A Voice

A Voice

Ignoring a jibe about foot fetish, the Templar unlaced Tiana’s boots, which came loose with a sickening squelch. The stench of blood was unmistakable. The earlier burst of speed flayed her feet raw, stripped the nails, and shattered her toes. Her Curse had collected its toll.

“Zunark’s whore!” Tiana screeched. “You trying to rip them off?”

Solmis furrowed his brow at the blasphemous outburst but was otherwise unperturbed. Kneeling on one knee, he wrapped a hand around a fist, closed his eyes, and became motionless.

“I am virtue,” Solmis whispered after a lengthy silence. “I am benevolence. I am life.”

The smooth, hypnotic tone swept away Zaile’s fear, the last crutch keeping him upright. Collapsing onto the ground, Zaile let out a great sigh of relief. Though exhaustion tried to close his eyes, curiosity drew them towards Solmis. The demonic butcher they met in the Deadwoods was now a priestly healer resembling the Envoy of Mercy. Is this divine contraction of lenity and annihilation the secret of Zunarkian might?

The Templar kindled anew, this time like the gentle flame in a hearth. Zaile felt a warmth coursing through his veins, banishing aches and fatigue he did not know of. Scratches and cuts vanished, leaving Zaile to prod at skin and flesh made whole.

Once Solmis finished his silent prayer, he marshalled the flame onto his fingertips. With the caring, deliberate hands of a midwife, the big man massaged Tiana's feet. As he did so, the burning liquid oozed from its master onto the patient, licking at the appendage before devouring it whole, causing Tiana to tilt her head back and close her eyes.

“Just what are you doing?” asked Tiana, perhaps feeling more inquisitive now that she is no longer in pain.

“A divine blessing,” replied Solmis. “Regeneration. Treasure it.”

“Why are you here?”

“Vengeance.”

“Krugo?” Zaile spoke up at last.

The warm light trembled, as if the name stirred an ancient grudge. Solmis met his eyes with such intensity that Zaile flinched. Then, as if to repress the baleful monster within, the Zunarkian bit his lower lip and turned his attention back to Tiana.

Hush!

Zaile blinked as the thought ricochetted between his ears. Tiana leered at him and pursed her lips while pointing to her feet. The boy shrugged. How was he to know the volatile nature of the Templar’s sorcery?

Tiana let out a frightened gasp as her feet dissolved into a quivering mass of blood, flesh, and bones. The Zunarkian maintained his vice-like grip, gentle but firm. Fingers, strong and nimble, waded through the primordial clay, began reshaping the ankle. Stopping occasionally to wipe sweat from his brow, Solmis continued to knead the feet before abruptly withdrawing his hands, snuffing out the blaze with a flick of his wrists, leaving only the scarlet moonlight to illuminate the arid wilderness.

“Try walking.”

Tiana needed a moment to close her jaws. Her feet were not healed, but rather, recreated with painstaking attention that captured every detail. Even the grey swirls on her toe, the mark of her Curse, was faithfully recreated. After a few testing steps, she broke into a sprint followed by a series of cartwheels and somersaults.

“The Ascendant has rewarded you for valour and strength,” deadpanned Solmis. “Flight is truly a magnificent gift.”

“You forced my feet, what can I say?” Tiana was snide.

“You were corrupted by wanton avarice,” Solmis snorted in contempt. “That’s hardly my fault.” He then stabbed a finger at Zaile. “Now, where will I find Krugo?”

Zaile gripped his dagger but thought better of it. Instincts told him that a lie would cost him dearly, but to betray a Finnardian? Could Mercy detect treachery? After tonight, did the reapers deserve his fear? He studied his inquisitor, trying to gauge how much time he had left but found only a face of granite. He shot a begging look at Tiana, who could but shrugged.

“Sahjax.”

Zaile sensed a pair of eyes boring deep into his soul, stripping him naked. Mustering what little remained of his courage, he met the gaze. After an instant that dragged on for far too long, Solmis closed the distance in two great strides, his shadow swallowing Zaile.

“The Ascendant wishes to bestow you a favour,” even when offering a blessing, Solmis breathed frost. “What is it you desire, boy?”

This offered, almost too good to be true, had Zaile licking his parched lips and pointed a tentative finger at the great sabre which Solmis surrendered without hesitation. Hungrily, his eyes devoured every detail of the weapon, from the frayed leatherwork on the pommel to the smooth raven scabbard. For a moment, Zaile thought he heard something humming inside the sheath. Shaking from excited trepidation, he reached for the demonic steel that beheaded a Guardian.

The moment Solmis unhanded the sword, the world fell.

Weighing more than a dozen anvils, the blade plummeted like a thunderbolt, almost slamming Zaile into the ground. Grimacing, Zaile massaged his aching shoulders with numb fingers while Tiana exploded with laughter.

"I think I have a more fitting gift.” Solmis wore a smug smile.

Zaile nodded impatiently before shooting the laughing Tiana a dirty look.

“Wise choice,” Solmis fastened the blade to his back and straightened. “I shall impart you with my voice.”

Zaile wrinkled his nose at this paltry offer before recalling the incapacitating horror he had experienced but moments ago. Fear was indeed a mighty weapon, swifter than arrows and sharper than any blade.

“A battle cry is the warrior ethos in sound,” the temple guardian set his feet apart. “It inspires impossible valour from allies and breaks unworthy cowards.”

Zaile covered his ears in dreaded anticipation as Solmis discharged a low rumble from the depth of his lungs, this time devoid of bloodthirsty method. Instead, Zaile felt fervour surging through his veins, imbuing him with the certainty that he could turn a Freak to dust with a single punch. In an instant, the rousing sensation vanished, leaving Zaile empty and drained.

“Seven times you will greet the morning sun with blazing courage,” Solmis hymned. “Seven times will you bay for the blood of the waning moon. No more, no less, with heart and without fail.”

Zaile wanted to question the scant explanation but Solmis had already turned his heels. Joining him was Tiana, who peered after the shrinking silhouette in the distance while pressing her breasts into his shoulder and breathed down his neck, relishing in his discomfort.

“I’ve always heard the western demons were dangerously beautiful,” she stopped short of nibbling on his ears. “Heresy just got a lot more attractive.” She sank her fingers into his shoulder. “So, what will we tell the others?”

“Nothing.”

Zaile knew full well how dangerous contact with Solmis was. Not only had they betrayed Mercy, they received heretical boons from the Zunarkian. One whisper of this and the Peacekeepers would catapult them both into the Settlement barrier.

“Good answer,” Tiana chimed as she reclaimed her bloodied boots only to toss them away in disgust. “This will be our secret,” the woman giggled maliciously. “How deliciously sacrilegious.”

Grunting, Zaile shook off her grasp and marched on. Their flight from the Deadwoods had taken them a considerable distance away from Sahjax. Betrayal can come later. For now, they needed to survive the returning journey. Given all the colourful tales Zaile heard about nighttime Freaks, he did not like their chances.

“If you see anything in the distance,” said Tiana, as if reading his mind. “Run. You don’t want to fight Freaks at night.”

“Why?”

“Ask Kannu. It’s his favourite pastime.”

The unlikely pair continued their homeward journey at a steady trot. Every moment Zaile peered back, he pondered what terrors stalked his trail. Tiana was equally jumpy, her eyes constantly darting to her flanks. The absence of Freaks, however, soon left them feeling foolish and fatigued.

“You born in the Settlement?”

“No.”

“Figures. Something that nasty must’ve come from Zunark direct. Where’d they get you?”

“Heart.”

“I don’t even remember how I got mine. You still got a family?”

“Yeah.”

“Guess you had more of Mercy’s grace than me,” said Tiana. “I had a son.”

“Had?”

“Born pure.”

Zaile had heard this story too many times from Marcus. Having attended his fair share of childbirths, the doctor spoke of them as if they were funerals. While a Curse would condemn the infant to the toils of the Settlement, the Finnardians seized any unafflicted children. Tiana, however, spoke without the faintest hint of anguish. Like most Fallens, she had long since grown numb to such Finnardian practices.

“You tried anything else aside from hunting?” she changed the subject.

Zaile shook his head and without knowing why, responded with a question. “You?”

“I was sold immediately to a local business, by reapers who were too late to save my village but not too late to exploit my misfortunes.”

“But…”

“I know the Divine Finnardi frowns upon prostitution,” Tiana mused. “But we’re not Finnardians, are we?” A mirthless cackle punctuated her speech. “I’ll have you know the noble warriors of Mercy spared no coins to join me in bed, or the back alleyway for that matter.”

Unable to restrain himself, Zaile snorted.

“You know what they say when they’re with me?” Tiana did not wait for him to answer. “It gives them something to confess on Penance Day.”

This time, the two of them laughed in unison.

The clouds had veiled the moon when Zaile sighted Sahjax, the prison he had called home. After spending a full day out in the vast wilderness, unmolested by Freaks, the mere thought of entering the cage sent spiders scuttling under his skin. Yet, behind the Finnardian enchantment that would reduce him to dust, was Ruan. Zaile stopped, turned around and gave one longing look to the horizon. It was then he realised that he would never be free of this place.

His heart sank further when he found a horde of white coats prowling the city gates. The dozen men, standing in disciplined array, were nothing like their indifferent daytime counterparts. With three silver collars amongst their ranks, they were sharp, alert and combat ready. Don’t do anything stupid, they’re just alarmed by Solmis. Just don’t talk. This rational thought did little to ease his instinctive fear, screaming for him to run.

Euphon accosted a greying Guardian, who appeared more concerned with him than his report. A few paces away, Ferric sat next to sprawled Kannu, much like the animated trees Solmis cut down. Smiling weakly, the bruised pugilist waved a tired arm at Zaile.

“Grace of Mercy,” Kannu grunted as he sat up. “What took you so long?”

“Detours,” Tiana shrugged. “When did you guys get here?”

“Just did,” Ferric groaned. “Was hoping to get some first aid but I guess we’re just not important –’

“Paid?” Zaile interrupted.

“Not yet,” said Ferric, blinking. “Why?”

The icy claws of dread squeezing his heart turned Zaile’s hands into sweaty fists. With this many Blades around, any suspicion of heresy could spare Euphon of the promised remuneration. His suspicion heightened when the old Guardian stumbled towards them in place of the Apprentice. Zaile wrinkled his nose as the veteran drew close. He would be impressed by the Finnardian’s command over his faculties had his eyes not watered from the overwhelming stench of liquor.

“Grace of Mercy, my dear Fallens,” the Guardian managed his slur so well Zaile almost mistook it for an accent. “Euphon informed me that we were expecting two more hunters. Well, that’s two less bodies to recover. I’m Quinton, Lord Peacekeeper of Sahjax.”

The frail and lanky drunkard could hardly manage a salute without swaying under the influence of alcohol, much less wield a weapon. Three rusty sword-pins stabbed the fading silver collar, aged trophies for pious gallantry long past. The leather grip, polished bald, combined with a scabbard, bore silent witness to the countless battles he survived. Pinching his nose, Zaile could but wonder how much warrior was left in this walking wineskin?

“I remember you,” Tiana sneered. “I have yet to properly thank you for helping my son into inner circle, Lord Peacekeeper.”

Tiana scowled when Quinton appeared to not hear her. He waved over two blue collars and pointed to Ferric and Kannu. The Acolytes looked at each other, confused.

“Heal them, you dolts!” Growling, he smacked each one on the sheen with his sheathed sword.

The men hobbled as they drew traced patterns in the dust, murmuring as they worked. Quinton observed the two for a brief moment before he lost interest, burping loudly. Perhaps embarrassed by his display, the Guardian straightened and cleared his throat.

“They’re still learning the ritual, so this will take a while,” he smiled apologetically. “Now, Euphon spoke highly of the four hunters who aided him in his Finnardian duties and wanted you to have this.”

With some fumbling, Quinton placed a pouch into Zaile’s eager hands. The boy quickly unravelled the strings, poured the tokens into his hands and held them up to the moonlight. Letting out an audible exhale, Zaile slipped the gold back into the bag. After all, executions seemed an unlikely follow up to healing and payment.

“Grace of Mercy,” Tiana seemed determined to make her prayer blasphemous. “How will we ever repay your generosities?”

“Do you two not require healing?” Quinton pointed to his healers. “Your friends seem to have suffered some substantial harm.”

“We’re fine,” Tiana replied curtly.

Zaile, who had been admiring the moon throughout the exchange, shuddered. He turned his head ever so slightly, stole a glance at Quinton and felt at ease again. Compared to Solmis, an inebriate using his sword as a walking stick may as well be a harmless toddler.

“That demon killed four of my men,” the Lord Peacekeeper tilted his head in feigned confusion. “Yet you escaped him, unscathed. How?”

Zaile hurriedly cloaked his face and turned away, hoping his feigned disinterest could mask his panic. Tiana appeared in no hurry to answer. Casually, almost like a little girl, she toyed with her hair.

“Did you need me dead?” Tiana sniggered. “If so, then I apologise for the inconvenience.”

Quinton scratched his unkempt sideburn while his eyes scoured every inch of the two Fallens, eventually settling on Tiana’s feet. Zaile froze. Did this man possess a way to sense Zunarkian sorcery?

“You’ll need more gold if you want me to step on you,” Tiana declared aloud and wiggled her toes. “What’s it going be, Lord Peacekeeper?”

Her provocation got a few laughs from the rank of Blades. Quinton, however, remained expressionless. Zaile stole a glance back and found the Lord Peacekeeper still locked onto Tiana’s feet. He prayed that it was the alcohol rather than expert caution that slowed the inquisition.

“I’m going to charge you if you keep staring,” Tiana said irritably. “Or were you expecting a bribe?”

Quinton yawned, wiped away a tear, and resumed gazing at the feet as if to bore a hole through them with his eyes. Then abruptly, he straightened and lifted his sword. Zaile recoiled at the motion, half-expecting the Guardian to shave off Tiana’s toes. Instead, Quinton fumbled the weapon several times, forcing a blue collar to fasten it to his belt before he could slice off his fingers.

“They are unharmed and not cursed,” Quinton declared, turning to his men. “Now steel yourself. If Mercy will it, we may yet retrieve the bodies from Arnos.”

Having healed Ferric and Kannu, the two Acolytes joined their brothers with a brisk run. Quinton murmured a prayer as he scratched his backside. Then, smoothing his coat, he peered up at the moon.

“Whoever did that was very skilled.”

Tiana’s eyes widened as her nails dug into the earth. She opened her mouth only to mouth silence. She tried to conjure an excuse but all she could think about were gruesome punishments, from losing her feet to incineration. The Guardian, however, marched away without turning around, going as far as waving them goodbye.

“Something wrong, girl?” Kannu asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “What was that reaper talking about?”

“Probably just drunken rambling,” whispered Tiana, her eyes cast squarely at the ground. “Let’s go home.”

Zaile extracted five tokens from the bag and tossed the remainder at Kannu, earning an approving nod. Euphon, stationed by the barrier, spread his arms and parted the invisible barrier before following them inside.

“Grace of Mercy,” the Apprentice offered his god an exhausted prayer. “I’m so glad you guys are unharmed. I –’

“Meeting. My place.” Ferric interjected, like a boxer eagerly delivering a well-prepared counter.

“Now?” Tiana raised her voice in exasperation.

“Of course,” Ferric made another punchy reply. “Every defeat demands a postmortem.”