“I’ve loaded the last of the crates, Senkal.”
Old shaman grinned. “Excellent work, Gmork,” he said. “But remember, speak in Absonian, not Orcish.”
Gmork sighed. Why should it matter?
“Come on now, boy, don’t give me that look. There is a way to the world.”
“You say that, but it seems to be their way.”
“Hush!” he said, turning to see if the soldiers on patrol had overheard. “Now check the horses’ harnesses, we have many visits to make today.”
“Are we going to see them?”
The old shaman shook his head. “Later this week, I promise,” he replied. “How have you been feeling?”
“Calm, but it nags at me.”
Senkal nodded, casting a glance at the bracer Gmork wore on his right forearm. “I’ll arrange a fight so we can work through it.”
“How long must I go on like this, Senkal?”
The old shaman’s grim expression softened. “All your life,” he said.
“Does it ever bother you?” Gmork asked, checking the horses’ barding. “Your mark?”
“I was touched by an unusual spirit,” he said. “I still don’t know how to describe its nature, but I see things about others they cannot.”
“But does it bother you?”
He shifted his attention to the patrol on the street. “Sometimes,” he answered. “There are things about others one shouldn’t know.”
Gmork stared at the soldiers. The nagging feeling in his chest ignited into a small spark. You should hit them… He pushed the thought away. The voice wasn’t his own, and Senkal didn’t need to know about it. It would only worry him further.
“Gmork!”
Gmork blinked, taking in his surroundings. The street and its marble buildings came into focus, and the sound of Absonians going about their business flooded his pointed ears. He tensed upon realizing he’d begun following the soldiers and turned to face Senkal. The old shaman’s face was riddled with concern and he drew closer, placing on Gmork’s shoulder.
“It’s worse than you’re telling me, isn’t it?”
“Seeing them frustrates me,” Gmork replied. “Their rules separate me from my family.”
Senkal reached out and embraced him. “Oh, my boy, I know this pain all too well. I won’t dishonor you with words of sympathy, but I’m grateful for the thirty years we’ve had together. I’m not your father, but between him and I, we are still proud of you. You’ve grown into a fine orc.”
At his embrace, Gmork felt the heat in his chest die out. “Sometimes I’m torn between the father I know and the one I hardly see.”
“I know, but soon, that will all change.”
Gmork pulled away, staring into Senkal’s yellow eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Since your birth, I’ve spent these long years saving every Sep I can spare. But now, I finally have the money to buy your parents’ freedom. At their age, Elias can’t use them as effective laborers. With coin I have, we can buy them and grant them the status of Libertas.”
Gmork’s vision blurred. “Senkal…” he said, wiping his eyes.
“No words,” he replied. “I had hoped to surprise you at the end of the week, but now seems as good a time as any.”
Gmork nodded, then hugged him. “It was a good time.”
Senkal grinned. “Now enough sentimental driv, we have patients to see.”
Gmork helped him into the wagon, noting Senkal was trying to hide the discomfort his left leg was giving him. A twinge of guilt struck his chest. Senkal’s leg had never healed right, even with magic. The injury was one of a few of his unintentional bouts with Senkal over the years.
He touched the bracer on his left arm and imagined the mark hidden underneath. What I wouldn’t give to be rid of you.
“Gmork!”
Gmork turned, noting a group of five Custos led by an Inquisitor were approaching. He gripped the lip of the wagon, feeling cracks forming in the wood from his iron grip.
“Senkal Xvre,” the Inquisitor said. “You and your son are under arrest.”
“On what charge?”
“Illegal gambling and unsanctioned gladiatorial combat,” he replied. “Do you deny these charges?”
There it was. Inquisitors instinctively knew if a person was lying or hiding guilt. Even the most skilled liars couldn’t elude them.
Senkal sat in silence, his eyes darting between the Inquisitor and his Custos. Gmork took a breath as Senkal had taught him, but the voice was already nudging him on.
Fight them… Break them…
“It seems life is taking another turn,” Senkal replied.
“Confession or not, orc, we have the evidence. Your accomplices gave you up rather quickly. It seems they have an interesting story to tell about your son. Unless you wish that crime added to your sentence, you will admit your guilt.”
“And if do, what becomes of my son?” Senkal asked.
“His Curse is enough cause for execution as a dangerous criminal,” the Inquisitor answered. “But the men he has maimed or worse were legitimate citizens of the state, not Libertas like you.”
Gmork ground his teeth. His chest burned as he fought for control. There was no way out of this. Regardless of what happened, they were going to take Senkal.
“Might I negotiate then?”
The Inquisitor curled his lip in disgust. “The law is the law, orc. Are you attempting to bribe me? Can you be that foolish?”
“No, but regardless of what happens to me, my son will die. I only propose that instead of an execution, he become part of the gladiatorial games at the Colosseum.”
The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes. “The law is the law,” he repeated.
“Either is a death sentence, Inquisitor, which fulfills your law. One just might take longer unless he earns his freedom.”
His nostrils flared, and he nodded. “Do you confess your crimes?”
“I confess. I am guilty of the charges you speak of.”
Gmork growled. Yet again they take your family… the voice chided. Kill them… Show them their weakness.
“Gmork!”
Gmork blinked. His hands felt damp, and sharp pains riveted his body. He looked down, seeing blood on his hands and gashes across his chest, arms, and legs. The Inquisitor was dead, his neck snapped at a grotesque angle.
One of the Custos lay in the street, his arm ripped clean off, and chest plate dented. From the damage to his body, it appeared as if he’d been beaten to death. His comrades had surrounded the wagon, the swords angled at Senkal’s throat.
“Senkal… I’m sorry…”
“Just surrender, Gmork. They’ll kill us both if you don’t.”
Gmork fell to his knees, lifting his hands. The Absonians are right; I am cursed.
Cairn and Vahti
(Two Years Later)
Arridus took a calming breath as he waded through the monastery’s gardens. Sica beetles had infested the roses again. The bonberries and orange trees were likely next. Yet another reminder spring had come.
It would take weeks, if not longer, to remove the beetles. But then, it always did. They were dreadful things, packing their tiny eggs in small clusters as camouflage to make them appear like newly sprouted buds. The egg clusters acted like parasites, feeding off the stems for sustenance. If left unplucked, they would mature into larva in a few days.
Roses were just one of the many plants they were fond of. Bonberries were another. While the roses were more resilient. Bonberries were not. Sica infestations ruined the vines. The lack of nutrients made the berries bitter and useless.
Arridus sighed as he checked each bush. “Founder, grant me patience. It’s going to be a long spring.”
“Is it that vexing, Arridus?”
The old monk paused and looked up. “Justus, it would be so much easier to use Inscriptions to keep these awful things at bay.”
The disappointment written on Justus’ face was disheartening.
“Arridus, you know better. The beetles are part of The Cycle. They are only doing what is in their nature to survive. It’s as Hoyim intended.”
Arridus sighed. “Look at you, reminding the teacher of his own words.”
Justus grinned. “Well, someone has to in your old age. I’ve noticed you taking shortcuts like Cairn.”
“You know, Justus, sometimes an old man should take heed and learn something from the younger generation.”
“Oh?” Justus chided. “Then I’m certain you had nothing to do with encouraging him to exchange Brother Sandis’ soap bar for a bar made of cherry wax?”
Arridus smirked. “His skin does have a pleasant shade of red to it.”
Justus shook his head. “Honestly, Arridus. A Cenobic of your standing should know better.”
“Ah, standings,” Arridus mused, as he plucked an egg cluster free. “As I age, I understand why our Founder was against such notions.”
“Ah, but Hoyim teaches that there is an order to things. His establishment of the Immortals is proof of this.”
“But in my old age, I have glimpsed His sense of humor as well. So I choose to embrace it.”
“So, encouraging Cairn is what?”
“Ensuring he finds his Path,” the older monk grinned.
“So you say,” Justus replied wryly. “I don’t think Brother Sandis would agree.”
“So it would seem. He was quite vexed.”
Justus reached out, placing a hand on Arridus’ shoulder. “Something is bothering you,” he said. “I can sense it.”
Arridus nodded. “Ever the master of the mental disciplines,” he commented. “The Anchorite spoke to me today. Cairn has to leave the monastery.”
Justus didn’t appear surprised. “His abilities have grown more unstable, haven’t they?”
“They have, and the meditations aren’t helping. Whatever this power is, goes beyond simple sorcery.”
“Could it be spiritual?” Justus asked. “Perhaps the spirits are to blame…”
“We have examined him. While I have my suspicions of what this power is, no spirit, light or dark, has touched or is afflicting him.”
Justus’ gaze drifted. “Does Vahti know?”
“No, not yet, but he will be furious. He’s always been so protective of Cairn.”
Justus sighed, eyed the gardens seemingly lost to his own thoughts. “Has it come to this? Turning away those in need?” he said. “Those boys deserve better.”
“I’ve meditated on it frequently, hoping to find an answer, but have found none.”
“But you said your suspicions… What did you mean?”
“You know as well as I that the Founder searched the world for answers to life’s basic questions. We know Hoyim, the Creator, is spirit. Because of this fact, many in our order have long suspected that magic is more than what everyone understands. They have questioned the divide between the spiritual and the arcane.”
“Do you suspect Cairn’s power bridges this gap? That his abilities were a special gift from the Creator?”
“I suspect like many things in our world, what others often see as one thing, is actually another. All I can say for certain is that, yes, I believe Cairn’s talents are a gift, even if he doesn’t see it as so.”
Justus bit his lip. “How much time do they have?”
“Maybe a week. The Anchorite is making the arrangements with our Brothers in the capital. They have prepared a place for them until the boys can secure employment on their own.”
Justus’ pained expression conveyed more than words ever could. Having helped raise Vahti and Cairn, it wasn’t hard to see he felt responsible for them. “Arridus, I know if feels like we failed them, but have faith,” he said. “This is part of The Cycle; however unfair it seems.”
Arridus sighed, thumbing an egg cluster on one of the rose bushes between his fingers. “I fear the Arcanum will discover Cairn’s abilities. Like many things, Absion has no love of that which it cannot control, magic included.”
“Then they had best prepare themselves,” he grinned, trying to sound more light-hearted. “Controlling that one will cost them dearly.”
*****
It was too hard to believe, too unreal to accept. But seeing the pain in Arridus’ eyes, Vahti knew it was true. He stood, turning toward the window of his small room, and cast his eyes toward the gardens.
“You’re a Cenobic now, Arridus. How can your words carry so little weight?”
The old monk winced. His expression showing the weight of his regret. “Vahti, I have tried. But can you honestly say that Cairn doesn’t need help?”
“How is casting him out helping anyone?”
“Vahti… I wish I had an answer on his condition. We have tried everything. Even Inscriptions do nothing for him, and the meditations are temporary. Whatever this power your brother has, it is beyond our understanding.”
“So you mean to say that for all your knowledge and teachings, that Cairn is without hope?”
“I am saying that we don’t understand where to begin,” the old monk replied. “If we knew who your parents were, then perhaps we could gain some insight.”
“You know as well as I that we have no memory of our parents or anything before the day we came here.”
His expression grew grim. “I know, but that doesn’t mean I won’t stop trying to find an answer…”
“Are they that afraid of him?”
“They are afraid of there being anymore accidents, possibly even someone getting killed.”
“But he wouldn’t…”
“I know he wouldn’t, Vahti, but what we teach seems only a stopgap. In the end, we aren’t mages. Cairn needs someone who can teach him proper control.”
“But sending us away, Arridus? Hedath is our home!” It was too much to take in. Even if the old monk was tearing up, his sympathy seemed like nothing more than a pittance.
“I don’t want to send you away, Vahti!” Arridus replied. “Would you prefer we send him to the Arcanum?”
Vahti shook his head. The Arcanum was no place for anyone. Becoming a mage under the scrutiny of Absion’s military was almost like slavery. They would turn Cairn into a weapon. Looking back at Arridus, the old monk’s expression said he was keeping something to himself.
“Arridus, what aren’t you saying?”
“Word was sent to the monasteries in the nation of Shaareth. We had hoped to hire a mage willing to teach Cairn.”
“And… What did they say?”
“They said the mages would not welcome Cairn because of his ability.”
“Why? What is it about my brother that makes them so afraid?”
“Because we recently learned he is something they call a channeler. It is a rare ability and if they learn of his powers, they might kill him out of fear.”
Nausea set in and Vahti knelt, trying to get his bearings. The thought of someone harming Cairn was too much. He focused on his breathing, centering himself, allowing the moment to pass.
“Did they give anymore details on what that meant?”
Arridus knelt, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, and shook his head. “My best advice is to find Cairn a teacher on your terms, not someone else’s. Someone you can trust who won’t try to take advantage of his talents.”
“Arridus… I’ve seen how exhausted he gets. Will his powers take his life?”
The old monk looked down. “If he cannot learn to control them… then eventually they will. I’ve been told that much.”
Vahti bit his lip, fighting to keep his emotions in check. “I want to fight this. Every impulse inside is screaming that I should.”
“I know,” Arridus responded. “I do too, but many times we are put in impossible situations.”
“Where will we go?”
“A place has been provided and you will receive a monthly allowance until you can support yourselves. We have Brothers in the capital who will look out for you and Cairn.”
“Serindeth might not be the best place for us.”
“The Anchorite hopes you will find Cairn a teacher there.”
“If I do, will we be able to return home?”
Arridus nodded. “If he can demonstrate control, then yes.”
“When are we expected to leave?”
“Two days from now,” he replied. “The trader we regularly do business with will be passing through then. We plan to ask him if he would take you along in exchange for a few extra Seps.”
“Have you spoken to Cairn yet?”
“No, I didn’t want to do that without you.”
“Then we better go find him and pray he understands.”