by Matthew Wolf
“I’m fine Enise. It was my fault.”
“No no, it’s mine, I know I shouldn’t read and walk, Ali—err, Reaver Aliye always yells at me for it.” Enise fell to her knees, gathering up the fallen volumes.
Vera knelt at her side and helped, noticing the faded gold titles. The Last Reliquaries of Tremwar. Accounts of the Final Battles of the Kimon. Tales of the Great Schism. The Battle of Gal, Letters of a General. The Kyomen Wars, and a dictionary on Yorin, the old tongue. “Quite the collection. Brushing up on your history?”
Enise blushed nervously. “Just a little reading. Ethelwin—I mean, Reaver Ethelwin lectured briefly on the betrayal and how they destroyed the world. She explained their heresy, but even as a girl I knew of their betrayal. Yet even back then I felt something was missing, but it was smaller, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. Then yesterday, during Ethelwin’s speech, I felt the itch grow. And I knew something was truly wrong with the stories.”
“You’re talking about the Ronin,” Vera said.
Enise’s gaze flickered to either end of the hall. “Vera! You can’t say that name.”
“I’ve gotten in enough trouble today, what else can they do?”
“They’ll hang you. You know that.”
“No one will hear,” she said. “Have you found anything yet?”
The girl sighed. “Not yet. Just the same history we all know. It’s strange, but it seems as if even these old things are missing pieces.” Enise shook her head as if coming to her senses. “I really shouldn’t be talking of this. Wait, why were you in such a hurry?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Vera glanced upward.
“You passed!” Enise exclaimed. “Congratulations! When are the ceremonies? Are you going to—”
Vera wasn’t listening as two Devari passed, moving with deadly grace. Where many men dared to eye her slender form and perfect curves, the Devari’s attention never wavered, eyes on their destination. She looked back. Enise was still talking. “Enise,” she interrupted, “if you see Kirin, can you tell him I’m looking for him? I’ll be in my room if he asks.” She thrust the books into the girl’s arms and left her kneeling wide-eyed.
She moved through the halls until she reached the grand antechamber of the Neophyte Palace. Hundreds of Neophytes swarmed the broad floor, rushing to chores or lectures. In the center of the room was a grand staircase, each step large enough for a small house to sit comfortably upon.
Feeling too exposed, Vera took the staircase swiftly. Above was a dome with a series of large windows. Between each window were huge portraits of the Arbiters. Only five Arbiters had ever been born, and each lived for thousands of years. It was said their lifespan was due to the power of the spark they held, for the weakest Arbiter was stronger than a hundred Reavers working together with a link. The thought of such power made her knees weak and she glanced to the painting of the man in grand flowing robes of gold and white. The Patriarch. He was the oldest and strongest of all the Arbiters and Guardian of the Citadel. There had only ever been one Arbiter to hold the mantle of Patriarch in all time. The man was a legend.
Suddenly she spotted a familiar face. Evalyn, tall, buxom, and never two steps away from her pet Rosalyn. She hated Evalyn. The girl was admittedly beautiful, and powerful too, but she viewed others like pieces in a game of Cyn, sacrificing Followers to get to the Mark. Not to mention, Evalyn had an obvious taste for Kirin, which put a sour taste in Vera’s mouth. So she was glad to see Evalyn turn the corner towards the courtyards.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she took a crowded hallway when a presence ripped her breath from her lungs. At the end of the hall, a tall man walked briskly towards her. All others in the crowded corridor seemed to disappear. Despite his simple brown robes and gray cape with a flaring collar, he filled the corridor with his presence. His eyes fell on her. Despite all her confidence and power, in that moment, Vera felt like a shriveled weed beneath his foot.
Arbiter Ezrah.
What is he doing down here? Arbiters kept to themselves, rarely seen beyond the restricted upper halls of the Citadel where great magic resided.
Ezrah passed, lips moving soundlessly. Something touched her. Vera felt a chill as if dunked in ice water. Suddenly, the tolling of bells was absent. There was only silence and Ezrah’s quiet mumbling. A spell… she realized. Ezrah quickly passed, taking the bubble of silence with him as he turned the corner. She took a breath and the others in the hall came back into her awareness. Neophytes and Reavers whispered in fear and awe at having seen an Arbiter.
She left them, knowing what awaited her.
Today, Vera would unlock the sword’s true power. Today, she would surpass the limits of a mere Reaver.
A Night to Remember
STILL MOVING, KIRIN HIT THE GROUND. Instinctively, he tucked and rolled on the hard dirt. He came to a stop and his stomach churned, the world spinning.
The ramparts were gone, as if evaporated. The stone was now replaced with hard earth, and he felt bits of gravel between his nails. On his left, a stone’s throw away, a group of girls in gray dresses sat on a grassy knoll shaded by old silveroot trees. The trees’ glossy bark glistened like a fish’s scaled belly. They listened attentively to an older woman in scarlet robes, who wove luminescent green strands of nature between her hands like a seamstress—as she did, a silveroot’s nearest branch miraculously lengthened, bending to touch her outstretched palm. Elsewhere, groups of women roved the grounds, conversing lightly, ignoring his sudden appearance in the middle of the courtyard. To his left, near a stack of barrels, a pair of older Neophytes trained, tossing a large flame steadily between the two.
He recognized it as one of the four courtyards of the Neophyte Palace, where female Neophytes trained. The Palace itself loomed nearby.
“I didn’t know there was a transporter there,” he told Ren who stood calmly in the center of the courtyard.
Ren shrugged. “I had to do something. That was quite the move. I doubt I would have evaded it. You moved like the wind.”
“Not fast enough, but I guess I’ll accept the fact that you had to cheat.”
Ren gave a burly chuckle. “Speaking of moving like the wind, for a moment there, I thought you weren’t moving, but shifting. While the transporters were developed by a hundred Reavers using the Link, it is nothing compared to the Ronin’s abilities. The Ronin could teleport at will, and not just to one designated area like a transporter, but anywhere. They called it shifting. Quite the ability.”
Kirin scratched his head. “That’d make sense if I could harness the spark more than a trickle, Ren. A rock has as much natural ability as I do.”
“No. A rock can probably harness more of the spark than you.”
“Thanks.”
“… but you, Kirin, have raw ability.”
“With the sword, maybe,” he replied. The man said nothing. “I’ve been tested, Ren. Dozens of times, remember?”
Ren shrugged. “The tests have been wrong before.”
He narrowed his eyes when he heard a voice call out his name. From the grand arched entry that led into the Palace, Enise, his young friend with a startled fray of white-blond hair, charged down the wide steps.
Enise approached. “Kirin—”
He steadied the girl with a hand. “It’s all right, slow down. What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Listen!” Enise put a hand to her ear.
The sounds of the bells hit him like a hammer’s blow. “She passed!” He grabbed Enise’s hands and danced in a circle, sending her into a fit of laughter. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “The youngest Reaver in all of history.” And he felt as if those bells chimed for both of them, for he never thought he would live to see this day.
Looking back, he vividly remembered passing through the giant black gates of the Citadel as an orphan. Tired, hungry and on the verge of death, he had entered a world he had always f
eared. A place rumored to be full of the most powerful wielders of the spark, behind cloud-scraping black walls. He could still remember the feel of his pounding heart as he took in the Citadel. It gleamed like a vast gem of obsidian, the red-robed men and women demanding respect just short of kings. Since then, he had been tested in every way to get to where he stood now, and those chiming bells were a testament to their triumph.
“She wants to see you,” Enise said.
He turned to Ren. “Master, I know I’m training, but…”
The man laughed and waved him away. “I’m done with you for now. The girl is waiting. Go to the Oval Hall and celebrate, and tell her congratulations from me.”
“She’s not in the Oval Hall,” Enise said. “She left.”
“Wait, she’s not staying for the ceremonies?” He knew Vera wasn’t one for fanfare, but this was the Trials! She had been dreaming of this moment since they were big enough to don the smallest of gray robes. “Why?”
Enise shrugged. “All I know is she was headed for her rooms in a hurry.”
“Then to her rooms I go. Rekdala Forhas,” he spoke solemnly.
“Till honor and death my friend,” Ren mirrored.
“Will I see you at the Patriarch’s meeting?”
Ren rubbed his jaw. “You will. He wants me there, as well as the Commander of the Citadel Guard, and all other Captains, though I’m not sure why.” He shook the oddity off. “Until tonight then.”
“Until then.” Kirin ran out of the courtyard and vaulted up the stairs. Halfway up the marble steps, he brushed the shoulder of a girl fast approaching from the other way, and a flush of fear flashed through him. He nearly stumbled with the sudden disturbance to his Ki. A dark feeling pressed against his heart as the midday torches along the walls sputtered. He looked back, but the girl had disappeared.
Ahead, something was coming.
* * *
The Palace was vaulted and filled with skylights that let in shafts of morning light. Women walked quietly among hundreds of shallow pools, weaving through a sea of ivory pillars. Hundreds knelt in prayer.
Kirin turned the corner and a woman stood before him. He was two-hands taller than her, but somehow he felt the shorter of the two. Evalyn’s chest heaved from running. He admitted it was not an unattractive sight in the least. She was well built, with slender shoulders, a slim waist, and a pretty face. The problem was she knew it all too well.
“Hello to you too, Kirin,” she said with an arrogant twist to her lips.
“Morning,” he said, and turned to the girl tucked behind the woman, “Morning Rosyaln.” Rosyaln was pretty and smart. Sadly, she was Evalyn’s shadow. Rosyaln smiled in return. Evalyn looked behind, and the girl’s smile became a frown. Kirin sighed. “I don’t have time for you this morning, Evalyn. I’d love to stay and chat, but if you’ll excuse me I was just on my way…”
“To see Vera,” Evayln interjected. “I heard there was an accident, do you know what happened?”
“An accident?”
“That’s what I heard. I do hope she is all right,” Evalyn said then lowered her voice to a whisper, “I even heard that someone was desiccated in the process…”
A flush of fear shot through him. “Was it Vera?” Kirin strode forward and gripped Evalyn’s arm.
The girl looked taken aback, her bravado gone. “I’m—I’m not certain. I only heard someone was,” she said, and then winced. “Kirin, you’re hurting me.” He let go and moved around her, sprinting through the halls. He prayed it wasn’t Vera. What would Vera do? She always said she couldn’t live without her power… He knew it wasn’t an idle threat. Reaching his room, his senses flared. He touched the door’s warm handle. It sent a tremor up his arm. Then, as quickly as it came it was gone. Without a second thought, he opened it.
He froze.
Black tentacles hung in the air.
Then he saw her.
Vera knelt in the center of the room, hunched as if hurt. From her back, the darkness expanded, unfurling like black wings. Kirin’s grip tightened on the door’s handle and he moved to free her when his Ki shouted in warning. As the dark feelers slithered over the walls, one of the black tentacles touched a nearby dresser and it snapped like dry tinder.
Kirin’s mind reeled. Suddenly, a frigid numbness shot through his body. He looked to his feet. An inky darkness pooled around his boots. His limbs refused to move as the darkness crawled over him. He pulled, but the darkness only slithered faster. It clawed higher, touching his thigh, reaching out like liquid hands. He opened his mind, picturing the leaf, and as he had been trained, he threw his rising fear into the floating leaf. He took a slow, heavy step. One leg at a time, he pushed forward as the dark hands crawled higher, until he reached Vera.
Her skin was pale. Green and blue veins spidered across her features. More veins pulsed in her slender neck like thick, tangled roots. She’s still alive. He held onto the thought like a drowning man. Quelling his terror, he grabbed Vera. Then he saw it. A blade protruded from her back, buried to its hilt within her stomach. His fingers clenched on her robes, and he gagged as warm blood poured over his hands. He touched the sword and pain shot through his arm, bursting inside his skull. His vision went black. But he held on, pulling the sword from her gut. Vera let out a gurgled cough. At the same time, he felt the darkness reach his torso. His vision cleared and he saw the dark tentacles now engulfed the room.
Voices sounded and the door blew open. Five men entered. Two wore shining plate—palace guards—and the other three wore dark brown leather and black mail. Devari, his brothers. Then he saw Ren. The man stood in the doorway, eyes wide, and sword raised. He realized every blade was directed at him. Glancing to the sword in his own hand, covered in Vera’s blood, he put the two together. “It wasn’t me!” He looked to his master. “Ren, you have to believe me!”
In the air, the tendrils wavered like a black snake waiting to strike.
“I believe you, Kirin, now put down your sword and drop the girl.”
“Ren, please, she’s dying, you have to help!” he pleaded, raising the frail body in his arms. In his hand, the sword seethed, as if eating at the light in the already dark room.
Ren’s expression narrowed. “We will, but first you must drop the sword! Don’t you see? Whatever is attached to you and killing Vera stems from that blade. Drop it and we will save Vera.” But something felt off to Kirin. The words and the world around seemed fuzzy, as if he was seeing it all through another’s eyes, and in his gut, something burned like a fire.
He looked down as Vera’s breathing slowed and then stopped. “No…” Something came over him. It flowed from the sword and into him, dark and powerful, plying him with promises. A dark mantle fell upon him, and when he looked up, rage consumed his vision. “Why didn’t you help her?” The sword tightened in his grip, and he felt the dark tentacles. He rose to his full height, holding Vera in one arm. The black tendrils that filled the room now sprouted from his back like dark wings.
Upon the ground, the darkness slithered. It neared a guard’s boot. Kirin tried to open his mouth, to yell in warning, but nothing came out. The guard shrieked and fell to his knees. The other palace guard watched, torn between his friend’s cries and the sword directed at him. His wild eyes settled on Kirin. The man charged with a fierce cry. The darkness was faster. The dark wings from his back lunged like lightning, perforating the man’s head with a fist-sized hole. Then it lifted the guard from the ground like a sack of flour, and flung him to the wall with a sickening thud.
Ren stepped forward, ignoring the pooling darkness. Kirin flinched, something begged the man to stop, to go no further, but his voice was robbed from his throat. “Stop this madness, Kirin!” Ren called. “I know you’re in there!”
Kirin railed, hearing the man’s voice. Ren took another step, and the dark feelers lifted, coiling. Ren raised his sword and Kirin cried out, but his voice was swallowed—it was no use.
He was lost.
* * *
The other palace guard let loose a chilling cry behind Ren.
Ren pivoted. A dark pool had gathered at the man’s feet, crawling over his legs and torso, dragging him down. Forgha grabbed the man’s outstretched arm, the only thing not seething in liquid darkness. Ren watched, but knew already. The darkness had the man. The guard’s grip tightened, screaming for Forgha to hold on, and Ren watched as Forgha strained, groaning as his muscles bunched and knotted, but soon the crawling darkness spread over the arm. Forgha snapped his hand away and just in time, as the darkness encased the guard’s head, snuffing his cries. A deathly quiet returned to the room once more. Ren gave a shiver as he turned his attention to the threat before them.
He spoke softly, “This thing, whatever it is, cannot be fought.” Ren saw no other way, and he could barely say the words. “We must kill the source.”
“How do we get to it?” Mearus asked, sizing the creature that was Kirin.
“You two must distract it. Do not endanger yourselves—merely pull its attention. I will get inside.”
“I’ll go left,” Forgha stated.
Mearus nodded, grip tightening on his curved sword.
“Get to the farthest sides of the room,” Ren instructed, “it will buy you time. Go. Now!”
At his command, the two men moved like stalking wolves, strafing to Kirin’s flanks, all the while watching the living, moving feelers that were suspended in the air, crawling over the stone and consuming the room.
Abruptly, the heavy glass window behind Kirin burst. Instantly, the wing-like feelers on Kirin’s right burst forward with astonishing speed, diving for Mearus. The man dodged, rolling to the left, and the arms smashed through a pile of furniture, raising a shower of splinters. At the same time, more tentacles shot towards Forgha’s head. He lashed at the darkened limb, cutting it in two. The two halves fell and Ren watched as they writhed upon the ground. Confidence stirred in him.