He paused at the border of the sanctuary, terrified for the first time in years. He recalled the rumors of Nightwalkers and their uncanny rites. People spoke of their kind with aversion and fear; female seducers who performed blood sacrifices for the moon, using a silver athame to cut their arms and let their blood flow into a sacred lake.
Sometimes, they would exile one of their own. According to lore, an outcast was cursed to never sleep, and he or she was hideously disfigured.
Arxu wanted to turn and run, but the woman took his hand. Her smile disarmed his fears, and he felt unable to resist. His footsteps fell in behind hers.
He marveled at the sights that awaited him, the moon-viewing platforms at the lake, shrines along the forest path, and clever spires hidden among the trees.
The period of darkness between sunset and sunrise was host to a bounty of energy. He could feel the magick lingering upon this site, in the trees, the foundations of the earth, in the water and the sky. Arxu was fascinated by the Nightwalkers, people who seemed no different from men and women in a lawful society; the only remarkable difference was their paranormal gifts.
“Our order was born centuries ago in the northernmost reaches of Eyegad,” Umbra said. “Before Eyegad fractured into city-states, we flourished across the realm. The original Nightwalkers were shamans who worshipped the moon and night. We still hold the moon in reverence and draw power from its light, but we no longer view it as a deity.” Arxu didn’t respond, infatuated with the lunar asylum.
“This is the last remaining sanctuary of the Nightwalkers and our way of life.”
The following night, Arxu returned to the forest to absorb all that Umbra shared. He wanted to understand the Nightwalkers and their vocation.
Each night, Umbra would await him and they would converse until the advent of dawn. As trust kindled between them, Arxu asked her about the principles of magick. Arxu listened keenly to every lesson she shared. He spent weeks attuning himself to the energy hidden in nature.
Months later, he would stand before Umbra as a newly initiated Nightwalker. She cradled an ebony staff embellished with a blue orb in her hands. Arxu possessed no words to convey his gratitude. With unsteady hands, he lifted the staff from Umbra’s palms.
She smiled in delight, enamored with Arxu’s progress. That night he returned to the city, clutching the staff like a lover with a new engagement ring. His heart still beat in ecstasy, overwhelmed with a sense of belonging to something. After seventeen years of solitude, he would have a family among the Nightwalkers.
Unknown to Arxu, his tormentor had seen him elope to the forest that night. From his perch on the battlements, he watched the orphan slip into the labyrinth of trees. The strange pattern had continued for several nights, intriguing his tormentor. At last, he resolved to follow Arxu and see what lured him there.
Every man and woman knew it was a crime to associate with the Nightwalkers. Anyone affiliated with them could face imprisonment—and the Nightwalkers’ sanctuary would be permanently exposed and removed.
When he discovered the source of Arxu’s excursions, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The street child had led him right to the magick adepts sought by authorities. He instantly remembered the price on their heads.
Arxu set out from the city like any other night while his tormentor lurked at the forest’s edge. He crouched behind the trees, waiting for the moment to strike. As Arxu approached, hands seized him and dragged him into the underbrush.
“Where are you going?” the abuser demanded.
“Bastard!” Arxu screamed. “Let go of me—”
“I know your secret,” he said insidiously. “I know about the Nightwalkers.” Arxu’s heart stalled in his chest. They both understood the implications of his involvement with the Nightwalkers. He would face imprisonment and the secret sect would be rounded up by the guards. The Nightwalkers would be sold as slaves or publicly executed in the plaza. His abuser smiled reprehensibly.
“I will hurt them,” he threatened.
Enraged, Arxu seized him by his shirt and wrestled him to the ground. They grappled one another in the dark, consumed in a frenzy of blows. Arxu thrust his hand in his pocket and seized a fistful of powdered bloodstone. The thought didn’t immediately occur to him that he was about to cross a point of no return.
Umbra had warned him about the danger of bloodstone when used against an enemy. He had assured Umbra he would never employ such an inhuman technique.
Arxu spread his hand and reached for his enemy’s face.
“I prolonged his death, not content to grant him any mercy,” Arxu confessed. “I ensured that he died slowly...” Nishka could see the signs of anger in his body even as he tried to hide them.
“I ran toward the city as fast as I could. I gradually regained control of myself, but it was too late. My anger had been growing to the point where I would have destroyed him regardless. Unfortunately, in my confusion, I left my ceremonial staff near the corpse. Umbra discovered the weapon and the residue of bloodstone. She was disgusted to learn what I had done with my gifts. Upon my return, she performed the rite of exile.”
He vividly remembered standing in the moon shrine, a lovely temple by the lakeside. Barely illuminated with an opaque glow, the walls surrounding him were inscribed with hundreds of enticing runes.
He stood before Umbra, the priestess adorned in pale garments. Her magnificent eyes were focused only on Arxu as he stood in her judgment. Beyond Arxu, an open door revealed the night outside, the precious sanctuary of the Nightwalkers gleaming under the moon. He would never see their haven again.
Arxu accepted her damning judgment; he would not flee or attempt to challenge her. He bowed his head before a bowl of water and blue dye. He would be permanently marked, unable to remove the stains of his failure. There was no cleansing the blood from his hands now. He had murdered another human being without so much as a shred of regret.
Arxu lifted his head, traces of indigo already showing in his hair.
“You will be scorned for what you are,” Umbra said, the words raining on him like icy hail.
Arxu lowered his gaze. He only felt shame that she had discovered his crime. He did not at all regret the outcome of his rage. Umbra acknowledged this painful truth, and she fought back tears. She had witnessed so much potential within him during their brief friendship, and it hurt her to know she had aided him in his crime. How easily he cast away everything she taught him as he gave in to hate. She never could have foreseen that he would use his precious gift to torture someone.
She blamed herself for entrusting him with forbidden knowledge.
Arxu silently stood there, awaiting the ritual devised for him. Two women clad in gowns approached the exile. They knelt on either side of the man and gently took hold of his arms. Arxu barely felt something puncture his skin and he flinched. He closed his eyes as the mild anesthetic took effect. He wondered what herbs the women were using and if they properly prepared them. He could feel something tracing across his naked skin, something cold and metallic on his limbs.
He sighed, content for the moment under the effects of opium. He almost didn’t feel the shame of exile. Poison pulsed through his veins, skittering across his mind like a beetle. With a twitch, he opened his eyes. When his vision cleared, he could see elaborate markings on his arms.
The characters extended from his shoulders to his wrists. He delicately touched the marks, expecting them to burn at his touch. They signified his excommunication, a symbolic branding. How could he consider himself a Nightwalker any longer?
He refused to return to the city of his childhood. Too many unfortunate memories haunted the city. He looked at the woman across from him who had become a close friend in a short span of time. He repressed the urge to beg for forgiveness.
Arxu retreated one step at a time from Umbra, torn by her sad expression. He had betrayed her trust and that hurt him the most. But given the chance, he knew he would not have altered his murderous actions.
>
He would never repent.
He turned away and the staff slipped from his hands. Umbra flinched as the rod slammed against the floor, disturbing the dust settled there. The sound echoed in her ears, an explosion that made her blood run cold.
The exiled Nightwalker disappeared from the temple with no hope of ever reuniting with her.
Unknown to everyone, his tormentor’s body did not receive a proper burial. His spirit could not rest within his tortured body. His flesh did not revert to decay. Instead, it morphed into something wretched and hideous. He refused to die in the dark and quiet forest. The sickly creature evolved into something neither dead nor alive. On its hands and knees, it crawled through the forest, as though animated purely by hatred. Its animosity could not be quelled by death, a soul so polluted with ego and loathing.
It could smell the carrion of others who perished from disease and age, and it was eerily drawn to the scent. The creature neared the city and came upon dormant tombs. It crept into the catacombs where it constructed a lair. It fed on the dead like a parasite, siphoning strength. And as it nourished on their decay, it gained their memories, thoughts, and knowledge.
Several years passed during its growth stage and no one suspected the abomination lurking in the tombs. At last, the creature emerged from the necropolis. Images of the Defiler entered Arxu’s mind.
“I could not remember how I died or why,” Arxu said. “I remember waking to the remains of the Nightwalkers’ lunar sanctum blanketed in ash... It slaughtered everyone.” He solemnly paused. “It killed my mother.” Nishka’s head turned so fast that Arxu thought she would contract whiplash.
“Umbra was my mother. She offered me to a downtrodden woman in the streets of Eternitas. She wanted me to have a better life than her, free from the oppression of rulers and public discrimination. Despite her effort to protect me from a life of social exile, I was still drawn to the Nightwalkers.”
“She thought you would be better off living in poverty than being raised among Nightwalkers?”
“She never suspected I would spend my childhood stealing and acting as a courier for criminals. I’ll never know exactly why she chose to leave me with her. But before I died, I saw how people treated Nightwalkers. They viewed us as a sacrificial cult. I’ve seen Nightwalkers tortured and executed in ways that would make you long for Gaelithea. Perhaps it would have been safer to remain a beggar than pursue my past.”
“What happened after the Defiler came to the ruins?”
“My mother didn’t realize she had exiled her only son until the Defiler spoke to her. She asked why it had killed everyone at the lunar sanctuary. It explained my past to her ... and why it wanted to lure me to the forest to witness the pain of my friends. And when she began to weep for her son, the Defiler realized who she was.”
Arxu leaned against his staff for support, and he lowered his head.
“He killed her.” Nishka could hardly believe the words that departed from his lips. She felt a need to comfort him even though he never consoled her. “The moment she died, the binding runes on my skin lost their power. I immediately felt the change in my body and suspected something was wrong. As I sought the lunar sanctuary, I realized that I could pass through the forest freely. Upon reaching the sanctum, I found her body... The Defiler emerged from the sanctuary and spoke to me. It told me about my mother... but I can remember no more.”
Nishka looked at the pendant as he clutched it protectively. Suddenly, she wanted to grab it and throw it away. She reached for the glossy stone.
Arxu recoiled and clasped the pendant. Nishka jerked in surprise.
“Arxu, you—you don’t need that pendant anymore! It’s useless!”
He stared at her in bewildered shock.
“It’s only a painful reminder of your past!” She tried to reach for the pendant but Arxu tucked it within his shirt. “You have to stop clinging to the past!”
Hrioshango leaped out from the shadows.
“Give to Hrioshango! Hrioshango want to live again if he dies!”
“It cannot—”
“Arxu—” Nishka grabbed his arm but Arxu twisted out of her grip and ran. He immediately tripped and threw out his arms, losing his staff in the process. He scrambled back to his feet and bolted.
The paved walkway beneath his feet echoed with every frantic step. He clawed his way out of the maze, emerging into the streets. Arxu didn’t know where to go from here. He raced through the streets of Eternitas, repelled from Nishka as if her very presence hurt him. No one stopped him as he fled the city gates, reenacting the same escape he took as a child. A lake greeted him beyond the city, and before he knew it, he plunged into the waters up to his waist. A distant islet winked below the moon, beckoning him to its lonely shore.
Arxu struggled through the waters that pushed back against him. With a ragged breath, he staggered onto the beach and fell to his knees.
The waters lapped at the shore, hushing Arxu. He wanted to scream out at the irony of his life. His mother had entrusted him with a foster parent to protect him from exile, and in the end, she had branded him an outcast.
Yet, he bore her no anger. He could not feel anything but emptiness, robbed of his family. And in his recklessness, he had pushed aside the only person who stood by his side. Nishka.
Faces he could barely remember surfaced in his memories, pieces of himself that would never return. He began to realize his inevitable mortality, and he feared that death may be better than this life.
He felt nothing, and then a cascade of tears arose from within. He couldn’t see through the tears. Layers of emotion crashed down, revealing the vulnerability inside. Arxu considered his actions, the strangest sensation of telling another person about his torment. In fact, he was only beginning to come to terms with the loneliness that plagued him.
Arxu viewed his reflection in the jet pendant. He was a comatose void of frozen emotions. His body trembled and he bowed low over his reflection, grieving for the man he once was. Perhaps it was better to feel nothing than to know emotion of any kind.
At last, he unclasped the jet pendant around his neck. He tossed the last piece of his emotional prison into the cold waters.
* * *
Arxu teased the door open to his room, reluctant to enter. He couldn’t shake the sting of shame for running away from Nishka. He walked through the city gardens on his way to the inn, but she had long since left. He felt strangely naked without his staff as he returned to his bed.
To his surprise, he spied the instrument leaning against the wardrobe. He scooped it up to make sure it was indeed the same staff. For a moment, he thought he had walked into someone else’s room, and he spun toward the silhouette lying on his bed. Nishka lay among the blankets, soundly asleep.
Her face was flushed from crying. Arxu relaxed, setting down his staff and satchel. He slumped in a chair across from the bed and watched her.
She looked so gentle in bed, not the strong and fierce woman she presented to the public. Perhaps that was the only way she could be taken seriously in a male-dominated society. Swaddled in blankets, she looked just as emotionally naked as Arxu, their vulnerabilities on display. They both had their separate struggles and rarely lowered their guard. To see her like this made him feel a surprising kinship to her.
Morning light drifted across the room, gilding the chamber in a veil. Its luminance leaped across the bed and upon Nishka’s skin. Her tranquil face bore no trace of tears, her sorrows quenched in dreams. Hours later, she sighed peacefully and stirred from the refuge of sleep. Arxu stood against the window, observing the city below.
Nishka’s eyes widened at the sight of him. She bolted up from bed and approached the silhouetted figure.
“Arxu…” She stopped within a few strides of him, realizing he was real and not a dream. “I’m sorry.”
“You needn’t be. You were right. I was clinging to my past.” He still couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “Nishka, I wasn’t completely ho
nest with you about my past.” She remained silent. “Sometimes, when hate is combined with magick to kill someone, it can render unpredictable results to the victim, even in death. I was full of spite when I ended my tormentor’s life. I’m not sure how to describe it or what happens to the soul of the victim. Some say this is how monsters enter our dimension: hatred and the abuse of magick.”
Nishka held his hand to comfort him. As he turned to her, she noticed the pendant no longer encircled his throat.
Chapter 36
Ethan leaned against a balcony above the council chamber. Dozens of priests gathered below to discuss matters he was obviously not privileged to know. Ethan had a feeling they weren’t merely speculating about Astalla’s absence. He wondered what plots hatched from their lips in the far reaches of the temple.
The idea nauseated him, knowing all too well they were looking for a scapegoat to sacrifice. It was much easier to tell the disciples Astalla abandoned them for the sins of a few followers than to seek the truth. Such spectacles made it all the easier for the clerics to manipulate them through guilt.
Ethan shook his head in dismay. They were no different than the senators who undermined the city with their selfish agendas. Unlike so many of them, Ethan was not attracted to his vocation by authority.
However, in light of recent events, he began to question his allegiance to the temple. Over the past few days, he watched the tenets of his faith transform into a cult of moral tyranny. His fellow clerics treated the worshippers as if they were children who posed imminent danger to themselves.
Even Invictus seemed to straddle the border between madness and sanity, obsessed with delusions of salvation. He had barricaded himself in the scrying chamber for days, pondering Astalla’s message.
Ethan gritted his teeth as he considered the broader picture. Invictus didn’t oppose the evacuation out of concern for the faithful; he was worried about losing control over the worshippers. There could be no greater abuse than deforming religion for the purpose of power—to enslave the innocent with fear.
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