by David Angelo
“He wants you to know that he is expecting you,” one of the guards said.
“I bet,” Scaljon replied. The guards withdrew their halberds, and Scaljon pushed the doors open.
The chamber beyond was round, with red-painted walls and a domed roof from which an iron chandelier hung on a long chain. Facing Scaljon at the opposite end of the room was a large painting depicting a Cullidon standing atop a dead Faranchie, a mirror image of the statue that had greeted Scaljon on his arrival in Sebeth. An altar of candles sat beneath the painting, illuminating its base in an eerie yellow glow. Scaljon always hated this chamber, and looking within only made him want to run away, but he continued onward.
His host was seated in the heart of the chamber, directly under the chandelier. He was a Cullidon clad in a black cloak with an upturned collar rimmed with claws that curled away from his head. He sat cross-legged, his back turned to the door and his arms resting at his sides in a state of meditation. The only part of his being that moved was his wild and unkempt mane, its white strands stirring ever so slowly in the draft created by the open door.
“It took you long enough,” the Cullidon said. His voice was deep and husky and had the tone of a habitual smoker, but cold and biting. It still sent icy streaks of fear down Scaljon’s spine.
“My apologies, Rixis,” Scaljon replied. “The journey from Triticon is a long one.”
“It shouldn’t have taken you that long,” Rixis said. “The report from the prison beat you by almost two days, and they didn’t have clearance to travel on the express route to Sebeth. It was either the weather that slowed you down, or…”
Rixis slowly rose to his feet, extending to his full, oppressively tall height, and turned to address Scaljon. Aside from his incredible stature, Rixis looked like every other Cullidon, with dark-teal skin, dorsal spines on the back of his neck, and an elongated, reptilian snout. That is, until one were to look into Rixis’s eyes. His glowing bright-red eyes looked like a pair of burning rubies inside his skull.
“Was it your guilt that slowed you down?” Rixis asked. “Tell me, how come one of my best prisons, a fortress that has been called both inescapable and impenetrable, can be bested by the wits of a group of petty rebels?”
“I take full responsibility for the incident,” Scaljon replied.
“That’s not enough,” Rixis said. “You let one of our greatest enemies fall into the hands of individuals who will teach him how to destroy everything I’ve built.”
“But there’s no proof that his rescuers are associated with the Dragon Storm,” Scaljon said. “It’s possible that he was picked up by a group of fugitives who have no recollection of the—”
“Oh, quit trying to whitewash it!” Rixis barked. “In all my years as the real emperor of Edon, this is the biggest, most daring prison break in Triticon’s history. There’s only one group of individuals who are even remotely capable of pulling off a heist on this level: Wahsmit and the Children of the Dragon Storm, the people I warned you to keep watch for.”
“But you said that the Children of the Dragon Storm disbanded years ago and that they were no longer a threat.”
“Enough!” Rixis sprang forward and grabbed Scaljon by the collar of his cloak.
“Please, Rixis!” Scaljon begged, but to no avail. Rixis kicked out Scaljon’s legs, forcing him to his knees. He then pointed at Scaljon with his right index finger and let the claw at its tip extend far beyond its normal length. Rixis hovered the point over Scaljon’s face, dangerously close to his eyes.
“Just because they disbanded does not give you the right to let your guard down,” Rixis said. “I told you, in the clearest possible way, that Black-Tooth’s resistance was one of the greatest obstacles in our mission to prevent the Dragon Storm. But you obviously didn’t heed my instructions, and you let his little band of misfits run off with the prophet under their wings. You failed me, Scaljon, and why should I trust that you won’t fail me again? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just skewer your skull and find a new regent to replace you.”
“I’m…Forgive me, Rixis. I let you down, but…but it won’t happen again…I promise…Give me one more chance! This is only the first time in over twenty years of service to you that I’ve ever failed at something. My track record has been…spotless, until now. Please…”
“You have a point,” Rixis said, letting his claw retract into his finger. “But don’t press your luck next time.”
Rixis relinquished his grasp, and Scaljon bowed low, until his nose nearly touched the floor. “Thank you,” he said, but this show of gratitude did not seem to faze Rixis, who hardly batted an eye at the dragon who looked ready to kiss his feet.
“It seems that our priorities have changed,” Rixis said. “The prophet is now in the hands of the Dragon Storm resistance. Soon he will start his training, at which point he’ll grow into more than just a plain nuisance.”
“But, sir,” Scaljon said, looking up from where he was crouched, “there’s still time to take him out before he can fulfill his calling.”
“How?” Rixis asked.
“We can burn down his home village,” Scaljon replied. “He would either die in the flames, or it could draw him out of hiding, thus allowing us to capture him.”
“Your theory is flawed,” Rixis said. “If he were in hiding, burning down his village would be a horrible way to bring him into the open, since the resistance would likely hold him back. I’ve dealt with Black-Tooth’s tactics in the past, and I know that he is too smart to fall for a ruse of that caliber. Also, as much as I hate to admit it, Faranchies are a valuable resource to the Cullidon cause, for now. Burning down a village would be a waste of able-bodied Faranchies, who are needed to support our lifestyle.”
“Then what else do you plan on doing?”
“We wait. He can’t stay hidden forever, and once his training is complete, he’ll make a triumphant return to the spotlight. That is when we’ll make our move. I’ll send an order to all of our forts, outposts, and strongholds across the south to strengthen their forces and prepare for the coming storm. Then, when battle fatigue sets in, his own decisions will be his undoing, and he’ll be easy pickings for us. I will then kill him myself and have his body mounted outside the palace gates to remind any and all would-be rebels the consequences of disobeying the law.”
“It sounds like a wonderful plan to me,” Scaljon replied, even though he secretly believed his plan would be more effective.
“Indeed,” Rixis replied. “Now, I don’t believe you ever told me his name. What is it?”
“His name is Fin,” Scaljon said.
Rixis nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin with the tip of his claws, allowing the name to seep into his mind.
“Your work here is done, Scaljon,” Rixis said abruptly. “Now fuck off!”
Scaljon scrambled to his feet and hurried out of the chamber without saying another word. Rixis turned and looked up at the painting that hung over the altar and felt around for something on his chest. Underneath his cloak, on the skin above his heart, Rixis felt a long, thick scar that stretched across the front of his chest, between two of his ribs.
“So his name is Fin, the one I’ve been waiting a lifetime for. I mustn’t let him make this”—Rixis grabbed his scar and squeezed it tightly—“a wasted effort.”
12
AFTER THE MEETING CONCLUDED, Fin was allowed to return to the pub, with Chok at his side once again. He would then spend the next few days awaiting the big move and the start of his training. Those days were spent mentally preparing himself for the trials that he would soon endure, but they were also spent reminiscing about the days of yore with his foster family. Fin had never known what it was like to live in a family, but the residents of the home were the closest he had to actual kinfolk. Even though they were from different parents, Fin’s small gaggle of friends were the closest thing he had to brothers and sisters, held together by the bonds of companionship. Of course, the one person Fin
spent the most time with during those final days of innocence was Scarlet. Despite knowing she would not see the love of her life for the next five months, Scarlet took the news of Fin’s departure fairly well. Fin had underestimated her emotional capacity and was pleasantly relieved when she did not object. Scarlet was by no means happy to see Fin leave for so long, but she knew it was for the greater good and that eventually she would join him in the resistance’s ranks.
Scarlet longed to join the resistance once she was finished training her apprentice, and it was not simply because she wanted to be with Fin. It would appear that some of this responsibility that had burned inside of Fin since his divine encounter had rubbed off on Scarlet and was now giving her a similar urge to fight back. How she would be useful to the resistance was something that Scarlet wondered aloud on the final night before Fin’s training began. The two were seated on the back porch, looking up into the clear, star-filled sky, letting the familiar sounds of home serenade them before the tides of change rolled in.
“When I join,” Scarlet said, “what will I do? I’ve never really been one for fighting.”
“You sound like me,” Fin said. “I still don’t know how I’m going to be of any use, but if the soul of the prophet sees a warrior in me, anything is possible.”
“Perhaps I can be a medic,” Scarlet said. “Helping people in need has always been something I’ve longed to do.”
“That’s something,” Fin replied.
“If not,” Scarlet said, “I’m sure you could perhaps teach me a thing or two once you’ve mastered the art of combat.”
“I can see you with a crossbow in your hand,” Fin said, pretending to aim an invisible crossbow.
“Are you trying to make fun of me?” Scarlet asked playfully.
“Absolutely not,” Fin said. “I bet they can teach you to shoot a bird off the top of a roof from over a mile away.”
“That’s a little far-fetched,” Scarlet said. “But considering all that we’ve been through in the last few days, what isn’t far-fetched?”
“Point taken.” Fin reached around and wrapped his right arm over Scarlet’s shoulder. “So many strange things happened in such a short time. It’s like the universe is unraveling before our eyes.”
Scarlet took Fin’s hand and pulled off the piece of bandage that obscured his burn. “I don’t think you should hide it,” she said.
“But then everyone will know I’m the prophet,” Fin replied.
“That’s the point, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess, but I still don’t want to use it as a reason to promote myself in the eyes of our people. I’d rather let my actions do the talking. Besides, I need to put it on at night, because it shines in my face when I’m trying to sleep.”
Scarlet looked down at the mark, its blue glow reflecting on the surface of her eyes. “It’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen in my life,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
Fin nodded, smiling as Scarlet rested her head on his shoulder and curled up in the curve of his arm. “Where do you think we’ll be a year from now?” she asked.
“What makes you ask that?”
“I’m just wondering. With you being a prophet and all, it makes the future seem so unpredictable.”
“I know,” Fin said. “It makes our life before seem so simple, carefree.”
“Yeah,” Scarlet replied. “But it’s a change for the better.”
“I hope so,” Fin said.
Fin waited for a reply, but nothing came. Instead, the sounds of the night carried Fin and Scarlet off to a familiar place. A warm, happy place, where the ills of their world were far away and the only thing that mattered was their compassion for each other. In that moment Fin felt Scarlet’s heart beat against his chest and the warmth of her body on his skin, and a lump developed in the back of his throat. This would be the first time in almost five years that they would be separated. It was something Fin had known was going to happen and had prepared for, but no amount of preparation could ready Fin for the emotional toll it would incur. Even the thought of Scarlet joining him later on gave little comfort; Fin knew that it would be months from now. But now was not the time for a sob story. Fin’s training really began here, on the back porch of the pub, with Scarlet under his arm. There would surely be times when Fin would need to be away from Scarlet for days, weeks, months, or even years on end, all to accomplish the lofty tasks that were required of him. Controlling his emotions was the first step to becoming a warrior—at least that was what he thought. But despite his efforts, Fin failed this test of his endurance when a tear slid down his cheek. The tear had just fallen off the edge of his chin when Fin felt a raindrop on his hand. Looking up into the sky, Fin could not see any storm clouds nearby, only twinkling stars that looked back at him from the heavens above. It was then that Fin realized that Scarlet was crying as well, quietly, with hardly a whimper to let it be known.
“It’s okay, Baby,” Fin said, kissing Scarlet on one of her crests. “Everything’s going to be okay…I hope.”
When the sun broke over the horizon early the next morning, Fin said his final goodbyes and departed with Chok for the dead oak. As he watched the shapes of Notnedo’s thatched roofs shrink and disappear into the curvatures of the countryside, Fin knew that a new chapter had begun.
“No turning back now,” Fin said, looking forward from the back of the horse.
“Nope,” Chok replied. He tightened the reins and turned off the dirt path toward the tree line. “But don’t fret, you’ll do fine. Everyone has that moment when they’re about to get into somethin’ they don’t fully understand and they feel kind of sick and uneasy. But that’s just change, and she affects us all in different ways. I remember when I was around your age, I felt the same way when I escaped from my master.”
“Your master?” Fin asked.
“I was born into a family of slaves,” Chok replied. “When I was around thirteen, my older brother and I were bought by a powerful and cruel Cullidon baron and made to do hard labor on his estate. I toiled there for three and a half years until I’d had enough and escaped.”
“How’d you manage that?” Fin asked.
“That’s a story for another day,” Chok said. “But the point is, I felt the same way you feel right now when I fled my old home and entered the world of a freeman. I had spent so long in bondage, unable to control my own will, that this new reality of freedom was a bit of a shock, even a little frightenin’. But I adapted—that is, after I was arrested and sent to Triticon for a few years. I escaped from that, too, and by my second flight, my transition to the free world was complete.”
Fin nodded and replied, “But why were you sent to Triticon? I thought runaway slaves were just sent back to their masters and that Triticon was only for serious offenses.”
“Well…” Chok said. “Let’s just say, as I said before, that’s another story for another day.”
Fin shrugged and leaned back on the horse. There was no way to get Chok to spill the beans on his incarceration. Perhaps another time, Fin thought, or maybe he would never find out.
Through the woods they went, trotting along a poorly kept and muddy path until the black bark of the trees signaled their arrival to the dead oak. Neither of them said anything as they approached the Fist of the Elder, its every blade of grass glowing in the light from the sun. Chok halted the horse, and the two dismounted, leaving the brown steed to graze to its heart’s content on the fresh pasture. “Black-Tooth told me to tell you that he wants to meet you in the main pavilion,” he said. “It’s the same one where you showed everyone your burn.”
“I figured that,” Fin said, looking in the direction of the large round tent that sat in the heart of the Fist. “What are we going to do in there?”
“You’re going to pick out your weapon,” Chok replied, “and admire some of my fine sword-makin’ skills.”
Fin and Chok walked across the field and entered the pavilion, where Black-Tooth and R
ocklier stood over an assortment of swords and other weapons arranged on a mat near the rear of the tent.
“Ah, there you are, Fin,” Black-Tooth said. “Good to see you once again. You’re just in time to pick out your tool for the trade.”
“Which one?” Fin asked as he approached the mat and took in all the weapons that were on display.
“Any one you want,” Black-Tooth replied. “Just follow your senses, and let your will determine which weapon you’ll use during your journey.”
“And,” Rocklier added, “if you happen to have any questions about the weapons on display, feel free to ask me anything.”
Fin nodded and turned his attention back to the selection of killing implements in front of him. He was daunted by the sheer variety that was on display. There were a lot of katanas, the most famous sword in Edon, of varying lengths and sharpness. They sat alongside broadswords, daggers, and sabers. Battle hatchets lay next to throwing knives, which lay next to maces, clubs, balls on chains, slingshots, longbows, and crossbows. The list of weapons went on and on. Fin’s sight moved from one end of the mat to the other, each and every weapon begging for his attention. Instinctively, Fin chewed his claws, the pressure of the situation mounting by the second.
“Take your time,” Rocklier said. “Close your eyes, breathe deep, and let your inner senses take hold. Remember, the weapon you need might not be on this mat, so keep that in mind as well.”
Heeding Rocklier’s advice, Fin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let all the stress of the situation depart his body. He entered into a deep, relaxed mood, and a feeling of weightlessness enveloped his being. When Fin reopened his eyes, he was looking at a pair of bladed, bronze-colored weapons that he had previously overlooked. They resembled the heads of giant forks, with four three-foot-long, serrated prongs, pointed at the tips and growing out of metal bases. Wooden handles were built into the bases of the two weapons, surrounded by ornate wrist guards, with large gaps in the top for greater flexibility. They were crossed over each other, forming an X on the mat.