by Osku Alanen
Arin’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief. “Heresy,” he whispered. There is only one god—the one they serve. The one that ruled in the beyond. And he certainly never walked amongst men.
Nijakim seemed sad, troubled even. “I am simply describing what I read, Arin. I have no opinion of my own.”
“No opinion of your own, brother? You claimed our teachings false!”
The man’s smile turned into a frown. “I might’ve expressed myself poorly. I was… troubled the last we met. The words that I read here affected me deeply.”
“You never misspeak.”
“Well, this time I did.” Nijakim sighed, reaching beneath the mattress of his bed, revealing the ancient book he was describing. It hardly seemed like anything special—a book like all the rest of them. The writing seemed indecipherable to Arin. Only the pictures—badly faded—gave any indication as to what the text was about.
“As I said, the King met one of the brothers in the flesh. He describes Enos as kind, benevolent—not unlike our Creator. You see, Enos and Erebus were the first. They roamed the vast world, in awe of what they saw. The skies, the trees, the oceans. But despite all the richness this world had, it was empty. With only the two of them, one day Erebus had enough. He could no longer stand the company of his brother. They fought, said terrible things. And as a result, they parted ways. A millennium passed, and Enos grew desperate. He was lonely, you see. After much thought, Enos used his powers to create the mankind. He sent them populate the earth, to both nurture and use the vast riches of the land. Mankind flourished, and Enos rejoiced. As his creations begun to explore the lands, to build vast cities and kingdoms, they brought word that his brother had been found. And when Erebus discovered what his brother had done, he had been horrified. He confronted his brother, and for the first time since the beginning of time, the two brothers fought. With the mankind on his side, Enos won. Angered and hurt by the betrayal of his own celestial blood, Erebus chose to retaliate with creations of his own….”
Arin pursed his lips. He knew what the story was about now. “The Daemoni. The second brother created the Daemoni.”
Nijakim nodded. “Indeed, brother. Your mind is quicker than you give it credit for.”
Arin frowned. He was sure Nijakim’s words were meant to be a praise, but why did it feel like an insult to him?
“A terrible war was waged. This war took hundreds of years and the lives of hundreds of thousands of men. The fight had a terrible cost, and our world cracked, burned. During the final battle, the two brothers wounded each other mortally, and eventually, they both succumbed to their wounds.”
“So, not only there are two gods, but they are dead? How can you believe this, Nijakim? This could all be a tale, a falsehood. Fiction.”
“I thought so too, but then king describes the father of these brothers.”
“You don’t mean…?”
Nijakim nodded. “The Creator.”
Arin felt troubled by these revelations. He tried to calm his mind with the Tac’achi but found it ineffective. Everyone knew of the god Torin creating the mankind to fight the eternal struggle against the Daemoni. The Sword of the Order were chosen to lead this battle. If mankind and Daemoni were the creation of two brothers, it would render the battle against the Daemoni without just cause. A simple feud between two brothers. There is nothing righteous about that.
“There is more. The King describes the fight in detail. It involves the creation of our order, Arin.”
Arin saw Nijakim’s voice breaking.
“We did not fight the Daemoni originally, Arin. We fought for the Daemoni. The only sect of humankind to betray their own.” Tears were flowing down his cheeks.
“No,” Arin gasped.
The teachings of Kun’urin are false.
The words finally made sense. All his youth, he wondered why their order had chosen to live away from mankind. Secluded atop a mountain, with only few knowing of the existence of their village. He knew the reason know. They were here out of shame. Shame of betraying the mankind. They did not fight the Daemoni because it was right. They fought them to repent. To seek atonement.
Their order would crumble should this revelation prove true.
Brother Nijakim wiped away his tears with his robe’s sleeves. He looked at Arin, determined. “I cannot hide the truth anymore. Should these texts prove true… our Order isn’t what I thought it was, brother. Our cause isn’t what I thought it was. We were misled by the Order. I stand for the truth, and as a Scholar, I have no choice but to come forward with these revelations.
“Brother….”
“That is enough,” a loud voice boomed in the hallway. The door to Nijakim’s quarters stood ajar, revealing one of the elders, Rovalis, standing right by it. With him, stood half a dozen Shields. All armed. “You are surrounded. Come outside and surrender willingly, brother.”
Arin looked at his brother with desperation, placing his hand firmly on his blade. Nijakim smiled softly, shaking his head. “This is the road I have chosen, brother,” he whispered, kissing Arin’s forehead gently, while Arin was forced to helplessly watch him being dragged away.
Chapter 3
Alessia
Princess Alessia vas Nerian descended the steep stairwell down to the basement of her home, heading towards the stench of death and illness that awaited her just beyond the door. Her new handmaiden followed dutifully a few steps behind her. She had brought the girl here once before and was surprised by the girl’s willingness to follow her orders, gruesome as they might be. She was a squeamish country girl, and loyal to her father, no doubt, but then again, they all were.
They made it halfway down the stairwell until the girl stopped on her tracks, covering her face with a silken cloth. The stench was overpowering, but it was a smell Alessia was used to.
“My lady, must you do this every day?” the girl protested.
“And do you suppose my patients will feed themselves? Clean themselves? Cure themselves?”
“All I’m saying is that this is highly unseemly of a woman of your importance, my lady. What you are doing here… it is not proper.”
“I couldn’t care less about being ‘proper’, Leah. And it’s not your place to question how the King’s daughter spends her time, is it?”
“No, my lady,” the handmaiden conceded, sighing heavily.
How is it that every time father sends a new girl, every single one of them fails to see and understand the significance of what she is doing here? They only see the sickness laying in front of them, oblivious to the cure that could be within reach should they dare venture only a bit further. Still, she should give this new handmaiden of hers more credit; she seems tougher than most. She protested Alessia’s actions, yes, but she did do as she was told. The previous one had run away screaming when Alessia first showed her what was happening below her family mansion. Leah had been shocked, absolutely, but she had stayed. She had obeyed.
“The key, if you would.”
Leah handed over a small bronze key—the only one that opened the door to Alessia’s laboratory. When Alessia’s father had first learned what she had done here, he had been outraged, shocked. He had taken it all away from her, and it had taken her weeks to persuade him to give her back the key. Still, it was her own fault; she should have explained the purpose of her experiments to her father better. She had thought her arguments sound, logical, but her father had disagreed. But eventually his mood calmed, and his father had begun to wonder, to think. Perhaps he finally understood why Alessia did what she did? She might’ve been the black sheep of the royal family, but her research had the potential to save lives—countless lives. And what king would turn down an offer like that?
“Yes, my lady.”
The door creaked open, and the smell of sickness filled the air. She had to admit that the smell was getting too strong, even for her. She wrapped a cloth around her mouth, like Leah, and entered the room, asking her to light the numerous lanterns around the
m. She required good lighting for her experiments, and a basement hardly qualified, but it would have to do. And besides, it did grant her much needed privacy and secrecy—something her father had emphasized the importance of.
“Have the servants ventilate the room and wash the floors when we’re finished here tonight, Leah. We mustn’t allow the sickness to spread.”
Alessia walked around the room, looking at her subjects locked in their cages. They looked miserable, their eyes void of hope. Poor things. It reminded her of the High Inquisitor’s ‘interrogation chamber’ where he made people talk. Everny’s methods had always filled her mouth with distaste, but even she couldn’t argue against the man’s results. Sometimes, terrible deeds had to be done to serve the nation, and like Everny, Alessia was prepared to do what was necessary—should her experiments produce actionable results. Still, unlike Everny, she treated her subjects with respect; hurting them for no reason was not a thing she did.
Alessia inspected a ledger placed on top of a table at the center of the room. The table was covered with vials and potions—all marked clearly. Accuracy was of the utmost importance in her research, and she prided herself in her ability keep meticulous records of her experiments. Even Meridian would approve her record-keeping, Alessia thought. She flipped page after page, frowning at her notes of the previous week. “Leah, please open cage number seventeen. I need to inspect the progression of the patient’s ailment.”
Her handmaiden bowed, unlocking the cage near the northernmost corner of the room with her shaking hands. She removed the rusty bindings from the old man’s arms and legs. The man could hardly stand; he collapsed to the ground immediately. She helped her up. Alessia looked at their interaction with interest. Was that sadness or pity she saw in Leah’s eyes? That wouldn’t do. She would have to teach Leah to be impartial and analytical with her patients. If she could learn that, she would make a fine surgeon’s assistant one day. The girl might not see it yet, but her time here would prove to be of the utmost value.
Leah walked the subject to the chair, gently strapping the thick bindings around his arms and legs—a necessary precaution with her patients. The man complied; he didn’t have the strength or the will to resist. None with the sickness did. And that was precisely what made it so dangerous; men would simply wither away in their beds.
Alessia inspected the man. There was substantial evidence of muscular degeneration, as could be expected from weeks of malnourishment with the illness ravaging through his body. The man had a clearly muscular build, but his muscles had atrophied terribly. It wasn’t due to lack of nutrition; her subjects were well-fed. They simply couldn’t keep the food inside their stomachs long enough for the body to absorb the vital nutrients. She would have to device a method to counteract this; if her patients kept dying before the treatment could heal their bodies, she would never find a suitable cure. Alessia felt the subject’s neck. His lymph nodes were still swollen, and there was no sign of reduction in their size. She touched the man’s forehead; he was burning up, but slightly less so than the last time. The current treatment wasn’t working fast enough.
Alessia sighed, crossing over a section on her ledger. She wrote a new section, muttering aloud: “Subject exhibits no sign of improvement after ten days on intravenous administration of formula #47. Either alteration of the formula in question or abandoning it all together is recommended.”
“Is he dying, my lady?” Leah whispered, looking at the man with palatable sorrow.
“You tell me.”
“He looks so terribly weak,” the woman acknowledged.
I should gauge the man’s state of mind, too. Never underestimate the role of the mind in healing the body. A man who feels nothing but despair will never recover.
“Tell me, my good man. Do you know where you are?”
Her words fell to deaf ears, so Alessia had no choice by to slap him to get his attention. It worked.
“Am I… dead?” the man said through his cracked lips. He was obviously dehydrated.
Alessia offered the man a drink, and he took it hungrily. She had to be careful and let him drink it in small sips. “Drink.”
“As for your question. No, you’re still very much alive. And should you get your strength back, you might even get out of this basement one day.”
“Am I… dead?”
Alessia frowned at the man’s answer. That wasn’t good at all. Not only his physical symptoms, the man was clearly delirious. That meant the sickness had spread to his brain, and there was no going back from that.
Leah looked at Alessia with pleading eyes. By all that is holy, she would need to harden this girl’s bleeding heart with haste. You couldn’t be a surgeon if you couldn’t detach yourself from the sufferings of your patients. The surgeons who grew too close to their patients never lasted long in their profession. You could never do what was necessary should you weep for every whimper of pain.
“I have to be honest with you, sir,” Alessia said, voice neutral. “Your illness has progressed far beyond my capabilities, and I’m not sure I can help you any longer.”
The man’s eyes came into focus. The glass of water seemed to have rejuvenated him slightly. “Please,” the man whispered. “…anything.”
Alessia pondered the man’s words. Perhaps she had misjudged the man’s condition because of his dehydration. That means there might be hope for him yet. A slim hope was still hope, no matter how improbable.
Alessia opened a vial on the table, carefully sniffing its contents. She took a syringe from the table, and filled it with the solution, careful to avoid any bubbles.
“My hypothesis is that the formula I have treated you with is not potent enough. What I have here as a more potent version of said formula. But I must caution you: you would be the first patient I inject with this dosage. I fear it might be too potent, and if that’s the case, I might kill you. Do you consent?”
Consent was important in her line of work. If there wasn’t consent, then her experiments would be labeled as unethical by the division of surgeons, and she would never get the title she had desperately worked towards. If there wasn’t consent, then how was her line of work any different from that of High Inquisitor Everny? There needed to be at least some ethical boundaries she wouldn’t cross.
The man nodded weakly.
“Excellent. In that case, I will start at once. Try not to bite your tongue.”
The man panicked when he saw the thick needle Alessia had brought before his eyes. He tried to resist, but the bindings holding down his arms and legs held.
“Now, now. I assure you, I will be as gentle as I can be. We have done this once before, remember? Hold still or I’m afraid this will be extremely uncomfortable.”
Alessia saw her handmaiden flinch as the needle entered the man’s body. The needle penetrated the patient’s skin, reaching the vascular system that laid just underneath. She did her best to move swiftly as the patient’s shaking and whimpering grew more severe by the moment.
“If you feel sorry for the man, Leah, you shouldn’t. Need I remind you this man is a convicted felon? And if my memory doesn’t betray me, which it never does, he was sentenced to death for murdering his wife and infant daughter.”
“I know what they are, princess. But it’s the suffering… I can’t stand it.”
Alessia nodded empathetically. She, too, had been squeamish when she had watched doctor Meridian perform surgery for the very first time.
Once the liquid was inside the man’s body, Alessia removed the syringe promptly. The man had passed out—either from pain or from his weakness. She felt his pulse and was glad to see the man had lived. Not nearly all of them did. Her formula wasn’t perfect, but if it worked, well, any short-term pain inflicted would be worth it.
“I don’t understand, my lady. How do you do it? How can you treat these… men after knowing what they have done?”
She pondered the question for a moment but found herself unable to answer it honestly. She
was hesitant to tell her the real reason. It would take far longer for her to truly trust this girl, but she felt like she owed her at least something to say. “We all must make sacrifices for the greater good.” Yes. That was a good answer. Polite. Noble. She could never tell her the true reason why she did what she did. She wouldn’t understand it; no one did.
Once the patient was secured in his cage, Alessia left her laboratory, heading for her quarters. She needed to change before the evening’s festivities and the smell of illness seemed to linger heavily on her clothes. A family dinner. How long had it been since the last time? Years.
Alessia gasped as she saw the position of the sun in the sky through the window of her room. Curses, she was late already. She picked the first dress she thought suitable for a woman of her importance. She had to keep up the appearance of a royal princess, or she risked her father’s retaliation. It was her worse fear for her father to put a stop to her ‘hobby’ again, as he had so cruelly called it.
An hour later, Alessia left the family mansion dressed in a modest—yet expensive—satin dress of the same color as her eyes: blue as the cloudless sky above them. With her long, desert-light hair gently flowing with the warm breeze atop the Royal Plateau, she stepped into the carriage that had been waiting for her all day.
***
The Royal Plateau unveiled before Alessia’s eyes as she leaned over her carriage’s open window. Most women thought this place a paradise—the commoners below envied the nobility living up here—but for Alessia, it felt nothing sort of a prison.
The carriage slowed down to a crawl only a few minutes since their departure from the royal mansion. What was wrong with the driver?
“The view is gorgeous, isn’t it? Oh, and you’re looking as beautiful as ever, too, Alessia,” a playful voice came from outside.
Alessia felt her cheeks blush at the sight of the familiar stable boy grinning back at her from the driver’s seat. “Is that how you’re supposed to talk to a royal princess, Rodrik?” It took all her strength to suppress the smile that came naturally whenever she saw him.