Tears of a Heart

by Chase Blackwood

  The longer he waited to answer the more he realized he’d better have a good answer. For some reason he felt the man had high expectations of him.

  “You wish me to fight for you,” Aeden said at last.

  The man shook his head in approval. It was a subtle gesture; one Aeden would have missed had he not been paying attention.

  “It’s more than that,” Aeden continued.

  “Yes,” the master replied, his eyes slightly wider, interested.

  “You want me to be part of your personal guard,” Aeden felt like he was reaching, or perhaps being overly confident, but he also felt he had little to lose, how naive he was.

  Silence followed for a span. The only sounds Aeden heard were the rustling of the wind through fine silk curtains that blocked the sun’s light and the small movement of one of the guards behind him.

  “You’ve a shrewd mind, but you’re presumptuous.”

  Aeden remained silent. The words of the old S’Vothe master traveled through his head. “Wisdom is learning to keep your mouth shut when you have nothing of value to say.”

  “You are partially correct. Now I wonder what it is you think you need to better attain this position.”

  Aeden watched him for a moment unsure if he should answer. Finally the man raised an eyebrow. That was all Aeden needed.

  “I want my brothers freed,” Aeden said.

  Despite the heat of the day the room grew cold. One of the guards moved toward him as the seated master’s eyes were drawn into angry dark coals, glaring dangerously through him.

  “That is your first mistake dog, falter again and I shall have another killed simply to amuse me.” Some of the tension left the room and he continued, “I’ll give you another chance, since you still wear ignorance like a veil upon your eyes.”

  Aeden was now uncertain what to say. Aeden believed him when he said he would kill his friends. There was an aura of power about the man that hung over him like a shroud.

  “I would need my sword back.”

  “Where is it? Or should I say who has it?”

  “Reem Sati Agir from the caravel Zafer,” Aeden said struggling to control his anger.

  If it hadn’t been for Reem and his crew, the brothers from the Holy Order of Salvare Bodig would be safe now, not slaves.

  “You’ve a memory for foreign words, that’s good. What else.”

  “I would need training in your language and customs,” Aeden continued before hesitating to say his last request.

  “And?”

  “And I would need to know my brothers are safe,” he said hoping it wasn’t too much.

  Instead of anger there was laughter. It seemed forced, but it had to be better than anger, Aeden thought.

  “Well spoken, so it shall be.”

  Chapter 56

  “The foundation of power stems from knowledge in all things.” Caliph of Sha’ril

  The story of Aeden’s tutelage is largely uneventful. He was occupied from morning to night under the careful eye of a team of instructors. He had relatively free reign within the Jal’s compound. Every action, every test was done with the pervasive threat of harm to his brother monks. It was like a red cloud that clung to the edges of his vision. It was a constant reminder of the weight of his responsibility and the standard he was to uphold.

  Aeden’s training was as diverse as Jal’s interests, however, if there was said to be an overarching influence it would have been history. The Jal once said, “The key to understanding a people is understanding their history.”

  Aeden learned of the prior Caliphates of A’sh. He learned of the Caliph Jal Rajah Sha’ril whose empire stretched north to the Barre Mountains, west to the Gulf of Galdor, east to the Sea of Atland and even to the Isle of Mann off the coast of Templas. He learned about the events leading to the fall of the great empire. He learned what led to a split in the empire. A minor Caliphate was formed in the port city of Q’Bala and the Desert War had begun.

  Aeden was tutored in mathematics, one of his least favorite subjects. He didn’t understand how knowing about numbers would assist in daily life. He studied Adhari, the language of the A’sh, reading and writing. There were instructors for small team tactics teaching protection and attack. A different instructor taught him cultural idiosyncrasies. An old man with unusually steady hands and a shaky voice taught him chemistry.

  The chemist had him practice titrations, distillations, the use of solvents and the creation of solutions. He learned how to take a simple plant boil it, apply the appropriate salt, and titrate the solution until he had the desired potency, to create a most deadly poison. He learned about the properties of dozens of plants, algae, fungi, and lichen.

  Aeden practiced cultural dialogues, mannerisms, and the etiquette among the nobles. He furthered his training in their unique methods of hand-to-hand combat refined from years of warring with the Shadow Warriors of Q’Bala. Much of his training took place in narrow corridors, on the stairs, and in darkened rooms. He practiced assaulting from hidden alcoves, from the shadows. Training that was in stark contrast to many of the methods he had learned in S’Vothe.

  He was allotted an hour a week to see his brother monks. Although the visits were infrequent, they were special. Neri and Adel were treated well. They worked as scribes for the most part, increasing Jal Isa Sha’ril’s massive library. They were given a sole task, copy the Book of Divinus.

  Once Jal Isa Shar’il had learned of the Book of Divinus he had a small army scour the city in search of the slavers. Once word got out that the Purser of Sha’ril sought out these men, it didn’t take long for them to be found and the book to exchange hands.

  Aeden knew that the Jal had spared the monks, not on his behalf, but for more personal reasons. Reasons beyond his immediate understanding. It felt as if every action, every thought was carefully mapped out to conform to a hidden plan. In a way the Jal reminded Aeden of the subdeacon of Treton, although more ambitious, darker, and far more dangerous.

  Chapter 57

  “Friendship often rests on the back of the invested.” Proverb of Q’Bala

  “You let him die,” Adel whispered under his breath, looking upon Aeden with empty eyes.

  Aeden stood before Adel and Neri in silence. The small confines of the writing room were in stark contrast to the opulence of much of the Jal’s small palace. The air was thick with fear and a sad desperation. It lingered on the writing supplies, clung to the wooden desks, and wrapped itself about the two monks from Bodig.

  As Aeden glanced about he fought against a rising tide of guilt. It wasn’t as difficult a struggle as it had once been. His heart was no longer weak. It had been shored with stone and tears.

  Although Aeden knew they blamed him for Odilo’s death, he felt more at peace than he had before. He had overcome a lingering fear. He had taken the lives of the men who wished his brother harm. If he felt any guilt, it was that he wasn’t fast enough or strong enough to take on so many.

  “You killed four men, while in chains,” Neri said quietly, “You cut through them like they were children.”

  Neri was clearly in shock. He didn’t look up at Aeden as he spoke. Instead his eyes held a faraway appearance, as though another soul entered his body to relate the story. Aeden couldn’t blame him. Logically he should have been in shock too. Maybe it was because he hadn’t realized he’d killed four men.

  “Are you being treated well?” Aeden asked, in an effort to engage either one of them.

  “We’re prisoners,” Adel finally said looking down at the chains attached to his right foot then up into Aeden’s eyes.

  Aeden glanced about. They were alone. The guards were on the other side of the doorway. He was surprised how much freedom he had. The Jal must have known how important his brother monks were to him. He must have known Aeden wouldn’t risk their lives needlessly.

  “I will free you, that I promise,” Aeden said with steely conviction.

  “Empty promises fall on deaf ears,” Neri s
aid, “You don’t know this place. You don’t know the Jal. There is no escape.”

  Adel looked to Neri then back to Aeden before casting his eyes helplessly to the ground. So much loss. Aeden was suddenly overcome with the image of Odilo gasping for his last breath as he bled out.

  The events of the last two years threatened to overwhelm him.

  He took in a long and slow breath. The lump that normally resided in the back of his throat was gone. It had been replaced with an angry conviction. He knew what he had to do. He just wasn’t sure how to accomplish it.

  His brothers needed to see strength, not weakness.

  “You will be freed, I swear this on the Thirteen,” Aeden said, strength seeping into his voice.

  He looked at each one in turn before stepping out of the room.

  Chapter 58

  “The mind lingers when hope is lost.” Canton of Sawol

  Aeden managed to visit his brothers again.

  On one of his visits he brought a deck of playing cards. He had convinced the Jal that the more content his brothers were, the more productive they’d be. It was a challenging argument. The Jal enjoyed debate, mostly to test Aeden’s progress in Adhari, but also to assess his state of mind, his weaknesses and his strengths. This, however, meant that now Aeden would have to convince his brother monks to try a touch harder.

  They moved one of the tables toward the center of the small writing room, allowing Aeden to deal out the cards.

  “Where’ve you been?” Adel asked with a mixture of curiosity and jealousy in his voice.

  “Busy,” Aeden replied, not sure how to respond.

  “Must be nice wandering the palace unrestrained,” Adel said lifting his chained leg.

  At this Neri glanced up, nodding his head briefly. Was he agreeing or disagreeing? The customs of D’seart were so in contrast to Heorte that Aeden was starting to get confused.

  “He’s had me training from morning until night,” Aeden finally replied.

  He paused for a moment as he picked up his cards. Neri was already sorting through his absentmindedly as Adel stared at his cards resting on the desk.

  “I brought something for you, but you cannot tell anyone,” Aeden said, looking at Adel.

  There was a hint of curiosity on Adel’s face.

  Aeden reached into his pocket and pulled out a small honey-sweetened cake. Adel’s eyes momentarily lit up as he instinctively reached for it.

  Neri raised an eyebrow before a cloud of quiet distaste settled over his features.

  “I’ve also brought something for you,” Aeden said turning to Neri.

  Neri put down his cards.

  “I don’t like sweets,” he began.

  “It’s not a sweet,” Aeden said tentatively, attempting to undo the button on his other pocket.

  Neri leaned forward looking at Aeden then to his pocket.

  “I figured you could give him a better home than I could,” Aeden said as he held out a cupped hand to Neri.

  Neri placed his hands under Aeden’s. Aeden allowed a small, white mouse to sniff around and make its way into Neri’s hands.

  Neri looked at the mouse bringing it close to his chest. He murmured soft cooing words to it, before he looked back up at Aeden. He didn’t smile. But he didn’t need to. The change in his tone of voice was all Aeden needed.

  “It’s a she, not a he,” was all he said.

  “What kind of training?” Adel asked, crumbs gracing the corner of his lip.

  Aeden played the two of arrows, starting off the game.

  “He has me learning Adhari, simple chemistry, history, argument, D’seart culture,” Aeden paused as he ran through a mental list in his tired mind, “etiquette and desert fighting techniques.”

  Neri stopped whispering to his newfound friend and looked up. Adel played a nine of swords. His brow was knotted in thought.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Adel said.

  “I know! I’ve been trying to figure it out myself.”

  Neri played a king of hearts and took the pile, playing a new card.

  “There could be a reason for it all,” Neri offered quietly.

  His words halted Adel’s hand and forced Aeden to look at him with intense curiosity. The room grew quiet.

  “Well?” Adel finally said after a moment’s pause.

  “Jal Isa Sha’ril is an ambitious man. He didn’t rise so rapidly through the ranks without killing a few birds.”

  “Birds?” Aeden asked, interrupting Neri.

  Neri gave him an angry look. It almost felt like they were back in the monastery again, almost.

  “It’s an expression. Birds, people, they’re one in the same.”

  Adel jumped in, “what’s that have to do with Aeden’s training?”

  “Everything I’d imagine,” Neri said slowly as if relating something difficult to a child, “the Jal wouldn’t waste his time with Aeden if he didn’t think Aeden couldn’t help him attain greater power.”

  Adel nodded his head in understanding. Aeden, however, felt as lost as ever. How would he learning history or etiquette help the Jal gain greater power?

  The game was interrupted by the door swinging open. In the door frame stood a dark-skinned man of average height. His robes were green and fine. A delicate armor of copper chain-mail hung over his chest. And his hand rested casually on the hilt of a curved sword.

  “The Jal commands your presence,” the guard said staring intently at Aeden.

  Aeden stood. He waved to his brothers and followed the guard out of the room.

  Chapter 59

  “Political power swells from the tip of the sword.” Caliph of Sha’ril

  “Do you now understand why you’re here?” Jal Isa Sha’ril asked, his neatly trimmed eyebrows arching slightly over his hooded eyes.

  Had the Jal overheard his conversation with his brother monks? Is that why he had allowed the card game? Was it a test to see if he’d be honest?

  Aeden stood uncomfortably within the magnificent library. Beautifully bound books lined the shelves, filling the walls. A large map of Verold had been carefully painted upon the domed ceiling, stretching the entire circumference of the room.

  “You’ve trained me for a special purpose,” Aeden responded carefully.

  “Yes,” Jal shook his head ever so slightly in approval.

  Aeden glanced at the guards that stood to either side of him. He wondered briefly if he could kill them and the Jal, while still making it down to his brother monks before they were summarily executed.

  The Jal studied Aeden for a moment before glancing at the table before him. Aeden followed his gaze. There upon the dark silk was his Templas sword, sheathed in midnight. He was surprised he’d missed it at first. For a moment it was the only thing he could see before falling back into shadow.

  “Consider it a gift of sorts,” the Jal said amusedly.

  Aeden swallowed a lump in his throat. Something didn’t feel right. Slaves weren’t given gifts. He made no move to pick it up, despite a desperate longing to feel its hilt in his hand once more.

  “It’s interesting; the sword betrayed its last owner. Just as death reached for him the sword failed him,” the Jal continued.

  “I don’t understand,” Aeden said slowly, wondering if it was his juvenile understanding of Adhari that was leading to confusion.

  A guard walked forward and placed a basket next to the sword. A silken cloth covered the contents within.

  The Jal now leaned forward ever so slightly. His carefully trimmed eyebrows accentuated his hooded eyes.

  “Go on,” he said, gesturing a jeweled hand to the basket, “have a look.”

  Aeden stepped forward and placed a hand on the silken cloth. For some reason he was hesitant to remove it and uncover the contents within. Aeden looked to the Jal again as if for approval.

  The Jal wore a strange expression, somewhere between bemused interest and self-satisfaction. Aeden pulled the scarf free.

  A putri
d smell accosted him before his eyes understood what it was he was seeing.

  It was the head of Reem Sari Agir.

  “You were telling me what you thought it is I want of you,” the Jal said sitting back upon the cushions of his chair.

  Aeden remained quiet for a handful of heartbeats. He was still in shock. The Jal had just proven his power, his reach, his lack of moral consideration for anything that remotely stood in his way. He could more easily have purchased the sword, yet instead, he had brought the slaver’s head to Aeden.

  “You wish me to kill for you,” Aeden began, his eyes moving to Jal Isa Sha’ril, “someone in particular.”

  Silence filled the room in response. It was a thick silence of echoing resonance; heavy with the burden of truth, the fear of failure, and the unspoken secrets that each desperately clung to.

  “Continue,” the Jal said gesturing with a hand, although his face remained neutral.

  “You already control the Purse of Sha’ril, which is a form of power in of itself, but there is another office of greater magnitude that would command ever greater levels of respect.”

  The Jal’s eyes widened slightly, his dark pupils glistening with interest.

  “You’ve said quite enough,” before Aeden continued the Jal had cut him off, “I see you learned how to divine truth from your lessons, yet I wonder how well you understand the politics of Sha’ril.”

  The Jal leaned forward in his cushioned chair. His dark eyes gathered in Aeden as if he were nothing more than an interesting collection of facts.

  “You’ve found my sword,” Aeden said without invitation.

  “Ah, the sword, but of course. It was an easy task, yet its owner was not so pleased to part with it,” the Jal replied.

  Aeden watched Jal Isa Sha’ril now more intently. The man wore confidence the way a beautiful woman wears a form-fitting tunic.

  “When you had spoken of ‘your’ sword, you failed to mention its name,” the Jal said.