by Matt Russell
"Get away from him!" Gretis's voice came in cold anger from the right. Kota shifted his eyes and saw her standing in quathic stance, blade in hand. She held a real sword with sharp gleaming edges.
"Oh relax," the man said. He moved the blades away from Kota's throat and dropped Kota's sword on the ground as he turned to face Gretis. "I don't have any interest in killing your student," he cast a sideways glance at Kota and added: "not yet anyhow."
"What are you doing here?" Gretis said, her voice still sharp. She did not lower her blade.
"I heard you had taken on a new apprentice. I thought I would come and say hello." He stepped slowly toward Gretis, his weapon rising subtly in the air. Gretis remained still, watching him with narrowed eyes. "He's very good," the man said. "In terms of form, he's utterly perfect."
"Yes, he is a better student than you ever were. He works harder, and he never complains."
The man cast another quick glance back at Kota, his jaw clenching, and Kota stared back. He was reasonably sure this man was Soulic, Gretis's son and first apprentice. She had never spoken of him, but Kota had learned bits and pieces of the story from Darius and some of the other Onkai. From what he knew, Soulic was a deadly killer who possessed all the skill, strength, and power of his mother, and he was, at least to some degree, insane.
"Is he going to be strong?" Soulic said in a voice of controlled anger. "Stronger than I? I'm curious about that. They say shamalaks are the best trackers in the world. Perhaps you're training him to hunt me...to do the job you could not."
"Kota has nothing to do with you," Gretis said, and she took a step toward Soulic. "If I should want you dead, I shall kill you myself."
"There's the mother I know," he said, his mouth curling into an angry smile. He dashed at her very suddenly then. Their two swords clashed together in the air so hard that Kota could almost feel the impact in his bones. Mother and son danced around each other, darting and whipping their blades around with unbelievable speed. Kota stared stupidly as their weapons clashed two and even three times in the span of a second. Within that blurring chaos, each of them seemed to move with incredible precision. It was terrifying and yet strangely beautiful. Neither seemed to be able to gain the upper hand on the other.
After a minute or two of this fierce dance, Soulic leaped fifteen or so paces back and shouted: "Peace, mother." He lifted his sword and slid it into the scabbard in his belt, and then he looked to her as if silently asking if she would do the same. Gretis hesitated, then sheathed her weapon.
"Why are you here, Soulic?" Gretis said. "If it is only to look over Kota, then you have done so, and you can leave."
"Actually I came here to speak with you. Perhaps we might go somewhere and talk?"
Gretis let out a dark chuckle. "You do remember how close my home is to the Onkai Temple, don't you?"
"I'll take the risk. Let's go for a walk."
Gretis sighed and looked at Kota. "Try to go back to meditating if you can. I will speak to you later. Do not follow us."
"Y-yes, ma'am," Kota said.
Gretis moved slowly to her son, and they fell into step together, walking away from Kota. They strode for a time in silence, growing smaller and smaller off in the trees until Kota heard Gretis's voice softly in the distance say: "How have you been?"
"Quite well, mother," he said. "I have managed to accomplish quite a bit since we last saw one another."
Soulic's voice grew quieter in the distance, and Kota's heart began to thump with curiosity. For years, Gretis's failed apprentice had been a mystery to him. Soulic represented what could go wrong with Sansrit Mastery—whatever had happened to him might happen to Kota as well. Kota thought it his right to understand this malady. Thus, nervously, he chose to disobey Gretis for the first time and crept closer, so he could continue to listen to the conversation. He moved on the balls of his feet, keeping silent and staying behind brush and trees.
"Did you kill another officer?" Gretis said, her voice stern.
"No, I have been focused on other things for a time. Actually, I thought I might give you another chance to answer my question before I resumed my quest." His voice lost its playfulness as he said: "Who is my father?"
Gretis hesitated, then said in a soft voice: "I will not participate in your crude revenge game.”
"I thought you might say that. That is why I procured this," Soulic said. Kota managed to sneak behind some thick bushes, and he peered through the leaves to see the young man unroll a large scroll in front of his mother. "These are the names of every general and commander serving in the time I would have been...conceived."
"Where did you get that?" Gretis said, her tone becoming slightly tense.
"I can get anything and go anywhere now," Soulic said with a chuckle. He reached inside the collar of his leather armor and drew out a golden amulet that hung from his neck. Kota peered at it. He could not tell for sure, but it seemed to look just like the Elokien Cassian had taken from the demon sorcerer nearly five years ago in the battle that had burned itself so profoundly into his memories.
"Where did you get that?" Gretis said, her voice even tenser. "The elves will kill anyone walking around with their enchanted items."
"The elves have no more chance of catching me than those Onkai imbeciles." Soulic cast a vicious smile at her and said: "As to where I got this, Denigoth has made many enemies in its conquests, and some of them are quite resourceful. I have made friends, mother. But that is hardly the point." He tucked the Elokien back into his armor and shook the scroll. "There are thirty-six names on this list. If you don't tell me who my father is, I am just going to work my way down it. More people will die than need to—not that the lives of these gods-damned murderers mean much. Still, I thought I would give you the chance to save me some trouble."
Gretis did not speak for a moment. They had both stopped walking, and she was staring at Soulic through narrow, angry eyes. "Your father died two years ago," she said finally.
Soulic's whole body seemed to convulse, and Kota heard him hiss: "Don't lie to me!"
"His name was Remus Kivild. I can see his name on your list there." She reached out and touched Soulic's scroll.
Soulic wrenched the paper back from her and snapped: "YOU'RE LYING!" He threw the scroll to the ground and took a step back, whipping his sword from its hilt. "Tell me the TRUTH!"
"I have told you the truth," Gretis said, her voice soft and calm. She made no move to draw her own weapon but stood perfectly still. "I am afraid you have gone to all that trouble for nothing."
"YOU BITCH!" he snapped, and he brought the tip of his sword up to her neck. Kota began to panic, but Gretis remained perfectly still as Soulic shouted: "You just picked a name of someone you knew was dead. You had this lie ready for me! You knew I would come here sooner or later." He leaned into her face and snarled: "Tell me the truth, or I'll kill your little shamalak appren—"
Gretis's sword came out so fast that Kota was not sure he saw any movement at all. It seemed to simply appear at the end of a swing, and the top half of Soulic's weapon went spinning through the air away from him. A fraction of a second later, Gretis's silver blade was at his throat.
"As I said, if I wish you dead, I shall kill you," she said in a sharp, slow voice. Her son was glaring at her, clenching his jaw, not daring to move. "I have not done so yet because, so far as I know, you have never taken the life of an innocent. I have wanted to believe there was still something good in you, for all the evidence you've given me. However, if you so much as touch Kota again, I will cut your head from your body. Is that clear, my son?"
Soulic took several rasping, angry breaths, glaring at her, then he hissed: "Extremely, Mother."
"Good. Now get the hell out of my sight." Gretis slid her weapon into its sheath and then turned back in Kota's direction. Soulic's face twitched with hatred as she walked away from him, and after a few heartbeats he turned and stomped off into the forest.
Kota
kept perfectly still as Gretis passed by the bush in which he was hiding, yet without even looking in his direction, she said: "I believe I told you to meditate, Kota. You owe me fifty laps around the meadow this evening."
Kota swallowed and stood up. "Y-yes, ma'am," he said. He rose to his feet and moved to her side. "I am sorry. I should not have disobeyed you."
"No, you should not have," she said, her tone still cold.
They walked in tense silence back toward the place in the forest where Kota was supposed to have been waiting. He could hear Gretis's heart pounding like thunder in her chest all the way and felt a little nervous walking next to her. He had never seen her so upset.
When they reached his meditation blanket, she gazed down and said in a dry voice: "I am very sorry, Kota." He turned and looked at her. Her hazel eyes were filled with pain.
"I-It's alright," Kota said, forcing himself to smile at her. “Soulic didn't hurt me."
Gretis looked as though she were about to cry. "I should never have trained him," she whispered. Her gaze lifted to Kota. "Tell me please, Kota, do you harbor anger you have kept secret from me? Do you hate me for how hard I make you work? Do you hate the townspeople who still whisper behind your back?" Her eyes were wide. She looked almost frightened.
"I don't hate anyone," Kota said.
Gretis stared at him, her lips pressed together. He had never seen her look so worried. After a moment, she whispered: "You're a very fine young man, Kota. I want you to know that I..." she broke off, swallowing. Then she straightened and said in a more even tone: "Please resume your meditation."
Kota started to obey but then hesitated. There was a question he needed to ask. "Is that what you're afraid of? Will I become dangerous if there is anger in my heart when you—" he searched his mind. Gretis had explained so few of the secrets of Sansrit Philosophy to him. He borrowed Soulic's phrase: "When you unlock my power."
Gretis remained silent for a moment, her face expressionless. Then she said in a soft voice: "That is part of the danger, yes. Soulic…learned a secret about his birth I never meant him to know. It filled him with hatred for his father, and perhaps for me and even himself. He never told me he knew. He kept his hatred locked inside." Her tone became bitter as she added: "Such deep, unresolved feelings taint the spirit, and they can be incredibly dangerous to a student of the Sansrit."
Gretis took a sharp breath and then went on: "The time is coming very soon when you and I will bring out all that is inside you, Kota. Your mind and body are ready. What comes next however…" she hesitated, then whispered: "I told you long ago, the danger to your kind is far greater than to a human. You might do well to forget this path and return to your people. You would be the finest warrior in your tribe, and you are a talented scholar. I am certain you could become chief if you wished it."
Kota stared into Gretis's dark, mysterious eyes. Always she spoke cryptically of the worry she bore about what lay ahead in his training. He knew he could not turn away though. Not out of fear. He leaned down, for he towered over her now, and said: "What did you see when you took my hands in yours five years ago? Tell me."
Gretis blinked and then said in a quiet, distance voice: "I saw a warrior so much greater than myself that I doubted everything I was." She glanced down at the forest floor. "You will understand soon. I will take you far into the wilderness, and I will teach you everything. Until then, you must continue to do as I tell you."
"I—I will," he said.
Chapter 5:
A Long Forgotten Edict
"I swear to all the gods I repent!"
Arkas smiled as the man before him shivered, his trembling limbs causing tiny clinks in the chains hanging from above. Arkas stared at him through the dim candlelight, managing his best semblance of a concerned expression. He was sitting in a comfortable chair, his arms folded before him, exuding an air of calm authority in the dingy Nemesai cell. Arkas had spent several days torturing the short little farmer. This man, named Elias, had been accused of worshiping the false gods of the east in secret rituals conducted in the forest. Arkas had telepathically determined within seconds that the simple farmer was entirely innocent of the charges—it was probably something an enemy said of him. That had made the case far more interesting. Forcing people to confess to sins they had not committed was a delightful game.
"I find your repentance insincere," Arkas whispered into Elias's ear. The poor fool was half starved and covered in sweat. He had been in the custody of the Nemesai order for more than a week, away from his wife and children, away from everything except fear and pain. "I am afraid we shall have quite a few more sessions."
"NO!" Elias screamed, sweat dripping down his face. "Please! I confess! I repent! I'll do whatever you want!"
"I know," Arkas said, unable to suppress a chuckle. The man was just like so many before. At first, he had proclaimed his innocence—because he was innocent. There was a delicious pleasure in taking that truth away from him. Arkas's telepathy told him that the poor fool was quite near to believing that he actually had committed the crimes of which he was accused. Within another session or two, he would accept absolutely anything Arkas told him as the truth. In the end, human beings were absurdly weak.
Arkas drew his left hand back—the hand that still had five fingers—and Elias let loose a terrified shriek. Arkas had honed a technique to setting every nerve in the human body into searing pain through carefully focused magic. Through a simple touch, he could imbue more suffering upon a person than most mortals could imagine, and the effect was instant.
"High Inquisitor!" a voice came from the door half a heartbeat before Arkas's hand could touch the sweating forehead of his prisoner.
"What do you want?" Arkas snarled back. "I am busy!" It irritated him to no end to be interrupted amidst an inquisition. Breaking ‘sinners’ was one of the only pleasures left to him.
"Bishop Cromlic requests your presence immediately," the voice called through the bars of the cell door.
"Why?"
"I... I don't know sir, but several monks from the Lucinian order arrived perhaps fifteen minutes ago."
Arkas's spine arched, and he lifted his gaze from the trembling peasant. A visit from Lucinians was not to be taken lightly. “Is the bishop meeting with them now?”
“I believe they are waiting to be seen,” the underling said.
Arkas gazed down at his prisoner and whispered: "We shall resume this conversation very soon, I assure you." This elicited a delightfully pathetic squeak from the man as he turned toward the door.
Arkas moved out into the hall amidst three Nemesai soldiers. They saluted him, lifting hands to tattooed foreheads. He nodded coldly. There were a handful of men in the order whom he liked—men who saw the world the way he did. Most Nemesai lied to themselves though, telling themselves day and night that the ‘Gods’ wanted them to torture sinners back into the light. As if such a thing were possible. If there were truly anything good in the world, it had nothing to do with the Nemesai.
Arkas strode down the dim corridor, hearing the moans of the prisoners locked away in their cells. He made his way up into the main hall of the central Nemesai temple. From the icy gloom in the massive vaulted room and the soft glow of wall torches here and there, he ascertained that evening had fallen. It seemed he had lost yet another entire day in the dungeons.
"Where is the bishop?" he said.
"In his study, sir."
Arkas nodded and ascended another flight of stairs to the upper level of the temple and crossed the inner terrace to the bishop's office. The door was open, and so Arkas stepped through it. He found Cromlic hunched over his desk, nervously drumming his fingers on the surface. The man looked utterly terrible, but then he often did these days.
"You have heard about our visitors, I presume," Cromlic said, his voice sharp and raspy. His yellowing eyes shifted to the left wall, the other side of which, Arkas guessed, the Lucinian monks were waiting. "I have attem
pted to read their minds, but it seems they are both extremely adept at occlusion."
That is why he wants me here, Arkas thought. The old fool's abilities were slipping. He cleared his throat and said: "I assume they are here about the vote.”
"Well of course they are!" Cromlic snapped, slapping a veiny hand down on his desk.
Arkas stared at the wheezing old man, wondering if he were still afraid of him. "Was either of the men carrying a scroll?"
"What?" Cromlic muttered.
"A scroll," Arkas repeated. "I assume if Bishop Milos were sending you official word, it would be in the form of a scroll sealed with his insignia.”
Cromlic blinked at this and stroked his ashen beard. "No," he said after a moment.
"Curious," Arkas said.
"Yes, it is," Cromlic exhaled. He glanced up at Arkas and said: "Go and fetch them. Bring them back here and then remain in the room."
Go and fetch them... Arkas had trained himself not to react to the bishop's condescending commands. He would kill the old bastard someday—perhaps someday very soon. For the time being though, he could only content his hatred by taking amusement at the holy man's slow descent into madness. It still haunted Cromlic constantly that he might slip and mention either of Cassian's parents and trigger the curse. Asango had not specified the rules entirely to the mental magic he had woven into the bishop’s brain, leaving Cromlic to wonder if even referring to people with the same names could trigger a catastrophic aneurysm within his skull. His face went just a little pale whenever he heard ‘Lilliana’ or ‘Uritheus’ mentioned in any context. Cassian’s assertion at the end of that horrible day had come to pass: the bishop had “learned true fear,” and it had made him a shadow of who he once was.