AS THE DARK clouds fulfilled their promise and rain started pouring down on them, the guardians led the way to a hillside, made camp and concluded they should better bring them to Hoshonto the next morning.
“If you’re as familiar as you claim to be in these woods, you must already be aware of the bears. They won’t ask any questions before eating you.” The bold one said, with a grin assuring that escaping unarmed, was not at all a good idea. He then unbound them, leaving Isaiah and Tzelem alone while the three of them prepared the campfire.
“Listen, Isaiah. Either the big, bold one is playing a trick on the commander, or all of them are playing us. Guardians make these schemes all the time…” Tzelem whispered as soon as they were out of ear’s reach.
“A trick?” Tzelem nodded solemnly.
“Most likely it’s an excuse to bring us all the back way to the fortress, just to get a payment from the Huxleys. They know my brother would pay a great deal to have them release us and prevent a long trial.” He whispered intensely. The thought of the fortress made Isaiah feel nostalgic for a moment. Though not what he truly wanted, the comfort of a bed as opposed to the cold ground they’d been laying on for the past nights, was more of a temptation than he dared to admit to. The cloak had prevented most of the rain, but his hands had turned pink and numb from holding the reins. Tzelem didn’t wear gloves himself, and so he’d decided Isaiah didn’t need them either, seeing it wasn’t “that cold”.
“This is why I never carry my papers – too many bloodsuckers out here. But we’ll get out of this.” Other than his book, Isaiah didn’t have any papers either. He’d never quite understood the concept, but it seemed they were meant to tell others who he was. Even so, it didn’t make sense why theirs would be so important to the guardians, seeing they hadn’t broken any law he knew of. As Tzelem continued explaining how the trials “really worked” and how much time they might lose, it all made more sense. He’d heard stories of people being taken hostages in the woods, and so it dawned on him that even if he was free from the fortress, he’d now turned into a double captive of a sort.
“Maybe if we paid them?” He suggested. They had a few valuables with them – including his four gold coins. It was certainly much less than Lord Huxley could offer, but if the guardians were as concerned about time as Tzelem seemed to be, they might be willing to trade it for their freedom – saving themselves the trouble of the journey. Tzelem shook his head, the lines on his forehead deepening as he hissed, “No. We need to kill them.”
“What?” Isaiah had thought killing animals to be terrible enough. Murdering humans was out of the question. “Can’t we just escape during the night?” All the horses had been closely bound together, but he was very good at being very quiet, and almost certain he could become almost invisible and unbind them once the guardians were asleep.
“Too risky. Even if we did get away, they know our faces and could put out warrants.”
“We haven’t done anything…”
“People are fools. They’ll believe the guardians, thinking they’re protecting them...”
“Even so, killing them is… that is wrong.”
“Killing for the sake of completing the mission is a small price to pay – and our only option. It’s all a trick. Even if it wasn’t, they’d still be robbing us of precious time, and have caused great delay as It is.” Tzelem took a long breath, his eyes fixed on their capturers approaching with dry wood about a hundred feet away. Suddenly, it occurred to Isaiah how foolish he’d been for telling them they’d been sent by the Huxleys. He’d been sworn to secrecy, and so it was at least partly his fault they’d become hostages. Though not having wanted to help in the first place, he’d certainly not planned on getting them into trouble either.
“Don’t look so dazzled. This will be the first time you’ll kill a man, but not the last. These men are corrupt, and corruption is the greatest sin made in this country.”
Other than a brief retelling of the revolution of 44, and how a group of young academics had taken over the palace for three whole moon spans, Isaiah had only heard his grandfather speak of politics once. He’d been six years old and understood very little of what had appeared to be a serious discussion with a visitor. Other than the guest’s face – mostly taken up by an intense look in his eyes – he only remembered one thing from this conversation. Against his will it’d been imprinted into a corner of his mind and every time it came to greet him, he could hear his grandfather’s hand hitting their kitchen table – “Their greed and corruption will lead to the death of Araktéa and the whole world with it!” Isaiah had found the thought of the world dying as terrifying as any child would, and so, he’d asked him what corruption was after the visitor had left. After being scolded for eavesdropping, his grandfather had finally explained it was like a disease – spreading through people’s minds instead of their bodies. As this same word left his master’s lips, his heart started to pound as if they were being chased again. By something nearly invisible this time.
“How would we do it?” He asked. Although murder was something he’d avoid at almost any cost (something that had never even crossed his mind really), staying there with them – possibly catching this horrendous mind disease – was not a risk he was willing to take. It seemed to him that if there ever had been a good reason to kill a man, it would need to be to prevent the death of the world.
“We’ll stay awake and wait until the silent one is keeping guard. He’s the smallest. I will count to one thousand then get rid of him. In the meantime, you will take down the large one with the ugly scar. By then, the commander will be getting up, and I will take care of him before he attacks you.”
“What if he attacks me before you get the chance to… take care of him?”
“He might. I never said this would be an easy mission.” He hadn’t. Not once had he mentioned the word easy. He had said it would become easier as he got used to it. Isaiah had hoped he wouldn’t need to. He didn’t want to get used to any of this horror, but it seemed that meek hope of getting out of this sinless, was the first thing to die that night.
“They took our weapons.”
“Lay down next to the big, bold one, and you’ll find my best dagger on the right side of his belt. Go straight for his throat.” Tzelem whispered, pointing to the side of his own, pale neck.
“But why do I have to… handle the biggest of them?”
“Trust me, the largest ones usually sleep deeper and move slower. You just pretend he’s a large, hairless bear.” He said, and with this final instruction, there was no more time to plan, discuss or refuse any further, as the guardians approached to light up a fire they thought would keep them safe and warm for the night.
*
As Isaiah waited for the signs, he felt his heart jumping with the slightest of movement from the others. The hairless bear was still sitting guard by the campfire, and to maintain his credibility as a sleeping hostage, he had to use every bit of effort to resist glaring at him. He knew he didn’t need to look, for he had looked a hundred times already, and it didn’t seem like he would become any smaller than he currently was. His neck was probably double the size of his own, and from the look of his scars (the less prominent ones but still severe), it seemed he’d been through many battles and won all of them. Other than the detail that he would be sleeping this time around, Isaiah couldn’t see how the results would be any different this time.
After what felt like hours, he finally heard them moving posts. The hairless bear laid down next to him – so close that, even if he hadn’t been planning on assassinating him, Isaiah would’ve still felt uncomfortable. Reminding himself it was better than having a knife through his throat, an uninvited empathy came over him, and he started counting. Each number was helpful in neutralizing the situation, and in between them, he tried reminding himself of this nasty disease they all (most likely) were hosting. All along it was nearly impossible to lay still, and only when he’d reached five hundred he dared to open his eyes. White and round like the moon itself, he stared straight at the man’s naked scalp. Another inconvenience, as he couldn’t be sure he was sleeping or just breathing heavily, but sudden grunts of snoring reassured him. Isaiah had heard real bears did this too. They slept for months without waking up, and he wished that had truly been the case, so that he wouldn’t need to go through with what he’d promised to do.
Isaiah had always had a hard time believing in things he couldn’t see, and for a moment, staring at the scalp, he thought he could actually spot the corruption swirling inside it. Like, little, black leeches sucking out and feeding on both the man and the bear-mind. A mere trick of his own mind, he figured. Still, it somehow helped. Reaching eight hundred, he started slowly moving his hand towards the dagger. Sweaty, trembling slightly and the rest of his body followed soon after. Sensing this, and unable to stop, he reconsidered his option. He could flee. Disappear into the forest, hide, and take his chances he wouldn’t meet with something more terrifying than corrupted guardians before sunrise. Perhaps they wouldn’t even bother looking for him. It was not him they’d accused of being a shoemaker from Hoshonto, after all. Even if the Huxleys were fond of him, they’d pay more to get a knight of their own blood released – at least the guardians wouldn’t have any reason to think otherwise. Isaiah wished he’d been brave enough to negotiate while he’d still had a chance, and so maybe they would’ve just taken Tzelem as their hostage. While thinking about potential past discussions that hadn’t happened, he forgot to count, and only remembered as his own trembling was matched with a gasp. He heard Tzelem’s boots moving, followed by the silent guard’s scream just a moment later.
Isaiah felt sure he’d never heard a more dreadful sound. Loud enough to wake up anything and anyone deep asleep. In panic, his hand fell to the bald bear’s belt. It was an unplanned and clumsy movement, and just as surely, he turned around. Undoubtedly awake, and with the silent man still screaming with all his force, he trapped him with the massive weight of his body.
“What in the nine hells do you think you’re doing?” he roared. He didn’t seem to notice – or care – that he himself was unarmed, while the boy, somehow, had managed to get a hold of the dagger in his belt. He pulled Isaiah up by the throat in a single grip – as effortlessly and carelessly as a child would’ve done with a rag doll. It seemed Tzelem had already killed the silent man, and now he and the commander were battling on the other side of the fire.
“If you want the boy to live, leave him be and lay down!” Isaiah couldn’t say anything in his own defense. He could hardly breathe, with the iron hand around his neck. With his free hand the man disarmed him of the knife he’d stolen seconds before – if possible, leaving him even more defenseless.
“So, this was what you were grabbing for? And here I was, thinking you were flirting with me.” Barely standing on his toes, Isaiah felt sharp, cold steel towards his skin. In the same moment he met Tzelem's eyes through the fire – as cold and ruthless as the blade itself. Though usually stripped from emotion, he thought he could see disappointment in them. If nothing else – he’d at least proven himself unworthy and incompetent of his master’s mission once and for all.
“Raise your hands so that we can bind them.” It only took this brief moment of distraction for the commander to grab the knife from his belt and hold it towards his master’s neck – the very same spot Tzelem had been pointing to himself some hours before. The commander kicked him in the stomach, leaving him gasping for air in the wet mud.
“You bloody snake!” he spit. Then he cursed out strange, furious words, finally confirming what Isaiah had first suspected – he had to be a Zura. Standing over his fallen friend he soon realized he was unsavable – his green eyes empty, his lips doomed to everlasting silence and blood deepening the red of his hair. The commander spent some moments with the body, whispering underneath the sound of flickering fire and the tension pumping through the air like distant thunder. Finally, he got back on his feet and turned towards Tzelem, still laying gasping for air. He bound his hands, tightened them while still cursing viciously.
“Are you insane? You were merely being taken back for an informal trial, and now you’re the murderer of a brother of the Kadoshi!” The bald bear finally let go of Isaiah, pushing him forward so that he fell awfully close to the fire. He coughed, gasped and felt certain the flames would have taken a hold of his hair, if it hadn’t been dripping with rain.
“You gave me no choice. Your brother is a liar, and as I said, We don’t have time for this nonsense.” Tzelem uttered.
“Is your time so precious it is worth killing innocent men for? Worth risking the life of your son?”
“He’s not my son.”
“Then he is an even bigger fool for sticking with you. Do you hear that boy? A fool! Do you have any idea what sort of punishment you’ll face for murdering a guardian? Do you have any idea who this man was?” Isaiah shook his head, having pulled away from the fire, without getting too close to the other guardian.
“He was the commander of our entire squad – in charge of half of Nahbí. This man was a Birdú and when the word reaches the tribe they’ll be ruthless...“ Isaiah was not quite sure what all of this meant, or even exactly how big half of Nahbí was, but it was by far the largest region in Araktéa. Still, it seemed the silent man’s position was more important than they’d assumed, and that the Zura hadn’t been the commander after all.
“Luckily for you,” he pointed at Isaiah. “I’m not a heavy sleeper, and Dove here, too soft-hearted to kill young boys like yourself.” In between him and the fire, Isaiah did not feel lucky in the slightest. Soft-hearted was the last thing he thought this Dove character to be, and surely there would be great consequences for what he’d attempted. “I was a fool to trust Tzelem” he thought. Meanwhile, Dove and the Zura looked at each other, and though not uttering a single word, it seemed a lot was being said.
“We will leave it to you to decide, boy. We can kill your master – or whoever he is to you – here and now. There is no need for a trial in such an obvious case. Both of you would be imprisoned for a very long time. Most likely, forever.” Isaiah glared at them, confused. From what he knew, everyone – except from himself apparently – had a trial before any sort of imprisonment or punishment. The fortresses were usually where the most fortunate were sent and some captives had come from much worse places. For obvious reasons, he was yet to meet someone who’d gotten a death sentence. It was mostly a thing of the past, and executions were only performed in extremely rare cases, with people so dangerous they could hardly be considered human at all.
“You can’t just…kill him?” he stuttered.
“He killed our commander – an honorable man of the realm and the Kadoshi. Why, I don’t know, and he doesn’t have the eyes of a man that would tell the truth of it.” Isaiah looked at Tzelem who’d finally managed to get to his knees. His long face was overtaken with pain, and still there was that ever-present sense of stubborn unyieldingness.
“We have important matters to take care of, and I, for one, don’t want to waste any more time breathing the same air as this snake. A trial will be faster if we only bring you along, and all of us will have fewer complications that way. Men who lie about who they are, are the very worst kind.”
“You’re wrong, he is Tzelem Huxley… I swear he is!” He damned Tzelem for not bringing these stupid papers of his. Surely, he had them, and clearly, it was more dangerous to be no man at all than a gentleman.
“A man can have many names. Many masks and faces…” Isaiah looked at Tzelem’s again. He hoped he’d say something to his own defense, but instead he stared at the ground as the wind blew smoke and ashes towards him.
“Do you really trust this face? Would you want to spend the rest of your life sharing a cell with it?” The commander pulled his graying hair back, forcing Tzelem to look straight at Isaiah for once.
“No.” The answer escaped him before he could actually consider the question.
“Isaiah, you can’t listen to them. They’re turning you against me and leading you off course.”
“Is it true? Have you been hiding in Hoshonto all these years, while leaving me imprisoned?” It had not occurred to him till just then, that though absurd for the brave adventurer to have stayed cowering in a village so close to the fortress, perhaps it was true – as he was yet to say anything about his absence.
“No. I was there for a few months while healing from an injury. The one with my leg that I told you about.” Tzelem’s voice lost its coolness, as doubt washed off of the boy’s young face. What he’d just said was more truthful than many of the other lies he’d fed him with. Even so, it was too incomplete and too overdue to hold any weight. Isaiah saw it now – that filthy shame in his eyes. Had he even visited his grandfather? No, he doubted it.
“I will give you one more chance, Tzelem. Tell me everything, or I’ll let him do it.”
“Don’t be a fool! I will tell you everything, I swear I will answer any question you have – just do not give them the pleasure of winning this game. This is nonsense!”
But it wasn’t nonsense. It was the first time in a very long time, Isaiah truly felt he had a saying in his own future, and suddenly there was not a single doubt in his mind. No hesitation or consideration. Not only had he left him to rot inside his brother’s prison, but he was a liar, a killer, and it was in fact he who had tried infecting his mind with corruption – making him just as bad of a man as he himself was.
“Do it.” he said, and with those two, short words leaving his mouth, Isaiah had killed his first man – experienced this so-called thrill that made the journey worth living for. Although they’d both predicted it would happen that night, it took them equally by surprise. For Tzelem, it lasted nothing but a brief second, as the Zura knew well how to cut a throat open. As his eyes blinked one final time, the knight didn’t see his hard, lengthy life flash before them. All he saw was the crucial incident that had led him there. No more than a week ago, just before Dove had come to have his boots fixed. It could have ended there, if it hadn’t been for the man that had entered the shop right after. The bell above the door (that the shop owner had him polish every damn week) had rung in its peculiar way. Deep in his seams, Tzelem hadn’t bothered raising his gaze.
“Tell me, shoemaker, have you always made shoes for a living?” The customer had asked in a hoarse, rather casual voice.
“Have you always worn them?“ Tzelem had responded. Absentminded, while pushing his needle through Dove’s large, left boot.
“It is time for you to finish what you’ve started.” His voice had suddenly deepened, as if coming from the bottom of a hollow well.
“Which shoes have you…”
“Not shoes. You need to go get the boy, Tzelem.” Only then, Tzelem had paused his work and looked at the man – a dark skinned fellow with strands of gray hair showing underneath his hat. He had one, deep, olive green eye. The other one was as pitch black as a bird’s, and from this sinister gaze, he’d understood playing the fool’s game would just lead to a longer, even more unpleasant conversation. Fate, it seemed, had caught up with him after all.
“I was wrong about that. Just…following a silly tale.”
“You were only partly wrong. The boy is the last Aronin.” The man said, grinning strangely as if someone had just whispered a joke to him.
“It must have bothered you a lot, having to depend on someone so young and clueless. I can emphasize, but self-pity isn’t a good look on you.” He spoke and shook his head slowly.
“Who are you?”
“Nobody of importance. Just like you yourself are trying to be nowadays – or failing to be, I should say.” The man grinned again.
“I’ve left that life behind...”
“I can see that and I am curious, Tzelem, why haven't you taken what’s left of you and crawled back to your brother’s fortress? I’ve heard the wine there is exquisite.” Tzelem flinched.
“Does he know?”
“Your secret is safe for now, and it will likely continue to be so if you answer my question.” The messenger said, though Tzelem’s gaze alone did well in confirming his suspicions - before him stood a man so proud he would rather appear dead, than to be exposed as a failure. That was a part of it at least, but there was always more to a story than what met his eye.
“That place is poisonous and I want nothing to do with it. I’ll rather rot out here...” He said, and the customer’s eye flickered ever so slightly.
“Though I respect your choice, you’re still much too bitter of man, Tzelem. For this, you’ll be punished, I’m sure, but all in due time. You shouldn’t hide here for much longer, though. The plague is on its way to every corner of the land and believe my words – it will take you first if you’re foolish enough to stand still.”
“Who are you?” Tzelem repeated, taken aback and lacking in other words. The one thing that had made Hoshonto bearable was that people gladly left him alone as long as he got the job done. But this man was not from Hoshonto. No, he doubted he was even an Araktéan.
“You may consider me a messenger – as well as a believer in the maintenance of balance. Thus, I did bring some good news as well.” He pulled out a coin from his pocket, rubbing its edges with his leather gloved fingers. The instant it was put on top of the desk separating them, Tzelem remembered a dodging line from a hero tale his father had used to read. “When the man was given the sorcerer’s coin, he knew there was only one decision left for him to make; what sort of death he would like to die – one of silent acceptance or one of fulfilling glory.”
“Why are you bringing me this? You say you bring good news and then curse me with a death sentence!” Tzelem’s reaction made the loon chuckle a little. It’d been some time now since he’d given anyone a coin. It still seemed that no matter how far down they’d fallen, there were few Araktéans who dared objecting to prophecies or ignoring what they’d heard from village lore. Even funnier was the fact that the ones who did, tended to encounter worse fates for themselves.
“Because I’m a messenger. Haven’t you ever fantasized about it, Tzelem? Your eyes tell me you have – and now the time has come. It’s such a wonderful thing for some of you…”
“No, I … I don’t want to die!” He didn’t want to live either exactly, as life was as big of a curse as any. Still, whatever awaited him in the afterlife, he knew it was worse than any suffering he knew. He felt afraid, remembering that last, daunting expression left on his father’s face. A man notoriously known for feeling no fear.
“In these times when many matters are delicate and complicated, your task is not. And you can still have some glory, Tzelem. Perhaps even salvation if you do well.”
“I don’t care for glory...”
“Aaah, do not pretend you don’t. A little crow suggested to me, it’s one of the few things you’ve ever seemed to have wanted. Did you believe the forest wasn’t listening to your little talks?”
“I just want peace now.” It felt as true to him now as it had when he’d made his first vow to the gods. A promise he would be good if they just had mercy on him and that he wouldn’t attempt going back south again. A promise he’d soon chosen to forget. Was that why he was here? Was it they who had sent him?
“Peace doesn’t come for free for men like yourself, Tzelem, you already seem well aware of that. There’s a task for you.” The sorcerer said finally before pausing again, awaiting Tzelem to compose himself.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Be the shadow that leads him there.” He said, and Tzelem knew that was all – the entire rest of his life told in seven words.
“Shadows don’t lead, messenger, they follow.” The sorcerer smiled at this, and then said:
“That depends on the direction of the sun.”
The memory of the length of the loon’s back, his long, black leather coat as he walked out as calmly as he’d walked in, and then the large coin (imaging two men riding on one horse), was the last thing Tzelem saw before the real blackness took him. It was like his father had told him – “Every good curse comes with a choice.” If nothing else, he’d died a death of his own choosing. His task unfulfilled, his heart and hands cold, as his mind finally let go of a world that he was done fighting. Soon, another hell would follow, one of new layers of pain, and yet terribly similar lessons.
*
Any Araktéan would agree killing one’s master was an awful betrayal, but it felt like justice for the three men left around the campfire that night. It took a great many minutes before Isaiah felt remorse of any sort, and it came accompanied by a realization of having participated in the death of two men, in one night. It was such an unthinkable thought, that he had no idea how to grasp it, and to his relief, Dove came over to him at the very same moment.
“Why would you choose to pair up with a fraud like him?” He asked – not a hint of anger in his voice, despite their previous feud. Isaiah knew it might be a trick – or a mask, as the Zura had called it. At the same time, he thought it to be a good question. In four years, he hadn’t told anyone about how he’d ended up in the fortress, but seeing he’d been deceiving enough to try slicing the man’s throat in his sleep, he felt he owed it to him. Apart from being in his debt and wanting a distraction, he’d never felt a night more crucial for truth. He started thinking his way back to when he was an innocent child, without a drop of blood on his hands, or doubt in his mind about whom to trust.
“It’s a long story.” He warned him, and Dove nodded as the Zura sat down across from them.
“Most good stories are.”