Aeden coughed as they passed men covered in swaths of clothing to protect them from the glaring sun. Stalls were scattered about in no apparent order or fashion. Wooden trestles covered sections of the market checkering the crowds in lines of light and shadow. They provided a smattering of protection from the desert sun.
An open plaza stretched before them as they worked their way past a stone archway. The tall minarets of the golden domed temple stood as absurdly tall sentinels on either side of the market. The archways lining the perimeter of the square were covered in carpets, metal wares, and clothing. It was a colorful collage of merchandise designed to entice the buyer. Men sat upon simple wooden stools watching those who passed with the disinterested look of boredom.
The shouting grew more intense as they approached the center of the crowds and the center of the plaza. The smells of rotten fruit, the stench of sweat, and the stink of human waste clung to the air.
Reem turned, “stop here dogs,” he commanded. “Onlari izlamek,” he shouted to the other slaver-pirates who were watching over them.
Reem then left their group and slipped into the masses. Aeden watched him go with anger in his heart. Curiosity slowly replaced his anger with a sense of purpose. He looked about for a method of escape, somewhere to hide.
There were cages in the center of the market with more slaves. Men, women, and children were all for sale. Their lives worth nothing more than the coin of a wealthy man’s purse. Soldiers guarded the cages as merchants perused the humanity within as though they were nothing more than animals for sale.
Well-dressed men gripped slave faces in their hands and examined teeth. They gripped arms and legs in an attempt to assess muscle. They groped women’s breasts and buttocks to assess their fertility. Aeden felt sick to his stomach. Realization slowly dawned on him. He was soon to be sold as a piece of property.
Reem returned and led them to the far side of the plaza. Aeden glimpsed an auction block and a rectangular area roped off and punctuated with soldiers. They passed wooden cages filled with slaves to be sold. His eye paused on suckling infants crying at their mother’s teat.
An empty wooden cage rested heavily upon the white stones of the square. One by one the chains around their necks were undone and each was pushed roughly into the cage. Finally the doors were closed shut. Aeden glimpsed Reem hand a shiny silver coin to a fat man in green and ivory robes, before he moved beyond sight.
The hours stretched by slowly under the sultry embrace of the day. The heat made his clothes stick to his body. His skin was red from the sun and his mouth was dry and thirsty. In that span of time he heard the shouting and haggling of slavers peddling their slaves. Men walked past his cage looking inquiringly upon the fresh crew and the four monks. On occasion words were exchanged between one of the slavers and the perspective buyer.
It wasn’t until the sun was a couple of hours from setting that Reem returned. The green-robed fat man procured a key and the crew members of the Seventh Sage were called forward. The monks were told to remain behind.
Aeden moved to the far side of the cage and attempted to watch the sale of the crewmembers. They were led to the block one at a time.
“Salvare still watches over us,” Aeden heard Odilo whisper.
He turned to see Odilo comforting Adel. Neri sat in a corner staring at a spot on the ground.
“He’s forsaken us to this hell,” Adel responded. “Salvare wouldn’t allow men such actions.”
“He’s allowed far worse. Empires have been built on the backs of the less fortunate. It is the faith that He reserves judgment for that final breath that allows one to accept such atrocities,” Odilo replied gently.
Aeden stared at Odilo for a moment. The fundamental idea of the Holy Order of Salvare flashed before his eyes, and its one glaring weakness now echoed loudly in his mind, faith. It was a word often used, but what strength did the word hold when imperial soldiers were allowed to slaughter innocents in Nailsea? What did faith do to stop the pirates from capturing the Seventh Sage? What would faith have done to stop the draccus fiend from destroying his home, his family, and his friends? The answer was nothing. He required something more tangible, more powerful than faith.
“Seventh hell isn’t punishment enough for them,” Adel responded, anger evident in his eyes.
Good, Aeden thought, use your anger to remain strong, to retain a sense of self and purpose. He watched Odilo and Adel for only a moment longer before turning his attention to the auctioning block.
“Hada sani kre gecelum!” The green robed man shouted, gesturing for them to get out.
The four monks shuffled out of the cage at the direction of the fat guard. They were led past empty cages where slaves had been held and then sold. As they moved toward the auctioning block Aeden’s stomach tightened. He was about to be sold as a piece of property. Would he be bought by someone fair? What type of work would they demand of him? Fear reared its ugly head and fanned the flames of anxiety.
He barely noticed the other monks, but they too were in the grip of despair. Instead he was focused on the auctioning block as if it were a living thing. Its simple wooden design belied its somber purpose. Standing on the platform was a well-dressed man of indeterminate age. As they approached he began to speak to the crowds in a voice that carried across the plaza.
“Dikket adiniz,”the announcer shouted gesturing a bejeweled hand to the four monks approaching.
Another guard stood at the base. Reem and his crew stood behind the platform. More guards ringed the plaza. Aeden realized escape would be short lived and complicated by the chains at his hands and feet.
The guard at the base of the steps evaluated them with a quick glance and chose Odilo to move up the steps first. With a shove Odilo limped up the short steps and onto stage. The announcer seemed to cringe at his faltering step and began to speak as if to draw attention away from his deformity. Aeden couldn’t help but wonder if the auctioneer took a cut from every human being he helped sell.
“Katual dezunin bir Salvare,” he shouted, “itaatker bir kapek.”
“Bir gumus sigloi,” a man in the crowd said half-heartedly.
Aeden searched the crowd for the voice and recognized one of the men from the Zafer. They were trying to entice the crowd to buy. Instead of further offers there was a moment of silence followed by another shouting voice.
“Kases kupaki kapek!” there was vile in those words.
Aeden glanced at Neri who had finally looked up.
The shout was now echoed by others in the crowd.
“Kases kupaki kapek!”
“What’re they saying?” Aeden whispered to Neri.
Neri looked at Aeden with sadness in his eyes.
“They say, ‘kill the dog monk.’”
Aeden glanced up at the announcer who seemed uncertain of how to respond. The energy of the crowd was beginning to turn. How could words incite such hatred? How could words sway emotion to supersede reason and cause men to wish for violence? It angered him.
Two guards stepped onto the platform with their hands on the hilts of their swords. They seemed hesitant as if feeding off the energy of the gathered masses. Aeden could only think of one reason they’d approach Odilo. The man who’d saved him from the guards of Bodig. The man who had spoken on his behalf and allowed him shelter, food, safety, and a brotherhood when he was at his most vulnerable.
They meant to kill a member of his adopted family.
Rage pulsed through his veins like scolding hot water. It bubbled over until his mind went quiet. The world narrowed in his vision. His ears pounded with the sound of his rushing heartbeat. There was no more time. He needed to act.
Without thought Aeden bounded up the stairs in short, precise steps. A shout echoed somewhere behind him. He ignored it. His eyes were fixed upon the guards. There was a predatory glare fixed to Aeden’s face.
The guards looked weak. Without warning he struck.
One barely had enough time to partially d
raw his sword before Aeden swept his foot and broke his neck. The guard was dead before he hit the floor. The following guard only had time to look up before Aeden smashed him in the face with a stone-hardened fist. The chains slowed him down, but he still felt his knuckles bite into the guard’s face as if he had punched through old parchment.
The guard stumbled. Blood spurted from his staved face. He fell off the platform gurgling incoherently.
Two more guards ran up the steps. He dispatched the first in two swift movements, disarming him with the chains between his wrists. His death was quick and painless.
The second was better armed, better dressed, and clearly better trained. The crowd grew strangely quiet as the two moved about on stage. Aeden’s anger rolled quietly in the background. His skin hummed with emotion. He felt no weakness. He felt no discomfort. He had only one mission. Protect Odilo and his brother monks.
The man struck with remarkable speed. Aeden reacted before the man had fully committed to his technique. He side stepped the thrust and grabbed the man’s sword hand with both of his hands. Continuing his forward movement he snapped the man’s wrist into a lock as the man’s elbow reflexively swept up into the air. Aeden stripped the sword from his hand and fluidly twisted his body slicing through the side of the richly-clad guard.
The guard fell to his knees in utter shock. Aeden held the sword in his hands prepared to deliver the killing blow when a voice shouted out.
“Stop!” It was in Heortian and it had emanated from the crowd.
Odilo placed a hand on Aeden. Slowly the anger faded and the world resolved into focus. The well-dressed guard sat upon his knees. His hands were soaked in blood and held onto something. What was he holding? Whatever it was glistened slick and pale in the waning sun. Understanding finally dawned on Aeden. He had cut through the man’s muscular wall and spilled his tubular organs.
He suddenly felt sick. He turned away only to see the other guards he had felled. The world spun and he struggled to remain focused. He caught sight of a dozen sets of eyes fixed on him. Surrounding the wooden platform were soldiers, well-armed, with spears pointed toward him. It appeared they too stopped at the command. Who had shouted the order?
“Sunin bicekleri kiluf!” The man from the plaza boomed.
Immediately the soldiers stood to attention with their spears held squarely by their sides, points skyward.
“Drop your weapon,” the man then said to Aeden.
Aeden finally saw him for the crowds had parted around him. He was an imposing sight, but not because of his size. Rather his mere presence commanded authority. He radiated power the way the sun radiated light. His fine robes graced his lean body in shades of emerald. A decorative helmet sat regally upon his head. Golden chainmail adorned the lower half covering his neck like a waterfall of rich armor. But it was his intense gaze that most marked him. Dark, brooding eyes under rich eyebrows, carefully trimmed. Those eyes were now locked onto Aeden’s.
Aeden was enraptured by the man’s gaze. He slowly put down the sword as if the man’s eyes had willed him to it. The man whispered to another well-dressed guard at his side. The guard bore the same manner of dress as the one who now moaned with his intestines upon his hands. The guard moved forward quickly, cutting through the crowd with ease.
The guard walked up the steps and spoke to the announcer. The announcer looked at him dumbly as shock slowly receded to the hidden recesses of his mind. The announcer nodded his head briefly to indicate he understood. The guard then walked past Aeden and paused in front of Odilo. He lifted Odilo’s chin as if he were inspecting him. With a casual and quick movement the guard slashed Odilo’s throat.
Blood squirted from his neck in ever decreasing bursts as his heart struggled to pump life to his brain.
What had happened? Why kill Odilo?
Aeden was too stupefied for anger. The casual manner of the killing shocked him into stillness. He was reminded of his inaction at the foot of his village. The horrible screams bubbled to memory. The terrible sounds of the draccus fiend and the more horrendous sounds of his home burning cut across his guilty conscience like a hot knife.
But there was no mythical beast before him. There was only a well-dressed man armed with a jeweled blade. There was his brother monk, his friend, and his confidant bleeding to death before him.
Aeden rushed to him and placed his hands upon his bleeding neck. It was a futile attempt to save him. Aeden watched as the life faded from his eyes. Odilo managed to shake his head once. He didn’t want further violence perpetrated on his behalf. Even in his final moments he was able to follow the teachings of Khein and walk in the path of Salvare. Aeden didn’t understand.
Odilo’s eyes slowly closed shut and he slumped forward. Aeden carefully lowered him to the blood stained platform. A faint smile was upon his dead brother’s lips. And Aeden wept.
PART FOUR
Sha’ril
Chapter 54
“And pack what goods are necessary for your journey, remembering the greatest good is that of pious action.” Verse from the Bocian
The Annalist glided into port aboard a Bodigan caravel on a quiet Sumor morning. The first glimpse of molten bronze poured from the great jeweler in the sky, spreading its warmth upon the calm waters of the Port of Sha’ril. In the shimmering distance the Grand Temple of Anwar attempted to mirror the golden sun in a vain attempt at beauty.
He coughed as he stood upon the stern. The lapis waters lapped lightly upon the bow calming his nerves. The annalist rubbed absentmindedly at his temples. He had been nursing a headache for days. The pain for a while was nearly unbearable, but manageable. It was the price he paid for his gift. Use of the arkein often exacted a price. Yet, for all his searching, he hadn’t found what toll it took upon the Kan Savasci. He was beginning to wonder if the man he was investigating had uncovered the secrets of the Syrinx, the secrets that only the greatest of arkeinists, Magis, had been purported to discover.
“We’ve arrived my lord.”
“I see that,” the annalist retorted a bit too sharply.
He closed his eyes a moment and willed the throbbing pain in his head to subside. A wave of nausea invaded the shores of his mind before receding to a dull ache. He opened his eyes and took in the broad sweep of city before him.
The light blue waters formed a counterpoint to the white buildings that graced the shoreline. The magnificent city of Sha’ril seemed largely unaffected by the discord to the north. It was a welcome sight after all he’d seen.
“Ready the ship young master, I’d like to meet this new Caliph as soon as possible.”
“Of course my lord.”
A man of no more than twenty years relayed orders and busied himself preparing the annalist’s travel bag.
The annalist stood upon the stern deck a moment longer. The sun was already making its way into the sky and forcing its warmth upon the dry lands. He preferred to leave as soon as possible. By noon the heat would become unbearable. How Aeden survived the desert heat seemed almost as great an accomplishment as his defeat of the Bodig army at Vintas Pass.
The annalist was rubbing his temples gently when the young master returned with his travel bag.
“Everything’s packed and your guards are awaiting you my lord,” he said.
It felt strange having someone call him lord, but he understood why the king had given him the title. Titles command respect just as well-dressed guards paint the illusion of great importance. The annalist was more than apt to take care of himself, the guards might as well have been children dressed in costume.
“Welcome,” a slightly overweight man in splendid robes said.
The annalist paused momentarily at the threshold of a cushioned chamber. He struggled to take in a level of opulence the king of Bodig would have begged to be privy to.
Pillars of gold were beset by jewels the size of his fist. They ringed the circular room. Tall, pointed archways connected each pillar. Suspended from these were curtains of the fi
nest silk he’d ever seen. They looked as if they had been woven by a team of spiders, threading gossamer gold.
The man himself was flanked by two large and dangerous looking men. It wasn’t the guards that caught the annalist’s attention, it was the man himself. Dark, intelligent eyes watched him, calculating. They rested deeply within a once handsome face under carefully trimmed eyebrows. His slightly hooked nose gave him the predatory appearance of the much-feared siren eagle.
The annalist glanced at his two guards and dismissed them. If there was to be a play of power on a subtle level, he was going to win. The annalist watched as the new Caliph raised an eyebrow.
“I bring the greetings of King Godwin of Bodig, High Priest of the Holy Order of Salvare, Holder of Keys, and Rightful Emperor of Heorte.”
“And may I present…” one of the guards fell silent as the Caliph held up a bejeweled hand.
“I am Jal Isa Sha’ril, Caliph of the mighty A’sh Empire, Cesur Kimse, Lion of the Desert, and once teacher and master of Kan Savasci, the great Blood Warrior.”
Chapter 55
“True freedom stands on the backs of the enslaved.” Caliph of Q’Bala
“You now belong to me.”
Aeden regarded his new master for a moment. Those intelligent eyes watched Aeden the way a predator tracks its prey. They were dark eyes, hiding their true purpose behind a benevolent mask. One Aeden refused to believe. He was now this man’s property. It was a concept so foreign to him that he had yet to wrap his mind around its true ramifications.
“What would you have me do?” Aeden asked fearing the answer.
“Isn’t it obvious,” the man replied in near perfect Heortian.
Aeden shook his head.
“That means yes here in the A’sh. But for the sake of entertainment, tell me what you think your purpose is.”
Aeden felt like this was a test. He was reminded briefly of his father quizzing him after the Shrine of Patience. Although in a way it was more like the Witches of Agathon. He found it hard to read this man. Was it the cultural differences?
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