“How is it possible those individuals disappeared?” Navir asked.
King Ramiro looked as troubled as the other High Elders in the conference room of the cathedral. Queen Lisabeth folded her arms, staring at the table they had set up for them. Dalius and Cristoval were missing, as Dalius was still sick. Fadrique was taking over duty of writing the notes of the meeting.
“We have run our men into the ground searching for them,” King Ramiro said. “I promise you, they are not in the city.”
“What you’ve told us is impossible,” Navir said. “Individuals who have sold their soul to the devil always have a trace of darkness on them. We could pick them out blindfolded. They do not disappear.”
Martin placed his hands in his sleeve, watching with growing unease. Navir’s anger was starting to trickle out. It didn’t come out much, but when it did, it was dangerous.
“Everyone coming in and out of the city have been searched,” King Ramiro said. “The wall has triple the guard it usually has. I assure you, no one has snuck out of the city.”
“But they’re not in the city either,” Fadrique said, glancing over the book of notes. “We would have sensed them if they had.”
“And none of your men saw anything the night of the murder?” Navir asked.
“They were doing their duties,” King Ramiro said, his voice darkening at the amount of distrust levied against him. “I trust Captain Luiz with my life. If he said his men didn’t see anything suspicious that night around the wall, then the individuals are still in the city.”
Navir stood. “Then you clearly trust your men more than you trust us, because we have traveled this entire city twice and have not sensed them.” King Ramiro said nothing, but Martin understood the silence. Yes, King Ramiro did trust his men more than the High Elders. Navir narrowed his eyes. “They are not in the city. With that level of evil, they sold their souls, so take a priest with you as you search for them in the villages and towns outside the walls. It should make it easier for your men to find them.”
“We cannot spare the men, and I don’t think we should-”
“Do it, Ramiro,” Navir snapped.
King Ramiro kept his face still. Queen Lisabeth glanced at her husband, hiding her unease quite well. King Ramiro stood, giving the smallest of bows. “It will be done, High Elder Navir.”
The two of them left, and Martin stared at the opposite wall. The door closed, and Navir still stood, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Navir,” Fadrique said, placing the quill in the inkpot. “I think we need to discuss the possibility of the staff.”
“Impossible,” Navir said.
“If they have the staff, it will cloak the traces of the marked individuals unless they were staring at us right in the face,” Fadrique said, not writing anything down. This conversation would be off the book.
“Which is why no one knows how to get one,” Navir said. “We have been certain of that, keeping such knowledge away from the public.”
It was another portion of the High Elders library Martin hated to study. There was a reason so many people were destroyed during the Great Flood. The wickedness of such times was unmatched, with the devil’s powers the strongest they had ever been. Martin hated placing the blame on God for the Great Flood, since God was dead. It was really five warlocks, men who were marked and had the staff of the devil. But in the end, the Great Flood was a blessing. A fresh start from one of the most wicked times in the world.
“But what about Kiam?” Fadrique said. “What if they know how to make it?”
Navir, for the first time since the meeting started, began to look scared.
“We don’t even know how to make one,” Martin said. “We’ve simply erased the memory of what they are and what they can do.”
“But Kiam might know. They might have created one,” Fadrique said.
Navir slowly sat back down, troubled. He chewed on his cheek before he shook his head. “It is far more likely in my mind that King Ramiro’s men looked the other way at exactly the right time for the marked individuals to escape over the wall rather than Kiam making a staff. We keep going with our usual plan.”
Martin leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. “I know tensions are high right now, but please, Navir, don’t alienate King Ramiro.”
Navir stood, heading for the door. “He needs to know his place every once in a while. It’s good for him. Meeting dismissed.”
***
Captain Luiz trained with Indenuel hard and he was happy he wore a darker shirt. Tolomon was there, covered in blood, giving him a smile.
“Ready for the bathhouse?” Tolomon asked.
Indenuel did everything in his power not to wince. “I… I actually want to take a bath at home.”
“Oh, really?” Tolomon asked as Captain Luiz sheathed his sword. “After being there for over two months, suddenly you’re shy?”
“I’d rather bathe at home,” Indenuel said.
“Well, your servants would certainly skin me alive if I went in the carriage like this. Why don’t we talk on the way to the bathhouse?” Tolomon asked, grabbing Indenuel’s elbow and leading him toward it.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“You are more than welcome to take a bath, but I will wait until we get back,” Indenuel said.
“Well, why ever not?” Tolomon asked loud enough for soldiers to hear across the yard.
“I don’t need to explain myself,” Indenuel said, so quiet only Tolomon could have picked it up.
“It would certainly help me guard you if I knew exactly what you were going through,” Tolomon said.
“I’m not going to say,” Indenuel said through gritted teeth.
“Ah, got a rash the healers can’t cure for some reason?” Captain Luiz asked.
Indenuel turned to see Captain Luiz following behind them. “Sorry, what?”
“I had one of those. Nasty thing that wrecked my skin for a month or so,” Captain Luiz said.
“I…” Indenuel didn’t want to have a rash, because he didn’t want a story to have to remember. Beside him, Tolomon smirked.
Indenuel then listened to the stories about Captain Luiz’s rash while Tolomon washed off. And Tolomon took a very, very long time to wash off. Indenuel didn’t want to confirm he had a rash, but he didn’t dare deny it either, since Captain Luiz wasn’t exactly asking him questions while he was regaling tales of horror of the rash getting closer and closer to his reproductive organs.
Once Tolomon was finally done and they were home, Indenuel ordered him to keep the servants out, and made a long list of all the things he wasn’t allowed to do. Indenuel then had the quickest bath of his life before getting dressed again.
“The study is ready for you sir,” Pablo said. “Would you like me to light the incense for you?”
“Sure, Pablo. That’s very kind of you,” Indenuel said, his hair still slicked back from the bath.
“And you got this. A letter from Captain Nathaniel,” Pablo said.
It was enough to make Indenuel pause. He took the letter before giving Tolomon a glare. Pablo left for the study to light the incense. “What did you tell him?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tolomon said, his face impossible to read.
Indenuel opened the letter.
Indenuel,
Tolomon tells me you’re having another difficult time-
“Meddling ass,” Indenuel muttered before moving into the study. Tolomon, again said nothing. Indenuel placed the letter to one side, partially to annoy Tolomon, but it didn’t last long. He wasn’t getting the reaction from Tolomon, and he also felt at least obligated to read Nathaniel’s letter. Indenuel situated himself on his chair before opening the letter again.
Indenuel,
Tolomon tells me you’re having another difficult time with your calling as Warrior. From what I gather, you’ve got too much stress on your shoulders. Remember your support system. Remember we are here for you. God wants us to help each other, and just because the ancient prophets only saw your life, doesn’t mean we aren’t meant to help you. My father has a saying he likes to tell people, that struggling with the imaginary expectations of others is an impossible battle you will always loose. You are enough.
-Nathaniel
Indenuel clenched his jaw, closing his eyes, feeling the itching return to his wrists. Tolomon turned, concern crossing his face, clearly sensing the corruptive pain. Indenuel couldn’t meditate with this anger, so instead he pulled out a piece of paper and slammed it down harder than he should have. He dipped his quill in the ink, almost breaking the tip. He had to get this out before he could meditate.
Nathaniel,
People have expectations of me. They are not imaginary. You, your soldiers, all of you, are expecting me to fight in a battle because it has been foreseen. The High Elders have specifically searched for me to win this war so they can claim the world and do what they want with Kiam. The militia is waiting for me to get good enough with the sword so I can save them. So yes, I am struggling with other people’s expectations, none of which are imaginary, and I am losing. I never asked for this. None of this. You expect me to fight against a huge army and win, and then have the audacity to tell me not to feel the stress that comes from facing an entire army alone.
Don’t bother comforting me with the prophecies of God. And God in general. He’s the one that stuck me in this position because He’s the one who allowed that prophet to see my life. The prophet that made me special above everyone else, and therefore made my life harder to live. I am confused about why I had to grow up the way I did, and I am righting it the only way I know how.
-Indenuel
He threw the quill back in the ink, not waiting for the ink to dry before he stood up and opened the door. “Pablo!”
Pablo appeared. “Yes, sir?”
Indenuel didn’t mean it, but he was still angry. He shoved the paper into Pablo’s chest. “Get that off to Captain Nathaniel as quickly as possible. And don’t bother me until dinner time. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Indenuel turned and slammed the door before marching over to Tolomon. “You’ve checked the room. You know it’s safe. Stand outside by the door.”
Tolomon stood to his full height. “You honestly think you can keep this a secret?”
“I didn’t ask you to talk, I asked you to leave!”
“We are trying to help you! Stop pushing us away!” Tolomon said.
The black ooze materialized in Indenuel’s palms. He was breathing deeply, curling his fists to keep the corruption from heading straight to Tolomon’s heart. He was dangerously angry, and he felt the shift in his eyes.
Do it.
He deserves it.
You can kill him.
That will keep him from telling your secret.
Indenuel shut his eyes, breathing deeply, grounding himself with the smells of the incense, his fingernails digging into his palm, the black ooze still there. The demons were here. He was afraid with it being this close to the Day of the Devil that he might see them. He couldn’t kill Tolomon. That was ridiculous. Tolomon may be an ass, but he didn’t deserve death. Not like Lola and Andres did.
Tolomon touched Indenuel’s elbow, and he opened his eyes. His friend watched him, deep concern on his face, then placed his fingers against Indenuel’s temple and closed his eyes, making slow circular motions. Indenuel closed his eyes again, tears falling down his cheeks. Tolomon’s powers were not strong. Barely a trickle compared to Martin’s, but he tried. It was like a mouse trying to hold back a river. Impossible, but Indenuel couldn’t help but admire his heart. More than anything, it eased his anger away until he felt hallow inside.
Indenuel opened his eyes, the stillness there, the demons gone. Tolomon released his meager hold and studied him again.
“Does your opinion of me change?” Indenuel asked. “Now that you know what I am?”
Tolomon shook his head. “You are still the most important person in this world. And it is an honor to protect your life, whether physically or spiritually.”
Indenuel covered his mouth, feeling guilty for what he sent to Nathaniel in his anger. “An honor? Even if I… I am murderer?”
Tolomon patted his shoulder. “I am too, you know. Not the corruptive kind, but I understand. To be in the moment, to do what you think is right, and then have the guilt tell you otherwise days, even years later. Which is why confession was so vital to keep my sanity. And I’ve never used corruption. I cannot imagine what you’re going through with that.”
Indenuel took a step back, not looking at Tolomon. “I need to meditate.”
Tolomon nodded, the disappointment plain in his face. “If the last attack against Kiamese soldiers didn’t make it clear to you, I am going to protect you until I give up my last breath.”
Tolomon left the room, though he saw his shadow clear enough waiting by the door. Indenuel walked over to his desk, sinking into his chair. What Tolomon said was still on his mind. Confession helped a lot of people, but when it came down to it, he doubted it would work for him. He started to feel guilty about using corruption, especially after how quickly it seemed to come now, how at ease the demons explained to him that he should kill Tolomon, a man he considered his closest friend. But the High Elders simply weren’t the kind of people he wanted to confess to. And, despite everything else, he was still relieved Andres and Lola were gone.