Bliss

by Daniel Lawley

  Death tailed them in the form of royal musketeers. They had found the temple’s hidden alcoves quicker than expected and now scoured the outside for escaping acolytes lucky enough to break free of the calamity inside. He heard them from behind shouting and cursing as the jungle conspired against their efforts. He only hoped they would find themselves entangled for some time, slowing their progress. Over his shoulder he saw no hint of their crimson garb, the sinister red of violence. What had befallen them? Of their motives he could not fathom. The crown had always been a friend to the Order. Why now the betrayal? There was something amiss. Something that man held answers to, that man! How he caused disturbance, as though his very existence caused his own spirit to shiver, nervous and wrecked a shuddering mess. He needed space to think, time to meditate on what he'd borne witness to. Yet there was the girl, ready to carry out her mission as he'd raised her to despite her own protests. Only the Three knew what lay ahead. He needed time to rally himself, to conspire against fate. Virtuous in its intentions yet cruel in its executions. How he hated the way things were. His guilt for the girl gripped his heart. He'd ultimately led her to where she was. Her life was the Order’s but she remained innocent. The fault belonged to him. If only he'd been a stronger teacher. More adept in the ways of the Order instead of ramshackle and free flowing. She had paid the price for his frivolity. She would continue to do so. A crack pulled him from his thoughts. Ahead a musket ball ripped viciously into the trunk of a nearby tree. Around the smoking hole green vines tumbled to the jungle floor. Worked free by the trauma of the shot. Thought would have to wait.

  Armatrine, duck! She did so at the final moment, the flying ball grazing over the boy and lodging itself in the undergrowth. Now. She laid him down upon the soil. In his barely conscious state he began to groan. Comfort would have to wait.

  Arlandus drew his sword. A blade of ancient design yet still as bright as the day it had been forged. It burned with the glory of the twin suns. The handle, ornate in design, depicted back to back drakes breathing fire and fume to form the hilt. It looked as though it might break yet he knew more than most of the power the blade could channel. This blade would outlast them all. He would not be its only master. It was set to outlive him. Yet for now they were strongly bonded allies. He shifted its weight in his dominant hand. Armatrine followed suit drawing a sword of her own. A tooth which had tasted much blood recently. Today it would dine upon more. He spotted them in a ditch. Red overcoats stark against the green of the growing flora. They would need to be quick, while their quarry reloaded their muskets. Neither fancied their odds in facing down a projectile with nought but a static blade for defence. Launching himself he pushed his blade through the skull of one acoster. He'd no time to feel the blow, let alone react. A painless death. A mercy. His colleague, a boy of no more than fifteen began to quiver and shake, fear taking hold until Armatrine found his throat, slickening herself with the crimson of his blood as it sprayed upon her. There had been no time to shout.

  We must move them to a less conspicuous place.

  Yes my young apprentice, you are sublime in the art of murder. He commented, troubled. These were not skills she had learned under his tutelage.

  It is not the art of murder, but the art of survival. Nobody could have taught me. I am not so adept myself. She replied as she dragged the corpse into a thicket. Covered by the roots of a small plant. It would be hidden for some time, perhaps forever. His bones would feed the island. Do you not see the similarity between myself and these men?

  Armatrine?

  It is undeniable, the difference is I am returned, if only to mete out the justice of the Three. Make their will sacrosanct. There is so much I missed out on master, in life. Death came too soon to my body.

  You’re angry?

  I am past the anger. But I must accept what is before me and part of that acceptance is understanding the limits of what I can do while here, however limited my time may be.

  The boy? He asked gingerly.

  The boy is undoubtedly a part of this and while he is too weak to stand I will aid as is the will of the Three. Yet make no mistake, there is no kinship. Only duty.

  As you see fit. He saw no point in arguing only to inflame her. Had she not lost enough? Dignity could remain a while longer. We must move on. More shall be coming!

  Yes master she replied.

  The boy managed to stand on his own this time. His shaking legs now able to support his own weight as he pushed from the floor. His body remained slumped, hunched towards his knees as his arms pushed him upright.

  “Are you able to walk boy?” Arlandus asked matter of factly.

  “Slowly and with great effort” he responded. He looked different to Armatrine. The violence he'd visited upon her, he seemed incapable of now. His shuddering form crossed the threshold between dying and weakened. At least now he could lift himself.

  “Then see that effort doubled and it may not be quick enough still!” Arlandus responded politely. “You understand we must make haste in all of this?”

  The boy hunched and vomited toward the floor, spilling the emptiness from within himself. A hangover from the rebirthing. There would still be some death left within him. Arlandus turned his back politely. Armatrine stood staring, her sword drawn toward him. She felt ridiculous. He could no more harm his dinner as much as he could herself or Arlandus. The torture had taken its lasting toll upon him. With the chill of her own vengeance she knew it was his just punishment. He'd been a part of her ending. She let him know the feeling. The pain, the fear. The physical denial of existence. She bore him no sympathy, no pity. Steeling herself she forced the point to position as he heaved.

  “Why do you not kill me?” He choked.

  “Is that what you would like?” She asked. Anger taking hold. “There is nothing I would love more than to stick this steel between your ribs, slick with the crimson of your gore. To pierce and feed your own heart back to you. Yet there is no wisdom in bleeding the bloodless to death” she turned watchfully to Arlandus.

  “Arm…” he began.

  “You have been given another chance. The priestess may have judged you condemned, yet she is gone. We must play the survival game, right now privateers have turned upon the order. The crown’s own men! By the Three a split of state and the faith. Right now we are all that remains. This old master and I. Somehow you are part of this, as I am, as is he !” She paused, catching her breath. It came thick and hot from the humidity. “You have been given a second chance, I suggest you run toward it in embrace, for it is more than many are given.”

  “About…”

  “I don't want to hear it! You have no right to even address me. Once this is over I'll be tempted, if you survive, to finish you myself. Gods damn it, had it not been for your interference I'd still be...” a single tear fell from her eye, bright and shining with the reflection of burning sunlight it traversed the expanse of her cheek and neck. He fell silent, there would be nothing to bridge the gulf between them.

  It was Arlandus who spoke first. “Finally the two of you agree on something” he smiled. Two sets of eyes snapped in his direction. “Jak wishes that Armatrine would carry out his execution order, Armatrine wants him dead but desires to carry out the will of the Three more zealously, yet will gladly finish him if they both survive whatever ordeal is coming. It sounds to me, like you both are a match made in heaven” he smiled.

  You bastard. She began. You know what he is responsible for.

  But what are you responsible for if not revisiting the same violence upon him? An endless cycle must finish sometime.

  “Ugh...” the boy began

  “Stay out of this boy” she warned, eyes flashing with a deeper anger.

  “From what?” He could not hear their discourse. She had become so used to using the gift to contact Arlandus it had become as natural as speaking. She had forgotten others were unable to hear them when they used it.“Never mind” she replied. This was for them. Not for one such as him.r />
  Show some empathy Dupree. Arlandus began. You all but admit the boy is a part of this, you agree you must spare him. Why not realise you have been manoeuvred by those stronger in the arts of intrigue and cut him some slack.

  It's too painful. No matter where I turn I can't go back. Neither can he. There's too much that has transpired.

  So let it go, let it burn, let it die. That was of the Order and the Order is gone. Now we must build something new together and the boy is part of that. By the will of the Three we must embrace our fate and turn ample minds to sharper goals.

  There is another worry.

  I saw him. Something new yet familiar. Something I can't fathom yet. We must mediate upon the problem if the answer is to reveal itself.

  Tripartistes seventeen, three.

  Yes.

  I always adored that piece of scripture. The scrolls gave wisdom. It's as if a soothing mother is telling us there is no problem we can’t surpass so long as there is proper application.

  I read it to you often as a girl. When you would make the worst of situations and panic.

  “Well, this silence is strange.” Began the boy. Two sets of pointed eyes looked his direction once again.

  “Boy,” began Arlandus, “do not mock the gift, there is much in this world that belongs to ridicule yet faith is not one among them.” An awkward silence grew among them. “Now we must be moving. There is much to do and I fear time is running short.”He began, slow steps to help the boy. Progress was progress, was it not? Looking over his shoulder at the man behind him he wondered, what had happened to the boy he met in Laan so long before?

  ~ The Secondary Temple, Once Hallowed Grounds~

  ~Nineteenth of the Sheath, Song of Sorrow ~

  The fallen shall rise

  The elevated fall

  Beware the sword

  Beware the liar

  - Ravings of a mad man, unknown time period.

  They had trekked for days. Soaked in the vapid humidity of the vast forest. It hounded them like a specter as they made slow progress. Toward where she could not say. Only Arlandus knew and he was keeping his secrets well. Silently they wandered. The boy had picked up his pace towards the middle of the day before and they had covered a significant amount of ground, more than on the first. Stopping only for the cooling of natural streams as they became available. She felt fatigue burning her thighs. Aching its way across her muscles the distance hey had come beginning to make itself known. Present and irritating.

  The boy had tried twice to converse with them yet his efforts had roundly been ignored. He was part of their destiny yet he was not one of them. The message clear in the silence. He'd not persisted. The presumption that he could converse irritated her beyond measure. There was something about herself she did not like when he was around her. Something tugging at a loose thread in her mind. It was not that she’d perished at his now weakened hand. For he'd perished at her own many more times over. It was the taste it left inside her. Smoldering with the intensity of anger, yet it was something different. She did not yet know what.

  A small red lizard leaped from a tree branch above her, landing deftly upon the trunk of another. Spreading its four black- spotted legs, wings fanned beneath it. It dove from plant to plant, chasing its own shadow until it came to rest upon a patch where the light of both suns above burned simultaneously. Prismatic it shone, splitting the light. She had read about the phenomenon. Paleosynthesis. She had never seen anything so wondrous. She was thankful to the Three she was there to enjoy it. No matter the circumstance she would carry the beauty back to her grave when this was complete. A frail momentary reminder of beauty in the face of darkness.

  They had shaken the pursuit of their aggressors the day prior. In a daring act of valour Arlandus had risked himself to save them. He'd come out barely scathed. A small scratch now rested below his right eye. He claimed it had come from a tree branch yet they had both seen the musket ball abrade his skin. They had heard the shot. The man had been a good shot, yet not good enough. He'd paid for it with his life. The old priest had brushed concern aside as if the wound were nothing. So it had become nothing. Such was the will of the Three.

  After the fight he'd gifted the boy with a small dagger of his own from which to fend off attackers should the need arise. A vicious bronze tooth taken from the temple. It held a green emerald in place of a pommel. It was worth a small fortune. She saw the pirate in him weigh up the value of the weapon as he’d weighed the blade between his fingers, practicing to find its balance. She had protested loudly.

  Hush my child. He'd assured her.

  The boy is dangerous.

  I'm counting on it. He silenced her.

  He flicked it now along his fingers. All the while her eyes were drawn closer to him. He'd done well in a short space of time. He made murder an art form. Would her frail body, this fragile life force as gift of the Three be the canvas for his crimson work a second time?

  They trekked forth without further assault. He sheathed the blade yet nothing could stop the anxiety at the fact he was now armed, trekking with her through the undergrowth. She remained at the back. Watching him ahead. Her nervous hand placed firmly on the handle of her own waiting blade. Should she need it she would be ready.

  ***

  They trekked for two more uneventful days. The twin suns blazed above them like tormenting devils. Giving life to that which sustained them yet resolved to burn them to ashes. Under her covering she sweated. There was no reprieve. The boy chose to remove his shirt. His fair skin had reddened as if it were burning iron. He'd quickly covered himself. The fool, she thought. The forces of the natural world conspired against them and yet he exposed himself further when he should have been covering.

  Arlandus stopped finally. The place he'd chosen was no different to the surrounding jungle, as far as the eye could see. Nor what they had previously trekked through.

  “There is something must be done” he began.

  Master, you speak openly. Armatrine protested using the gift.

  My words are for all to hear. Not only the order. He responded using the gift himself to spare her embarrassment.

  “There is a spirit among the living I have felt yet it is impossible. Dark things I fear are at play, perhaps greater stakes than any may have realised before now. I must meditate, I must converse with the Three. On their realm, upon their soil. I must know what we must do, I must know that my suspicions are real, or we face destruction. That is for certain.” his words chilled her to the bone. There was something in them, something she'd not seen in him before. An edge, a fear. The scent clung to him like a musk. All round him it descended like a cloud.

  “Dark words master, fit for dark times” she assured.

  “I must meditate, I fear I will be gone some time, you must both stand guard. Watch over my body until the transaction is complete. I will return with answers.”

  “Master!” She protested aloud this time. “Is this wise? The boy we hardly know. Standing watch while you seek clarity.”

  “There is much you do not know Dupree” he warned.

  ***

  He'd been gone six days so far. His body sat, a cross legged empty shell upon the soil. He gave no indication of ever having been anything but a corpse. The spirit had departed the body and just the flesh remained. Cold and statuesque. He required no food nor water, not even an eyelid flickered upon his face to indicate there was life left yet within him. What was here, what they guarded between them, was naught but the vessel to which he would return once his time with the Three had come to an end. If of course, they allowed him that luxury.

  They stood either side. As if sentries guarding the walls of a palace. They remained stoic, silent against the winds of the situation. Jak, his dagger ready and Armatrine’s hand rested permanently upon the hilt of her blade. Watching silently. Waiting for the inevitable flash of scarlet as they stood watch.

  A sudden rustling pulled her from pensive solemnity to the world aroun
d her. Seething anxiety rose to meet her like a charmed serpent. Swiftly she drew her blade. Jak had been quicker. He threw the dagger. Its bronze point pinned a small burjak to the tree behind it. It bled against the wood, staining it a deep maroon. The beast kicked involuntarily as the life fled its body. When he was quite sure it had finished he reached for the hilt, pulling it from the dead animal with a deft schlicking noise.

  “That's quite enough” Armatrine scolded.