Yvonne led Valentin towards a nondescript wooden structure that stood in one of the numerous gardens on the estate. Valentin had passed the building countless times on his strolls around the estate over the last five cycles that he had stayed in Verbosc during the cold seasons. But, he had never given any of them much thought. It had the appearance of a storage shed that would carry nothing more than gardening tools and supplies. However, now that he thought about it, he had never seen anyone enter or leave the structure.
His aunt revealed an iron key and unlocked the door to the shed. Valentin was led inside to see a barren room. From the light that seeped through the gaps in the wood, Valentin saw a square hole in the center of the floor.
Behind him, his aunt lit a torch and handed it to him. When he shone the light towards the hole, it revealed stone stairs that led further down into a blackness that the flame could not penetrate. He was reminded of the cramped tunnel that existed in the Temple of Verbosc where he had met Elder Eudes.
“This is the shrine of our ancestors,” Yvonne explained to Valentin before he had the opportunity to ask. “All of the notable possessions of our ancestors are stored here.”
“Is there something down there that you wished to show me?” Valentin asked curiously, wondering if there was some sort of reward awaiting him.
“In the past, the child selected to take over the clan was meant to pray to the ancestors for their blessing,” she replied. “I once traveled down here for that exact purpose.”
“I cannot take over the clan after you,” Valentin calmly refuted his aunt’s implication.
“That is not why I am showing you this place,” Yvonne corrected. “For the longest time, our clan struggled under poor leadership and ill-planned wars. We had to flee from place to place, only taking but a few treasures and emblems of those that came before us. However, as much as I loathe to compliment the man, our fortunes changed under my father’s reign. His brutal ways filled our coffers and allowed us to build a shrine to better commune with our ancestors. Now we have a true clan treasure.”
“What is our treasure?”
“My father’s arms and armor,” Yvonne answered. “They were crafted using ingredients and techniques that would bring many clans to financial ruin. Now, it sits underground as an untouchable treasure trove.”
“Can you not put it on yourself?” Valentin wondered with a tilted head. “You’re the Matriarch. Haven’t you received the required blessing?”
“I did try once,” Yvonne admitted, touching her hand lightly in remembrance. “What lingers of my father did not approve of it and cut me deeply before ordering me to leave. Many other clansmen have tried and failed to earn his permission. It seems that regular talent or ideals are not sufficient to win him over.”
“Now you want me to try?”
“There is no reason to not try,” his aunt shrugged flippantly. “Even if you succeed and the treasure follows you on your journey, it would still be of more use to us than buried beneath the soil. Besides, I believe that you have the abilities necessary to win over that dreadful man. You must go alone. I will await for your return here.”
Valentin stepped into the black maw in the center of the floor. Each step swallowed him and his flame as he descended down into a tunnel. Unlike the shrine beneath the temple’s tree, this shrine was constructed with high arched stone ceilings. Yet, the significantly narrower space, not even two people could walk abreast, created a heightened claustrophobic feeling within Valentin’s mind.
A pungent, musty odor filled Valentin’s nostrils. Each of his footsteps stirred sedentary dust from the ground and coated his clothes. He sneezed several times in response to the mass amount of particles that suddenly assailed him. He wiped the runny snot that leaked from his nose and continued forwards.
The tunnel was approximately one hundred paces before it opened up to a natural chamber. This place was not lined with stone. Humidity from the soil formed perspiration on his forehead. His torchlight was not powerful enough to illuminate the entire space, leaving a dark recess towards the back.
From what he currently saw, there was not much inside this chamber. There were a scattering of wooden chests likely full of baubles crafted from precious metals and whatever other small items survived the generations. However, he did not see his true prize.
Valentin pushed further into the chamber and swept his torch back and forth to investigate. Like his aunt had said, there was little of value of interest within this overly spacious chamber. If the clan prospered for another thousand cycles, perhaps then the bounty would be worthy of the space that it occupied.
A glimmer of metal caught Valentin’s eye. If he had blinked, he wouldn’t have noticed it. He swept the light to reveal a helmetless suit of armor crafted from a metal that was nearly black as night. The gold trim and filled runes were what gave it the shine that gained Valentin’s attention. A deep green cape swept behind the body and was pinned around the shoulders by a golden elk head. Even Valentin’s amateurish eyes immediately knew that that this was a piece of exceptional quality. At the same time, a strange energy that Valentin could not describe permeated from the metal.
However, what was more intriguing to Valentin was the lone weapon stored on the rack beside the armor. Unlike the normal spear that he used, this weapon had an axe blade forged into its metal shaft. A depiction of a decapitated woman holding her head was carved into the blade itself, evoking an uneasy feeling of familiarity within Valentin.
He inexplicably reached out for the weapon as though it called out for him to grab it. A power that compared to his own emanated from the halberd, enticing him to take it as his partner in war.
“It’s a steel made of Ciorrú Iron,” a bodiless voice explained, snapping Valentin out of his trance.
Valentin gripped the handle of the halberd and lowered his stance. His heart leapt in his mouth from the surprise. He looked rapidly around the room to see if someone had followed him in to surprise him. However, his instincts did not reveal the possibility of another body present within this damp space. He maintained his tensed pose, as worthless as it may turn out to be.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Valentin murmured in response. He ripped his hand away from the weapon’s shaft and took two large steps away from the rack.
“There is an ore vein deep within the Auric Mountains that produces iron that is near perfectly black and several times stronger and more durable than regular iron. If you fail to please the spirit, Ciorrú, then it will crumble to dust as soon as you exit the mine. In order to take something from Ciorrú’s mine, you must leave behind part of yourself. It must be a self-sacrifice by the artisan that will work with it, otherwise it is no different than a pretty metal.”
“I have not seen this metal,” Valentin commented. “I’m surprised that it is not more widespread.”
“It takes only the most obsessed artisans to destroy their bodies for a material like this,” the voice answered. “The ore vein will only reveal itself to those that are desperate to improve at all costs. What run of the mill smith would carve themselves to pieces for an ore they aren’t skilled enough to use?”
Valentin didn’t answer the question. Instead, he continued to look around the chamber to little avail.
“When I was much younger, I met such an artisan in a village south of Mindorre,” the voice continued. “She was a smith who had the look of someone who had fought and lost in endless wars. Deep gouges were cut out of her arms and torso and all her teeth were clumsily pulled from her mouth. The alluring quality of the black iron crafts that sat on her displays was something that I could not ignore. I needed a piece for myself. These two were the last things she ever made.”
Valentin’s attention was dragged back towards the two treasures of Guerros. He could now feel the obsession and desperation that exuded from the metal. What drives someone to destroy themselves for a creation?
“She told me that most artisans will start small to gain access to the vein,” the voice spoke as though it was reading Valentin’s mind. “She cut all her hair off, others would grind off some of their skin or bleed over the ore. What she would receive was stronger than iron but only slightly so. It would turn to a dark gray when forged and sell for a high price. But when you realize that just your hair will get you a superior iron, what would you receive if you offered even more? Would you get something even better?”
The unnatural black color of the finished product answered the voice’s question.
“What was offered?” Valentin asked.
“The armor cost her hearing. She stabbed the insides of her ears until sound ceased to exist and she cut off the rest. She cut out her tongue and slashed her throat for the weapon. Seeing her crippled body when she silently handed over the pieces filled me with a euphoria that was difficult to ever feel again. I was in love with that warped soul that lacked something new every time that I met her.”
“What could you even give in exchange for such masterworks?” Valentin wondered aloud.
He could not comprehend what such a person would ask for. What is gold useful for if you could not enjoy the luxuries that it purchased? Food that cannot be tasted and music that could not be heard.
“People like her have no need for gold,” the voice dismissed. “A soul doesn’t twist itself on its own, especially to such a sickening degree as hers. What she wanted were heads. Not just the heads of those that wronged her, but the heads of everyone in their clan. Her list was long and each name told a story of her descent into despair. I was more than happy to play a part in that revenge. I even would have killed the Storm Sovereign if I was asked to.”
The voice went quiet for a moment as though it were emotionally processing the next part of the story. The range of emotions the spirit displayed gave Valentin an eerie feeling.
“When I completed the list and delivered hundreds of heads to her forge, she made one final trip to the ore vein. She intended to gouge out her eyes and chop off her hands. It would be the greatest ore and birth the greatest creation ever made. She never returned. These gifts are named in remembrance of the twisted nature of her soul. Endless Longing and Endless Hunger.”
Valentin felt the voice fall back into pensive remembrance towards the departed blacksmith. The menacing equipment continued to reach out to him with the promises of unrivaled strength and vengeance. Such quality would surely serve as a decisive advantage in his future endeavors and battles if it did not pollute him instead.
“Ancestor,” Valentin finally spoke with a respectful bow. “I am here to request a blessing from you.”
“Nobody ever visits me to see with me unless they want something in return. So it is you that they have sent down to parlay with me this time,” the voice spoke, emanating from all the walls that surrounded Valentin. It spoke as though it had not recognized him until now. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’ve felt your overwhelming favor for several cycles now, waiting for the moment that my stubborn daughter would send you to me.”
“Forgive me for saying this, ancestor, but was there an issue with your burning?” Valentin inquired. “I did not know that the voices of the past would be so clear.”
“I am not a soul that has failed to return to the Great Spirit. I am a clan spirit crafted by the memory of those that live on and the fragments left behind by the soul I copy,” the voice explained. “All the great clans have spirits such as me who guard their treasures and remember their heroes. Those that survive remember me as a cold and vindictive tyrant. So that is what I am.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“You do not seem overly tyrannical to me,” Valentin commented. If anything, the spirit was being cordial with him.
A soft ethereal chuckle reverberated off of the walls and made Valentin’s torchlight dance uncertainly.
“We share an affinity, you and I,” the voice explained. “There is much that we have in common as I am sure you know.”
“I do not know, ancestor,” Valentin replied apologetically. There was little that he knew about the man outside of the disgust that his children show for him and stories of his misdeeds. Outside of both being favored and pursuing the life of a mercenary from a young age, there was very little that Valentin could draw between them.
“Were you never told? Were all my children so spineless as to not even tell you my name? Do they truly despise me so?” The voice aggressively interrogated. The earth rumbled and loose soil fell from the ceiling. Valentin shifted his weight to avoid being thrown off balance.
“You are my grandfather,” Valentin answered.
“I am much more than that, boy. I am the one who raised our name from the mud to the pristine glow that it possessed when it was founded. I am the one whose sheer presence dissuaded all enemies encroaching upon our lands. I am the former Patriarch of the Guerros clan and your namesake. I am Valentin Guerros.”
Valentin’s eyes narrowed at the spirit’s statement. While it was a truth he had been suspicious of, hearing it did not provide any further clarity. He could not imagine a situation where his proud father would name his only son after a man that he deeply loathed. A man that he refused to place a shrine to pray to during Lana Sincear.
“Don’t look so suspicious, boy,” the voice spat. “Is it not proper filial duty to honor the ancestors by bestowing their children with the names of those that came first? Yet you are the only one of my descendants with my name. Of course I would offer you preference over the others. The day that the stone broke, I knew that you receiving my namesake was no mistake. I knew that I would not regret saving your life.”
“You saved my life?” Valentin raised his eyebrow in a mix of surprise and further suspicion. “How did you do that from down here?”
“How many siblings do you have?” His grandfather asked.
“Two,” Valentin replied hesitantly. If this spirit had already known of Valentin’s whereabouts before arriving in Verbosc, then it must also know about his sisters.
The spirit copying his grandfather fell quiet at Valentin’s answer and left him unsettled. A mocking laugh rumbled the soil and raised the hairs on Valentin’s arms. Without words, the laugh accused Valentin of being a fool.
“You have four,” his grandfather refuted. “You have two brothers as well.”
“If I have two brothers, then why I have never seen them? Why had nobody talked about them?” Valentin demanded. “I do not appreciate your jests, ancestor.”
“I do not jest,” the voice threatened.
The walls of the cave rumbled with the low voice of the spirit. Streams of dust streamed from the ceiling and small pebbles dislodged from the soil and clattered to the ground. Valentin went rigid into a reactionary bow. He had forgotten the temperament that he anticipated when he walked down the stairs. What he had experienced until now had been the kind side of the tyrant.
“Apologies, ancestor. I am just confused at your words,” Valentin said in an attempt to assuage the spirit. “Where are my brothers?”
“They are dead,” his grandfather impassively announced as if he were commenting on his most recent meal. “The first to illness as an infant and the second was born dead. You could have easily joined them, weak and sickly as you were upon your birth. What a pitiful thing you were.”
“Is that so,” Valentin absentmindedly replied. He had difficulty processing the information he received that had no proof or way to refute.
“My overly proud son even put up a temporary shrine to pray for my help,” the spirit of his grandfather continued. “He would place you under the shrine every morning and evening in the hopes that I would help my namesake. I have to admit that he’s the most clever and conniving of my children. Of course, I could not allow you to die a pitiful death and ruin my name. I gave you a small portion of my power to strengthen your turbid soul. When you got better, my ungrateful son told his brother to destroy the shrine before I could retrieve what I had given you. Gilles should have made Roland do it, maybe then he would have lived.”
“So there is lingering power left within me?” Valentin asked, trying to piece together previous phenomena that he had experienced with the hopes that some sense could be made.
“Only enough that you would not fall ill easily,” his grandfather replied. “I no longer had control over it. If it did manifest in other ways, it would not be in a meaningful way nor would it have contributed to the favor you were endowed with.”
Valentin rubbed his right temple with his thumb. It was too vague and non-committal of an answer to be taken at face value. He didn’t realize until now how difficult it was having a conversation with a faceless and bodiless entity. There were no cues hidden within the flesh that he could use to make things make more sense. All he could rely upon were the words of this spirit.
“Thank you for your previous blessing, ancestor,” Valentin replied with a bow. He determined there was no benefit to acting skeptical further.
“And now you have come to ask more from me,” the spirit rumbled. “You have come for my possessions and my power. Of all the people that bear the blood of Guerros, you are the only one that can show me what I want to see. To determine if you are truly capable of achieving that vision, I will give you Endless Hunger as a gift and a test. Your current deeds have more than earned it. If you impress me, then I will give you Endless Longing as well.”
Valentin bowed once more to continue to placate the spirit. However, he made a face of suspicion towards the ground. His intuition told him that the requirements in exchange for such a valuable weapon would be difficult to digest.
“What are the details of the test?”
“There are two tests,” his grandfather corrected. “There is a test to receive Endless Longing, and a task to unlock a power that lingers within my form. One is a test of your resolve and the other is a test of your skill. First, for the next cycle, you must try to kill everyone that you point Endless Hunger at. This weapon is not a decoration for intimidation, but a tool to end lives. It should not be used for anything but death nor should you to use it for a kill that you will regret. If your opponent surrenders or flees, I will not punish you. But, if you surrender or flee…I will express my disappointment.”
“And the second test?”
“I must watch you kill three hundred people. When you have completed this task, then you will unlock the full might of the ancestors of Guerros. If you don’t have the will to see these tasks through, then you may still take my weapon and use it as irresponsibly as you want. I will not revoke my gift.”
Valentin closely considered the arrangement laid out before them, trying to remember every specific word of the spirit’s offer. He strained his mind to find any places where he could be exploited.
“What do you mean when you say that you must watch me kill three hundred people?” Valentin asked, finding that phrasing the only part that caused him true unease.
“Beneath Endless Hunger is a mask. Take it,” his grandfather instructed. “My eyes reside within the mask. You may wear it on your face or tie it around your belt. All that matters is that my eyes can witness your actions.”
Valentin could see a glint beneath the halberd. Was that where the spirit had been watching him from all along?
“Is your mask meant to be intimidating like those that Ferron employs?” Valentin wondered aloud as he kneeled down to lift up the mask.
The bodiless voice echoed around the room, emanating from different places and all places simultaneously. “Yes, yes. I am well familiar with Ferron’s philosophies. If you give them a face without expression, then there is no emotion, no energy for the enemy to feast upon. However, I disagree with Ferron. There is an expression that one can give that will grant you a greater effect. An expression that will frustrate or terrify.”
The voice then echoed directly from the mask beneath the weapon. Valentin could feel the voice vibrate between his fingers and caused him to nearly drop the mask in surprise.
“A smile.”
Valentin lifted the mask to reveal a mirthful face of a lifelong friend. Detailed wrinkles were etched around the corners of the eyes and mouth. The face sported the smile that one would have if they witnessed their friend take a drunken tumble or of a groom that just got married to the love of their life. To Valentin, it looked like the face of someone that was truly satisfied.
Yet, there was something wrong with the face. It was too detailed to the point that Valentin had the unshakable feeling that this was someone. It felt like a flesh face was stretched upon metal. When he considered seeing the face in battle, when he envisioned this face full of contentment coated in blood, his unease only grew. This face was unnaturally insulting to those that would gaze upon it. He knew instinctively that this expression earned his grandfather endless enemies on the battlefield.
“There is something that you want to ask me. Do not just stare at it with disgust, ask me,” his grandfather ordered impatiently.
“Was this someone?” Valentin asked hesitantly.
“It was modeled after someone very important to the smith,” the spirit answered. “I never met them personally but I hated them whenever I gazed at it. To be immortalized in such a way by such a person filled me with an intoxicating envy. The smith never told me what the people I was sent to kill did, but I hoped that I would eventually bring a head that would give me the same immortality. Now, I’ve stolen it for myself and you’re stealing it too.”
“I agree to your proposal.” Valentin finally agreed. He flipped the face away from him. There was no reason to place it upon his face so he tied it around his belt over his left thigh.
“I’m pleased. Go on, pick up my legacy and see how it makes you feel,” the voice coaxed from the mask.
Valentin wrapped his fingers around the metal shaft of the spear. Unlike the normal wood that he used, the rough metal grip of the weapon felt lifeless. Yet, contradictorily, it felt natural in his grip, as though it had been designed for him.
He immediately lowered himself into a combat stance within the spacious cavern. The weapon struck forward with fluidity despite the addition of the axe blade. He twisted his wrists and swung horizontally with the blade. The air screamed in response to the swing. The strikes felt empty. They would only feel meaningful if there was someone at the other end of the weapon. He allowed it to drop to his side.
Valentin lifted his torch and made his way towards the stairs.
“It’s perfect,” his grandfather asserted. “With you possessing the Endless Hunger, it may stop starving for a time for the first time in over twenty cycles. It would be especially satisfying if you used it to avenge Gilles death. Who was it that felled him?“
“Bothair,” Valentin replied sharply.
“Of course!” His grandfather shouted before falling into menacing laughter. “I would love to see their faces when you-“
The cackling spirit’s voice abruptly cut off when Valentin departed from the main chamber. Valentin felt a vibrating sensation against his leg immediately after the voice cut off. Had he done something wrong? He turned back around and walked back into the chamber.
“I forgot to mention that once you leave this chamber, I can only communicate with you if you wear me on your face. I will always be able to hear you and see through these eyes. Wear me in battle and I will show you that a smile is the best expression,” the voice explained in a tone that was not dissimilar to the expression on the mask.
“Do not take it the wrong way, ancestor, but I think I will keep you where you are for now. I do not trust the powers of the mask,” Valentin said apologetically.
“Do as you please,” the voice laughed into silence as Valentin left the chamber. It vibrated for a moment more before falling into silence.
Valentin wondered if the spirit could hear his thoughts as well.
What was the smith’s name?
Valentin felt relief that the mask did not vibrate an answer by the time that he reached the stairs to the surface. Such an ability would be far too invasive for Valentin to allow to bring with him. There wasn’t a single person he would entrust those inner thoughts to, especially not the spirit of man as evil as his grandfather was rumored to be.
He heard his aunt stirring from her place of rest as his boots clunked off of the stone steps. She was brushing the dirt and dust from her clothing when his head emerged from the ground. He could see that she was carefully eyeing his new weapon until the face around his belt became visible. She stared intently at the mask. Traces of a deep-seated fear spread over her face and made her fingers twitch uncomfortably.
“I see you were successful,” Yvonne commented with reclaimed composure.
“Partially,” Valentin confirmed. “If I complete his tasks, I may have the rest. If I fail, I can keep the weapon.”
“Seeing Endless Hunger again fills me with unease,” Yvonne admitted. She turned from her nephew and opened the doors of the shed. “Who carves the Mother onto a tool of death? Especially in such a form. It’s sickening.”
The mask on Valentin’s leg buzzed and shook indignantly. Yvonne turned her head at the unexpected noise and, by raising her eyebrow, posed a silent question to Valentin.
“I think Grandfather is upset that you said something unkind about the smith that forged the weapon,” Valentin inferred. He was unwilling to place the mask on his face and receive the words personally.
“He can communicate with you out here?” Yvonne asked with surprise. “It’s never done that in the past.”
“I can only hear him outside of the shrine if I wear the mask on my face. I don’t trust it yet, so I’m keeping it on my belt,” Valentin explained.
“I know very little about it, myself,” Yvonne admitted with a perplexed tone. “I wouldn’t wear it either, though that is more due to who dwells within it more than anything else. However, I do not believe it will cause you direct harm. While my father had a horrific personality, the spirit is meant to be a guardian to the clan’s will. Your body will not be usurped.”
The mask shook more as they made their way through the garden and back towards the estate. Valentin assumed that it was saying something angry about Yvonne, but he had little intention of confirming the words. Upon being ignored again, the mask fell inert.
“Aunt Yvonne, will the clan be fine without support for a cycle? Valentin asked after wandering in his own thoughts. “I know that Ferron speaks confidently that it is doable, however, I have also learned that all things involving strategy quickly become unpredictable. If High Tiarna Martelle moves to help, then there is little that we can do to relieve you.”
Yvonne stopped walking and turned to Valentin. A pleased grin crossed her face over Valentin’s concern for the clan.
“The forces of Corvello will not move unless we provoke them into moving,” Yvonne stated definitively. “Verbosc has grown much in the past generations. Allowing the region to weaken under conflict will benefit them in the long run. High Tiarna Martelle will only intervene when a clan he does not approve of is close to victory. I do not intend to be that clan for the next cycle.”
Valentin looked away for a moment. His aunt was one of the few people that had been unconditionally kind to him. As such, he had some reservations about leaving. Did Ferron truly need him this cycle?
“Stop thinking so hard,” Yvonne jokingly reprimanded him and slapped his shoulder. “As long as you help out before you leave, don’t harbor any regrets. Life’s too difficult when you strap yourself with unnecessary burdens.”