by Mike Morris
But Jefferson stepped back, taking Kibon with him. "Do you recognise the prisoners behind me?"
"What?" Rane shook his head, pulling his thoughts back, seeing the rest of the world again. The two men from another time in his life, so long ago. "Yes."
"People come to Orska for many reasons. For hope. For a cause. You came for a cure." Jefferson pointed Kibon at the prisoners. "They came for revenge, for murder, for profit."
"I don't understand," replied Rane but his attention was locked on his sword once more. Nothing else mattered.
Jefferson lifted up Samuel's chin. "Tell him."
"We were in Napolin," whispered Samuel through swollen lips. "When a priest came into town, causing a commotion."
Jefferson smiled at Rane. "Go on."
"Said she'd run into Legionnaires, described Rane and the woman. Said she knew where you all were." Blood dribbled from Samuel's mouth as he spoke.
"Sound like anyone we know?" said Myri.
Rane nodded. "Fia." Myri hadn't murdered her, thank the Gods.
"The authorities started mustering an army to come here," continued Samuel. "But we thought we'd get here first."
"Why?" Jefferson asked the prisoner as if he didn't know the answer.
Samuel looked up, looked at Rane, and some fire returned to his eyes. "To kill him. Kill Rane. He murdered..."
"Enough," interrupted Jefferson, holding up a hand. He walked over to Rane, bringing Kibon nearer. "It would seem you’re right about the army coming here, Nathaniel. It would seem our war is starting sooner than I planned."
"War? But you can tell them everyone is cured. That we don't pose a threat to anyone," said Rane. "There's no need to fight."
"Oh my boy." The Lord General rubbed Rane's scalp. "There's every need." He smiled. "You see, no one is cured. And we certainly pose a threat."
The words hit Rane. "No cure?" He slowly looked at all the Legionnaires in the room; from Jefferson to Myri to Rickard to Isaiah, working his way around the others. They all had the same look, the same air. "You're all tainted."
Jefferson wagged a finger at him. "There's that word again. It's almost like you're trying to be offensive. We're not tainted — we're transformed. Mightier than you could ever think possible."
"But why? Why bring us here if there is no cure?"
"Because I want all my soldiers together once more. Because the transformation process is painful and dangerous so best be somewhere safe where friends can help while you undergo it."
"Is that why I was beaten? Starved? Held prisoner?"
The corners of Jefferson's mouth twitched. "Some need their minds opening first. You more so than others." He pulled Kibon from its sheath. "Are you ready?"
Kibon gleamed in the torchlight; beautiful, deadly. "I don't want to become a monster."
Jefferson shook his head. "Do I look like a monster? Do any of these men? Does Myri?"
Rane glanced from one face to another — committed, determined, perfect. He couldn't see any of Marcus's twisted dementia in any of them. There was nothing to fear in what they'd become. "What would you have me do?"
"Kill those who would kill you." Jefferson stepped to one side so Rane had an unimpaired view of the three prisoners. There was no hiding the fear on their faces. Only Samuel tried to glare back. Jefferson held out Kibon. "Kill your enemies. Be whole once more."
Rane looked at the sword, ready for it. Desperate for it. Only faint specks of darkness stained the blade.
Kibon whispered in his ear. Three deaths. A small price to pay to be well again. To be strong again. To have Kibon again.
He looked at the prisoners. Hard to see them as enemies when they were already so beaten and broken. Like himself. It was just as easy to imagine himself in those chains, with his life at stake.
Jefferson stepped closer. Brought Kibon closer. Its voice no longer a whisper, but a roar, demanded Rane's attention, promising cures for his pain, a fire to purge the rot. All he had to do was take it. Take what he wanted. What he needed.
All he had to do was seize it. And kill three people. The sword wanted blood.
The bounty hunter had yet to look at him. He hung from his shackles, no strength left in his legs to even stand. If anyone deserved death, he did. He'd come with the men to his house, been part of the group that had killed Kara and hadn't Rane sworn revenge on those responsible? Again he'd sought Rane in Rooktown, tried to capture him then. And now a third time, he'd followed Rane to Orska, eager to claim the reward for his head. If ever there was someone Rane could call an enemy, it was him.
Samuel was no better. His son had brought the bounty hunters to Rane's home and the man had sworn a blood oath to kill Rane. His failure at Rooktown hadn't been enough to dissuade him. By the hate in his eyes, if their positions were reversed, Rane would already be dead.
But the third woman was a stranger, guilty only by association with the others. She didn't look like a warrior or a bounty hunter. Not older than Samuel's son, not any braver. She cried in his chains, could feel her death in the room. It was hard to see her as a threat, an enemy to be feared.
He wanted Kibon but at what price? Could he kill her? "I don't want to become like Marcus."
"There's nothing to fear," said Myri. "Look at me." She swept her cloak over her shoulder, revealing her right arm. Her right hand — regrown but red raw as if it still missed flesh. It was almost too big for her arm as she waved it in front of his face. "I'm whole again."
"How is that possible?" he asked. How many people had died to give her that gift?
"Find out," said Jefferson. "Take your sword, feed it the blood of your enemies. And feel its power burn away the rot that's destroying you. Become better than you ever were."
Rane's hand moved of its own volition. He couldn't have stopped himself even if he wanted to. His fingers wrapped themselves around Kibon's hilt. Grasped it. He screamed as the surge of magic flooded into his body, bringing with it strength long gone. He could feel the purge begin of the rot. Bones began to knit. Bruises faded. Life returned. The sword was his once more.
"So, Nathaniel," said Jefferson. "Will you join us? Become our brother once more?"
Rane stood, like a man reborn. With three prisoners to kill.
36
Five feet separated Rane from his victims. With each step he took towards them, he could feel his strength returning. The rot faded. Kibon burned in his hand. His blood sang with life. He could feel their fear, sweetening the moment.
He stopped in front of the bounty hunter. "Three times this man has tried to kill me. No more." Kibon flashed in the torchlight. Took the man's head from his shoulders. Blood shot from his neck, staining the walls, the floors. Covering Samuel. Magic roared from Kibon into Rane, setting his blood on fire. All his injuries disappeared. His skin turned from black and dead to pink and alive. Starved for so long of its touch, Kibon’s power almost overwhelmed him. But still he walked on, his rage burning bright.
"By the Gods, no. Please no. I'll walk away," pleaded the miller. "You'll never see me again. I'll tell everyone the castle was deserted. Please no."
"This man swore to see me dead," replied Rane. "His son led killers to my door. Helped murder my wife. His life will settle the debt."
"Nooooo," screamed the Miller but Kibon shot forward, eager, hungry, without mercy. It plunged into Samuel's heart, drinking his fear, stealing his life. The man's eyes bulged and he coughed his last breath. Again the magic flooded into Rane, filling him with ecstasy. He growled with pleasure, forced his lungs to breath in and out and rode the rush. Lightening shot through his brain, heightening his senses. His nose flared with the scent of blood. His mouth watered at its metallic tang.
When Samuel had no more to give, he pulled Kibon free.
He wondered how anyone had managed to keep him prisoner for a second, let alone eight days. Let Rickard try and restrain him now. Let Isaiah try and take Kibon from him again. With the power in him, Rane could tear the world asunder.
The girl wept. Squeezed her eyes shut as if that could stay death's hand. Stupid child. Her fear only made Rane stronger. He now understood why Marcus had killed so many in the way that he had.
"Go on," urged Jefferson. "Be done with her and rejoin your brothers. The Legion needs you."
"This woman," said Rane, "came with others to kill me. Se... she..." Rane shook his head. No. No. The girl was no one. A child. Someone’s daughter.
By the Gods, Rane wanted to kill her, hungered for it, but was she his enemy? Was this how Marcus fell? Did one kill become another then another until he slept in a bed of corpses? There was no beauty in that transformation — only horror, only despair.
"Kill her," whispered Myri. Kill her, urged Kibon.
"This woman... this girl... has done nothing to me," said Rane. Kibon screamed in anger, trembled with frustration. It demanded Rane strike, urging him on, a tsunami of emotion threatening to drown him if he stood in its way. It would be so easy to let it wash over him. Give in. He wanted to. By the Gods, how he wanted to. Stop his suffering. Lose himself in the magic. Not care.
But that wasn't who he wanted to be. His oath meant something to him. His love of Kara meant something. He came to Orska to free his soul, not destroy it forever. He closed his eyes, breathed in, stood his ground against Kibon's power.
"She is not my enemy."
Kibon howled in frustration.
"She is if I tell you she is," snapped Jefferson. "There's a war coming. You don't have the luxury to question who is and who isn't your enemy. That's why we have a chain of command. Why we have orders. Now kill her and be done with it."
"No." Rane turned to face the old man, the others. Let them try and force him. Let them try to stop him. Let them try to take him back to his cell. There was still blood enough for Kibon to spill.
Eleven swords slipped from sheaths in response. Black blades one and all. Rickard, Isaiah, the other Legionnaires — even Myri — eyes bright and ready for anything Rane tried. Only Jefferson kept his sword in its scabbard. He waved them to stand down. "I'm not willing to give up on Nathaniel just yet."
"I'm not going to kill the girl," replied Rane.
Isaiah stepped forward, more than happy with Rane's refusal, but again Jefferson stopped him with a glance. "Leave us alone."
As one, the other Legionnaires turned and marched from the room.
Myri was the last to leave. She paused before Rane. “Don’t fight it. You’ll become glorious.”
“That’s what Marcus said to me,” replied Rane, looking to the floor. “And there was nothing glorious about what he was.”
Myri shook her head. “He didn’t have guidance through the transformation. The Lord General will look after you. Trust him.” She placed her hand against his chest. “I’ll look after you.”
Rane tightened his grip on Kibon. “Go before I kill you instead.”
“Oh Nathaniel,” sighed Myri. “You always were a fool.”
Jefferson turned his attention to Rane once she’d left the room. "There are monsters out in the world, Nathaniel, and the only way we can defeat them is to become deadlier than they are. Become so powerful that they shake with fear at the very mention of our names. Run when they see our swords. Die at our touch.
"Heras knows this. That is why she sends her demons against us once more, why they hunt us down. Did you think it some coincidence that her infernal creatures dogged your every step here? They can smell the power hidden in you. She wants you dead before you can become what you are destined to be."
"But this girl is not a Jotnar, Bracke, Grenduns or Valkryn. She's human," replied Rane.
"So were the men that killed your wife," said Jefferson. "So were the other two men in this cell. That doesn't mean they weren't Heras' agents. The army that marches to us is made up of humans but they come because of Heras' lies. When the battle comes, how will you judge who’s worthy of your sword and who is not? You were willing to kill the Rastaks when they were her agents, were you not?"
Rane rubbed his face. It was so hard to think in that small room, with his body on fire with Kibon's magic. Jefferson's words made sense — or did they? The sword wanted blood and didn't care where he got it. "What about all the innocents who have died because of us? The horrors that Legionnaires have done while undergoing this transformation?"
Jefferson shrugged. "Unfortunate but necessary. All done for the greater good."
"But we swore an oath to protect those weaker than ourselves," said Rane. "We did all this for them."
"Of course," replied Jefferson. "And we still do. But sometimes a few must make a sacrifice for the greater good."
"Including my wife?"
"I'm sorry for your loss. I truly am. But the Rastaks will return and we must be ready. Stronger and more powerful than ever before."
"Ready? You have forty men here. Hardly an army."
"Forty men?" replied Jefferson. "Whoever gave you that idea? I have one hundred and fifty transformed Legionnaires in this castle alone. More are out in the world doing my bidding. Believe me when I say I have an army."
Rane stared at the Lord General, suddenly seeing everything in a new light. It was all so hard to believe. “Did you know our souls would be tainted when you first asked us to bond them with our swords? That we'd be transformed?"
"Of course."
"And you didn't tell us?"
"I am your commanding officer. It was for me to make the decisions. Would you have me put the matter up for debate? Ask for a show of hands? We’re the chosen ones, Nathaniel. Accept that."
"But at what price? Our souls? Destroying what makes us human?" shouted Rane.
Jefferson scoffed at Rane's words. "I wanted to make you so much more. I wanted to make you a god. Only a fool would turn that opportunity down."
"I hear voices telling me to kill. I was scared of hurting my own wife! By the Gods, I've murdered people that didn’t deserve to die. How can that be right? How could anyone want that?"
"We’re the architects of a new age that will rise from the ashes of the old world. We must be above such concerns."
"You're mad."
"I have the vision to see what needs to be done. History will judge me right."
Rane lunged at Jefferson, with all the fury, all the pain, with all the magic at his disposal. Kibon no more than a blur as it cut through the air, going for the old man's throat.
But Jefferson was faster. He didn't even draw his sword. There was no need. He drove the palm of his hand into Rane's sternum. Rane flew back, crashed into the wall with such force that the very stone cracked and crumbled around him. He fell to the floor hard, lungs paralyzed. He spat blood as he tried to rise, drawing on Kibon's magic.
Jefferson looked down on him with disgust. "Don't disappoint me, Nathaniel. Ideally I want every one of my Legionnaires but that doesn't mean I won't kill you if I have to. Kill the girl and join me. Let her live and you can both die together. The choice is yours."
He left the room without looking back. The door clanged shut and the locks were rammed into place.
And once more Rane was a prisoner.
He stood staring at the locked door, feeling utter hatred for the man he once thought of as a second father. How could Jefferson have done this to him? To all the others? And to have control of an army of soldiers with all of Marcus's speed, strength and ferocity without any of the madness? No one would be able to stand before it.
He trembled with Kibon's magic. Now his need for it was sated, he hated himself for giving in to its demands. While it had a hold on him, he would be forever at its mercy. He'd managed to resist it but what about next time? Could he still be strong as the taint consumed his sword?
The two dead bodies hung from the wall as a testimony to his weakness. Did they really deserve to die? How much of his anger towards them was because of Kibon's hold on him? His need for its magic? Was Samuel's desire for revenge for his son's death any different from Rane's after Kara died?
He'd got Kibon back, got his hit of magic, but for what? His wounds may have healed but he was still a prisoner.
He cut the splint from leg. Even seeing the perfect skin once more didn't make him feel any better. Perhaps it would’ve been better if he'd died.
Dead and his misery would be over.
Kibon pulsed in his hand. And Rane saw a way out. He'd give the sword one last life to take and his suffering would be done. He wouldn't be in Kibon's thrall any more. He could be reunited with Kara. At peace. Let the old man fight his war. Rane needn't be around to see it.
He flipped Kibon around so the tip pressed against the base of his chin. One push and it would go straight through his brain. No magic would heal that. It would be all over. Thanks the Gods.
Fuck Jefferson and fuck his curse.
It was time to die.
37
"What are you doing?" The girl's voice startled Rane. Cracked. Raw. "You can't leave me here." She'd stopped crying but her eyes still glistened through swollen lids. The Legionnaires had given her a pounding that would take a long time to recover from. "You have to get me out of here."
"There’s no way out," replied Rane, sword digging into his chin. "Not alive."
"Then why didn't you kill me when they asked? Why save me if you're going to let me die anyway?"
"I won't be what they want me to be. I'm not a monster."
"Then free me. Let's get out of here. Don't give up. Please. Please don't." The girl brought her arms around as much as she could, offering the shackles to Rane. Her thin arms shook with the effort.
Rane had no idea where she found the courage. Maybe that was all she had left. It was more than he had. "I'm sorry. It's too much. Better this way."