by Sohan Ahmad
“I did warn you,” Zephyrus lamented, cooling his steaming steel into its leather scabbard.
Back by the fire, Sebastian had begun to wake. His sight blurred, squinting to capture his surroundings. Where am I? Soon, the haze of green and brown melted into red and amber, but the colors moved like a man. “Who are you?” He yelled, rubbing the throbbing of his head, startled by the touch of tightly wrapped cloth.
Zephyrus explained, “You suffered quite the fall, Boy. Be thankful that I found you when I did. Now stop toying with your bandages, you require food and rest.”
“Fall?” Sebastian asked. “But why am I in a forest? How did I fall? Why did I fall?”
How could he not know? Zephyrus thought, asking, “Child, what is your name?”
“My name is . . . I am not sure. I cannot remember.” The throbbing in his head grew more violent as he pressed his memory. “I cannot remember a thing.”
His memory is lost. Perhaps it is a blessing. Zephyrus believed.
Sebastian’s mind spun into chaos. “Why? Why don’t I have any memories? He asked for his savior’s name, “Sir, what is your name? Do you know me?”
“My name is Zephyrus Lenalo,” he answered. “Apologies child, but we’ve only just met.”
“Who am I? What should I do?” Sebastian asked, desperate for answers.
What should I do? Zephyrus asked, in search of answers as well. “Child, if you have nowhere else to go.” What are you saying fool? A child has no business with a killer like you. The swordsman reminded himself. “You are free to join my travels if you’d like.” But it was too late for his words were quicker than his mind.
“Nowhere to go?” Sebastian knew it to be true, but hearing it said aloud was a different feeling altogether. “I beg you. Please, please take me with you.”
Zephyrus nodded. “You will need a name if we are to travel together. What do you wish to be called?”
“A name. My name?” The boy thought hard, but only one answer came to mind. No more fear, I hate being scared. “Who is the strongest person in the world?”
Zephyrus pondered briefly before answering, “I suppose that would have to be the War God, Tyrant. Why do you ask?”
Sebastian had difficulty pronouncing the name, but it called to him. No more fear. “I am Tyr!” he shouted for all the birds to hear. “And one day, I will become as strong as a god!”
Zephyrus nearly laughed . . . nearly. An odd child, but quite amusing. “Before we retire for the night, there is something we must do. Follow me.” He led the boy through the forest and up the nearby hill.
“What is that odor?” Tyr asked as he sniffed the air. The air still reeked of woman’s blood, but the boy was yet a virgin to the scent.
“That is the smell of blood. Do not forget it,” his new guardian advised. He stared at the boy with steady eyes. I fear it will not forget you. The pair continued upward until they found a corpse just a short distance from the cliff. “Tyr, do you know her?”
The boy shut his eyes at the sight, but the gruesome image lingered against his lids. “No! Why would you show me this?”
Zephyrus spoke plainly, “Open your eyes, child.” Harsh words, even if that was not his intent. “She deserves more than your disgust.”
Tyr’s swallowed hard, his lids opening slowly like the fluttering of a butterfly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . who is she? Why did this happen to her?”
Zephyrus pondered a moment. Telling him now would only cause further harm. So, he chose to withhold the truth. “She is foreign to me, but we should do her the kindness of a proper burial, otherwise her spirit will wander the night for eternity.”
Tyr had, but one question. “Was she someone’s mother?”
The swordsman’s ears twitched. “Perhaps. Why do you ask?” Does he remember?
“It’s nothing. I’m sure you’d think I was silly,” the boy answered, averting his gaze.
“Speak. You will never know if you don’t ask.” Zephyrus reminded.
“Thank you.” Tyr’s voice softened, so feint that it nearly vanished within the wind. “Do I have a mother?” he asked as he gathered stones for the grave.
Zephyrus could hear it. The fear will never leave you. Even if you do have a god’s name. But this was a chance he may not have again. Should I tell him? “Whether you do or not, you won’t find her here.” Forgive me, child. “If you keep searching, you will find the answer, but for now let us give this woman peace.”
Once the last stone buried her, they observed a brief moment of silence. It was a somber experience for the boy, relearning even the simplest acts. In ignorance, he cast a thirsty eye toward his tall companion. Why does he pray for someone he does not know?
The moment passed, and Zephyrus began to open his eyes as Tyr quickly shut his. “Let us return to the fire, you need your rest now. Tomorrow, we depart for my home.”
As they began their retreat down the hill, Tyr turned back for a moment and heard a woman’s voice echo within the night’s gentle breeze. “I am so happy you are alive, Sebastian. Please know that your mother loves you and that she wants you to live a long, happy life.”
The voice scattered swiftly into the winds as Tyr returned to his guardian’s side. Who is Sebastian? He wondered.
Chapter 7: Bale’s Tale
Bale was impressed. The boy sees through my words. Perhaps he’s heard more lies than I. He handed Cyrus a thin black stick, scented with clove and jasmine, through the bars of his cage. “Forgive me. Honest is what I seek so honesty is what I’ll speak, but first you must share a treat from my homeland to bind us as brothers.”
“What is it?” the young slave asked.
“This little black delight is called a seekar,” Bale answered, retrieving it from a hidden fold within his leggings. “It has warmed my heart through the most difficult of days.” He lit one end of the stick with the fire from a nearby lantern, puffing a thick ring of smoke before continuing. “I was once a free man, but whether bound in iron or silk, we are all slaves.”
Cyrus scratched his head. “Why would a slave wear silk?” he asked.
Bale’s startled laughter nearly woke the corpses sinking below. “Are you touched, boy?” he asked before regaining his wits. “Your eyes tell me that you were born in chains, so perhaps you do not understand. Allow me to enlighten you. Freedom does not make a man free.”
The young slave pondered. What does that mean? A second question formed. “What is it like to live without shackles?”
Bale grinned. “That is a much wiser question, but I fear I don’t’ have an answer, only a story. Listen, and perhaps you will discover a truth that I could not.”
Cyrus nodded. “Please share your tale.”
The gladiator brushed back his mane of bright blue, revealing a pale gray light in eyes slanted wide above slender cheeks of flawless yellow skin. “Bring your face closer, so I can light that stick.”
Cyrus leaned in, his gaze fixed upon the tiny fire he approached. What am I supposed to do?
Bale lit the seekar. “Relax boy. Just breathe, it won’t bite.”
Instead, the young slave’s chest tensed. Charred herb burned the air in his throat. The other warrior slaves mocked the violent coughing that followed, but Bale did not. “Well done, boy. Apologies, your lungs might be too gentle for such a heavy flavor.”
Cyrus continued to choke on his pride before the fire finally quelled in his throat. “I am fine, please begin.”
“Very well,” the gladiator said with a grin. “Many years ago, when I was a boy no older than you, I lived as a fisherman’s son on the outskirts of Silonica as Bale Vizari. Our village was a rat’s nest, so small that it did not exist on maps, but still it was home. Like you, I enjoyed sneaking off to explore my surroundings, though my mother would always find me, warning of the dangers within the trees. I never listened, returning to the forest each morning, bold and defiant, until one day, she did not come for me. Not until the stench of scorched flesh rea
ched my nostrils did I realize why. When I finally arrived, my father’s body burned in the pyre, and the village was razed to the ground. At my feet, I found the old widow, Hyzel, with a dagger wound in her gut, and with her last breath, she spoke of the hills-men who erased my kin from this world.
“They killed the elderly and the able-bodied men before raping the women and girls. Those who survived were forced into chains, becoming little more than beasts, used and abused as the bastards saw fit. I searched and searched through the human rubble, but thankfully, my mother was not among the corpses. She had been taken by the dangers within the trees, and it was my duty to find her, so ignorantly, I ran to the nearest villages for aid, but of course, none was given. The villagers told me she was dead and that I should forsake such a pointless quest, but I was proud, like you. I gathered what supplies I could from their pittance along with a small rusted blade I pilfered from a butcher.
“The camp was easily found in the hills not far from my home. They were arrogant, fearless of the retribution of farmers and fishermen, especially when our precious Scaled Empress was too busy satiating her greed to lift a finger against them. Alone and terrified, I hid within the shadows of the surrounding green and watched for my mother. After two days of sleepless nights, I finally saw her. My once beautiful mother had become a walking corpse, staggering with each step atop ragged feet. Her knees were scraped nearly to the bone as two men dragged her by an iron leash like a mongrel to the center of camp. The light had long vanished from her eyes, and sanity soon left mine as they defiled her, one after another.
“Seconds soon became hours as rage swelled in my chest like magma, threatening to overflow and burn me blind, but I forced myself to be patient. Once darkness consumed the skies as it did my heart, my mind went blank. I entered their camp like a ghost, jamming my rusty blade into each sleeping skull I could reach. Only the Dragon’s Star knows how many were butchered until I found her, lying wrapped in her arms on the cold stone floor with eyes wide open and muscles clenched. She glanced at me for an instant and said nothing before retreating to her empty shell.
“Looking back, they were right to claim her dead. I should have used my knife one last time to reunite her body with her soul, but greed stayed my hand. Her feet were of little use, and her body was heavier than I imagined. She leaned upon my back as best as she could, but before we could reach the edge of camp, her weight collapsed us. We crashed into a pile of discarded pots, and the fog of dreams quickly lifted from the hills-men at our feet. I recall being surprised at how much angrier they were over a shattered slumber than the discovery of their murdered brothers.
“I dragged her to the largest boulder in sight and stood guard like a rabid dog. My blood boiled with desperation as theirs dripped from my hands. How silly I must have seemed, a scrawny boy with a child’s blade. They circled us like a pack of wolves, armed with crude stone axes for fangs. As they closed in, the fear finally settled into my hands and feet. The knife slipped from my grip, and I turned away in terror, clinging to my mother with what strength remained. Their foul breath touched the back of my neck like the bony fingers of Lord Death as I waited for the jaws of oblivion to clamp down upon us, but instead I felt the earth tremor.
“Suddenly, the camp was in an uproar. My ears stung with the clang of metal and the thud of hooves on flesh as I buried my face within my mother’s bosom, awaiting the nightmare’s end. Eventually, the sounds of battle faded. And when I finally opened my eyes, the hills-men were no more, strewn about that rocky floor with spears in their backs and swords in their guts. ‘What great fortune!’ I thought, looking to my mother with the happiest face that I could muster. Though her once supple lips had crusted over, she had somehow rediscovered her smile. As my eyes continued to climb, I noticed that hers were closed. I tried to shake her awake, but sadly, she finally managed to protect me from the danger within the trees. Stray arrows that should have pierced my body found hers instead, bringing her home to my father.”
Bale paused to drink in the smoke of the seekar between his lips before unleashing it into the sky. Cyrus swore he saw it. Is that a tear? But if it existed, it was swallowed by the waterfall of blue strands that draped over the gladiator’s face. He tapped one end of the seekar with the tip of his forefinger, spilling a mound of ash to the damp cage floor before continuing.
“Silence washed over me as I choked on the pain of my loss. One of the surviving raiders approached and asked for my name. When I answered, he offered to take me home, but I declined and asked if I could follow them instead. He told me that they were mercenaries and that their path was no place for children. I pointed to a scattering of corpses with cracks as wide as my fist in their skulls, and then I said with a cold stare, ‘I also know how to cook.’ The mercenary leaped off his horse, staring at me as if I were a myth. His lids twitched twice before he agreed to aid in my mother’s burial. From her ashes, I was reborn as a brother of the Crescent Glaives.”
Cyrus had lost sight of his world, mesmerized by each word as if they danced across his eyes. But a voice calling out to him broke his reverie— “Cyrus! Where are you?” The frantic lungs turned their song toward another: “Oh, Marcus, where can he be? I have searched everywhere.”
The prince answered, “Do not worry, Aunt Isa. No one hides better than my brother, but we will find him. He would never do anything to worry you. As long as he can hear your voice, he will come.”
Marcus knew his brother well. “Apologies, Sir Bale, but I must leave.” Isa’s song dispelled the young slave’s fantasy. “If they find me here, they will forbid my return.”
Bale chuckled at the notion. “I am no Sir, boy. Go if you must. Hurry back, we shall keep your seat warm until it’s no longer so.”
Cyrus bowed to his new companions, returning a partially burnt seekar. “Gratitude, I look forward to more of your lessons . . . Sir Bale.”
The gladiator ground his teeth. “Brat,” he muttered under his breath as if the honorific set fire to the drums in his ears.
Cyrus crawled his way back to the floor above, dusting off any evidence of his adventure. “Mother, I am here!” he yelled as he continued upward.
Isa ran toward his voice as fast as her gown would allow, Marcus following closely behind. “Oh, my sweet child, thank the gods you are safe. I was worried sick. Where have you been? Why do your clothes reek of burned clove?” she asked, squeezing the air from her son’s slender torso.
The young slave pushed free long enough to answer, “Apologies, Mother, I did not wish to worry you. There is a window below that looks out into the sea. I was so distracted by what I saw that I never noticed the odor surrounding me; please do not tell His Holiness.”
Isa released a soft sigh. “Please warn me the next time curiosity claims you. My heart can take no more surprises after recent events. Let us return to bed, you boys need your rest.”
Cyrus complied, following along until Marcus stopped him with a whisper: “It is not like you to hide the truth, Brother.”
The young slave’s belly tightened. Sadly, it is, My Prince. Though his throat was tense, his answer was soft. “Not here, Brother. I will explain once we are alone.”
Isa heard a lack of steps behind her. “What is the matter?”
Marcus’s puzzled glance gave him pause. Is he going to tell Mother?
Isa questioned once more, “What is it?” Her voice rising.
“Apologies,” Marcus finally answered. “I thought I heard something, but it was just the night playing tricks.”
“If you’re certain Marcus. Come along children.” Isa said, leading them to their chambers. “Make certain you are quiet. Geno is already asleep,” she advised, kissing her son’s forehead. “Good night.”
Once she was gone, Marcus pulled his brother to the corner. They spoke as softly as they could, mindful of the slumbering Drake. “Tell me you were not speaking with the gladiators.”
How could he know? Cyrus wondered, stepping back from the prince. “D
id you follow me, Brother?” he asked.
Marcus sighed, closing the gap between them. “Do you think I would miss something so obvious?”
Will he tell his father? No, not Brother. Reminded of his place, the slave answered, “It’s true. I spoke with them. Something that I cannot explain draws me to them. The leader, Bale, is like no man I have ever seen. You saw their strength just as I did. Surely you understand?”
“What strength do you speak of?” Marcus failed to meet his expectations. “What I saw was the savagery of chained beasts. Do you remember why they rescued us? It wasn’t for honor or duty. They did it for the reward. Archonis warned me of these prisoners to blood and sand. They are criminals of the worst kind and cannot be trusted. You are too easily swayed by their lies, Brother. I do not want you visiting them again.”
Is that truly what you think? Cyrus could not speak. What would you know of a slave’s strength? You spoke truly of one thing. I was stupid to think that you were different, but you are just like the rest of them. His voice chilled ever so slightly. “As you command, My Prince. The hour is late; we should sleep, as Mother suggested.”
Words formed, but they would not escape the prince’s throat. Was I too harsh? I am only trying to protect you, Brother. No more words were shared that night. The remaining dark hours passed in silence, fading into the light of the coolest sun than had risen in three days.
Halfway home, the sky’s blue shine shed a bit of its luster. Clouds of dim gray gathered in small clusters high above their low-hanging sails of teal. Ramses refused to depart from his bed as he recovered from his wounds, and so Isa remained by his side, cleaning the bruised patches of skin and replacing his wrappings. The Paladin remained within arm’s reach of the Cardinal night and day. Though he slept soundly, the eye of his steel was always open.
Marcus did his best to remain close as well but could not resist his inquisitive nature. When his father slept, he often sought out the ship’s captain for his knowledge of the seas and lands that, until this trip, had been mere words on parchment.