by Liam Reese
Duntur looked shocked for a second before an expression of wry amusement crossed his own face.
“Ah, Besmir, it is so refreshing to meet a leader with a sense of humor,” Duntur said. “Makes it so much easier to sneak things past you.”
Duntur sipped from his goblet with a little smile on his face.
“It’s not me you have to worry about,” Besmir said casually. “Some of my people are almost...” he tapped his chin in thought. “Overzealous? Is that the right word? In carrying out their tasks.” He chuckled as Duntur’s face fell. “After all, who knows what is happening in your houses at this very minute?”
Duntur looked about to speak and even Ru Tarn appeared a little upset.
“By the Gods!” Besmir cried. “Look at the pair of you!” He huffed a laugh. “You’re perfectly safe. All your little secrets are still secret. I don’t have you watched,” he said. “Much.”
Besmir laughed when both ambassadors stared at him.
“To business,” Besmir said.
Before the three had gotten anything done the doors to the conference hall opened admitting Queen Arteera. Besmir and the two ambassadors rose as she seemed to glide through the room towards her husband. Besmir watched every move, noting the play of a smile as it crossed her lips. Duntur sighed beside him as Arteera approached and his own smile widened. He had no need of spies, when it came to Duntur, he would spill his guts to Arteera if she merely asked him.
The queen wore a long, flowing dress in a simple design and fabric. Cream and light brown, it hugged her figure perfectly, falling to the floor where it appeared to float just off the ground, suspended by some magical force.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said once greetings had been exchanged. “However, there is a pressing matter that needs your attention, my love.”
“Can it wait?” Besmir asked.
“Unfortunately not, my lord,” Arteera said clasping her hands in front of her. “It involves the young Prince Joranas,” she added with a subtle tightening of her lips.
Besmir noted the set of her mouth and the formality of her speech, indicating she needed his attention now. Whatever royal business the two ambassadors had, it would have to be put off for another time.
“Ru Tarn, Xosux, if you would excuse me, I have a family matter to attend to,” Besmir said.
“Of course, Majesty,” Duntur said, his eyes fixed on the queen.
Ru Tarn bowed as she left wordlessly with a hiss of her feathers moving against each other.
“What’s happened this time?” Besmir asked his wife as soon as they were alone.
“Oh Besmir,” Arteera sobbed, collapsing into his arms. “Someone hit him! Both his eyes are bruised and his little nose...” she trailed off.
“Come on, let’s go see him.”
Joranas sat on a simple bed, pain from his throbbing nose and top lip distracted him from paying much attention to his surroundings. The room in which he had been unceremoniously deposited was stark, bare, and made of gray stone for the most part. A simple cot sat in the corner with a hearth in the opposite wall. No fire burned there at present, however, as the room was quite warm. A set of shelves occupied another wall on which sat jars and pots filled with all manner of healing potions, unguents, ingredients, medicines, bandages, and straps. Joranas’ eyes roved over the array of enticing items as his young brain tried to decide what each one of them might do.
The door opened admitting a middle aged woman with ruddy cheeks. She wore a white bonnet, tied so tightly beneath her chin the ribbons disappeared into her flesh, and a dark brown dress almost like a monk’s robe. Her kind, gray eyes inspected Joranas as soon as she closed the door behind her, assessing his injuries immediately.
“Nasty that,” she said, reaching for two of the jars on the shelves.
“It hurts,” Joranas said in a sullen voice.
“I expect it does,” she said rubbing some of the contents from both jars onto a piece of clean rag. “Never been punched in the face myself, so I could not tell how much, but I bet it is painful.”
“Jessa?” Joranas said.
“Yes, your Highness?” Jessa replied as she applied the cloth to his nose and eyes with a gentle hand.
“Is there any need to involve my parents here?” Joranas asked, wincing with the slightest of touches.
“That is nothing to do with me, young Prince,” Jessa said. “The guards what found you sent for the queen as soon as they seen the state of your face.”
She carried on dabbing at his eyes and nose gently, dulling the pain and easing his suffering.
“Oh,” he said sadly.
“You know you’re lucky, right?” Jessa asked.
“To have been punched in the face?” Joranas asked in shock. “That’s not what I call luck.”
“No, no,” Jessa said in a dark tone. “You is lucky to have a ma and pa who loves you very much.”
Joranas looked into the older woman’s kind eyes, seeing the sincerity in them but not understanding her point.
“Ma maybe,” he said, “but my father hates me.”
“Piffle!” Jessa barked making him jump. “Said like the little kiddie you are. I know you is just ten but there be other children of ten who has to work all day just to be scraping by,” Joranas looked shocked at her angry tone, “and lots of them only be having one parent left.”
Jessa clamped her mouth down into a tight line as the door opened behind her.
“Majesties,” she said, trying to curtsy as Besmir and Arteera filled the small room.
“Jessa,” Arteera squeaked as soon as she saw the purple rings around Joranas’ eyes. “Is he going to be all right?”
“He will live, Majesty,” Jessa said with a straight face before leaving the room.
Joranas felt himself surrounded by soft warmth as his mother wrapped him in her arms and for a few seconds everything felt fine.
“What happened, son?” Besmir asked.
There it is. He thinks it was all my fault.
“Some of the local children were picking on Ranyeen,” Joranas said. “I stopped them.”
“Good man,” his father said. “I can’t imagine what Keluse would do if she lost her daughter as well as her husband.”
“Besmir!” his mother cried. “Just look at our son’s face!” she turned accusatory eyes towards him. “What are you going to do about this?”
“It looks to me as if Joranas has already done all he needs to. Right, boy?”
Joranas nodded while Arteera gaped.
Besmir continued, “Look, if I make a big show of trying to punish whoever did this or have a pair of guards follow him everywhere, it’s going to look like he can’t stand up to a few bullies. We both said the boy needed to be seen among the people, unguarded and alone, to show that we believe he can look out for himself.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind,” Arteera said stubbornly. “I want him inside, with me, where he’ll be safe and cared for,” she held up one hand when Besmir went to speak. “No. I’m his mother, I get to choose what happens to him and I refuse to let our only child get beaten up so you can look good to your people!”
Arteera stood and shoved Besmir aside, opening the door to leave in tears. Besmir sighed and looked at his son, head hanging in defeat.
“What was Jessa saying when we came in?” Besmir asked.
“She was telling me I should be thankful I’ve got two parents who love me,” Joranas said.
“Ah,” Besmir said, sitting beside his son. “She watched too many children lose their parents when Tiernon went on one of his rampages.”
Joranas paled and made a protective sign in front of him. Besmir laughed.
“You said his name!” Joranas said with a little awe in his voice.
“Ah son, I faced him just before you were born. Speaking his name is nothing.”
“If you say his name three times he comes to get you in your sleep!” Joranas said.
“Really? Who told you that?”
/> “Just some boys...” Joranas said evasively.
“Well, I’m no expert, but I doubt Tiernon will ever be coming back.”
Joranas looked up into his father’s face, wishing desperately he could put an expression of pride or happiness on it.
“Why’s that, father?” he asked.
Besmir returned his son’s look with one of his own, but turned away with a frown as if debating whether to speak or not. When he did eventually speak again his tone was subdued.
“Because I burned him and shocked him with lightning,” Besmir said in a sad voice, “then I stabbed him through the chest and watched him die,” he added.
Cold fright and awe dribbled through Joranas as he looked at his father. He had heard the stories, of course, but they had never seemed real. Did this mean his father really killed Tiernon?
“Why haven’t you told me any of this before?” Joranas asked accusingly. “Why, father?”
“Your mother forbade it,” Besmir said. “Didn’t want your young head filled with tales of death and war,” he glanced down at Joranas. “But maybe it’s time you heard about what happened. Maybe you should hear what the power that runs through your veins can actually do.”
Joranas swallowed.
Chapter Two
Agony seared through his veins as he was exuded from nothing. He landed on the diamond sharp, gritty earth with a wet splat, the impact sending rills of further agony through his malformed body. A searing wind, filled with acid mist and grit, rasped over his newborn flesh and he writhed on the sharp ground as his body began to take shape.
After what felt like an eternity he found himself able to stand. Pain stabbed up through his feet and he looked down, frowning. Something appeared over the sole of his foot, a protective barrier that stopped the pain. Stretching his arms out he thought again, clothing himself in a simple layer of imagination. The wind could no longer touch him and he felt something on his face. He reached up to examine his features, feeling his lips stretched and the hard things in his mouth exposed.
Smile
The word drifted into his mind.
“Smile,” he said.
His voice sounded smooth and deep even in the hollow atmosphere surrounding him. He lifted his foot, leaning forward and smashed into the gritty floor again. Frowning he dragged himself to his feet again and tried a second time. It was complex and hard but with faltering, staggering steps he managed to start walking.
After what might have been seven lifetimes he came to a different place. Something had been built here, a…
House.
“House,” he said.
Other names came to him as he looked around. Trees surrounded a pond that was fed by a stream that began in mid air. He put his fingers in the stream, feeling the water that was there. A primitive life form…
Fish.
That lived in the water. He tried to catch it but it dove to the bottom of the pool and hid from his questing fingers. He turned to the house, seeing how it was two shades of gray, alternating to make stripes.
Wood.
Its name leapt into his infant brain as all the others had, knowledge came to him as he needed it, he did not question where it came from. The sound of his footsteps changed as he entered the house, hollow thumps echoing up from the contact. He stamped his foot a few times, watching it hit the wood and hearing the thud at the same time.
Inside he encountered more new items, the names springing into his mind as needed. Couches faced each other with a low table in between. Shelves lined the walls, each holding different things; books, small statues, plates and cutlery, a small box. He examined each item in detail, returning it to its original place after doing so.
“Who are you?”
He turned finding the owner of the voice and the house, standing behind him.
Enemy. Evil. Danger.
He watched as the spirit of Besmir’s father walked in. His exile in the Hell dimension had warped his appearance until he was covered in shimmering, oiled scales that rubbed silently against each other and with a head that sprouted horns. The thing was obscene to look at and he felt something harden inside him.
Hate.
“Can you understand me?” it asked him. “I am called Joranas. Who are you?”
“Joranas,” he said thoughtfully. “Enemy.”
The horned beast’s eyes narrowed.
“Do you even have a name?” Besmir’s father asked.
“Name,” the newborn said tilting his head.
“What do you want?” Joranas asked.
“Portal,” the other creature said without hesitation.
Joranas thrust his hands out, flame exploding over the stranger, burning and searing. He kept his assault up until he began to weaken, the edges of his vision starting to darken. When the heat dissipated he could see the newcomer stood there completely untouched. Lightning exploded from his fingers, engulfing the outsider in its electric embrace. Joranas spent himself, his power fading as he bent double, panting. Still the newcomer stood untouched.
Joranas attacked him physically then, tearing at him with his clawed, taloned hands, his immensely strong form a match for anything else in this place. His blows were as effective as blowing on a house fire to extinguish the flames, the strange being simply watched him attack.
Eventually Joranas halted, realizing his efforts were in vain and stepped back. The newcomer struck out, his hand a blur, grabbing Joranas around the neck. His grip felt like an iron band around Joranas’ neck and he hammered his claws against the creature in a desperate attempt to escape his grip.
“Portal,” the infant said in a conversational tone as he squeezed Joranas’ throat closed.
Joranas felt himself lifted, his doll-like body flopping, to smash against his own ceiling before being slammed into the floor. Pain exploded through his back, debilitating and severe, and the first edges of panic crept into his chest. Abruptly, Joranas felt himself flung out through one wall into the air. He managed to control his flight, turning to glide back towards his house. Crafted through pure force of his will from the very substance of this world, Joranas watched as his home was systematically torn apart from within by this new being. Created by the creature imprisoned in the absence, it looked perfectly human and Joranas knew it would be able to wreak havoc in his son’s world if it managed to get through the portal.
Chunks and sections of his house exploded outwards as the thing raged madly, returning to the dusty ash of the planet he had crafted it from. Joranas floated nearer, anxious and frightened by the power this thing seemed to have. As one of the most powerful beings in this plane, Joranas himself was ineffective against the thing and at a loss as to how to stop it.
With his house smashed back into dust, the portal to his son’s world lay bare and unprotected before the creature. Without hesitation the infant stepped into the gray mass and disappeared.
“Cathantor!” Joranas bellowed the name of the God of afterlife. “Help!”
“Where are we going?” the young Joranas asked as Besmir led him towards the imposing and forbidden palace complex.
“You’ll see,” Besmir said with a smirk as he approached the tall gate that broke the curtain wall.
Besmir leaned his palms and forehead against the aging wood bringing a deep click from somewhere within. Slowly the gate swung inward on silent hinges, admitting the pair.
Joranas peered through the door to the place he had been forbidden to enter, to see the overgrown grounds within. He set foot inside, following his father who shoved his way past shrubs threatening to engulf him after securing the gate. Joranas trotted after him, trying to keep up and not wanting to be alone in this alien place.
The paths had been lifted in places by roots, fouling his feet as he tried to keep up with his father. Topiary that had once been kept neatly trimmed into convoluted shapes and sculptures had sprouted grotesque branches and morphed into horrible parodies of their former selves. Shrubs that had once been horses had large growths
jutting from their necks, making it appear to Joranas’ young eyes as if they had been attacked, weapons jutting from their throats. Other shapes had twisted under the weight of their new growth, leaning towards the path they passed along as if trying to catch him.
Joranas ducked beneath the massive form of a leaning cube that tried to halt his progress and tripped, falling against his father who had stopped at the edge of what had once been a lawn. More a hay field now, it was piled with matted, yellowing stems and weeds poked up offering yellow meadow flowers to the sky. Joranas ignored the flora, however, his attention dragged away by the palace buildings.
Holes gaped in the walls where windows had once sat, the glass or shutters long since gone. All summer scents fell from his nose as a waft of stale air like corpse breath washed over his young face. Joranas traced the lines of the buildings, some of which had begun to collapse without any form of upkeep, and felt a cold hand rummage round inside his guts.
Tiernon’s palace. I’m really here.
In his short life, Joranas had felt an almost unbearable need to come here, to see what lay within the tall curtain walls that surrounded the complex. Now that he was here, he had an almost unbearable need to run back to his mother and jump into the protection of her warmest hug. He glanced nervously at Besmir who smiled down at him but offered no comfort or protection.
“Ready?” Besmir asked.
Joranas nodded despite the fact he was anything but.
Banshee screams came from one hinge as Besmir shoved the door open far enough to let them in. Stale air and dust blew across Joranas’ face and he covered his eyes, blinking hard to get rid of the gritty feeling in them. He sneezed, the sound like thunder in the tomb like building and he flinched from the distorted echo that came back.
Besmir led him into the dim interior, the door hanging open on its rusted hinge, and through to a large room with marble supports holding the ceiling aloft. The permanent layer of dust that coated every surface lay unbroken until his father strode directly through the middle of the room. Joranas watched as ghostly wraiths curled around his father’s ankles, floating off to either side in his wake. Joranas was torn between the need to follow and his fear of the dust that had grown, in his mind, into a malevolent force.