Fifth of Harvest

The Kingdom of Svaleta was named for its capital nestled in a valley opposite where the Archon crossed Lustria's southwestern border. It was still an important trading city, a sprawling metropolis of people of all races. Atop the western hills sat the king's palace, a towering monument of gold and stone. The road leading to the gates was lined with crimson-robed guards, elite troops who gave blood vows to defend the king and his family. Attack dogs wandered the palace grounds, powerful creatures bred for their vicious look and lethality. The previous king had been grievously wounded in an attempted assassination, and his son-successor, Farhad Orinor, had taken liberty to ensure that it would not happen again. Despite the security, he was regarded as a peaceful king. He had come to power at thirty when his father could not bear the pain of his injuries any longer, and had done little to alter the Kingdom's trajectory. The Army's conscription rates had increased slightly, taxes had remained steady, and the western labour camps had quietly grown without much notice. For all his outward peace, though, Farhad had long held secret fears for the Kingdom's future. The day Belkai crossed the border was a week before harvest in Rignar's Hold, and the timing was not lost on Farhad as he listened to his general's report on the fight at Narandir.

"And you are certain that they didn't simply stumble on some orcs in the night?" Farhad attempted to be dismissive as he sat on his throne. It was solid gold, with crimson leather along the centre. Its arms ended in tigers' faces, snarling teeth confronting all who bowed before him. The chief of the army, General Alihad, stood at the head of an oak table. Seated behind him were Farhad's senior advisors and Alihad's aides. There was a time when all who entered the Throne Room had given their reports while bowing before the king. Farhad had found that the more comfortable his advisors were, the better their advice became. So reverence had taken a step into the background for the sake of clear counsel.

"I saw the creature myself," Alihad answered, his body tense. "At least, what was left after they burned the abomination. I have not seen anything like it. Were it only orcs, I would not have ridden through the night to return."

"We've always kept the Forest's threat as nothing more than a rumour," Farhad's political advisor said from where he slouched in his chair slowly eating a bowl of red grapes. "The beast's presence threatens that stability."

And it only attacked when you were already visiting the troops at the Forest, Farhad thought, but kept silent. The timing was strange indeed.

"The fear has been useful to keep people away from Narandir," Alihad confirmed. "We've had no conflict with the inhabitants. But smugglers still brave the danger. And the ferals still cross our lands. We all knew that this day would come."

"A week from harvest," the economic advisor pointed out, voicing Farhad's concerns. "We cannot ignore that."

"The Hold is a week's march from Narandir," Alihad shot back, taking his seat. "A lone creature is not a threat to our food supply." He waved his hand dismissively. "The timing is a coincidence. The threat is, as ever, to the northwest."

"Your fear of the elves is almost warmongering, General," Farhad cautioned. "One could say that your troop movements would be a trigger for any true conflict. We have not fought for a hundred years."

"Every year their bandits raid our farms, pillage our people," Alihad said quietly. It was a fight he never won, but he had sworn an oath to serve his people, the king's complacency be damned. "If they don't pay them, they at least permit them free access to the border. That is an act of war."

"And we have fortified Larton. And we have increased deployments to the Hold. And we have strengthened our border defences." Farhad counted off on his fingers as he listed his responses. "At some point, we cannot blame the elves for our own failures."

The king lifted his hand to cut off Alihad's angry reply. "That is enough for now. Monitor the situation, report to me if more of these creatures are found. I do not fear the Forest, and I will not burn it for one stray animal."

As the general led his entourage out of the room, Farhad beckoned to his political advisor and whispered,

"Despite what I've said, the creature puzzles me. Send for the Prophetess."

* * *

Her name had once been Siara, but it was long forgotten to all but her own mind. She had been born to a priestess in the Temple, raised behind its walls, and at the age of forty she'd been given the title 'Prophetess of the Sun'. It was more than a title; people came from across the Kingdom to hear what the divine spoke through her. For some she had deep insight. For others, she said what they wished to hear. Usually, they couldn't tell the difference. It was a shame, really, in her mind. Whatever rational thoughts they may have had on innumerable subjects, once she entered the room they became the most extreme of mystics. She sighed as she looked out her window at the city. The Temple was a humble place despite many kings' attempts to make it glorious. White spires rose into the sky on each corner, put to shame by the central tower that held the Prophetess' chambers. From here she could see into the southern reaches of Lustria, catch a glimpse of Rignar's Hold, or look to the southern horizon. The world was her backdrop, speech her art. As was custom, she wore a pure white dress that covered her from the neck to her ankles, the lowest fringe hanging a mere inch above the ground, unstained yet just a misstep from contact with the dirt. A symbol of her order; apart from the world yet always in touch. Pure yet dwelling alongside the filthy. There were many spiritual beings that the nations honoured, some of whom could be considered 'gods'. Collectively, they had long been regarded as the 'Arcane'. Siara's order followed the teachings of one of the purer Arcane, who called for service to the needy. Maintaining the balance of service and purity was never a simple matter.

Siara was stirred by her door softly opening. She turned to see a purple-clad handmaiden kneeling in the doorway.

"Apologies, Milady," the handmaiden said. "The King has requested your presence."

Siara sighed. "The King requests much."

She turned back to the window. The palace was off to the right, only a short walk from the Temple. So close, and yet worlds apart. Farhad's father had made little use of Siara's talents, preferring to rely on his advisors. His economic mismanagement had resulted in a vial of acid sprayed across him during a parade. The wounds had been too grievous for him to continue his reign. Farhad had followed his father's economic footsteps but consulted Siara far more regularly. Too regularly, in her mind. He'd come to rely on her for the smallest decisions. It was amazing, how fragile kings could be.

"Milady?"

"Yes, I know. I distract too easily." Siara smiled at her. Her habits were well known to the handmaidens, but they had learned to be paragons of patience. All the better for their charity work amongst the needy. "Inform the king that I have no message for him. Tell him to be at peace with his heart."

The handmaiden's head jerked up, her eyes wide. Siara laughed.

"His messenger will deliver the message, little one. You don't need to fear. His ego is not something for you to face."

The girl left without another word, and Siara couldn't help but laugh again. Kings were simple to deal with, she'd discovered. Since she was a little girl, she'd watched them visit the Temple or summon the Prophetess to their palace. No Prophetess had ever been awed by them despite their power or their wealth. No bribe had ever been accepted or gift exchanged. Yet the people feared them; feared their wrath, feared their jealousy. No, Siara thought as she watched Farhad's messenger mount his horse for the ride back to the palace, from time to time the most powerful had to be reminded that they did not rule everything in their land. They could move armies, but they could not make the sun stand still. Farhad could wait. The anger would do him well.

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She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on her face. She took a deep breath and found her mind filled with thoughts of running rivers. It was a peaceful image, but underneath she felt a twinge of dread.

* * *

Belkai was surprised at how little pain she felt. Since crossing the Archon, they'd walked for nearly a day with only a small rest. Only now had Milton called for a stop by a brook to refill their water bladders. Except for some buildings on the distant horizon, all that she could see was empty farmland. Kneeling by the water, Belkai splashed some across her face, welcoming the refreshing cold. She lifted her head to see Milton staring at her, a smile on his face.

"Do you need something?" she asked, wiping her face dry. Her hands dropped over her knees, her eyes locked onto Milton's.

"I was thinking about things, boss." He glanced away and sniffled. "We'll have a dangerous journey ahead. And we're putting in a lot of effort to not be noticed. We'll have to bribe a few guards along the way too if we're going to remain invisible."

Belkai's eyes narrowed. She'd had a hunch that this would happen, but she had expected that he might wait at least a few days. Scoundrels know no shame, she reminded herself. A voice in her head whispered, give him nothing but what he earns.

"What are you saying?" she asked. She stood up straight and crossed her arms. "I'm not paying you enough?"

"I look at you and I see a woman of means with strange requests who is oblivious to the real world here," Milton said, his voice still level. "And I wonder if maybe there's a price on her head."

Belkai glanced over at the buildings on the horizon. A guard post? Or just the farmer's homestead? Would they hear screaming? Was it worth the noise?

"And what do you ask of me?" Belkai asked, turning back to face her guide.

"See, there's a lot of open bounties at the moment," Milton said, one hand slowly creeping onto his sword. "Too many to remember, but it's an interesting time here in the Kingdom. And you could get quite a few bags of silver for the right catch."

"So you want more money for my privacy?" Belkai raised an eyebrow. "You're that simpleminded?"

"Not just your money." Milton shrugged. "I'll take everything you carry. Call it appropriate payment for services rendered."

He slipped his sword halfway out of his scabbard and took a step forward. "It's nothing personal, you see. Life's getting hard for some of us."

"You have your own bounty."

Milton shrugged indifferently. "And it's too much risk to take the trek you've asked for, let's be honest about that."

Belkai didn't respond for a few seconds. Finally, without saying a word, she slowly pulled back her cape, revealing two Aliri daggers clipped to her belt. The sun sparkled off blades sharp enough to cut bone. She made no move to grasp the obsidian handles, but she bent her legs slightly, ready to spring forward.

"I'm willing to bet that you don't know how to use those," Milton growled. Belkai just smiled as she let the cloak drop back into place. She stood up straight and held her hands at her side. Milton frowned as a dim green light seemed to emanate from between her fingers.

"The difference between me and you, scum, is that I don't need a blade."

He was still watching her fingers when a column of water smacked him in the chest and knocked him to the ground. Belkai didn't hesitate as she snatched up her pack and threw it across her shoulders before running into the field away from the distant buildings. Her heart pounded as she fought off a panic. You won't get away, a voice whispered in her mind, and as if in confirmation she heard Milton close behind, yelling curses after her. Coming to a halt, Belkai dropped to her knees and put her hands to the ground. She could hear him approaching, felt his fury overpowering the caution that should have followed his earlier surprise. You won't get away, the voice said again.

Belkai turned as Milton raised his sword, and time seemed to freeze.

* * *

The king's response came an hour after Siara had declined his request. She closed a book and stood as a handmaiden quietly entered the room and bowed. It was an ancient custom, which Siara had no patience for but also had no power to change.

"The king has answered," Siara said, leaning on her reading desk. "And I imagine he's not happy."

"He wishes to remind you that the throne holds sway over all affairs of the Kingdom," the handmaiden said, her voice trembling.

"Stand," Siara ordered. The handmaiden did so hesitantly, back straight with her arms folded at her waist. She must have been no more than sixteen, already conformed to the Temple's rules. It was a shame. The Temple had its rewards, but sometimes Siara wondered if there was something more in the world around them. For a moment, Siara studied her, then beckoned for her to follow her to the window. When the girl joined her, she asked,

"What is your name?"

"My name?" It wasn't a question that was often asked. Siara nodded without looking.

"Sashai."

"Well, Sashai, tell me what you see."

The girl took a few moments to take in the view. "I see a world full of connections. Everyone depends on others. A constant cycle of give and take."

Siara watched her out of the corner of her eye. Sashai was studying the distant people with her bright hazel eyes, not moving a muscle. To the Prophetess' surprise, she kept speaking.

"But there's a peace about them. As if the valley gives them security from the dangers that they know exist out there." She crinkled her nose. "It's peculiar. They aren't ignorant. Do they choose to be oblivious?"

"Some find it easier to ignore what lies outside the city," Siara told her. "You'll learn that with time."

"May I ask you a question?" Hesitation had crept back into her voice. Siara nodded her assent. "Why do you not fear the king?"

Siara couldn't help but smile. "You said that everyone out there is connected. And you're right. Whether it's through commerce, or relationship, everyone lives in a network. At the centre sits the king. With a word he can end their lives or make them rich beyond imagination. He holds more power than even he is aware of.

"But when he commands me, he steps outside his realm. My purpose is to advise and support, not submit. His power comes from his position. He speaks and people acknowledge his authority. But ours comes from a higher plane. That's the difference – the source."

Siara shook her head. "If he ever understands that he will find peace."

"And he has no peace." The hesitation was gone from Sashai's voice. That was an improvement.

"He lacks his father's certainty. That's a blessing and a curse. He might find his way, but perhaps by then it'll be too late."

Siara stepped away from the window and put a hand on Sashai's shoulder.

"Come to me this time each day. You have a lot to learn, but you're wise beyond your years."

Sashai had the grace to blush, but she nodded and quietly left. Only then did Siara realise that she hadn't given a response to the king. That led to another laugh. Sometimes silence was its own answer.

* * *

Belkai's breaths came in shallow gasps. Milton was stretched out before her, his lifeless eyes open wide. There was still no sign of life around them. She glanced at the body, numb to the violent scene before her. She realised that she had no way of burying the body, and there was no sense pulling out grass to cover him. She'd have to leave him for the birds. He didn't deserve much better anyway. She sat down, crossing her legs and closing her eyes. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stop thinking. A small pain started in the back of her neck, and she felt as if she were weightless. Everything went pitch black.

She felt hot breath against her neck and forced herself to stay still. It had begun. Her body was still, but her mind was in another's realm. Something moved in the darkness, but she stayed looking straight ahead.

"You kill again," a voice hissed. "It seems you have a dark streak within you, little one."

"I do as you bid," Belkai whispered, a slight shake entering her voice. "I did as you commanded."

"Not him, not the guide," the voice replied. "That was your own doing."

"It was self-defence!"

A hand wrapped around the back of her neck, ice cold to the touch. The Tormentor seemed to lean in close. "We both know it was more than that. You enjoyed it, didn't you? You liked what you felt, you enjoyed feeling his heart stop."

"What do you want?" Belkai snapped. The hand retreated, but the voice remained.

"Look down."

She obeyed, and bit back her anger. Her clothes were stripped away. She stood exposed, but made no move to cover herself.

"I see you, all of you. All that you are, child," the voice hissed. "Remember our bargain, Belkai. That is all I ask. And remember my darkness is now yours."

With a start, Belkai's eyes flew open. The sun had dropped lower in the sky, but all was still. She steadied her breathing and stood up. It was time to keep moving. The Tormentor would find her again, but she needed distance from what she had done.

The bargain had been struck; the curse had been placed. Her fate was sealed with every step she took towards the south.