by Sohan Ahmad
The Serpent’s Cross formed a protective circle around father and son, with the Paladin at the helm. As the group tread through the wall of green, rustling could be heard, but the Paladin urged them forward. “Keep your wits, they will not break our formation.” If not for this damn titan’s patch, my sword would have already found their hearts. Where in the pits are they? “Raise your shields, give no openings.” Their steps hastened, but the deeper they went, the more sounds became shadows with foot-long nails, scratching against their backs.
As they arrived at the source of the sweet steam, an elderly man awaited atop the front porch, under a roof painted with layers of the thick grass that grew within the surrounding meadow. “The years must be treating you kindly, little brother,” he said, digging his fingers through long, wild white hair as dead, violet eyes gazed upon them. “I never imagined that five Whispering Shadows could fluster the great Silver Snake.” His frame hunched over against a wooden cane, like an old woman, above bare feet as tough as leather armor. Peasants from the fields dressed in finer garments than the ash and black cloth that hung loosely across his chest and legs. The strange hermit leaned back, exhaling rings of charred air from a long wooden pipe, and in front of him lay the lifeless bodies of five men, buried beneath cowls of torn gray. There were no wounds or blood, only death.
“Whispering Shadows?” the Paladin asked, fuming between each breath. “Impossible! Our scouts reported no news of their movements.”
“You think those glorified watchers would see what you could not? Time has made your brain soft, Nis.”
It has been nearly five years, and he still treats me like a child! Archonis loathed the short name his brother gave him. But he is right. How could I have missed their stench?
The odd old man addressed Ramses next. “Good to see you so full of life, old friend. It is a wonder you still breathe in such sloppy company. Is the frightened little Snake there your son?”
“Enough of your insolence, Kaiser!” Archonis interrupted. “That is no way to address the Viper’s blood—show some damn respect.”
“It has been a long time indeed, Kaiser,” Ramses said, shrugging off the odd old man’s remarks. “I see you and Archonis are still unable to breathe shared air.” He sighed as he glanced at the corpses. “Thankfully, age has not dulled your skill, though I hoped that the years would have taught you a shred of maturity. Marcus will one day be your master,” Ramses warned, summoning the prince from behind the silver circle. “You would do well to remember that.”
“Of course, Your Holiness,” Kaiser replied. “I meant no insult. It would seem that you are all victims of my poor sense of humor. Entertaining guests is such a rare and unfamiliar thing to me, after all.”
Marcus trembled, it was true, but his curiosity never cowered. “What is a Whispering Shadow?” he asked the elder Deroy.
“You haven’t told the boy?” Kaiser asked the Cardinal with a raised brow.
“What would he do with such knowledge?” Ramses countered.
“I suppose,” Kaiser agreed before turning his attention to the young Snake. “They are blades in the dark, without purpose or honor, an insult to my craft. Gold and silver are their only masters. Filthy mongrels who sell discreet death to any hand with a sack of coin. If the sack is too light, then they eat the hand and take the coin anyway. Rest assured, their only power is their mystery. They are everywhere and nowhere, always seeing, yet rarely seen. Still, they are nothing compared to me.”
The five corpses were proof of that fact, tattooed with the mark of their order, one black head whispering behind another. Yet there was still more the prince would know. “And who are you?”
You have no idea how many dead men wished they had a chance to ask that question, little Snake. Kaiser smiled, proud of his anonymity.
“Marcus, this man will be your new teacher,” Ramses answered first to the prince’s surprise. “He is Kaiser, the Lightning Wraith and Sword Saint of Death, the dread that keeps nightmares awake, and the eldest of the Deroy brothers.”
Archonis did not refute the claim but turned away in shame, whispering under his breath, Unholy bastard!
Kaiser, however, found a fault with his master’s introduction. “I retired the last time you saw me, lest you’ve forgotten.” There were few who knew that the Wraith existed in human form, even fewer still among the dead. He was a ghost in every sense, unseen and unheard, his presence an icy chill on one’s shoulder. Once the breath turned cold, it was too late, he had already vanished without a trace.
Reverent of the reaper’s history, Marcus dropped to his knees. Finally, the chance to learn from a Saint. “Lord Saint, I’ll do whatever it takes, please grant me your wisdom.”
“Anything?” the odd old man asked, grinning the wicked teeth of a swindling street merchant.
“Kaiser,” Ramses and his Paladin both warned with glaring eyes.
They were much more fun before they grew gray, Kaiser reminisced before continuing. “You are Diana’s son, that’s for sure, bold and sincere. Nothing like these two tongue holders at your side,” he said, tilting his chin toward the pair of cloaked gazers beside the prince.
“You knew my mother,” Marcus asked with lips stretched wide. “Do I really remind you of her?”
“Why are you smiling, boy?” The Wraith asked, his grin having grown sour. “That was no praise. Boldness will get you killed, honesty will get you killed. You cannot master death if you are already dead.” Kaiser glanced a fierce violet eye at his silver brother. “What the hell have you been teaching him, Nis?”
“You dare speak of our queen that way?” Archonis hissed with fists clenched tighter than ever before.
“What queen?” Kaiser shrugged. “The one in the dirt?”
The Paladin reached for his steel, but Ramses scolded, “Commander! Remember your place.”
“Forgive me, Your Holiness,” Archonis replied with bowed head, returning his steel tongue to its sheath.
The old bastard is right. It pained Ramses to admit. “Kaiser, speak ill of my wife again, and you will join her.” Still, such words could not be forgiven.
“My life is yours to do with as you see fit,” the old Saint advised. The Viper’s threat unnerved the Ghost no more than the dead shadows at his feet. A stone dagger formed from the empty air between his fingers as if it had always been there. “What is your command?” he asked as the sharpened tip pressed cold against his throat.
Despite the man’s rude mouth, Fearless was the one word that came to the prince’s mind. “Stop!” Marcus scolded his elders. “I will not waste Isirian blood on insults and pride.”
The boy has more wisdom than either of us. Both Ramses and his Paladin were forced to admit.
The blade of shaved rock vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Perhaps you can be taught,” Kaiser remarked. “What of your shadows? They don’t seem very eager to leave you in my care.”
“You will teach them as well,” Marcus advised, not waiting for his holy father’s command.
“And after I teach them?” The Wraith mocked, “You would trust your slaves not to slit your throat in your sleep?”
Ramses shared the Saint’s doubts, but Archonis remained silent. You know nothing of their loyalty, Ghost.
The prince summoned his shadows forward, lifting the scarlet cloth from their heads to reveal them in the light. “They are not slaves.”
Narrow, listless eyes spanned open in curiosity. “Indeed, no ordinary ones at least,” Kaiser admitted, turning his violet gaze toward Ramses. “You devil; you hid them even from me? Well done! I’ve always wanted to raise a ghost with crimson eyes, now I have two. Let me keep them, please, I beg you.”
“It is as my son says, they are his arms and legs,” Ramses answered. “They go where he goes, do not waste their talents.”
“Excellent news, now hurry and say your farewells. The sky will darken before too long and I do not protect you on the roads.”
“For once, we agre
e,” Archonis advised though he loathed every breath that spewed from his brother’s thin lips. His tongue remained cool, even if his eyes did not, glaring like flaming steel still fresh from the forge. “Your Holiness. It is not wise to linger so far from the castle. My men will ready the carriages.”
“So be it,” Ramses conceded as he locked eyes with his son. “None have been more suited for the Viper’s blood. This path that I have set you upon will be more difficult than anything you can imagine, but you are the best of us. Your mother knew that as well. Listen and learn from Kaiser. He may be a tactless wretch, but he is also the only other man to whom I entrust my life. Do not falter, persist against all hardship, and return to me as the sun that lights our future.”
The bitter, sweet words stung the Wraith’s ears like spiced rum on a child’s tongue. A killer charged with protecting life. I have never heard such comedy, and yet I cannot seem to laugh.
“Isiris will rise again,” Marcus said, embracing his father with all the strength he could muster. “I swear it.”
“I cannot wait to see that day,” Ramses replied, giving one final squeeze before they separated, each wiping away the rain that drizzled from clouded eyes. Elijah’s eldest returned with the Paladin and his silver knights through the meadow of giant green while son took his place besides his new master.
Kaiser returned to his porch, cracking the hunch from his back. “Much better,” he said, standing straight as a black and ash arrow. “First lesson, never reveal your true self. Mystery is the greatest shield a ghost can have.” He pointed the tip of his cane at the arms and legs that clung to the prince like shadows. “Drake boy and Drake girl, if you have names, now is the time to tell me.”
“I am called Geno.” The first voice had grown tall and long of limb, lean as any teen could be. His wild mane of scattered violet resting over his shoulders like a nestled cat. The edges were trimmed clean like that of a proper knight along a hairless face of mist. On his fifteenth, his pale, yellow eyes finally burst into a red blaze, burning throughout the dark like dancing flames until the morning blue finally soothed his pain.
Unlike his, the second voice was timid and gentle. The crimson in her eyes matched the red that streaked her curls of black. “My name is Katia, Master Saint,” she replied, having grown lovelier than any woman in Isiris, pristine cheekbones of milky white sitting atop a gracefully long neck. One could hardly recognize her ravaged body beneath the sumptuous curves and slender hips that blossomed with her scarlet sight. Neither her mother nor father exhibited the symptom, so few could imagine her shock when it happened on the morning that marked her fifteenth year. While Geno’s burned like torch fire, hers merely flickered like the spark of clashing rocks.
Kaiser was intrigued for the first time in decades. I wonder which of them will survive the first day? “Come inside, we begin immediately.”
The hermit’s hidden den was more than withered stacks of wood sewn together by hemp and mud. Though saw mites chewed through the aged, brown, and mildewed planks like rats through cheddar, they never completed their burrowing through the walls. What is that foul stink? Marcus wondered as they stepped deeper inside, away from the scent of sweet corn that roasted in his fire.
“Hurry up!” the Wraith scolded. “Stop thinking with your nose and walk with your feet.” And so they did until they stood in front of a rug of tethered straw, plain as any mat either of them had seen. “Here we are,” he announced, tapping his cane against the golden carpet, pulling it back to reveal a thick slab of door, smoked in the ash of overcast clouds. “Go on, there are no locks, open it.”
No matter what lies beyond, I will push forward. Marcus told himself, his blade whistling as it sprung from the scabbard. With his right hand, he pulled the iron grip that sprouted from stone, but nothing happened, and so he pulled once more, this time with all the strength of his free arm. It lifted barely an inch before slipping through his grasp. The young Snake hissed in anger, releasing the steel in his left. One final jerk with all his force, and the chunk of stone raised just high enough for a stench to flee before crashing shut. “It’s only a door,” he said, his pale white cheeks puffing a bright red. “Why can’t I lift it?”
Kaiser smirked behind his wall of wild white. The boy is easily provoked. This could be more fun than I thought. “Perhaps you’re just weak, My Prince,” he mocked. “Next.”
The insult angered Geno more than it did Marcus. “Stand back, My Marcus. I open for you.” Ignorant of the cruelty of his words, the red in his eyes seared brighter with each breath, throbbing like the veins in his neck and arms. He locked his fingers together in a fist around the handle and heaved with the full strength of his long muscles. The door flew open just like any other door, but the victory was short lived. Too much power ripped the iron grip from its place, and the door dropped shut.
Damn problem with Drakes. Bothered hands slapped against the Wraith’s beige forehead. They’re too wild to tame. Boy’s got a simple mind and a furious heart, type I hate the most. “You want to be a ghost or an ox? Next!”
Both boys stood idle, hissing beneath their breath as the fragile flower found herself a mouse before snared cheese. Like blades of green against the wind, here arms were too frail to lift a sword, let alone stone, but then she remembered. Z’hiri and Cyrus showed me. I am not alone. “My Prince, I’ve a thought, if you would allow it.”
“What is it, Katia?”
The comrades gathered around the whisper that was her voice, too soft for ghosts to hear, or so they hoped. With the iron returned to its rocky resting place, three worked as one. Marcus pulled from the grip as Katia slipped a blade beneath the crack to act as a wedge, lifting the door just high enough for Geno to push open. “Thank the Creator, at least the girl has some sense,” Kaiser said, signaling their victory with a slow clap of his aged hands. “What’s wrong, My Prince, all that training in the castle didn’t teach you how to think?” I wonder how he’ll react this time, he pondered, a wicked grin hiding behind the frowning lips.
“How could I have known?” Marcus roared, his tongue steaming with burnt pride. “You never told us the rules of this useless game.”
“Rules?” the Wraith asked, no longer amused by his tease. “Death has no rules, boy. And neither should you.” Kaiser’s tone grew colder than the white rocks of the Glacier Sea as his cane poked the prince’s chest with each step. “What will you do when you’re alone against an enemy that hides behind six feet of steel and one thousand spears instead of six inches of stone? Will you whine like a baby girl? Answer me, brat!”
Anger stirred with pride, grinding the prince’s shame between his teeth. “You show respect to My Marcus,” Geno demanded, preventing Marcus from spitting his venom. The boy Drake fired fist after fist, but the Wraith never once took his cold violet stare off the prince.
“Your ‘arms’ are just as useless as you are,” Kaiser warned as not a single punch managed to graze his hardened hide. “I’ve had enough of your tantrum.” His wrist moved quicker than a thought as the Drake’s pale cheeks pressed against scratched boards of shaved bark. “Wait your turn, boy Drake. I’m not through with your master.” No matter how fiercely his eyes burned, he could not break free of Kaiser’s bare, calloused foot. The Wraith returned his attention to the young Marcus. “Is your tongue as weak as your brain, boy? Answer me now or get out, I’m not as patient as my brother.”
If Geno hadn’t rushed in, it would be me licking the floor. Marcus realized. How would Cyrus answer, I wonder? “Apologies, Master, but I have no words,” he answered, dropping to one knee with head lowered. “Please do not punish Geno for my ignorance. I beg you. Teach us, and we will learn. That I promise.”
“Too pure, the both of you. A weakness no doubt born from sweet lives,” the old ghost grunted, releasing his prey just as quickly as he had captured him. “I should just leave you two with the girl. She knows more than the both of you at least.” I can tell from the scars she tries to conceal with paint and
perfume. He turned his back, stepping softer than a feather into the darkness hidden beneath stone and soil until it swallowed his body whole. “Well then, follow me,” he warned, “and I will teach you the despair that transforms men into fear.”
A moment passed and then another after another until Katia broke the trembling that shackled their feet in place. She said nothing, but her reason was clearer than the dull crimson in her eyes. “Come, Geno,” Marcus said, still unaware of what trials had emboldened her steps. “She cannot protect us forever.” The young Drake did as he was asked, and so they descended into the black unknown as the stone slab sealed shut behind them.
Chapter 20: Gentle Breeze
Four years had passed since Sebastian’s memories and Thena’s friendship were taken from him. Tyr was in his sixteenth year, and his past was still as clear as mud on a rainy day, but perhaps that was for the best. Tyr was so fragile when I first met him, but now…the blond-haired Breeze matured into something not quite so gentle. Long of limb, his body molded like a suit of slim diamond, hard and sharp while light and swift like a cat’s feet, yet he had barely scratched his potential. “This is your final test,” master warned apprentice. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, Master,” Tyr answered, his blue eyes hollow like the first day he took life. “I only hope they’re not as weak as the last two.”
They were not weak. Zephyrus realized. You were just stronger. Through these four years, Saint and disciple had traveled up and down the winding mountain roads that bordered north and east in search of training guilds where young warriors honed their skills before seeing war combat. There are so few worthy guilds left. I must find a good one for his final test.
Wars had raged since the first Colossean tribes crossed paths, and each one produced its share of heroes. Those who no longer sought to sow the fields with death offered their skills and knowledge to any they found worthy. Some did it to further their legacy while others did it to survive the peaceful twilight of their days. The worst of them wore masks of dead names as if they were their own and for every true teacher, there were ten fakes.