Warrior Baptism Chapter 1

by Jonathan Techlin

  Theel led the way across the clogged market of Six Corners, slogging through the mud, politely turning down every offer of work, many of them several times. He kept his head down while he did this, allowing the brim of his hat to hide his face in shadows. Yenia took a similar posture, hiding her face within a cowl. She was silent, followed close behind her brother, and did her best not to be noticed.

  Criers lined the north and south ends of Six Corners, men whose voices were employed by the higher institutions of the city to bring the news of the realm to the illiterate smallfolk. These were the voices Theel attempted to hear through the cacophony of the marketplace, listening intently for one particular piece of information.

  “News from the Council of Lords!” a man shouted to Theel’s right. “The Iatan Army remains encamped just beyond the eastern walls of Old City. The council continues to negotiate with the Iatan leaders in the hope of reaching a peaceful settlement; however, the possibility of war grows with each passing day. The council once again assures the people of Fal Daran that, whatever the outcome of these meetings, our city will not be conquered as the Eastern Kingdoms were. The council implores every loyal child of Embriss to ready themselves for whatever may come. We must hope for peace, but prepare for war!”

  “A message of mercy from the Spires of the Dawn!” a man in priestly robes shouted to Theel’s left. “The city remains in mourning for our beloved King Kindayll, who was taken from us long before his time. The goodly priests of the Dawn remind all loyal citizens of our fair city to make offerings to the great and merciful Aeo, Messenger of Light and Warmth, that Kindayll’s spirit might be swiftly shepherded to his final resting place on the fiery chariot of the sky. Every man who contributes with a pure heart benefits not only the spirit of our beloved king, but also brings benefit to himself. The Oracle of Tetiyat has promised each offering of ten hours of the king’s work will be rewarded with three weeks of prosperity to the giver in his every undertaking. A promise to you from the God of the Sun! Three weeks of success in all you do, for each payment of ten hours, or one royal. Offerings of coin or labor are accepted at any of the giving shrines or at the Spires of the Dawn.”

  Theel had been to the Six Corners before and noticed something very different on this day. A large stone cross, a monument to the God of the Prophecy, once stood near the center of the market, but now the cross was destroyed, replaced by a pile of rubble. As Theel watched, workmen used these stones to erect a new construction, a shrine to Aeo, Lord of the Morning. A handful of acolytes stood nearby, accepting donations from the peasants who crowded the market.

  Theel couldn’t help but grumble in anger at the sight of this; of men promising salvation and good fortune in exchange for nothing more than coin. As if it was possible to barter for divine mercy. Many of these peasants gave all they had left, thinking they were purchasing the blessings of a benevolent god. Instead, their offerings enriched men who already possessed more gold than they could ever spend. But there was nothing Theel could do about it. The Church of Aeo was now the official religion in the city of Fal Daran.

  “A message of judgement from the Spires of the Dawn!” another man in priestly robes shouted to Theel’s right. “War! Pestilence! Famine! The skies above our beautiful city have darkened in recent months, and the passing of our beloved king is yet another cloud stealing the light and warmth of Aeo. Now the throne of Embriss sits empty as invading armies threaten our very survival. It is known to all of those who remain faithful that Aeo is displeased! Men of Embriss, born high and low, must do their part to make amends before it is too late. The wisest among you who sit on the Council of Lords know this. They sought the guidance of the Oracle of Tetiyat and the voice of our Lord of Morning was heard. No longer will he tolerate the worship of false idols, false gods, and false prophecies among his children. These prophecy worshippers are the enemies of your prosperity. They pray to their chiseled crosses that the stone might give birth to a boy calling himself a Blessed Soul of Man. Each word spoken in reverence of the lies of the prophecy further enrages the benevolent Aeo, our lord and nurturer. These blasphemies must cease! Their shrines must be toppled. Their monuments must be destroyed. Burn book and scroll. Shed blood and tears. If steel is necessary, let there be steel. If bloodshed is necessary, let there be bloodshed. Purge the heretics! Cleanse the city! Only then can we receive the mercy, the blessings, and the prosperity of the only true god, Lord Aeo, our Lord of Morning, our Messenger of Light!”

  “News from the Office of Lord Protector of Fal Daran!” a crier shouted from Theel’s left. “His Lordship Qendall Kile maintains his fervent hope that negotiations with our enemy will bear fruit and that Fal Daran may be spared from the ravages of this war. The Lord Protector wishes for all trueborn children of Embriss to know that he has heard the words of our Lord Aeo as spoken from the mouth of his oracle. Every stain left on our history by the Knights of the King’s Cross must be cleansed, or there will be no future. To this end, the Lord Protector has ordered that everything be done to satisfy the request the Iatan leaders have made in the peace negotiations: the surrender of six hundred able-bodied slaves. It is known that the Knights of the King’s Cross and their followers number no less than six hundred. If peace can be purchased with the lives of these idolaters, then their lives are forfeit! The Knights of the King’s Cross, their squires and men-at-arms, and every man who has sworn himself to their cause, must lay down arms and turn themselves in to be delivered to the enemy. It is the Knights of the King’s Cross who have wronged our benevolent Aeo, the Messenger of Light. It is their blasphemies that have brought the soldiers of the Iatan Empire to our doorstep. It is time for the knights to pay for what they’ve done! The Iatan have promised peace if we give them the blood of the prophecy worshippers, and peace we will have!”

  “A proclamation from the Keepers of Law!” a crier shouted from Theel’s right. “The Lord Protector has ordered that any followers of the Knights of the King’s Cross who will not give themselves up willingly must be taken by force. To perform this duty, the Keepers of Law established the office of Royal Witchfinder, and appointed Lord Raveling Kile as overseer. The Oracle of Tetiyat promised Lord Raveling’s every action as Witchfinder is smiled upon by our Lord Aeo in the sky above us; therefore, his commands carry the authority of the Church. It is now the duty of all loyal underlings in our fair city to aid Lord Raveling in this sacred duty. Serve him as you would serve our Lord Aeo. Open your doors to his men. Tell them what you see and hear. The Royal Witchfinder is our only hope in rooting out these knights, these unclean beasts, liars, and heretics! They must be exposed, judged, and driven from our midst, or we will never have peace!”

  “News from the office of Royal Witchfinder!” a man shouted from Theel’s left. “A call for justice to all who conduct business in Six Corners! The deadline for all knights, squires, and devotees of the false prophecy to submit themselves to the will of our Lord Aeo has come and gone. The few prophecy worshippers who remain are holed up in the old knight’s fortress, the Hall of Seven Swords; but some can be found roaming the city in defiance of the surrender order. Just this morning, a man thought to be a squire of the King’s Cross was seen attempting to leave the Hall of Seven Swords unnoticed!”

  Theel tensed at those words, resisting the urge to squeeze the grip of his sword. Instead, he grabbed a fistful of the raindrops running off his hat and rubbed them on his face. He kept his head down and continued walking, pulling his sister through the crowd behind him.

  “This squire is a brazen fool to think he can escape so easily, for the eyes of the Royal Witchfinder see the streets and alleys of our fair city as the Lord Aeo sees the green face of Thershon. This rogue squire was last seen headed toward the marketplace in the Six Corners. Loyal citizens of Fal Daran, he could be anywhere among you!”

  Theel pinched his eyes shut, cursing under his breath.

  “Be watchful!” the man shouted. “Every free breath drawn by this prophecy worshipper is an affront
to Aeo, for he still flaunts the symbols of his ancient, dead religion. The shameful tattoos of the knighthood stripe his arms. He wears a glove with the war emblem of the King’s Cross on his left hand!”

  Theel stopped wringing his hands beneath his rain poncho and now moved his right hand to cover his left, hiding the intricate stitching in the glove he wore.

  “See him! Find him! He was said to have a thin, yet muscular build, brown hair, and green eyes. He wore rich clothing, finely crafted leather armor, and expensive boots, and he carried an older-looking battle sword showing much wear and use, but forged under the hand of a master craftsman.”

  Theel clenched his teeth, hissing his frustration. For the first time since crossing the square, he was thankful for the peasants who crowded him and his sister. The press of dirty bodies helped hide him from the crier’s eyes.

  “The squire had an accomplice, believed to be his younger brother,” the crier shouted. “A smooth-faced boy, he could almost pass for a maid.”

  Yenia made no sound, but Theel could sense her displeasure. Once again, she was mistaken for a boy.

  “The squire’s accomplice also had a thin build, with short, blonde hair and green eyes. He was not armed, but like his brother he was richly dressed, wearing a tailored white shirt with wrist cuffs, and expensive leather boots and trousers.”

  Theel kept his eyes shut, unwilling to look around him. He lowered his chin even further, as if it were possible, trying to disappear within his hat.

  “The Royal Witchfinder asks all citizens of Fal Daran to do their part in finding this squire!” the crier said. “Any information regarding his whereabouts should be reported to the office of Witchfinder immediately!”

  The siblings were nearly across Six Corners, to the south end of the market where the crowd became thinner. The harassment finally slowed as those seeking work realized these two finely dressed people had not come to hire or to offer anything of value. But now Theel and Yenia made their way through the beggars at the southern edge of the square. Thin and sickly, emaciated bodies lay on filthy blankets or in the mud, voices crying out for help as outstretched arms pawed at the legs of passersby.

  Once again, Theel grumbled within himself, seeing such castoffs struggling and neglected within sight of the church coin collectors. This never would have occurred when the Knights of the King’s Cross held sway over these streets. The oath Theel had taken as a boy to care for, to guide, and to protect God’s children, tugged at his heart. Still, he couldn’t draw attention to himself. He looked straight ahead and didn’t slow his pace as coins fell from beneath his poncho, thudding in the mud with each step he took.

  The siblings walked through the beggars and into a narrow alleyway at the south end of the square. The sounds of the crowd and the voices of the criers faded as they entered the dark and narrow confines of the alley. They walked down a crooked pathway of mud and garbage between old, shabby buildings, some of them little more than glorified shanties. The worst of these was a tavern, housed in a tiny and nearly forgotten shack, built in a nearly forgotten place, an alleyway guarded by beggars. It was also their destination.

  Pounded together from gray wooden slats and rusted nails, the façade of the Three Mugs and a Bowl said welcome to no one, but rather seemed to want to be left alone in peace, its shape slumped and forlorn, and leaning against the neighboring buildings like a wounded soldier carried by its brothers. The building suffered from a complete lack of care. The only sign that it had not been abandoned was the dozens of flickering orange cracks in its wooden skin, scant proof that something inside still lived. The wind blew, the eaves rattled, and the building’s rain-dirtied wooden boards groaned in pain, as if in greeting.

  The siblings looked at each other.

  “This is the place,” Yenia stated. “The Three Mugs and a Bowl.”

  “Go inside,” Theel said. “I must know if I am welcome here.”

  Yenia nodded, then gave her brother a stern look. “Do not wander.”

  Theel wasn’t going anywhere and his sister knew it, but she gave the warning anyway. It was a mistrust she had, born of a lifetime of watching her brother make one rash decision after another.

  “I will stay put.” Theel smiled. “I already have enough trouble after me. I don’t need an angry sister chasing me as well.”

  Yenia smiled back. “Only because you know you can’t outrun me.”

  She turned to climb the front stepstones of the tavern.

  “I know I can’t outrun you, little sister,” Theel said to her back. “It is a lesson you’ve taught me many times.”

  Yenia just shook her head as she opened the front door, leaving Theel to huddle alone within the building’s shadow. Theel looked up at the gray sky, determining the time of day by studying the black silhouettes hovering among the clouds.

  They were ever-present, day and night, these islands of rock in a sea of air. There were one or two of them on most days, as many as a dozen at rarer times. On clear days, they appeared as dark splotches against the blue sky. On clear nights, they blotted out the stars. There was nothing predictable about them, appearing in many variations of shape and size. Some were so high they were barely visible, while others so low that they looked like they barely missed the peaks of the Dividers Mountains as they traveled from the eastern horizon to the west. Legends said these were remnants of the pre-Sundering world, trapped in a perpetual orbit by the Craft weaves that blanketed Thershon. It was said that some of these islands were large enough that men might still live on them, remnants of the ancient civilization that destroyed itself in the Sundering thousands of years ago. Theel’s father agreed, saying there were islands far above the clouds large enough to support life, and even claimed to have battled visitors from one of these islands.

  Theel had always wondered if there was any truth to this claim. It was hard to argue these islands were anything more than muses for bards who told silly stories. But there was one island that all people of the Seven Kingdoms relied on every day. It was called Behe Kang, translated as “Isle of the Damned” in the old Thershoni tongue. Behe Kang was the largest of the islands, and the only one whose appearance could be predicted, crossing the sky twice daily. Behe Kang was at its highest point in the sky at midnight and midday, eclipsing the sun every day at noon.

  Noondark had already occurred on this day, and Behe Kang was well on its way to the western horizon, telling Theel the time was three hours after noondark falling.

  He still had plenty of time.

  His stomach growled, reminding him that the busyness of the day had prevented him from taking meals. He removed his hat and walked to the overflowing rain barrel at the side of the tavern building.

  “Aeo is displeased,” Theel snorted derisively. “Spill your coins to buy his favor. Fools!”

  He stood over the barrel and plunged his head into the cold water. It was freezing, but refreshing. For a moment, he enjoyed the loss of senses. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but the blackness of the barrel bottom; listened, but heard nothing but water filling his ears.

  Then he straightened with a splash, rubbed his eyes and smoothed his hair. His senses returned to him, but not as before. The alley appeared the same, and yet somehow felt different, in a way he couldn’t identify. His hearing returned to him, but now the sounds of the city seemed distant, even though he remained well within its walls. The market was quiet. No more shouting. The merchants, the criers, the customers and beggars—all quiet. The birds didn’t even chirp.

  But children played. He could not see them, but he could hear their voices, speaking rhythmically, reciting a rhyme between bursts of laughter. The sound came from down the crooked pathway, echoing between the buildings. It entered his ears, enticing him, tugging him forward.

  He put his hat back on his head and left the rain barrel, following the sound, listening to the words as the children recited them. He recognized them, as would any clansman who grew up in the city of Fal Daran. It was a nursery rh
yme called Wither the Waking World, about the fulfillment of the prophecy and the end of the world. Theel had recited the rhyme a thousand times as a boy:

  Close your eyes, God’s will be done

  The Blessed Soul will one day come

  The light will swallow up the sun

  And all the world shall wither

  All the world shall wither

  He rounded a bend in the alleyway and saw them, standing in a circle, holding hands. He expected filthy, starving street rats, but instead saw clean and healthy children, well-nourished and wearing nice clothing. They weren’t dirty at all, nor were they wet, as if they were immune to the mud and rain. That was Theel’s first clue that these children weren’t truly there; that he was experiencing another vision. His second clue was the halo of white light that surrounded them, dulling the colors of their hair and clothing and causing the smooth skin of their baby faces to appear pale.

  All the nations kneel and pray

  Angels demons both will say

  The Blessed Soul will die this day

  And all the world shall wither

  All the world shall wither

  We all stand up

  And we all fall down

  Wither the Waking World

  They repeated the rhyme, and Theel watched them cover their eyes as they said the first stanza, wave their arms in a wide arc during the second, then point to the sky during the third.

  Then the final lines were spoken: