“Do you remember the knock?” Gregory looked down on their flock from his podium crate. Six brothers stood shoulder to shoulder–Murph included–packed tight in the little cellar. Ardwin stood beside Gregory as his lieutenant, with a black feather pinned to the chest of his robe. “We adjourn the first meeting,” Gregory announced. “Go now, brothers, and return to your duties. Remember, our next meeting will be on the same day next week. If you forget the secret knock, then you won’t get in. So don’t forget!” The other boys shuffled up the steps and out the cellar door, spilling into the garden.
“That went well,” Ardwin said.
Then, he woke up.
“The death of a child comes with the birth of a secret,” his torturer whispered in his ear. Elvish hands cradled his cheeks. Ardwin struggled to break free of the thick leather straps binding him to his chair. “When we learn to keep secrets, we have a world all to ourselves. A world where we are the gods who make or unmake reality. But that is simply arrogance.”
“Stop!” Ardwin shouted. “Stop! No More!”
“You can’t hide from God,” the woman assured. Ardwin felt her fingers pressing against his cheeks, harder and harder. Her thumbs viced his temples, digging deeper and deeper. An electric shock raced through his body. His every muscle spasmed. He plunged into another memory:
“I don’t remember the knock.” Murph scanned the grass with his eyes.
“That’s okay.” Ardwin nudged Murph’s shoulder with a fist. “I’ll let you in this time only because you’re you. Come on.”
“That’s not fair!” Percy, a boy with a bowl of brown hair lying flat against his head, cried. “Rules are rules. It shouldn’t matter who you are. The rules have to be the rules!” Others supported his objection with similar cries of their own.
Gregory stomped up the stairs, pushing past the other boys. “He’s right, Ardwin. You and I made the rules. You know them.”
“What?” Murph’s thin brows furrowed.
“This is stupid!” Ardwin shouted. “If I made the rules, why can’t I decide when to break them?”
“Perhaps we should ask our king? Or the High Exemplar?” a shaky old voice spoke. Brother Murphrey spun, looked at the newcomer, bowed his head, and backed away. Father Callum walked into view, peering down the slanted tunnel and into the stairwell of disciples. “The men who write our laws should be the most devout when adhering to them and should not cry when those laws are used to prosecute them. That way, those beneath may follow in his example. Wouldn’t you agree, Brother Gregory?”
Gregory glanced at Ardwin, then to their Father. “Y-yes,” he stammered, looking to his feet.
Callum nodded his head slowly. He passed Ardwin a glance with his beady black eyes, then turned and hobbled away, disappearing by a hedgerow of roses. Are we not in trouble? Ardwin looked at Gregory, who was just as confused. “Well,” Ardwin said. He turned to Murph. “Sorry.” His world turned black. Ardwin felt the pain first, then a sensation as if he were falling. With a great tug, he was torn from that old reality and shoved into a new one.
“You can learn,” the Elvish woman released his head, which fell forward. His whole body ached as if a herd of horses had stomped him. His head pounded.
“Stop,” he whispered. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“It’s strange what the body can remember, isn’t it?” The torturer walked around his chair. “Pain lives on as a memory. It’s always there, lurking beneath the surface.”
“Why?” Ardwin pleaded.
“That’s how God made us.” She assured with a voice full of benevolence. She knelt beside his chair and placed a soft hand on his arm. “So that we may learn from our mistakes. Place your hand on a hot stove, and you are less likely to do it again. It’s simple but effective, like God’s most brilliant creations.” The elf stood. “We are done for the day, brother. Go and meditate upon our discussion.”
“How?” Ardwin groaned. He tried to lift his head, but his neck was too weak to support the weight. “What are you?”
“What I was made to be,” the torturer said, then called for the guards.
Two priests descended upon the elevator. They released Ardwin from the chair, dragged him to the elevator, then up the perilous flight of steps, and to his cell, where they tossed his limp body like a sack of flour. His door slammed shut, submerging him in darkness once more, though a less painful one than the torturer had introduced him to. What is the secret of her sorcery? Ardwin pondered. His whole body throbbed with pain, but she hadn’t beaten him, stabbed him, or cut him. Are the others facing the same torment? Are they even here? I’m such a fool!
If I call for Padair, he could sneak around and find out where they are. Then again, if I hold out, that elf may reveal where my weapons and cloak are being held. She called me the ‘Hand of God.’ How much does she know? Has Murph told them of my true heritage? What if the elf digs that up? This is a nightmare. He rolled around on the cold stone floor, crawled into a corner against the back wall, and huddled up in the fetal position to muster warmth. They’ll want me to serve as their pawn, but in what game? I suspect that it’s political. Will they try to make a move for the throne? Or offer me as a hostage to our enemies? What of the weapons? The cloak?
Footsteps plodded up to his door. Keys jingled. Then light spilled in, tearing through the darkness of his cell. “Time for supper!” a tall priest with a broad nose and flat forehead barked. He sat a bowl down next to the door, then turned around, slamming the door shut as he left. Ardwin crawled across the room and scooped up the bowl with both hands. Its herbs smelled promising, but he held little hope for its substance. A few dices of mushy potatoes and scraps of beef, just enough broth to whet his appetite. He ate too quickly.
He craved more.
God knows how many hours passed before those keys jingled again. His door swung open.
Two silent monks marched into the cell and wrestled him away. Ardwin didn’t resist. As the silent brothers dragged him down the halls, he focused on memorizing their twists and turns. Down the flight of steps, Ardwin calculated his questions for the elf. Down the elevator, his body anticipated the pain. Strapped into the chair, he sulked silently, waiting. She appeared from behind her bookshelf dressed in the color of blood, wearing a soft smile. “Hello, brother.” Ardwin shrunk into the chair, casting his eyes on the floor. “You’re not broken. Not yet.” The torturer stalked across the chamber, then took her place behind his chair. Thin, elvish fingers crawled across his scalp.
“I’m not a brother anymore,” Ardwin said, clenching his fists.
“You took an oath,” the elf said. Her fingers sunk into his skull. The world became black, then:
Ardwin stood in a large, circular room. It was dark. A candle melted to the floor at the center of the room, surrounded by seven granite pillars. Darkness hid everything beyond the circle of light. Seven disciples stood before each pillar, holding a dagger in his hands. They looked at one another in confusion. “You will know what to do when you face the task,” Calum told Ardwin. He’d been awoken in the middle of the night and led through the Temple, as everyone slept, by two brothers in brown robes. They led him down into the terrifying catacombs, then into a hidden chamber that he’d never seen or heard of before. An older brother handed him a knife and left the room without a word.
The others showed up, one by one. He figured they knew about as much as he did.
“Well?” Gregory shuffled his feet. “Maybe we should put our heads together and figure this out?”
“What do you think?” Ardwin eyed him.
“I have no clue,” Gregory admitted. “That’s why I was the first to ask.” The other boys groaned. “Well, maybe we should start with this.” He held the dagger up. Its sharpened edge gleamed in the candle’s light. “We have seven daggers and seven brothers.”
“Maybe they want us to fight to the death?” Bill, a squat little southerner with raven hair and bushy brows, posed. Everyone swayed with uncertainty, clutching their daggers to their chests.
“No,” Gregory asserted. “That’s silly. We’re brothers of the Holy Order, not a gang of bandits or a band of pirates. We will not turn on each other.” He walked to the center of the room and lay his dagger beside the candle. “If that’s what it comes to, then kill me first. It would be a mercy.”
Ardwin stepped forward. “Gregory’s right. That has to be the answer.” He lay his dagger across Gregory’s. One by one, the others did the same. Then, they returned to their pillars and stood. Ardwin held his chin high, proud of his friend for quickly figuring out the riddle. He expected a brother, or even a father, to show up and congratulate them. He stood, anticipating their arrival, until his feet ached and his shoulders slumped. The boys took to light-hearted conversation to pass the time. Eventually, they sat before their pillars, watching the candle burn away, and its light slowly dissolve into total darkness.
Sore from sitting, Ardwin stood in the dark chamber and stretched his arms. “Maybe they expected us to leave?”
“No,” Bill said. “Father Farroway said no one is to leave the circle until they are dismissed. If we leave the circle, then we fail the test. Didn’t your Fathers tell you the same?” His voice echoed in the emptiness. “No?”
“No,” Ardwin said.
“No,” Gregory repeated. The others answered the same.
Ardwin felt his guts twisting. Something terrible is going to happen. He sat down. Where was Gregory? Was he across from me? He considered crawling around to find out. They might think I’m going for a dagger.
Screeching metal scraped against the floor. “What was that?” Bill called out to them.
“Not me!” Little Brother Jimmy squealed. He was the smallest brother in the Temple. Jimmy was infamously easy to scare. Bulge and the other bullies loved picking on Jimmy more than anyone else. Quiet and to himself, without many friends, the little brother of their Order was helpless.
“Dammit, Jimmy!” Gregory snapped. “Put that blade back!”
“I didn’t touch it!” Jimmy shouted.
“Calm down!” Ardwin joined in. “Everyone, just calm down. Clearly, piling our daggers up wasn’t the answer. Jimmy, did you pick yours back up?”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“No,” he said.
“Good,” Ardwin replied, unconvinced. “Nobody grab a dagger. Let’s promise that we will not. Nobody.”
“Nobody,” Gregory repeated. “I promise I won’t.”
“I promise,” Bill called.
“Me too!” Jimmy chimed. “I promise.”
The others did as well. Then they sat in silence. Without a word or another sound, torturous moments passed, melding in time. Was it hours? He could not tell. Ardwin sat cross-legged for a time. After stretching out his legs, he lay on his side.
“I’m hungry,” Brother Paxton announced from the darkness just to the right of Ardwin. He was a stable boy who worked alongside Bulge. Not as brawny or as mean as his larger counterpart, Paxton was a henchman to the great big oaf. “This is stupid. I didn’t get breakfast. I wonder what time it is? We may have missed supper by now!” Ardwin felt his stomach gnawing at itself. No one replied. “They’ve got to come for us, or we’ll starve, won’t we?”
“That’s what happens when you don’t eat,” Bill remarked. “You’ve been hanging around the jackasses too long.”
Jimmy snickered.
Metal scraped stone. Thumps fumbled in the darkness. Someone else had snatched a dagger and crawled back to their pillar. “What was that?” Bill questioned. “Who was that?”
“Who did that?” Ardwin shouted. “Who took a dagger?”
“I felt someone!” Bill cried. “They touched my shoulder! Who was that? Say something!”
“Calm down, calm down,” Gregory spoke deliberately but softly.
“I’m not crazy!” Bill sniffled. “I felt someone touch me! Someone was over here! Who are you? Speak!”
An unfamiliar noise resounded in the chamber. A great inhale of air and the shink of something sharp sinking into something soft. Next, a loud thud struck the floor to the right of Ardwin. Then the moaning and groaning began. Another, much smaller thud resounded, followed by the repeated sound of thud and shink, thud and shink. When it was over, metal clambered against the stone floor. Thumps and thuds fumbled away. Paxton, or whoever moved to attack him, lay dying. Ardwin’s heart beat so hard it threatened to jump straight out of his throat. Nausea twisted his stomach. He didn’t know whether to stand perfectly still and hope the killer could not find him, or whether to make a move. Where are you, brother? Blinded by complete darkness, he searched for Gregory.
Bill wailed as if he’d just seen the murder firsthand. “What happened?” Gregory asked. Ardwin tried to track his voice.
A pair of feet smacked against the stones, dashing toward the daggers. Though Ardwin sprinted forward, he felt as if he were falling backward. Searing pain shot through the center of his brain. The blackness of the chamber melded into a void–oblivion. Screams echoed off the walls of the chamber. The real world took shape before his very eyes. Chest heaving like a great bellow, he felt his heart racing a hundred miles a minute. The torturer caressed his face. Ardwin’s cheeks flinched beneath her touch. “You failed?” she asked.
His skin crawled. “No,” Ardwin whispered.
“I, too, was broken down and rebuilt by the masters,” she said. “Forged into their weapon.” The torturer moved across the room and plucked a wide leather-bound book from the top of her bookshelf. She then brought it to Ardwin. She flipped through its pages and laid it out on his lap. A list of names fell down each page. “1549.” She pointed at the date scrawled across the top left corner of the page. The elf ran her forefinger down a column of names, then stopped. “Keya. That’s me. Five passed the test alongside me. I was the first elf to be welcomed into the Order. And it came as quite a shock to many. Most people were openly hostile toward my kind.” Her eyes moved from the book to Ardwin. “Now, you know my truth. Tell me, if you failed the test, why were you allowed into the Order?”
Ardwin steadied his breath. The pain slowly receded, but she was like the sea–calm and serene, then cruel and violent. It would come again. His mind raced alongside his heart. If we stayed in that memory a little longer, she’d have learned how Calum saved me from prosecution. He threw his head back. “Why serve them?”
Keya’s eyes narrowed. She shook her head. “To create change,” the elf said. “To save my people from persecution and repression.” She looked away. “I will be back in a moment.” Keya disappeared behind her bookshelves.
How can I get her to reveal something when I can’t give her anything she wants? Think!
Keya reappeared, holding a small bundle of cloth in her hands. She raised her eyes to meet his. “I bet you have many questions.” She lifted the cloth with her left hand, revealing Animiki’s Talon. “A young boy, a nobody, plucked off the streets, taught to be teachable, trained to be adaptable. Given the tools of gods and men but never given a choice in how to apply them. Never told what they truly are.”
Ardwin stared at the dagger.
“You don’t have questions?” His torturer tucked her right hand behind her back. She stopped a few paces away. “How loose are those straps?” She smiled. “Ask, and if my duty allows, I will answer.”
“Where did it come from?” Ardwin asked.
“Animiki is the Thunderbird,” Keya said. “His dominion is the sky—the over world. Many legends refer to him, though they all refer to him with different names. Animiki is an Eastern name, which I’m sure even you are aware of. I do not know where they found a shard of his talon, but I assure you, he is much larger than this tiny thing.” She showed the dagger once more. “The Perlisians call him Tayir Alrueb. The Bird of Terror. Your dagger contains a small sliver of his power.”
“What is the elvish name?” Ardwin prodded. The she-elf remained silent. “How was it made?”
“Through a very complex ritual that requires the essence of a living being,” Keya answered. “Through blood magic. Old magic.” Ardwin had felt the sting of its pommel many times. He knew the awesome might of his weapon was beyond the imagination of most men. “There are humans who practice magic, but they are rare. Most form a bond with an entity and borrow its power. This–” she held the dagger before her face, peering into the silver steel of its blade, scanning the black runes twisted across the handle. “Is the work of an eastern witch named Bat-Erdene. Her life essence lingers within. She was familiar with the spirits of the winds but never bound to any. She was furious. Her life centered on a single aim. She sought…” Keya closed her eyes. “Vengeance. Vengeance upon a cruel chieftain who killed her parents. The chieftain forced her to marry one of his captains, who soon became a rival.”
“How can you know all of that?” Ardwin asked, raising a throbbing head on his weakened neck.
“That must remain a mystery,” Keya said. “I can say, however, that this dagger never found its mark. Bat-Erdene’s husband, Ganzorig, was killed in an ambush before their plans came to fruition. Bat-Erdene’s hope for vengeance was lost in a river. Ultimately, it was her son with Ganzorig who killed the rival chieftain many years after Bat-Erdene’s death.”
“I feel like I’m learning everything, yet nothing,” Ardwin admitted.
Keya lowered the dagger. “I have answered some of your questions. Will you answer mine now?”
“Ask,” Ardwin said.
“Why were you given such exceptional gifts?” she questioned. “Was it because you had great teachers?” Keya sat Animiki’s Talon on a nearby table lined with other sharp and pointed instruments. “Was it because you were smarter than the others?” Thin fingers combed through his hair. “Stronger?” They wrapped around his skull. “Was it because you are special?”
“I don’t know,” Ardwin admitted. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “We rise to our higher calling, or we fall to pride. As a child, I did what I was told to do. What they trained me to do.”
“Murphrey believes Calum had a special interest in you,” Keya said.
Damn you, Murphrey! Ardwin’s fingernails dug into the arm of the chair. “I was his bird boy. He punished and disciplined me just as he did Gregory and every disciple before me. He was stern and honest and even kind at times. Calum was outspoken and revered by everyone. Murph’s Father was a quiet and unimportant librarian. He’s just jealous.”
“We shall see.” Keya’s voice turned his blood into ice while the pain of her magic sent fire through his mind.
Was it worth it? He lay sprawled out like the innards of a flayed fish, discarded, splattered against the cold stones where the silent brothers dumped him. The elf told him nothing of use, nothing of value. What good would life essence and blood magic be if he couldn’t use them? They know everything! I should’ve swallowed my pride and summoned Padair. His body trembled with shivers in the icy air of his little cell. I don’t remember it being this cold. He felt pieces of the puzzle connect in his mind. People who lose blood turn cold, too. Blood magic. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. She’s using me to fuel her magic and, thus, my own torture.
Is Elvish magic the very blood magic she spoke of?
Ignoring his body’s protests, Ardwin curled his knees to his chest to generate warmth. Footsteps thumped down the hall and stopped outside his door. Keys jingled. The door swung open. “Food!” A brown-robed brother sat down a bowl of stew, then slammed the door shut and locked it.
Ardwin eyed the bowl of cold stew. His belly rumbled. I think I’ll just lie here a while longer. His eyes shut.
They opened as a pair of feet shuffled into his cell. His bowl clattered across the floor, spilling its contents. The door closed. A shadowy figure moved toward Ardwin and knelt beside him. “Sorry about the stew,” Murphrey whispered. “But I’ve got good news. I’m going to help you escape.”
“No.” Ardwin moaned. Don’t trust him!
“I’m not giving you a choice,” Murph said. Murphrey lifted his head from the floor and lowered a flask to meet his lips. The thin liquid was cold on his teeth. It tasted of herbs and medicines. Murph pulled the flask away and grabbed the shackles around Ardwin’s wrists, lifting him into a seated position. He moved behind Ardwin, tucked both arms under an armpit, and raised the prisoner off the floor. “Stop,” Ardwin begged. “Stop.” Murph ignored him. I can’t leave my weapons–my cloak! He tugged against Murph, leaning his weight backward. “Why?”
Murphrey looked to the floor, then back to Ardwin. “Because Father Herman thinks he can turn you into a weapon against the High Exemplar. Because he thinks his Duke can win a war against Alexandria. And…” He smiled. “Because you’re you.”
“You–” Ardwin gathered his wits and his words. “You told them everything!”
“To be fair, I didn’t just spill it,” Murph said. “Father Herman spent years milking me for information on the Alexandrian Temple. He pieced it together himself. It was give and take, though. You know how it is.” Murph scratched his cheek. “While you and Gregory were to return to Alexandria for reassignment, the High Exemplar entrusted me with a special task: to be his eyes and ears within the Imperial Monastery.” He marched up to Ardwin, lifted his chin, and looked him dead in the eye. “Now I need your help, brother. We will stop Father Herman from plunging the entire continent into war.” Murph walked toward the door. “That’s what waits at the end of Herman’s road. With Keya’s magic, the finances of the Duke, and a potential claimant for the throne, he may win it. What kind of precedent would that set? It’s sacrilege!”
Ardwin tried putting one foot in front of the other, stumbled, but regained his balance. He stopped. “I can’t.” He laughed. “She drained me. I’m too weak to move, too weak to fight. Why not kill me here and now? I know that’s what you want.”
“If I wanted you dead, I could have poisoned your stew,” Murph explained. The words settled in a silent chamber.
“The others–” Ardwin mumbled.
“We never cared about your silly friends,” Murph waved his hands as he spoke. “We could pay them to tell us everything they know, and we’d only get the lies you’ve fed them. Maybe we could torture them to break your spirit, but we have Keya.”
“My gear.” Ardwin lumbered toward Murph. “I’ve got to get my weapons. And my cloak. Where are they?” He reached out with heavy hands, weighed down by the iron strapped around his wrists. He found Murph’s robes and grasped hold of them. “Where’s the sword, Murph?” Murphrey wrapped two callous paws around Ardwin’s forearms and pushed his hands aside.
I’m so weak! How can I escape in this condition?
Murph released Ardwin’s arms and reached into his robe. Keys jingled on an iron ring. “I can give you what you want, but I need your help in return.” Murph fidgeted with Ardwin’s shackles. They snapped open, allowing fresh air to nip at tender flesh. “The elf must die. She’s too powerful—and unhinged. What do you say, brother? For old times’ sake?” He lifted his long robe and pulled a bundle of wrapped fabric away from his chest. Murph extended the bundle toward Ardwin.
Ardwin reached out and took the folded silk into his hands. He immediately felt the curves of Animiki’s Talon beneath the soft, elf-woven threads. “How?”
“I told her that Father Herman demanded them,” Murph said. “I forged the letter this morning and used his stamp to seal it. Now, are you going to help me, or are you going to betray your old friend Murph and leave that psycho running amok?”
“How do we win?” Ardwin clarified.
“I think her power lies in the white stone. We should try to rip that silver circlet from her head.” Murph opened the door. He poked his head through the frame, looked left and right, then stepped into the hall. “Let’s move.”
Ardwin stood clutching his cloak and dagger to his chest. Can I trust him? How much of the old Murph remains?
How much of the old me?