Khaska's Lament

My hands could barely hold the scroll open as I read the final words, and for moments that seemed like hours afterwards my vision glazed over as I stared listlessly at the crinkled parchment and the traitorous letters scrawled on it. I read over parts again, the parts that rent my soul as effortlessly as a honed blade would a hollow cactus. There entered into my clouded mind an image of Tawru as his icons had always been painted, but his horn was lost and his robes and armor black and his eyes burned with a black fire. The story truly was the Tragedy of Tawru. My breaths came in shallow, spastic spurts, my head hurt, my heart rang dull and cold as an alarm bell, and there was a watery pressure behind my eyes. I had been closer to death that ever before in the past month, but this was more terrible.

Was my world to be completely overturned, the dragonriders good and Tawru evil? Would black become white now, and white black?

I should not have believed it, I would not have believed it a month ago. Even when I met Sir Reitman for the first time, I harbored my distrusts of him and what he stood for.

But I believed Sir Reitman in the end, almost against my will. And now I believed this, entirely against my will.

I inadvertently let go of the end of the scroll, which feebly doubled up on itself with the folds and creases of centuries.

This, which I was not meant to see.

This, which Tawru had forbidden me from seeing.

I, with him, wished that I had never seen it. Now I understood the proverb that the truth is not always a loyal servant.

Why was this my lot, to be lone among all my people mistakenly burdened with this weight? Who am I, that had the sore chance to be cursed with such knowledge? I sought it out. My doubt gave birth and reduplicated. I sought evidence, and found what I did not want to find.

I felt I needed to leave, to flee. I could not stay here, where the smell of books became the smell of mildew and rot and a tomb of shattered light.

The scroll and journal I took up, and thought to take them, but I could not. It was like ice to my skin and fire, accursed fire, to my heart. I hid them behind a shelf of registries covered in cobwebs, where none had ever or would ever look. A hasty farewell I bid to Sir Ing, and thanked the Gods that my people’s feelings are not easy for the others to perceive. I suppressed a dash out of the chapterhouse of the Knights, seeking no contact with anyone, and emerged on the streets of Hammerdine, congested in the late afternoon dust and reeking of sweat and animals.

I could not help but believe it. The scroll was no forgery. Likran Treewind was no liar. Tawru…

I choked and shuffled faster, going where? I knew not.

Now I know the secret. I believe it. I cannot forget it. Tawru had not accomplished his great acts through appeals to the light. The Knights had wronged him against the Gods, but he committed a greater wrong, even though in the service of a noble cause. Even though he truly regretted his actions and remained loyal to the principles but not leaders of the Knights, he had betrayed himself to those who would destroy that which is beautiful and good. Why did Treewind and Tawru struggle, if friendship’s bonds still bound? I know not. But I cannot do the same as Tawru.

More, I cannot lie about my knowledge. Were I to proclaim this openly, my people would not believe me. I am no one to them, and would be even less then. They would call me Khaska the Traitor, Khaska the Gullible, Khaska the Infidel. I had succumbed to the wiles of the Knights, and had disgraced the honor of my people, something that Tawru had never done when faced with greater wrongs and seductions … but I would know that he in fact had, and that I had not surrendered. Nevertheless I would be exiled, never to return, and have my names stripped from me and the name Khaska would come to mean nothing but dust unworthy even of spittle. My mothers and sisters would curse my treachery and my father would be cast out into the friendless wilderness, his sword confiscated and one horn broken in the ultimate dishonor. As would be mine, but both.

If they would not trust me, they would indubitably discard the Knights’ testimony, even Treewind’s heartfelt confessions. It would be seen as another scheme to diminish us before the nations, this time by destroying our greatest pride and the one thing that all our branches yet have in common; for Tawru is honored by the faithful in Jevereshk, by the unwitting faithless in Laishtek, and even by the rebels in Gtarrei. And so things would ever remain the same, darkness would remain unforgiven, and the Dark Times would come upon us, and we would not be one.

In my aimless, wracked wanderings, I decided that I needed divine guidance, for I did not know how I could return to my people or my companions or the Knights bearing such lethal poison on my tongue and in my heart. I went to ask a guard where there was a sanctuary to the God the others call the Dawnfather but we call Teresh, and in my disorientation, I found myself speaking in my own tongue to an uncomprehending face. Nothing but “the Dawnfather” would come to my lips in Common, but he understood, and directed me to a small sanctuary with peeling frescos of unfamiliar faces and unknown runes. There were none that I could see in the small, dim room where candlelight lent a feeble glare to the sun’s rays falling through the open door, and casting aside all decorum, I did not kneel but I prostrated myself in front of the altar and pled to know why: Why had this come to me, who am nothing? Who has no fourth name and no distinction, who failed at the dance and cut himself off to seek a destiny, now showing itself to be a bitter destiny of dishonor and despair?

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

As I lay there, unbidden tears wetting the dust on my hands, I had a thought: they would not believe you now. I grasped at that and did not understand. What did it mean? I asked, but nothing more came, and I stood to leave. It was then that I saw Khamir, my friend whom we had saved from an evil fate. Somehow he was in the same shrine, but it became obvious that he had been sent. “The Platinum Dragon has sent me here to comfort you,” said he. “I know not of what my God spoke, but he says that you need not bear your terrible burden alone.” He put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “Share your burden with your friends. They are good people. They will help with what must be done. The Gods call us all to honesty, for our own sake as well as those around us. ‘A spark alone flies and fades, but many together create a fire.’” I recognized a Maha’i saying in his words, one that must have been given him from his God. Without another word, the cleric of the Platinum Dragon left me, stunned that the Gods were speaking to both of us in such clear ways.

Brushing off my knees and arms with uncertain hands, I hurriedly and embarrassedly acknowledged the presence of the local priest who must have entered while I prayed, and exited back into the sunstreaked streets.

As I pondered with inner torment, I found that I came to the old gates of the city, now nearer its center than its fringe. Drawn inexplicably through them, I knew that this was where the soldiers from Hammerdine had hung Tawru’s body and whence his children had rescued it, where they noted with indignant sorrow the disgraceful lack of his horn but nevertheless bore his body to the High Queen.

I then understood.

I had been given a burden, the burden of the truth, the burden of the dark, the burden of the evil consequences of even the best actions, and it was meant as a gift. It was my destiny to know – but not only to know. They would not believe me . . . now. But maybe they would, later. I must prove myself trustworthy and faithful beyond reproach. I can and must help the Knights prove their honesty and sincerity (or, at least, those of them who are pure of heart and clear of vision), the desire of us all to see the wounds of the past and heal them.

While I had browsed the dusty books, I decided that I would ask Dragonrider Reitman to help me find Tawru’s Horn, for it would repair the damage of the past more than aught else. I now also know that Tawru’s Sword is somewhere. It is imperative that we find Tawru’s Horn and restore it, and the sword that he and Treewind had wielded. If I come bearing such gifts, with the Knights behind me, I will not be doubted, and the Knights might have a chance. Reitman deserves it, Treewind deserves it, and I hope the others do, too. And Tawru … his bravery and steadfastness deserve my greatest efforts.

Until I did that, though, I would be alone amidst my people in my knowledge. And when I speak my truth, what would become of Tawru in the minds of my people, among whom the very mention of evil warrants reprimand? And what of the faith that he was Markus, Aruzventark Reborn, the very son of the Gods—and also the one who turned his soul over to the forces of evil, a curse unable to be rescinded save by atonement while living? How could a God, though mortal, betray himself? Yet Tawru had died in his sin, though it had been for a good cause. Is that not reason in itself for forgiveness from the Gods? It was not they that abandoned him, after all, but the Knights. My heart pounds this rhythm still, though: but Tawru chose evil strength over unjustly imposed righteous weakness.

Then clarity came to my mind. If he was Markus Reborn, it is said that he will come once more into this life; and living, would he not be able to atone for his sins in that new life? No one is beyond the reach of the light if they so choose, though hard it may be. It is also said, though, that those reborn do not know their past until they are informed of it; indeed, that Tawru never knew, though some suspected. He would not know who he is, or what he must do, unless someone who does know were to relate to him the true story and relay to him his personal burden.

This, though, is the burden that has been given solely to me: I have learned of Tawru’s wrongs to help him receive redemption for them, as well as to heal the rifts between the peoples. I must learn how Tawru fell, so that he might be raised up once more; and I must find Markus Reborn. If I do not find him in my life, I will reestablish the monastery of Tawru that Treewind founded so that others might know the truth and find him when he does come again, so that all may again be healed. However, if what is said is true, he will come again before the Dark Times, then he is already among us. Somewhere.

These thoughts did not come to me all at once, standing by the wall, but over the days following, which were mournful and taxing on my spirit. I spent many days in prayer and fasting in the shrines of Hammerdine, and I did not revisit the library. I seldom spoke to my friends, my heart was so heavy, though they in their kindness spoke to me, and I was silently glad for it.

But now I knew what load it was that I was chosen to carry, and I will carry it as best I can, though it be in solitude – as those before me have borne its grievous heft to the end of their days.

Now I know what I must say to Dragonrider Reitman. I have considered concealing the truth from him, but I cannot; if I wish to foster any level of trust and wholeness, I cannot lie to him whose help I must request. Besides, despite my will, it was Treewind’s will that the Knights knew, and Tawru had not forbidden that; the knowledge thereof had brought to pass even a change in their Code. I will tell him the sad tale entire, and ask him to help me find the Horn and the Sword, and tell him of how Tawru must be redeemed. I pray the Gods guide my words as I do, lest their mission and trust in me be utterly ruined and the old evil wounds spill blood unto death beyond hope of recovery.

My friends have no need to know the story in full at the moment, but I will tell them that I must find the Horn and the Sword. Perhaps they will help.

Perhaps this is too much for one person. I believe that it is too much for me, save the Gods give me strength and inspiration. If they so will it, it is my solemn duty to will it, too.