Amara was still seated beside Evander an hour or so later, lost in thought about everything that’d happened over the past few days. Exhaustion needled her, and the idea of falling asleep in a soft bed sounded wonderful, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a chance to simply sit down in peace for a while. Rest could wait until she’d at least come up with a plan for the immediate future.
I don’t have the faintest clue about where we even are, she realized. As far as I know there’s no deserts anywhere near Shiloh. We could be a thousand miles or more away from both Shiloh and Lucyra.
A quiet knock sounded at the door, breaking her from reverie. Sunjata opened it, taking a few steps forward into the room.
“You’re still awake?” Amara asked him, frowning.
“We all are, it seems, except for your friend. Master Sattami has invited you to meet him in his room since you are both still awake.”
“...Right. And how exactly did he know I wasn’t asleep?”
“He knows many things. Should I tell him you aren’t available?”
Amara was taken aback. “You’re saying I have a choice?”
“You are guests here.”
She looked over at Evander, trying to decide.
If we’re already in a trap, then where’s the harm in going a little deeper? she asked herself. But should I go and talk to this person without Evan? I already feel so outnumbered.
“Well?” Sunjata asked.
A sigh exploded from her, and she rose slowly to her feet.
I shouldn’t ignore a chance to learn more about what’s going on.
“Lead on,” she said, resigned.
He nodded to her, and turned about to leave. Amara followed him out of the room, and wasn’t terribly surprised to see him headed for the stairwell at the end of the hallway. She followed along, filled with a growing sense of dread, but also more than a little curious about the person who’d healed Evander.
The ceiling was only a few inches above her head as she followed him up the stairs. They were also barely wide enough for one person, and the sheer tightness of the climb began to make her feel claustrophobic. Something about the cramped conditions made her realize that she hadn't seen a single window anywhere in Raven’s Roost so far. It made sense, considering it was built into what was essentially a small mountain, but something about the idea of being in a compact, completely windowless building made her feel uneasy.
The smell of incense grew stronger as they climbed, and it became almost overwhelming by the time the stairs deposited them onto a small landing with a heavy-looking wood door.
“Apparently Master Sattami is a really big fan of incense,” she said.
“You’ll get used to it,” Sunjata replied easily. There was a surprising amount of sympathy in his voice, an implication that his own first experience with Sattami’s incense had been similar to hers.
He opened the door and took a few steps inside. Amara peeked past him to get a glimpse of the room beyond, and made eye contact with a very distinguished looking old man who had a tremendously long gray beard. He was seated in a splendid throne-like chair behind a handsome wood desk.
“Our guest is here to see you, as you requested,” Sunjata said.
“You have my gratitude, Sun. I would like to speak with her alone, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Sattami’s voice was so deep and gravelly with age that it took Amara a few moments to parse what he’d said. At length she took his statement as her cue to enter the room. Sunjata gave Sattami a respectful half-bow, then stepped around Amara to quietly exit the room.
“It is good to finally meet you,” Sattami said mildly.
She responded with a short, quiet hum in acknowledgement while scanning the rest of the room. It was fairly small and rectangular in shape, with brown carpeting and bookcases chock full of unlabeled hidebound books lining every wall. Sattami’s desk was positioned right before the door, but off to both sides sat several pieces of furniture, including a reddish brown loveseat and a small, simple bed just large enough for one person. It was very hard to believe that the master of Raven’s Roost had such a modest bedroom, and something about it made her want to keep looking around.
His desk was almost blank save for a single inkpot, with a quill clearly made from a raven’s feather, and the source of the incense. A beautiful metal censer expelling tiny wisps of smoke sat beside the inkpot, and Amara discovered that she could feel the tiny flames burning within it, even sense the sticks inside which served as its slow-burning fuel.
Sattami appeared to be studying her just as hard as she was studying his room. His hair and beard were both incredibly long and entirely gray, concealing most of his face behind a mask of hair. Amara had known many elderly people—almost every family in Shiloh had a few surviving grandparents except for her own—but she’d never met someone who exemplified old age like Sattami.
She quickly realized that something was off about his robes. They were very similar in style to Sunjata’s robes but colored in shades of black, and they obviously didn’t fit him very well. They seemed significantly oversized, as though he’d recently lost a great deal of weight.
Can he really not get properly fitting clothing out here? she wondered. Her thoughts turned briefly to her own blood-stained and dusty clothing until Sattami spoke up.
“Please, have a seat. I know how hard recent events have been for you.”
“I’d rather stand, thanks.”
“I promise that the couch is quite comfortable.”
“I’m not worried about that,” she scoffed. “I just don’t trust old men with huge beards and strange names.”
Sattami leveled a deep frown upon her. “...I see! What a disappointing tack for you to take. This may be our first time meeting in-person, but nevertheless I’ve done quite a lot for you, young lady. You’ve grown to become a very ungrateful and standoffish young woman.”
She glowered at him, then lowered her gaze to the quill resting in the inkpot, and something about focusing on the raven’s feather finally made everything click into place. All the things that’d happened since she’d first arrived in the desert would make so much more sense if Sattami wasn’t really who he seemed to be. Or what he seemed to be.
Why would this sandy rockpile in the middle of nowhere be called Raven’s Roost? she asked herself. Because this old man likes ravens? Yeah, right.
“I must say that such rudeness reflects poorly on your parents,” he continued. “They’ve clearly done subpar work with you.”
“I only have one parent, actually. My mother. And she’s a very good mother, but you already knew that.”
“Pardon me?”
Amara was sure of it now. “That’s why I thought your name was so weird. You just rearranged the letters to make Sattami. You’re not fooling me anymore…Mattias.”
A loaded silence fell between them. Amara stared at Sattami, daring him to deny it with her gaze. His continued silence seemed like an admission.
Eventually, he made a loud, disappointed click of his tongue, something that seemed completely out of place for such an old man. When he spoke again his voice was entirely different, still deep but not nearly as gravelly.
“...Hm. I've underestimated you.”
A point of blinding white light then appeared on his chest, quickly spreading and reaching out all across his body. Amara instinctively raised a protective hand up to her eyes, and squeezed them shut as light filled up the room. A low humming noise rose into the air from behind the desk, growing so loud as to almost cause her ears pain, until it abruptly stopped.
Hesitating, she cautiously opened her eyes and lowered her hand. The light and noise were gone, and a new person sat behind the desk. He was clean shaven and had short jet black hair, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His age was a bit difficult to determine, but he was clearly a young man; barrel chested, and obviously muscular beneath his robes, which now looked to fit him perfectly. Amara guessed him to be somewhere in his twenties, maybe closer to thirty than twenty. There was a hard to place detachment in his expression, as though he wasn’t entirely present.
The man took a moment to straighten out his robes before leveling a steady gaze on Amara.
“My plan was always for you to figure it out, but I have to admit that I’m surprised at just how quick you were about it,” he said, adding: “I do like surprises. They’ve become so rare in recent centuries.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“You’re Mattias,” she said flatly.
“Yes. It’s good to finally meet you face to face, so to speak. This meeting has been a very long time coming.”
He can completely change what he looks like, she realized. He’s been a human this whole time.
Another realization followed, and this one was so shocking that she blurted it out as a question before she could think better of it.
“Are you Shaitan?”
Irritation briefly passed through his expression. “Does it matter?”
“...What? Does it matter if you’re the thirteenth Seraphim?” she asked with growing outrage. “Does it matter if you’re the wolf who almost killed Evan a few hours ago?!”
Mattias settled back in his chair with a slight frown, as though what she’d said was more of a minor annoyance than a serious accusation. Amara shot a glance at the censer, and relief washed over her with the reassurance that she had a weapon handy.
“Hmm. Thirteen Seraphim,” he said bitterly. “Thirteen. Even before the Cataclysm, that number was seen as unlucky in certain parts of the human sphere. But the opposite was true in other places, and in others more that number held no special significance whatsoever.”
“Answer me!” she shouted, but he continued on as though she’d said nothing at all.
“Kings and Queens, Emperors and Empresses. Seraphim and Nephilim. Titles have always been the property of the rich and powerful, one of many possessions they use to delude themselves into thinking they have more power over death than the commoners they also own. They hope it means their life might somehow last beyond its end—and I suppose it might, from a deluded point of view. I’ve had many names and titles forced on me over the years, and on occasion I’ve even adopted a few as I happened to feel was necessary, but….”
He trailed off for a moment, and Amara discovered she’d been holding her breath.
“...Yes. Shaitan is one of the names I’ve been known by.”
An intense wave of fear washed over her, but once it passed she was surprised at how relatively calm she felt. He’d just admitted to being the worst, most evil being who’d ever existed, the avowed enemy of God and his agents on earth. But it was all too much of an abstraction for her to really care about. She was much more worried about his ability to change form, and how that might’ve meant he’d been the one who almost killed Evan.
“Answer my question,” she threatened. “I won’t ask again.”
“Oh, please. You think I don’t know that you can control the tiny flames burning in this incense? I know everything about you. I’ve been watching over you for your entire life, and over Shiloh even longer! Of course I didn’t hurt Evander, you silly girl.”
“I’m not silly, or stupid. I know that wolf was a person. I could feel it when it looked at me.”
“It was one of Shabboleth’s minions who attacked you,” came Mattias’s quick reply. “Maybe the wolf was a man at some point before undergoing a transformation, or perhaps it was created with sentience in order to make it a better hunter. It’s hard to say, but neither method is beyond Shabboleth’s abilities. However it happened, it was permanent for the wolf. I can change my appearance at will, but that creature will be locked into its form for as long as it lives.”
Amara wasn’t convinced. “You were gone for days. Do you honestly expect me to believe any of this?”
“I spent that time trying my best to keep it away from you. The wolf arrived at Shiloh along with Shabboleth’s soldiers, it was just waiting to see how things played out before involving itself. For a time after the events in the temple I even assumed your form, and led it on a chase well away from Shiloh. Unfortunately it discovered my ruse before you could get far enough away.”
A deep frown crossed Amara’s face, and she rubbed her forehead, trying to think. His story made some sense, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still lying about some or even all of it. He was clearly capable of setting up complicated deceptions—after all, he’d already deceived her many times. But for what reason would he suddenly attack them in wolf form? And then have Sunjata bring them to his home, even tend to Evan’s wounds? The wounds he caused?
I think I mostly believe him, she decided. It wouldn’t make any sense for him to attack us just to save us right afterwards. What could he possibly stand to gain from doing something so contradictory?
“I told you once before, but I should say it again,” Mattias said. “I’m very sorry that I had to hide so much from you.”
“Are you reading my mind?!” she blurted out, horrified that she’d briefly forgotten his telepathy.
“No, I can't do it in the way you’re suggesting. In order to communicate through thought we both have to direct our minds towards one another.”
“Why the hell were you an old man when I walked into this room? You’re still trying to deceive me?!”
“To prepare you for what’s ahead. The Seraphim are incredibly strong, far stronger than you can currently imagine. There are no limits to what they’ll do in order to protect their power, no fakeries they won’t attempt. They'll see what I see in you, Amara, it’s inevitable, and once they do they’ll try anything to destroy you.”
“What?!” Amara cried out. “Why?! I don’t give a damn about them!”
“But the Pattern gives a damn about you. And for the Seraphim that’s far more than enough.”
A tired sigh exploded from her, and she shook her head. He was inundating her with so much exhausting information. It was becoming very hard to think.
She walked over to the nearby loveseat and sat down on it, sighing once again. He’d been right about the furniture—it was soft and comfortable.
“What’s the Pattern?” she asked wearily.
His expression darkened. “...It’s the true master of this world. The threads which bind all its contradictions together. The other Seraphim call it God because that title suits the web of lies they’ve built around it. All our powers derive from the Pattern.”
Amara shook her head with irritation. “I don’t care what you call it. What does it want with me and Evan?”
“It’s not Evan the Pattern wants. He’s fairly typical—unnatural strength is a common power among the Destined. But you’re unique, Amara, even among those who have a special destiny. I saw it in you from a very young age. It’s why I’ve been watching over you.”
“...Right. So out of the thirteen Seraphim, you’re the only one who is willing to watch out for me, and all the others are evil and want to kill me. That’s really what you expect me to believe?”
“Of course not. I’ll admit to not having purely altruistic reasons for this.”
He paused, thinking, which prompted an impatient frown from Amara.
“You have another power,” he continued. “One beyond control of fire which you haven’t discovered yet. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but it’s sleeping within you. And it’s immense.”
“Why is it whenever I ask you something the answer you give me sounds like it’s meant for a different question?”
“I’m helping you because I hate what the others have done,” he said, scowling. “Humanity is stagnating under the watch of the Seraphim. Before the cataclysm, progress was the watchword of the human race, but with them holding the reins of power for so long there’s no opportunity for real change. Everything that matters is oriented around them, to protect their stations. I want to see this monolith they’ve built for themselves torn down, and after thousands of years of searching I’ve finally found the person who has the power to do it.”
He leaned forward a bit, placing both hands flat on the desk before him. “I want to train you, Amara, so that you can unlock your potential. That is honestly and sincerely my entire goal.”
Amara was taken aback by his sudden earnestness. It was entirely possible that he’d been lying to her non stop, maybe even starting with the first time they'd talked back in her room, but this time she felt confident that he actually was being honest. Still, that fact didn't make her any more willing to go along with what he wanted.
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she said. “But I don’t care about any of that. All I want to do is protect Shiloh for my mother. The tearing down of monoliths stuff is meant for someone else, not me.”
His reaction was surprisingly muted. “...Indeed? Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for feeling that way.”
Amara nodded, and rose to her feet.
“However,” he continued. “In order to save Shiloh, you’re going to have to contend with Shabboleth the Invincible. And to do that, you’re going to need help.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why exactly would I have to go up against him?”
“Because as the man responsible for poisoning your crops, he has the only means of saving them. And he’s not exactly the generous type. You’ll have to take the cure from him by subterfuge or by force—and likely a combination of both. It was also his soldiers who nearly murdered your entire village, if you’ll recall, so it’s safe to say he’s at least partially aware of the threat you pose. Also—”
“Alright, alright,” she interrupted, waving an impatient hand to silence him. “You made your point. I’ll take the training and anything else you can give to help me out. But only so long as I can do it quickly. Shiloh is going to be starving within a few weeks.”
“Excellent! Then you should go and get some rest. You’re obviously exhausted, and you’ll need to be in top form for when we start training tomorrow.”
“I’ll do that,” she said, pausing. “How old are you, exactly?”
He frowned at her, perhaps sensing a trap. “...I lost track after the second millennium.”
“So you’re at least two thousand years old, and can make yourself look like anything you want…and you choose to look like this? A handsome man in his late twenties? You really have no shame.”
“I don’t—this is exactly how I looked at the Cataclysm!” he nearly shouted. “It’s my original form, the one I was born as!”
“Hm.”
“I’m being serious!”
“I can’t blame you, I guess. If I had that power I’d probably do something similar.”
A huge scowl crossed his face. “...It’s getting late. We’ll continue this in the morning. I’m sure you can find your way back to the guest wing.”
“Alright. Good night, Mattias,” she said, smiling.
“Good night,” he replied sullenly, but after a moment she spotted hints of a grudging smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
She left his room then, and descended the stairs while lost in thought.
I can't trust him. But I’m willing to accept his help. For now.
Once she arrived in the guest wing she briefly checked in on Evander before heading over to inspect the other rooms, and after only a few minutes of browsing settled on the room directly across the hallway from his. It was identical in layout, containing a charming double bed and a small dresser tucked away in the corner. Once she'd closed the door behind her she immediately dove into bed, and after getting comfortable fell asleep within moments.