Rise of the Red Harbinger (9 page)

He is better trained with a blade. Can we really defeat him?
Marshall’s doubt lasted only a heartbeat.
Mother, Father, Esha, Gia.

Marshall and Aric positioned themselves on each side of the man. Aric took the lead, applying a storm of strikes and swoops, his blades flashing through the air. Aric swung high and low at a feverish pace, despite his full armor. Sweat poured from his face and neck. His arms slowed. Maqdhuum parried all of Aric’s attempts and Marshall knew this would be his opportunity. Maqdhuum and Aric sparred back and forth, steel clanging upon steel. Marshall swooped in and raised his sword for a killing blow. He meant to separate Maqdhuum’s head and body. Marshall spun to his right and slashed his blade backhanded at the back of Maqdhuum’s neck.

Maqdhuum had seen it coming.
How could he have known?
Marshall witnessed it all in slow motion. His blade glided through the air for its target. Maqdhuum swooped his blade behind Aric’s legs and swept him to the ground. He ducked in the process and turned to drive his other sword through Marshall’s unprotected torso. The metal sliced through flesh, then his insides, and then through more flesh as it tore out of Marshall’s back. He could not distinguish between the cold of the blade and the cold of life leaving his body. Marshall fell for minutes. Hours. Ages. The shock struck him more than the pain. As his body bounced against the dirt, sending clouds up around him, he prayed for the process to be quick. Marshall made a feeble attempt to pull out the blade as his eyes lolled about and his mouth filled with blood. He was broken. He had failed. His vision blurred. The last thing Marshall Taurean saw was the craven standing over him, removing the blade from his near lifeless body, a smile on the man’s face.
Mother, Father, Eshhhhh…
and then there was nothing.

***

“It seems as if every mound was once on fire, judging by the char and ashes, Maven Savaiyon, but a few still linger.” Adria Varela had been brought mainly because of her ability to listen, to hear things that no other men or women could. That was her manifestation. Her gift as a descendant of Darian. She was almost equally adept at noticing the smallest of details. Things that most others tended to miss.

“I would say we missed the battle by not more than a day or two.” She took pride in her talents, especially because she stood barely five feet tall and her slight frame made her look no older than twelve years, despite the fact that she’d already reached nineteen. Her eyes sat like twin moons on her face, bright and blue, which only made her look younger. Her nose was thin and meek, and her lips dark rather than bright, which, paired with her olive skin, made her beautiful, at least according to people in Markos. Her hair, dark like Galicean coffee, extended past her shoulders and enhanced her beauty. However, people tended to see a child rather than a beautiful young woman. She had resigned herself to the notion that she would always be perceived as a child. Perhaps in her old age, others would finally be jealous of her.

“Precisely my thinking, Mouse.” Maven Savaiyon had given her that nickname two years ago, a few months after meeting her. It was not meant as a slight against her, though, more so because she was small, clever, elusive, and a nuisance to anyone who underestimated her. Maven Savaiyon was very protective of her at the House of Darian, especially around the boys, many of whom had been seen with mysterious bruises after teasing her or bullying her. He continued, “But, I have seen the aftermath of battle with Drahkunov. This is not his work. Do you understand why?”

Adria knew the answer. “Their bodies are dismembered in multiple places. Legs, arms, heads. It is excessive, unnecessary. Drahkunov battles with honor. These dead soldiers would have been left alone. Even their armor has been ripped apart.”

“Good.” Maven Savaiyon slightly grinned. He stood nearly seven feet tall. His skin was the tone of chestnuts and he fashioned his black hair in the Shivaani style, shaved almost to the skin but not quite so close. They all bore the mark of the Descendants: Adria, Savaiyon, and Lincan, who walked around nearby inspecting the village. They would be easily identified by any survivors.

“Should the Taurani have been able to defeat Drahkunov?” Adria grew curious.

Surveying his surroundings, Savaiyon responded, “Given their beliefs and stubbornness, I doubt they would have. The Taurani pride themselves in their fighting prowess, yet limit themselves because of a stupid misinterpretation of the Orijin. They hide their Marks by covering their bodies. They believe that, because Taurean himself stopped using his manifestation, they should not use theirs either. The Taurani never use their manifestations, and most do not even know they have any ability anymore. Imagine. A warrior culture that robs itself of its greatest weapon.”

“So they prepared all this time for nothing then.”

“Indeed. And it seems Jahmash has a new general. A very deadly one. Drahkunov was likely not sent
because
he had honor. This attack was meant to be embarrassing, it was meant to mock the Taurani and drive fear into the rest of our land. We can only hope that the king is not moved to act rashly by it. He normally does not need an excuse to make hasty decisions.”

Lincan finally spoke from one of the ashen piles. “There is nothing but death here. Do you hear anything, Adria? If not, let us leave. I dislike the feel of this place.” Lincan was the youngest of their search party, at seventeen. He had only come to the House a few months ago, but his understanding of Healing was intricate. He was right, though, they were here for a reason. Adria must concentrate if she would hear any hints of life.

“Both of you be silent then. Let me concentrate.” She focused her mind on nothing, closing her eyes to focus, ridding herself of emotion. Her manifestation filled her veins with the sweet intoxicating melody. She knew what she was listening for. Life. Breathing. Heartbeats. Sounds boomed in her ears. She had to concentrate on the correct ones. Adria focused past the nearby insects and birds, past the breeze that rustled trees and grass.
The ground. I must search the ground for vibrations.
She sat, letting her ears grasp for any trembles or vibrations. Nothing. Adria reached farther. In two separate directions, she felt two heartbeats, one faint, one strong. “There are two!” Her voice squeaked with excitement. “I felt one heartbeat echo through the ground! It must be coming from under a destroyed house! The other was the faintest of breath, like a whisper, but the heart is strong.”

Savaiyon cut in, “Let us retrieve the one underneath first. He or she may have less time and more injuries if trapped beneath a house. Where did you locate the heartbeat, Mouse?”

“I felt it nearby. I will focus on it. Follow me.” Adria enjoyed giving the orders and instructions. She felt a sort of irony commanding others, given the common perception of her.

She walked slowly on, fixated on the echoes and reverberations of the heartbeat. After walking northeast for a few minutes, Adria found her target. “Here. Beneath this pile.”

Lincan observed the crumbled and blackened house. “If anyone survives beneath this rubble, they will need to be patient. It will take hours, if not a day, to move all of this away.”

“That is why it is important to pay attention to everything, Lincan. While you remove the pile, piece by piece, I will walk into this hole in the ground.” Savaiyon pointed to a small crater, exposed by an overturned flap of grass that was surely meant to cover a hiding spot. “You two stay here; I shall see where this leads. You are certain that the survivor lies beneath?” Maven Savaiyon dropped down into the ground.

“I have no doubts,” Adria replied. Since they’d arrived in midday, enough light penetrated into the underground retreat that Savaiyon needed no torch. Given this heat, he may not have lit one even in darkness. Adria heard him below, moving around. Things were being thrown about.

Even without using enhanced hearing, Adria heard Maven Savaiyon groaning as he moved things.

A heap of flesh plopped up by the hole in the ground. Maven Savaiyon emerged after. “His legs were crushed beneath a massive wooden beam. If the heat hadn’t already driven me to it, I would be sweating now from the weight of the thing. There was a whole room down there; it must have been a hiding place beneath the house. This man is no Taurani. I don’t even know where he’s from, but he has none of the Taurani markings. Most likely a soldier.” The man was unconscious. One leg dangled from tendons and sinews, a chunk of meat missing.

Adria knew Lincan would struggle in fixing the man.

“Lincan. You are not to heal this man to full recovery,” Maven Savaiyon ordered. “There were three dead Taurani down there with him, most likely guarding him like a prisoner. Close his wounds but do not mend his bones. That should be enough to ensure his survival until we return to the House.”

Lincan gripped his hands to the soldier’s legs and closed his eyes. Adria always found Lincan’s healing manifestation impressive. The soldier’s muscles and tendons reformed. The skin slowly reconnected. Lincan left the shin bones broken, just as Maven Savaiyon had instructed. Once finished, Lincan sat for several minutes to catch his breath and rest. He and Maven Savaiyon then carried the soldier as Adria led them through the burnt grass to find the second survivor.

They came upon the dirt road again and found a single man lying upon the ground. On second look, he was barely a man, of an age with Adria. He wore barely any clothes, which were shredded anyway, and his stomach had been sliced through. Blood caked his body everywhere: his stomach and chest, left hand, mouth, and the ground beneath him. Adria noticed entrails through the sliced abdomen and looked away.

Adria had not seen much of battle or death in her nineteen years, but she knew that people did not live through injuries such as this. “I do not understand why he breathes. He has likely been lying here like this for at least a day. By now, his body should be drained of blood, and his heart and lungs should have stopped. Yet he breathes, and I can discern a heartbeat. Enlighten me, Maven Savaiyon; I am not clever enough for this riddle.”

“I am equally as baffled, Mouse. I have never seen the likes of it. It cannot be a self-healing manifestation. His wounds would be repairing themselves. Lincan, have you any theories?”

Lincan scratched his short black hair loudly, a habit he’d come to be known for when confused. “I have no answers. Perhaps if I have more time to study him in a more apt setting, I might shed some light on the source.”

“Wrap his abdomen with what is left of his clothes. Then lift him to his feet and brace him, Lincan. I shall prepare us a bridge back to the House.” Maven Savaiyon’s manifestation was the ability to travel anywhere by creating ‘bridges’ in the air. In traveling this way though, he was also limited to traveling to places he’d been before, as he’d had to be able to picture his destination before creating a bridge to it. Adria also loved watching this manifestation.

Lincan lifted the tattooed Taurani up by the arms and dragged him while Savaiyon lifted the soldier. “Are we ready then?” Savaiyon’s bridge was ready. A rectangle of bright yellow light floating before them, like a doorway to another room.

A hint of a realization pulled at Adria’s mind. “Hmm…that’s odd.”

“What’s that?” Lincan looked back at her, puzzled.

She was sure now, having had the time to fully observe. “The Taurani you’re carrying, Lincan. He has no shadow.”

Chapter 4

The Voice

From
The Book of Orijin
,
Verse Two Hundred Ninety-one

O Chosen Ones,

We have shared Our essence with each of you,

That shall manifest in your bodies and souls in ways special to each of you.

It is with these manifestations that you shall cure the world of the wickedness of Mankind.

Baltaszar had memorized the conversation word for word. It was difficult not to. He’d replayed it in his mind several times a day in the past weeks and more often these past few days.

Yasaman had spoken softly, trembling and fighting back tears, “I…I just can’t continue to do this.” She lay beside him in the narrow bed, clutching his hand to the point of numbness and staring straight up to the ceiling. “I…I can’t continue lying to my father. And the longer we keep this going, the more likely it is that he’ll find out.”

He hadn’t seen this coming. Yasaman had loved Baltaszar’s company and found ways for them to be together despite her father. More often, it was she who had derived schemes for their clandestine meetings. Baltaszar had grown used to sneaking over to her house in the middle of the night, once her parents had fallen asleep. This made no sense. “I don’t understand. I thought you were happy. I thought we were happy. You said this is what you wanted. You said you loved me. You’ve done so many things to make sure we could see each other. Why is it all of a sudden not worth it?”

“I do love you, but…”

“If you love me, we would not be having this conversation.” Baltaszar hadn’t been angry, which surprised him, but remembered being confused. Her words had been hammers pounding into his head, and causing an ache that prevented him from thinking clearly.

“I love you, but I love my father as well, Baltaszar. And I cannot do this to him.”

“Then why not simply tell him about me? What would be so wrong with that?”

Yasaman turned to face him, streams of tears flooding her pillow. “You know how he feels about your father. If I was sneaking around with any boy, he would lock me in this room for ten years. Imagine what he would do if he found out it was with the son of the man he wants to see dead.” Tears had turned her face from a light brown complexion to splotchy red.

The candle on her night stand had almost reached its base, the wax barely visible between the flame and metal holder. Baltaszar had understood that his ability to argue had also waned, along with the light. “He does not have to be happy with it, I know, but is it not worth a chance?” he pleaded. “For all that we have been through, you would actually give up now?”

“Baltaszar, it is what I need to do. I’m not saying it is what I want, but it is what’s best. For everyone.”

“This is not what is best for me!” He fell just short of shouting at her. Yasaman’s parents’ bedroom was at the other end of the house, but many things could be heard in the quiet of night.

“I am not saying that this has to be the end, I just…”

“How could it not be? What will make everything different all of a sudden? Your father will always want to choose your husband and he will always hate my father, unless you stand up to him!”

“Maybe if we just hold off until things calm down, until after…”

“After my father dies? Is that what you want to say?” Baltaszar growled. Yasaman’s mouth twitched and contorted at his words, displaying more sorrow than her glistening eyes. Baltaszar hadn’t been entirely sure if that was what she had wanted to say next, but he knew it was what she meant and anger infiltrated his veins. “If that is what you think will make your father accept me, then there is nothing more for us.” As angered and devastated as he was, Baltaszar briefly reconsidered leaving her. Since he’d met Yasaman, he was sure that she would one day be his wife.

Baltaszar could no longer look at her, though. The only thing left was to leave. He still remembered leaving through Yasaman’s window that night. He’d left her crying in bed, her blotchy red face buried in her pillows, and Baltaszar did not look back for the duration of his return home.

That was over a month ago. Why is it still so difficult to accept?
The slope of the mountain had reduced markedly as the ground grew more and more even.
I have been so lost in my thoughts that I haven’t even noticed I’m almost out of the forest. But why does the thought of her still bother me so much? Was it me who was being selfish? Was our relationship so cumbersome for her that that was really the only way out of it?

Do we not have more important things to consider?

Baltaszar had not heard that voice since he made the decision to leave Haedon.
Stop talking to me.
The mountain was now behind him and the ground no longer rocky. Towering green pine trees still surrounded him, but Baltaszar recognized that the edge of the forest could not be far off.

You have no one left, wouldn’t you like some company?

Leave me alone.

Your mother is gone, your father, the girl, and now your brother. All you have is me.

Stop. Get out of my head!
He’d already believed he was crazy because of the voice, but what angered Baltaszar even more was that he finally realized it was identical to his own.

Why do you dislike me so much? I could be a great help…

“I said TO BLOODY LEAVE ME ALONE!” A few birds cawed and hastily fluttered away. After surveying his surroundings, nothing else seemed disturbed by his outburst. “Please, just leave me alone. I have enough problems without you.” Baltaszar stopped walking and tensed, hoping his request was enough to quiet the voice, at least for now. He doubted it would ever leave him for good.

Baltaszar continued walking. He quietly hummed a song, “Bales in the Summer,” an old farmer’s tune his father had taught him, hoping to stifle any more of the voice’s attempts to speak to him. As the gargantuan pines around him slowly thinned, thoughts of Yasaman grew more frequent and heavy.
Why do I keep dwelling on you? I’d rather think of father.

You continue to dwell on her because she is still alive. There is nothing to do about your father.

Baltaszar sighed, exhaled heavily, and drooped his shoulders.
If you will not listen to my requests to leave me alone, then at least answer one question for me. If you grant me an honest answer, I will at least try to entertain a conversation with you.

No.

No, what? Do you not agree to the terms?

The terms are agreeable. No, you are not crazy, Baltaszar. Was that not your question?

Then why are you in…

What bothers you so much about me is that my voice is the same as yours. That is why you refuse to accept me.

That is part of it, yes. But I would also like to be able to think to myself without being interrupted, without knowing someone else is listening. You are saying that I am not crazy to have another voice in my head, but it shall drive me insane to know that my thoughts cannot be private.

It is something you will have to grow accustomed to, Baltaszar. I have no intention of leaving you.

But who ARE you?

I am a friend if you will trust in me. A guide if you will follow me. A light if you will open your eyes to me.

But if I am not crazy, then why are you in my head? I do not understand what you are.

To explain what I am at this juncture would be beyond your comprehension. You would be terrified of me and you would cease to speak to me. It would be beyond the comprehension of most people, to be honest. There are some secrets in this world that people are not ready to accept. You are not ready to hear or see just yet. But I have been in your head longer than you know. Go to the House of Darian first. Once you understand your manifestation, then enlightenment will come.

Then why only speak now? And what manifestation?

Because now is when you need guidance. You will learn of your manifestation there, unless it becomes clear before then.

And I should just trust you then? It was YOU who told me to risk my life to save my father. Why give me guidance if you would have me killed as soon as you appear?

Are you certain that you would have died? Do you know this for a fact?

Everyone in Haedon wants me and Bo’az dead. They would have hanged me along with my father if I had tried something. Besides, why would I trust you? That you are in my mind, does not make you trustworthy.

And how did you know it was not YOU who had those thoughts? Are our voices not the same? How is it you can tell the difference between your thoughts and my voice?

Because I know what I believe and who I am. I have lived for eighteen years; I know what it is to create a thought!

You do not know a damned thing, Baltaszar Kontez. Nothing of your mind and nothing of this world. Rhadames Slade tried to guide you, but deep down, you still doubt his words as well.

“I left Haedon! Is that not enough? Curse you; I thought you wanted to help me! Why can you not just be direct with me? Answer a question without some stupid riddle? If you are going to act like this, then let me be!”

Baltaszar jumped at the volume of his own shouts. The voice bothered him. Put him on edge physically and mentally. Snapping back to reality, Baltaszar discerned the sun descending and the sky’s pink and purple response to it. He had been walking for longer than he realized, too caught up in a conversation he wasn’t even sure was real.

Very well. Do this yourself. It is obvious you would not listen to me anyway.

By the light of Orijin! Thank you!

With that, Baltaszar stopped at a trio of trees that formed a triangle around him. Numerous grey boulders lay stationed around the trees, providing suitable coverage if he refrained from standing. Baltaszar removed his pack and fished out a loaf of bread. It had grown stale and hard, but he did not find any mold upon inspection. He would just have to break off smaller pieces and drink plenty of water. But even the waterskin was nearly empty. Baltaszar inspected what food remained: only a handful of dried beef strips. He would have to make it to the town that Slade had mentioned by the end of the next day if he didn’t want to starve
. I’ll have to wake up early and take very few breaks. Baltaszar tensed, expecting a response from the stranger in his head.

The ground beneath him was lush with long grass, and very soft. Baltaszar reclined, propped up on one hand while nibbling on the hard bread. The conversation with the voice made him forget about his thoughts and regrets toward Yasaman, and peaked his insecurity instead.

Baltaszar questioned his decision to leave and fought himself about turning back. Whether it was for Yasaman or his father’s corpse, or for Bo’az and the house and farm he’d grown so comfortable with, he could not tell. From the time he had even begun to have memories, it was his father who’d guided Baltaszar in everything: riding horses, growing crops, devotion to the Orijin and religion, fixing and building things around the house, even general education. Baltaszar never had the opportunity to know his mother, and his relationship with Bo’az had become strained since their father’s sentencing. Baltaszar understood he no longer really had any family. The more he thought on it, the more he regretted allowing Bo’az to leave. Now more than ever they’d needed to stay together. Perhaps that was just another reason for his desire to turn back.

What am I doing?
He had known for weeks that his father would die, but that knowledge did nothing to soften the blow. In truth, if not for Slade, Baltaszar may have turned back with Bo’az. But Slade knew too many things that he shouldn’t have known, especially about the voice. It was too new for anyone else to have known.
Slade could have fought me right there in Haedon Square and hurt or killed me. Slade could also have alarmed other people in the town, but he did none of that.
It seemed excessive that a man would make up so much nonsense in the middle of the night, simply to lead Baltaszar astray.

Baltaszar constantly ruminated over the conversation and always came to the same conclusion. Despite his reluctance to admit the voice in his head was right, he had nothing to lose by listening to Slade. If he’d gone back to Haedon, he’d either have been killed or exiled. And as painful as the thought was, Baltaszar had nobody now. No friends or family. No one to worry about him. No one to be concerned if anything happened to him.

So you finally agree.

Shut up.

At times, the same thoughts also guided him down a darker path. In the few days of walking through the forest, Baltaszar had allowed himself to entertain certain possibilities.
What if I just died? What difference would that make to anyone at this point?
He was unsure whether that question was directed to himself or to the voice. Either way, Baltaszar got no answer.

Too often, he would focus so much on the notion that he no longer had anyone, and considered whether there remained anything worthwhile for which to live.
My life. My world. It all seems so complicated now.
Despite all his thinking, Baltaszar could never quite swallow everything that had happened. Had he been able to stay in Haedon and look after the farm, perhaps he would at least have a purpose. But all that remained was the advice of a man he didn’t know and with whom he’d spoken for less than an hour. Indeed, there were dozens of questions that he wanted answers to, and to die now would do nothing to justify his father’s death.