CHAPTER 17
Ten years ago…
Ventas sat patiently on the floor of the foyer, his hands folded on his lap as he did his very best to listen through layers of ancient stone and tapestry. Despite his determination to gather information, a mess of thoughts and worry kept pulling his mind in different directions, and he was finding it hard to focus.
He massaged the bruise on his arm in absent tenderness, wondering if he would be able to practice his bow with the painful purple spot right where the bowstring recoiled. He’d never needed an arm guard before- his bow wasn’t heavy enough to really warrant one and he was careful to keep his posture correct to avoid the stinging slap of the string- but perhaps he ought to make one now. He didn’t want to think about how badly it would hurt if the string actually got him right now while he was sporting such a pesky bruised spot.
‘If only uncle hadn’t been so rough yesterday,’ He thought bitterly. ‘That wasn’t fair.’
He’d only been trying to help them. Ventas knew that the Champion guard on the wall was old; like his father, the man didn’t move fast, and probably hadn’t seen the girl running to the door in the meadow. What if she’d really needed help? What if the Champion guard took too long to answer her call and they couldn’t save her friends on time? Ventas was fast, so why not go help?
Ventas tried explaining his reasoning to his Uncle, but the man hadn’t understood any of this and had instead been incredibly angry. He’d grabbed him away and dragged him back to the chapel, not slowing down or letting go with his iron grip until they made it back to the office. The same office which he sat outside of now, waiting for his turn to go in and see the man once again, because apparently the scolding he got last night hadn’t been enough.
Ventas shook his head to cast off the distraction and tried to refocus on his mission. Eavesdropping. He pressed his pointy ear to the cold stone wall, closing his eyes in concentration as he tried to pick apart the muffled noise like tangles in a necklace chain. The sound was distorted through layers of thick stone and wooden beam, but he could just barely hear the formal rumbling of the Chairmen speaking to one another.
That’s the old one
That’s my uncle
That is definitely the tall one
Ventas wanted to feel like he was smart for thinking to eavesdrop, but for all his trying, he could only identify the speaker; they might as well have been speaking one of the dead languages for all he could understand.
‘They have got to be talking about those people last night! I wish I was in there!’
He felt the minute shifts in the floor a moment before the clunck of the metal ring knob against the wood of the door tipped him off that his Uncle’s conversation was over. He sat up straight and looked ahead through the large pointed window out into the church yard as innocently as he could, pretending not to notice the great creaking squeal of aged hinges as two chairmen hurried out of Camcenan’s office and down the hall. They looked like they were in a rush. Ventas wondered what was so important…
“Ventas. Come in here please.”
He sighed, taking his time to stand before walking bravely into the dusty office. Ventas didn’t like the way his uncle looked sitting at his father’s desk. He seemed over-groomed in comparison to the rough and simple decorations covering the walls and shelves. He wore very nice clothing all of the time, even when they were not celebrating a holiday, and no matter the weather he always wore long sweeping robes. It was very different to how Ventas’ father used to dress when he was the active Grand Hunter. Maybe it was the difference in age that set them at such polar opposites; Camcenan was several decades younger than his father, and Ventas often wondered if father used to look similar back before he was born. Is time what turned his father into the humble and rugged person he knew? Would his uncle come to the same stage in life, or would he always appear so clinically clean?
Despite all of the polish and grooming he looked tired today, Ventas thought, and for a moment he felt a spark of hope that maybe this would be a short conversation.
“Sit down.” His uncle gestured to the chair in front of him, and Ventas cautiously took it, sinking deep into the vast piece of furniture. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling his sweaty legs stick to the worn leather hide seat.
They were quiet for a second, and Ventas wondered if Camcenan was going to shout at him again. He wondered if maybe the reason he was talking so softly in his meeting was because his throat was hoarse from yelling at him so much the night before.
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‘I hope so. He deserves it.’
“I feel like we may have encountered a misunderstanding last night,” his uncle began.
Ventas perked up at this. Was he about to apologize? Maybe Ventas had misjudged him. Maybe he didn’t deserve to have a hoarse voice…
“Last night I told you that opening the gate had been a foolish thing to do because you are a child. I have done some thinking, and I realized that there is more to it than that. Perhaps you do not understand why.”
His heart sank back to its usual spot.
“The people that you let into the City yesterday were not just weary citizens. They were Champions. Champions, Ventas. And you, a Hunter, invited them into our city.”
Ventas stared at him, waiting for the rest of the sentence, but Camcenan remained silent and continued to scowl right back.
Was he missing something? He knew who the champions were, of course, but he didn’t see why this was a problem. According to his father, the Champions were the magic fighters who worked with the divine. They kept peace inside the walls, used magic to heal and build, and sacrificed their long lives to do it. Sure they believed in different things, but they were nice. At least, that is what his dad always told him. Ventas hadn’t actually met a Champion personally before.
“Do you know what the champions are?” His uncle asked.
Ventas shrugged, worried that if he said something stupid he would get shouted at again. Camcenan sighed and stood.
“Champions are everything wrong with the world, Ventas.” He circled the desk and stopped on the other side, leaning back onto it as he regarded his nephew.
“They deny the gods of our world, and choose instead to worship and elevate the demon in the woods. Thousands of years ago, those demons did not exist. When they arrived in our world, they threw off the balance of nature, usurped our gods, and stole their power. Were it not for the Champions, they would have faded away and returned their ill gotten magics, but because wicked elves sought power, they remained. And now we live like cattle. Champions are the reason we have to stay within the city walls. They are the reason that the demon in the woods has the power to destroy anyone who comes or goes. Why do you think we have to wear our pendants when we fulfill our assigned hunts?”
“So we remain invisible to the power in the woods?” Ventas offered, “But I thought-”
“Precisely!” Camcenan interrupted, “To remain invisible! So the divine won’t touch us. If any of the Hunters in our congregation tried to step foot in the woods without their pendant, they would fall victim to the whims of the demon who hates us!”
“But not mom or I,” Ventas said confidently, finally glad that he knew enough to speak freely. “We are ‘untouchable,’ because we are from the line of original hunters, so we would be safe! Dad told me!”
Camcened crouched down to his eye level, and Ventas suddenly regretted talking. He had said something wrong. He could tell by the deep crease that suddenly formed between his uncle’s brows and in the leather arms of the chair where the man gripped it with his large fingers.
“Did your father happen to mention what would happen to those of us who do not have the protections you enjoy?”
Ventas shook his head again, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut.
“The divine HATES us, Ventas, and he would gladly destroy any who do not worship him. He wants us all dead or under his control so he can steal the remaining power of our ancient gods from us.”
As he hissed the words, he grabbed Ventas by the shoulder and shook him, as if trying to pack sand into a vessel. Ventas attempted to squirm away, but his uncle just tightened his grip and spoke as if he was pleading.
“The Champions are not our protectors! They are the sword the divine holds to the neck of the city. He uses them to threaten the people, to keep them enslaved.”
He let ventas go and stepped back, smoothing his hair and taking a deep breath. Ventas reached up and massaged his shoulder, trying to quiet the sore spots as well as the sudden fear he felt stirring in his chest.
“I- I’m sorry…” He whispered shamefully, “I didn’t know.”
Camcenan held his hands out in finality, “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know. You let another one into the city, and once it heals it will be an incredibly powerful weapon that the divine will use against our people.”
Ventas felt sick. He hadn’t known!
“I just thought that they needed help!”
“The woman is beyond repair. She has been one of them for too long and will likely die a Champion. But the children… They need help, Ventas. And you can give it to them.”
“How?”
“They are not yet part of the demon’s creed. If the woman’s story is true then they are victims of divine cruelty, just as much as we are. They will be staying with us until the Champion woman with them heals. You need to help them understand the danger they are in, and convince them to stay far away from the Champions. We cannot let them fall under the control of the demon.”
Camcenan returned to Ventas’s side and knelt down, placing his hand back on his nephew’s shoulder, this time tenderly, as if comforting a son. Ventas cringed, but didn’t pull away, knowing better than to set his uncle off but wishing away the familiarity.
“Would you be willing to do that for me lad? For your people? Fix your mistake and save these kids?”
Ventas nodded.
“Good. I know that if your father was well he would wish the same of you.”
Ventas wasn’t sure about that. His father never told him about… all of this. Why would he keep such important information to himself? Why wouldn't he have taken the time to warn him? An angry demon in the woods seemed like the kind of thing you warn your children about, and if Ventas had known, maybe he wouldn’t have run to the gate. Wouldn’t have gotten involved.
He was involved now, whether he liked it or not. And soon he would have to become very familiar with a couple of kids who just spent who knows how long in the presence of a demon worshiper.