by Quil Carter
For a moment Tseer just watched them walk, a dumbfounded but devoted look on his face as the twins long black capes trailed behind them. He admired them like a young boy gazing upon his first love, before obediently following them.
I am in the presence of gods. I am walking behind my god, Darsheive.
But how? He was… supposed to be gone from this world.
It is not for me to question. I will do anything for him.
The doors opened and the three of them walked into the halls of Shorefire and into Tseer’s new home.
Tseer looked around as they walked down a red carpet runner with purple pinstripes. He looked at his hall differently now and in his head made plans of all the changes he was going to make. He hadn’t forgotten the vow he had made inside of Manderlyhall, the wooden beams, made of a black wood with silver burls, would suit the vines of the wineflower well, and the windows with black diamond-shaped lattice separating the panes, brought in enough sun to have them grow fast and strong.
“Oh, Marillion,” Xalis sang, his crystal clear voice ringing loudly and echoing off of the high ceilings. Tseer felt a shiver go up his spine at this. “Oh, Marillion? You have displeased your god’s brother, Marillion Valahir. It is time for you to repent.”
“Must you make such a show?” Tseer heard Darsheive say. “You can sense him as well as I can. He’s about to run onto his own sword.”
Tseer’s eyes widened. “We mustn’t let him!” he said. The thought of being cheated out of his death made the fire rushing through his veins give a caustic flare. “I must kill him. For what he’s done to my son.”
“You will want to torture him once you see the state of the boy,” Darsheive said darkly. “He is being kept on the floor underneath our feet. In a small room with a green door.” The twin gods reached the end of the hall where several stuffed chairs sat around a fire pit of deep red stone. It was unlit, but with a wave of Darsheive’s hand a deep red flame coated the wood and started to burn brightly. “We will be staying here. Go and get your son and enact your revenge. We want to get our spices before the merchants’ shops close.”
Tseer clasped his sceptre in his hand and held it against his chest. He drew a deep breath into his lungs and nodded. “Thank you, Holy Darsheive. I am your servant until death takes me.”
And at this, the corner of Darsheive’s mouth rose. He twirled the Lelander’s arrow he had still been holding onto playfully and gave Tseer the most impish of gazes.
“Oh, you have no idea, Tseer Amaus.”
The way he said this made Tseer need to swallow through what felt like a vice, but he nodded and turned to another carved door leading into the interior of the house.
He turned when he heard the sounds of pounding boot steps against stone. It was coming from outside, and once he listened further, he heard the jingling of chainmail and the clanging of shields and swords. Tseer paused and took a step back towards the twins but Xalis raised a hand.
“Leave them for us. Go.”
Another swallow and another nod, and Tseer sprinted to the door. It opened to a hallway and, to the right, a flight of stairs which Tseer sprinted down.
He glanced up at the ceiling when he heard a thump and a muffled scream. The reality that above him the guards of Marillion were being killed by the twin gods was a difficult one to grasp. It shone a different light on every interaction he’d had with Krafter and Stolas and he knew many sleepless nights awaited him.
But that would have to wait. As Tseer’s head looked in all directions to find the green door he used his training to compartmentalize the feelings the twins presence had brought up, and focused only on finding his son.
He ran down a hallway lit by torches, the shadows from Marillion’s many busts and ornaments dancing against the flickering flames. There were things from all the kingdoms in Elron, some displayed on silk cloths or hung by golden hooks, but as he got deeper into the house and the torches were left behind, the expensive items now resided in wooden crates stuffed with hay, or placed without care on top of nicked tables and worn bookshelves.
The smell changed too, unlit halls with no fire to warm them became musty and soon dust gave everything a film of faded grey. Tseer was about to give up, thinking there must be more hallways behind one of the normal wooden doors, when he saw it. He saw the green door.
Tseer flicked his pointer and index finger against his left palm and cradled the fire left behind. He looked behind him to make sure he wasn’t being followed, but there was no soul here and the sounds of fighting behind him had been long ago left behind.
On quiet feet he walked down the dark hall, past cedar crates stacked three high, and white sheets draped over furniture to create artificial phantoms. He attempted to steady a heart he could feel rapping against his rib cage but focusing on that only made him more aware of the physical signs of anxiety his body was succumbing to.
He got to the door and tested it with his hand. It was locked but not well. His several years working for the Shadows of Azrah, a spy guild, had trained him on how to open most locks. Marillion may be a powerful elf but his power was drawn from brute strength, he had no mages working under him.
Tseer traced his hand over the doorknob and closed his eyes. He pushed his maegic into the keyhole of the door and found the tumblers. There was a series of small tinks and quickly Tseer turned the knob. His heart gave a thrum when there was a click – and it opened.
“Tsoren?” Tseer said. It took everything for his voice not to catch. He wanted to sound strong for his son. “Tsoren – it’s your father.”
He pushed the door open and looked inside.
The windowless, dark room was pungent with the smell of feces and urine, and there was hay everywhere. It looked like instead of cleaning out this horrible room they had just thrown hay on top of hay and it now, even pounded down, it reached at least two feet high.
This must be the wrong room… no elf could be living here. This wasn’t even suited for a pig.
Then Tseer saw movement. In the far corner of the room was a large collection of hay that reached halfway up the wall. It looked like a nest for a giant rat.
He looked closer at it as the hay moved and shifted and took a cautious step into the room.
Decades as a bounty hunter, a spy, a sellmage, and true-blooded Dashavian, couldn’t prepare him for the shock and agony in his heart when a pasty arm reached up and brushed the hay away from his body. A young elf with curly hair and a deathly thin face squinted at the firelight Tseer was carrying and raised his hand to shield his eyes.
Tseer dimmed the flame and the young elf’s squinting eyes opened. They were red and not only that… they were identical to Tseer’s own.
“Tsoren?” Tseer whispered. He took another step towards his son and dropped to his knees, an intense look of grief on his face.
For a moment the young elf looked confused. Tseer was puzzled to see that, though his curly hair had hay sticking in it, it was clean, and he wasn’t as dirty as his surroundings suggested he’d be.
“You came for me?” Tsoren said. His voice was deeper now and he had a faint shadow of facial hair. “Did you buy me?”
Tseer shook his head. He raised a hand and placed it on the side of the boy’s face. “You were never for sale. You are no slave, son. You were stolen but I have come for you. Come with me. It is time for us both to destroy the elf who has wronged us.”
Tseer helped his son to his feet and steadied him. The boy was his height now, perhaps slightly taller. He was weak now but soon he would be strong of body and mind. This was the end of Tseer’s journey but the beginning of a new life for both of them.
Then both of their heads turned towards the door when they heard a crashing, followed by the sound of breaking glass.
“Where’s Master Marillion?” Tsoren’s voice was strained and fearful. He took several steps back before he hit the wall behind him. Tseer watched his son wrap his twig-like arms around himself, his face adopting an expression of intense pain. “He
says I can’t leave. I can’t leave until he brings me out.”
“I have saved Marillion for you, son,” Tseer said darkly, an unease was filling him at the frightened look his son was giving him. “Follow me. The twin gods themselves have blessed us both with their presence, but they will not wait for long.”
He looked behind his shoulder to see Tsoren’s already tense face become more anxious. His red eyes were large and his lips pursed and he kept shaking his head back and forth like he was denying that Tseer was even there.
The boy had been terrorized. Tseer had convinced himself that the boy had only been in this room temporarily, as a punishment. But it was becoming obvious now that he had been mistreated more than just a normal slave.
And then Tseer himself paused. His heart fell and his body became still when the explanation as to why the boy was cleaned and washed in the first place came to him. An explanation that Xalis himself had alluded to.
There isn’t a virgin amongst them. The males are both working slaves and slaves in Marillion’s bed chamber, and the females are given to chedni guards who please him. I do hope you weren’t expecting your boy to have kept his virtue.
An anger flowed through Tseer that made his body shake, an anger that his son saw and whimpered at. Tseer’s fists clenched and he grabbed the golden sceptre hanging off of his belt.
“Come with me, boy,” Tseer said, his tone plunged to the bottomless pits of Shol. “Now. Get up and come with me now.”
“Master Marillion… he’ll… he’ll hurt me.”
“Now, Tsoren!” Tseer said raising his voice.
The young elf sniffed and nodded. He walked over to his father and, with an approved nod, Tseer turned and left the room. Tseer led him towards the stairs, the crashing and thumping above them getting louder with every hallway they walked down.
“I promise you… no one will hurt you again,” Tseer said to him through locked teeth. “I will make you strong. You are weak now, but I will make you strong.”
Tsoren looked down at the floor, his arms still wrapped around his willowy frame. “O-okay, Dad.”
Dad. The word soothed his burning wounds like a cold compress. Tseer closed his eyes but his grip on the sceptre only tightened. He opened them and picked up his pace and when the boy fell behind he grabbed his shoulder.
When they reached the top of the stairs the rage was boiling Tseer alive. He pushed the door open so hard it slammed against the wall.
His eyes widened with what he saw.
The twins were standing by the fire pit with their backs to him. There was blood everywhere, not just a sprinkle of it here or there, but completely coating the marble floors, the furniture, and splattered on the walls and windows. The limbs and parts of elves could be seen strewn throughout the hall: arms, legs, torsos ripped in half, and strings of intestines and innards tossed around in all directions.
And it wasn’t just the twins there anymore. The breath caught in Tseer’s throat when he saw… the demigod.
Tseer’s eyes narrowed in confusion when he looked upon the demigod Kelakheva. He was in front of the fire pit, on the opposite end of it, and was staring up with a strange, demonic smile on his face.
And the fire pit… the flames… they had turned black.
“Dad…” Tsoren’s scared voice sounded behind him. Tseer could only hold a hand out to tell Tsoren to stay, before he started taking cautious steps into the hall. He got close enough to see Kelakheva’s strangely dark eyes looking up, and noticed the twins were as well. Tseer also glanced up and was shocked to see none other than Marillion Valahir hovering above the black flames, the darkness that the flames brought to the room casting him into shadows.
“Here it is…” Xalis could be heard saying. There was the sound of a page turning and Tseer realized he was holding in his hand a large tomb. A tomb Tseer recognized – the Anean Prophecies.
“The dark road ends at the manticore’s claws. Rest well and take shelter in the house of violet and red. Seek wisdom from the elf who controls the minotaur.”
“The minotaur,” Darsheive mused. He spun the Lelander’s arrow that still remained in his possession. “Or the Dahaka as they are called in Kar’Endia. Marillion – what is your boat’s name?”
The shadow sputtered and groaned. He was lowered to the ground and Tseer could see his face was shining with blood. Tsoren made a nervous noise beside him, his breathing becoming laboured under his own terror. Tseer held no fear inside of him, only fascination and the remains of anger that seemed deeply overshadowed by what he was seeing.
It looks like the twins had ulterior motives. They had their own set of reasons for being here. Tseer wasn’t surprised. Why would they care about mortal toils? It had seemed odd enough that the high priests had wanted to come.
“It seems difficult for him to speak… I suppose we shouldn’t have relieved him of his tongue,” Darsheive said playfully. He closed the book and set it beside the black flames of the fire pit and Marillion was lowered further. The elf moaned and cried as the flames licked his skin, and Tseer soon witnessed his clothing catch on fire.
Tseer’s lips pressed at the reality that he would not be able to kill Marillion himself, or allow his son the finishing blow. But if there was one thing one did not do – it was deny the gods a single thing.
Marillion let out another scream as his robes flared. The fire remained black when burning but he could see red that smouldered along the flames’ borders. Tseer continued to watch him burn and when the highborn suddenly dropped like a rock into the ebony flames he allowed himself a smile.
The highborn’s screaming became desperate and shrill shrieks. He thrashed and tried to crawl away but the hot flames consumed him and soon he was nothing but a flailing fireball. The two gods and the demigod watched without a word as Marillion’s shrieks echoed and bounced off of the high ceilings before becoming silent.
Tseer inhaled deeply the smell of the burning corpse mixed in with the heavy coppery smell of blood. So that is it then. He is dead. Tseer felt vindicated, but there was still a part of him that felt cheated. It was over either way, and at this comforting thought he put a hand on Tsoren’s trembling shoulder.
Then Kelakheva walked along the fire pit, and as he did, he spoke. “The prophecy walkers will receive this prophecy entry once they leave Toneris Pass,” he said, his voice was dry, a rasp that seemed shrouded in shadows. “And when they get here…”
Tseer’s heart clenched when the demigod’s dark blue, almost black eyes, shot to him. The demigod smiled and summoned him over with a curled finger. Tseer felt paralysed for a second, but he obeyed and walked towards the fire pit; his boots sticking and making a peeling noise as he walked over the blood.
He stood in front of Kelakheva, and realized his son had found his bravery and had walked with him. But perhaps he himself also knew not to ignore a demigod’s summons.
Kelakheva’s smile widened, a smile that held an eeriness that shook Tseer’s very soul. This was not like the demigod he had read about, had heard stories about.
There seemed… to be something off with him.
“And when the prophecy walkers knock on your door, Tseer Amaus,” Kelakheva said, his dark eyes flashing with a devious shine. “What will you do?”
Tseer found himself staring at the demigod. The words he had spoken made little sense to him. The prophecy walkers were supposed to come here? They would recognize him.
And why did he care? He was for hire and the task of getting the jewel had fallen into another’s hands. He was retired now; he had to concentrate on his son’s recovery.
But… they were gods, and a demigod. One of them was his own god who he worshipped without question and would kill and die for.
So there must be only one right answer.
Tseer stood up straight and held his chin up high. He clasped his sceptre to his chest and nodded to Kelakheva, and then to Darsheive now standing to his right.
“I will do whatever you tell me t
o do, Holy Kelakheva,” he said firmly and confidently.
Kelakheva looked at him, the grin still on his face, and to Tseer’s shock he let out a high-pitched, ringing laugh. A laugh of a mad-elf, surely.
“Yes – Oh, yes, Tseer Amaus.” Kelakheva put a hand to Tseer’s face and stroked it, his fingers as clammy and as cold as ice. “That is exactly what you will do.”
56
“Back already?” Ben nodded at Anagin in recognition and smirked at him. “Do you want another cigarette or are you done with them?”
Ben the human was standing in front of his tree again. He was shrouded in a grey mist that was shooting up like steam from inside the barrier. It was dark in this forest even though Anagin could see perfectly.
“No… I believe I’m fine,” Anagin mumbled as he looked around the space. It didn’t seem to have changed since he was here last. Ben was still standing beside the gate smoking his cigarettes and the blister fly-covered creature remained locked inside.
But the beast must be somewhere else… it was silent inside of the barrier save for the low hum of the buzzing flies. That noise never seemed to leave Anagin’s ears; it was as a part of Ben’s subconscious as the cigarette-smoking human.
“I’m going to go in there and talk to him,” Anagin said to Ben.
Ben’s eyes widened for just a fleeting moment before the neutral expression on his face came back.
“Oh?” he said nonchalantly and flicked the ash from his cigarette. “He’ll just fling you out of Ben’s mind. Why would you want to do that?”
A low moan suddenly sounded from behind the iron gate. Anagin looked but in the corner of his eye he kept watching Ben the human. And because he was watching he caught the glimpse of contempt on his face and even a curl of his lip.
Anagin took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, and with the groaning and buzzing carrying on their orchestra of madness, Anagin imagined he was holding in his hand his old sword.
And when he felt the cold wrapped leather in his grip, he clenched his fingers around it… and swung.