“No!” he replies, seemingly insulted by my words. “We do not live in a godforsaken fantasy world. There are not prophecies. There is no magic, and there certainly are no chosen ones. Put your head back on. For Susy’s sake!” He takes his eyes off me and goes back to inspecting the wood table.
I contemplate attacking, but he peers over his shoulder.
“Susy is failing us. Susy, the Advocates of the Seezuhn religion, and their followers are failing us. No… That is wrong. I must not put blame on the religion. It is not their doing. Susy, however, is failing us, Stone. And there is a plague of atheism peeking.” He flips one half of the table all the way over, so the top is face down. He glides his fingers across it, still searching for something. "Established science is irrefutable, but the power of belief cannot be ignored."
I don’t know what he’s talking about. And I’m not interested. “Why my sister?” I ask. “You were interested in Jaymes to begin with. Not me. And now she’s dead. Why?”
Crouched low with his hands pressed against the table, he looks up at me. A vulnerable position to be sure. I could attack and end this.
“Her power,” he admits. “Her talent is comparable to my own. I needed to know whether she was an enemy or ally. If you had experienced all that I have, you would understand, Stone. I cannot have such talent roaming about unaccounted for. Unchecked. She chose to be an enemy.”
She did. It’s the truth, as painful as it is. She confessed to me she was after his head.
Harris continues. “If only she would have fled according to plan, we could have used her in months to come.” He lowers his eyes, not staring at anything in particular, and shakes his head. “She is not the only unchecked power in this realm. Stone…” His eyes fix back on me. “…I’m afraid I have chosen you because I need another set of shoulders to put the weight of this world on. My resolve is fading. I brought upon this world the destructive forces it wields, and I have always told myself I would see it through to the end. But the seasons are long. And I…” Harris rubs his hand across his bald scalp. “…fear I will not always have the will to press on. Susy is failing us, Stone. Humanity needs faith to push past an evil that invades our hearts. And I don’t know if I have the will to carry this burden any longer.”
“So, I am the chosen one. I’m your chosen one.”
“Not if you carry that attitude,” he spits back at me. “Hybreeds are a rare form. And I’ve kept them buried to protect humanity from themselves. If you choose to be my enemy as well, then I’m afraid I cannot let you walk out of here with that information. What will it be, Stone? Can you push past your selfish desire to murder me and avenge your family’s death to bare the weight this realm needs?”
He takes a few steps closer to me. As fearsome as his appearance is, his stance is a welcoming one. He has no intent to battle me.
“I will guide you so long as you need. But without you, my will alone won’t keep us from collapsing in on ourselves. Carib will see to that.”
“Carib…” I hold both blades at the ready, still uncertain where this conversation will end. “My sister mentioned that name. Who is he?”
“I am divulging a lot of information, Stone. There isn’t a chance you’ll walk freely from this chamber without offering me your servitude.”
I nod.
“Is that an agreement?”
“No. That’s an understanding only one of us will walk away from this room.”
“I see.” Harris goes back to inspecting the ruins of his table, sifting through the debris that was the result of his fist slamming down on it. “Carib is the type to swing a hammer carelessly and use the wheels of a carriage to hurdle it off a cliff just to see the damage that can be done. Carib knows not how to wield the tools he possesses, and he, unfortunately, is the creation of a moment of my own weakness. A stutter of my discipline. He has more knowledge than he knows what to do with, and he wants more. He will be our demise.”
“He murdered my parents?”
“Yes.”
“But you were there. You stormed our house. You were there on the roof with your Solites. You were there when my parents were aflame on the noose.”
“I wasn’t. Carib has discovered a potential in his talents only an Immortal can achieve. Carib can metamorphose. He’s a skin walker. A shapeshifter.”
I gape at the Taoiseach. A shapeshifter? They only exist in the darkest of legends. They belong on the silver screen, not in reality. Grafts…Hybreeds…Shapeshifters…these all belong on the silver screen. But they’re all real. And Harris has been withholding this information from the world. But why would a shapeshifter have any reason to kill my parents? “Why?” I ask. “Why would he kill my parents?”
“I cannot attest to his motives. Thirst for power is my speculation. An open seat on Parliament would offer an opportunity to plant a spy, perhaps. Or because he is the assumed culprit behind the genocide your parents were accused of, perhaps he merely wanted to kill your sister and your parents were a barricade standing in the way. I don’t know.”
“But you had no problem using it to cover the knowledge you wanted to protect. Using my family as a scapegoat to prevent the world from knowing who Carib is.”
“Indeed. It was necessary. We must all make sacrifices, Stone.”
“Is it truly a sacrifice if you care nothing for it?” I mock. His comment is almost comical if it weren’t my family taking all the sacrifice.
He stares into oblivion. “No, I suppose it isn’t.”
I lower my head and gaze upon Jay. My heart sinks. I cannot let this happen to anyone else. The knowledge he protects will be better off burning with his corpse. If there’s no knowledge to be had, there are no more sacrifices to be made. I must kill Harris.
I raise Life Bringer.
“Ahh… I’ve found it.” He raises a slab of oak from the rubble. “A key to the athenaeum.”
I have no interest in anything else he has to say. I charge him with my blades at the ready.
The Taoiseach hardly shows any sign of distress. He effortlessly grabs my wrist as I swing down on him with the first blade. Then, he immediately grabs the other as well, immobilizing me. His strength is too much, but he loosens his grip, and I tear away from his grasp.
“Stone, it’s futile.”
I strike again. One blade followed closely by the second, but he parries both and knocks me to the side. My feet tangle in the rubble on the floor and, I spill over the tipped table.
“You don’t have to fight me, Stone.”
“Yes, I do!” I hurdle over the table and slash at him again. He knocks one blade away with the back of his hand and grabs the other tightly in his palm. This time, there is no blood. Instead, it clangs as if my blade collides with stone.
He tosses my blade to the side and grabs at my throat with incredible speed. Within clicks, I’m flying across the room. I hit the wall and slump to the ground.
“No! You don’t!”
His patience is lacking compared to what he’s been displaying. He doesn’t want to fight me, yet he does so out of pure annoyance.
My talents are nothing compared to his. What am I going to do, heal his wounds? My only chance at defeating him is Life Bringer. But how do I do that when he can heal and petrify his flesh to deflect my steel?
I charge again. Harris casually preps himself for the attack, but I drop to a slide. My blade strikes the back of his ankles, slicing downward and right through the sinew on both legs. Harris collapses onto his back, and I rise to my feet just as quick. One blade comes down and pierces directly through his heart, pinning him to the ground. He struggles to move.
It won’t hold him long. With the other half of Life Bringer, I swing at his neck, but he grabs the blade just before it makes contact. He rips it from my grasp with both hands. I stumble, too close, and he grabs at my throat with a fierce grip and pulls me on top of him. Too familiar is the pain shooting through my spine. But I won’t have it. I clench his throat, digging my fingers
into it to return the dosage of rot he’s discharging into me.
Harris, with Life Bringer still in one hand, reaches around and pierces my spine. My muscles freeze. The rot I imbue into his body halts. I lie still, face-to-face with the Taoiseach, unable to move. My body is paralyzed.
Harris pushes me off, pulls the one blade from his chest, and tosses it to the side. He rubs at the back of his ankles, then rises to his feet. “A little too close for my liking.” I’m unsure if he refers to his death or our proximity. Likely the latter. I don’t believe Harris has any personal feelings toward death.
I lie facedown on the wenge hardwoods with the blade in my back. Paralyzed and soon to be dead. I cannot move anything save for my eyes. I take note of where the other half of Life Bringer is and attempt to follow Harris’ movements as he paces back and forth across the room.
“That was a new one for me. I thank you for that, Stone. I have never had my achilles tendons severed. I always appreciate a new experience. That, however, is one I will avoid encountering again. It wasn’t enjoyable in the slightest.” He continues walking back and forth, stretching and massaging his ankles periodically.
Harris continues talking, but I don’t listen. He talks as if death is meaningless. He talks as if he took away my supper, not my family.
I remain motionless. But I have my talents. A paralyzing blade can’t take that from me. A jolt of pain shears through my spine as I feel my body forcing out the foreign object. The blade falls to my side, and the pain and paralysis are no longer binding me. I grab the blade and rise to my feet without thought. My body acts without my mind.
With only half of Life Bringer in my hand, I casually move toward the Taoiseach. His back faces me as he stares out the window at his subjugated realm. I silently approach and grab the other half of Life Bringer while doing so.
Both blades in hand now, I spring forward in the direction of the Taoiseach. Life Bringer twirls as a true artist of the blade would do. I send one slashing down on the Taoiseach. He turns, shock strewed across his face, and he attempts to grab it. But my blade goes right through the palm of his hand and into his chest. The other follows it, severing his arm, and sinks into the side of his abdomen. I retract the first blade and strike again. This time, ensuring I pierce his heart.
Everything happens faster than I can recount. When the Taoiseach falls to the ground, I let my strength slip and fall away as well. Fatigue swathes over me. I collapse to my knees.
Is he dead?
I don’t know what it will take beyond a steel blade through the heart. And I’m not quite up for the challenge any longer. All my fury is exhausted, along with my strength. But I gather what motivation I have left to scuffle over to Jay. I think now is a good time to disappear.
I gather my sister in my arms and march to the ironwood doors when a wraith-like scream echoes through the chamber, followed by a gasping choke. It stops me in my tracks. The Taoiseach’s eyes widen, and he fills his lungs with air. It’s true. He’s immortal.
“Unbelievable.” The sound of death’s hoarse voice speaks again. “I will sacrifice whatever it takes.”
“Unbelievable,” I repeat in a whisper.
“Where did you get that blade?” The Taoiseach sits up straight. He doesn’t wait for a response. “Stone, please…let us call this a draw. I think it is fair to say we have both exhausted enough energy today.”
The Taoiseach’s arm has nearly regenerated, lacking only a fist. He raises the rebirthed appendage as if he is going to scratch his chest but realizes he can’t. The silk tunic he dons is no more than a few shreds of cloth draped over his mauled chest. His red, bulbous wounds ooze puss, but they heal.
I say nothing in return. It will take an entire realm to overcome this man. And I don’t have that. I push against the ironwood and let myself out into the corridor. If he follows me and strikes me down, so be it. I have nothing left.
I walk down the corridor leading to the Grand Atrium with Jay in my arms. Sunlight floods in from the ceiling, but in the shadows a faint but noticeable flicker of light is revealed. Not from the typical pale yellows and blues of the thunder lanterns, but rather an orange glow. The large ironwood doors are open to the plaza outside where something is ablaze.
A crowd has formed. A crowd with much grumbling and the occasional whaling violent shout. I halt just outside the large doorway to see what the commotion is. Fatigue getting the best of me, I carefully set Jay on the ground, feeling guilty while doing so. She doesn’t belong on the stoop of the Redwood Chamber. She belongs at home, in the Great Oak Forest where we were raised. Soon, Jay, soon.
I rise, and Harris appears beside me.
“I wiped them clean,” he says while examining them closely, as if there is a memory hidden within them. His fingers glide across the raindrop sapphire on one of the pommels. “They have a sister, you know. These blades. Keep them safe. I have a hunch you’re going to need them someday.”
Harris strides down the steps without any indication he has just endured a grueling battle. He strides forth with confidence and strength. Like an invincible warrior seeking out his final battle. I follow with a slight limp and a lot of pain as my body recuperates from the loss of energy.
Beyond the angry mob, I see what’s causing the uproar and the bright glow. Four bodies hang from the noose rafter, and all four bodies are aflame. It’s Parliament—every one of them, save for the evil tyrant, the one who should be hanging from a noose. Shambrock, the Shogun; Nigel Whitewater, the Magistrate; Leonard Lumen, the Architect; and Kel Cromarte, the Chancellor. All four hang with nooses around their necks, lives extinguished, unlike the flames scaling their bodies.
“There he is!” shouts an infuriated voice from the crowd.
“Taboo!” shouts another.
“You’ve abandoned the law! An execution without a public trial? String him up with the others!” one bold man calls out.
I have never heard anyone threaten the Taoiseach’s life. Not without consequence. The crowd moves toward us as I stand beside the accused murderer.
“Are you responsible for this?” I whisper to Harris while focusing on the approaching angry mob. Sasha. He communicated something to her right after they left the chamber. And now, they’re dead. Who else would command such an act?
“He must burn with the others!” another voice cries out.
“I will not show weakness,” Harris replies, avoiding my question. “This is where you are tested. Will you compromise? What are you willing to sacrifice?” He hands Life Bringer to me—both blades—and positions himself for a fight with his fists at the ready.
“The boy is with him. Burn them both!” a woman exclaims.
Decide? Decide what? What choice do I have? Harris publicly executed Parliament, and the people believe me to be a coconspirator. They fear him, but their anger outweighs their fear. They will all die if they attack him. Including me. If Harris remains in full power with the realm fearing him more than ever, this will not end well for anybody. Society will continue to crumble. Harris must die.
I regard him with admiration and animosity, as he stands at least a head taller than me. He’s a warrior ready for battle with his muscles full of adrenaline. He stands in a defensive position, but with a calmness that shouldn’t be possible. Knowing what I know now, I don’t know whether to respect his courage for the choices he has had to make or hate him for his effect on my own life. I mostly despise him, I think.
“All I have left is my flesh. And my tyrant. To protect Azure, there is only one thing left to sacrifice.”
A subtle grin appears on Harris’ face. I grip Life Bringer tightly, one blade in each hand, and circle around, swiftly decapitating the Taoiseach just above the shoulders with one blade and piercing his heart with the other. His body falls first, sliding off my blade. Then, his head follows, bouncing off the limp body and rolling to the side.
The crowd halts. Stunned.
“Burn the body,” I command. “And mount the head on a
spike next to the others. It is time to elect a new Parliament.” I turn without another word and walk back to retrieve my sister. “We’re going home.”
54 Ellia
“O
h, Susy’s four hells,” I whisper liberally to myself after lifting my head from the pot. The morning is brisk, yet I sweat in abundance and vomit unwarrantedly. My handmaid, Nayettѐ, enters the room to address the violent noises I so willingly divulge to any nearby eavesdroppers.
“Miss Rosewood. Please, drink some of this.”
Nayettѐ holds out a tray with a steaming silver teapot and a mug filled to the brim with a hot, aromatic beverage. She’s lovely, only a youth at a mere fourteen seasons, and she knows exactly what ailment causes my vehement outbursts. Hardly.
“What is it? Smells worse than what escapes my stomach.”
“Only tea, Miss Rosewood.”
“Tea? I heave everything. Why would I want tea?”
“Well, you’ll need to do your best to keep it down because this is tea you’ll regret not drinking.”
“What are you saying, Nayettѐ? What’s wrong with me?” I sit down in the armchair nestled by the window of my bedchamber. It’s a bit hard. Not nearly as comfortable as I’d like. I pull my dark hair back, roll it into a bun, then slip a dagger from my black petticoat and pierce it, fastening it in place to keep it out of my eyes. In case I feel the urge to lunge at the pot again.
“Whose is it?” Nayettѐ asks.
“Whose is what? Nayettѐ, stop with your confounding tongue. It’s too early.”
“It’s barely dawn, and you’re vomiting, are you not? You awake in a sweat on a morning that could chill a snow leopard. And above all these symptoms, there is a glow about you. You have a child inside you, Miss Rosewood. Drink up.”
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 69