The Rise of Nazil

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  Wosen’s body still convulsed as he continued to wail. The pain from the spike was unbearable, piercing his insides with his every fluctuation. As his body jerked, the spiked plunged further, sending waves of pain igniting every nerve in his body. His knees wobbled, accompanied by shrieking cries, until his body sank, swaying from his shackles. Oxilon grabbed a long leather strap tipped with razor-sharp claws. He beat Wosen across the back and neck, ensuring his unconsciousness.

  When Wosen awoke again, he found Yannick seated across from him, and some of his wounds had been tended. He cried out, raising his head to see the blurred, shadowy figure, though his body still throbbed and shook in agony. Fluid and bile drain from his arse as the stabbing pain radiated throughout his body.

  “Ah, you are awake,” Yannick said, pleasantly. “I was worried that my dear friend had caused more damage than intended.” Yannick smiled handsomely, taking a basket from the table. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I have some fish, bread, and ale if you so desire.”

  The smell of food caused Wosen’s stomach to growl. It had been many suns since he’d been given food or water.

  “Please. Water. Please.” Wosen winced, his voice barely audible.

  “What’s that you say? Water? Are you thirsty?”

  Wosen nodded as much as his position allowed, still twitching from the ache of the spike.

  “Well, we can’t allow such a thing to be. Surely, there’s water.” Yannick stood, moving around the room. Wosen licked his swollen, cracked lips, hearing the liquid being poured.

  “There, there you are. Have a nice long drink, my young friend,” Yannick said, holding the cup to Wosen’s mouth.

  Greedily, he parted his lips, drinking it down as quickly as it was poured. Wosen gagged and spat, tasting the warm urine on his tongue. Oxilon laughed as Yannick grabbed his face, twisting and pouring the rest down his throat. He held his hand over Wosen’s nose and mouth, forcing him to drink all of it.

  “Do you still have a thirst, savage?” Oxilon chuckled. “Mayhaps I could squeeze a few drops for you to savor,” he said, clapping Yannick on the back. “Come, Yannick, I must speak to the Zaxson. We’ll leave him for the rats. They’re hungry, too.”

  New Day

  Nurul leapt from his horse, running into the hall. The resounding thud from the opening door startled the Elders who were meeting inside.

  “Nurul, what’s the matter?” Vot asked.

  “Elders, I have word. We need to leave.”

  “Leave? What word, Nurul?” Emet said, handing him a cup of water. He drank it down quickly, continuing.

  “I met with the Nohek in the temple. I offered prayers as I do each full moon. But this time, he had disturbing news. We can’t linger. We must go now.”

  “Nurul, please sit and explain,” Hosdaq said.

  Nurul sighed, looking at him with empathy. “Hosdaq, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to believe the report, and my heart still aches from it.”

  “What report? Has Wosen gone to Noraa? Is he at the temple?”

  “No. They’ve mentioned little,” Nurul sighed. “An abomination was reportedly captured in Nazil.”

  “No, please, they can’t. Please tell me they don’t have him,” Hosdaq shouted, dropping to his knees. “Please say that my son is safe in Noraa after finding his mind. Please, Nurul.”

  “Hosdaq, we’re truly sorry,” Huname said, embracing him. “He’s our son, too. Protect him, please, protect him,” she prayed.

  Vot moved to his side, helping Hosdaq to stand. “I’ll take him home so Osmara can tend to him.”

  When the doors closed, Olam regarded Nurul. “Are you certain that it’s Wosen? How did the Nohek learn about it?”

  “It’s certain. They’ve had him imprisoned for some time.”

  “You spoke with Asmaa directly?” Emet asked.

  “He’s the only one who knows me, and the only one I’d trust.”

  “Did he tell you anything else?” Huname asked.

  “Pentanimir has been assigned as Spero’s Caretaker.”

  “It’s no wonder that we haven’t heard from him.”

  “He sent word, Elder Huname. That’s how the Nohek learned about Wosen.” He paused, meeting each of their eyes. “He also mentioned that the Nazilian guard is preparing.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know, Elder Huname. Pentanimir’s messages are always vague, and written in a manner that only the Nohek can decipher.”

  “I need to learn the meaning of this,” Olam said. “Could my vision be connected in some way? If Pentanimir rules in Spero, who’s the man I’ve seen beside him? He’s also Nazilian. I don’t understand what I’ve been shown. There’re too many faces that I’ve yet to know. I wish the One god would be clear and tell me what he’d have of me.”

  “Olam, clarity will come,” Emet said. “What you’ve been shown is significant.”

  “Yes, but once I comprehend, will time allow for action? I’m shown fragments of an incomplete picture. There are always essential elements missing; it’s disjointed. If I don’t know what’s to come, how am I supposed to prevent or alter it? There must be a reason he brings these visions to me,” Olam said, tossing his hands up in frustration. “I couldn’t keep Wosen from the pale serpent. I couldn’t keep Brahanu in Bandari. What am I to do?”

  “It’s not for you to change what’s to come,” Emet said. “Mayhaps it’s for you to give a warning of those things. You can’t decide for another, Olam. The One god allows you to help guide them where they need to be, or keep them from where they shouldn’t go. If they choose not to follow, the blame isn’t yours. The One god doesn’t control, we choose the paths that we walk. In sharing your visions, you’ve done all that’s expected of you.”

  “Have I? Have I done everything he’d have me do?”

  Huname rested a hand atop his. “Olam, now isn’t the time to question. Nurul might have more to tell us.”

  “I do,” Nurul said. “Pentanimir wrote a single word and underlined it. Wood.”

  “He’d have us travel to the Animus Wood?” Olam asked.

  “He did mention it upon his last visit,” Emet said.

  “Yes, but he said he’d only choose this path if we had no other. Is the Animus Wood the only option now?”

  “It appears so,” Huname said. “Our time grows short and the village is nearly ready. We only need to load the carts. Aizen and Ahni have traveled the path to the wood. We can traverse the same, but it’ll take time. If need be, we can leave within three suns.”

  “Did anyone in Noraa seem anxious regarding the Nazilians’ movements, Nurul?” Emet asked.

  “When I enter the city, it’s always under the cover of darkness through the rear gate. The Nohek does well to house me, and give word of the lands. I don’t usually stray past the temple grounds, or seek out those who might know me. Judging the mood of Noraa’s denizens isn’t a thing I want to do, Emet. I didn’t even visit your uncle and grandfather on this trip.”

  “There’s no choice left, then. It’s been four full moons since Wosen fled Bandari, and now we know that he’s a captive in Nazil. Even though we haven’t noticed any activity in the Dessalonian Woods, we know that it won’t remain that way. Pentanimir wouldn’t tell us to leave without certainty.”

  “I agree, Elder Emet,” Vot said, entering the hall.

  “How’s Hosdaq, husband?”

  “Saifu has given him some dream wine, and Osmara is sitting with him. Even so, he won’t be well for some time. Hosdaq has witnessed what’s done with those named an abomination or savage in Nazil. Those memories plague both his heart and mind.”

  “Ours as well,” Nurul said, standing. “Elders, there’re twenty carts complete, and I’ll tend the rest on the morrow. I’m going now to finish packing my home. We must make an announcement at the morning meal. Nazil is coming, and we must leave quickly.”

  As they exited the hall, Olam turned, coming to Emet’s side.

  “Emet, may I ask
you something?”

  “Of course, Elder. Is something troubling you?”

  “No. I’m not troubled, well, I am about what we’ve just learned, but I’m not speaking about that,” Olam said, considering how to frame his question. “Your mother was Nazilian, was she not?”

  “I know that I don’t look Nazilian, but my mother certainly was. Thusly, I’m half, yes.”

  With umber-colored hair, hazel eyes, and an almond complexion, Emet’s appearance was wholly human.

  “Yes, of course. It’s only, well, when you hear about the Nazilians’ savagery, do you feel any guilt?”

  “Guilt? I hold no guilt toward an offense that I haven’t committed. Olam, I mourn the atrocities perpetrated by anyone. It doesn’t matter if they’re human or Nazilian. Cruelty is iniquitous and vile no matter who commits the offense,” Emet said, halting and facing him. “I loved my mother immensely. Without her, Nzuri and I wouldn’t be. I also love Hosdaq and Wosen, and I’m saddened that Wosen couldn’t love and accept all that he is. It was a blessing for him to have the people here. Instead of appreciating such a blessing, he merely longed for an ideal in his own mind. Because of this, he suffers horribly. I pray that if he’s not somehow liberated, that his death will be swift. Some of the Nazilians take much delight in the suffering of others.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend, Emet, nor did I intend to imply that because of your mother, you should feel this way or that. You didn’t have to remain here with us. Your family is highly regarded in Noraa and beyond. As you’ve said, your appearance is human. The fact that you did stay shows your true heart. I wanted to ease your mind, not plague it.”

  Emet smiled. “You didn’t offend me. I knew your words had no malicious intent. You’re concerned, as am I. But worry not,” he said, resting a comforting hand on Olam’s arm. “Bandari is my home. I enjoy visiting my family in Noraa, but returning here is when I truly feel that I’m home. Now, the hour grows late, and your wife awaits you. I’ll speak with my brother and return home. There’ll be much to do on the morrow.”

  Olam watched as Emet entered the temple. The village was beautiful by moonlight beneath the majestic mountains, and the shifting howls of the jaenitu echoed harmonically in the darkness. For a moment, he paused, offering a prayer to the One god.

  “Please guide me toward my true purpose. The visions you’ve bestowed upon me are a blessing, and I’m honored to receive them. But I feel that my understanding and interpretation is deficient. I can’t serve you diligently if your directives aren’t clear. Please, enlighten me fully to aid in your designs. I’m your vessel to do with as you please. Use me well,” he whispered, entering his home.

  “Olam? What’s wrong?” Eleni asked.

  “We received news regarding Nazil, my wife. We’ll need to leave Bandari soon.”

  Her brow furrowed, noting his solemn expression. “I fear that there’s more you haven’t said.”

  “It’s Wosen,” he sighed. “They’ve taken him captive in Nazil.”

  “No, Olam. Please. Are you certain?”

  He merely nodded, roughly rubbing his face.

  “How’s Hosdaq? Does he know?”

  “He does, and he wasn’t well at the hearing of it.”

  “Hosdaq has had happiness for too short of a time since marrying Osmara. Now, this. We must increase our prayers for him and Wosen.”

  “We prayed that this wouldn’t come to pass, yet Wosen chose this path. If the One god allows, we’ll see him again. If he’s ready for his spirit to dwell amongst him, we won’t,” he said disheartened, hanging his cloak near the door. “Are Kassa and Kaleb asleep?”

  “It’s late. They’ve been abed for some time. I was only waiting on you to do the same.”

  “I need your closeness, Eleni. Only your touch could soothe my heart this night.”

  She kissed him tenderly, heading toward their chamber. He embraced her again before starting to undress. A wistful smile found his face, watching her fingers comb through her cranberry-colored hair. When she disrobed, Olam raised the covers, sliding in bed beside her. Eleni nestled in close, resting her head on his chest.

  “I love you, Olam.”

  “And I, you, my wife.”

  Sleep didn’t come easily. The innumerable thoughts, trepidations, and dubiety beset his mind. Olam observed the flames’ shadowy impressions swaying against the ceiling, as he listened to the soothing sound of his wife’s breathing. He kissed the crown of her head, drawing her closer, and finding comfort in her soft, full frame. When his eyes finally closed, myriad images assailed him all at once.

  His face scrunched, a soft whimper escaping his lips. War, mirth, anguish, merriment, death, and torment. He struggled, attempting to find equivalence and symmetry in the disparate impressions.

  Encompassing flares erupted around him with reverberant voices undulating with the fire’s movement.

  “Tardison,” a disembodied voice whispered. He gasped, other voices emerged louder and more forceful than the first.

  Olam’s head twitched, straining to see past the flames, to see past the turbidity of his own mind. As the heat escalated, he cried out, being overcome by the torridity and desolation embedded within the flames.

  He coughed, waving his arms in desperation to lessen the swelling heat and eddying mist billowing around him.

  “Tardison,” the voice whispered again.

  “Who are you?” Olam yelled, but only the resonance of his own words responded.

  Feral moans, eldritch shrieks, and a crying child sounded in the distance over the loud crackle of the flames. Olam called out again, louder than before.

  “Who are you?”

  He flinched, a gelid shadow drifted beside him, causing goose prickles to cover his skin.

  “Tardison.”

  As the name resonated again, a flicker of understanding reached him. Opening his eyes, Olam edged forward, stretching his hand toward the orange and yellow eruptions.

  “There’s no heat,” he said, taking another step.

  “Brahanu,” sounded beyond the flames.

  “Where are you?” Olam pleaded, swiftly turning as a child’s cry echoed behind him. “Please help me see.”

  “Guardians,” the ethereal voices echoed.

  The flames leapt higher, their flaring tendrils whipping over and through him. Tossing up his hands, Olam dropped to his knees, shouting out in anguish. Panic consumed him as the flames leapt higher and nearer.

  “Help me!” he heard himself say in a voice that wasn’t his own.

  “Faith will bring you through the flames.”

  Olam gasped, hearing the melodious, ensorcelled voices. The sound was calming…almost euphoric. He relished that palliative warmth until the flames rose again, squeezing him within their blazing coil.

  “Faith.”

  “Please help me,” he pleaded, raising his eyes toward the heavens. It was nothingness and infinity: a miasmic swirl of amethyst gradations bespeckled with crepuscular illuminations.

  Olam’s panting breaths quickened as he lurched back, feeling the chilling shadow hovering above him.

  “Faith,” the word sounded again, eurythmic, roiling voices, beckoning him forward.

  Olam stood, staring into the wall of flames. His breathing calmed, the melodic voice repeating in his mind. With closed eyes, he walked through the flames, not opening them again until a cooling mist alit his face.

  He blinked, squinting at the bright sun cresting over enormous trees in the midst of the dense wood. Drifting laughter wafted through the air accompanied by the voices of children.

  “Tardison.”

  Olam whipped around as the sun’s light was veiled by partial darkness. A shadow passed beside him, or through him, he couldn’t discern. The chill left in its wake had him clutching his arms, staring at the unmoving impression across from him. Olam stepped haltingly toward the tall, misshapen figure.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Tesu,” the figure said in a p
eculiar, otherworldly tenor. The voice sounded as if it was there, and yet present elsewhere as well. The words rippled through the air, seeming to slow before he’d heard them.

  “What are you?” Olam heard his voice slower than when he’d spoken.

  “I am the messenger.”

  “Are you the source of my visions?”

  “I am the messenger. The Guardians are the source.”

  When the shadow begun gliding away, Olam reached out, but couldn’t move.

  “Please, what am I to do? Who are the Guardians?”

  “Follow the twins. The Guardians shall lead. Follow the twins,” the voice echoed, drifting from perception.

  Fear consumed him as the shadow began to evanesce.

  “Please, don’t leave me. Help me!”

  “Follow the twins,” the voice repeated.

  The sky erupted with a brilliant radiance, as the shadow ascended into the heavens. An explosion of shimmering particles blanketed the wood, sprinkling over him. Olam stretched out his arms, his fingertips nearly touching it as a babe’s cry claimed his attention. He turned, sighting a lighted platform rising beneath his feet with a blinding luminescence. He clenched his eyes shut, shielding them from the intense burst. As the light bedimmed, he reopened his eyes, emerging in a different time and place.

  Harmonizing notes resonated from the falls as the waters of many merged into one. When he stepped forward, the cry sounded again. Olam whipped around, seeing a figure in the distance. A dizzying haze obstructed his vision, and the image he saw before him. He stumbled forward, reaching out in front of him, following the music of the falls.

  The image was clearer now, outlined in a glimmering gold offset by the brilliance of the falls. Its long, waist-length white hair swayed in the cooling breeze, as the figure came more into focus.

  “Pen—Pentanimir?” he asked bemused. “Pentanimir? What is this place?”

  Pentanimir turned, raising his arms, slowly extending them out to Olam.

  “Tardison.”

  Olam’s gaze lowered, meeting the babe’s unblinking, pale eyes. When he reached to take him, a coil encircled is waist, wrenching him away. His feet levitated above the ground as he was propelled backward, flailing against the imperceptible power.