by Jeff Gunzel
“Of course,” he replied, smiling. “You must forgive them. Everyone is just so elated to see you safe.”
“Not just that. I mean...thank you for everything. My rescue–everything.”
“Oh,” he said, suddenly looking saddened. “Well, we executed the plan just as instructed. That’s all.”
“But your timing was perfect. Who organized–” The look on the man’s face told her all she needed to know.
“Brinkton–he had this planned for some time, Shantis. I don’t think he ever expected to survive.” The tortured look on her face pained him greatly. “Priestess, take all the time you need to sort things through.” He pointed to a large gray tent. Two black torches stuck into the ground, flickered away near its open flap. “That one is yours, all to yourself whenever you are ready.” He bowed low, nearly touching the ground with his forehead. “I take my leave, Shantis Sondere, true High Priestess of the crytons.” He turned to join another group huddled near an open fire.
Shantis found a tree near the edge of the clearing and sat beneath it, leaning against its rigid trunk. She reached back over her head and peeled off a piece of dead, black bark. She looked at it for a moment before throwing the chunk near her feet. Why Brinkton? I don’t understand how this happened. She pulled the bow from her shoulder and lay it across her lap. It was beautiful. Even she had to admit that. Jewels of red and green ran up and down the upper and lower limbs, with four protruding blades all of equal length and width. Perfect for fighting in close quarters.
But then something caught her eye. A tightly wound piece of twin near the top of the bow. So small and compact she hadn’t noticed it before. When she flipped over the bow to get a better look, she could see it was securing a small piece of paper. After a light struggle with the knot, she pulled the note free. At the first word her heart sank. It was Brinton’s handwriting...
Shantis, if you are reading this now then I know I have succeeded. That alone is reason to rejoice. Of course that also means that my journey to the afterlife has begun. A bittersweet victory I suppose.
Filista is a cunning foe. Do not underestimate her for she will not underestimate you. She has the ears of the council and fills their heads with lies. She manipulates the soldiers, discovers what they fear most and threatens to make it reality. That first day you called a meeting the entire place was surrounded. Their plan was to assassinate you. There was no way I could warn you. All I could do was convince her my loyalty was with her. I promised Filista I would betray you and serve her for the rest of my days. In return, the deal was that she would let you live. Shantis I swear I had no choice. It was the only way to keep you alive until I could figure out some way to free you. I had to play along. Every single day, the look in your eyes made me want to take my own life.
Not all the village follows her. In fact, many have fled to the forest. If all went well, you are with them now. I’ve been in constant contact with the rebels and I know they are loyal to you. Many who follow Filista now do so because they are afraid, not because they are loyal. Find a way to remove their fear and you will win back your people.
I have no regrets. As long as our High Priestess draws breath there is always hope. I am with you in spirit and will always watch over you.
She crumpled the paper and brought it to her forehead, then cried like she had never cried before.
* * *
Filista needed time to think. She sat down in Shantis’s favorite chair, drumming her fingers along the armrest. She eyed the space behind the dresser where she had placed the remains of the painting. Perception. Complete filth can be made to appear appetizing when presented in the right light.
Somehow, Shantis had convinced the village that this ordinary human was something special, someone worthy of their unconditional loyalty. But this was certainly some sort of human ploy, a deceptive ruse put together by the humans in order to trick the crytons into letting their guard down. Of course it was. What else could it be?
But even Filista couldn’t deny the mounting evidence that this being, human or otherwise, was truly a force to be reckoned with. As badly as she wanted to convince herself otherwise, he most certainly was not ordinary. He couldn’t actually be... No. He’s nothing but a lowly human...right? “Bah!” she barked, shaking away the doubt, angry at herself for such a moment of weakness.
There was a knock, then one of the men from earlier entered the room. He was wearing a long, green apron that covered most of his front. It was completely stained with blood. Splotches of red covered his forearms and hands as well. “We’re all finished, Filista. It’s done, exactly like you commanded.”
“What is your name, soldier?” she said, that smirking expression fixed on him. Yet her eyes were intense somehow. Her right eyebrow kept twitching irritably.
“D-Drongle,” he replied, suddenly shaken by her forwardness.
“Drongle,” she repeated softly. “I’ll remember the name. Now please allow me to see your work.”
He led her through two rooms, down a short hall and into a small room near the back. Here stood three other men wearing similar aprons, each holding small saws. If there had been any furniture here, it had already been removed. Towels and cloths were laid down everywhere. A few had been loosely rolled up and pressed against the walls. Brinkton’s body was now cut into manageable pieces, no small feat for a cryton of his size.
Filista strolled around the room lightly on her feet, as if she were trying not to step on flowers. The saturated towels squished underneath her feet with every step. She tucked her toes underneath a loose arm, then flipped it against the wall. It hit with a thud, leaving a red stain. She continued to move about the room, flipping over body parts. It appeared as if she were looking for something. “Where is it?” she asked.
“Where is what, Priestess?” said a shorter man to her left.
“The head. Where is his head?” she repeated, a bit more frantic this time.
The same man hurried over to the corner and began delicately picking at one of the towels, as if he didn’t want to get any more blood on himself. On the third try, he lifted it with his fingertips, and its hidden prize spilled onto the floor. Brinkton’s large head rolled a short way, then stopped.
Filista walked towards it, but then stepped over the head, approaching the shorter man instead of picking it up. She took the saw from his hand and went back, again stepping over the head. She stood beside Drongle, eyeing the jagged blade. Suddenly, she turned and thrust it into his gut, all the way up to the wood. With a gasp, he doubled over, clutching at the handle. She ripped it free in a spray of blood. When he fell, she stepped over him. With a tug, she pulled his head back, exposing his throat. He looked at her upside down, wide eyed with shock, blood already dripping from the corner of his mouth.
She gazed around at the other three, holding their eyes while pulling the saw’s teeth across his throat. He let out a long, wet, gurgling sound, eyes rolling back into his head. She dropped him to the floor, still holding their terrified gazes, daring them to look away. “Drongle here failed to address me properly. I will not forget his name, for I suspect he will be the last to ever make such a mistake. Do you three believe my suspicions are correct?”
They immediately spoke over one another, babbling agreement and using the phrase “High Priestess” over and over.
“Good,” she said, regaining her composure. She looked at the fresh body. “Get rid of all this, including him. And be careful not to draw attention to yourselves.” She picked up Brinkton’s head. “Everything except this. Now get started.”
They immediately began pulling up saturated cloths and blankets, blood, body parts and all. “Oh, and one more thing. Village meeting, here, tomorrow morning. I want you three to spread the word.” She turned and left with her prize tucked under her arm.
* * *
The next day, Filista woke on what had formerly been Shantis’s bed. With eyes half open and a smile on her face, she stretched and rolled over. “Today is goin
g to be a wonderful day,” she said sleepily. “Don’t you agree, Brinkton?” She glanced at the head placed on a brown-stained wooden stand. His yellow eyes were wide open, staring off to the side, his tongue hanging partially out. The skin had begun to take on a waxy complexion. “Of course you agree, don’t you?”
She rolled out of bed, tucked her trophy under her arm, then went into the front room. Shantis’s former servants were busy at work as if this were like any other day. Two men were busy dusting the front room, but hurried to finish when they saw Filista coming. They each eyed her package for a moment, then left casually as if nothing were wrong. The smells of cooking wafted in from the kitchen: the distinct scent of roasted vegetables and cooked porridge. Even in Shantis’s absence, it was business as usual for those in charge of the temple’s upkeep.
All of this was really not so strange. After all, it was the cryton way. The servants were not necessarily loyal to Shantis; they were loyal to the temple and its preservation. Whoever was in command at that time meant very little in their daily routines. The village citizens were not all that different in their views. They needed guidance and leadership like any other culture. But it didn’t necessarily matter who led them as long as someone fit the role. Soldiers helped to protect the village; hunters brought back meat... Everyone’s responsibilities remained the same. The disruption caused by Shantis’s departure would be minimal.
Filista knew this all too well. It had been a major consideration right from the beginning when devising her plan. The people would come around quickly. Most would accept her leadership without question. Sure, there were a few who remained blindly loyal to Shantis, but Filista was confident they were a minority, and would change their allegiance in time.
“It won’t be long before I’ve fully gained their trust,” she said to Brinkton’s head, propped up beside her. She reached behind it, gently rocking it up and down. “My, you seem very agreeable this morning. But I must say, Brinkton, I’m not sure I believe you.” She stood, still looking at him. “You’re the one who convinced me not to kill Shantis, remember?” she hissed, pointing an accusing finger. “I now see what your plan was the whole time. I would have her head instead of yours if you hadn’t betrayed me. But you did...didn’t you?” She moved closer to his head. “Didn’t you?” she repeated in a whisper.
She slowly backed away, running her fingers through her wild, white hair. Filista then gave her head a shake, sending red ribbons bouncing about. “You think you’re so clever, tricking me into trusting you, having me believe you were on my side. Then when I let my guard down, you allowed her to escape.” She cocked her head sideways like a dog, curling a single lock of hair around her finger. “Well, look at you now. This is the fate of those who betray me. You’ve bought her a little time. That’s all. And at the cost of your own life, no less. Tell me, traitor, was it worth it?”
She could hear people rustling about outside. The low mumble of conversation grew as more people came. “Do you hear that?” She patiently watched Brinkton’s head for a bit as if waiting for a response. “Those are my people. They’re at my doorstep simply because I’ve summoned them. They want to be controlled. They need a feeling of purpose, and I’m about to give that to them. Make no mistake, Brinkton, after today, there is no turning back.” She flicked Brinkton’s head, sending it tumbling to the floor.
Strangely, that bizarre conversation made her feel better. Maybe it was because he had succeeded in tricking her, and there was nothing she could do about it now. He was already dead; a price he had obviously been willing to pay right from the beginning. There was nothing more she could do to him now. But getting the last word was a minor relief, somehow. She always needed to be right, and saying the words out loud, even when no one could hear her, went a long way.
Rejuvenated, she marched over to the door and threw it open. Heads turned and mouths closed when she made her entrance. There was something about her this morning. She looked strong, authoritative, and even more confident than usual.
She wasted no time. “Brothers and sisters,” she shouted. “Can you feel it this morning?” She clenched her fists and held them high. “The winds of change are blowing through the trees. A new era has begun, and the time is now. When I look around and see your faces, I see pain. I see oppressed people who have been forced to hide like animals. You have been accused of being monsters who should be caged, to be put on display for the world to scorn. Well, I don’t see monsters standing before me. I see the dominant people of this world. I see superiority, and we plan to prove it!”
Crytons who were quiet a moment ago now cheered, waving fists in the air. Spears pumped up and down, lost in the boisterous energy.
“Our former High Priestess lost her way. Had she remained a figure of influence, we would all have stayed hidden from the world forever. Cowardly and weak-minded she was. Easily tricked by the humans. But I say no more! Our glorious leader once held secret meetings with these vile beings, and yet told no one.” A hissing sound rose from the crowd. Filista waved her hands in dismissal, then held a finger to her lips to quiet the mob. “Yes, yes, she was their lap dog for some time. Fed them information about our people. In particular, she held these secret conferences with the queen of Taron, Ilirra Marosia!”
More jeers rose from the crowd. All here were aware of the shaky alliance Shantis had with Taron’s queen, but this was the first they had heard of these secret meetings.
“That’s correct! She used and manipulated Shantis like a puppet. Our trusted High Priestess, in turn, used you all to gain acceptance from these rodents. But I...say...no...more!”
The cheers were deafening. She had to scream to be heard. “In order to bring down a great serpent, you must cut off its head. And that’s what we’re going to do! It’s time to take our rightful place in this world. It’s time to hit the humans where they least expect it. We must...cut off...the head! Brothers and sisters, it is time. We will show the world who we really are. It’s time...we march...on Taron!”
Chapter 8
Berkeni lay on his worn brown hammock, surrounded by his modest possessions, mostly low-quality furniture, personal belongings, and his magical sphere that sat in a silver cup-shaped holder. Multiple times he had been asked, nearly begged, to accept the Queen’s offerings of more modern furniture and art. To give the old blue room a more acceptable look and feel. He had politely refused so often, they had long since stopped asking.
Possessions such as fine clothes or jewelry meant little to Berkeni. He found this sort of lifestyle to be trivial and shallow. What good were fine paintings or expensive shoes in the grand scheme of the direction the world was headed? Death comes for us all eventually. Death does not discriminate the rich from the poor, nor could it be dissuaded by a fine silk shirt.
Regardless of its emptiness, he found his room to be quite comfortable. But unfortunately, he found himself spending less and less time here these days. Even now, he felt guilty lying here, even though he had not slept properly in quite a long time. I’ve no time for this pampering. There is still much to do. Does Krytoes ever rest? Exhausted, yet determined, he sat up and rolled from the hammock.
He had only been in his small clothes for an hour or so. An hour too long, he thought. Berkeni quickly threw on a loose-fitting brown shirt with large black buttons riding down the front, and an even looser-fitting pair of gray pants. Grabbing his white pearl, he headed out the door.
Of course, everyone in the palace recognized the Queen’s aide. Servants lowered their heads when he walked by—some even bowed. He had long become used to the overly reverent treatment. It was unnecessary conduct by his estimation, but not something that was going to stop anytime soon. For many, he at least acknowledged the overly zealous greetings with a nod or a smile, but now he hardly noticed anymore. Things were different now, his mind constantly preoccupied with the Queen and her burdens. If he was under this much pressure, surely her stress was nearly unbearable.
Moving through the halls
, Berkeni thought about the day the Gate Keeper killed Dragot. Not only had he taken the beast’s head, but a great deal of Taron had watched the battle take place. Berkeni wanted the whole city to see exactly who Eric was and what he was capable of. Sending his magical sphere into the air, it had exploded against the sky, projecting the entire battle so everyone could see. Had that been a mistake? Perhaps the people were not ready for that?
He did what he thought was best at the time. Both the crytons and the people of Taron needed to understand that Eric was no false god, as some had proclaimed. But he was very dangerous, a force for good who needed to be recognized and acknowledged for what he stood for. Things had not turned out the way Berkeni had hoped...
Much of the city was now segregated into two camps: Those who chose to follow the Gate Keeper, and those who believed the whole spectacle was nothing more than some magical illusion, some sort of deception made to trick the people into believing this supernatural being was real. And unfortunately, the latter seemed to be the majority. Instead of helping, it seemed Berkeni’s actions had made things much harder on the Queen. There were protests in the streets, day and night. Petitions wanting Queen Ilirra Marosia to relinquish her authority circulated through every bar and tavern. These documents had many signatures already, and were gaining more by the day.
Reaching Addel’s private chambers, he gave a light rap on the door. After a moment, the door creaked open just enough for Addel to peek at him through the slit, looking annoyed. “I thought you needed a break?” she said. With her eye red and puffy, she looked like she could use one herself.
Berkeni sighed. “The evils threatening our world don’t rest. Why should I deserve a break?”
“Because you’re no good to anyone if you’re dead,” she blurted out, then smiled. “Well, since you’re already here.” She opened the door and let him in.
“What have I missed during my extended absence?” said Berkeni, trying to suppress his own grin.