Chapter 77

  Mirrors

There was only darkness-- not even the moon could be seen alighting the sky, clad instead beneath the layers of dark and gloomy clouds. Sheyra clutched the silken weave tightly abreast, her full, blood-red lips trembling, eyes of sapphire-blue blinking as they stared into the oblivion. Maerel’s Pit-- the maw of damnation, portal to inferno itself, where sinners were cast to suffer. Her trembling lips mumbled for Gods, but Gods were dead-- they had been dead for too long now. She glanced back abrasively, staring briefly at the tall towers of glass that loomed over her home, at the pillars all believed to be the swords defending the Kingdom. Lies, she knew. Those were not the swords-- but daggers stained with kin’s blood.

She would not become the limp broodmother for their madness; will of Iron streamed in her blood, defiance of Fire, and courage of Thunder. For all she was not, she was twice as many things-- and if the Pit was her solitary escape, she would leap much like the baby bhurrgs leap from their nests. Should she grow wings, she would fly to the distant lands beyond this darkness. And should she fall... she shall die. That was her destiny, destiny carved within the writs of fate since the day of her birth, sixteen years ago.

Though courage burned in her veins, she was a pup still; standing at the edge, she shook and shivered and shuddered. Darkness was swallowing. It was terrible. Silent. Silent beyond the description. She had never heard less noise in her life than at this moment, not even when the defending sword stabbed the heart of one it was ought to be defending. A pin could be heard in that silence; yet, Sheyra believed wholeheartedly, even the pin would turn silent should it land at this moment.

She whimpered, tears alighting her eyes; she was fair and young and beautiful and full of life... yet she had to die. And it wasn’t just her that would take the leap. Looking down, she parted the silken cover to unveil the face of a newborn babe, round and plump and fresh, eyes closed, asleep. Her tiny chest moved still, up and down, up and down. Sheyra knew Aeyna would have grown into the most beautiful woman across the Kingdoms, for it was foretold. Yet, here she lay, in her arms, nary a week old.

“Fly,” Sheyra sang in a whisper, rocking her babe back and forth, gently and lovingly. “Fly little aena... fly...” with the peak of courage, she pushed forward, her feet leaving the gentle comfort of the ground, finding themselves loose in the air. She fell, her eyes closed, winds blasting against her cheeks. She would not scream. She would not cry. She would not pray. Gods may be dead, but their halls stand fast. They would welcome her, and her babe. And for the first time since she could remember... she would rest, and not suffer.

**

“You’ve… gotten remarkably good,” Tenner praised with some reservation, uncertain himself as to how Sylas had gotten this good at the sword so quickly. The man was precise, resourceful, unrelenting, and occasionally even unstoppable with the blade.

“Still can’t seem to defeat you,” Sylas lamented with a sigh.

“If you could, what worth would the decades of my strife be?” Tenner scoffed.

“… I can’t imagine it,” Sylas said as the two men put down the blades and walked to the nearby bench, sitting down. The small hall that Sylas managed to rip from Valen for some sparring was alight with several torches, though dim and dark still. “Living in this place for decades. How did you manage it, anyway?”

“… home’s where you carve it,” Tenner replied. “And this place… became my home.”

“A womanless home,” Sylas said. “That’s perhaps the more impressive part. I can’t wait for the winter’s end, to be honest.”

“The winter’s just begun,” Tenner sighed lightly.

“Yes, yes, you don’t need to remind me. But… I’m curious. Save for my remote village and this place, I’ve never been anywhere,” Sylas said. “I want to see the world. I really do.”

“Don’t we all?” Tenner reclined and leaned into the wall. “It’s a beautiful place, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

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“Why not?”

“Whatever you find in here, you’ll find out there. Perhaps there you shall find fancier buildings, and fancier roads, and fancier cutlery, but, at the end of the day, you’ll find equally awful and good people.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to leave this place for the people,” Sylas nodded. “It is for those fancier buildings, and fancier roads, and fancier cutlery. And, I imagine, fancier alcohol.”

“… the capital, at least, is a sight to behold,” Tenner sighed in reminiscence. “The entire plaza made from marble stone, the marvel of the Thousand Statues, the Eternal Gates of the Palace, the Mirrored Spires, even the Toren’s Bazar. All, in their own right, are wonders worth seeing.”

“… didn’t you ever want to return, then? And stay there?”

“Sometimes,” Tenner nodded, picking up a bowl of water and washing his hands and face. “But all the pretty sights weren’t worth the scum inhabiting them. People here… are simpler. Kinder. More understanding. Though I won’t claim we are honorable, at the very least we tend to air out our hate front and center. But the further south you go, and closer to the heart of the Kingdom, the more isolated the world becomes. Even if you were bleeding out in the middle of the street, people would gawk at you and pass you, but nary a few would even ask whether you were fine, let alone help you.”

“…”

“I’ve met a lot of young kids who’ve dreamed of going to the capital,” Tenner said. “Thinking all their dreams would come true. But most… returned, eventually. For instance, our dear Captain Harn, is, through and through, a capital born-and-bred brat. And yet, he came to the far edge of the Kingdom to escape from it all.”

“I… I didn’t know that,” Sylas mumbled.

“How could you? You’ve barely been with us,” Tenner chuckled. “You’ll learn, in time. After all, all of us have our stories.”

“Oh? And what’s yours?” Sylas asked curiously.

“… your average tale of a young man learning his limits, I suppose. I was married once, actually,” Tenner dropped a bombshell. “Aye. Loved ‘er and all.”

“What happened?”

“She got kidnapped, raped, and butchered.”

“Jesus…” Sylas cringed, pulling back slightly. Though Tenner spoke of something horrible, his expression was… calm. “I—I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“… why? It was she who had to live through that,” he said.

“Who… who did it?”

“Some nobleman, I recall,” Tenner replied. “When I went to demand justice, his father tossed a purse of coins at me and told me to get lost, lest they did the same to me. And, well, when I didn’t… they did. Well, except the butcher part.”

“…” Oi, you also had to live through it. You forgot?!

“What?” Tenner glanced at him, smiling lightly. “Regret asking?”

“… maybe those folk in the capital have got it right,” Sylas’ heart hurt more due to how nonchalantly Tenner behaved rather than what he had lived through. “Had I never gotten involved with you, I would have never felt a heartbreak of such magnitude. I… no, saying sorry is meaningless. Later today, I’ll bring us both two jugs of wine, and we’ll drink ourselves silly. Though not the healthiest, drinking my problems away is really the only solution I’ve got.”

“…” Tenner looked at Sylas for a moment. He’d regaled his tale a few times before, but each time it was met with disgust and rejection. As such, he’s learned people weren’t interested in the plights unless they were rooted in heroics. Had he butchered the men who defiled his wife, his story would have been celebrated, he was certain. The reason why he told Sylas in the first place was that he knew the man wouldn’t judge him. He didn’t know why he felt that… he just did. And he was right. “You’ll pass out long before me, though.”

“Oh, I’m very much planning to,” Sylas replied. “Some nobleman, my ass. Tell me his name. I’ll have Prince Valen do with him what—”

“No,” Tenner suddenly interrupted. “It’s fine.”

“How is it fine?!”

“Because I don’t want revenge,” Tenner said. “And even the Prince wouldn’t be able to punish them without a reason. But… I don’t want the world to know.”

“… you’re too good for this place, old man,” Sylas said. “Too good. If it were me, I’d use and abuse everything I could to burn their house and their names and their legacies into oblivion.”

“Would you, though?” Tenner suddenly quizzed.

“Hm?”

“No, nothing. Thank you. For listening. Few do.”

“… there’s no shame in it,” Sylas said, sighing. No matter what he said, it was unlikely to matter much; even on Earth, it was a contentious point, let alone a world lagging centuries behind Earth in the social spectrum.

“I know,” Tenner said. “I’m not ashamed it happened—I’m ashamed I was too stupid to have let it happen. Should have taken the coin and ran off. She wouldn’t have judged me, that much I know.”

“… sometimes,” Sylas said. “Even legs made for running stay rooted. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Strange indeed,” Tenner nodded. “Well, I will head over for lunch. Care to join me?”

“I promised Ryne I’d have it with her today,” Sylas said. “She’s curious about the boy but doesn’t want to be left alone with him.”

“Don’t blame her,” Tenner said. “Kid’s a creepy one.”

“You don’t have to tell me. You know I caught him watching me sleep like four times? He’s all like ‘it’s such a curious thing, the way humans slumber’.”

“… alright, I must start barricading the doors and windows from here on out. I hope you’re half as interesting as you seem, to keep his attention occupied for the whole winter.”

“I’ll just pass him off to Prince,” Sylas shrugged. “He’s been purposefully stretching his ‘dealing with stuff’ out. It’s high-time he became a daddy.”

“… you two are weird,” Tenner said. “Alas, tomorrow for the spar again?”

“Bring some kids along,” Sylas said. “And I’ll drag Derrek over. We may as well start truly preparing them.”

“Very well. Till tomorrow then.”

“Till tonight. We drink, old man. Remember?!”

“Aye, aye, we drink...”