The Weight of a Crown (The Azhaion Saga Book 1)

by Kaeden, Tavish

  Swiftly, she moved behind him, and reached up to gently knead his shoulders. The feeling of her deft hands working his taught muscles was achingly good, and Bokrham let out a low groan.

  "My, you are full of tension," she exclaimed. "I have some oils in my chambers, and given a few hours I could…"

  "Enough," said Bokrham, reluctantly shrugging her hands from his shoulders. "You patronize me."

  "Never, my Lord!" cried Thilanea.

  "Listen," said Bokrham, his rage beginning to ebb. "I have had a long day. I need some rest, and I need to be alone. You know that I value your counsel, but I simply cannot handle anything more until I have had time to recover my energy and think. Please, leave me now."

  Thilanea nodded, but there was something in her eyes that surprised Bokrham. Hurt? Pity? He could not tell. As soon as he heard the door close behind Thilanea, he stretched himself out on his bed, and fell asleep before his eyes even had time to close.

  Chapter 15: Nicolas

  "It has been several weeks now, I think you are ready to try on your own," said Jorj. His once smooth head and face were now covered in bristly stubble, and instead of white robes he wore breeches and a simple leather vest which hung loosely off his shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed by dark circles, and his skin a shade paler than usual. But haggard as he was, Jorj still looked immeasurably better than Nicolas. Sometimes in the half-delirium that often followed a fit of tremors, Nicolas felt that there was not an inch of his body that would not make him wince if he attempted to move it. With every passing day his seizures seemed to become more intense and last for longer periods. Since they had set up camp in the remote foothills of Creko's Isle, every day, and most evenings, had been an excruciating ordeal. He still didn't know how much of Jorj's stories he believed, but he was fairly certain that at least two things were true. He believed Jorj's stories about his sickly childhood. Nicolas could tell by the way Jorj seemed to know exactly how he was feeling that the man must have once had the same experience himself. And because Jorj undoubtedly knew what was going on inside Nicolas' body, Nicolas also had to believe that without Jorj's help, he would probably die—though he wasn't quite sure that even with Jorj, living would be a possibility.

  Almost every free moment between Nicolas' tremors was filled with one of Jorj's lessons. Jorj had made it very clear that Nicolas was not learning how to control the säel, rather he was learning to avoid its influence entirely. The lessons were an exercise in survival, nothing more. As far as Nicolas could tell, he had to learn how to split his mind in two. In order to resist his seizures, he had to learn to separate those conscious thoughts which guided the movement of his limbs from the more primal and basic impulses which actually made his body mobilize.

  "You can think 'I must lift my arm' as hard as you like," said Jorj, "and still your arm will not move. That is what I call 'xhana,' the Sarisqisa word for 'thought.' 'Kos,' the word for 'act' is what I use to describe when your mind actually commands the bones in your arm to move. Consider for a moment, the two are not the same. Kos is why your eyes blink, your lungs breathe, and your heart beats. Xhana is why you can swim, dance, or fight. You must learn to distinguish between the two, and become master of both. Only then can you avoid being swept away when the säel enters you and makes your body tremble."

  At first the task seemed an impossible one. For hours Nicolas would sit on a patch of grass feeling tired, hungry, and sullen while trying to wrestle with the "flow of thoughts" which controlled his body. Sometimes he thought that he had found something; that he could almost identify a subtle difference between the way he wiggled his fingers and the steady beating of his heart. Yet, every time a prickling of his skin foretold another fit of tremors, he was unable to resist as the säel rushed through him, dashing all thoughts from his head and causing his limbs to flail helplessly.

  As the days wore on, however, the tremors became different. During one particularly long and violent episode, images of his mother, lying abed looking thin and feverish had flashed in his head. He had heard her voice, asking him to promise to be a good lad and work hard for Gleydon when she was gone, and telling him never to forget how much his mother loved him. As muddled and vague as the memory was, it had brought tears to his eyes and he soon was crying as if he was once again only a boy of six—sobbing uncontrollably and begging his mother not to go, not to leave him alone. He had recoiled in horror as he saw his mother begin to cough, sending specks of bright red blood into her ghostly hands. The wheezing of her breath had echoed in his ears until he had to scream to drown it out.

  He had felt half-dead himself after he had regained consciousness from that terrible fit. When he had drunk some tea and managed to sleep for a few hours, he awoke and told Jorj of his dream. To his surprise, the little man smiled.

  "I am much relieved. I had begun to fear the worst, but there is yet hope for you."

  "Hope?" asked Nicolas weakly. "I feel more awful than I think I have ever felt in my life."

  "Yes, but you have made progress," said Jorj, his blood-shot eyes glowing eerily from his haggard and unshaven face. "You have made a connection. Think back, boy, can you ever remember being able to recall the dreams that accompany your fits?"

  "No," realized Nicolas. "My mind always seemed to disappear when the tremors were upon me."

  "No longer," promised Jorj. "You now realize that your body is not acting alone. There is a substance to the shakings which so often commandeer your limbs. Now you must listen to me very carefully—for if you are able to complete this next step you will yet live to see, I think, many more years. When the next fit is upon you a great surge of emotions will well up inside you. Do not let it overwhelm you; do not forget that they are only thoughts and that thoughts alone do not have the power to move your body. Let go of your xhana, and cling to your kos with all your will.

  "But how?" asked Nicolas, "I can't just ignore my feelings."

  "It is extremely difficult, and those who try rarely ever succeed," conceded Xasho. "But you are in a unique position, one that might help you succeed where others fail."

  "What's that?"

  "If you cannot do this…if you cannot temporarily divorce yourself from the flow of thoughts that arrest you—you will die," said Jorj simply. "Few others can claim so potent a motivation."

  And so, for another day Nicolas spent his time sitting in the forest while he waited for the next episode of tremors to come. He was staring into a patch of clover which Jorj had just vacated, marveling at how the tiny green stalks slowly began to straighten, and the leaves fan out, when he felt his skin prickle, and his temples begin to throb.

  As the delirium stole upon him, he found himself in his old home again, a cold breeze blowing through the windows which were kept open to dispel any humors than might worsen his mother's condition. She lay motionless under a mountain of blankets, her face the color of alabaster, except for her cheeks which glowed a bright red. Her pale gray eyes were distant, and her breath came shallow and ragged. Nicolas felt a chord of sadness beginning to hum inside of him, but then he noticed that his mother was not alone. A shadowy figure stood at the foot of her bed, hovering over her dying form. Nicolas did not know why, but he was sure that the figure was his father—a shifting uncertain darkness which haunted the corners of Nicolas' mind. Slowly, the sadness that was building inside of him soured and he felt a hot anger seep into his thoughts. Betrayal, indignation, and bitterness flared in his belly, eating at his insides like some great parasite within him.

  "Where were you?" he cried out in a voiced filled with venomous accusation. "How could you just let her die like that? How could you just leave her alone? Why…how could you leave me? Look at me now, I'm sick too! And once again, you aren't here. Will you have me die just like mother, alone and scared? Drunk! Coward!"

  Nicolas felt his fists clench and muscles fire rapidly throughout his body as a great anger began to make him shake. He felt his body begin to surrender to the coursing rage that now e
nveloped him, but somewhere in the back of his mind he resisted. He grappled with the säel inside of him, but though he attempted to stem the spreading fire within himself, nothing he tried seemed to have any effect. It was as if a raging inferno was rapidly consuming his insides, expanding inexorably until he felt as though he had swallowed the sun and was about to explode. Desperately, he sought for some way to push it from him, to divorce himself from the tempest of feelings that raged inside him. Still, nothing happened. Frustrated and exhausted, Nicolas was about to give up, about to let go of his mind so he could escape the burning pain inside his body, when he noticed something odd on the edge of his perception. Faint, but real, it was tiny, yet cool and placid, unaffected by the heat roaring inside of him. In desperation he reached out to it with his mind, tried to connect with it somehow—and then, all of a sudden something clicked. It was as if a floodgate had been opened; the fire within Nicolas went roaring through the tiny channel, out of him and into something else. The pressure inside Nicolas started to ease, and though it did not abate completely, it no longer seemed about to burst from his skin. Exhausted, but still conscious, Nicolas let himself sink into a weary sleep, though not before he heard a howl of pain erupt from someone, somewhere in the distance.

  When he woke it was dark and Jorj was stoking a small cook-fire. He must have caught some small animal, for on a spit above the fire was a chunk of meat cooking with a pleasant sizzle. The smell made Nicolas' mouth water, and for the first time in a long while he found himself hungry for a decent meal.

  "When is supper?" he rasped.

  "Ah! You are awake," said Jorj. "You have succeeded in quelling a tremor, have you not? Tell me, do you feel better?"

  "I feel hungry," said Nicolas.

  "That is a good sign. It means that your body is no longer feeling quite so sick, and it seeks nourishment to begin healing."

  "What did you catch?" asked Nicolas. He was curious. Jorj had always gathered fruits, nuts, and vegetables for them to eat. Occasionally, when Nicolas felt too weak or sick to get anything down Jorj would stew some tubers, but never before had he found some animal to eat.

  "A better question might be, what caught me?" said Jorj as he pointed to his leg. Nicolas could see that the leg had been bandaged recently, and a hint of red could still be seen beneath the white strips of cloth.

  "I have never seen such a vicious little creature," continued Jorj. "It came running out of a nearby bush and made straight for my leg. Then it bit me—attacked me like I was trying to steal its young."

  "What kind of creature was it?"

  "A rabbit."

  "A rabbit?" said Nicolas incredulously. He started to laugh but the many aches and pains this produced in his body soon changed his mirth into a string of cursing and wincing. "You must be mistaken. A rabbit wouldn't just attack without being provoked. It must have been something else."

  "A little furry thing, with big feet for hopping and strangely long ears?" said Jorj. "I suppose they are given different names in different places, but I thought those raised in the language of the Church generally call such creatures a rabbit."

  "They do," said Nicolas, eying the roasting meat suspiciously. Now that he looked closely, it did seem to look like a rabbit. "But I've never known one to act like that before."

  "Well," said Jorj with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I have had my vengeance as you see, though in truth the little beast seemed already half-dead once I managed to pull it off of me. In any case, we shall dine well tonight!"

  Chapter 16: Jeina

  The voice that issued from Laiti's throat was choked and raspy, as if she were speaking for the first time after years of silence. Had there been any other noise in the tunnels, Jeina would not have been able to catch what Laiti—or rather the gröljum—was saying, but all Tobin's men were utterly silent as they gazed at the scene before them.

  "Mans…" the voice croaked out of Laiti's mouth, "Mans…make…us…free."

  "What is it saying?" Tobin asked Isic, "What does it want?"

  The smith took a step closer to the creature. The gröljum seemed to flinch, and struggled slightly in its eerie black bonds.

  "Mans…not…hurt…us. Mans…metal…it…it is…it is pain! Makes…us…not…us! Make…us…free?"

  Slowly Laiti's hand lifted into the air and swung towards the chains that bound the gröljum.

  "I think it wants us to take off the chains," observed Isic.

  "Ha!" Tobin laughed nervously. "And let it try to claw us to death, or crawl away into the darkness? The creature does not credit us with much intelligence."

  The smith stood still for a few moments staring at the creature. His head was cocked to the side and he seemed to be puzzling over something.

  "Fascinating," he said at last. "Is it not incredible that in just a few minutes time, the creature has been able to pick the words from the girl's brain in order to communicate with us? I wonder what it means…"

  Suddenly, a word burst from Laiti's throat. "Alone! Alone!" Then, the creature itself began to emit a high-pitched whine that sounded like a dog just kicked in the belly. It struggled violently against the chains that bound it, and Laiti's body started to sway unsteadily.

  Without warning, Isic stepped up to the creature. The gröljum's shrieks intensified and it began to kick wildly. Laiti's body went slack and crumpled to the floor. Instead of reaching for the creature, however, Isic reached for the chain around its body. Swiftly he unlocked one of the locks that bound the ends of the chain together, reached around the creature, and removed one of the coils which held the gröljum captive. Immediately the gröljum stopped struggling, and craned its head towards Isic inquisitively.

  "What are you doing?" yelled Tobin, his eyes wide with fear, "Stop!"

  A hint of animation returned to Laiti's body, and once again a raspy voice drifted up from the floor of the cave.

  "Yes…more…more free?"

  "Rekon's blood, man!" yelled Tobin again. "Have you gone mad? Don't let it free, I command it!"

  "Your majesty," said the smith, "remember why we came. You need these gröljum to fight. We can chain them up, we can mute their powers, but then they will be useless to us. We must find a way to reason with this creature."

  "Reason?" asked Tobin, shocked. "You think a thing like that can possess any sort of reason?"

  "Even a mountain wolf can be taught reason," replied the smith, "and unlike this creature, wolves cannot speak in our tongue."

  "I'm warning you, Isic, if that thing breaks free and gets anywhere near me…I'll have your head."

  "Understood," said the smith, and before Tobin could say anything else he turned to the creature.

  "We do not want to make you hurt," he said slowly, and uncoiled another length of chain from the creature's body. "Understand?"

  "More…free," said the creature. "More free…free not hurt…free not…alone."

  Isic removed another coil before reaching into a pouch that hung at his waist and drawing out a small wineskin. As soon as the skin left the pouch, the creature perked up and began to sniff the air with its elongated snout. Laiti's body stirred, and she climbed awkwardly into a sitting position near the feet of the gröljum. The smith turned the skin over, and squeezed a few drops of the red liquid within onto the ground in front of the gröljum.

  "You like this, yes?" asked Isic.

  The creature's long and thin tongue flicked in and out of its jaws and it replied, "Yes…smell…yes…taste…taste…yes…like."

  The smith looked meaningfully over at Tobin, took a deep breath, and said, "You want this? You want free?"

  "Yes," the creature said, starting to sway excitedly. "Yes want! Want warm…wet…taste."

  "Ah, so they like their blood fresh," noted Isic.

  "Not surprising," said Tobin. "But enough of what it wants, tell the thing what we want!"

  A hint of annoyance flashed across the smith's face, but he turned his attention to the gröljum again.

  "We
want too," said Isic. In one hand he rattled the chains he held, and in the other he waived the skin filled with blood. "You give us what we want. We give you free, and we give you this. Lots of this."

  The creature paused its swaying, and its head swiveled around confusedly.

  "We have come to make a…bargain," said Isic, pronouncing the last word carefully and clearly.

  Jeina could see Laiti's eyes flicking back and forth rapidly, and the creature's head continue to swivel for a long moment. Finally it said, "Bargain…we want free…we want drink wet and warm…you want…you want…"

  "We want your help," finished Isic. "Do you understand 'help'?"

  The creature seemed to consider.

  "More free," it said. "More free…now, no more alone."

  "Damn it!" cursed Tobin. "This is going nowhere. What the hell does it mean 'alone'? It's hardly alone, is it? I mean, it has got it's whatever halfway into the girl's skull, and more than a score of men around it—how could it be alone?"

  The smith paid Tobin little attention, however, and continued.

  "If we give you more free, you will not go away—and you will not hurt us."

  The gröljum gave a small whine.

  "If you will not promise to stay and not harm us, we will not let you go free…ever," said Isic sternly.

  The creature snorted, then hung its head. "Yes…yes will stay…not hurt."

  "Is that a promise?" asked Isic

  "Yes…yes promise."

  The smith began to unwind the remaining coils which held the gröljum in place.

  "You are going to believe that thing?" cried Tobin incredulously, taking a few steps toward the exit of the cavern. A few of the men made similar movements away from the creature, and almost all slid their hands to the hilts of their weapons.

  The gröljum began to sway excitedly again as it was freed, and when the last of the glowing links came off its body, it gave a squeal of glee and shook itself like a dog emerging from a lake.