of the lack of security in the realm? Do you not have any communications with your guard? Have you no word of any rebels or possibly some religious undertaking that is trying to gain power? What are the rumors amongst your men, Shambrock? You must know something.” It is Carib Reign who’s responsible. He is the chaos I protect this realm from. He is a thorn now but will grow into a thicket too soon.

  “I haven’t heard anything, sir. Aside from the Dihkai that are disappearing all over the realm, I haven’t heard of any unsettling of the peace.”

  “Do you believe this ironwood thievery could be related?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. I don’t know what missing Dihkai and missing ironwood have in common other than they are missing.”

  “Shambrock, your intelligence is so radiant I can hardly sit at the same table as you,” Nigel pipes in.

  He looks to me for approval to speak up. I offer a subtle shake of my head in return. Not yet. First, I need to know what Parliament knows.

  “Silence, Magistrate,” I lecture him, “or we will ensure you are not at the same table.” He lowers his head. “Your atrocious behavior will not be tolerated, regardless of who it’s directed toward or even if it is rightfully spoken.” I glare at Nigel for a moment before turning my attention back to Shambrock. “Maybe whoever is stealing the ironwood could also be holding the Dihkai captive and using their talents to test against the ironwood,” I suggest. This is the least invasive of what could be happening to them. If Carib builds an army, who does he build it with? To influence so many to his cause would take an eternity. He cannot break down the taboo culture I have built around what he does. Not so easily. Not so quickly. “It could possibly be for defensive purposes. They could be trying to create an armor that is indestructible even to the Dihkai. That is likely the worst-case scenario,” I lie. Worst-case would be mutilation as he’s done to himself. Worst-case would be the creation of Nocturnal Eyes. Those who don’t sleep. Who don’t eat. But I cannot openly suggest this. Not without revealing too much about our potential. Not even Nigel is aware of how dire this situation could be. “Another possibility would simply be a group of bandits that, for some reason or another, does not want this project completed. Nigel, have you heard any word? Do you have any enemies looking to strike you down?” I offer another subtle shake of my head so he doesn’t divulge too much.

  “Well…of course, sir. I have too many to count. That being said, most aren’t stupid enough to carry out a plan like this. Or too stupid to carry out a plan like this. I don’t have anyone specific in mind, so to answer your question, no, I have no leads, sir.”

  “So, I’m an idiot for not having heard of any rebellious forces, but you’re not?” Shambrock exclaims.

  “You’re an idiot because you’re an idiot, not because you haven’t heard anything,” Nigel rebuttals.

  “Nigel, you’re not any better for the matter,” Leonard adds. “You act the part of an almighty god who controls all of the world with enemies that wouldn’t dare strike you down. Like that queen the Taoiseach speaks of. Idiot, maybe not, but arrogant and ignorant, definitely so.”

  I clear my throat and reach for the tumbler placed in front of me. I’m surprised I made it this far into the council meeting without touching it. Each of them silences their tongue and looks in my direction with full attention. I intentionally make them wait while I collect my thoughts.

  These men of Parliament know nothing. All except Nigel. There is only one person who could be responsible for both the missing Dihkai and the ironwood. Carib Reign builds his Immortal army. Fear settles inside me.

  “Shogun Shambrock.”

  “Yes, sir, Taoiseach.”

  “Regardless of the reason for these thefts, we must protect our resources. Triple the guard at the site and send a squad of Regal Riders as well. Kill as many of these bandits as you can. The threat must be eliminated. And leave them hanging from the trees as a warning to all others. One more thing, Shambrock, be sure to light them on fire either before or after you hang them, but don’t let a single one of them remain unburnt.”

  “It is our way, Taoiseach, sir.” He opens his mouth to say something more, but refrains and accepts the command with a nod.

  “Next topic, then?” I inquire.

  “Uh, actually…” Leonard Lumen speaks up, “we need to label this new, uh, road, or whatever we’re calling it. Any suggestions?”

  “Let’s call it a railroad,” Nigel proposes. He gets some nods and one firm rejection.

  “That’s ridiculous. Why would we call it a rail road?” Shambrock replies.

  “Not a rail road. It’s more fluid than that. Railroad. Loosen that muscled jaw of yours and say it with me. Railroad.”

  “I don’t care how you say it, it doesn’t fit. It is neither a rail nor a road,” insists Shambrock.

  “Then, what is it?” Leonard replies.

  “It’s a track made from iron wood. A track with a carriage on it. Let’s call it The Iron Carriage. No…even better, The Ironcar.” Shambrock closes his eyes and gives a curt bow, evidently impressed by his creative intellect. The others surrounding the table are not inspired.

  “Ironcar?” Leonard repeats. “That is more ridiculous than railroad. What is a car?”

  “It’s short for carriage. What else?”

  “I get that, but are you so lazy that you cannot sound out the entire word? Next thing you know we’ll be assigning acronyms to everyday curses. Keep speaking before you think, Shambrock, and you’re likely to remove yourself from this table in a haste. This is my project. I will name it.”

  Why do I attend these meetings? They are a waste of my time. I am the Taoiseach. I should not have to put up with this. But I must. I must tolerate incompetence. It is the mass.

  “The Ironrail,” I propose. “There. It is named.” It doesn’t matter what they call it. The public will refer to it as a completely different name, regardless of what we choose. The four of them nod in agreement without debate. Some even admit their approval
. “I have one more inquiry about this ironrail. Architect Lumen, you should be able to answer this one. We have this rail that travels leagues upon leagues as a designated route for trade and commerce. It will be able to carry passengers to and from their desired destinations. The intention is to speed up travel for all, allowing for easier access to the various villages and more efficient transportation method for commodities. Correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” Leonard replies nervously, uncertain of where I’m taking this.

  “It sounds too good. What is the power source?”

  Leonard looks at me, puzzled. His hands fidget on the oaken table.

  “What makes it go, Leonard?” I ask more simply—not that my question is a difficult one. Leonard hesitates, which means he knows I won’t like the answer. “What makes the carriage go to and from, Leonard?” I ask more assertively this time.

  “It is somewhat complicated, sir. There are multiple stations, carriages between each station, and several pulley systems with rope vines, bell weights, and—”

  “Leonard,” I interrupt, hypocritically. “You are giving me a fantastic description of the primitive mechanics involved, but you are not answering my question. What is the power source? The ropes and pulleys don’t churn themselves.”

  His eyes look down at his intertwined fidgeting hands. “Slaves, sir,” he says under his breath. The rest of the men of Parliament squirm in their seats at the sound of his words. “We have procured a group of Sprhowts to generate the growth and retraction of the pulley system. We intend to open the position to the public as soon as we have the, uh, ironrail fully functional. We simply needed somebody to work it while we are performing tests. That is all.”

  I calmly plant open palms on the table and rise to my feet. I lift my hands, massaging my knuckles, and notice a splotch of black rot on the surface. The others see it too. They stiffen in their seats. “So, you decided to take a forbidden route?” I inquire, a bit more intensely than typical. They all know my stance with slavery. “You are aware you could have procured an honest labor force?”