Primeval Origins: Light of Honor (Book 2 in the Primeval Origins Epic Saga)

by Brett Vonsik

  Rogaan felt relieved being outside the wagon jail, though he intended to conceal his regretful feelings and desire to help the Baraan who still drew breath. One of the Tusaa’Ner guardsmen tossed a carry-cot at Pax’s feet, then grunted orders to pile the bodies on it. Rogaan and Pax complied, though Rogaan wondered at the guardsmen’s intent as they showed no sign of concern for the old and defenseless Baraan. Rogaan soon found himself at the front of the carry-cot weighted by the two Baraans piled one on top of the other, the one still alive on the bottom. Pax carried the other end of the cot, struggling with the load by the way the carry-cot jerked in Rogaan’s hands. The shackles on Rogaan limited the size of his steps, making their pace to the bridge slow as he heard Pax starting to breathe hard halfway to the timber structure. Heavily armed guardsmen with spear and sword flanked them, three to a side, ensuring they could not flee; at least not too easily. They growled and barked commands at Pax mostly, but Rogaan too caught some of their attention that he’d rather not have gotten. With each bark, Rogaan found himself gritting his teeth harder and harder, to the point he thought his teeth might crack if he was to hold his tongue and fist. Worse, he felt as if Kantus taunted him and he was bound by his word to not respond. When Rogaan set foot on the bridge, he began wondering what the guardsmen planned.

  “Halt!” The sakal commanded. Two spears dropped crossed in front of Rogaan so close he feared they were to hit him. The sakal continued barking orders, “Set the carry-cot down and toss the bodies off the bridge.”

  Rogaan gaped at the sakal guardsman in disbelief at what he demanded. One of the old Baraans on the carry-cot still drew breath and would die from the fall. If, by a cruel chance, he lived, the snapjaws below would certainly tear him apart. Either way, the helpless old Baraan would die by their hands . . . by his hands. Rogaan looked to Pax for agreement they would not be part of killing the old Baraan. Pax was not as strong in chest and shoulders as Rogaan and stood straining at the weight he held in his hands while staring back at Rogaan with sweat dripping down his reddening, straining face. Realizing his friend’s condition, Rogaan motioned to Pax to set their burden down.

  “Good, young one,” the grizzled, gray-bearded guardsman said sarcastically, then taunted with his gruff voice repeating his sakal’s command. “Now, toss ‘em over and be quick of it.”

  Rogaan looked Pax directly in the eyes, letting him know he would not obey. Pax widened his eyes while shrugging, as if asking . . . “Why?” Surprised by Pax’s reaction, Rogaan narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his brow, causing Pax to give him his “Who . . . me?” look. Rogaan wondered if Pax truly could be part of sending this helpless Baraan to his death as a bloom of anger and disappointment with Pax hit Rogaan. Not wanting Pax to have a chance at talking, Rogaan turned to the grizzled guardsman meeting his hard eyes with his own. “I will not kill this Baraan.”

  The grizzled guardsman stroked his gray beard with an amused grin, then gave a glance and nod at Pax. Immediately, a scuffle ensued between Pax and two guardsmen close to him, catching Rogaan stunned with surprise. Pax struggled against their grasps with no success and stopped only after daggers were pressed to his side and neck. Rogaan made to help his friend, but found the tips of three blades pressing at his gut, side, and neck before taking two steps. Silence filled the air as Pax shared an uncertain gaze with Rogaan.

  “I’m thinkin’ ya will,” the grizzled guardsman sardonically blustered, “or yur friend will go over first.”

  Rogaan stared at gray-beard defiantly. The grizzled guardsman returned a confident smirk full of cruelty. Unsettled, Rogaan looked at Pax for support, but found an angry, brooding face staring back at him. Hopelessness crept into Rogaan’s thoughts as the grizzled guardsman continued his threats while pointing to the Tusaa’Ner holding Pax. “And if ya still give trouble after that, I’ll have them go see that pretty little thin’ and teach her to be grown up.”

  “Rogaan, ya can no be doin’ dis!” Pax scolded him with heated eyes. “How can ya even be thinkin’ dis way? Dat old Baraan means nothin’ ta ya. Why do ya care about him goin’ over before he be dead? He be visiting the Ancients soon enough with da look of him, anyway.”

  Uncertain of what to do, Rogaan kept silent while his conflicting thoughts spun uncontrolled in his head and heart. Father and Mother taught him to respect the living and to protect it, especially those innocent, and even more so those helpless. “Very Tellen,” his mother would put it to him, and “the best of Baraans,” his father would say. The old Baraan drawing breath clearly was helpless, but Rogaan knew not how long he had to live or of his innocence. He could be anything . . . a thief, murderer, or worse. Or, he could be a hero or someone fighting Farratum just as he was, now. The other Baraan reeked of death . . . and of him messing himself before dying. His teaching told him the dead should be given proper ceremony and burned, though Rogaan was not so bothered with giving the body to the snapjaws. Pragmatic . . . or a sign of uncaring and disrespect. He fought with himself on that thought too. But, tossing the helpless to certain death tormented his sensibilities. They all were helpless and at the mercy of the Tusaa’Ner . . . and the Sakes . . . and he did not know what else. How can these guardians, sworn to protect the folks of Farratum, threaten and treat folks so without judgments against them? Why are they so gleeful and wicked about what they want to do to Suhd because of me? Anger swelled in Rogaan at that last thought. No. It boiled. Rogaan found his thoughts turning to him fighting for Suhd . . . before they can harm her, before they commit foul acts against her. These were not the protectors of his father’s teachings. They were something else, but what . . . Rogaan was uncertain of.

  “We can no let dem hurt her,” Pax growled at Rogaan. He stopped his struggles against the guardsmen holding him and instead put his full focus on Rogaan. “Ya care for Suhd? How can ya no protect her? Toss ‘em, Rogaan. Toss ‘em both over, before dey toss me and hurt Suhd.”

  “Pax, I cannot.” Rogaan found himself pleading with his friend as much as himself. “It goes against all my teachings.”

  His breath ran out while trying to explain and at the explosion of insanity he saw in Pax’s face. Pax made violent struggles against the two guardsmen holding him, shouting and cursing at them . . . and Rogaan. One of the guardsmen maneuvered Pax into a choke hold. The guardsman’s muscles bulged until Pax dropped to his knees. When the guardsman lessened his hold on Pax’s neck, his friend looked up at him with heated eyes.

  “Ya be some friend, ya be. Choose him over us.” Pax spat venom at Rogaan and only at Rogaan. Pax suddenly leaned, then launched himself at Rogaan. “Some friend.” His words turned to choking coughs by the guardsman harshly reapplying his hold on Pax’s neck.

  Rogaan stood stunned as the uncomfortable prickling gripping him, stomach to chest to head, sank in deep. He and Pax shared an intense stare for long moments, neither speaking, yet much passing between them. Many unspoken words Rogaan wished he had not seen or read in his friend. Pax’s eyes displayed fully a deep wounding pain and flaring anger. Never had Rogaan seen Pax so angry, so . . . desperate. Yes, desperate. For Pax, that meant something terrible. Rogaan realized he too was desperate. What do I do? He fought with himself and his beliefs. His innards swirling and twisting from his inner conflict . . . raging. Was defending an old Baraan, a stranger with an unknown past, more important than Pax and Suhd? His father’s teachings and philosophies rang loudly in his head at that. “Defend those unable to do so for themselves. Protect the weak from the unjust strong. That is honor’s way.” Searching his thoughts and feelings, Rogaan reluctantly concluded his father would choose the path of honor, but find another way to walk the choice of paths given him . . . make others walk with him. And that he too should change the rules given him . . . set by others, for their convenience and their pleasure. He needed something . . . unexpected. Rogaan searched for that new walk; looking at the bridge, the water, and each of the guardsmen in turn, hoping to find something he
could use to change the walk.

  Nothing.

  Desperation bit deep and wrapped up Rogaan again.

  “Sun a wastin’,” the grizzled gray-beard announced with impatience and now with an annoyance. With a dismissive wave of his hand, the grizzled guardsman barked the order Rogaan feared, tried to avoid, delay. “Toss the youngone over, then the two stinkin’ ones. We’ll get that pretty little one—”

  Pax howled and kicked in protest as the guardsmen half-carried, half-dragged him to the side of the bridge. His words unintelligible, but their meaning clear. Pax fought desperately for his life, but was no match for the guardsmen’s strength. Rogaan took a step toward his friend, but sharp pains of blade points still on him brought him to a halt. The weight of the world pressed down on Rogaan. He could not let Pax be murdered . . . or the old Baraan . . . or Suhd.

  “Rogaan! It be up ta ya ta protect Suhd,” Pax yelled at him as the guardsmen grabbed at him ready to toss him from the bridge.

  “Hold!” Rogaan bellowed with a sorrow so deep he felt his Light foul. His tongue felt of fire and his stomach sour and feared his guts would spill up. Pax must not pay for my honor, Rogaan resigned himself. Try as he did, Rogaan thought of no way out of this. All the guardsmen fell silent and stood motionless, looking at him, except for the pair struggling with Pax. The guardsmen lifted his friend from the wood timbers of the bridge. Pax still struggled, trying to gain his freedom, only to have a hand grip his throat choking him. Pax gasped for air as he was lifted high. All hope drained from Rogaan. His Light broke. He surrendered as he yelled, “I will do as you say.”

  The grizzled guardsman, their kunza, smiled broadly, as did the rest of the guardsmen . . . even that sakal. The kunza motioned for the guardsmen struggling with Pax to hold their place before turning his attention back to Rogaan. “Do as ya was told. Toss the old ones and don’t yap a word.”

  Rogaan reluctantly approached the two old Baraans lying on the bridge timbers. Both were still, yet one still drew breath. He could see the slight stir of the live one as he took shallow breaths. Rogaan purposely moved slowly, hoping for something to happen allowing him to change the walk on this path. Nothing. Choosing the dead one to pick up first, Rogaan found himself hoping they were right when declaring him dead. He smelled it. Rogaan wrinkled his nose at the foul odors coming from him, as if he lost his bowels from rotting innards. Nothing . . . still.

  “Toss ‘em, stoner.” The command and insult came from the tall Tusaa’Ner sakal standing with his hands on his belt and blade handle.

  “Faster, Tellen,” the grizzled kunza growled.

  Rogaan found himself hoping for a pack of ravers or something else ready to eat them to burst from the forest. He looked to the forest around them. Nothing. He easily carried the Baraan’s body to the bridge side. The stench wafting from it caused Rogaan to gag and cough and spit trying to get the foul taste carried on the air out of his mouth. He found the body in his arms fragile, as well as foul smelling. He must have starved or died from sickness, Rogaan guessed, trying to take his thoughts off of what he was doing. No life was evident in what he held. Yes, this one has to be dead. Rogaan’s confirmation gave him a sense of relief.

  With a look of disdain at the smugly smiling gray-bearded grizzled Tusaa’Ner, Rogaan tossed the body off the bridge. It hit the water with a dull splash, almost floating on the surface for a brief moment before sinking into the brown, flowing waters. A few moments later, the body bobbed back up to the surface a few strides further downstream only to be crushed and dragged under in the jaws of a large snapjaw. Other snapjaws, more than he could count, rushed in on the monster and its kill causing a tugging and tearing fight to break out between the beasts ending in the once intact body being torn apart. With a pang of guilt, Rogaan found himself relieved of being rid of the stench and that it did not cling to him. The selfishness of his thoughts unsettled him.

  Rogaan looked to Pax for help in what was to happen next, hoping somehow he would not have to do what he feared he must to keep his friend alive. When Rogaan saw his friend’s eyes, he felt even more unsettled at the anticipation Pax carried in them and the lack of remorse on his face. Without a way out from submitting to the Tusaa’Ner’s demands, and Pax appearing to be good with killing a defenseless Baraan, Rogaan slowly set off to finish what he must, repeating to himself all the while that he has no choice except to obey. Looking down at the carry-cot, he found the old Baraan with half-open eyes, mouthing unintelligible words. Rogaan’s Light screamed, and his body shook. The Baraan’s alive. With pleading eyes, Rogaan looked to the grizzled guardsman, then to the tall Tusaa’Ner sakal, then to the other Tusaa’Ner, then to Pax, hoping someone would change their mind . . . especially for that old Baraan who lived. A sadistic smirk under satisfied eyes reflected back to him from the grizzled guardsman. The sakal’s expression was that of anticipation. The other Tusaa’Ner were no better. Rogaan realized for the first time these guardsmen were no such thing and found joy in this Baraan’s death and the torment it reaped upon him. With immeasurable regret, Rogaan picked up the old Baraan, then made his way slowly to the side of the bridge. This Baraan too weighed far less than he should. They must have been starved. Rogaan pitied the old one for his suffering. Urine, feces, and spit-up wafted about him, yet Rogaan did not concern himself about it. All he could think of was that this Baraan’s death would pay for his friends’ lives . . . and that he had no choice. No choice. Looking to the waters below, several of the smaller snapjaws, maybe three strides in length each, fought over the last scraps of the body he threw over moments ago. Rogaan looked to Pax, but still saw only anticipation—no remorse, no sadness. Rogaan looked to the other guardsmen, but only found stolid stares and half-grins. Then he looked again to the grizzled guardsman, but found only what he expected—sadistic glee. Though Rogaan did not know if it was glee for the old one’s death or his death, inside, for doing this.

  “Get on with it, stoner!” The command and insult came from the sakal.

  “Get on with it or let yur friend feeds the beasts,” the grizzled guardsman added.

  Pax struggled fiercely against the guardsmen holding him at gray-beard’s threat. “Do it, Rogaan! Do it!”

  Rogaan looked into the face of the old Baraan. His half-opened eyes seemed to be aware of him, but he no longer mumbled. Rogaan mustered the courage, if he could call it that, to speak to the old Baraan. “Forgive me?”

  “Forgive . . . yourself,” the old Baraan groaned out before closing his eyes. Rogaan looked again to the Tusaa’Ner and his friend. All anticipated his next doing. Nothing. No help. He looked to the forest and the sky hoping to see jaws of death coming at them. Nothing. Then he looked to the caravan hoping someone . . . anyone would stop him. Nothing.

  “Toss ‘em, ya . . .” the kunza demanded.

  Rogaan released the old Baraan. He fell . . . for an eternity it seemed, into the waters and the waiting snapjaws below. No choice. The Baraan hit the water in a splash, disappearing into the brown waters almost immediately. A thrash of tails and the boil of water told Rogaan the old Baraan was indeed dead now. Rogaan’s eyes welled up with tears, and he groaned deeply as his Light cried out in anguish . . . for the wickedness he did.

  Chapter 8

  A Light in the Darkness

  A swirl and boil of waters, tails, and teeth. Rogaan stood staring into the horrific scene below, unable to look away. Forever it seemed the snapjaws tore apart the old Baraan, turning the muddy waters churning red. His screaming moralities would not allow him the reprieve to cast his eyes from the carnage. Profound guilt and regret forced him to watch every detail, burn it into his mind. By his hand the old Baraan died. It strangled him in ways he could not have feared. Without warning, a rough hand grabbed him at the shoulder, startling him before jerking him from his feet into a backward stumble. He caught himself, keeping his feet as nearby words praised him for the old one’s death. Shocked at the
praise . . . praise for ending the defenseless Baraan’s life, Rogaan watched amazed and disgusted at the kunza full of smiles as the tall Tusaa’Ner sakal congratulated him on his success. Rogaan felt lost as he stood silent looking at the wood timbers under his booted feet and the chains between them. He focused on nothing. He felt empty. Words abounded around him without him understanding their meaning. How long he stood there . . . he did not know, did not care. Then, his thoughts slowly organized, forcing back the chaos in his head well enough to regain awareness of the kunza chortling satisfaction, even happiness, at his deed while asserting a new dawn would rise for Rogaan.

  Anger flared inside of him filling that empty space as he woke from his nightmare to a living dread, with a fierce shake of his head. His anger swelled within for not being stronger, for allowing himself to be manipulated. He wanted relief from the pain of it, wanted absolution from that which there was none. That taste was foul and impossible to swallow. They enjoyed his pain! Rogaan exploded into a fit of rage. Lashing out in all directions, Rogaan struck at the Tusaa’Ner, not caring who he struck first—only that he struck and struck hard. He landed blow after blow on the blue and burnished as tumbling boulders crush rocks below. He swung and struck for a time he did not know how long, trying to rid himself of his regret, his pain. He howled at life itself. Somewhere in his fury, Rogaan grew an awareness of a great pain in his side. It then shattered his rage, bringing clarity back to his mind well enough that he saw what carnage he reaped. The bloody bodies of three Tusaa’Ner guardsmen lay on the bridge. Their helms and chest armor dented badly. One of the guardsmen’s jaw lay clearly broken. The other two had broken arms . . . one the bone peeking out from his skin and clothing. He had bludgeoned them to death, he feared. More blood on my hands. His regret was not so distasteful as before. The Tusaa’Ner kunza and sakal somehow escaped his wrath. A pang of regret hit Rogaan at that realization.