CHAPTER 14
Ventas felt like he had been dragged through the world of the dead and back again. The only thing keeping him on his feet was the oppressive pressure that came from having over a hundred pairs of eyes staring him down as he stood like an obedient statue, too afraid to move an inch lest someone snap and start throwing things at him.
The second he set foot back in the city- haggard, filthy and covered in blood- the Hunters had been waiting for him. The group of about a dozen high priests hadn’t even let him visit a water basin to wash up before grabbing him by the arms and marching him back to the chapel.
It had taken only a few candle marks to assemble the rest of the congregant council, and now he stood grimy, tired, and nervous as all around him, the city’s most important Hunters sat in their stands and glowered down at him in twisted snarls of anger and skepticism.
He’d told them that he met Birdie in the woods and that the two of them had decided to work together. After recounting the part he played in disabling the controlled hunters, he’d explained that the true enemy had been Gabriel under the control of a foreign divine who was trying to attack the Champions. The thin lie was a sloppy one, and he hoped that no one would try to cross-reference it with a testimony from Birdie herself, but he doubted they would.
Now that he was finished speaking, Vetnas almost wished he was face to face with Gabriel again. He would have to fight him again if it meant he could escape the judgements hanging over his head here.
From high atop the stands, a priest rose to his feet and shook his finger at him.
“If this boy hadn’t gone missing in the first place, we wouldn’t have had to send the searchers after him! We wouldn’t even be in this mess!”
Mumbles of agreement broke out around the room as several other robed priests nodded in agreement.
“He owes us an explanation!”
Ventas had to admit, the elf had a point. The fact of the matter was, it was his fault that the six searchers were ensnared by Gabriel. One of them was still missing, and three of the remaining five were now in the infirmary with heavy wounds (A few of which were from his arrows, but he wasn’t going to tell them that). If he hadn’t gone to see the ritual though, they wouldn’t have been sent after him. And , if he hadn’t fallen from that tree…
“I say it’s not the boy’s fault,” another man interjected, “There is some deeper trickery in this. I suspect the divine is meddling and wants an excuse to draw us out! The ‘foreign divine’ was probably an excuse cooked up by that little brat girl to get you to help her fight your own people!”
This got louder support, and several of the men began clapping. Ventas felt his guts twist in conflict, he wanted to argue for the Champions, but doing so here would be suicide.
The speaker must have seen the expression on Ventas’s face, because he pointed right at him and shouted,
“In fact, I bet it wasn’t a lie but a trick! She must have used demon magic to control you as well!”
“Impossible.” The voice boomed out from the first row, and immediately quelled the rising commotion. Ventas winced minutely, but kept his composure. Enough bright morning sunlight made its way in from the high windows to make it difficult to see directly into the shadow of the chapel from where he stood in the natural spotlight, but Camcenan’s dark eyes glinted with enough icy cruelty that Ventas needn’t see his face to recognize him.
His uncle got to his feet and strode forward into the center of the hall beside him. A hush fell across the rest of the council as the Grand Hunter walked, hands clasped behind his back in theatrical contemplation, preparatory to his speech.
“The divine may have a supernatural grip on the woods, but Ventas is an Untouchable; the divine cannot meddle with those within the direct lineage of the ancient Hunters. As you all know, my nephew here has the blood of our forefathers- an honored trait that entitles him to protection of the gods! The divine cannot touch him, and neither can his minions who hold his magic. No champion or demon could compel him in any way to cooperate with the attack last night.”
“Then he chose to help the Champions!”
The hissed whisper came from behind him. Ventas wasn’t chained to the ground, but he might as well have been for all the courage he had within him. His uncle was not so restrained, and when he whirled on the source of the whisper, Ventas had to suppress another flinch.
“He chose to participate? Is that what you think? He chose to aid the Champions? Did you not hear what he said, my Nephew was trying to rescue his captured brothers!”
Silence.
Camcenan turned to Ventas with a dramatic swish of his cloak.
“Well boy? Were you compelled by the demon?”
“N-No sir.”
The grand Hunter spread his arms wide and smiled diplomatically.
“See? My nephew Ventas was an unfortunate casualty in last night’s attack. But instead of falling to the influence of the divine, he fought it and won. He chose to exercise valiant bravery and drove the demon off himself!”
More muttering, but this time the whispers sounded quizzically impressed. Ventas knew perfectly well that he had played a very small part in the fight. Ammi did most of the work, but he thought better than to correct his uncle right now.
“Those Champions are to blame for the tragedy,” Camcenan continued, circling the stage as he played the room like a lyre.
“They are the ones who brought the threat within our walls. This foreign resides within one of their own- the outsider boy. He was trying to destroy the others, and instead of attacking them directly, the invading demon used our people to sew its destruction.”
Several of the priests shouted protests of outrage, and a few of them let loose curses and insults towards the Champions. Ventas didn’t bother pointing out that the Champions had sustained just as many losses as they had. It wouldn’t matter. Camcenan knew just what to say to redirect the heat, and the Champions were an easy target.
“They are the ones who owe us answers and penance! They are the ones who day after day- allow the threat in the woods to reign over us like the false idol that it is! Why is it- do you think- that the divine allowed this threat to enter his wood? Perhaps he wanted this to happen- or maybe it was he who took over our people!”
More jeers of disgust and anger rose around him as his speech reached its apex.
“Chairmen?” Camcenan turned to the seats beside his own. One of the chairs was occupied by an ancient elf very near his end, and the other was a fresh faced youngster who looked like he would rather be anywhere else than there. Ventas could see himself reflected in the younger chairman. He would be in the same shoes in a few decades, if his uncle ever decided to step down. He could deny the assignment, but to do so would basically mean voluntary alienation. Plus, Ventas doubted Camcenan would stand for it… The young chairman was most likely in the same boat. His predecessor had been his father, another “Untouchable”. He died nearly eight years ago, and his son now stood in his place. The other chairman, the old elf, would probably not last another ten years, and Ventas wondered who would have to step up to take on his role… Would they be eager and willing, or would they to be filled with feelings of inadequacy and resentment?
The two elves stood, the first with some difficulty, and Camcenan addressed them directly, but spoke loud and clear so no one would mistake his words.
“I move that we make plans to meet with the Champions and propose a new framing for their structure. It’s high time someone held those fools accountable for their irresponsible handling of the divine in the woods. We cannot afford another disaster like the one they brought upon us last night.”
The two of them raised hands of agreement, and then the motion was put to the remainder of the counseling priests. It was unanimous.
Ventus's heart fluttered with relief when the voting ceased. He made to take a seat on the bench in the front when a voice croaked out from the back of the chapel. Another old elf, this one leaning heavily on a cane, stared him down with wizened eyes that bulged in their sockets.
“Hold on Camcenan. We have not heard a full account from the boy yet. Why was it that we had to send the searchers after him in the first place? Why did he abandon his post?”
Ventas wished with every fiber of his being that he had magical power so he could bind the tongue and ankles of that stupid old man. He peered tentatively at his uncle, who was regarding the elf with a caged expression.
“You are right, Parks. Apologies.”
He turned to Ventas, and the subtly wicked shape to his smile was communication enough that he better tread very, very carefully.
“Where did you disappear to, my boy?” he asked, his low rough voice kindly yet dangerous.
Ventas gulped, feeling his legs quiver ever so slightly. He wished that he was sitting. Instead he stuffed his hands into his pockets and fiddled with the fraying string therein to stave off the nervous energy that had suddenly multiplied inside of him.
“When I was hunting I spotted a passing buck. I decided to get ahead of it, and fell asleep in the tree while I waited. I fell.” He stated firmly, keeping his eyes glued to the floor.
“I hit my head pretty hard. Woke up in a daze and ran into the girl in the woods. She told me what was going on and I decided to help her.”
“Bah!” the old man scoffed.
“It’s true!” He asserted frantically, looking quickly from his uncle to the disbelieving man.
“She told me that the Hunters were being controlled by another divine! I needed to save them, I couldn’t just leave!”
“You woke up in a daze and still had the wherewithal to fight a demon that bested six competent hunters?”
The old man’s rebuttal was met with more sounds of speculation. Ventas just shrugged helplessly. As much as they didn’t like the lie, they would HATE the truth, and he doubted that the pact he was forced into with Epictus would even let him tell it.
“We all know the tales of old.”
The creaky comment came from the ancient chairmen- Bilduare was his name. Ventas watched as the hunched man sat up straighter in his seat, waiting for the council to realize who had spoken. Once they came to a respectful silence, the elf cleared his throat and continued in a high breathy voice that shook almost as if he were singing.
“The ancient hunters possessed a resilience that we could never imagine. This boy is of their lineage. It is possible that he inherited the wherewithal to beat the demon. It may even be that the gods sought to protect him from befalling the same fate as the hunters who were seized by the divine. Additionally, he holds the talisman of his forefathers, and we all know of the powerful favor this bestows upon the bearer. Our gods protected him; They healed him from his fall and sent him as a protected rescuer for our captured brothers. We should be calling the minstrel to sing his praise, not picking him apart like a criminal.”
Ventas could only stare in blank shock at the old man as another harsh beat of silence echoed through the chapel while the council mulled over Bilduare’s explanation. Before Bilduare could speak again, Camcenan stepped back in, wrenching the conversation back into his control.
“I do not doubt that he has the strength and favor of the gods; he has told me himself of his devotion to the old ways. And for reasons known only to those gods, Ventas was preserved to fight last night. With that threat eliminated, our priority should be the health of our wounded and demanding answers of the Champions.”
Camcenan gave him a permissive nod, and Ventas took the hint. He gave his uncle and the Chairmen the Hunter’s salute of respect, a bow with his right hand over his right eye, and let loose an internal sigh of relief as he finally excused himself to the benches- content at last that he would not be punished for enacting violence (minor as it was) against the controlled hunters.
He chose the spot directly beside Bilduare, wanting to remain in the proximity of someone who didn’t want to hit him, and checked out for the remainder of the meeting. He had to keep catching his head from nodding as the counseling priests worked together to write up a long and angry letter to present to the Champions.
Ventas wondered if it was Ammi who would have to receive it since Shields was probably still recovering… how ironic it was that the Championship now fell to her, an outsider. He wondered what she would think. Honestly, Ammi seemed to distrust the divine almost as much as the Hunters- maybe she would agree to some form of compromise.
His mind continued to wander miserably as he wiled the time away thinking about the night before and wishing for a bath. He was nodding off particularly hard when the scraping of benches and scuffling of feet shook him from his stupor. The council was adjourned, and everyone began filing out.
He leapt up, but a hand caught his wrist and held him before he could escape to his quarters.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
He turned to see Bilduare’s wrinkled old hand retract, and the elf beckoned him to lean closer.
“Yes sir?” he asked softly.
“I was not lying about what I said, young man. I expect great things from you. Your work for our gods is not yet over,” The elf said sagely.
“Few hunters still wield the power of the old ways. Use it to protect your people as you did last night, and the congregation will be in good hands when it falls to you.”
He squeezed Ventas’s arm good naturedly, and waved him away.
Ventas nodded, but felt a sick lump of guilt churn in the pit of his stomach as he shuffled away, pushed by the crowd.
If Bilduare only knew. Ventas hadn't survived because of gifts bestowed upon him by the gods or his ancestors. It wasn’t some trick of his lineage or protection afforded him by his mother that had pulled him from a heap on the forest floor. He had only lived because he was tricked into a pact with the divine, surrendered his blood protection as an ‘untouchable’, and lost his family's heirloom pendant to the mad god in the woods.
When his uncle found out…
Ventas was going to be sick.
He felt a cold sweat prickle on his brow as he hurried his pace, frantically slipping by the ambling priests and hoping to make it out of the chapel hall and into the undercroft where he could get to the safety of his room before anyone else could stop him- or worse- set a minstrel after him.
Finally catching a long-needed bit of luck, he managed to make it to the descending stairs. Ventas pressed through the heavy doors into the cool passage, and let the door swing shut behind him. It felt as if the gods reached down and pulled a heavy burden from his back as the noise of the chapel died away, leaving him alone for the first time in nearly two days.
He hadn’t slept in all that time- unless you counted the brief hours he spent paralyzed and dying on the forest floor. He suspected that the only reason he’d been able to fight the way he had in the meadow was due to some tampering on Epictus’s part. Either way, that surge of energy was gone, and he was desperate to get a bath and some rest before he had to deal with-
“Ventas.”
He froze, legs still trembling beneath him in the chilly stone passage.
“Come here a moment. I would like a word with you.”
The feeling of being weighed down returned as quickly as it had left. Ventas turned obediently back to the door where his uncle stood expectantly and felt the feeling of sickness rise again.
“Come.”
Camcenan grabbed Ventas by the arm and pulled him back up the stairs and into the chapel, which was still filled with visiting priests and stragglers.
His uncle led them through a recessed door off the main room and into a side hall towards his office. Ventas knew better than to ask any questions. They passed by rows of pointed windows, and the blinding summer light that streamed in sheets to the floor felt like they were placed there just to send aching daggers into Venta’s head. He was so tired. Finally they reached the office, and Camcenan opened the door, ushering Ventas inside without another word.
The room was bright until his uncle strode behind his desk and drew long dusty curtains over the towering window. The dark was a relief, but Ventas knew what was coming, so he didn’t bother appreciating it. Instead, he stood obediently in the center of the worn rug and waited for the other shoe to drop.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed you descended from bards of speechcraft, and not Hunters…” Camcenan looked at him venomously, but Ventas remained silent.
“Do you think I can’t see through you? Do you think I would just cover for you and let you go on your way?” His uncle hissed, barely suppressing the shout Ventas knew he so desperately wanted to unleash.
Unable to think of anything else to say, Ventas chewed his lip, wincing slightly as the cut on his chin tugged with a painful sting.
“Thank you uncle-”
“Thank you? You think I did that for you?”
Camcenan advanced, and Ventas shrunk back, which only worsened the rage of his uncle.
“Our Hunters were attacked by the Champions! And you showed up on their side! Do you have any idea what that looks like to our people?”
Ventas nodded, unsure if this was one of his uncle’s rhetorical questions he didn’t actually want answers to.
“It looks like you lured them out!” Camcenan shouted, apparently no longer concerned about being overheard as he jabbed his finger painfully into Ventas’s shoulder.
Veins stood out on his neck as the elf doubled down. Ventas was not a small person by any means, but Camcenan had several hundred years on him. Additionally, Ventas was an assigned Hunter, and his day to day routine meant he was built with lean strength, unlike his uncle who now towered before him.
“IT LOOKS LIKE YOU DID THIS!”
“I didn’t-”
“That doesn't matter!” with the latest burst of anger, Camcenan finally snapped.
The pain from his slap ripped across Ventas’s face, but with it came twisted relief. At least he wasn’t waiting any more. At least he didn’t need to keep anticipating it. Ventas staggered a bit, but remained standing, aware that shying away would only make it worse.
“THEY NEED TO TRUST YOU VENTAS!” He shouted, “YOU ARE NEXT IN LINE AND WE CANNOT AFFORD TO LET THEM SEE YOUR WEAKNESS!”
“I am sorry.”
Camcenan glowered at him, balling his fists.
“Answers. Now.”
“I really did fall from a tree.” Ventas admitted in exasperation, his voice quavering.
Control yourself idiot! He thought in disgust. Don’t make this worse. Be a man.
“And you expect me to believe that you just took a little nap and got up after an entire day? Our people were worried about you! The families you were assigned to provide for went hungry! Because, as you would have me believe, you were unconscious for an entire day, only to get up and walk it off before entering a fight?”
“No. I...”
Ventas’s mind raced. One way or the other, his uncle was not going to be satisfied with the version of events he shared in the council. He would have to tell the truth- or at least as much of the truth as Epictus would let him.
“I wasn’t unconscious the entire time,” he admitted slowly, searching for the bounds of his pact as he spoke.
“I think I broke my back.”
His uncle struck him again, and this time Ventas had to take a few steps to steady himself. The zing across the cut on his chin stung, and he saw fresh blood on his hand when he pulled it away.
“What do you take me for? You disgusting child. You’re Just like your mother.” Camcenan spat, walking back to his desk where he lowered himself into his chair, breathing in rage.
“Filthy liar.”
Ventas straightened up and glared back at his uncle as a rush of white hot hatred flooded his body.
You didn’t think so poorly of us when you married her, He thought acidly.
Venta’s father had been the previous Grand Hunter. He was much older than most when Ventas was born, and he passed on when he was only a child. His mother was the one with the lineage tied to the ancient Hunters, but as a woman she was forbidden from taking the position as leader. Camcenan, Venta’s father’s younger brother, had graciously stepped in, married his mother, and taken the title as Grand Hunter Regent (A title he conveniently shortened.) It had been like this ever since, and Ventas learned quickly how to participate in his uncle's delicate dance of emotions to keep from getting his toes stepped on. But as he stood there holding his face and listening to Camcenan's words about his mother, Ventas suddenly forgot the tactics built into him over years of trial.
“I am not lying.” He growled, barely containing his own anger now, "I'm telling the truth!"
“And you would have me believe that you were preserved by the gods? Healed of a mortal wound? Why would they? You are as much a disappointment to them as they are to your people.”
The sudden urge to act was so overwhelming that Ventas found himself taking several steps towards the man before he realized what he was doing. He had to physically stop himself before he upended his uncle's desk.
What had gotten into him? Was it the fatigue? The nerves?
Camcenan caught the act of defiance and his eyes bulged in anger.
“I am not like your father, Ventas.” He hissed. “I don’t think the gods show favoritism. And I sure as hells don’t believe you are special. A traitor, maybe, but chosen by the gods? Don’t make me laugh.”
“I’m not a traitor,” Ventas growled, but even as he said it, he doubted the validity of the claim. He didn’t feel like a traitor, but hadn’t he already turned his back on the ways of the hunters? Their first law was to stay away from the divine. He’d been breaking that for years, not to mention all of their minor commands that he disavowed privately, and broke daily just by existing as a Hunter who sympathized with the Champions. And now he had completely betrayed the faith by allowing Epictus to command him…
“I actually did break my back,” He asserted, fighting to control the roiling anger that threatened to push him over the edge.
“I was dying in the woods, but before the earth took me, I wa-was raised- b- by.”
There it was. The Binding of his pact.
Epictus would not let him speak about their promise, even the parts that revealed no secrets on the divine’s part. Ventas’s tongue stuck in his mouth, and he felt his throat tighten and burn as the magical constraints prevented him from betraying his master.
“Raised?” Camcenan asked. His look of confusion lasted but a moment before realization took him, and he stood abruptly. His chair went crashing back, and he walked around the table, seizing Ventas by the face, his thumb digging into the deep but on his chin.
Ventas stopped trying to speak and found relief from the binding in his mouth. As he gasped, his uncle searched his face, brows knit in furious curiosity.
“You met the damned thing, didn’t you?” He whispered in disbelief.
Ventas shuddered. Still unable to open his mouth, he nodded.
His uncle swore and shoved him away, backtracking several paces as he shook his head in disbelief.
“You forsook your birthright?” Camcenan screamed, seizing a vial from off his desk he hurled it at Ventas. It missed him, shattering on the wall behind him and showering the side of his face that flinched away with specs of dark ink.
“SO IT IS BETRAYAL!”
“I didn’t mean to!” Ventas shouted back, but Camcenan was beyond reason.
“IT DOES NOT MATTER IF YOU MEANT TO OR NOT. OUR PEOPLE WILL NOT HAVE A LEADER WHO SITS IN THE PALM OF THE FOREST DEMON!”
“I-,” Ventas choked. He wanted to defend himself, but his uncle was right. He was next in line as the Grand Hunter, the only child of his lineage, and one of the few remaining ‘untouchables’ left. He had, essentially, sold his birthright and removed himself from the responsibility of the church.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know!” He cried. “I was just praying! I was paralyzed- bargaining with the gods to save my life- desperate! I-I didn’t knnnow th-the divine-e was list-st-ening…” he choked weakly.
“You shouldn't have bargained at all.” Camcenan hissed.
The sting of his words hurt worse than any of the blows he’d taken over the past two days. Ventas felt his eyes burn as he studied his feet in shame, allowing his mouth to unbind from straying too close to the pact as his treachery pulled him lower than he’d ever felt.
Camcenan finally broke the silence as he held his hand out in demand.
“Give it to me.”
“What?”
“Your pendant. Give it to me. I will not have demon spawn living among my people. I want you out of my chapel.”
Vetnas felt his blood run cold.
“Wait, you can’t-”
“You broke our laws! You sold your life to the demon! You betrayed your responsibility to the people of this city and you have no right to worship among them, let alone lead them!”
He strode forward and grabbed Ventas by the collar of his shirt, yanking it down to expose his bare chest.
“Where is it?” He asked in cold furey.
Ventas wished he could evaporate like the morning dew in the sun. He wished he had died on that forest floor. He wished he had never met Birdie and Gabriel, never spied on the divine.
“It’s gone,” He admitted in despair. “He took it.”
Camcenan’s face went pale.
Every Hunter family had a blessed token of protection. Those who entered the forest to hunt were required to carry it, and each family was required to send a youngling to act as an “Assigned Hunter.” The talismans and pendants were gifts from the gods to protect the people as they provided for the congregation; these tokens of protection were sacred, but not nearly as significant as the one Ventas had lost to the divine. It was the pendant of the Grand Hunter, their oldest artifact, imbued with the power of the gods.
And now it was in the hands of Epictus.
“Hericy.” Camcenan muttered, genuine fear in his eyes as his face went pale.
“Excommunication be damned, you will be hanged for this! And I,” He blanched, taking a step back as the full ramifications of Ventas’s mistake hit him. There was no chance the people would allow him to remain their leader, not with his nephew as a traitor and he left with no heir to offer to the church.
“I can get it back!” Ventas pleaded, hardly believing that his uncle, cruel as he was, was ready to execute him for his mistake.
“It’s part of my p-pact.”
“Oh what,” Camcenan shouted in disgust. “He will return it to you if you betray your people and sell them over to your demon master? Is that it?”
“No! He doesn’t want the people!” Ventas shot back, “He doesn’t care about the Hunters at all! He is sending me away from the city to f- find somet-thing.”
Camcenan’s eyes flashed, and in them, Ventas did not see rage or fear, but something else. Something far more sinister lurked amidst the desperation and fear.
Hope.
“He is having you leave? Where?”
“I can’t say.” He knew that much was true without binding his own tongue.
Camcenan paced, running his fingers through his well groomed hair and causing strands to fall around his face.
“We can still fix this- you and I.”
As he spoke, Ventas's uncle seemed to be reeling his unhinged panic back in as he smoothed his robes and slicked his hair back quickly. He pulled his chair upright and took a seat, producing a spare bottle of ink from within the intricately carved drawers.
“Because the pendant isn't totally lost, I will not cast you out just yet. I understand that you are… constrained, by the contract you made with the demon.” He spoke calmly, dipping a pen in the inkwell and writing slowly on a scroll of parchment. Ventas could hardly believe the sudden bout of mercy, but the shift in tone left him feeling on edge. They had once again, danced back into that place of uncertainty. Ventas wasn’t sure whether his uncle was about to release him, or strike him.
“If you do as I say, you should be able to adhere to all of the obligations binding you, and earn a place within our sect once more. You will, of course, obey this holy calling, will you not?”
The Grand Hunter looked up at him through the tops of his eyes, and Ventas felt the cruel arm of hope grasping at his chest now. At the same time, a sharp sting blossomed behind his right eye and he winced, bringing his hand up to his face in fear.
“What do you think the little devil is up to?” The voice of Epictus whispered in his mind.
Ventas felt as if his heart had flopped out of his body onto the floor. The divine was watching him! Had he been there this whole time?
The shaking in his legs redoubled as he stood frozen, unable to say anything to his uncle or to the divine as a viscous cocktail of shame, embarrassment, anger, swept over him.
Camcenan saw Ventas standing, bowed forward with his hand over his right eye in the Hunter salute, and he smiled.
“Good. Take a seat. I have something I need you to deliver for me.”
“Go ahead.” Epictus whispered. “My fatal flaw is curiosity- something we have in common. I don’t feel like striving for character development today so we might as well see what he wants.”