After all of the political intrigue, the bonfire feast became exactly that, a feast. Eating, drinking, and avoiding dancing at all costs while also enjoying the dancing and singing of everyone else in attendance brought a joyful ease to an otherwise stressful evening. I sat with Khub watching the festivities from our carpet, and I think both of us were so exhausted by the previous life threatening and world power shifting events that we spent most of our time at the feast just people watching as we ate and drank our fills. Though, Khub’s ignorance of my alcohol immunity would cut Khub’s enjoyment of the feast short, as Khub tried to match my pace drinking the spiced berry and mushroom wines and liquors of the Glirdon and teratolion that he eventually crumpled into a drunken coma next to me.
Staring at the peacefully slumbering Khub has me recall some of his odd comments and behaviors. I sure hope that I didn’t do anything to play with his heart, as I thought I was explicit in what I desired. I just wanted his help, but some of the stares and words spoken, have me doubting that he fully understood the assignment. Maybe he’s just that good of an actor that he’s got me questioning him, and if that’s the case then I chose the right coconspirator in my plan to assert myself as legally capable of joining the glirdon courts. If not though… I look away from Khub as my mind speaks a strange truth. Some relationships can’t produce children… but… I can be a man or woman, so no matter what I have to worry about the next generation, so being alone is the safest thing I can do for those I love and those that will proceed from them.
I shake my head as I try to force the weird thoughts away and try to find Ajnani and Ashe to see if they decided to not just announce their relationship but marry as well. I look at each of the dancing glirdon and I don’t find either of them in their midst. My search leads me to scan the various feathered carpets that surround the bonfire, and that’s where I find Ashe and Ajnani. Ashe appears to be pulling on Ajnani’s arm to go and join the dancers, but Ajnani refuses to join the dance and also seems to be preventing Ashe from joining the dance as well. I wonder if Ashe doesn’t know what the significance of dancing at a bonfire feast means to the glirdon. But Ajnani does know, and her refusal to join calls Mahana’s warnings to my mind.
I don’t want to entertain any more anxious thoughts than I already have, so I try to find Mlinzi now that I’m thinking about Mahana. Mlinzi sat alone at the bonfire feast and so did Mahana, and now both of them are absent from the dance and from the carpets. Fearful and a bit paranoid due to the last few days of avoiding glirdon advances, I choose to use my spiritual eyes to search for Mahana and Mlinzi instead of getting up from the carpet I sit on with Khub as I don’t know if glirdon women seeing me depart from the protective presence of Khub and this carpet and wandering about alone will signal that I’m giving a chance to glirdon polygamy. To the disappointment of the glirdon, my heart can only hold room for one person… my eyes drift to Khub… woman at a time.
I shake my head as I believe that my transformation from a man to a woman, back to a man may have had a few side effects. However, I didn’t change my brain, so I’m not so sure. For my sake I’m going to go with the side effect explanation to force the odd thoughts to go away and continue on with my life. Right, Mlinzi and Mahana, that’s what I should be focusing on right now. I close and open my eyes adjusting them to view into the world of souls, essence and truth and begin to wander the misty realm in search of my curiosity’s interest.
I float my spiritual eyes around the village searching high and low for Mlinzi and Mahana. My eyes zig zag around houses, go up towers to get a better view of the village, and eventually I find Mlinzi and Mahana together standing behind the longhouse of the village. They are talking, but to my disappointment I can’t hear them in the way I wish. I can’t hear their actual words only what their words and actions intend.
“Why won’t you love me,” says Mlinzi’s essence and soul as his maw opens and closes saying far more words and making gestures that all speak to a larger argument or narrative but in actuality what he means to say is a single sentence, “please love me back.”
“I don’t love you,” says Mahana’s essence and soul as her mouth says far more words than just what I hear, “there is another.”
Mlinzi doesn’t give up as he continues to plead with Mahana. I can only assume that he is begging her to reconsider her feelings, and might also be bartering with her to think on all he’s done for her, but the only thing I can hear is, “please love me back.”
Mahana places a hand against Mlinzi’s chest and it’s clear that she is explaining something to him, trying to reach his mind so that it can conquer his heart, but within her essence and soul I hear, “let me go. I don’t want to keep hurting you. I don’t love you, so please let me go.”
Mlinzi’s misty visage in this world turns away from Mahana and though his eyes are not watering his soul is weeping. Mlinzi looks like he is insulting Mahana in a rage, but his hidden face and soul say something different, “I’ve tried. I’ve tried. I know. I know. Let me dream. Let me dream just a little longer.”
Mahana appears to have seen through Mlinzi’s attempt to push her away by playing the villain and wraps her arms around him and for a brief moment there is silence as what is seen is what is intended by both of their souls. There is love between those two, but not the type Mlinzi desires, but it’ll be the love he’ll have to settle for.
Mlinzi grasps the hands of Mahana that cling to his wide chest. He closes his eyes enjoying this moment of closeness with the woman he so desperately wishes to be with, but respects enough to not force her to be his, as if I know anything about the glirdon law of reciprocity he might actually have a case to force her to be his for all he’s done for the glirdon. Considering what I know now and this interaction between Mlinzi and Mahana, this probably means that Upendo and Mlinzi blaming the high court for preventing Mahana from marrying Mlinzi, was actually an understood lie between friends. Mlinzi gently pulls Mahana’s hands from himself, turns around and picks up Mahana’s hands into his large clawed hands and this time his words sink up with what his soul weeps, “I love you.”
Mlinzi then drops Mahana’s hands, and his fanged mouth says more words than what his essence and soul say, “I’ll always love you. I can’t let you go.”
Mahana smiles and sighs in relief as it looks like Mlinzi actually said the exact opposite of what his soul did. Mahana had received the words that she wanted to hear and she once again embraces Mlinzi, and kisses his forehead, her soul singing in relief, “I’m free. Thank you.”
Mahana releases Mlinzi then takes his clawed hands in her hands and squeezes his fingers before leaving him to be by himself. Mlinzi stares into the sky waiting for Mahana to be well outside of view and range to hear him. Once Mlinzi is confident that Mahana can’t see or hear him, he then walks up to the long house where he moves a rock that reveals he had hidden a basket full of different foods, a bottle of wine, and a scroll. Mlinzi reaches into a pouch hidden among the several scarves of cloth tied to his body to produce a ring that had once sat in front of his heart. Mlinzi takes the ring into his hand, stares at it longingly, and then tosses it into the basket. Mlinzi takes the bottle of wine and scroll into his hands and then kicks the basket. Mlinzi bites the cork of the wine bottle and pulls it with his fangs to open the bottle, spits the cork onto the ground to add to the garbage he had strewn across the stones from kicking the basket, and then tilts the bottle to his lips.
The bottle sits perched on his lips, but the liquid doesn’t stream into Mlinzi’s throat. After quite some time passes, Mlinzi lowers the bottle from his lips and throws it into the mess he made where it shatters upon the cold rock spilling the entirety of its liquid contents. Mlinzi wanders off into the night holding the scroll in his hand, that he unfurls and reads to himself and in his mutterings, I hear, “vows never to be accepted. Why is my love not good enough.”
I close and open my eyes and ears back to the physical world feeling like I saw something that I shouldn’t have witnessed. A part of me wants to go check up on Mlinzi, or even send Upendo after him, but another part of me knows the pain he feels and that sometimes company is the worst gift you can give.
After spending some time debating a plan to leave the bonfire feast, I decide that perhaps the safest option is to continue relying upon the scandalous ruse and so I pick up Khub in my arms and begin my journey back to the embassy house. Unlike my journey up the mountain, I take my time in descending, as once again I survived, but I didn’t leave that peak unscathed. Cran floats beside me being mindfully quiet to allow me the respite of silence and in the silence and motion I find a soothing stillness of mind.
Eventually my feet find their way back to the door of the embassy house, where Cran opens the door for me and I deliver Khub to a teratolion servant who takes him to a guest chamber and I change out of the gaudy poncho back into the comfort of my own clothes. My due diligence fulfilled to my new friend, I decide to spend the night where I feel most comfortable. I leave the embassy house and wander into the more forested areas of the mountain with Cran floating a short distance behind me. I find a tree that has one of the many glirdon shrines dedicated to me under it and climb my way up the tree where Cran grows himself into a hammock that I climb into, and we both gaze at the moon and stars until rest takes both of us.
“Enjoy your evening? I have to say seeing one of my own spells replicated so beautifully was a pleasant surprise,” says a voice that instantly wakes me and demands my attention.
The first rays of morning creep through a… window? I look around me and a wooden house had been constructed around where I slept in the tree. I get out of the hammock Cran made for me with himself and see Argentum sitting at a table that has a porcelain tea set and several snacks and cakes scattered across its surface.
“Come sit, we have much to talk about,” continues Argentum as he pours me a cup of tea and then uses soulcraft to float the cup and saucer into my hands.
I shrug my shoulders as I accept the tea and sit myself at the table choosing a honey cake for myself. I take a bite and the taste is bittersweet, as honey cakes were my mother’s favorite. I place the honey cake that was partially eaten onto a plate that I scoot away from myself.
“You’ve done much in the small amount of time since we’ve last spoken,” says Argentum watching me push away the honey cake, as if acknowledging that it was a bad idea to present me with something that could remind me of those I’ve lost, “you’re a regent now, which even I didn’t expect that to occur. All I wanted was more amicable relations between the Teratolion and the Tack to prevent the continuation of that pointless crusade.”
“Sounds like Upendo has loftier aspirations than what you do for establishing trade,” I say sipping on my tea to get the taste of honey cake out of my mouth, “I told him about Aurhea, and now he wants to use trade relations as a method of making bastions of peace in order to fight against her to in a sense learn from and repeat history. With history as his inspiration he now has gone and made this Skathan Federation with me as one of the figureheads of it to politically create the beginnings necessary to make our shield against Aurhea. Though there is a darkness to our progress, as my position as regent has confirmed one thing to me…”
“And what is that?” asks Argentum squinting at me as he makes a twirling gesture with his hand to beg the question from me.
“I’m not the regent of the Skathan Federation, I’m the beast that will be sicked upon those that seek to betray the federation. What I did to Shoron Gaol now serves as a threat that grants me political power through fear,” I say shaking my head as I start to process the madness of last night.
“It sounds like you’ve come to the same conclusions about our nature that I have,” says Argentum looking away from me as he clasps his hands repeatedly as he wrestles with his anxiety.
“We are monsters,” I say probing Argentum further as he is the only other celandil that I know, “we are what happens when gods walk amongst man, and that is terrifying. With only the preparation and power that fear and trauma have quite literally torn into my flesh, I destroyed an ancient citadel and killed hundreds all for the hope that in doing so I can protect five people from Aurhea’s apocalypse. Then there is Aurhea to consider, who will erase this world to gift a new one to her demi-god spawn. The worlds of man and celandil are so disparately different that it might as well be comparing the world of bugs to the world of fish.”
“For the races of man to truly be free,” says Argentum echoing the words of my heart and mind, “the celandil must become the obscured myths of history, and nothing more than that.”
“So, you also see that the end of our journey will be the same for us no matter if we succeed or fail, the only difference is who we give this world to,” I say clasping my teacup tighter between my hands.”
“Yes,” says Argentum as he takes a deep breath to gain the courage to look at me, “and no.”
“What do you mean by that?” I ask trying to figure out why Argentum would give me a split answer on a question that only has one determined end for the both of us, “At the end of this journey and if Upendo’s bastions and federation end up actually being successful in defending and destroying Aurhea’s new gods and you and me find some way to fight and stop Aurhea, if we somehow are still alive after the deaths of the new gods we’ll either need to end each other, end ourselves, or find some way to exile ourselves in such a way that we’ll never come in contact with humans ever again to truly free them from us the supposed old gods. Even if I entertain the idea of making a future for myself, if I have children there is a slim chance that they’ll resurrect the celandil naturally, so I have no future where a family is possible. Even those that seemingly call me friend now do so because they fear me, so what future do I have amongst my friends if they may one day do to me like I did to Dargot… destroy the monster for their peace.”
“It’s funny when you are pressed against the precipice you become a celandil, but in times of respite you think too much like a human,” chuckles Argentum to himself and then he says, “I have no future, but you might. As a celandil and human mixblood you can choose the legacy of your future. I assume Angtos taught you the mechanics of nature and the building blocks of life, so who is to say you can’t choose what you pass on to the next generation. Even if you didn’t use celandilic means to genetically engineer your future child, natural means will see that at most your children will inherit only as much celandil blood as you currently possess, or potentially none as there is a chance that they only inherit your human half. I am pure blooded, so I cannot choose and thus, my future is death, where yours you will at least have the agency to join me, or join humanity.”
“What if humanity makes the choice for me,” I say as I ponder upon Dargot, who’s death was decided upon not by himself, or by nature, but by my father insisting on Dargot’s death being the trial of my progress from pacifist to protector.
Argentum gives me a genuine smile, but his eyes are tired and filled with conflicting pain, “I personally believe that the decision will be yours and yours alone. However, if humanity decides to be rid of you and you accept their decision, then I’ll welcome you as a companion in our mutual ends. You’ll assist me as I’ll assist you in ending our journey on mortal spheres as we welcome the next journey of walking into the plains of eternity.”
“Well, at least when all is said and done the end won’t be lonely,” I say shaking my head not really wanting to believe that the only consolation I’ll have at the end of my journey will be that I’ll die with my uncle of all people.
Argentum and I sit in silence as we sip on tea and ponder upon the future. Argentum grabs a cucumber sandwich and slowly munches on it as I sip on my tea that refills itself with each sip I take from it. A thought arises from the darkness of my mind, and I wonder aloud, “does this mean that your original plans for your people in the soul reservoir were for them to join you in a mass suicide?”
Argentum hearing my question shakes his head, places his sandwich on a plate and responds to my question, “no, I was far more hopeful than that. My original plan was for you to thwart my daughter’s malicious schemes, and in doing so perhaps convince her that her perceptions of humanity were flawed, getting her to back down from her lofty ambitions and return to Nuren from her heavenly throne. In doing so, I hoped that you’d accomplish this before the full metamorphosis of my people into celandil and that the humanity inherent in their bodies and souls would undo Aurhea’s corruption; thus, giving my people a human future. In turn, I hoped that my daughter would choose a human future as well and end the celandil through the means I proposed to you, achieving the end of the celandil in a single generation of willful choice. Alas, my hopes never bear fruit, and now I must choose between my nephew and the Huto, and my daughter… I do not think there is saving my people in the soul reservoir anymore.”
“And you called me too idealistic,” I say with a struggled half-grin upon my face, “you really thought I’d somehow be able to talk Aurhea out of a plan she’s been preparing for close to a millennium?”
“It was either you succeed or be swallowed up by the soul reservoir,” says Argentum with a shrug as he takes another bite of his sandwich, “it was either you save my people and humanity, or gift the world of Nuren to Aurhea and her new celandil.”
I nod my head realizing the weight of my original life debt and say, “so that’s why you said there was a chance that I’d be free of my life debt in the future, but the reality was that I most likely would have been captured by Aurhea and transformed into an essence producing battery while my soul slowly goes insane alone in a dark void.”
Argentum squints his eyes and looks away from me pained to hear what my fate would have been if I followed his original plan. I also look away from Argentum, as he only recently learned of the fates of his people. His people’s souls will soon serve as the power source of Aurhea’s new world, as she will grant the stolen bodies of the totalion now made celandilic in state new souls created from Aurhea’s own soul. So many of the totalion have gone silent from a thousand years of torturous neglect, and eventually all that are held in the soul reservoir will no longer be able to cry out as they submit to oblivion’s peace.
My appetite ruined by the honey cake I can only stare out in silence at all of Argentum’s offerings. The dreadful quiet opens my mouth as I would rather have distraction than the company of my thoughts. Not really choosing my words I ask, “you said we had much to discuss?”
“Yes,” says Argentum rubbing his face and sighing into his hand, “yes indeed we do.”
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“And that would be?” I ask awkwardly trying to pry Argentum from his mind and back into a conversation.
“Aurhea has decided to hasten the timeline of humanity’s destruction,” says Argentum summoning some sugar cubes from a platter to dive into his teacup, “already, she has begun to subjugate the Huto to punish me for my betrayal which will have me split between my responsibilities toward you and my people in the future, and as for you she hasn’t underestimated you like I have and has started to move her vast resources to make life more difficult for you in Tackenae. Othenel has made an alliance with the Leathfola barons to help them conquer all of Tackenae by first destroying the revolutionaries.”
“Isn’t Othenel already at war with Visgal? What purpose is there is there in expanding a civil war to include all the factions of Tackenae, especially when Othenel hasn’t won their war against Visgal yet? Unless, that’s what you wish to tell… Has Visgal fallen?” I ask dropping my teacup in shock as I was in the middle of sipping tea when Argentum revealed Aurhea’s recent plots against both of us. The teacup shatters on the table, but as soon as the liquid is about to splash on me it reverses course. The broken porcelain reforms into a cup that spins through the air back onto a saucer and the spilled tea floats through the air to jump back into the teacup.
I nod my thanks to Argentum and he nods back as he continues, “Visgal has yet to fall, but you must understand Othenel and Aurhea aren’t trying to win a war in the way you or I would consider winning a war. Othenel has been promised salvation from their goddess for purging, purifying, and preparing Nuren for Aurhea and her children, so I’d say that their goals aren’t made with the same logic or reason that you or I would use. Maximization of destruction and loss of life of the impure infidel makes the soldiers and leaders of Othenel sanctified and thus worthy of Aurhea’s embrace in death.”
“No, I’m intimately aware of how faith can be manipulated in horrible ways and make sense of the incomprehensible. I think I understand the Othen’s bloodlust because Gehenna forced me to understand it,” I say clenching my fists remembering how Gehenna manipulated the faith of his people to commit atrocities against my loved ones.
“I wasn’t speaking of faith Skath,” says Argentum shaking his head while making a gesture with his hand holding his partially eaten cucumber sandwich to punctuate his words, “I’m speaking of something stronger than a belief one holds as truth. I’m speaking of true knowledge. The Othen have interacted directly with Aurhea, so it’s not like the Othen are submitting themselves to mere religious feelings of piety that help them achieve self-fulfilling prophecies. These people have actually seen the face of their god, and Aurhea actually speaks to her followers, face to face, and not just through a prophet claiming to be her voice. Her followers are baptized with dreams conjured by Aurhea similar to the ones we endured. In this baptism Aurhea made each Othen believe that they had gone back and forth from life and the glorious paradise promised them in death which thoroughly convinced the Othen to give complete devotion to Aurhea. You spent moments in the dreams of Aurhea, whereas some of the Othen have spent perceived eternities and they wish to escape this hell to return to Aurhea’s heaven.”
I find myself grinding my teeth and all my muscles tighten as I hear what Aurhea has afflicted upon an entire nation to pursue the extinction of humanity. It felt so real, and I only had a taste of the mind twisting torment of Aurhea’s dreams. I can’t imagine what the Othen have gone through, but I can imagine the smallest portion of the lust they must feel to return to the peaceful delusions of Aurhea’s heaven. Though, what I find most insidious is that when Aurhea played with my mind it was to convince me to stay with her to remove me as an obstacle, whereas with the Othen she has them convinced to throw away their lives for her. I’m unsure what happens to souls after death, but there could be a chance that Aurhea is sending thousands if not millions to dark nothingness instead of her promised heaven.
“How can I fight against brothers and sisters in suffering,” I mutter shaking my head as I realize my enemies are too much like myself, but to my horror I’ve already created the foundations of justification to raise my spells against those I sincerely empathize with as I picture cherished faces within my mind, “however, if I must fight against them for the sake of protecting the remnants of those I hold dear, I’ll do what is necessary.”
“Prepare yourself then, as the alliance between the Leathfola and Othenel is fresh, and the time for action has yet to arrive,” says Argentum stretching his wings out as he reclines backward in his chair while sipping his cup of tea and taking a bite of his sandwich, “an experiment made into a weapon has matured and is soon to be tested upon the fields of Tackenae. If you underestimate them, you will die. The Sons of Perdition are coming, and I’ve come to warn you that how you handle them may determine the beginning of the end.”
My hand pulses with the dying heartbeat of the pale slaver as I recognize something dreadfully familiar within the words spoken by Argentum, “I was mistaken for a Son of Perdition when I destroyed Shoron Gaol. Who are they, and does this mean I’ll be fighting celandil?”
“The Sons of Perdition are celandil human mix bloods,” says Argentum placing his cup upon the table and then stares me directly in the eyes to try and impress the importance of his warning to me, “though the concentration of celandil blood isn’t as potent as it is within you, they are probably just as strong if not stronger than you. The Sons of Perdition may appear to be horridly deformed, suffer from mental instability, and are sterile and incapable of growing in number due to Aurhea’s experiments in attempting to inbreed a celandil from the droplets of celandil blood she found within the population of Othenel, but do not, and I repeat, do not underestimate them based on their malformities. They have been trained and have been outfitted with weapons that complement the immense strength they’ve earned through training their entire lives in internal-based soulcraft techniques. You may be able to use external based soul craft techniques through your transformation of your body into a gruesome essence reservoir, but this advantage may not be enough if you face The Sons of Perdition unprepared.”
I nod my head taking in Argentum’s warning. I sit pondering his words and wonder if I hadn’t taken Shoron Gaol by surprise if my slaughter would have become a failed siege or that the pit that became the grave for the slavers would have been my own final resting place. If I had to truly face the Kin Slaying Berserker a celandil of immense power and strength again, would I be able to stand against my father lost in his rage, or would I be smashed into a mash of fleshy bits by a boulder mace. The Sons of Perdition are mix bloods like me, but unlike me they have a lifetime of experience and in comparison I’m still a novice. Gehenna nearly killed me by using my father to exhaust my spells to make me as human as he was. If a human can kill me through wits, and my father as a celandil can kill me through his power gained from hundreds of years of experience, the Sons of Perdition may actually be more than a match for me especially considering that there will be many and not just one of them.
I look at the scars on my arms and how the letters that make the sentences that form the lines of scarified images that artistically portray my spells dance upon my arms. Generally, essence reservoirs are supposed to be inert unless acted upon, but because of the proximity and connection my flesh and bones have to my soul and mind the canvases of flesh and bone that I use to write my spells are almost as active as Cran is as a living reservoir. I can’t say that I’ve grown stronger of my own willful practice and experimentation since I faced my father, but somehow my anxieties have driven my skin to act on its own to augment the spells that it prepares as a stockpile of protection against my own broken mind. The darkness within my subconscious is filled with nightmares inspired by memories, that oft projects hallucinatory daymares that literally rip my flesh open to create more weapons to combat the threats my mind conjures from my past. Fear has somehow become the root of my progression as a celandil, when at first I desired power just to save the woman I love.
Will fear be enough to give me the power to surpass even the Sons of Perdition? I’m fighting to preserve the lives of the few that I cherish that still draw breath, and I wonder if they will serve as powerful enough justification and the strength to continue forward and maybe even walk with me till this world swallows me whole ending the cursed legacy I hold in my veins.
“So, a monster is being called upon to slay more monsters,” I say with a sharp respiration that is a mixture of a struggled laugh and pained sigh, “I’ve killed so many in the name of protecting all I have left, but if I continue to protect in the way I have, maybe that’s all that’ll remain, just five people.”
“You have far more than five people you should consider as support and strength. Open your heart and mind and let your eyes see. You like me, are not entirely alone despite our monstrousness,” says Argentum smiling as he looks into the liquid in his teacup, “I actually rather hate the taste of tea, but I learned to appreciate not the taste but the memories that tea’s flavor can evoke from those that taught me to look at the skies of sunset. Aurhea though, she was alone when she drank the bitter cup when I and Cintharoar should have been there for her and now she’ll never know the beauty of the skies.”
“I don’t want anymore than the five I’ve claimed,” I admit aloud to try and push aside Argentum’s appeal to my dying chained heart, “I welcomed new friends and family before and now I’ve watched so many die and forget their love for me when someone better, someone more human came along. Loving a monster only brings pain to those I let in.”
“What about those that have claimed you?” retorts Argentum raising an eyebrow to verbally and visually force me to consider his question, “regardless of your wishes, there are those that now see you as family, a friend, a leader, a member of their people.”
“They don’t see me as their people, I’m a necessary monster for their plots! Upendo didn’t trust me to tell me his plans! He used me! And when my utility ends, who is to say these people that supposedly claim me as one of their own won’t dispose of me!” I yell standing up and slamming my hands on the table less to accentuate my words and feelings, but to give myself some physical sensation to grasp onto to not be overwhelmed by the growing emotions within me, “Even right now as we speak, we are monsters on a quest to stop a monster like us, and even prepare humanity to kill monsters made by the monster we hunt. We are damned for what we are! We are damned for what we have done! We are damned for what we can do! We are damned! Damned! We are demons, and you might want me to pretend that I can taste of heaven, but a demon’s fate is to be feared, is to be exorcised, is hell.”
“That is my fate not yours! My father engineered me to not have a choice!” says Argentum rising from his seat throwing my gestures back at me, “you are half human, you have a chance that I don’t!”
“What do you mean, you yourself just told me that Aurhea somehow resurrected mixblood celandil from drops of celandil blood. Imagine what my poisoning the gene pool with my blood would do! The celandil can’t end unless Aurhea, her children, you, and me are all gone,” I yell refusing Argentum’s hope for the cruelty of reality.
Argentum once again slams his fist upon the table and looks down in frustration as he says, “you have a choice that I am denied! You can choose whether to end or perpetuate the celandil with your power! I’ve entertained your nihilism enough! You have a chance for a future! Just take it!”
“What future? I’m just a weapon to those that know how to manipulate me, and I’m breaking because this is not what I wanted to be. However, if I’m not a sword for those I love, then they’ll die,” I say shaking my head my words escaping my mouth in a stuttered manner as I am struggling to control myself, “If I let more people in then there will only be pain! I don’t think I can take anymore than I have! Tomorrow’s enemies may never be my friends, as I’ll kill them faster than they can change their hearts… It was so easy to embrace the monster, it felt good not horrible but freeing… I willfully chose not to know my enemy, and slaughtered them with barely a second thought… I’m not worthy of your heaven… sometimes I don’t even think I’m worthy to be alive…”
“Skath…” says Argentum walking over to my side of the table. Argentum attempts to comfort me by placing a hand upon me, but I shake his hand from my shoulder and I raise a hand to summon Cran to me. Cran transforms from a hammock into a staff and leaps into my hand.
“Keep me posted on my new quarry… I’ll continue trying to establish trade for Upendo in Tackenae for now… When The Sons of Perdition arrive in Tackenae, give me word, and I’ll destroy them as that is the destiny and purpose of a celandil,” I say walking away from Argentum to jump out the open window of the tree house before Argentum could offer me anymore words to further enrage the tempest in my head.
With Cran in my hand we drift gently to the ground where I fall to my knees. My hands clench into fists and my eyes water and spill tears as I attempt to regain control of myself. I close my eyes and try to focus only on my breath, as I worry that if I don’t grasp onto anything tangible the hallucinations will return. I’ll have to kill again soon, and it won’t end with The Sons of Perdition. It will only end when I end.
“Oh, them demon spirits, they got my spirit’s high! who knew that shrooms could perfume the rooms of a pigsty! But hey that’s why we return to the spirits’ rule at moon high! Oh, die di die di die di doe! Oh, die di die di doe!” sings a voice to the strumming of a lute that distracts from my anguish which allows me enough of an escape to regain a hold upon my mind, “with liquor’s courage, I chatted up a buxom wench. Charisma at the bottom of a bottle, had her show me her bench. When I became a mensch, I was drenched in a dread sweat. Oh die di die di die di doe! Oh die di die di doe! When my spirit returned to the earth, I was dearth of pride, as I confide that I awoke to the hairy arms of whiskered mule. The bottle made me a fool, but yet I returned to my loyal tool to yet again forget my woes and forbode the next rise of the moon. Oh die di die di die di doe! Oh die di die di doe! Oh die di die di die di doe! Oh die di die di doe!”
“Looks like someone’s happy this morning,” I groan in salutation to the singing Prorem. Though, I feel some irritation at Prorem’s giddiness, I’m grateful to him as without his sudden distraction I’d have been overwhelmed with daymares. I get up from my knees and wipe my eyes before showing my face to Prorem, as Prorem continues to play a lute with his back up against the tree that houses Argentum’s tree house.
“Why wouldn’t you be glad this fine morning, mister, sir, highness of regentness,” smiles Prorem with a glimmering grin, “Wish I could’ve attended last night’s party as it sounds like I missed something grand. Wait, did I address you correctly? Should I have said my lady, mistress, your highest queenliness?”
“Sounds like you had your own party by the lyrics of that song,” I say taking a few deep breaths, as I try my best to get lost in conversation with Prorem to push the storm of feelings deep within myself and regain some control I just lost, “and Skath is fine, I don’t need some haughty title that I don’t deserve.”
Prorem chuckles to himself, “That song had nothing to do with my evening as it was actually quite serene. You just caught me workshopping a song at mornings light. Unfortunately, for the traveling bard making art doesn’t always pay for your next meal. Raunchy and bawdy songs often grease the wallets of happy drunken fools to fill my own pockets with coin and my stomach with food and drink. However, I do enjoy spending time as an artist in moments where I don’t have to worry about my next meal, so my evening was spent drawing a teratolion servant down in the embassy house. There was something about him I wished to preserve and so the artistic spirit took me.”
Prorem reaches into his robes and pulls out a sheet of paper that confirms his story. He did in fact draw a teratolion servant going about his duties in the embassy house. Prorem’s talent was incredibly refined, which after hearing him sing a raunchy song, the detailed and respectful capturing of the teratolion servants’ visage upon a sheet of paper with nothing but charcoal feels like there should be a conflict in the personas Prorem portrays, but somehow Prorem unifies the raunchy bard and dignified artist with his genuine smile.
“Oh, now that I’ve found you, I have a favor to ask,” says Prorem while his hands as if possessing a mind of their own continue to strum the lute he is holding as he speaks and walks to beckon me to follow his one-man parade.
“What is it?” I ask finding my mood lightening in Prorem’s delightful presence to my great relief.
“Don’t tell the priest, but he’s beginning to reek. Those chains you put on his wrists prevent him from changing his clothes or bathing and let’s just be honest no amount of praying can pray the stink away,” says Prorem with a joking smile, “no seriously! I’ve never known a priest to create such an awful stench! Generally, priests have the best of scented oils and soaps to make them smell like an unnatural bouquet of geriatric flowers, but Chipy, oh, he smells just like that hairy mule of a barmaid I just sang about.”
“Wait, was that song a true story?” I ask allowing myself to get sucked into Prorem’s morning instead of my own to protect myself from myself.
Prorem shrugs his shoulders and gives me a coy expression as he says, “Oh you know, you spend enough time in a tavern with drunkards and being a drunkard yourself, the antics and hell you raise blur together into a haze. I’ll tell you this much though, buxom ladies do not hold much persuasion over me, so you can judge whether I’m the subject of the song on your own terms.”
“Maybe it’s better that I don’t know,” I say walking alongside Prorem as I begin to actually enjoy the morning through being distracted from all that destroyed it for me which still attempts to rip me to shreds within.
Prorem points to me with a cocky gesture and says, “That’s wisdom lad.”
“So, do you think it wise to let the priest have his freedom for a little while?” I ask trying to match Prorem’s energy to see if it’ll replace my own.
“Wise, no, but my nose says otherwise,” says Prorem with a chuckle, “then again, it’s hard to hide knives when your robes are being washed, and your butt naked in the bath, so maybe it’ll be the best way to get all the shanks away from the stab happy priest.”
“I’ll have to consider that when I see Chip next,” I say creating an exaggerated expression of contemplation, “then again, maybe I won’t have to consider anything as my nose will judge whether Chip is worthy of freedom.”
Prorem satisfied with my words continues to play his lute but begins to add a percussive slap between his strums. We walk without speaking for quite a distance, but my mind doesn’t return to my thoughts. I find myself lost in Prorem’s playing of his lute, that when he starts singing again it actually takes me by surprise, “When gods of war come a calling… iron knows it’s time… My hammer weeps… I ask forgiveness… as my anvil cries… Fires heat… steel glows… the metal’s fate, only heaven and hell knows… Cling… Ping. Clang… Ching. sparks a fly… my hammer will close… many an eye… as the billet lengthens… before me with time… the blade grows… and I know its soul begs… why god why… The gods of war were a calling… that is why… your purpose will be… nothing but to cleave… and let blood run dry…”
“That’s a rather somber tune to sing after talking about stinking priests,” I say stopping in my tracks after hearing the conclusion of Prorem’s song.
Prorem looks to me and says, “you remind me a lot of the person who sang that song, and I just felt like singing it for you.”
“Who sang it? What does it mean?” I ask trying to reason out why Prorem chose to sing that song in particular and why he sees me in it.
Prorem begins to play a happier tune upon his lute as he speaks, “I knew this blacksmith who loved to make tools that made people’s lives better. One day, the voice of the church of the One Eyed Prophet in Wakuda declared war on a heretical sect in Nursil and suddenly all metalworkers were conscripted in an effort to make weapons and armor for a growing crusade against human infidels. The blacksmith wanted to make armor to protect soldiers, but he was known for making knives and bladed tools like axe heads and chisels, so he was assigned to make swords instead. The song was the blacksmith’s way of begging forgiveness of his materials as he felt that he was damning them to only destroy and never create. A sword’s practical purpose is to only kill people or people looking things, and that didn’t sit right with the blacksmith. The blacksmith was a peculiar man that thought he could listen to the voice of metal, and so to him when he was creating swords, he heard the metal ask him why he was condemning them to a fate of blood and death.”
“That does sound a bit odd. Imagine a sword asking why it’s a sword, even hating the fact that it was made to be a sword,” I joke not fully adapting to Prorem’s tone shift to then realize that Prorem may have heard some of my conversation with Argentum, as the song was for me. Am I the blacksmith or the swords?
Before I could speak Prorem continues, “years passed, and eventually the soldiers returned from that bloody crusade that pitted two different types of believer who followed the same god in different ways against each other. The remorseful blacksmith suddenly had many new customers of soldiers needing not swords, but tools to go back to their livelihoods before war claimed them. The swords he had sent off to war returned, and became the materials that the remorseful blacksmith used to create new plows, chisels, saws, kitchen utensils, loggers axes, and much more. The swords that once thought they were condemned to a fate of a sword, were reborn through the remorseful blacksmith’s hands.”
“What did you hear?” I ask wondering how long Prorem had been listening in on my conversation with Argentum.
“Enough,” says Prorem before continuing, “to answer your first question, sometimes I see you as the sword asking why it’s a sword to the blacksmith, and sometimes I see you as the blacksmith begging forgiveness of the sword he created. Just because at this time you have been called upon to be a tool of destruction and fear doesn’t mean that you’ll always be just a tool of destruction. Even monsters can be tamed and integrated into useful roles within humanity. A hunter band living on the Othenel and Visgal border were in constant conflict with several packs of wolves for generations. It was only when the hunters changed their approach and started to feed the wolves and gain their trust, that the wolves transformed from prey stealing monsters into loyal companions and pets. Your magics give you fangs that humans do not have, but that doesn’t mean you are a monster. At least, to me you aren’t a monster, but that’ll be up to you whether I keep that conclusion or not.”
Prorem slaps me on the back and then continues his parade through the woods without me. Just as quickly as he became a sage, he yet again was singing a bawdy song of drunken trysts and inebriated comical mishaps. I remain planted where I stood, confused by the sudden whiplash of events this morning brought forth. I shake my head as for the briefest of moments Prorem almost convinced me I have a future. But what does a bawdy bard, and sincere artist know of celandil?