It was early evening by the time Kint arrived home.

The sun glowed a deep red through the lingering Shroud. Shadows reached across cracked stone streets, reclaiming land from the day.

Kint’s thoughts were a jumble, leaning against the wooden door of his home.

The Sentinel, the Crier, the murders… and red eyes.

The Mayors words lingered in his mind.

What might they be needed for in the days to come?

The sun’s ember went out on his back.

Kint couldn’t shake the feeling, things were going to get worse.

He turned the handle.

The soothing glow of a lamplit home greeted him.

A fire was burning in the fireplace down the hall, a hot stove beside it. In front of the fire were two cushioned leather chairs

Kint removed his rumpled black coat, placing it on the rack by the door.

He paused, hand brushing against a flakey crust of dried blood.

“I’ve found you.”

The words echoed in his ears.

… and those red eyes.

“You’re Late…”

A stern voice startled him back to reality.

Kint looked down the hall to see his daughters face peaking around the corner of a cushioned chair, hair falling like a dark curtain around her face.

A warmth bloomed in his chest, the worries of earlier washed away.

“I thought I might skip dinner tonight.” He smiled, “I found a couple peaches in my pockets today, and they just about filled me up.”

His daughter smiled, dimples wrinkling her cheeks.

“I wouldn’t know who put those there. But, they must be very smart.”

He sighed. He was home in that smile.

Kint loosened his tie, entering the living room.

“You sound more like your mother every day.” He noted, making his way to the dining table.

“Someone has to feed you.” She chided, “Or you’ll start looking older than you already do.”

“I’m older than I’ve ever been, Nessa.” Kint quipped.

“You’re 45!” She cried, offended.

“That’s pretty old for me.” He croaked, with a sly grin.

Nessa rolled her eyes, sitting forward in her chair.

Kint looked down at the table. There were two lit candles on its surface. All the ingredients for a delicious stew were laid out. The potatoes, onions, carrots, and celery had been peeled, cleaned, and placed into neat piles. Nessa had even dressed a chicken, removing the feathers, and getting rid of all the innards. A large cast iron stock pot sat at the edge of the table, dark lid set to the side.

“This looks good.” Kint commented. “But, you’ve forgotten some things.”

He pointed to the unchopped vegetables and uncarved chicken.

“I shouldn’t be using knives at my age.” She lectured. “And I have school work to do.”

“A little too much like your mother.” Kint grumbled, pulling his Stalwart Knife from its sheath.

“What are you working on?” He asked.

“The Apostles, and their Deeds.” She responded, focused.

“Oh, which ones?”

“The Founders.” She said, scritching away with her pencil.

“Hmm…” He muttered, chewing on a carrot. “I thought that was first year stuff.”

“First year was just rhymes and songs.” She explained, enthusiastic. “Now we get to learn the details.”

“Oh…” He said, nibbling on an onion. “Like the Sixth.”

Nessa was silent for a moment.

“No…” She muttered, solemn.

Kint looked over his shoulder, seeing a frown on his daughter's face.

“Erie says the Sixth isn’t real.” She sulked.

Kint flinched, realizing he’d brought up something he shouldn’t have.

“Don’t listen to Erie.” He said, giving his most confident smile. “You’ll learn about the Sixth when you’re older. That’s all.”

She gave him a skeptical eye.

“Ok…”

“Here…” He grunted, pouring ingredients in the pot. “How ‘bout, when you’re done, I quiz you? Make sure you’ve got it all up here.”

He tapped his temple.

“Okay!” She chirped, excited.

“Right.” He smiled, diverting a small crisis.

Five minutes later, the pot was on the stove, and Kint was puffing contentedly on his pipe. He sat comfortably in his cushioned chair, one leg crossed over the other. Ness worked beside him, reading books and filling out worksheets. The zealous intensity of her gaze reminded him so much of Carolin.

Kint released a contented sigh… Which soon turned into a snore.

…

“Done!”

Kint woke from his slumber, shaking himself alert.

He grunted, clearing his throat.

The Inspector put his pipe to his mouth to take a puff, but it had gone out. He grimaced, resting it on the table beside him.

“Alright.” He grunted, gathering himself. “So… The founding Apostles, is it?”

Nessa confirmed with a sharp nod.

“I guess… we should begin with the First.” He looked up, sorting through memories to find the right information.

A wave of exhaustion came on him, all at once. He was so tired… So achy… He rubbed at the back of his head, feeling pain and dried blood from this morning. He blinked hard, shaking his head.

“You know what sweetheart.” He started, giving Nessa an apologetic look. “Do you mind if we do this tomorrow? It’s been a rough day.”

“Papa…” She cocked her head, annoyed. “You said you’d quiz me…”

“I know, I know… It’s just.” He sighed, memories of Syfeeli’s attack and crimson eyes flooded his mind.

He worked his jaw, feeling a ringing in his ears.

“Papa…” She pleaded. “You promised.”

Kint blinked heavily, shaking his head. There was a growing pressure behind his forehead.

Just quiz her. How many other chances are you gonna have if things get worse… take advantage of this time.

“Papa…” Her voice pleaded.

“Fine.” He relented, “But, just general stuff, alright? Nothing too specific. It’s been a while.”

“Yes!” She said, bouncing in her chair with excitement.

He smiled at the sight of her joy.

The ringing faded from his ears, pressure relenting.

“Alright then… Who… was the first Apostle?” He started. “And how did he and the Prophet meet?” Kint asked.

“Clarette Syphone was the first Apostle and She…” His daughter emphasized, “...was the Noblewoman who saved Halvash from the slums.”

“Good.” Kint nodded, “And why was she so special? Orphans get adopted all the time.”

“She took in the Prophet even though she was a noble and he was a beggar, which was not done at the time.” She quoted.

“And what lesson did Halvash Ignus take from his time with the Allmother?” Kint asked.

“He learned that help can come from anywhere.” Nessa recited.

Kint grunted in approval.

“And it should be given when it is needed. No matter the differences.” He added, “In class, religion, or creed.”

Nessa looked at him, skeptical.

“What?” He asked.

“That’s not in the book.”

Kint looked at her, confused.

“It was in mine…” He argued.

What were they teaching the kids these days?

“I don’t think they’re going to quiz me on what was in your book, Papa.” She quipped.

“Alright, smart one.” He said wryly. “We’ll stick to the book.”

“Let’s skip around this time.” Kint started again, “How about the Fourth Apostle… Tell me about him.”

“The Fourth Apostle was Jocinder Doene, The Politician.” Nessa began. “His first great deed was to negotiate the release of Kalavan Korth, the third Apostle, from the Govan Empire. He did it…” She paused for dramatic effect, “... Using only his political acumen, his cunning, and a well placed lie.”

She finished with a flourish.

“You like the Fourth Apostle don’t you?”

“I think he’s amazing.” She replied, reverent. “To go to the Govan empire, The Prophet’s greatest enemy, free your friend, and get away with it only using words… Incredible.”

“But he lied.” Kint countered, serious.

“He did it to save his friend.” She replied, voice innocent.

“So you’re saying it’s okay to lie as long as it’s for a friend?” Kint questioned, face stern.

“Yes…?” She said slowly, following her instincts.

“And if I told you…That Jocinder’s lie caused a civil war in the Govan Empire.” He raised an eyebrow. “A war that hurt a lot of people… Was it a good lie then?”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Nessa frowned, perplexed.

“And after The Fourth Apostle returned, how do you think the Prophet greeted him? With open arms like a hero?” Kint asked.

Nessa shook her head slowly.

“No…” He affirmed. “The Prophet had him flogged, in front of the Apostles and all his people.”

A meaningful silence lingering.

“Can you think of why the Prophet would do that?” He asked.

“Because lying is bad.” She frowned.

“Exactly.” Kint nodded. “He wanted to show his people that lies have consequences, for those who speak them, those who hear them, and the thousand more after.”

“Ok…” Nessa said slowly, digesting the words.

“But, Papa…” She hesitated. “... I don’t think any of the stuff you said is in the book either.”

He snorted.

“The Apostles write the books, Sweetheart.”

Nessa cocked her head, confused.

He shouldn’t have said that.

“Anyway…” He stammered. “Let’s talk about the Second Apostle. Tell me about him.”

Nessa gave him a skeptical eye, but she moved on, telling him of The Magistrate, Seevert Inkhold, and the General, Kalavan Korth. She recited their deeds and details from memory, like she had written the book herself.

They finished off with the tale of Alshash Vorva, the Scholar, and Founding Apostle of their own District.

Before they knew it, the stew was done, its savory aroma filling the room.

They ate dinner in silence. The stew helped soothe the anxieties of Kint’s day, relaxing him to the point where sleep was near at hand.

He urged his daughter to bed after dinner. But, not before having the promise of tucking her in extracted from him.

Kint heard a door close as the girl readied for bed.

He wiped sweat from his brow, rubbing his temples as a headache pressed behind his forehead.

He lit another pipe, smoking its sweet leaf as he cleaned.

The old Inspector sat down in his leather chair. Puffing at his pipe, enjoying the stillness, and the warmth of the evening air.

“I’m ready!” Nessa called behind him.

Quick footsteps followed as she hastened to her bed.

Kint groaned, feeling creaks and snaps from in his body as he stood.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, careful to avoid the bruises on his head.

The Inspector trudged to his daughters bedroom door, taking a deep breath.

He would be in and out. Quick as that.

Kint entered the room.

Nessa was in bed, blue and white sheets pulled up to her neck, held there by delicate fingers.

He smiled, feeling that familiar warmth in his chest.

“Are you gonna tuck me in, Papa?” She asked, voice sweet as sugar.

“Of course, Sweetheart.”

“You’re not too tired?” She questioned.

Kint gave her a withering look.

He moved from the left side of the bed to the right, pulling blankets under the mattress all the way around. He stretched them taught like a wire mesh.

Nessa giggled as the sheets tightened around her.

When he was done, Kint knelt down, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

“Goodnight.” He cooed.

He moved to leave.

“Papa…” She whispered, hesitant.

Kint suppressed a sigh.

“Yes, sweety.”

“Can you tell me a story?” She asked.

He closed his eyes.

The ringing in his ears began again.

“Sweetheart, I told you…” He sighed, “Papa is very tired.”

He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes.

“I know, you said that…” She pleaded, “But I can’t sleep without it.”

He blinked forcefully. The pressure was mounting in his forehead.

“Aren’t you getting a bit old for bedtime stories?” He grunted, frustration mounting.

What’s the harm… She’s not going to be a child forever.

He shook his head. This was getting painful.

Just one more story. These moments are precious. You never know when it could all be stripped away.

“Fine.” He snapped. “Fine.”

The pressure faded. The ringing dimmed.

“What story do you wanna hear?” He asked. “The Tales of Darren the Surefoot? Or Talund Lordsbane?”

She gave him a sheepish smile.

“Tell me about the Sixth Apostle.”

Kint frowned. Clenching his teeth.

He took a breath to cool down. Hoping to avoid another headache.

She’s wasn’t gonna let this go. He could tell.

“Alright…” He growled. “I’ll tell you… But you can’t tell your friends.”

He raised a serious eyebrow at her.

She nodded vigorously.

“And only the general stuff.” He qualified. “You’ll have to wait till you’re older to get the details.”

She grimaced, but eventually nodded, accepting his terms.

“And no interrupting.” He added. “Not till it’s finished.”

She nodded again.

He stared at her moment longer.

“Alright…”

He took a breath.

Where to start…

… and how much to tell.

Some parts of this story might be problematic, especially if she told them to her friends.

Carolin would have known what to do here.

But, he only knew how to tell the story one way. He’d have to trust his daughter.

He met her eyes. She had an expectant expression on her face.

“The Sixth Apostle was born Koresh Ignus.” He began. “Brother of The Prophet, Halvash Kaden Ignus.”

He grinned, watching his daughters eyes widen in amazement. She opened her mouth to speak, but he put up a hand to stop her.

“No questions till the end.” He reitterated.

She nodded agreement.

“Koresh and Halvash grew up on the streets of Ignus. The two weren't related by blood, but it was common in those times for orphans to take the name of their city as their last. The city of Ignus was rough, so they stuck together to survive, building a bond like brothers from an early age. It was a battle every day, fighting off rivals, animals, and the authorities for every scrap of food.

The boys worked well together. Halvash was always optimistic, always seeing the best in people. While, Koresh was the opposite. Always suspicious, always planning for future, always checking to make sure they weren’t being swindled or tricked.

Unfortunately, it was this skeptical nature that kept Koresh from finding a home with Clarette Syfone. No matter how much his brother begged, the Sixth could not bring himself to trust the woman. He’d been burned and beaten by nobles too many times before.

So the boy stayed in the slums, while his brother moved on.

As he grew, he began plying odd jobs, taking apprenticeships, and scraping together useful skills. For if there was one thing the streets had tought him, it was that he could only rely on himself. So he set out to make himself as capable as he could.

And Koresh would need to be very capable indeed, for the Govan empire was on the horizon, making their way toward Ignus.”

Nessa’s face grew fearful.

Kint grinned, continuing.

“When the Govani arrived, the city fell in an instant. The Nobility had already fled, taking their wealth and weaponry with them. So all that was left for the common folk, was blood and Govani chains.

Koresh had clamps on his wrist and ankles before he knew it, and the life he’d hoped to build was clouded by a future of hard labor.

Seing he had a strong back and strong arms, valuable tools for a slave, the Govani put him to work in the fields.

But, the Sixth had a strength they could not see, one built into him through years of struggle in the slums.

It wasn’t long before the young man escaped, breaking his chains to find refuge in the forest. But, the Govan Empire was vast, and a single slave could not hope to escape their lands.

After a few weeks of running, Koresh was caught, his ankles weighed down by chains once again.

For most slaves, death was the Govan punishment for escape. But Koresh Ignus had strong arms and a strong back, so he was put to work once again. This time in the mills, where sweat fell like rain, and a mans hands would be blistered and burned by the end of the day.

Again, the Sixth fought back. This time rallying a small group to break free with him.

But the Empire put a stop to that as well.

Still, they would not kill him. For his arms were strong and his back was strong, and that had value in the Govan Empire.

As punishment for his many escapes, they sent him deep into the Empire homelands, where slaves were not but cattle and the conditions harsh as mountain winters.

The Govani whipped him and starved and beat him near to death. But still, he would not bend and Koresh Ignus escaped again. This time, leading a hundred men through heavy gates, out of captivity, and into the wild.

But the Govan Empire was vast, and soon, the Sixth was caught again.

This time, the Empire finally recognized the hidden strength of the Sixth Apostle. They saw how bright his spirit shone.

It was too late to kill him now. His name had circulated among the slaves. Stories flew from camp to camp of Koresh Ignus and his unbreakable will.

Even Emperor himself had heard Koresh’s name and in his hubris, he decided to make an example of the unbreakable slave. Emperor Vire ordered the Sixth be sent to the deep mines of the Tordool Mountains.

The mines were in the heart of the Empire, ten thousand miles from any border. There could be no hope of escape… no hope of sunlight either.

It was there that Koresh stayed for many years. Long enough for the people to forget his name. Long enough for the Emperor to believe he’d won. That he’d broken the unbreakable slave.

Until, one night, a few days after Jocinder Doene’s lie, all the slaves of the deep mines vanished. Dissappeared without a trace.

For months, there was no sight or sign of them. A Thousand men, gone in an instant. Eventually, the Empire concluded that they’d simply dug too deep, and died in a cave in.

But they were proven wrong, when Koresh Ignus was sighted three months later, leading his men across the Govan border into the young Noveriat, with a thousand sturdy miners in toe.”

Kint smiled, enjoying the look of awe on his daughters face.

“The Sixth’s first deed was so great, that the Prophet made him an Apostle on the very spot.”

“Amazing…” Nessa whispered, eyes full of wonder.

“I know.” Kint whispered, getting goosebumps from his own tale.

“But…” The girl started, perplexed. “Why don’t we learn about the Sixth like the other Apostles? Is he different?”

“Smart Girl.” Kint smiled, “The Sixth is different, for many reasons. But mostly because his many years of abuse left him unable to have children.”

“So he didn’t have a family?” Nessa asked, saddened by the news.

Kint nodded, solemn.

He leaned in, as if to tell a secret.

“But, he did have… a brotherhood.”

His daughter's eyes widened again.

“But, I’ll tell you that story another time.” Kint smiled, standing from his seat on her bed.

“But, Papa.” Nessa pleaded.

“No no.”

The Inspector raised a hand.

“I said only the general stuff. That’s as far as I’ll go tonight.”

“Come on…” She cried.

Kint could feel the ringing in his ears coming on.

“Nessa…” He growled, opening the door. “Let it go. We’re done for the night.”

He gripped the handle hard, feeling off balance for some reason.

“Papa, plea–”

“Nessa! Stop it.” He snapped, turning sharply. “I said no.”

He stared at her, anger boiling in his eyes.

There was fear in his daughters face, and something else...

Guilt.

Kint took a deep breath, pushing the moment from his mind.

“Not tonight, sweetheart.” He sighed. “We’re done.”

He met her eyes again. There was understanding there. She knew she’d done wrong.

“Good night, Nessa.”

He exited the room, closing the door behind him.

A wave of exhaustion swept over the Inspector, forcing him to lean back against the wall. He put a hand to his chest. His heart was beating out of control.

He felt sick, nauseous.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breaths.

Blessedly, his heartbeat began to slow.

He leaned forward, making sure he was back on level ground.

Looking down at his feet, he frowned. There was a small pool of blood on the hardwood below. Kint cupped a hand above the crimson puddle, watching with concern as thick red droplets collected in his palm.

He looked up to the ceiling in frustration.

Why did she have to push him so far… and for what?

He shook himself. Not wanting to confront those questions.

He quietly grabbed a rag from the kitchen, cleaning the red mess. Then went about cleaning the rest of the house before putting out the lights.

His bedroom door creaked as he entered, dim lamplight revealing a barren space.

There was a queen sized bed pushed into the corner, a dresser, and a mirror hung above it. The only other item of note in the room was a small square of colored glass standing upright on a table opposite Kint’s bed.

With practiced movements, Kint closed the door, sitting on the bed to face the shimmering glass.

The Inspector reached out, pulling two candles from a drawer.

He placed them on either side of the glass, lighting them both.

Kint straightened up, staring into the last image he had of his Wife Carolin.

A confusing mix of emotions stirred in his heart.

The likeness was perfect, a true masterwork. He could see the sheen of her dark hair, and the freckles under her eyes. There was a sadness in her eyes, or maybe that was something only he could see.

He sat for a while, admiring the look of her, waiting for those uncomfortable feelings to abate. The candles burned…

He began to speak.

“I almost died today…” He started. “Man had me by the throat before I realized… when I did…I–”

Kint trailed off again, looking down at his hands.

“Caught me off guard I guess…” He continued. “I’m not what I once was that’s for sure… God’s help us if I was.”

He glanced away again, unable to meet those disappointed eyes.

The silence stretched like old leather.

“Anyway…”

Kint cleared his throat.

“I missed you today… especially with Nessa.” Kint smiled, shaking his head. “Everytime I look at her, I get a better glimpse of you. She gives me these looks sometimes… I can’t tell the difference.”

“She’s got your stubbornness, too.” He grimaced. “And a curiosity… I don’t know where she gets that from.” Kint shook his head. “She keeps asking me questions…”

He looked up at her.

“They teach the Prophet less and less.” He growled. “The only lessons they want are the ones that suit their purposes.”

Kint sighed, scratching his scruffy cheeks.

“Not sure what you would’ve done… Probably something different… Maybe not… Your words are more distant by the day...”

Kint trailed off.

“I’m alone now… something dark is coming, and I don’t know if I can face it… Prophet help, I wish I had your guidance. Though I dread what you might say.”

“Anyway…”

He gritted his teeth.

“We’ll get through it.”

“I miss you…” He whispered.

The old Inspector stood, putting out the candles, and laying them back in the drawer.

Darkness sealed the room.

Silence followed.

Then stillness.

Kint sat, looking down at the fingers of his calloused hands. His mind was blank, his body ragged.

He needed rest…

But, sleep was no solace for him.

He beat back the weariness as long as he could.

Eventually, the jaws of slumber took him under.