by Khalid Uddin
Marshall bit his lip for a second. “That sounds like a dangerous thing to control. Very easily corrupted.”
Vasher shrugged, “Then I suppose it’s a good thing I am on your side.”
Lincan cut in, “I don’t mean to ruin the fun, but can we talk about this situation with Gunnar and Adria? Maven Savaiyon didn’t give us much, only that some man kidnapped them simply by vanishing.”
Marshall responded first. “Maqdhuum. His name is Adl Maqdhuum.”
Vasher took another swig and asked, “How do you know?”
“He led the armies that destroyed my village. Lincan, the way you found me, that was his doing. Three of us fought him with swords. He killed Myron, nearly killed me, and who knows what he did to Aric. He told us his name was Maqdhuum. He also said he was one of Jahmash’s generals.”
Lincan scratched the side of his head vigorously. “Exactly what happened with Gunnar and Adria?”
Badalao spoke up, “Simple. We were all talking. Marshall had just reconnected with his shadow. Then, bam. Gunnar was on his knees screaming because his forearm had been cut off. Cleanly off—that blade had to have been incredibly sharp—and maybe a second after we looked at them, Maqdhuum sneered at us and all three of them were gone.”
Vasher leaned forward, “Lao, did he…”
“No Descendant’s Mark. That is the strangest part.” Badalao continued, “Since it happened, I keep going back to that one detail. It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“Perhaps some of the early Descendants didn’t have a Mark,” Vasher theorized.
Desmond retorted, “We’ve all read Hammersland’s book. He made it clear that every Descendant bore the Mark.”
Marshall attempted to contribute, “What if some of them did not have a Mark and simply kept it private that they were Descendants.”
Desmond shook his head. “Ya don’t understand. Hammersland said that all Descendants bear the Mark because the Orijin told him so. Hammersland didn’t make it up his self. The Mark is part o’ the privilege an’ burden o’ bein a Descendant. Lao, tell ‘em yer theory.”
Vasher and Lincan smirked at one another before simultaneously asking, “What theory?”
Badalao shot Desmond a sideways glance before taking a deep breath. “You all know how I think there are other lands beyond Ashur. I told Desmond that it is quite possible this man came from somewhere else. Who knows what people that from other lands might be capable of?” Vasher rolled his eyes and Badalao held up a hand. “Humor me for a moment. Darian drowned the world. We know that. But why do we all assume that Ashur was the only piece of land that was saved. Seriously, we all believe that Jahmash is trapped somewhere, right? Why is it impossible for other lands to exist far out in the seas if the Red Harbinger is definitely out there somewhere?”
Vasher responded, “People have been exploring the seas for centuries and have yet to find anything. Do you know how many ships I have seen leave the docks of Sundari for the sake of exploration and never returned? Too many.”
Badalao countered, “There are a few cities on the coast of Markos that could say the same. What if that only proves my point? What if even some of those ships found places and just never returned?” Vasher did not look convinced. “I am not saying I’m right. As Desmond said, it is only a theory. The man appeared out of nowhere, sliced Gunnar’s arm off like it was a block of cheese, and disappeared again in a matter of seconds. He bore no Mark and told Marshall plainly that he is loyal to Jahmash. By the steel of my blade, I say the man is not from Ashur. Jahmash is recruiting and I highly doubt that he only looks to Ashur for followers. So if you have a better explanation, then please, Vasher, share. But it will take more than your manifestation to convince me.”
Marshall cut in, “Perhaps we can discuss something else? Something that will not lead to quarrels?”
Badalao nodded his head. “Indeed. What did you have in mind, Marshall?”
“I don’t actually have a suggestion. I simply meant that it was getting annoying to listen to you two argue. Surely there are better topics.”
Desmond spoke up as a girl replaced his empty glass with a full one. “I have somethin’. I hope none o’ ya think that this is too soon, considerin’ recent events, but we obviously need ta focus heavily on combat. Who knows if we’ll even see Gunnar again. An’ even if we do, he won’t be the same. We need ta organize a group.” He looked across the table at Vasher. “Maybe convince people that the threat is real an’ that if we don’t prepare, we’ll all be dead.” Vasher, Lincan, and Badalao nodded in agreement. Then, as if rehearsed, they all looked directly at Marshall and smiled.
“What?” Blood of Taurean, they have got to be joking. “You cannot be serious. I know nothing of your people or of the House of Darian. Marlowe would likely try to kill me.”
Desmond pursed his lips. “Marlowe is everythin’ that is wrong with the House. Why do ya think we’re even talkin’ about this?” Desmond lowered his voice, “The man can rot in Opprobrium. It’s like he’s settin’ the whole House up ta die. All he talks about is bein’ peaceful an’ lettin’ Ashur see that we’re harmless. I almost wish that damned Prince woulda gotten around ta killin’ him when he was huntin’ down Descendants. Marshall, ya saw fer yerself what’s happenin’ in this world. First yer people, an’ then Adria an’ Gunnar. We can’t waste any more time foolin’ ourselves that nothin’ is happenin’.”
Vasher cut in, “He is right, Marshall. At least Descendants like you and Desmond can use your manifestations in the middle of battle. But what about people like me, Lincan, and Badalao?” Marshall realized Vasher had a point. “Suppose we are in the midst of battle? In a split second, I cannot rely on talking my way out of getting killed. I, no, we, need to know how to fight.”
Marshall found himself nodding in agreement to everything Vasher was saying. Lincan joined the recruiting attempt. “You know he’s right. And Taurani have a reputation as fighters. Of course, I’m partial to the Anonymi, being from Fangh-Haan, but you’ll never find one of them in the House of Darian. That’s beside the point. You obviously have the most fighting experience of any of us and I’ve heard you’re a better fighter than some of us here who have been trained.” Lincan smiled and nodded at Desmond and Badalao, who both rolled their eyes. “So why not?”
Marshall’s brow furrowed. “The Anonymi?”
Lincan explained, “A warrior clan that dates back to the time of the Harbingers. Just as fearsome as you Taurani, but even more secretive. The only clan members that leave Fangh-Haan are those who take up servitude in the Tower of the Blind.”
Marshall put a hand to his head. “This is too much information for me to take in all at once. What is the Tower of the Blind?”
“Forget about it for now, I don’t feel like explaining. We can teach you all of these things back at the House. Back to my question. Will you train us to fight?”
Marshall took a deep breath. “Well, if I agree to this, then it leaves no doubt that I am one of you.”
Badalao smiled, “You were instantly one of us the moment you called me and Desmond faeries.”
“Very well. I suppose if any of you go running to Marlowe or try anything stupid on me, then I can still give you the beating of your lives.” Marshall laughed as Lincan raised his glass to toast everyone at the table. Marshall raised his own and then gulped down the remaining ale in his glass. Through all their talking, Marshall hadn’t noticed a quarrel that had started a few tables away.
***
The moment that Horatio had chosen this particular table, Baltaszar had known it had been a bad idea. The inn had been packed and the two men that previously occupied the table walked away before even finishing their food and drink. But Horatio had insisted on standing at it. The man behind Horatio, who was a foot taller and likely a foot wider, continually bumped into Horatio’s back. Baltaszar assumed it was the ale in Horatio’s veins, though it just as easily could have been the lack of a black line on the other man’s face that g
ave Horatio the courage to bump the man right back. This is why we tried so hard to find this place? Our being Descendants means nothing to that man.
“Bump me again, lad. Bump into my back one more time and I’ll beat you so bad, ze road outside zis inn vill be colored viz your blood!” Most of the people around them had backed away. It was clear that nobody wanted to stop a fight. The man turned around, though Horatio’s back was still to him. He liked being ignored even less than the bumping, as he palmed Horatio’s shoulder and spun him around. Horatio simply looked up at the man, but made no indications that he wanted to fight. Baltaszar leapt to his side and stared into the man’s eyes. Baltaszar embraced the melody in his veins, which was becoming easier now, and held his good palm out. A small ball of fire hovered above his hand, high enough that the heat would not burn him. The man, clearly drunk now that Baltaszar was closer, turned to him and glowered. “Put zat out, dog. Fight me like men, viz your fists. I have no magical powers. Let zis be a fair fight.”
Baltaszar let the flame go. As the man nodded his approval, Baltaszar punched him in the chest. Though visibly older, the man’s size compromised nothing in old age. The strike forced him back a step, but didn’t faze him. The man lifted Baltaszar up by the front of his shirt and tossed him into a group of spectators, knocking them all down. Fists, knees, elbows, and feet flailed wildly as Baltaszar freed himself from the tangle of limbs and bodies. He looked back toward the Horatio, who was also on the ground after being smashed through a wooden table.
The man’s friends arose from their table, splitting up to continue their assault on Baltaszar and Horatio. Baltaszar gingerly stood to ready himself for the attack and a wiry man with a thick mustache pounced on him. He had Baltaszar pinned to the ground and cocked his fist. Baltaszar realized at that moment that he’d never been punched in the face before. Focus, idiot. The hit never came. In the split-second it had taken Baltaszar to blink, the mustached man had levitated to the ceiling. What is this? Baltaszar looked around the room while still on his back. All of the assailants were in the same position, floating in the air and looking dumbfounded. A hand reached down to him and Baltaszar grabbed it, allowing himself to be pulled up. The hand belonged to a light-skinned Descendant with a shaved head. Two more Descendants pulled Horatio from the ground. Five of them now stood before Baltaszar and Horatio. One, whom Baltaszar thought looked peculiarly familiar, like the people he’d met in Vandenar, looked up to the ceiling at the floating men.
“Six against two isn’t really a fair fight, Reed. Thought I’d even things up. Ya know better than ta be startin fights with Descendants in this place, don’t ya? The new ones are supposed ta feel welcome in here!” The men immediately fell to the ground in a chorus of smashes and grunts. “Let’s go, we can talk outside.” The boy waved his hand and the other four Descendants followed him. Horatio glanced at Baltaszar. He nodded to Horatio, who turned and followed. As Baltaszar walked through the crowd of people, he tried to mouth ‘Sorry’ to as many people as he could.
Baltaszar followed the group out onto the road. After walking for several feet, the one who had spoken inside stopped and turned around. The rest formed a sort of scattered circle, allowing everyone to face one another. Baltaszar stuck his hand out, “Thank you for helping us. That sort of thing hasn’t happened to us before.”
“Desmond. It’s Desmond. An’ don’t worry about it. Reed is a regular there. He likes ta start trouble when he’s drunk. Nothin’ personal. Next time he sees ya, he probably won’t even recognize ya.”
That’s why he looks familiar. “Desmond? Anahi mentioned your name. She told me to try and find you, that you hadn’t left Vandenar long before I had gotten there.”
Desmond smiled, “Oh ya know Anahi, do ya?”
Baltaszar felt his face heat up. Dammit. “Yes. She…took care of me.”
“It’s fine. What did ya say yer name was? Even if ya fancy her, there’s nothing ta worry about with me. I think o’ her more like a sister now anyway.”
“Baltaszar. My name is Baltaszar Kontez. This is my friend Horatio.”
Desmond pointed to the others as he introduced the others. “Vasher, Lincan, Marshall, an’ Badalao. Say…ya can create fire? Never seen anyone be able ta do that before.”
“I’m still learning. That’s why we’re going to the House of Darian. I need to be able to control it. I almost melted my hand off just showing Horatio what I can do.”
Lincan spoke up. “You only just found out about your manifestation?”
“Less than a week ago.”
“And you’re our age? How is that possible? How long have you had the Mark?” Lincan scratched his head roughly.
Baltaszar shrugged. “From what my father told me, I’ve had it since I was about three or so. But I was brought up my whole life thinking it was a scar. It wasn’t until about a week ago, just before I left my village, that someone told me what it really is.” The others bore mixed reactions to Baltaszar’s admission. A couple looked at him incredulously while the others unsuccessfully suppressed laughter. “Look, I know how bloody stupid that sounds. I don’t need all of you telling me what a fool I am for thinking so.”
Lincan retorted with a smile, “I apologize. The thing is…the Mark is something that the whole world knows about. How is it that any town in Shivaana could let you go on thinking that? Were there no other people there with a Mark?”
Baltaszar clenched his teeth tightly. Horatio seemed to know his thoughts and spoke for him. “He’s not from Shivaana. He’s from a town north of Vandenar, hidden in the Never.” Horatio’s explanation only brought more confusion to the others’ faces.
Desmond tried to clarify. “But yer skin, it’s brown. Only people in Ashur with brown skin are Shivaani. An’ I think I would know if there was a town in the forest near Vandenar.”
Baltaszar’s frustration boiled over. “For the love of Orijin! Don’t you all think that I would know where I’m from?! Why would I bloody make up a stupid story if I was really from Shivaana? I come from a town hidden in the mountains of the Never! It is called Haedon! I have lived there all my life! There are no people there with marks on their faces! Not everyone there is brown-skinned! They come in all hues from pale to copper! And no, Desmond! You would not know if there was a town in the forest because, as far as I know, I was the first person from Haedon to leave the village for anything besides fishing in the seas nearby! I am so damn tired of having to explain this to everyone!”
Lincan responded sarcastically. “Fine, fine, you’re not from Shivaana. It’s not like ‘Haedon’ is on any maps—ever. At least you’re not sensitive about where you’re from, though.”
Baltaszar attempted to stifle the laugh, but it escaped more loudly than he’d hoped. Vasher quipped, “No, that’s better. I didn’t want to share my country anyway.”
Marshall chimed in, “The two of you could pass for brothers though.” Baltaszar shook his head, feigning annoyance.
“When are you two riding to the House?” Badalao looked back and forth between Horatio and Baltaszar.
Horatio looked at Baltaszar, then back at Badalao. “We were looking forward to seeing more of the city. It is our first time here. Our plan was to spend to explore today and spend the night. Then take in more of the city tomorrow morning and leave for the House afterwards. When are you all headed back?”
Badalao looked around at the others. “We really only came here to regroup. Certain…events…unfolded this morning and we desperately needed to relax for a bit. But I think I speak for everyone in saying that we have no issues with following your agenda. We do not get to have much fun at the House these days and it would be nice to unwind.” The others nodded in agreement, sharing the sentiment.
Desmond asked, “It’s goin’ ta get dark soon. We should start walkin’ if ya want ta see anythin’ today. Any idea what ya want ta do first?”
Baltaszar immediately responded, “If you all don’t mind some business before the fun, I would like to go
to the Hall of the Chancellor first.”
Desmond looked at him curiously. “What’s there?”
“I need to learn about Vitticus Khou.”
Chapter 14
An Unfortunate Identity
From The Book of Orijin, Verse Seventy-Four
Life is balance. Before Our judgment is cast, you shall answer to Mankind for your sins for a final opportunity to repent before hearing Our Song. There can then be no question that We are unfair or unjust.
Linas spit on the deck and looked up at Slade. “Rhadames, this idiot has been a disappointment since we found him. No Descendant’s Mark, his one courageous moment was killing our other companion, and he has yet to control any fire. I tell you, I am afraid that if we bring this…joke…back we will be tortured. Tell me truly, Rhadames, we traveled so far and wasted so much of our own time looking for him?”
Rhadames Slade turned from looking off into the sea. “We scoured all of Ashur. I was chosen specifically for the purpose of finding him. It is no mistake. And if,” he looked down at Bo’az, “our master is unhappy with what he requested, then you can blame it on me. I will suffer for it. If that is what you are afraid of.”
Linas shook his head and spit again. “Enough is enough. We should tell him the truth about who he is going to see. He is tied up; he cannot run. Even still, what would he do, swim to escape? Baltaszar, do you really think you are being brought to see Darian?”
He shrugged his shoulders and instantly regretted it, as his arms both scratched against this mast of the boat. “I never had any reason to believe otherwise. I barely even know who Darian is, aside from his name.” Slade looked at him with a frustrated countenance. “What? Look, I get it. You all think I’m stupid and a waste of the effort. You don’t have to keep saying it. Just tell me what it is that I don’t understand.”
Linas stroked his beard; likely his mouth was out of spit. “Near eighteen years old, boy, and nobody bothered to inform you that Darian, your beloved and precious Harbinger, has been dead for thousands of years? Are you so dense? All of Ashur celebrates the man. For Orijin’s sake, your whole culture and way of living is based around his death and the events that led up to it. The whole reason Ashur is the way it is, is because the man killed himself flooding the world. And you don’t know anything about him? And you think he’s alive? Slade, what am I missing here?”