by Tom Mohan
He’s coming.
Sara’s attack faltered. She blinked, and her opponent nearly brained her as she forced the words from last night’s dream out of her mind. Shaking her head, she refocused her attention and began setting up her next attack. Though she’d picked a common and expected move, she knew her opponent was no match for her skill.
He’s coming for you.
Sara stumbled, again barely managing to spare herself a blow that would have taken a week to heal. The heat of the sun bore down on her, and she became aware of her gasping breaths. Curse that stupid dream. She was out of rhythm, all focus lost. Ignoring training etiquette and style, she lashed out with the speed and accuracy that made her one of the top students under Master Eleazar’s tutelage. Again she feinted with the leading tip of the staff, only to sweep the butt under the leg of her opponent. With a grunt, he hit the ground, bulging eyes staring up at the tip of Sara’s staff hovering just over his nose.
“Halt!” Master Eleazar’s voice rang through the training yard. Sara pulled her staff back and reached out to help her fallen opponent to his feet. Both students turned and bowed to one another, and then to the master. “That was not your best work. Distraction will kill you when the time for real battle comes.”
Sara sighed. Master Eleazar often spoke in proverbs, and that was one of his favorites. Normally the mild scolding wouldn’t bother her, but today she knew he’d directed it solely at her. She worked hard to be the best, and it pained her to be on the receiving end of the rebuke.
“You almost let me get you there,” Sam said, smiling.
“Yeah, well, I wanted you to feel good about yourself,” Sara answered. She and Sam had been friends for as long as she could remember. Though her fighting skills outclassed his, he never acted as though it bothered him. She wished she could say that for all the guys she bested in the training yard. Some of them really hated being beaten by a girl, though many held her in grudging respect.
Sam quickened his pace until he stood in front of her and stopped. “Seriously, Sara. At breakfast you looked like you’d hardly slept at all last night. Besides, you could be so sick you’re puking pancakes and still whip me. What’s up?”
Sara forced a smile. “Like I said, I wanted to make you feel good, so I stayed up all night just to make you look better.” She punched his arm and moved around him. “I’m going to clean up. See you at lunch.”
She hurried into the women’s changing area, to the shelf that held her clothes and few personal items. Plopping down on a wooden bench, she let out a breath and tried to relax. She had swallowed the urge to point out to Sam that it would have taken more than one night of lost sleep for her to perform so badly. Truth was, she had slept little during the three nights since the nightmares began. She stripped off her sweat-soaked fighting clothes and hurried to the baths to clean up. Tired or not, the workout had left her famished, and she had no desire to miss lunch.
The baths hardly lived up to their name. A few buckets of cold water, a rough bar of soap, and several threadbare towels sat in a small room to the right of the shelves. Another room off of the changing area held an actual stone bath that filled with steaming hot water once a week. Sara had heard the guys complain about their weekly bath, but she and the rest of the girls looked forward to bath day like little else. The Keep offered so few luxuries that a hot bath—and the clean feeling she gloried in afterward—seemed a genuine pleasure.
Sara dressed in loose-fitting cotton pants and a tunic belted at the waist—the standard uniform of the students in the Keep. Her footsteps were silent in her soft leather boots as she hurried toward the meal hall. As she passed through the back entry of the Keep, she couldn’t help but wonder at her own presence there. After all, religion had never played a significant role in her life. Her parents had never expressed any real devotion to Ash-Shaytan. Not that they disrespected the god. They just weren’t zealots, as so many seemed to be. For Sara, her life—training under monks of the great god to defend the realm in the name of Ash-Shaytan—still sometimes seemed surreal.
The sudden appearance of her best friend, Dana Hunter, pulled Sara from her musings. Dana skipped up alongside Sara, her face wearing her trademark smile. Dana’s always-cheery attitude starkly contrasted with Sara’s normal moody demeanor. Slightly taller than Sara, with nearly the same color hair, Dana was often mistaken for Sara’s sister, though the two girls had not actually met until they arrived at the Keep on the same day. Though quite different in personality, they had formed an instant connection.
“I hear Sam almost scored on you this morning,” Dana said, her grin turning sly. “You must be getting old.”
“Wow, word travels fast.” Sara put on her best scowl, but couldn’t maintain it around her cheerful friend.
Dana chuckled. “Would you expect anything else from Sam?”
Sara smiled in spite of herself. Sam Stewart’s mouth, which was always moving, had become a punch line throughout the Keep. If he wasn’t embellishing stories, he was telling jokes. If he wasn’t telling jokes, he was eating. Dana’s twin brother, Ryan, swore Sam even talked in his sleep. Short and skinny, with bright red hair and a face covered in freckles, he used his wit to cover for any perceived disadvantage of his small physical stature.
Sara sighed. “Well, I guess by now the entire Keep knows I’m getting old and slow. Guess I’ll just hang up my sword and staff and take up knitting with the Sisters.”
“Yeah,” Dana said. “Probably for the best.”
Sara shoved her friend into a wall and took off down the hallway to the large dining room where the midday meal awaited. She almost turned away when she saw the rotund form of Sister Maggie at one end of the serving table, removing empty bowls and platters. Though the sister was round, she was anything but soft. Her jowls hung like granite slabs, pulling her lips into a permanent frown. Unlike the other Sisters, Maggie was a sourpuss even on a good day—and even worse when trainees arrived late for a meal.
Sara’s stomach rumbled, reminding her again of just how hungry she felt and how little she cared about Maggie’s irritation. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Dana hanging back, but she didn’t let that stop her from sauntering up to the table. “Hello, Sister Maggie,” Sara said. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“You’re late,” Sister Maggie said as she picked up a bowl containing the remnants of what looked like mashed potatoes. Sara’s mouth watered as the dish disappeared from the table. She quickly grabbed a plate and snagged some beef with her bare hand, a move that earned her a stiff glare from Sister Maggie’s suspicious eyes. Sara returned the look with her best smile and snagged two slices of bread. A glance across the table revealed that the gravy and butter had already been picked up. A dry beef sandwich would have to hold her over until dinner. Turning her back on the grumpy Sister, Sara carried her lightly loaded plate to the table where Dana awaited her.
Sara’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Ryan had joined his sister. The Hunter twins cast a welcoming aura in the gloomy dining room. Not only were they both perpetually upbeat, but they were also the best-looking students in the Keep. Especially Ryan. She’d had a crush on the tall, tanned young man since she first laid eyes on him, even though crushes had never been her style. Of course, all the girls felt the same way about Ryan, so why would he notice her above the others? She was the athletic one, the tough one. Not exactly what guys her age wanted in a relationship.
“Hey Sara,” Ryan said as she approached.
“Hey Ryan,” she replied, trying not to drop her plate as she swung onto the bench seat.
“I hear Sam—”
“Almost beat me? Yeah, I heard that myself.”
Ryan’s smile flashed at her, forcing her to look away to hide her blush. “Aww, come on, allow Sam his minute of fame. It’ll be a long time before he gets to shine like that again.”
“Hey, I heard that,” Sam said, as he joined the small group. Sara’s eyes widened when she saw that he was carrying the ver
y bowl of mashed potatoes Sister Maggie had removed from the table moments ago.
“How’d you get those potatoes?”
Sam shrugged and leaned in conspiratorially. “Mags has the hots for me,” he whispered. Sam winked and shoveled a spoonful of potatoes in his mouth, and everyone burst out laughing. Well, almost everyone. A quick glance at Sister Maggie proved she still wore her usual scowl. She glared at the giggling teens as though she knew exactly what they were going on about. The few other students and Keep personnel in the dining room made little noise as they finished their lunch, making the room feel somber and gray.
Sara took a bite of her beef sandwich, which tasted quite plain without butter or gravy. Noticing her friends’ sudden silence, she looked up. They all stared at her.
“What?” She looked around at each of them.
Finally, Dana spoke up. “Sara, what’s bothering you?”
Sara cringed. Was it that obvious? “Nothing’s bothering me. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Ryan said. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“And you don’t fight like you’re fine, either,” Sam added.
“It’s nothing. Really. I haven’t been sleeping well, but that’s nothing new. I’ve always been a light sleeper.”
“But this is something more,” Dana said. “Come on, Sara, we’re your friends. We’re worried about you.”
Sara sighed. She dreaded talking about her dreams, but she knew she wouldn’t feel so alone if she told her friends. “Okay, I’ve been having weird dreams. Weird and scary.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Wow, if the sword mistress thinks the dreams are scary, we mortals would probably die from fright.”
“Shut it, Sam,” Dana said as she smacked his arm. “Ignore the Mouth, Sara. We’re listening.”
Sara shrugged. “There’s not much to tell, really. In the dream, a man’s after me. I don’t know who he is. No matter where I go or what I do, he’s still there, always behind me. He talks to me, whispering, and I feel his words touching me. Like walking through really shear curtains, you know? You barely feel them, but know they are there” Her friends nodded but said nothing. Even Sam fell quiet for once. “When I wake up, I can’t remember what he whispered, but I still feel the words hanging in my mind. Horrible words. And all I can think is that he’s coming. He’s coming for me. No matter what I do, I can’t get that awful thought out of my mind.”
Just then, the door leading from the Keep offices burst open, and an aged balding Brother entered the room. “Ah, Sara, there you are. I’ve been searching everywhere for you. The Holy Father wants to speak with you. Right away.”
Sara fought to remain calm as she followed the long-legged Brother through the passageways that led to the Holy Father’s quarters. She had been alarmed enough by the summons, but she nearly choked when she heard the meeting was to take place in the Holy One’s personal apartments rather than in his office. She thought over recent weeks, searching her memory for anything she might have done to attract this kind of attention, but nothing came to her. Widely spaced torches lit the dim passageway, revealing ancient portraits of unfamiliar people. Former Holy Fathers, possibly, though she’d never heard of any before Father Caleb.
One portrait in particular caught her attention, and Sara found herself staring at it as the Brother sped on down the corridor. The face in the painting seemed somehow familiar. The face—neither cruel nor friendly—seemed to radiate an awareness that crossed the boundaries of art and reality. The eyes drew her consciousness to them, boring into her head.
I’m coming, Sara. Coming for you.
Sara jumped as the words echoed in her mind, more than mere whispers this time. She stumbled back from the portrait and slammed against the wall across from it. Pain shot through her head from the impact against the hard stone. Lights danced before her vision, but she fought them off and focused her concentration as she had been trained to do. A tender touch to her head verified that a lump was already forming.
“Sara! The Holy Father waits while you lollygag.”
Sara returned her attention to the Brother. What had she been thinking? She shoved the strange portrait from her mind and hurried after her guide. After several more turns down identical hallways, the Brother halted before an ornate door. Two brothers, each armed with a staff in his hand and a sword on his hip, guarded the door. Sara knew these to be members of the elite Royal Guard, the best of the best of Ash-Shaytan’s forces. Though a man of peace, the Holy Father held great power, which drew bitter enemies. Ash-Shaytan taught that true peace could only be maintained through the power necessary to uphold it. The Keep of Ash-Shaytan stood as the primary source of that power.
Sara couldn’t help her nerves as she waited outside the door with her guide. Though neither of the guards moved, the one to the right of the door closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A moment later, his eyes opened, and he abruptly turned and opened the door before them. With a slight nod, Sara’s guide entered the room beyond. Unsure of what to do, Sara followed and, when the guards did nothing to stop her, continued into the chamber beyond. Once inside, Sara’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. She had always imagined the Holy Father lived in luxury, as one would assume his rank commanded. She had pictured his private apartments to be richly furnished in fine velvet and leather, with silk and finery splayed about brightly lit rooms. She was thrown off-balance by the simplicity of the room that greeted her. While not cheaply furnished, it was far from the lavish palace she had expected. A fire in the hearth of the moderately sized room bathed the chamber in a warm glow. A small couch and two chairs were covered in burgundy velvet, but the pieces appeared old and worn. Sara had to admit the comfort of the room relieved much of her tension and increased her admiration of the Holy Father. She had no idea why she’d always imagined he lived a more comfortable life than he allowed those underneath him.
The Brother indicated one of the chairs, and Sara sat while he slipped behind a curtain and into another room. She only had to wait for a moment before the curtain parted again and the Holy Father himself passed through it. Sara jumped to her feet and stood at rigid attention, but the elderly Father waved her back to the chair.
“No, no,” he said. “Sit. I get enough of that kind of thing everywhere I go. I’ll have none of it in here.”
Sara was taken aback by how normal the Holy Father looked in this environment. Granted, she had only seen him a couple of times from a distance at formal events. He had seemed so much bigger on those occasions, so much stronger. Here, in his comfortable apartments, he looked like any other elderly man, with a wrinkled face and white hair that was usually hidden beneath an official headpiece when in public.
Father Caleb turned a kind smile to her, and all her apprehension dissolved.
“Well now, young Sara. I must say I am sorry to have summoned you so abruptly, but I have news that simply could not wait.”
Sara’s apprehension returned in full force. Whatever news she’d been called to hear would not be good. She knew it could only have to do with one thing.
“My parents?” she asked, her voice quivering.
The old man’s face softened, and he nodded. “Yes, my dear, I’m afraid so. We don’t know much at this time, but I wanted to tell you personally. You children work so hard to be ready to stand and fight for the great Ash-Shaytan, may he watch over us all. I hate to bring you such news. These things remind us of just how evil our foe is. He will stop at nothing to destroy everything Ash-Shaytan holds dear.”
Sara barely heard the Holy One’s words. Her parents could not be dead. It wasn’t possible. “You said you don’t know much,” she said. “Will you tell me what you do know?”
The old man gazed at her for a moment. His face hardened. “Tell me, child, have you known anyone who has lost loved ones in the war since coming here?”
Sara considered the question. Of course, she had heard of those who had lost their parents before coming to the Keep. For ma
ny—orphans with no place to go—that was why they had been sent here in the first place. But she could only personally recall one who had lost a parent after arriving. Sara had not known him well, but rumors spread that he had been called to see the Holy Father, just as she had. He disappeared from the Keep soon after. “I might have,” she said. “I didn’t know him well, but I heard he came here to see you. And then…” She stopped, not sure how to continue.
“Ah yes, young Stephen. The enemy tortured and killed his mother in a most painful fashion. I’m afraid Stephen couldn’t handle it, and he had to leave the Keep.”
“Why would he have to leave the Keep because his mother was killed? I don’t understand.” A cold fear crept into her mind. Would she be forced to leave as well? Where would she go?
“Well, child, that is why you are here. I’m afraid that when such emotionally devastating events occur, we must be certain our young wards channel their anger and grief into their calling and devotion to Ash-Shaytan and his great plan. Not all are able to do so. The boy Stephen was one of those.”
Sara’s fear grew. What was he talking about? Ash-Shaytan was known for his love and mercy. Had a child been put out of the great god’s Keep for weakness in the face of his mother’s death?
“You think us cruel, yes? Oh, don’t deny it. I can read it in your face, in your eyes. Sometimes cruelty is the greatest love. Ash-Shaytan’s word tells of it over and over.”