“What is this?” I slap the silver tray from Nayettѐ’s grasp. The hot tea splashes all over the two of us, causing her to wince. I grab at her black handmaid’s dress and tear a portion from the already above-the-knee hem to dab at the mess. “This wouldn’t be laced with toxins, would it? Get out!”
The handmaid hastily rushes to the door with her head low. I’ve offended her. Nayettѐ knows all too well she will have to convince me it’s a miracle. And because of that, she also knows she needs to abolish it.
“Wait. Nayettѐ?” I urge in a more controlled tone. “My actions are…they are not my own. Rage has been mine to control in the past, but I let it overcome me. I don’t know what happened. I’m not saying you’re right, but I’d prefer a second opinion. If you could, please summon Elder for me.”
Nayettѐ leaves the room to retrieve Elder. Presuming he is available at this hour, they will not be long. I rise and stand at the vanity, leaning against it so it holds a good portion of my weight. I look into the mirror and see a coarse woman. I’m not one to worry about appearances, but there is a difference between being presentable and being disheveled and sickly. I am not so crude as to oversee this, so I spend my wait freshening up. Nayettѐ returns with Elder in due time.
He enters my private quarters and seats himself on the davenport. With his disheveled sandy-blond hair and his sleeping attire draped over his thin frame, I appear ready to attend a prestigious evening function in comparison. He yawns and rubs the sleep from his chocolate-brown eyes with his knuckles before acknowledging me.
“What is it?” he asks.
From the time I first met him eight seasons prior, he has always been the most dependable and caring person in my life. I trust him.
“I’m bearing,” I confess bluntly and pause for a response. He stares back, silent. Although caring, he’s still a man, and his emotions can be rather lacking when needed most. “I’m pregnant, you imbecile!”
“Congratulations!” He gets the hint and perks up a little more. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t know what his name is.” My tongue is sharp. “Why would you ask that? I don’t even know if it’s a boy. I am confiding in you because I don’t think it’s right. I am not capable of nurturing life.”
“Oh,” he replies with a sense of humiliation. “Why not?”
“Are you teasing? The reasons are uncountable. I live a life in the shadows and am surrounded by death.”
“You have a point.” Elder rubs his head while letting the complexity of the situation swathe over him. “Moon tea will do the trick. All handmaids are trained in this. They’re accustomed to dealing with the scamming that comes along with the wealthier houses. I’m sure Nayettѐ can get a pot brewing for you.”
“But I’m not sure…” I trail off.
“You want to keep it?”
“No! I didn’t say that.”
“Come here, Ellia.” He stands and walks to the window. “Come,” he repeats himself. I make my way to the window ledge where he’s staring out over the capital skyline. “Do you see that down there? The birds scavenging in the slums.” Elder points to the slop pond lying in the center of the slums. The grey flamingos are wading in the filth, eating anything edible, of which the majority of it is covered in feces since the inhabitants of the slums tend to use the slop pond not only as their waste disposal, but as a lavatory as well. “They were pink once. Those birds. They were once majestic. From a distance anyways. Most birds are filthy once you get close and personal, but now they aren’t even beautiful to look at from afar. Do you know why that is?”
“Because they’re scavengers. Like you said, they’re filthy creatures.”
“We are the reason they are filthy creatures. Look at them. Of course they’re going to take the easiest meal. It’s a cutthroat world. We simply have the minds to better our situation, unlike any of the other creatures we share this world with. We’ve done this to them. We are parasites, sucking the life out of everything else we encounter.” Elder holds quiet for a moment. Pondering. “I think you should keep it.”
“What are you saying? You want me to birth another parasite? What kind of life will I have to face for nine months?”
“Maybe you don’t need nine months.” Elder shares a curious grin. “You’re an Imp, are you not? You have the ability to manipulate its growth.”
“That’s taboo. I can’t do that.”
“It’s taboo, but why? There is no malintent here. And since when do you limit yourself to what’s taboo and what’s not? Killing is taboo.”
“But it’s never been done before. We don’t know what will happen.”
“Precisely. Aren’t you curious? Let’s do it. You’re not sure whether you want to keep it or not, right? So, look at it this way, you’ll either accelerate the birth process or you’ll simply be using a different form of abortion practices than your evening mistress.”
I look down and caress my abdomen. “You’re right. I’m being weak. This damned thing already has a grasp on my emotions. Let’s get it out of me before it does any more damage to my head.”
55 Goose
“W
hat lies ahead?” I inquire.
“I wait,” the ape communicates.
“For what? You have nothing left to guard.”
The beast bounces and slams his knuckles into the thick branch we’re perched on. I’ve become too familiar with the simian’s outbursts and grip the branch to avoid falling. “For kin,” he replies simply.
“But…they’re all…dead.” I communicate it plainly.
“Return,” he replies and places a palm on my shoulder, nearly knocking me off the branch again. “You see.”
I ponder his words, but don’t understand. Maybe Coloss is the reason Graytu was so confounding because he was accustomed to communicating with this beast.
“Well, I have no patience to wait. I must avenge the death of my comrades. My…kin.”
“Mistake. Wait.”
“I mustn’t. Do you know where the assassin resides? Where I can find him?”
The beast shakes his head.
We gaze upon the battlefield. I tried to bury what was remaining of the dead, but Coloss wouldn’t allow it. Most of the bodies disappeared, along with the assassins. And Coloss insisted on resting the remainder of the bodies in the hollows they resided in. He placed each individually on their own bed. And now he apparently awaits their return.
“Carib is building an army, isn’t he?” I ask.
“…”
“I will build an army of my own, then.”
The ape looks at me and gives a curt nod. Then he gestures for me to look out into the wood.
The White Hart stands alone in the distance. I can sense the beast. It requests my presence.
I leap from branch to branch and ruffle Helios’s fur when I get to the base of the tree. I walk toward the divine beast. It is grand, standing more than a head taller than me with the tines of his antlers reaching further into the sky. There is a majestic glow about him. He speaks.
“Guardian of Azure.”
“Guardian?” My brow curls. “You’re certain of this?”
A smaller doe appears from behind a nearby tree. Then, a few more show themselves. Then, a pack of wolves trots into view from the deep wood. And the obnoxious squirrels start chirping in the branches above. Then, a massive brown bear trudges toward the group, raising onto its hind legs with a roar to match its terrifying size.
“The forest is here to serve you,” the White Hart communicates.
56 Astor
“W
here do we come from?” I hold my head in my hands, afraid to face the world.
“The First Four.”
“But where did they come from? What is our purpose? Why is it so hard? Why does Susy give us life, just to endure such hardship? Is it a game?”
Advocate Gunther embraces me. I nuzzle into him and weep hysterically.
“Hardship teaches, dear. Purpose…” G
unther sighs. He pulls back from me and lifts my chin to make eye contact. “Purpose is in here.” He places my hand on my chest.
“How do I find purpose if this…” I pat my chest, “…is broken?” More tears erupt. Gunther embraces me again.
“Where your mind falls short, your purpose is lacking, your science cannot explain, that is where faith dominates. You must have faith. Faith is a strength too few are aware they have. Faith is a power all can wield. Faith is humanity. Faith will heal anything.” He places my hand over my heart again. “Faith is in you. Grab hold of it, and see what happens.”
57 Stone
C erise has waned to a quarter-terra since the day I beheaded the Taoiseach. And yet I continue to roam the grounds of the Academy, mourning my losses. Today is the Autumnal Equinox. Jay loved the turn of the seasons. She thrived with the festivals that accompany it. I will never again get to see that rare smile it brought to her.
Walking along the paved path passing by my former Social Etiquette class, I stop at the top of a small hill. I have visibility of the majority of the campus from this peak. The trees decorate the yards of the school with splashes of orange, red, and yellow. It’s a beautiful sight to most, but it only reminds me of one thing. Soon, all those colorful leaves will fall to the ground and decay, leaving the trees barren and ugly. How am I supposed to find beauty in death? It is too empty, painful, and angering. There is no beauty to be seen here. I continue wandering down the path, unsure of my destination.
Not quite a man in most eyes, and I have lost my entire family. I’m empty. No different than the dead trees. And lost.
I trudge aimlessly and find myself outside the compounds of my nemesis, Harris Martelli. But is he a nemesis? My mind is conflicted, unsure of what to believe. He slayed my sister, to be sure. That will never be forgotten, regardless of what other evil deeds he may have evaded. He is, and always will be, my nemesis, for that one act alone.
The compounds are empty. Harris’ evil tactics were revealed to the public, and he paid the price for it. No normal man would have stood a chance against an entire city of angry citizens. But Harris was far from normal, which is why I had to do what I did.
I look toward the noose rafter. All five members of the former Parliament remain. The four who were hung from the rafter are no more than charred skeletons. Their bones have been pecked clean by the scavengers in the air.
My attention turns to the pike protruding high into the sky next to the other four. Harris’s head remains intact. The same grin permeates his face from when I removed his head. Below the spike, lying on the ground, are a few dead black carrions. All look to be rotting away. Even in his death, he still finds a way to murder. I grimace.
The ironwood door of the Redwood Chamber is ajar. It creaks as I open it just enough to squeeze through. The Grand Atrium within holds many memories. All from a single day. I escaped this chamber with my sister, best mate, and Helios; I battled a woman, which, in the end, I was unable to resist; I lost a childhood friend to my own blade, and of all my company that day, none remain.
I ponder Goose and Helios, wondering if they’re alive, and if so, where? Will Greybark be my next destination? Or do I remain patient, knowing Goose will venture to the capital one day? Or do I go back home to the charred remains of the McLarin Manor where I buried Jaymes?
The entire chamber is deserted. Typically, there would be a few Crimson Guard at the gates and several patrolling the area. Without a proper Parliament, many have deserted, likely joining the Celestial Cloaks, while others have retreated to their barracks to await new orders. Serving the group of elite assassins is not as honorable, but it serves the skillset better than patrolling.
I wander down the corridor in the direction of the chamber where she was murdered. It’s the first time I’ve returned since recovering her body. I know not what to expect of myself.
Another ironwood door bars the way between me and the Chamber of Parliament. I hesitate. I cautiously place a hand on the cold iron handle, as though it’ll cause harm. I pull the doors open and step into the chamber. It’s just as I left it. The massive table split in two, the rot working its way through what remains. Blood stains are spilt across the wenge flooring, just barely visible on the dark wood.
My emotions billow out. Tears stream down my face. I ball a fist and slam it against the table. The pain is excruciating, but pain is temporary. Will the pain of my losses be temporary? That pain is far more destructive than physical pain. Unsatisfied, I smash my foot down on the table, over and over, until the oak splinters and breaks away. I grab the wood shard, wondering what will happen if I pierce my own heart with it. I want the suffering to end. Will I die? Am I truly like the Taoiseach? An Immortal? The Taoiseach wasn’t.
As I ponder my own death, staring at the wooden shard, a soft green moss sprouts from it. Like anything with a plush surface, I naturally brush my fingers across it. The moss rots away beneath my touch and reveals bleached markings. I examine the table from where the shard came. Nothing. I press a hand on it and jerk back as moss sprouts beneath my fingers. I stroke the plush moss again and it rots away. Bleached text resides on the underside of the table. It reads something about the athenaeum the Taoiseach spoke of. But there’s text missing. I shuffle through the rubble on the floor to locate the missing shard.
For the eyes of the Hybreed alone.
Only will the athenaeum reveal its secrets with your touch.
I entrust in you the knowledge of the ages.
That’s it. That’s all the text. But there are scribblings below it. I brush my hand across it and the wood goes through the same sequence, the cycle of life. There’s a map of what looks like the Martelli Manor. My curiosity peaking, I waste no time.
I press into the door, not sure what to anticipate, if anything. A secret chamber within the depths of the Taoiseach’s own personal manor ought to have safeguards, shouldn’t it? I continue through the door without any surprises.
The chamber is well lit from the glass ceiling above. It appears to be covered in several seasons of overgrowth and debris from the redwoods above, but only enough to block visibility to the outside, not sunlight. Thunder lanterns are mounted along the walls of the athenaeum, at the end of each wooden stack arrayed around the perimeter—which hold more texts than I realized existed—and above each of the tables in the open area in the middle. It has been at least a quarter-terra since the Taoiseach has stepped foot down here, yet the thunder lanterns still burn brightly. They are freshly fueled. Or maybe it is just another of Harris’s many tricks.
The history emanates within the chamber, both visually and by the aroma. It smells old, like a mixture of damp wood and oily fragrances to cover the dankness. But the oils only add to the unpleasantness of the damp odor.
I gape at all I see. Mass amounts of texts, ancient architecture, and unknown apparatuses from another world. There are shiny white gadgets with a foreign type of lens. Devices that have characters lining them in several rows—some of which I recognize as letters and others I don’t. It’s connected to a flat panel. And another device full of color—a cube with several smaller square colors—but not in a pattern of any kind. I gawk at all the artifacts in the room, wondering if these were inventions of the Taoiseach or ancient artifacts he stumbled upon in his time.
After admiring and toying with his treasures for some time, I find my way to the stacks of texts. There are too many to focus on any one. Except…the only one protruding out from the others. It’s not shoved in all the way. The last one read, perhaps. No title. Only Susy’s insignia is embossed on the spine.
I pull it from the stack and lay it upon the nearest desk with a brightly lit thunder lantern hovering above. Eager to learn and discover the nuances of these odd devices, I sit and pull back the leather cover of the text.
Afraid to flip through the pages too quickly for the damage it will cause the ancient text, I carefully thumb through it. The words are mostly of the common tongue, but a few I don’t u
nderstand. I thumb through until I discover a loose sheet of parchment folded inside. My name sits at the top.
Stone McLarin,
It is time for me to pass along the knowledge of the ages. I trust you have found my athenaeum and this text in due time. All other artifacts in this chamber are mere playthings. Instruments to understand nature and the cosmos. Only in this book, The Chronicles of Susy, will you find the knowledge you seek. The knowledge you require to carry the weight of Azure.
We are a warmongering species. And I’m afraid I leave you with this burden at a time when war is at our doorstep. And you will do well to know in this day, war is not about claiming territory or possessions. War is about claiming the hearts and minds of man. I learned this too late in my reign. I have endured sacrifice. I have endured suffering. I have endured salvation. And this is all to prevent the solitude the Crimson Shadows bring. They require a balance.
Balance is a reckoning you must strive for above all else. It is a force necessary for all life to exist. Without it, we perish, crumble under our own sins or arrogance. A balance between good and evil, between right and wrong. Whether it be faith and fact, positrons and electrons, or life and death, there must be a balance. It is not an intuition or a theory I have equated, but a necessity. A lesson of nature. It is always preached that good must triumph over evil, but, as it is with all things, a balance must exist. It is a real force just like the gravity that holds you to the ground you stand on. I don’t expect you to understand my rambling, but I do expect you to seek the truth. I expect you to explore the athenaeum regularly. Learn the secrets it holds. As a Hybreed, I trust you can fulfill your potential as the sage of balance.
~Harris Martelli
What does that mean? Harris expects me to take on his role as the Hybreed? Not the Taoiseach, perhaps, but the weight of humanity. And what a weight that is. I sink into the wooden chair. What if I don’t want to? What if I refuse? What if they refuse me? What happens then?
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 70