Mortal gods, p.37
Mortal Gods, page 37
“Is this worth your life?” Wyland said coldly, not a flicker of emotion in his face.
The man released his grip on Avari and stepped backwards a few inches, but Wyland never let the dagger leave his throat. Avari stirred behind, rustling around on the stool, but Wyland held there pinned to the bar. The fat man thought for a moment and then laughed a hearty howl from the pits of his stomach.
“First mate!” He called over his shoulder.
“Aye Captain?”
“How many of us d’you reckon the old yin and this wee rag could take before we strip their bones and use them as bait?” The man hissed, locked in a fierce gaze with Wyland. The men who seemed frozen before gently stirred to life, all wandering in behind the Captain.
“No’ many, Captain!” The first mate replied obediently.
“No’ many…” The fat man repeated. “I’ve the man power. You’re an old man an’ he’s a rag.” He purred in satisfaction.
Wyland only smiled. “I have her.” He withdrew the dagger from the fat man’s throat and turned his eye towards the door which had dissipated behind the huge frame of an angry looking Khamari. Avari squirmed under Wyland’s grasp, attempting to free himself from his shackles, but still the old man thrust him downwards.
“Your name?” Wyland asked calmly.
All the bravado had slowly drained from the fat man which evidently punctured the bravery of his men. They deflated like a lung that had made introductions with a dagger.
“Ryce, Captain Sera Ryce.” He replied hastily.
“Come Captain, I have a proposition to discuss with you.” Wyland said before he led the Captain back towards their regular table.
Adrian said cross legged on the bed in his assigned room, and mulled over the harrowing vision he had witnessed in the old guard posting. It made his skin crawl. Quietly, he listened to the footsteps pass outside the door, wondering if the next set would be the one to bring him back to reality. When Iago had found him, it was all he could do not to pry into the little creatures mind for answers he wasn’t sure he possessed. Iago told him it was by luck that he knew Elise well and knew the guard post.
Snow had fallen mercilessly, washing the ground with a white sheet of ever freezing white powder. Adrian could see whipping snowflakes before him, but like before, the cold snap was absent. Adrian drew his eyes far and wide but the fog settled calmly and the little white flakes that trickled along aimlessly, obstructing his view. In the distance he heard the low rumblings of voices; one in particular boomed a chest of malice. He tread lightly towards it, looking intently for any sign of life or even a structure to guide his way back to civilisation, but still his sight was strained to its limit.
“This be the will of the Kalutha Faith!” The commanding voice thundered to the squeals of many.
A large crowd of people, women, children and men, all frantic and pleading, slowly appeared through the fog, gathered in the centre of what had seemed like a small village. The buildings around were dim with only a vague outline of their structure visible. The man who owned the voice was protected by a black breast plate of armour, with a crafted sigil too vague for Adrian to make out and ring mail that glistened proudly. His purple velvet cape draped over one shoulder and tickled off in the wind.
“Commander please!” A woman pleaded hopelessly.
Adrian stepped through the crowd carefully and reached the shoulder of the woman who had dared speak out of turn. The man in the daunting breast plate removed his black half helm and glared at her with satisfied malice in his eyes.
He’s enjoying this. Adrian mused.
His eyes were narrow and violent and his short, sharp haircut spoke of a true military connection. The woman backed up immediately. It dismantled her, thrust to her knees on the snow laden ground to grovel in tears. She wept uncontrollably, inconsolable about something, what, Adrian wasn’t sure of yet.
Then he saw. His heart sank; stopped even. Behind the Commander lay a young girl, no older than Adrian is now, unconscious. She had been beautiful at one point in her life, that much it was easy to see. Long blonde hair that was stained by blood, her face violently swollen on one side, and beaten black and blue. The Commander glared on in immense satisfaction as two other Knights wearing similar armour, hauled her to her feet and dragged her towards an old sentinel tree flush with yellowing leaves. The crowd moved cautiously closer, whispers of terror echoing throughout the fog.
“Up!” The Commander barked.
The crunch was sickening; a noise so ghastly that it forced itself to be heard long after its echo died. The bolts sliced through the young girls hands with an ease better seen of that of a sword. The two Knights stepped backwards and left the young girl suspended in the air, nailed to the tree – crucified. The woman who had spoken before howled viciously and cursed them to the grave. She broke free of the consoling arms that cradled her and straight at the Commander. Adrian saw the flash of metal and flinched to help, but stopped midway. The blood spatter that came his way, but as always, he was unaffected. The woman was cleaved cleanly in two by a monstrous two handed sword the Commander had pulled from the sheath on his back. Adrian shuddered at the sight of the Commander speckled with the blood, but completely void of remorse. As the crimson flow dripped gentle from his chin, Adrian paid close attention to the sword. A weapon so severely crafted for two hands, but the Commander swung it with one as though it were as light as the air he breathed.
“To attack a Kalutha Knight is to attack the Kalutha Faith itself.” The commander said with a sickening vacancy etched across his face. “Burn it!”
The crowd howled their pleas of mercy, but they fell on deaf ears. Adrian felt that urge to help again, but the people moved like he wasn’t there. He moved closer to the girl upon the tree, but could do nothing for her. The villagers scattered around him, running for dear life while the company of Knights stalked after them, blades unsheathed. Adrian kept his eyes fixed firmly on the Commander, whom among the chaos, was not flustered nor battle hungry. He stalked the young girl crucified to the tree, watching her stir gently to the realisation of her situation. Adrian moved closer still, shadowing the Commanders movements. The young girl awoke suddenly, howling echoes of pain and terror smashing off the buildings on either side of the planted tree she was a part of now.
She wailed hopelessly incoherently when the pain reached her. “TRISTAN!” She yelled.
Adrian looked around frantically. He searched for the God who whispered in his ear, hoping he would be there, but there was only the echoing horrors of butchery. The Knights continued to slaughter the innocent villagers like they were cattle – no divine intervention was coming.
Adrian circled to her the girl’s side, whisking a hand through hers in a vain attempt at a rescue. He turned to the Commander and saw the design etched into his armour more clearly through the fog. It was the Eternal Tree of the Kalutha Faith. Normally a light sapphire blue, but this one had been visible only by its indentations in the armour.
“Why?!” She sobbed, clearly in insurmountable pain.
“The Heir must never fall by an immortal hand, my dear.” The Commander said devoid of emotion. “Your Gods brought this upon you.”
He backed away from the tree as the young girl howled in agony.
“Burn it.” He said again, in a snarling voice.
A Knight, saturated in the blood of the villagers, dropped a lit torch by the base. Immediately, the tree became engulfed in flames and fury. Adrian jumped back, startled by the bursting light as it grew brighter and brighter, and brighter.
Adrian replayed it in his mind so many times. He questioned whether he could have done something, anything. He regretted not trying and just accepting what had gone before as gospel.
“Sacha Molders, the forty-second heir.” Said Tristan quietly.
Adrian sat up in the bed, but this time he wasn’t taken aback by the sudden voice in the darkness. He had been waiting for it.
“You once asked how the other Heirs died. Now you know.”
“Why didn’t you help her?” Adrian asked.
After a few moments, he knew there would be no reply. He shuffled over in the bed and closed his eyes again. Trying to sleep had been hard to come by, but this time, Adrian felt the exhaustion force him under.
The gentle breeze, the soothing sunshine, the smell of the freshly pruned flowers was enough massaged the young boy’s weary mind into a submission of equilibrium. Tormented by thoughts of death and destruction, by ineptitude and self-doubt he was able to soothe it by the incantations he had grown to love. In the Alamar Gardens, Adrian was at peace. The gentle wash of sunlight that caressed and kissed, coupled by the smell of the great outdoors reminded Adrian of home.
The irony wasn’t lost on him however, for as long as he could recall back on the farm and in Redbridge, Adrian was never totally enamoured by the place he had called home. But in this moment, he was accosted by the desire to be back there. To hear the rustle of Willow and Smoke, the creak of the old barn door he’d fixed countless times, the boom of Traders Aisle and the smell of roasted boar that turned in the spit fire with a grin. The young boy opened his eyes and looked around the lush gardens, to the carefree spirits that seemed to waver among him. The young ran around, playing with one another, their innocence unblemished by the impending doom that gathered on the horizon. Adrian looked down to the freshly wrapped bandages on his arm, and found himself gently smiling in the absence of the pain that blighted his body.
“Iago did those while you slept.” Adrian turned his glance upwards to see Elise stood over him, blocking the sun’s bathing feeling with a glowing smile.
“Your mother might genuinely murder me in my sleep if she sees me talking to you” Adrian said in all seriousness.
“You might be right.” Elise replied. “Let’s go, we have work to do.” She said extending an arm to help Adrian to his feet.
The young boy sighed deeply, fearing the moment he would leave the gardens.
“Work?” He asked as she helped him haul himself to his feet. “I never told you before, I'm the senior instructor in the Order for initiates.” She said bubbly, with a smile.
“You’re the teacher?” Adrian asked.
“Don’t be so surprised!” She said with a smile.
The sights and smells Adrian had been basking, evaporate like they had never existed when they passed the exit of the Gardens. Just like before, the jovial euphoria drained from Adrian and the jagging pain searched its way back into his arm. The pain wasn’t as throbbing or crippling as before, but it was still enough to keep Adrian’s mind occupied.
“You get used to leaving.” Elise said gently.
“I'm not sure I can do much with this.” Adrian said, raising his bandaged arm.
“Don’t worry, your damaged arm bore the brunt of your grandfathers Orb rebelling against your will, but your own bound to you. Conjuring will be easier because of that.” She said.
Adrian felt at the raised markings across his right arm with the free fingers that poked through the bandages. They made their way through the winding corridors of the Order, descending as they went. Elise carried herself in such a way that impressed Adrian. He felt with each Elemento who passed, she grew a little taller and a little broader. No more than a gentle nod cemented the aura of respect that surrounded her.
“So your mother is on the coun–” She scolded him with a look.
“There is a reason for the masks.”
“What?” Adrian said confused. She looked around sharply before she pulled Adrian into a doorway, searching faces passed them.
“During the Daemon War, the Black King’s horde stormed the Order and abducted Maester Jonas, a member of the council.” She said in a hushed tone. “My mother tells me he was tortured personally by the Black King himself inside Perulda for ten days for the location of the Elemento host. But it was a rouse.”
“A rouse how?” Adrian asked.
“The Black King knew we would turn our forces home to protect the Tower. He knew which route the army would have to travel to get there. The rest, you surely must know? The council members are anonymous to protect us all.”
“If I managed to pick your mother out having only heard her voice twice, how can she possibly be anonymous from everyone else who knows her already?” Adrian asked.
“Twice? I thought you had only the single meeting with the council during your Joining?” She asked suspiciously.
Adrian caught his words, knowing he couldn’t explain the vision that Tristan had shown him when Wyland relieved himself of the role of High Maester, but he couldn’t think of another lie quickly enough.
“I met the council once before as an introduction.” He said.
It wasn’t untrue, but from the look on her face, she could tell it wasn’t Adrian’s original meaning.
“So the Black King attacked the Tower?” He asked after a few quiet minutes walking.
“Yes.” She replied sharply, but then softened her tone. “When word of the attack on the Tower reached High Maester Elrick, in the field, he turned the army home to defend the tower. But they barely made it north of The Neck before our forces walked into the bloodiest ambush ever witnessed. The Black King was cunning and ruthless.” She said.
“Were you here?” Adrian asked quietly.
“Everyone you see in the Order was here on that day, we are the survivors. High Maester Elrick’s host was destroyed. Each council member and a new High Maester were selected by the Elders, in secret. Only the council members themselves know the identity of the other members.”
They began to move swiftly through the Tower again, descending a flight of stairs, past old hardened faces and emerged into the Grand Hall Adrian had streamed through with Dante days previous. Two black robed guards loomed at the entrance of the corridor to the council chambers. They wore a blank, expressionless face as turned their eyes towards the few who tread through the great hall. The further they walked across the perfect marble floors, the tighter the knot in Adrian’s stomach became. The anticipation of inevitably high expectations gnawed and scratched the seams of his constitution. They crossed the great hall under the guise of the sturdy guards and set foot into a corridor that swept around itself in a spiral, every twist threatening to reveal its end.
Finally, an old looking door appeared at the end of the corridor. It was unlike the others Adrian had come across in the Order, but there was something about its splintering surface and brown stain finish he couldn’t place.
“Ready?” Elise said, placing a soft hand on the door.
“Yeah…”
Elise gently pushed the door and immediately, Adrian knew why it seemed so familiar. It was his door. He rushed through and quickly flung his eye around, feeling a certain joy to be back. It was a door he had wandered through a thousand and one times without a thought for magic of notions of an Heir. A door that he had attached to the comforts of a manufactured home with a grumpy Khamari. It was the front door of the farm house.
“What?! How?!” Adrian said, startled. The relief he felt at being home was palpable. His heart raced and soared in ecstasy. The thought crossed his mind he was dreaming, but he raced through everything he had done that day and knew it was real.
In the kitchen, a fresh pot of Pauper’s stew brewed on the stove, saturating the farmhouse in aromas of beef, onion and a littering of spices. Adrian ran across the couches and into his room. His ragged shirts lay draped over the chair that sat in the corner and his bed was unmade, flowing with creases. He placed a gentle hand over the sheets and rubbed at the roughness he had grown to hate over the years, but now missed terribly. He smiled heartily, but there was something wrong. He wandered back into the living room and gazed at Elise, who stood unmoved by the front door. He was content and the pain in his arm was quiet, but that was where the problem lay. His arm should be in the same agony he has felt for days now.
“It’s not real.” He asked gazing around the high rafters of the farm house.
“No, it is not.” Elise said. “This room is much like the Alamar Gardens. There are hundreds like it all over the Order, each assigned to project the most suitable environment for an Initiate to hone his skills. On our approach to the door you projected what you most longed for, as did I. But you entered first, so the enchantments of this room attuned to you, I am just a visitor here.” Adrian was silent, but amazed at the power. “The incantations conjured to summon this projection were designed to feed your every need, the details are perfect from your last memory.”
“So now what?” Adrian said looking at the small smile that rose over her face.
“Let us step outside.” She said treading towards the door. She swung it open but not to the Orders corridor, but to the basking sunshine of a summer Oraanian day. In the distance he could see the stables, with a perfectly mended front door that Adrian smiled over. Adrian turned to take in the farm house, refreshing his memory of home, but when he turned back to the open, the scene had changed. A crowd of the Redbridge townsfolk had gathered, each wearing a scowl for Adrian. Mr Lemuer, Pauper, Avari and Arianna – everyone he cared to see at this moment, glared at him in menace. Right at the centre, the blonde haired, blued eye nemesis of Adrian and his two friends stood, with the biggest snarl of them all, Mangus. Adrian stalled briefly before carrying on down the three steps of the porch.
“I have been told your proficiency with a sword is unquestionable, now we must bring your conjuring on par.” Elise said walking around Adrian.
It wasn’t the same girl he remembered from yesterday. The bright and bubbly demeanour had vanished. This Elise was serious as death, focused like a predator waiting to pounce.
“Your environment can hamper your abilities if you let it. The outside stimuli must remain there, never breaking the focus between you and your connection to the Power.” She paused and raised a gentle hand to the crowd. The Redbridge residents riled up, hurling abuse at him as he never heard before.
