Three Acts of Penance [01] Attrition: The First Act of Penance

by S. G. Night

  Before Notak could pin him down, Racath rolled back to his feet, hands ready. The lanac came at him again, whistling through the air. He side-stepped the razor sharp axe-head and grabbed the chain, letting it wrap itself around his forearm before jerking the weapon free of Notak’s grip. Tossing the axe away, he lunged at Notak and attacked with a barrage of open-handed strikes, which Notak reciprocated with artistic elegance.

  Yelling, Rachel leapt back up onto the plateau, flying at Racath. Racath waved a hand at her as she flew through the air, blasting her with a wave of flameless heat. Rachel made a sound of surprise and, disoriented, crashed into Notak. In a tangle of arms and legs, they both stumbled and fell. A body-lock hex in each hand, Racath seized them both by the napes of their necks, immobilizing them.

  Oron and Nelle applauded from a few paces away, having stepped clear to make a space for the brawl. “Bravo,” the older Majiski laughed.

  Racath released the Scorpions. Cursing, Rachel clawed her way back to her feet, glaring at him as she took a few guarded steps back, like an injured cat retreating to lick its wounds. Notak, quite contrarily, stood soundlessly and stretched out his shoulders, his expression just as placidly blank as before.

  “Now that you three are acquainted,” Oron said. “Come inside and we’ll talk everything over.” Without another word, he turned and headed back toward the cottage.

  “Yeah…” Rachel grumbled bitterly, shouldering her way past Racath.

  Behind Rachel’s back, Nelle rolled her eyes at Racath. Pointing at her temple, she mouthed a single word: crazy. Then she skipped off after the other two.

  Notak did not immediately follow. He turned to Racath, his face unreadable. “You impress me,” the Elf remarked, like he was commenting on the weather. “Adaptive, yet definitive.”

  While he wasn’t quite sure what definitive was supposed to mean, Racath inclined his head to his fellow Scorpion, smiling a genuine smile. “Same to you. I admire your control.” He retrieved the lanac axe from the grass, redrawing the chain before returning it to Notak.

  Notak accepted the weapon and hooked it to his belt. “Many thanks.”

  “You’ve got a fine weapon there,” Racath commented, nodding at the axe. “I’ve never seen one before.”

  “It was my gift from Oron,” Notak said. “Salvaged from the armory of Krvistata, much as like yours was.” He indicated Daragoian.

  Racath nodded. “You handle it well. I didn’t expect you to recover so quickly.”

  Notak cocked his head at Racath thoughtfully, but said nothing.

  Racath frowned. “What?”

  “You do not behave the same way most do when they meet me,” Notak answered.

  “How do most people behave?”

  The Elf thought for a moment. “Disconcerted, I would say. Distrustful. They see me as different, and therefore dangerous.” He was not complaining, merely stating fact.

  Racath shrugged. “You’re a Scorpion. You fight the Demons. That makes you a friend in my book.”

  “I am not a Majiski,” Notak added, as if that should change things.

  “Does that matter?” Racath asked. “We fight for the same thing. I don’t care what color your blood is, or your skin for that matter.” He changed languages, switching to Elven in his head. “Nativitate tua in conspectu me nihil.”

  For a brief instant, Notak’s eyes flashed with emotion, then cooled. “Please,” he said. “I am not as well-versed in the language of my people as you would think. I was raised here in the domus, and so I only know what Oron and his books could teach me. I speak Skuran first, Rotenic second, and Elven last of all.” As he spoke of the Elves, the barest sliver of inflection touched the edge of his voice — something approaching distaste.

  Racath didn’t push it. “By your word, then,” he shrugged.

  “Come,” Notak said, putting his hand on Racath’s shoulder. “The others are waiting.”

  ——

  Once more inside the gentle warmth of the cottage, the five of them found seats around the table. Smiling amiably, Nelle took her seat beside Racath. Rachel and Notak placed themselves directly across from them. Oron sat in his usual chair.

  “Alright then,” the older Majiski said, laying his hands flat on the table. “I gave Racath the gist of the situation regarding the Nineteen when he arrived here. But I think we could all profit from an update. Notak?”

  Notak nodded and proceeded to give a summary of the intelligence found in the letter intercepted from Unin Tangaree, their investigations into the Westward Trade Company and Hammon in Dírorth, the discovery of the upcoming banquet, and the progress they had made in Dor’mon — and locating a Demon among the Nineteen who had a weakness for social games and so spent his time masquerading as a member of the lesser Demonic gentry under the persona of Baron Monger. Notak then explained the discovery of the man Brahn and his connection to the Baron.

  “So our plan,” Notak finally concluded. “Is to return to Dor’mon and capture Brahn before he meets with Baron Monger’s servant on the 10th. We will take him and interrogate him, try to gleam any information we can — the location of Baron Monger’s estate, the exact date of his next party, possibly a way that we could infiltrate it, etcetera. We then assassinate the Baron Monger during the party. Thereafter, we use the chaos resulting from the death of one of the Nineteen to draw the rest of the false gods out of hiding.”

  “Then butcher all of them,” Rachel added coldly.

  The gears in Racath’s mind began to turn. “Do we know which particular Mnogo god Monger is supposed to be?”

  Rachel snorted. “Doesn’t matter. Who cares as long as we kill him?”

  “It does matter, actually,” Nelle interjected. “The Nineteen aren’t just your typical run-of-the-mill Demons. They’re powerful, and I suspect each is uniquely gifted in their individual fields. That’ll influence how we approach them, attack them, take them down.”

  Rachel fired a pronounced sneer at Nelle. “We? You’re not even an assassin. Besides, how could you even know that? No one’s ever seen the Nineteen.”

  Nelle bristled. “I can see further than any of you can, Vaveran.”

  “Oh yes, your visions,” Rachel spat back. “Because we all know how infallible those are.”

  The augur’s eyes narrowed dangerously. The tension between the two women was palpable, like an electric charge in the air above the table as they glowered at each other.

  A twinge of defensiveness ran up Racath’s spine. Oron had hinted to him before that Rachel and Nelle didn’t get along, but he hadn’t expected such a degree of open hostility. He spoke up, hoping to draw Rachel’s attention off Nelle.

  “Is there anything else I should know?”

  Notak shook his head. “That is all. You now know as much as we do.”

  “Very well, then,” Oron said. “Time is of the essence if you’re going to get back to Dor’mon before the 10th. I’d love to have you stay the night, but you four should leave as soon as you’re ready.”

  Nelle pushed herself back from the table and stood. “I’ll get my things!”

  Racath shrugged lazily. “I’m already packed.”

  “Wait, hold on!” Rachel exclaimed, a mix of confusion and indignation rising on her face as she watched Nelle exit the kitchen. “You four? You mean she is coming, too?!”

  Oron’s brow furrowed and he crossed his arms. “Of course she is.”

  “But…but…a fourth?!” Rachel spluttered, clearly enraged. “Really, Oron? A third Scorpion who you just put in charge of us is bad enough. But now you want to send the cripple, too?!”

  Racath’s temper flared. Notak looked away from Rachel, pretending to examine a pot hanging on the wall.

  “I think everything will work out just fine, Rachel,” Oron replied impassively.

  “But why her?!” Rachel demanded.

  “Why not her?”

  “Why not her?!” Rachel repeated incredulously, obviously eager to gripe. “Hmm, let’s see.
She’s childish, she’s immature, she’s loud, she’s impulsive, she’s arrogant, and frankly, she’s just obnoxious!” She counted each character defect off on her fingers as she listed them, barely taking time to breathe between complaints.

  “You two have a lot in common, then.”

  Rachel flushed. “But she—”

  “She,” Oron stopped her, his eyes flashing severely, his voice suddenly stern. “She is God’s chosen augur for this Age. She carries the same mantle that the prophetess Io herself did. She has lived six times as many years as you have, and has experienced sixty times as much. She is twice the fighter of any Genshwin in Velik Tor, has helped me train you Scorpions for as long as I have been here, and has killed more Demons in the past five years than you could ever hope to in a lifetime. She is handicapped, yes, but she is invaluable and you need her. Her visions revolve around Racath and Daragoian, and so you will all need her abilities to guide you if you want half a chance at bringing down the Dominion.”

  “But—”

  “I will not be moved on this, Rachel,” Oron declared, finality in his voice. “I have spoken. Nelle is going with you. That’s it. The end.”

  Rachel slumped, deflating in her seat. She grumbled something, but did not shout again.

  Just then, Nelle returned, wearing her dark traveling cloak around her shoulders, her short swords on her hips, a satchel across her back, and her hair tied back in a tail. “I’m ready!” she announced.

  Racath and Notak got to their feet. Rachel made a face and reluctantly followed suit.

  “We shall send word as soon as we find the Baron Monger,” Notak said to Oron.

  The older Majiski nodded. “Good. Report back here in person once the job is done. We’ll discuss the next step from there.”

  Without another word and without looking back, Notak walked to the front door and left the cottage. Scowling, Rachel sulked after him.

  “Bye, Oron!” Nelle bid farewell with a quick hug around Oron’s shoulders. “See you soon.” She too exited the house.

  Oron looked at Racath with eyebrows raised. “So. What do you think of them?”

  He rolled his shoulders uncertainly. “They’re…interesting. To say the least. I think Rachel might be a problem, though. With me being in charge, I mean.”

  Oron nodded sagely. “Don’t let that slow you down. You’re a Scorpion now. You’re one of them. Don’t think that just because they’ve been at this longer than you that they have any authority over you. If you need to, talk to Notak. He’s always had a handle on Rachel that I can’t quite understand.”

  “Good to know,” Racath said, attaching one last satchel to his belt. “So…I guess I’ll be seeing you, then?”

  Oron gave him one last nod. “Hopefully with good news, too.” A smile. “Go on, Thanjel. Your team is waiting. Make me proud.”

  Racath paused. Then he crossed fingers with the older Majiski. He turned and went to the door. Stepping out over the threshold, he looked out onto the emerald sea of grass where the others stood waiting for him.

  He turned his eyes towards heaven, towards the blue and gold illusions of sky and sun. Racath knew he would not see the free sky again for a long time. Once more, he was stepping into the clouded darkness outside of paradise.

  But he was not afraid. He knew what he had to do: fight, live, bring down the Demons so that, one day, all skies would be free.

  Racath shut the door.

  FORTY

  Colors of the Night

  He had forgotten what the rain smelled like. After nearly three months spent under the artificial sunlight of the domus, the first drops that brushed his skin felt alien. The downpour stirred up an odd mixture of sentiments in his chest as he and the other Scorpions emerged from the labyrinthine system of crevices that led out into the mountains — a sense of both leaving something behind, and returning to something familiar.

  Sokol had stayed behind in the domus. It didn’t feel quite right, being back out in the world without her. He missed her constant presence, the rustle of her wings in his ear. But, at least, he wasn’t completely alone. Now he had a cheerful augur, an emotionless Elf, and a psychotic she-Majiski to brighten up his day, not to mention the fiery creature in his head that was the Pyre. He certainly couldn’t ask for stranger company.

  He hadn’t realized just how much he missed the weight of his full Shadow on his back (during his training, he had spent very little time carrying the entirety of his equipment). There was a pleasant equilibrium to it. Daragoian was comfortably tight on his back, like it had been made to fit there. He felt more balanced than before. Sturdier.

  The four of them covered only a modest amount of ground that first day. With no Drifter caravans to rely on for cover, there was no way for the Scorpions to travel inconspicuously along the mountain roads like common travelers. Instead, they had to move through the uninhabited valleys of the Spikes. They still had plenty of time to reach Dor’mon, so they kept their pace down to conserve the energy needed to hike over the rocky terrain.

  Nelle skipped along beside Racath and chatted blithely to pass the time. Notak walked on the other side of Nelle from Racath, effortlessly striding seamlessly over rock and boulder. He spoke very little, and his expression remained at unassumingly reserved as ever. About once every hour or so, Notak would weigh in on their conversation, probing Racath with a brief question or two. How old was Racath? How long had he been with the Genshwin? What was his skill-set?

  Racath knew that Notak was sizing him up, getting a feel for what kind of person he was dealing with. He welcomed it: if he was going to lead the Scorpions, he wanted them to understand everything about who he was, just like he wanted to understand them. So he answered every question Notak asked him.

  More than once, Nelle answered for him — a testament of just how well they had gotten to know each other in the domus. The only thing that really perturbed Racath was how Notak could ask him questions with such genuine interest while simultaneously displaying all the outward enthusiasm of a corpse.

  Rachel skulked a noticeable distance away from them, wearing her silence like a frosty armor. Periodically, she would throw a wary glare in Racath’s direction. In total, she said less than ten words in the eight hours they walked before sundown.

  ——

  The Scorpions made camp beneath a large overhang of mossy stone after the light was gone. Rachel dug a two-foot deep fire pit with her telekinesis; Racath procured a modest fire within. The four of them shared a dinner of bread, cheese, and dried sausage.

  “How far do you think we’ve come?” Rachel wondered aloud as they sat around the fire. She said it in a way that made Racath think that she was only looking for an answer, not a conversation.

  “Fifteen miles, I would estimate,” Notak stated. “It would have been more, but the terrain is slowing us down.”

  “We still have a good week before we need to set up in Dor’mon,” Racath said. “But we should pick up the pace tomorrow to make sure we get there on schedule. We can pass through Vale tomorrow afternoon, stock up on food and supplies. But we won’t be able to stay the night.” He looked at Nelle. “Nelle and I kind of burned that bridge a few months back.”

  “Burned that inn,” Nelle corrected, winking at him.

  Rachel scowled at them. “Wonderful. So no soft beds at all? I’ve been walking for a week already.”

  “There will be plenty of towns between Vale and Dor’mon to get a good night’s rest,” Racath placated. “But we need to be clear of the Spikes by tomorrow. We’ll start at sunup and reach Vale around mid-afternoon, then continue on and make camp somewhere in the foothills tomorrow night. Once we’re out of the mountains, things will get smoother.”

  “One can only hope…” Rachel muttered bitterly.

  “Oh, quit your whining, Rachel,” Nelle said, rocking back on her haunches and holding her hands out to the fire. “Notak’s been walking for just as long as you have and you don’t hear him complaining. And he’s not
even a Majiski.” She beamed at Notak. He didn’t smile back but Racath noticed that his face was a slightly darker grey than before. Racath guessed it was the Elven equivalent of a blush.

  Rachel glowered at Nelle and opened her mouth as if to challenge her, eyes full of venom. Then, as though realizing that she could say nothing without making herself seem even more childish, she shut her mouth again, her face tingeing purple.

  “We should decide on shifts for night-watch now,” Notak said to break the tension.

  Nelle turned amicably to Racath. “That’d be your department, fearless leader. You’re in charge.”

  The reminder brought resurrected the anxiety in his throat. He swallowed hard against it. “Yeah…” he murmured, looking from Notak to Rachel. Trying to pitch his voice somewhere between authoritative and empathetic, he said:

  “Actually, that’s one thing I want to clarify before we do anything else. Oron may have put me in charge of the Scorpions, but I want to make it clear that I’m not here to push you around, or change the dynamic you two have in any way. I know what it feels like to have some pompous idiot tell you they’re in charge of you, even though you know you have twice the experience that they do. I believe in success through mutual respect and reliance, not chain of command; I would much rather have us all be going in the same direction side-by-side, than having you walk blindly behind me while I dictate what path to take.

  “Don’t think to ignore me, though. I have the last word. But I acknowledge that you two know what you’re doing as much or more than I do. I’ll welcome and value your input, and while I may ask you to do something, direct you to do one thing or another, I will not — not — command you to. You have your free will, and you have your own judgment. If I’m walking point, and I’m about to walk you off a cliff, then don’t follow me.”

  Notak nodded. A brief hint of respect flickered in his eyes for a second.

  Rachel made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort and got to her feet. “Well, in that case, I’m going to elect to go to bed. Someone else can take watch first.” She left the fire and unceremoniously collapsed into her bedroll.