Weaponless, a short story
To introduce people into this wild world I have written a short story set in it. This is not a finalized product but a work in progress, I thought it would help people imagine this world better. I am by no means a great writer, but I enjoy it in spite of my limits.
The hills before Gideon rolled onwards towards the mountains. In the moonlight the knee-high silver grass glowed ghostlike. He ran, backpack shaking.
The green High-Fire flame flickered as he held the lantern in one hand, it would illuminate the darkest night.
Gideon rushed up one hill and then, without a second of hesitation rolled down it again.
The scent of the silver grass brought back memories of stolen moments when mother shopped in the stalls, losing sight of her precious child. The perfume-seller’s cart shone in the sunlight, bottles in all shape and form. Its owner pulled out a flask marked ‘Silver-grass’ and whisked the scent towards him. Then mother came and dragged him home.
With every step of his came the shaking of large stone feet hitting the ground. The Vasali, his stone servant, followed always doing as told. The servant easily doubled Gideon’s height, though Gideon’s small size couldn’t be used as a proper metric.
Everything about the Vasali seemed rather clumsy with hands the size of a shovel’s head. He moved in shocking motions, needing to pause before turning and always going back to the same pose of placing either arm at his side and faceless head glancing down.
“We need to make camp for the night,” the stone giant droned again, the voice rumbled with a low pitch and an echo to it as it sounded from his hollow, always open, mouth.
“It is ill-advised to travel in the dark.”
Gideon stopped. “Look,” he said pointing towards the smoke rising beyond the mountain. “We are almost there. ”
As his feet halted he felt the full weight of the running hit him. He gasped for precious air. “The air is thinner here.”
Nicolai’s stern demeanor would have faded if he saw this place.. He may not have been very fond of the strange and curious, but the stubborn fool would have seen beauty. Gideon shook his head banning the distractions, he needed to focus.
“Perhaps you are right. We should stop.”
He pulled out the watch from his pocket, solid gold and a family heirloom.
The surface of it contained many scratches of years of use. Once grandfather used it to mark time with, now he did. Before he left home, mother made sure he would return.
“You must bring this back.” He clicked it open. The clock said 7 ,three hours until the new day starts.
“Grab me quill, ink and paper. I need to write.” When the Vasali finished setting up a tent, something his stone fingers seemed to manage with little frustration, he delivered the writing utensils.
Gideon Asari – Brother of the Flame and emissary to the City-states of the Goldbay.
I find myself sitting in a clearing among the silver grass of the Glowing Hills. Above me the constellation Wolf and Hare are clearly visible. I cannot see clouds nor have I seen any since our ship docked at Highport fifteen days ago. I have attached a leaf of the silver-grass, it seems to glow in moonlight.
He plucked piece of grass studied it turning it in his fingers, then placed it in his mouth. After chewing for a while he spat it out again. In spite of its pleasant smell it is not advised to consume the grass. It has a sharp taste not dissimilar to that of tobacco. The air in the Glowing Hills is strange, even at rest I find myself in trouble to breathe. One should not give in to the natural temptation to run. I am at the edge of Varia, my destination, deep within Gulax. The Prince of the Hand will not remain as stubborn when he sees the gift the Brothers have given, I am hopeful I will be able to change his mind. The urn contains the ashes of brother Nicolai. He considered the Church his family, so his remains should be spread with his brothers.
He placed the quill down, during his time at the Academy he’d gotten lectures about not dating his documents.
“What is the date?” he asked the Vasali who sat at the corner of camp gazing over the hill ahead.
“It is the 14th day of Death,” the giant stated.
“Already?” Gideon couldn’t believe it. “Then tomorrow is…”
“… Ash-Day,” the Vasali responded.
“We will arrive on Ash-Day,” Gideon said,” the Spirits be with us. It must be a sign.”
“Unlikely.”
“It must be. Of all days we will arrive in Varia, city of Princes, on the day of Ash. Perhaps we’ll see the burning of the Titans.”
“Unlikely.”
“Unlikely is just another word for possibly. I never let odds ruin my mood. If I did that I’d never win a game of dice.”
Gideon signed the paper with his name and the current date.
“Members of the Order of the Flame may not gamble.”
“Then how are members of the Order of the Flame supposed to have fun?”
He rolled up the piece of paper and opened his ruck-sack.
“Oh I know,” he said tossing aside a dirty cup, “by doing dishes. Makes me feel like an initiate all over again. Remind me to wash that cup.”
“Wash that cup,” the giant repeated.
Gideon smiled. “When you think I have forgotten. Honestly even for stone you are pretty thick.”
He rummaged in the bags. Ever since Nicolai passed he carried a double load. The first thing he saw lying on top of the food and other necessities was the red scarf once belonging to his brother.
Wrapped inside it sat the dragger, the one used to kill. The blood didn’t come off, no matter how hard Gideon tried. He couldn’t just throw it out, but what else to do with it,
He pulled both out and placed it aside.
Underneath it sat the Herald, a stone the size of a pumpkin. It fell from the sky four days ago, carrying letters for him from the people back at the Capitol. Wherever he was it could find him, as long as he wore the necklace containing a homing crystal. The orb had two destination: him and the place it came from.
He removed his necklace and place it on the seal on the Herald. It shook and then, with a soft click, opened.
The inside contained enough room to carry dozens of letters, and the last time he opened they fell out.
He couldn’t read them all. Nor did he see a reason to.
Most of them would be pleasantries and reminders to come home soon. Who would want to go home in a world like this? What is home but a wooden shack in the storms? Surely family would mention they miss him, but he would miss this.
A single letter in place of the pack, it had to do. After placing the ashes of Nicolai in them, he sealed the Herald again. He grabbed hold of the orb, feeling its energy flowing through the stone, with a simple toss he made it fly, eastward towards home.
“So do you see anything worth mentioning in that vast endless night?” he asked the Vasali as it stared over the surrounding planes.
“I see naught,” the giant responded. “I do not have vision like you.”
“Course you don’t.” Gideon laughed. “It’s a shame imagination is something the Lifeforgers can’t give you. Do you sense anything?”
“A great settlement across the mountain. At least ten thousand souls”.
“That would be Varia. It is where we are going. Have been going. All this time.” He stifled a yawn.
“We should rest,” the Vasali said.
“You mean, I should?”
“You should rest.”
“Very well,” he said walking back to his tent, “if you need me, I may be stuffing myself with butter-cakes.”
Who would have known that Gideon would fall victim to nostalgia? During his time home, the future seemed the place to go. Hours he would gaze outside into the world hoping for a change that he felt never would come and then it did. Freedom at last, but for how long?
*****
Nicolai fastened the red scarf around his neck and checked himself in the mirror. He looked dangerous. A true Brother of Plate, dressed in white with grey steel armor. The red scarf he kept from his old life, a single sin in duty towards being sinless.
It would act as a reminder. That sometimes a sword is necessary, it seemed fitting for this place.
Seeing himself bald and beardless he didn’t miss his blond hair any more. It grew too long, too messy. Whenever he saw himself in some reflective surface he noticed what kind of a mess it was.
The women loved it, but women weren’t part of his life any more. The old Nicolai chased women, did petty crime, and fussed over how he looked. The new Nicolai lived in silent devotion, speaking only when relevant, a blade and shield to the world. He touched his chest where they made the mark with the blade.
The wound on his chest still stung as he moved. He did not care.
It would fester and scar, becoming the shape of a shield. He smiled and the Brother of Plate smiled back at him from the looking-glass, he was reborn.
Someone knocked on the door, an impatient hammering that could only mean a superior. Nicolai cleared his throat.
“Enter.”
Brother Dale opened the door. Without hair and beard, they looked so much alike, possible father and son. Dale’s face hid ages of work, weary with lines. The only hair on his head were two bushy eyebrows, both pearly white. Dale carried a constant scowl on his face, rumor has it he put that on to intimidate the initiates, either way he could not be trifled with. Dale’s uniform looked like Nicolai’s; but it looked so much better on him, he wore it as a man.
“Brother,” Dale said. Nicolai never heard Dale use a nice tone like that. “Remove that scarf at once.”
He did as told.
“It is not proper for Brother of Plate to hold onto past memories. You are now a weapon. Do you think a sword remembers the ore it came from, does a shield dream of trees?”
Nicolai remained silent.
“It does not matter. You have other things to focus on.”
“What other things?”
“You have been summoned.”
“Summoned?” Dale must be mocking him. “Already?”
“I know, I know,” Dale said. “I told him your mark is still wet with blood, but they insisted. I guess they want to see how you will handle the real world.”
“Who are ‘they’”?
“The Order of Flame,” Dale said. “I know, I know. Worry not, apparently it isn’t dull.”
Nicolai sighed. “How can it not be dull?” They were an order of explorers in the early days of the world, strategists during war-time, and diplomats during peace-time.
“They have discovered every corner of the world, mapped it too, what point is there to them?”
“Well they often send them out to meet with leaders from other lands. This thing is in the Gold-Bay. If I were you, I’d go and have a listen.”
Arriving at the headquarter he learned the name of the man who made the summoned: Brother Calaig. Back when the Order of Flame were architects of war he became a hero, masterminding the assault on Danas, a battle that almost ended the Civil War.
Years later, Calaig did not impress him. The man couldn’t be taller than the table he sat behind, two milky eyes peering over it. He spoke with difficulty and needed an ear-trumpet to understand what people said to him.
“I have met your father once,” he said in a low hoarse voice. One of those.... What were they called again.
“The Weaponless,” Nicolai said. Why bring up his father now?Did he really want to make a point?
“Ah yes,”Calaig chuckled. “They would bounce around the battlefield with those red scarves. He once healed me of an ugly gash in my leg. The strangest thing, I used to get aches in that leg long before the war, after he touched it... Nothing. How is he? He must be almost as old as I am by now.”
“Dead,” Nicolai said. He closed his eyes for a moment. The pale lifeless eyes of his father stared back at him,.
“Thus ends all things,” Calaig sighed. “Friends pass and here I am by myself. If you are any way as trustworthy as your father, this mission will be a good thing for you.”
“I heard mention it took place in the Gold-Bay.”
Calaig sniffed. “Can’t keep any secrets in this place. You will travel to Varia. The Prince of Hands has been rumoured to consider raising his prices. I don’t need to explain how disastrous an inflation of the ore prices would be.”
“You want me to go and change your mind;”
“You’re a sword, Nicolai, not a talker. I have someone for you to guard on your way to that city with a splendid gift.” He glanced at the Brother of Plate at the door. “Let him in.”
The boy he would have to guard during this trip walked in carrying paper, quill and ink. He couldn’t be younger than Nicolai, but it seemed so.
Gideon’s babe-faced features showed only a childish understanding of the world.
The uniform of the Order of the Flame, a black and red colored robe, looked too large on him. He sat down at one of the desks in the room ready to take down every word.
“The two of you will be leaving along The Cold Road north to Silk’s End where a ship will take you to High-Port in Gold-Bay. From there you’ll be on your own, it’s a long trek to Varia and not one to take lightly. You won’t be in a land that is ruled by the laws we have here, it’s a land of opportunists and outside the city crimes often remain unpunished. It’s a land where everything is for sale, be careful.”
“This splendid gift,” Nicolai asked. “What is it?”
““A lifeforged Vasali.”
He motioned to the Vasali in the corner of the room. Even as a teen Nicolai would tower over elders, but the Vasali itself would dwarf him. It must be at least two heads taller.
The giant did not carry a face, its head luckily left blank except for a simple opening where in regular creatures a mouth would be.
How this gift held any worth seemed foreign to Nicolai.
“The Prince of the Hand may have slaves, but he doesn’t have ones that can bend pure steel.”
“This…,” Nicolai said glancing at the Vasali,”…thing. Will it be active?”
Calaig made a toothless smile. “My dear boy,” he said in a croaking voice, “it already is.” He turned to the statue. “Vasali.”
The giant took a step forward. Methodical, every step followed by a miniscule pause. Boneless, fleshless, no nerves, no soul, yet it moved. It couldn’t be proper. Anything forged with the Gift held the potential to destroy, and it would be a bad day if it picked you.
“Meet Brother Gideon and Nicolai. They’ll be accompanying you to Varia.”
“Greetings,” the giant said, a voice coming from the hollow void of its mouth.
“Greetings,” Gideon responded.
The boy acted without filter, treading into dangerous territory without second thought. It would be an interesting trip.
“Everything clear about the task at hand?” the old Brother asked.
“Yes, sir,” Nicolai said, eager to run off to the dining hall. If he were to spend weeks with the boy, he’d need a night of irresponsible drinking.”
Calaig coughed. “Brother Gideon?”
“Absolutely sir,” Gideon responded, still preoccupied with the Vasali.
“Very good, then you are both dismissed.”
*****
A low chant drifted through the hills finding Gideon in dreams. He tossed and turned. Morning came too soon. The chanting voice echoed through the silver-grass joining it were a dozen other voices… women, children, all humming along with the Song. A calling to people of the Song.
“The Endless Song!” Gideon jumped from tent into clothes and soon he could not remember ever sleeping.
He would always be up early on Ash-Day, begging mother to take him to the burning of the Titans. He could only imagine what kind of a spectacular sight it would be this year.
Gideon placed either hand on the side of his face and responded the song with one of his own. A loud yodel, not a good song nor a pleasant one, but it did not need to be. The Singing Strangers were about finding song in everyone. Song to them, the idea of music, it transcended language. During his time at the Academy Gideon wrote essays on many foreign cultures among them the people of the song, an old favourite of his.
The Vasali seemed unmoved as the Strangers responded with a yodel of their own. Gideon cackled with laughter and he heard similar sounds come from the distance.
“Burn it.” He needed a gift. The Strangers made it tradition to exchange gifts. Nothing but simple things: food and drink.
Did he still have some butter-cakes left? Judging by the crumbs in the bed, he did not. For a second he considered giving The Strangers mother’s watch, but she would kill him.
The Strangers were now visible at the horizon, riding towards Varia as well. At the head of the nomads rode a man on a white mare. He wore a turban marking him a native of Gulax. The man laughed each time the others joined in for song as if impressed by it himself. His black beard streaked with grey might have made him look like a stern commander, if he didn’t have that twinkle in his eyes.
Gideon waved them. He did not fear the Singing Strangers, and the Strangers did not fear him. Behind cheerful song lay hidden weapons, used on those who disrespect the Endless Song, a tradition to spread cheer and joy and peace among the people.
Nicolai would have said even peace needed a sword and Gideon would have laughed at that. For a stubborn man Nicolai said many wise and foolish things. The man knew how to act in the world, but did not carry the desire to do so. He said that in this type of world everyone needs a weapon.
Beyond the Gulaxi Singer Gideon could see the mass behind him.
There were at least a hundred of them, figures in colorful robes carrying flags and banners. Gideon saw the Moon of the Druids, the Two Faces of Tyv, and there! He could almost cry, the pentagram of his Church.
“See?” he told the Vasali. “My odds were good.”
The Song-Master stepped from his horse and showed his weapon, a long narrow blade.
“Aras?” he asked in the Gulaxi Tongue, there was obvious doubt in that voice.
Gideon shook his head.
“Aah… Vali?” he asked in Tyvanian.
Again he shook.
Then with a thick accent. “Of course… Brother.”
“Yes.”
“And friend?”
“I will glad join your song, if the song goes to Varia.”
“Song goes where song goes. Do you wish to share gift?”
The man posed it as a question, but it didn’t feel like one. Meeting the Singing Strangers without gifts could be seen as rude, and they did not take rude people along with them.
“Are your people thirsty?” he asked.
The Gulaxi didn’t seem to understand.
Gideon pointed to his canister filled with water. “No water here, I can give water.”
“Need help to understand.”
The man turned around shouting back to his group, “Marian.”
A young woman approached about Gideon’s age, she wore her dark hair using the typical long braid of the Tyvanian people.
“Yes?” she asked in perfect Ayasi.
“I would like to gift water,” he pointed to the canister.
Marian stifled a giggle. “Your kindness is appreciated, brother. To give the last drops from your canister. We are indeed thirsty, have not seen a drop since the sea.”
“I won’t give you this water,” he said. “I will make you more.”
Marian’s eyes widened.
“You are trained in transfiguration?”
Gideon nodded.
She turned to the Song-Master. “Aras ne magi, Aras vo maga aqi.”
“Magi? Gifted?” the Gulaxi added a loud laugh to that. “You sang the right song, Aras.”
“I will need metal. Anything you can miss, but no rust.”
Marian nodded.
“Vasali,” he turned to the giant. “”Find me a tree.”
The giant nodded and marched off.
A few moments later it returned with a tree, root still intact.
He could hear murmurs coming from the group, The Moon-Druids were sharing whispers among one another.
Gideon may have acted in a way that insulted some people, but at a certain point a crowd becomes too large to please everyone.He hoped the water itself would ease silence their complaints.
Gideon grabbed an axe from the back-pack and started chopping the wood in tiny pieces, tossing it inside a stone cauldron the Singing Strangers brought forward. When filled halfway, Marian arrived with people carrying all kinds of pieces of metal. Broken tools, dull knives. He checked each and every piece for any impurities then tossed it with the wood in the pot until nothing could be added to it.
Marian seemed to be unsure. “Changing this much into water, it takes a lot of energy, you should be careful.”
“It’s all about balance,” Gideon explained. “I destroy these two elements and use that energy to create a new third element. As long as I’m not careless, it shall not tire me.”
He placed his hand on the pot and focused, allowing the energy to drift through the stone and into the elements.
When he removed his hand it contained pleasant, clear water.
The Strangers lined up with cups in hand, greeting the water with song and filling their flasks and themselves with it.
Finally the Song-Master took Gideon into a warm hug.
“Welcome to the Song, brother.”
*****
Nicolai touched the wound on his chest. It hurt even worse now, but the pain came with a purpose. Its healing would mean the healing of the memories that still burdened him.
“Calaig mentioned your father has been a Weaponless. So that is his scarf then?” the boy asked from the bottom bed of their cabin.
The sea-sickness came back to Nicolai. He’d been grateful for the times when he’d been locked in the cabin while Gideon talked to every stranger on the ship he could find. Going about the way he did, you’d imagine he would write an autobiography for each of them.
“It is,” Nicolai answered.
He learned soon that no secret could be kept from Gideon, he seemed to think a reluctance to answer meant you could still prey.
“I heard Men of Plate must forgo any life they lived before they join their order. ”
“I have,” Nicolai said. “I stopped being a thief, stopped selling my blade to the highest bidder. Finally a purpose that isn’t sinful.”
“Yet you keep the scarf, isn’t that a sin?”
“We all need a little sin in our life. If not we become bitter and dull. I saw you gamble with the Ferrelisi salt-trader, well my indulgence is this scarf.”
“Your father. Did he die?”
Nicolai sighed. Did he have to talk about this?
“Do you realize it is rude to pry?”
“Curiosity is never rude,” Gideon said. “Too few people are interested in the strange.”
“In my opinion,” Nicolai said, “the strange is just a nicer word for the dangerous. When the strange meets swords clash. I don’t dislike being asked these questions, but you may dislike the answer.”
“I was right then,” Gideon sighed. “How did he die?”
He could smack the boy. “I should have put you in the box with the brick.”
“Perhaps... I’m sorry for being so rude. I hope he isn’t bored in there.”
“It wouldn’t know what boredom is. It doesn’t experience things like we do. When it is bored it does not seek something to occupy itself. It merely does as told. Mindless and obedient. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”
“They forged him so he could not hurt anyone.”
“You cannot remove the potential for violence from anything. There is a madness even in the utter abstract that can be released at any time. When you tamper with things like minds, you take steps that only the Oldsouls should take.”
He placed his hand on his chest again. The burning kept increasing like someone placing a flame at his skin. When they left dock he could still hide it, but now the blood ran through his bandages. He wondered how long these wounds usually take the heal. Days that’s what they claimed, but weeks later the wound still hurt and still refused to heal. At first the pain just annoyed him, a nuisance he would gladly endure. Now it paralyzed him, making every move tiring and forcing him to bed.
“I could take a look at that wound for you, if you like. I have healed wounds before you know?”
“Using your Gift?” Nicolai couldn’t help but make it sound like an insult. The Gift changed those who used to it, especially those that used it without care or thought. It made them unstable, dangerous.
“I could take a look at it, at least. I worry it might be infected.”
“It is infected,” Nicolai responded. “It is supposed to scar, become a mark of my commitment. If you heal it would it scar?”
He waited for an answer.
“Would it?”
“... No.”
“So my carving, I’d have to do it again. Endure that pain again? I’d forsake what I have done to deserve this. If you healed this it would undo everything I worked for you. You will not touch it. Understood?”
*****
Even in the chaos in front of the Four Gates of Varia the Singing Strangers did not cease singing. Marian walked beside him and the Vasali covered in rags. Other Ayasi people they met greeted him like an old friend.
“A brother of the flame here?” one uttered in disbelief. When he showed them the green flame, the sacred flame of Peace, they nearly wept. Marian, a follower of Tyv, found the obsession close to comical.
“It’s just a flame,” she said shaking her head as the Ayasi wandered away.
“High FIre, the flame of a phoenix. It will burn anything. On Ash-Day you are supposed to burn something important to yourself.”
“Seems like a waste of something important. Aren’t you supposed to value the things you receive through the year? I don’t see how burning it shows gratitude.”
“It shows sacrifice.” Gideon o,ce received similar lectures from mother. “By giving up something important you show a willingness to commit to something beyond your own desires. It is vital to the Ayasi to commit to something.“
“I don’t see why people would do this. Any God who demands sacrifice shouldn’t be worshipped.”
“It’s not a sacrifice to them, but to yourself. The burning is an important step in life. A way to start the new year.”
The traditions of Ash-Day still stuck clear as day in Gideon’s mind, but in this place it seemed so far. Shops weren’t open on Ash-Day, here the peddlers and traders tried to sell anything to anyone, and buy whichever they like.
“It’s like the Gift,” Gideon tried to explain. “Every act of creation must be balanced with an act of destruction. Whenever I heal I must also kill, a sacrifice to allow myself the balance to heal well. Dogs, rats, the smarter the animal the better. Those who never give up things, who never let go of things, never live good lives. Like the phoenix, rising from the ashes, so must we.”
“So,” Marian asked. “What are you going to burn?”
Gideon pulled out a red scarf.
“This is my friend’s. He passed on the way here on the ship. It was his father’s before. He should have burned it years ago.”
“So he could forget his father?”
“No, so he could let him go. I plan to do that for him. He joined the Church wanting to leave the past behind, but he didn’t.”
“Why did you join the Church?” Marian asked. “It’s a life commitment and a big step. If not for the church you’d be home now.”
“Ash Day where I live is a boring affair. Our staff aids my mother make a meal too large for three people. Father sips one of his finer wines while telling jokes, and mother fusses over all the arrangements.”
“Where would you be?”
“At the window, looking at the people gather for the burning. Hoping that mother will let me go and watch. It’s almost a miracle, the way High-Fire burns those wooden statues. Statues wet from storm and rain. I’ve always been mother’s little boy. Father’s spine belongs to her as well. At least this year I am free.”
“So the Church gave you that freedom?”
“Quite by chance. It was her idea. I needed a job and the job of a Carer, a healer with the Gift seemed to appeal to her. She forced lessons on me to become more balanced with it, so I would never fall prey to madness.”
Here in front of the Gates of Varia, the Academy seemed so far away. Whenever he would sneak into the Library for a book on the study of all natural and unnatural life, he’d return with a book about the traditions of the Baliari Firsts. The professors named it a calling, something you cannot refuse, not even mother could.
“Things turned out differently,” he said to Marian. “Here I am... Far from home.”
“You will have to return.”
That truth hurt.
“Eventually.”
There were four gates to the city, three marked with a symbol. The hand leading to the district for craftsmen and soldiers. The symbol of a head for the mind where scholars and scientists lived and worked, and two lips for the people of the voice: orators, lawyers and merchants.
The fourth gate led to the main area, where everyone lived like equals.
It did not matter what life your parents lived, but once you pick a path in life you are bound to it you are no longer welcome in the other districts, it would be improper for someone focused on the study of crafting to be distracted by the histories of some far-away land.
If this had been the life at home he’d never be here. He would be healing people back home. He would spend, help greying man recapture some of their youth, fight the common cold with Gifts that should never be wasted on such things.
Throughout the crowd walked soldiers. Hand-Men who served the Prince Gideon came for. They wore a golden cloak and were accompanied by a translator, and a law-expert. Three members one for each of the castes. They picked out random people and asked to see their documents. To enter one of the three districts connected to the gates you needed special documentation.
Before leaving the people of his Order made sure to finish all the paper-work in time. A personal invitation from the Prince arrived by Herald the day before he left.
The Soldier scanned the document, holding it up to the sun as if looking for some hidden watermark.
“Are you certain of this name?” the translator urged. A tall thinning woman with a stern expression and ginger hair tied back in a knot. “Archibald is no longer a Prince.”
“What do you mean he is no longer a Prince? When I left he had been just elected.”
“... and now he’s replaced. The title of Prince of the Hand is available to all men and women who live that life, if you have the gold.”
Gideon couldn’t believe it. The Spirits decided who rules, leaving people to decide their rulers always led to issues. Having rule defined by money, he couldn’t see how they got anything done.
“May I talk to the person who replaced him?”
“That may be difficult,” the Translator said. “Prince Jas is not very welcoming to guests. He needs to have you screened first.”
“Very well, I shall come with you.” He took out the High Fire lantern and passed it to Marian. “I may not be back before the end of the evening.”
She smiled. “I will make sure the fire happens. “
“Okay,” he looked at the translator. “Let’s go then.”
“Not just you,” the woman said. “You and your Vasali.”
*****
Nicolai’s head felt like it could explode. He opened his eyes and the bright light of the sun bathing the deck in light made him close him again.
He could hear them talking, scheming, making plans they should not.
“I can do it, Nicolai.”
The boy did not know when to stop. The boy. The foolish kid that dragged him onto the ship. The boy would die, just like he would, just like everyone would. He would die because he trusted too much.
Trusting the Church to not send him on a wild-goose chase, trusting an old ship to take him safely across the sea.Trusting him to protect him and now trusting the Captain to have a solution.
The boy would die like that and Nicolai wouldn’t be there to stop it. Peace would be without a shield. Like his father during those endless days on the battlefield, healing one suffering man after the other. That foolishness did not define him later in life.
“I must suffer.”
“Don’t be so foolish man,” the Captain said in a loud voice.
Suffering is vital to my cause. It is through suffering that I can stay away from cruelty. If one knows suffering he will never inflict it upon others.
Another voice sounded from his head. “You don’t know suffering boy.“
“Father...”
“I did not know suffering too. I ran from it, forced others to run from it.”
“No.... Stop.”
“Die son. Die like you are meant to die.”
He moved his hand across the deck.
“Don’t stand up,” the boy said, but he needed to... He needed to fight, to defend himself.
“Where is my sword?”
“You don’t need a sword, man,” the Captain said. “Do as the man says, and let yourself be healed.”
“No!”
Healing made father insane, he healed without sacrifice and so the sacrifice sought him out. Forcing it from him in the form of his calm demeanour. There were voices, whispering, talking, the less he listened the more they grew in noise, until they screamed over-taking every thought of his. He grew bitter, grew destructive.
The beatings, the madness, the nonsense he shouted, at him, at mother.
“We’ll need another war, son. So those fat nobles can get into shape again.”
Mother slapped him. “Don’t talk to your son like that.”
“Please,” he asked the Spirits. “Make it stop, just... Make it stop.”
“Finally,” the Captain said. “The man is showing sense. Heal him and then put him back below deck, I don’t want people to think he has some infectious disease.”
A high screeching rang in his ears. Her screams... “Make it stop.”
“Murder is not a sin when it is done for the right reasons,” people assured him. “You father needed to die, deserved to.”
“What are you going to do boy?” Father asked. “Kill me?”
“Yes...”
“Then don’t be a coward and fucking get it over with. Kill me.”
“I will.”
“Kill me.”
“I’m sorry,” the boy’s voice said. “It’s too late.”
“Kill me...”
“I’m sorry...”
“Make the voices stop.”
*****
“Who did you kill?” the soldier repeated. Going by her face she seemed sweet, innocent and attractive. That same sweetness did not hold true for her tactics.
Gideon’s fingers shook as he tried to come up with an answer.
She held up the dagger stained with blood.
“I’m not a fool, boy.”
“He suffered and I put him out of his misery.”
“The reasons behind the murder are not of my concern. Who did it?”
She held up a scarf. “A weaponless? Haven’t seen those around for a while. I think it is considered a crime everywhere to kill them.
“A Brother of the Plate. It was an act of mercy, he begged me. I’m not lying.”
“I have seen liars boy,” the woman said. “You aren’t a good one. Whatever you did it is still a crime. You will have to stand trial in your own courts.”
“You aren’t allowed to detain me,” he said. He learned some of the laws before he left home. “I’m not a citizen of this place.”
“As long as you don’t pay the bail,” the woman explained, “ we can do whatever we like with you.”
“I don’t have any money.”
The soldier sighed. “Nothing valuable?”
He shook his head.
“Then what is this?” she asked, placing the golden watch on the table.
“It’s a heirloom.”
She turned it in her hands. “A precious heirloom. Probably enough to get you out of here. In truth we don’t care about who you killed, we don’t like to detain people, it costs us more than it brings up. Rarely the Ayasi people pay for their prisoners.”
“Then that is my bail,” he sighed.
“Very good,” she grinned. “The Princes thank you for your generous gift. I shall guide you to the exit.”
“Will you still inform my order?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “You are still a criminal. The Ayasi courts can be forgiving.”
His stone Vasali stood near the doorway to the city. Silently waiting for him, arms by his side.
“There you are,” he said to the statue. He didn’t move.
“We have been interrogating it as well.”
“Vasali don’t release secrets of those they obey,” Gideon said touching the stone skin.
“Under normal circumstances,” the soldier said. “We drained it. See if we could have you talk to the Prince, if it didn’t pose a danger.”
“Well clearly it is harmless now.” Gideon said. He could feel his hand twitching.
“I travelled for over a moon to get here. I lost a friend to get here and it has all been for nothing. No Prince to talk to, no mission.”
The woman simply blinked.
“And now you are telling me my friend-”
“A stone statue with a fake soul cannot have friends.”
“You are telling me, my friend, had his entire being drained from him simply as a procedure?”
“If someone arrives with a locked chest, we open the chest to look into it. If we need to we break the lock.”
She opened the door to the streets outside and led him out.
“Go home or run from your people, but leave. You have paid your bail, now let things go.”
The streets of Varia were narrow and twisted. One part of the city had been built inside the mountain, where the palace of the Princes sat... A place he’d never be able to go visit. The rest of the city seemed to have been built as an afterthought. There were roads leading nowhere, and places where no road led. The houses were built close to one another with flat rooftops acting as other roads to higher built houses.
Like all cities in the Gold-Bay it contained four districts one for each of the castes and a central one where people lived, shops stood , and guests were welcomed. Tall walls with guards stood at every gate to the other districts, stopping people who did not carry the right documentation.
“Do you have everything?” the soldier asked. She passed him his rucksack. “We didn’t have a chance to check it for more. Aren’t you lucky? I wonder how many bloodied daggers we’d find. ”
“I don’t have my Vasali.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you want to drag a rock with you all over the country, be my guest. If not we’ll dispose of it cleanly. This hunk of junk will make a nice addition to our walls.” She knocked the Vasali’s chest, it echoed inside of him.
“Don’t,” the low voice of the Vasali said.
“Oh great,” she said gleefully. “It’s still active. Now you can quit your whining and leave.”
“Don’t...”
“Don’t what, rock? Don’t hurt you? Don’t leave?”
“Don’t forget the wash the cup in your rucksack.”
Gideon cackled with laughter.
“I won’t.Come on, time for the burning.”
The Singing Strangers were where they told him they would be. A lot of the Ayasi people had gathered together and were singing traditional songs. A bag of ash sat among them, with which they marked their forehead.
In the middle of them the green flames danced, items in the center of them burning and turning to ash.
The gripped the red scarf and dagger tightly. He needed to do this. He needed to let Nicolai go, just like Nicolai had to let his father go. He needed to create a situation in which he could move on. Move on to where? If he returned home he’d be on trial. They won’t chain him up, but they likely won’t let him leave the land again.
Something shot past him, whizzing. An orb-shaped object fluttering without wings a few inches above the ground. It landed with a soft ‘clunk’. The seal on the Herald burned bright red signalling new contents. He removed the necklace and placed it on the seal. Letters piled out. He saw his family’s mark on them. He took out the letters and weighed them. Page after page of lovely thoughts from them.
He rifled through them. They probably contained well-wishes and overstatements about how much they missed him. With a simple toss he threw them into the fire, immediately consuming all of them.
“One day he’d go back,” he promised. “Not yet...” He tossed the dagger and the amulet after it.
Never refuse a calling they say. Nicolai had been wrong. Peace doesn’t need weapons nor shields. Peace is a weapon, it is a child. He tied the red scarf around his arm. Wherever he would go, he’d share that message. Staying the madness with the proper sacrifices. He would be shieldless, he would be weaponless.
