Standing before Ferron and Valentin were about a dozen or so men and women. Valentin could feel the contrasting defeat that floated in the air compared to the overwhelming feeling of celebration that he had toured through earlier. Peasants in simple tunics sat clumped together in a circle. Off to the side of them were three warriors armored in brigandine. A man and a woman were sitting on either side of a slouched older man. A pile of confiscated weapons were arranged in a small cart behind one of the warriors.
When Ferron’s horse stopped in front of the captives, a peasant man noticed that their guards stood in sharper attention in Ferron’s presence. He got on his feet and approached Ferron. The guards moved to react but Ferron raised his hand and they stopped.
“Are…are you the leader of this warband?” the man meekly asked.
“I am,” Ferron answered dryly.
At this answer everyone but the middle warrior moved their gaze to look at Ferron. Immediately, the peasants threw themselves in front of Ferron. “Please spare us, Tiarna!” pleaded one. “We didn’t harm any of your warriors!” claimed another. “We were forced to!” shouted a third. Valentin noticed that the woman warrior twisted her face into disgust and spat on the field.
“Enough!” Ferron barked and the group went silent. “Where are Etrineux’s warriors? Why has Tiarna Marche sent out his farmers to protect his lands?” Ferron put an emphasis on farmers by infusing it with anger and contempt. “Why did the Tiarna leave the Merciless Curs outmanned and unsupported?”
The question hung in the air for a moment. Valentin noticed that the former Cur warriors were interested in the answers to these questions as the man and woman stared at the group of peasants.
Another peasant spoke up, rubbing his hands together in nervous discomfort. “I have only heard rumors of the matter, Your Eminence. Most of us live in the village over the hill. We were told that if we didn’t want the village to be burned to join the field and slow you down. There was no mention of fighting. Will you leave the village alone?”
Ferron clicked his tongue and glanced over at the growing pile of bodies. “What a disgrace,’ Valentin heard Ferron say to himself in a low voice. He motioned to one of the guards. “Take them in for some food, I’ll decide what to do with them tomorrow. Also send out word to the warriors to keep the village intact for now. Well whatever they haven’t already gotten into.”
A chorus of “Thank you, Tiarna” rang out as the peasants were ushered away by two of the warriors. Ferron now turned his attention towards the three Cur warriors remaining.
“I will keep this short,” Ferron stated. “Whatever it was that the three of you did impressed some of our Deggan. Now that Barteau is dead…”
Valentin noticed them turn their heads away solemnly at the mention of Barteau. The death of their leader was likely something that they were not something that they had been aware of.
“You are welcome to join me in the Corbeaux. However,” Ferron lifted one finger, “I’d like to request that one of you die.”
The woman recoiled at the suggestion and the man shouted some obscenities at Ferron who did not react. Even both of Ferron’s warriors looked with interest. Finally the middle warrior asked, “For what purpose must one of us die for you, Tiarna?” At this question the other two warriors looked at him.
Ferron gestured towards Valentin. “I need the boy to understand how it feels to take the life of a warrior. He is a bright boy and will do many great things in the future, but he must understand what happens to those in battle and how it feels to end a life. There are no good leaders that have not once done what they order.”
Valentin went wide-eyed at the request. He had not been prepared for something like this. “You never said-”
But Ferron raised his hand and Valentin stopped.
“So you want us to sit patiently and have a little Tiarling kill one of us? To help him lose his war flower? By the ancestors, why would we ever do that?” the woman warrior exclaimed.
“I’ll do it,” the older warrior announced. The other two whipped their heads around to the older warrior and started to protest to the man who quickly brushed them off. He sat up fully and grimaced through some visible pain. “I would like to make a request first.”
“Go on.”
“I’d like some coin to be sent to Aodhan Flionne in the village of Caltriven,” the man spoke between deep, ragged breaths. “It’s a town up in Vessaire lands. You heard of it?” The man continued before Ferron could respond. “I just need a few eagles. Enough for my eldest to afford the dowry for his love and secure his future. She’s the miller’s daughter. Sweet girl. She makes the most wonderful bread.”
Ferron thought to himself while the other two warriors stared at their compatriot. “What is your name?” he finally asked the warrior.
“Killihan, Tiarna. Killihan Flionne.”
“Well, Killihan, your deal is fair. I will pay for your son’s dowry. In exchange, you will allow the boy to kill you.” The man nodded his acceptance and Ferron signaled to the remaining guard. “Take the other two away and give them a proper meal.”
“No!” The younger male warrior screamed and tried to reach out to the older warrior. “Killihan, what was the point of surrendering if we can’t save you!”
“We could have died on our feet together!” the woman added.
“Now, now, Renne, Coralie. I surrendered to save you.” The older warrior coughed and continued. “I have the ability to have my death serve as the food that will grow something new. A druid will pray for my spirit and I will move on from this life without a single regret or worry. I have saved you and secured a future for my clan. Thank you, Tiarna.”
Tears welled up in the eyes of the two warriors. Valentin felt the hot, wet tears stream down his own face. He wondered to himself if Uncle Gilles felt at peace knowing Valentin had escaped danger. Did he smile when his pursuers cut him down? The two warriors were more subdued as the warriors led them towards the camp. One of Ferron’s warriors reached for the cart to drag it back towards camp but Ferron waved them off.
“No need for that. Call Leith over here when you arrive.” Ferron ordered and the warrior raised their arm in acknowledgment.
The three stood in silence for a moment. Valentin could tell that Ferron was waiting for him. He tried to shut off his tears and calm down. He hadn’t realized until now that his breathing was becoming heavy and that his hands were shaking, gripping tightly to the reins of his horse. In Valentin’s mind moments had come and passed but Ferron and the warrior had not moved and neither had spoken. Valentin felt a tightness in his chest as though someone was shrinking his armor. He took a deep breath and finally, gently, deliberately dismounted.
Valentin took a few shy steps towards the warrior. No reaction. He moved before the warrior. No reaction. He paused for an eternity and still nothing was uttered between the three of them. Valentin reached towards the hilt of the short sword that Ferron had given him. His fingers quivered and wiggled wildly like worms in a puddle, jolted by nervous energy. No reaction. Finally his fingers made contact with the hilt.
“Wait.” The warrior started. Valentin felt himself seize up, all his muscles tightening at once. “Please, use my sword.”
Valentin looked over his shoulder but Ferron’s facial expression had not changed. Valentin, uncertain, faced the warrior. “Which one is it?”
“The longsword in the leather scabbard.” The warrior pointed towards the cart.
Valentin made his way over to the cart. Inside were many simple spears and swords. But Valentin could immediately identify the sword. The scabbard was a reddish brown with a steel tip. Engraved upon it was a serpent that wrapped from the locket to the chape. Valentin lifted it up and displayed it to the warrior who nodded.
In front of the warrior now with the proper blade, the same feelings of trepidation began to wash over Valentin. He had managed to unsheathe the blade but had yet to muster the courage to raise it over his head. Valentin felt no ill will in his heart towards the warrior. Why must he kill him? The man had shown nothing but kindness and grace towards him. Valentin felt himself wavering.
“Valentin,” Ferron finally spoke. Had he seen Valentin’s turmoil? Would he be saved from this task? “Why do you hesitate to give this warrior the death that he requested?”
Valentin looked over his shoulder at Ferron, tears beginning to form in his eyes again. “Because I do not hate this man. Why must I kill him?”
Ferron dismounted and strode towards Valentin, clasping his large hand on Valentin’s shoulder he spoke softly. “There will be many times that you will kill an enemy that you do not hate. Most of the people that will die by your hand you will feel little anger towards, perhaps even none. Do you believe I hated the ones we killed today? That I believed that they should die?”
Valentin began to interject but Ferron continued.
“I did not. The things that we do, we do to achieve something. This battle and all the battles to follow are to serve the future I wish to have. And this is the price.” Ferron pointed at the pyre. “If there is something you want in this world, Valentin, you must sacrifice much more than that to get it.”
“But did you not also say that it was valuable to find power in all places? Is this man not a warrior that earned the respect of our respected warriors?” Valentin rebutted.
“This is true-” Ferron spoke but was cut short.
“Then why must I do this to him?” Valentin pleaded.
“Do you not possess eyes?” Ferron accused in a cracking voice that stunned Valentin into silence.
Eyes? Valentin thought to himself. What was it that he was failing to look at? Valentin’s thoughts bubbled through his head like a stew, the heat of his panic was causing his mind to roil. Valentin breathed deeply. He looked at the warrior. The man was still breathing raggedly, his hand had dropped from his side revealing slight discoloration in his clothes, and he looked paler than he did when Valentin first saw him.
“Oh,” was all Valentin could muster.
“It’s an act of kindness,” replied Ferron as he removed his hand from Valentin’s shoulder and took a few steps back.
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Valentin lifted the sword again and stared at the warrior with saddened eyes. The warrior shifted onto his knees and looked Valentin in the eyes. Valentin saw a deep calm and understanding within them. That there was nothing for either of them to be all that worried about.
“You’re a kind spirit, boy. Try not to lose that.” He lowered his head to expose his neck.
“Make sure that you use all your strength when you swing. It would be cruel if you have to strike twice to finish him.” Ferron advised.
Valentin lined up the blade to the warrior’s neck and lifted the blade high. He concentrated on the muscles that Hrost had instructed him to. He shifted his feet into a more natural position. He clenched his eyes shut and took a deep breath. The blade swung down hard, accelerated by his blood. He felt a resistance that vibrated up his arms and then nothing.
“Well done, boy.” A deep voice echoed in his head.
Valentin opened his hands numbly and felt something fall out. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, too afraid to see the result. But eventually they opened. Before Valentin was the collapsed body of Killihan Flionne, his head rolled a small distance away. Next to Valentin was Ferron, who was cleaning off the dropped blade with an oiled rag.
Valentin fell to his knees and stared at the ground below him. He had done it. He was the one that ended this man’s life. Valentin couldn’t help but think of the man’s clan who would never see him again. He thought of his son’s wedding and everything else he would not be present for.
“If you wish to grieve for the man, then grieve.” Ferron sat beside him and put his hand back on his shoulder. “I won’t mind. My first kill was also…difficult. But you must get it all out now. If you are seen, the others will lower their opinion of you.”
And with that, Valentin cried. He cried for the man that he slew, he cried for those that were waiting for the man who would never return, he cried for the two warriors that lost a man they respected. He cried for himself, for how pathetic he felt, for letting his weakness lead the man to endure more suffering than required. But with that crying he felt lighter, as though some spirit had released him. Was it Killihan? Valentin could only wonder. But eventually he did wipe his eyes and returned to his feet.
“Do you feel better?” Ferron asked as he rose to his feet as well. “Good, because we are not yet finished.”
Valentin jolted. “What do you mean?”
“I told you, I had a plan to make you stronger.” Ferron waved at a man that was approaching them on horseback. Ferron handed the longsword to Valentin. “You should keep it. In order to honor his sacrifice.”
Valentin held the blade in his hands for a moment and sheathed it. Ferron took the sword that he had lent back. Valentin did not have much time to consider the weapon as Leith had finally reached him.
“Excellent timing, Leith. Do you have an apothecary’s bowl with you?” Ferron asked.
Leith reached for a leather bag strapped over his shoulder and pulled out a medium sized wooden bowl and handed it to Ferron. “What do you need that for? Is that why you called for me?”
“Partially,” Ferron answered. He knelt before the body and pressed down on the chest. Blood leaked out of the neck. Ferron lowered the bowl and started to fill it with the blood.
“What are you doing?” Leith shouted. “That’s not what that’s used for!” He reached for Ferron’s arm but the war leader gave him a glare that made Leith reconsider. The druid stood in shock and bewilderment as Ferron filled the bowl and stood up.
“Now put the spirit within this bowl to rest.” Ferron ordered and held the bowl in front of Leith.
“For what purpose would I have to do something like that?” Leith stammered, the confusion starting to return to anger.
“I’m going to make him strong.” Ferron clarified.
“I know what you’re trying to do!” Leith snapped back at him. “You want to curse this boy for your own ambitions?” Leith reached for Valentin and looked him in the eyes. “You don’t have to do this, Valentin. You can refuse him.”
Valentin shifted away reflexively at Leith’s outburst and his reaching hands. He was uncertain what Ferron was getting at but was certain that Leith did not find it agreeable.
Leith, likely seeing the look on Valentin's face, backed off.
“The boy can decide, but you cannot.” Ferron reached for his hammer. “Purge the spirit.”
“If you kill me, the Tionól of the Verbosc Temple will denounce you as a heretic and an enemy of the spirits!” Leith barked indignantly. Valentin could see veins starting to bulge out of his neck and forehead.
Ferron was unbothered. “Did you think I neglected to consult the Druidic Tionól?”
Leith’s facial expression switched to shock and then fear.
“The Elders have already assented to my plans and Elder Eudes assigned you to me specifically. Don’t tell me that you were not aware of this? If you are not suitable,” Ferron swung his warhammer casually, “then I will go back to Verbosc and get someone who is. Purge the spirit.” Ferron ordered more harshly.
Leith reluctantly reached for the bowl and held it in his hands. “But why?” A squeak was all he could manage to muster in a sullen voice.
“I’m not the only person that is relying on Valentin’s growth.” Ferron now addressed Valentin. “Are you prepared to become strong, boy?”
“W-what do you mean?” Valentin stuttered as the realization dawned on him. What the blood was meant for; what gaining strength truly meant.
Valentin took a step away from Ferron. This was wrong. The druids had said so. Druid Relfon told him and the other kids many times over. The blood brings strength, but it also brings corruption and madness. People used to butcher each other for the smallest scraps of power. Parents would feed their weakest children to the rest. The spirits inside would turn these people into something else, inhuman. It was going to consume all of Strettia until the Druids and the High Tiarnas of the Great Clans stopped them.
“I-I don’t want to become a Sangbête, a blood beast.”
“You won’t be, if Leith is as skilled a druid as Eudes claimed he is.” Ferron kneeled in front of Valentin to look at him face to face. “Valentin, you can choose not to drink it. But will you be satisfied with how things are?”
“What?” Valentin croaked as the question hit him.
“Will you be satisfied with how you are now? Not quite strong enough to help me reclaim Corvello, or win the Choosing, or avenge your uncle.” Ferron started pacing back and forth in front of Valentin as though he was a predator sizing him up. Valentin felt even smaller than usual in Ferron’s presence.
“Do you wish to return home empty handed? Tell those still there that Gilles sacrificed himself but there was nothing to show for it? That his killers have not suffered? If there are even any people there when you return.”
Valentin released a small gasp. He looked to see Leith no longer chanting. His arms still trembling but his face boiled with rage at being forced to be complicit in Ferron’s actions.
“How dare you trap this boy with your words?” Leith snapped with renewed indignation. “How could you, who wouldn’t drink this yourself, understand what this will do to him?” Leith’s chest heaved.
A heavy silence was shared between the three of them. Leith’s heavy breathing matched the drumming in Valentin’s head. However, Ferron looked unperturbed as though the argument were mundane.
“But I have.”
Leith’s righteous assault dispersed immediately with the unexpected admission.
“When I was a boy, before my twelfth Killicia, my father would slip the blood of men into the stew of his children. On Saignee, when the druids proclaimed the sacrifices for the year, we would be given sheep’s hearts to eat to honor the spirits. Some years the hearts seemed different but we were told it was simply a more expensive breed. It wasn’t until Durant had been born and my father had brought these suggestions before me that I realized what had happened.” Ferron sighed. “The strength I had that I believed was the blessings of the spirits was nothing more than the twisted ambitions of a man. That the illness that took my brothers and sisters was likely a consequence of those choices. That the blood drawings for my health were to secretly conduct bloodstone ceremonies to ensure I was just under the abilities of an Heir.”
“Didn’t you hate him for that?” Leith questioned. Before he could assault Ferron with questions he was silenced.
“I did,” Ferron admitted as he claimed the bowl from Leith’s hands. “But I also learned that ambitious and powerful men even use their own children as tools to achieve their goals. When a strong man wants something, nothing is sacred. Even the druids will allow these transgressions as long as they prosper.” Ferron shot a look to Leith and carried the bowl to Valentin.
“Did you feed Durant?” Valentin asked.
“No. I refuse to choose strength on behalf of another.” Ferron reached the bowl to Valentin. “You must choose to become strong on your own. If you want something, you must take it. To take something you must be strong. The weak don’t have the ability to want. They are rabbits in a court of dogs.”
Valentin took the bowl and stared into the red puddle. This used to belong to Killihan. What would he say to Valentin if he were here? Would he protest becoming a meal or would he take it as graciously as his death?
“What happens if I choose not to?” Valentin asked.
“Then things will stay as they are. I will abandon the plan to retake Corvello and focus the allies I have gained to other ends. You will be allowed to return home or join d’Gauval or whatever it is you would be forced to do once you leave. But, you would live the rest of your short life obeying whoever is stronger than you. You will die in the Choosing and someone will eat you in a ritual. And that will be it.”
“It’s all up to me?”
“It’s all up to you,” Ferron confirmed.
Valentin looked back into the bowl. Would he be satisfied with things as they were? Would he really be allowed to return to his home? Would his mother be there? Jeanne? Would they be happy to see him or would they be disappointed that he had done nothing to avenge Uncle Gilles? What would his father say?
Valentin thought about his pursuers and the sovereign that commanded them continuing to exist without punishment. He was the only one that could bring them pain. He thought about his clan that would go unavenged by this wrong. He was the only one that could bring them satisfaction. He also thought about the boy killed by the Celfor horsemen, unable to defend himself. Would he have drank the blood? Of course he would, Valentin reasoned. Anyone would take strength over weakness.
But what if it poisons him? What if Leith failed to purge it properly? Valentin felt fear about the possibility of transforming, of becoming something that he could no longer recognize. Then he could never return home. But Ferron already said it, there was no returning. Someone else would recruit him and he would die. In that case, was there any point in holding back? Did he even like what he was now?
These thoughts continued to race through Valentin’s head. Ferron stood motionless to his side. Valentin felt an intense stare from both Ferron and Leith as they awaited his decision.
Valentin couldn’t shake the vision of the boy. Dead on the whim of another. Dead for the pride of other men. Maybe not even related to either Tiarna. Is that how quickly others can kill you? How senselessly? Valentin thought of the hunting shack, the hungry smile of Morna. Did he wish to be taken from again? To be relegated back to her care? If he didn’t drink would he be forced to accept that present? The bowl touched Valentin’s lips. He had been lifting it towards his face without thinking. He was convinced he heard sparking and energy coursing through the blood, beckoning him to take a sip, to augment his powers with it.
These thoughts and memories brought formless rage into Valentin’s mind. To be as he was is to be taken from by those above without hope of defending himself.
No, I will not be taken from again.
“Well done.”
The blood passed by his lips and down his throat. It tasted awful. It coated his mouth and tongue with a lukewarm iron flavor. He felt it crackle and spark as it traveled towards his stomach. He kept going, the thick liquid drowning him. He felt it spilling over his chin and onto his brigandine. He wanted to throw up but kept going. His body fluttered with energy. He felt small clumps of blood rattle off his tongue and pass down his throat. His body lurched at the sensation but he persevered. And then it was over.
The bowl was empty.
Valentin retched. Ferron put his hand on Valentin’s back.
“Keep it in.” He encouraged, “You’ve almost done it.”
A wave of sickness washed over Valentin and clawed at his stomach. He fell to his knees in pain. And then nothing, the illness was gone and he remained. Had Leith’s purification worked?
Leith stood in horror. “The entire bowl?”
Did Valentin make a mistake? He looked at Ferron who possessed a ravenous visage. “You have exceeded my expectations again. Now we can start in earnest. And you will be there to help us, Leith.” Ferron bent down and picked up Killihan’s head. He grabbed the corpse by the collar and started to drag it off to the pyre. “Come, Leith, Valentin, we shouldn’t leave the spirits long.”
A crowd was gathered around the pyre by the time the three of them arrived. Durant gave a confused look to Ferron as he shoved Killihan’s body into the pile. Valentin stood silently by Ferron who gave him a reassuring smile.
As Leith started chanting for the spirits to find peace and return safely to join the Ancestors, Valentin felt as though his head had been stuffed with cotton. His thoughts were coming to him slowly or failed to form altogether. Did someone try to talk to him? Jaela? It didn’t matter. Valentin wouldn’t have answered even if he wanted to. Was it the blood doing it to him? He felt tired. He leaned up against something sturdy. Ferron? He didn’t know. All Valentin saw before him was a blazing orange light form in front of him growing until it dominated everything around it. The light made his eyes water. He could make out calls and cheering but wasn’t sure what for or why. He could have sworn he saw shimmers shooting into the sky from the light. Was one of them Killihan? He couldn’t say. The smell of cooking meat and burnt hair and offal filled his nostrils. Did he drool? He felt someone touch him but didn’t react. The light was becoming too much so he closed his eyes and when he opened them the light was gone. So were most of the people around it. All that were remaining was himself, Ferron, Leith, and a large pile of steaming gray ash. Is that what people become when their spirit is burned away? He felt a hand grab him on the shoulder and walk him away from the fire. But Leith stayed there, staring deeply into the pile of ash.