by Matt Hiebert
“He is not a leader, but a sword!” Her voice rose and he saw this was something she had done before, a task she knew. She was rallying them behind her. “He is not the warrior, but the weapon! Look at the brand which distinguishes him!”
She lifted his blackened hand into the air for the crowd to see. Many gasped as they realized that the limb was not stained, but transmuted.
“This is the hand that wields the sword of a thousand warriors! Why would we waste it holding a scepter?”
Everyone in the crowd was now standing. He saw their hearts follow her words in unison. He saw their acceptance spread like candles being lit one by one. Even he believed her.
“Quintel has not asked for power or authority from me. In his wisdom, he has never asserted his rights as a prince of the Abanshi,” she paused, “for he knows that such power would bind him. It would chain him to the ground. It would prevent him from fulfilling his destiny!”
Something moved inside of him. He had not realized these things before she said them, but now he believed. Somehow Aul was the one who knew what to do with him. At that moment, he worshiped her.
He also saw something else moving in her light. He could not define it, but it was something that served herself more than her people. She was using the moment to consolidate her power over him. She was steering the course of her own destiny. It was not a selfish act, but one driven by a motive she kept hidden even from herself. Quintel was not offended. Aul was seizing opportunity.
“Do not burden him with your worship!” Her chin was high, her shoulders pushed back. “For such love would be a prison. Instead, let him follow the path the gods have carved for him! Let him slay Sirian Ru!”
As if reacting to an unseen prompt, the crowd roared with acceptance. Their hearts were filled with sure direction. The Vaerians drew their swords and held them high above their heads, swept away with the others and more convinced now that the Agara's body sat before them.
Confidence took the place of uncertainty. They were on a path. He did not see this in the crowd, for his eyes were upon his sister. She made him feel it in his own heart.
Aul turned to him and spoke in a low voice. “Go to the palace and wash the battle from your skin. My attendants will bring you proper attire.” She put a hand to his shoulder and the gesture warmed him. “Tonight we dine in your honor, brother.”
Smiles filled all faces, and the crowd broke into smaller groups, losing the oneness they shared when Aul was speaking. A servant approached Quintel and guided him up the city street toward Aul's castle.
Chapter 31
The bath was warm. Nurturing attendants rotated in and out of the room pouring carafes of hot water into the tub, while others scrubbed him with coarse towels. Two of them were dedicated to combing out the knots in his hair. The bath reminded him of his capture by Huk when the servant women had prepared him for torture and execution. Only then his tub hadn't been hammered from silver.
Although they showed no outward signs, he sensed the servants were unnerved by his blackened hand. They could not figure out what made it that way. Its tone did not reflect that of any race and was more like the dark emptiness of the night sky. When they washed the limb, their touch was tepid and distant. They sought meaning behind the change.
The water darkened from the Thog blood and the attendants drained and refilled the tub several times before it remained clear. They dried him and dressed him in long robes of blue and silver that smelled of pine. Ornate trimmings sparkled along the lapel and sleeves of the robe. Soft boots covered his feet. They offered him a choice of necklaces and rings from the royal vaults, but he declined to wear them.
When finished, the smiling attendants led him to a large mirror to show off their efforts. There, Quintel saw his reflection and the sight made him freeze. While the attendants were trying to impress him with his elegant garments, all he saw was the entity within them. He was nothing but white light. His soul was a blazing flame. The variety and sparkling grandeur he saw in the lifelight of other humans was absent.
Mistaking his grave expression, the attendants became frightened.
“Are you angry, lord? Have we offended you with our choices?” one of them begged.
He broke from his spell. “No. I'm sorry. Tell Aul I am very pleased,” he turned and crossed the room, getting away from the mirror. “But leave me for now. I must rest.”
The servants departed, still apprehensive about his reaction. They had spent hours on the impossible task of making him presentable and had hoped to gain the man-god's praise.
Alone, Quintel settled in a cushioned chair at the far end of the room. The sight in the mirror had left him hollow. He had crossed the world with his mind and looked upon the visage of the Lover of Life; he had seen the top of the sky and the void beyond; he had glimpsed the thoughts of every human being who lived upon the world...
But he had never seen his own reflection.
He sank deeper into the plush chair. They were braided together now, he and the god. Not quite one, but inseparable. Yet he still thought of himself as Quintel. His identity was still human. The god part gave him his power, but its understanding of the world was stunted. Quintel made the decisions, he controlled the direction. But within the spirit world, his soul had been eclipsed by the greater being. The two had become grafted with Quintel being little more than a clinging tick siphoning the god's radiance for his own use. That was why the Agara judged him. That was why the Lanya feared him.
His thoughts went to the Lanya. They had treated him little better than they had the Thogs. And the leader's command not to kill Sirian Ru confused him. They were Ru's first enemy, why would they protest his goal? And how did they control the fire of their power? They were invisible upon the spirit realm. That was why Ru could not find them. How did they hide their souls?
Quintel realized the blaze of his own spirit must have been like a lighthouse on a clear night to Sirian Ru. He had to learn how the Lanya summoned such control so he could hide. Otherwise, the god would always know his location, and from that, his intent. Whether they agreed with him or not, the Lanya had to help him. He would force them if he must.
Strategically, he knew the next logical step would be to counterattack, to join the Abanshi and Vaerian armies and march straight through the Forestlands to Ru's castle. With Quintel at their lead nothing could stop them. Once they had crushed the Forestland’s weakened army, only Ru's castle remained. They would cross the earth, destroy whatever Thog holdouts remained, and Quintel would confront the god.
Then Ru would kill him instantly, knowing every weakness, every shortcoming, every blindness he possessed.
Quintel didn't even know who or what he was. Forcing his god half to fight had not been easy, and its loathing of death was still powerful. It would faint at the first drop of blood if he went into battle with the humans. What kind of fight could he deliver with such a weakness?
After tearing out the Agara’s heart, the divine splinter had surprised Quintel. Watching it — feeling it — recasting the stone into the shape of a sword was miraculous. What he thought was little more than a mindless spirit had given him a glimpse of the world of the gods. The fragment had reshaped the stone with insight that proved it was not a dumb beast. But in the end, the episode only exposed his ignorance.
He had too much to learn before fulfilling his destiny. He was not ready to face Ru.
On the other side of the castle, he sensed the feast beginning. Already intoxicated guests were taking their seats at the colossal table that filled the center of the hall. Quintel felt the attendants walking up the corridor to summon him. In a few moments, there was a knock at the door.
“Lord Quintel!” came a woman’s voice through the heavy door. “It is time for the celebration!”
Quintel followed them down the corridor to the great hall. The sounds of music, laughter and clinking dinnerware echoed off the walls. The smell of roast and wine hung in the air. Hundreds of guests were present, incl
uding the four remaining chieftains and their servants. Many had already taken their seats at the grand table, while others still milled about the room, goblets sloshing in their hands. When he entered, the band stopped playing and all the guests fell silent.
Ignoring the pause in festivity, he walked to the head of the table where Aul sat with Quarel and Ana, who both stiffened and became round eyed as he approached. Aul smiled. He saw her warmth towards him and was taken by its strength. She stood from her high-backed chair.
“Welcome, Quintel!” She held up a chalice. “Let me greet you with a toast.”
Holding the chalice high she turned to the guests at the table.
“It is in your honor we gather here this evening,” she announced in a voice that carried throughout the room “You have saved the Abanshi kingdom and perhaps all of Mankind. You have thwarted Sirian Ru's attack and single-handedly destroyed his monstrous creations. Huk's kingdom is in chaos and only one battle remains to fight.” Aul took a drink from the chalice and turned to him. “The Abanshi army is ready to march upon the Living God, but say the word!”
A roaring cheer filled the room. He did not want to tell Aul there would be no march. She deserved an explanation for his decision, and this place, with its drunken revelry and swirling circus of emotion, was not the proper location. Quintel noticed the Vaerian delegation politely applauding. He saw their light. They were still skeptical of his alleged unity with Yuul despite the fact they had examined the Agara's corpse for themselves.
“I wish to speak with them,” Quintel said nodding toward the six Vaerian delegates, ignoring Aul’s praise and fanfare. He stepped away and moved down the table. His lack of reaction to Aul's toast did not go unnoticed. An embarrassed flutter moved through the more sober members of the gathering. They could not decide if it were a blatant snub or merely a god's way of interacting with humans. A nervous mumbling rose among the guests. Aul bade the band to continue playing and the sound of flutes and drums drowned the awkward chatter.
As he approached the Vaerians, the group stood from either side of the table to show their respect. No matter what they believed, it was proper manners to honor the gods of their hosts.
“Greetings, Quintel, Thog Stacker,” the senior Vaerian general said with a bow. He was dressed in blue robes borrowed from the Abanshi. They had not been carrying attire for a celebration. “We are honored by your attention.” Quintel saw that he was more perturbed than honored. The general had also noticed Quintel’s snub of Aul's salute.
“I wish to speak with you,” Quintel said, summing each of their lives. Four of them were officers in the Vaerian Guard. Their light was predominantly red, carved from passion and courage. The other two were men of medicine or science. Their light was golden and orderly, revealing minds that saw the world in systems and pattern. “I have both questions and news for Vaer. There is a room at the end of the hall used for conference. Come with me.”
Without hesitation, the Vaerians followed him, abandoning their food and wine. The Vaerian general shot a glance back at Aul, saying with his eyes: You should come.
The side room had been converted to a storage area and was piled with open crates filled with supplies for the celebration. It wasn't as Quintel remembered, but it would do.
“First I must tell you news of Siyer Salot,” Quintel began.
He saw them search their memories. “I do not know this name,” the general said. “It sounds Vaerian. Should we know him?”
Quintel was surprised by their ignorance. Were minions so common they could not be sorted and remembered? Was the last servant of Yuul anonymous to his people?
“He was the final minion of Yuul,” Quintel said. “He lived twenty years as Huk's prisoner. He guided me to the top of God's Finger where I united with Yuul. Three days ago, he died at the hand of the Demonthane trying to warn his people of the coming attack.”
The Vaerians were silent. Quintel felt they were uncomfortable with his words. Especially with the topic of Yuul. They did not want to talk about Yuul. All shuffled and looked down, except for the youngest of the group, a lieutenant who stood by the door. He alone, showed some flash of understanding.
“We are sorry about your friend,” the general said after measuring his words carefully. “Siyer Salot is not known to us, but we appreciate his sacrifice. As for the god, worship of Yuul has not been common in Vaer for a very long time. We know very little of the deity, besides what we learned in childhood nursery rhymes.”
Quintel looked at each man in depth. The stories of their lives rolled before him like spilled scrolls. They were good men, although each had his sins, but the one that held Quintel's attention was the young lieutenant. The others thought Quintel was some kind of enchanted fanatic, another minion perhaps, but the lieutenant suspected more. Something in his upbringing told him Quintel was speaking the truth.
Quintel was not angry by their ignorance. The Abanshi had abandoned the gods long before he had been born. They had developed a solid distrust of such entities during their struggle with Sirian Ru. He could not expect more from the Vaerians. There was no reason for them to believe him, or celebrate his story if they did. He did not care. What he wanted was information.
“I know of these things,” the lieutenant said after a long silence. “My grandfather was a follower of Yuul for many years in his youth. He told me of the minions when I was a child. He said....”
The door opened. It was Aul.
“I cannot have secret meetings in the closets of my own castle,” she said, shutting the door behind her. Out of her armor and dressed in festive attire appropriate for her sex, Quintel noticed that his sister was beautiful, a fact which had escaped his attention before.
“My apologies, Queen Sister,” Quintel said with a slight bow. “My social skills are crude. I should have invited you to attend. Much of what I have to discuss affects you.” Quintel turned toward the lieutenant. “Continue. What did your grandfather tell you?”
The lieutenant looked to his countrymen for guidance. He was afraid his story might not be what their Abanshi hosts wanted to hear. The senior officers only gave him looks of expectation now that he had begun to speak.
“He said... he said the minions of Yuul had been misled by the deity,” the lieutenant didn't want to say anymore, but continued knowing he had no choice. “He said they had prophesied the coming war between the gods for centuries, but nothing ever came of it. He told me Yuul was too weak to help us in this world... and if the god ever succeeded... it would just enslave us as Sirian Ru had.”
Quintel digested the words. His gaze fell to the floor. The story was a logical assessment of what had come before him. It meant that even the Vaerians wandered in the darkness. They knew nothing. He was alone.
“Are there no priests left that know of Yuul's power?” he asked the room, his voice tight with frustration. “Is there anyone alive that can tell me how to channel this might? Is there anyone in your land who can give me guidance on what I should do next?”
Silence smothered the small room. Aul and the Vaerians stared at him, but their eyes were not full of awe. Pity and fear dominated their souls in varying degrees. His uncertainty troubled all of them.
“Perhaps we can contact the Lanya,” Aul offered. “They have knowledge of the gods. We can assure them you are an ally. Perhaps they can tell you what you need to know.”
“The Lanya?” exclaimed one of the Vaerians. “Have they returned?”
“They have,” Quintel said. “Their leader insisted that I should not kill Sirian Ru. They bound me with chains that moved as if alive.”
The Vaerians all traded looks at the news.
“There was a moment of confusion between them,” Aul said to her Vaerian allies. “I haven't sorted through all the testimony. I will share with you what I know soon.”
More and more, Quintel believed the Lanya saw something in him he did not see himself. They were alive when the schism with Sirian Ru was formed. They knew the ways
of the gods and their minions. They knew all of history and what came before it. He feared their reaction to him was not a misunderstanding, but a genuine fear of his existence.
Quintel shook his head and smiled a joyless smile.
“The Lanya may help me, but not with this,” he said.
Aul crossed the room and placed her hands on his shoulders. She met his eyes and held them without fear. He saw her desire to continue the war, to join the Vaerians and crush their enemies. She knew this was the moment humanity had awaited. She knew where she stood in history and what needed to be done. Her desire to kill Sirian Ru was even stronger than his own. She wanted to strike now. She was an Abanshi queen.
“Do not waver from your goal, Quintel,” she said with a command that caused the Vaerians to stand taller. “Winter is to the south. It will be upon us soon. We must act decisively while we have the advantage. You are not alone. You do not carry this burden by yourself. Our people have suffered under Ru's shadow for too long. If Yuul sent you to destroy the Living God, then you must fulfill your destiny and free the world.”
The Vaerian general stepped beside Aul.
“Thirty thousand Vaerian Guard stand ready to march with the Abanshi,” he said to Quintel. “We have brought powerful weapons that can kill the Thogs -- technologies from the Pastworld capable of tremendous destruction. We are also behind you.”
Quintel backed away from them. Their words were inspiring, courageous, noble and suicidal. He was not ready to face the god, no matter what opportunity opened before them. All the courage in the world could not change that.
“You do not understand,” he said to them. “There is too much yet revealed. I have seen myself and know that I am not ready to battle the god.”
Aul reached out and gently touched his arm.