34 - A PRACTICAL PURPOSE

I expected to be dead.

I did not expect to wake up in a warm, soft bed.

Golden sunlight poured in through arched glass windows. Birds sung from somewhere outside. I blinked furiously, attempting to clear away the blurriness, and sat up. There was no pain. Perhaps I was dead. Perhaps this was the Void, and we necromancers had simply misunderstood its nature this whole time.

But I didn’t think so.

I ripped away the silk blankets. Silk. I’d never felt something so soft before. So luxurious. It slipped against my skin, almost like a liquid. Beneath the blanket, I was naked. I peered at my stomach, ran a hand across my abdominal muscles. Something was wrong. It took me a long moment to realize that there was no wound. No scar.

Yet I distinctly remembered the operative’s talons punching through me. I could, if I really tried, even conjure up the pain I’d felt, the fear, the profound sense of wrongness; then the horror of uselessly trying to stop the flow of blood. It had happened.

But the wound was gone. And where was I?

A part of me wanted to remain in bed and deal with the situation later, after I’d rested more. There was a sense that bad things were ahead. That my fate was uncertain. That I should, while I had the chance, cling to whatever comfort I could.

I gritted my teeth. No. I would not cower. Would not hide from whatever awaited me.

I had a feeling, too, that I knew exactly where I was.

I forced myself to crawl out of bed. Standing, I took in my surroundings, eyes roaming across one elaborate piece of furniture after another: lounges arranged in a semicircle, each a piece of leather art. A table made out of a red-hued wood, with high-backed chairs to match. Rugs dyed with vivid colors I’d scarcely even seen before. Paintings adorned the dark walls, each displaying an important piece of Autarchy history. In one, the Autarch and his inner circle were gathered around a massive table in the vaulted, black chamber famously known as the Godless Hall. In it, Marak looked so young, so unscarred. It was the moment he’d declared himself Autarch; the moment he’d proclaimed that there would be no more kings, and that humanity would strive for better and greater things.

I padded carefully across the room, heedless of my nakedness. In truth, it felt wrong to call it a room. It felt like a palace. A great, open space that seemed to go on and on. There, a kitchen. Over there, another bed, wide enough for six people to sleep in without touching. On the far side, athletic equipment, including steel bars from which to hang and several striking dummies. On another table, a bowl of bright, glistening fruits. My stomach growled. I wandered across to the bowl. I didn’t even recognize any of them, except for a single orange. I’d had oranges before. The sailors who sometimes stopped at the Withered Isles often carried many oranges as protection against scurvy.

I picked up a strange fruit, long, yellow, and faintly curved, and brought it to my mouth. I bit down and grimaced. The skin was chewy and acrid, but past that, the fruit itself was mushy and flavorful, pleasingly sweet.

From behind, a woman’s voice said, “You’re meant to peel it.”

I spun. The woman was striding toward me from my right—had she been seated on that purple lounge? I hadn’t even seen her. It seemed impossible that I could’ve missed her, because she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, tall and lithe, her body curved in all the right ways. She wore a white dress, so thin that, when she stepped through a ray of sunlight, I could see right through it. She wore nothing underneath; the secrets of her body were revealed to me. My own body reacted, and, suddenly self-conscious, I moved my hands in an attempt to hide the reaction she’d caused.

The woman smiled broadly, although the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, which were colored like honey. Golden hair fell gracefully around her shoulders. Her face was heart-shaped, her skin perfect.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” she purred, now so close that I could smell her perfume, faint and floral, sweet flowers I couldn’t name nor envision.

“Who…who are you?” My voice was rough, as though I hadn’t used it in some time. How long had I been here?

The woman stopped right in front of me. Her right hand drifted down to move my hands, to wrap around my manhood. I froze.

“Don’t worry about who I am,” she murmured. “Concern yourself only with what I can do.”

Desire unfurled within me. I had never been touched like that before, had never been so close to a woman’s desire. I could have her. I knew that. And I wanted it.

I thought of Felice. Felice, who was even more beautiful. Who I hoped, with all of my heart, was still alive.

My desire abruptly died. I took a step back, breaking the woman’s grip. The Autarch had sent her. The luxury, the room that was like a palace, the woman—all of it served a purpose. He was tempting me. Or testing me. Determining, maybe, just how malleable I was; how easily I succumbed to pleasure. Rage replaced lust. I would not allow him to manipulate me.

“I don’t care about what you can do,” I said curtly, “unless you’re able to answer my questions.”

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Her smile became brittle. “I’ll answer a question if you do something for me in return.”

“Such as?”

She lifted up her dress, exposing herself. Smooth skin stretched across taut muscle. The flow of her body leading to her wide hips, to the small amount of dark pubic hair, and then—

I lifted my eyes, meeting her gaze. Be strong. Be resolute.

“No,” I said. “You can tell the Autarch that I am ready to speak to him whenever he wishes. But I will not fall into these little traps of his. I will not play his games.”

The woman lowered her dress again, then sighed. “A shame. You’re a pretty man. I was eager to see what you could do—how you would feel.” She shrugged. “So, instead of me, you will get the Autarch.”

And then she turned and sauntered toward the single visible door, which was massive, and made of dark, solid wood. Once she was gone, I heard a faint click; the locking of the door.

Meaning that there was nothing for me to do but wait.

Once she was gone, I returned to the yellow fruit. As suggested, I peeled it. With the skin removed, it was much improved.

I wandered around in search of clothing and soon found a wardrobe almost bursting with options. I picked out a simple pair of dark trousers, a white linen shirt, and a pair of leather boots. I dressed slowly, in no hurry. It was likely that the Autarch would keep me waiting for some time.

This proved to be wrong.

Within the hour, the heavy, wooden door opened.

And in came Marak.

For our first, true meeting, he had foregone the dramatic, golden armor, and was shorter for it. In fact, as he strode toward me, I realized I was an inch or so taller than him—although he was far broader, a dense slab of muscle where I was lean and bordering on scrawny.

The Autarch was dressed simply, and much the same as I was. His belt was adorned with gold, the one concession to luxury. His hands, I saw, were large, and gnarled, the knuckles weathered; these were the hands of a man well acquainted with violence.

His blazing, green eyes fixated on mine.

“Aurion,” he said. His voice was no longer a deafening burst of thunder. It was the voice of a man. Just a man—albeit deep and smooth. A pleasant voice. A powerful voice

“Marak,” I said, straightening up.

At that, he smiled, just slightly. “The lack of formal address hardly bothers me. In fact, it’s almost refreshing. Are you hungry?”

“I’m fine,” I said, though of course, I was hungry, and desperate for water.

“You should sit,” he said.

“I’d rather stand.”

“Your pointless defiance is a waste of time. I want to speak to you, man to man.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a god.”

A flash of irritation. He shook his head vehemently. “That’s a misunderstanding. I do not like gods. I do not tolerate divinity. And I have killed my fair share of them. I would prefer to free humanity from the shackles of gods.”

“And yet…” I found my confidence growing. Why had I been so afraid of this man? “...you erect giant statues of yourself all throughout your empire and cultivate the image of a god amongst men.”

“There is a practical purpose to everything I do. You’ll find, Aurion, that I am a very pragmatic man.” He drifted across to the nearest lounge and lowered himself into it. Such a normal, casual thing to do, that it took me off-balance. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected when I’d first woken up. That I might be tortured, perhaps. Certainly, I had not supposed that I’d be treated so well.

But I had to keep reminding myself that there was a purpose behind it all. As he’d just confessed, he was a pragmatic man, and he’d earned his reputation as a ruthless monster for a reason.

I had to be careful. Every word had to be deliberately selected.

“Why am I still alive?” I asked bluntly.

“Straight to the point, eh? I like it.” Marak kicked up his feet, placing them on the edge of the table in front of them. His boots were polished to a high shine. “You’re something special, Aurion. Something I have read about, but never actually seen, or hoped to see. A Soul Eater.” He looked at me again. “You know what you are, I take it? In truth, I had thought that there were none left. It comes as a surprise to me to learn that any necromancers at all survive.

“Very surprising, I’m sure,” I said, “considering that you tried to purge us all.”

Marak inclined his head. A point to me. “Can you really blame me?” He asked quietly. “You know better than anyone just how dangerous necromancy is. You used it on members of my Terarch Guard. I read the reports. Read the accounts of what you did to them. Men and women who were faithfully serving their nation. Who were just trying to earn a living for their families.”

I tightened my jaw. I did not like how the sentiment echoed my own dark thoughts. “This coming from a man who has butchered an entire continent and who, as we speak, is earnestly attempting to conquer the rest of the world.”

“And why, Aurion, do you think I’m doing that? Do you suppose that I am simply an evil man? Do you think that I am insane with a lust for power? That I derive pleasure from the pain of others? Or have you ever asked yourself whether or not there might be an underlying justification, a greater cause that I’m striving for?”

I looked away from him. I had not expected him to sound so reasonable. To come across so personably.

“Even if there is,” I said. “That does not excuse your actions.”

The Autarch leaned forward. “Except, I know you don’t actually believe that. Your actions tell me that you don’t. Evidently, you are willing to do horrendous things for a good cause. Or else why butcher my Terarch Guard? Why devour their souls?”

I wasn’t ready for this. This onslaught of logic. Here was a man who had lived for over three centuries, the most powerful individual alive.

What chance did I have against him? In a fight, or even a contest of words.

But that, I recognized, was just an excuse.

The truth was, I simply didn’t have a good rebuttal.

“What’s the cause?” I finally asked, teeth gritted. “If you’re so insistent that there’s a good reason behind your tyranny…then what is it?”

And now Marak stood, his expression serious.

“If you truly wish to know,” he said quietly, “then follow me.”