A Dance of Cloaks

22

W e’ll be safe here,” Haern said. They sat cross-legged before each other. The city stretched all around them, enclosed within the great wall. He gestured to his right, where the street was safely hidden from view.

“No one can see us passing by,” he said.

Delysia nodded. She rubbed her arms with her hands, feeling both cold and afraid. The past few days were a whirlwind of pain and confusion, and all she wanted was to curl up somewhere warm and sleep. Yet Haern kept looking at her with his blue eyes, so intense in their desperation. He wanted something of her, but what, she didn’t know.

“Why did you come for me?” she asked, hoping to pry it out of him quickly so she could go back to the temple.

“Because I… it’s about your father.”

Delysia winced.

“What about him, Haern?”

Haern sighed and looked away. His mask helped hide his emotions, but it didn’t erase them completely. He was reluctant and embarrassed. Delysia felt her fear hardening in her stomach. Whatever Haern had to say, she sensed she would not like hearing it.

“I helped kill your father,” Haern said suddenly.

Delysia didn’t move. Her thoughts returned to that day, but she remembered no boy. She only remembered tears, the surprised cries of the crowd, and then running far away so she could cry alone. Still, Haern’s ache was too real to be a lie.

“Why?” she asked. “Why did you help?”

“Because my father asked it of me,” Haern said. “That’s not all, Delysia. I had a mission, one I failed. You were my target. I was to kill you.”

Delysia suddenly felt paralyzed with fear. She thought back to her talk with him in the pantry. What if she had been a fool to let him out? He’d been stopped on his way to finish the job, and now here she was, helpless atop a roof with no way off other than a long fall.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, praying to Ashhur that the boy didn’t draw his daggers.

“I followed you that day,” Haern said. “You didn’t see me, but I followed. I listened to you pray. It broke my heart. Do you understand? Listening to you cry, listening to you pleading so helplessly with your god, I couldn’t…”

He stood and turned away.

“I couldn’t let myself become such a monster. I’ve come close. I won’t do it.”

Delysia stood. The trouble inside him was so great, and her inner nature won out. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder and turned him back to face her. Tears were in his eyes, wetting the cloth wrapped tight about his head.

“I want to know how to pray like you did,” he said. “I want to have that kind of faith. Your father was dead, and you still believed. I’ve tried, but people died. I feel hollow and fake. What is it you know? What is it you do? Please, tell me, Delysia. I need this. I need something to cling to, otherwise I’ll be lost forever. I’ll become what my father wishes me to be.”

Delysia blushed. She felt so young and foolish, and yet he was coming to her for help? She tried to think of all her father’s lectures. The memory of his kind words and warm smile only hurt her more.

“Give me your hands,” she said. There was one thing she remembered, one moment that nothing could ruin. It was the nightly prayers her father had said with her whenever she felt scared or lost. Tears in their eyes, she knelt, her fingers still interlocked with Haern’s. The boy knelt with her.

“Bow your head,” she told him.

“What now,” he asked.

“Close your eyes.” He did, and then he waited.

“Think of everything you love,” she said. “And pray it safe. Don’t think about to whom you pray. Don’t worry about whether it’ll be heard or not. Just pray.”

Haern opened his eyes and looked at her.

“What if I have nothing to love?” he asked.

The question pierced Delysia’s heart. She’d once asked that same question to her father after they’d had a bad fight. She gave Haern the same answer he had given. Never in her life had she missed her father so much.

“Then you can love me,” she said.

Her body lurched forward. Her mouth opened in shock. Blood seeped down the front of her dress as she fell, a small arrow shaft sticking out of her back.

“No!” Haern screamed, catching her in his arms. All around him men leapt to the roof. Two houses over, a man in a gray cloak lowered his handheld crossbow and approached.

“Stay away from me,” Haern screamed, holding Delysia in one arm and drawing his dagger with the other. Members of the Spider Guild surrounded him, their weapons drawn. None approached, all waiting for the man from afar who’d wielded the crossbow.

Haern glanced behind him, seeing his casual approach. He knew who it was. He begged it wasn’t, but he knew.

Thren leapt across the last gap and landed atop the house. He still held the small crossbow.

“You have disobeyed me for the last time,” Thren said. His voice was overwhelmed with rage. “Rooftop prayers? Hiding away with a priestess? What is the matter with you!”

“Stay back!” Haern screamed again, tears streaming down his covered face. Thren paid him no heed. He walked over and yanked the mask off Haern’s face, not at all worried by the dagger his son held.

“You disappoint me,” Thren said.

Something hard struck Haern from behind. His eyes rolled into his head, and then he collapsed atop Delysia’s body.

Kayla stood behind him, a rock wrapped in leather hanging limp from her hand. Thren nodded, thankful that she’d sapped the boy.

“Carry him,” Thren ordered his men. “Leave the girl.”

Two of them hoisted the boy onto their shoulders and made their way toward the edge of the house. A group of three waited in the street below, catching Aaron when they lowered him down.

“Where are we taking him?” Kayla dared ask.

“These foolish notions need curing,” Thren said as he put away the crossbow. “Ashhur is a disease infecting my son, and it seems I am incapable of removing it on my own.”

Kayla followed the logic to its horrific end.

“You’ll give him to the priests of Karak,” she said.

Thren glanced over to her.

“I do not like it either, but it must be done,” he said. “They’ll crush his faith in Ashhur, purify him. I’m taking back my heir.”

At that, he leapt off the roof to join the rest of his men. Kayla glanced back at the girl with red hair.

“Damn it, Aaron,” she said. “I didn’t know!”

Thren had ordered her to follow Aaron about. Once he’d stopped at the temple, she’d returned. Part of her had hoped he’d be gone by the time they returned, and he had, but not far enough. Thren had found him, and even worse, found him with the daughter of that idiot priest Kayla had killed. The blood spilling across the roof was her fault.

She knelt down and touched the girl’s neck, startled by the slow pulse she felt. The girl was alive.

“You owe me,” Kayla whispered as she hoisted the girl onto her shoulder.

She was being stupid. She knew she was being stupid. Her survival instincts screamed to keep her hands clean and let the girl die. But she couldn’t. Once Aaron found out she was the one who had followed him, she couldn’t imagine facing the sorrow and betrayal in his eyes.

“Stay with me,” she whispered. “If your god is real, then hopefully he’ll realize I’m down here needing all the help I can get.”

Carefully she climbed down to the street, Delysia’s body slung over her shoulders. The whole while she did her best to ignore whatever torture awaited Aaron within the temple of the dark god.

T hren was one of very few who knew the location of Karak’s temple. Once they were near, he took Aaron into his arms and ordered the rest to return home. The coming day and night would be the most important day in the past five years. His men needed to be fresh, and he was already straining them enough. All because of his son. All because of Ashhur.

“I see through your illusions,” said Thren when he stood before the thick iron gates surrounding what looked to be a luxurious but empty mansion. The image wavered. The fence opened on its own. Thren stepped through, walking along the smooth obsidian path leading up to an enormous pillared building of darkest black. The skull of a lion hung above the door, its teeth stained with blood.

The double-doors swung open. A young man stepped out, his hair tied behind his head in a long ponytail.

“I ask that you remain outside,” he said. “Pelarak knows of your arrival.”

Not waiting for an answer, the man shut the door. Thren leaned Aaron’s body against one of the pillars and waited. It had been many years since he’d come to someone for aid, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to act. He had no intention of bowing before the priests, nor would he plead like a commoner. Perhaps a trade.

The doors opened. Thren snapped to attention, his hands falling to his blades out of instinct too engrained to deny.

“It is a strange night that grants me a visitor such as you,” Pelarak said as he stepped outside and closed the doors behind him. “For you are Thren Felhorn, are you not? Master of the Spider Guild, puppet master of the thieves? To what do I owe this honor?”

His eyes glanced at Aaron but he kept his mouth shut.

“I need my son cured,” Thren said.

“We are not as skilled at the healing arts as our rivals,” Pelarak said. “Though I doubt they would aid you. I heard they ousted their former high priest after you killed one of their own.”

Thren frowned. That was a damn shame. He had spent many months slowly working on Calvin, bribing him with every possible vice in search of the man’s weakness. Once he discovered his love of crimleaf, the process had gone considerably easier. Must everything fall apart so close to the Kensgold?

“You misunderstand the healing I desire,” Thren said, forcing the subject back to the task at hand. “My son has taken foolish notions into his head that I want expunged.”

Pelarak scratched his chin.

“He’s fallen for the seductive grace of Ashhur?” he asked.

Thren nodded.

“This will require much time,” Pelarak said. “And more importantly, it will potentially ruin me. Maynard Gemcroft has threatened our very existence if I do not side with him against you, Thren. Tell me, what would you do in my place?”

“Destroy those who threaten me,” Thren said. “Never let a man keep a sword readied above your neck.”

“Words we cannot live by,” Pelarak said. “Ashhur’s presence here is too deeply embedded. Maynard could send mobs against us. Blood would fill the streets. Nothing of your little war with the Trifect would compare to the carnage we would unleash. But that would end our work here. So I have few choices.”

Thren drew his shortswords.

“I’d tread carefully,” the guildmaster said.

Pelarak chuckled.

“Put those away. Even with your skill, you cannot match my power. I am Karak’s most faithful servant, save for his prophet. If I wanted you dead I would not announce or explain myself.”

Thren lowered his swords but did not sheathe them.

“What are your choices?” he asked.

“I can either turn you away, making you a potential enemy. In doing so, I also remain a puppet of the Trifect. However, even that option has been denied to me. Maynard Gemcroft’s daughter is missing. She was to be in my care, yet is not. For this alone, Maynard will destroy us.”

“There is another way,” Thren said, realizing what Pelarak was leading to. “There is my way. Take my son. Cure him. Burn all remnants of Ashhur from his flesh so he may be pure.”

“Can you kill Maynard Gemcroft?” Pelarak asked. “My time has already passed. By the end of the Kensgold he will carry out his threat.”

Thren saluted with his sword.

“By tomorrow’s eve, Maynard will be dead,” he vowed. “Can you save my son?”

“We will take him,” Pelarak said. He banged twice on the doors. Two other priests came out. When Pelarak pointed to Aaron, they picked the boy up and carried him inside. As they did, Thren briefly described the events that had transpired, from Aaron’s prayers, his chain of the golden mountain, to at last his secret meeting with Delysia.

“How much time will it take?” Thren asked when finished.

“A day or two at most, unless he resists our methods,” the priest replied.

“Can he?” Thren asked, watching the double-doors close with a groaning of wood and iron locks.

Pelarak laughed softly.

“Of course not. He’s just a boy.”

Thren bowed.

“May our endeavors aid us both,” he said.

“Go with the true god’s blessing,” Pelarak said before returning inside.

Thren felt lighter as he vaulted over the iron fence and raced down the streets, taking a winding path back to his safehouse. Matters were out of his hands now. The priests would convert his son or kill him in the process. Any influence Ashhur had on him would be gone. Thren would keep his killer, his perfect heir.

Assuming his plans for the Kensgold unfolded without error.

A aron’s awareness rose and fell, and as it rose he felt the pain. It stabbed into his wrists and forced him back down. Water splashed across his tongue. Dull chanting shook the rhythm of his dreams, flooding them with color that vibrated to the sound. He saw red and purple. The colors worked a sharp discomfort in his mind. More pain, this time in his ankles. Water dribbled up his lips. That didn’t make any sense. Why up?

He opened his eyes. Expecting to be upside down, he was surprised to see a man standing before him. He was balding, with sharp eyes and a bitter frown. He wore dark robes. Hanging from his neck was a pendant shaped like the skull of a lion.

“Where am I?” Aaron asked.

“A room of faith,” said the priest. “My name is Pelarak, and you are in a most holy place. Here Karak is master, not the goddess of the elves, not Ashhur, not the moon or the stars or the sun. Just Karak.”

He held out his hand. In it was a waterskin. When he pressed against it, the water traveled up instead of down, splashing across the ceiling. The sight was so strange Aaron felt a sense of vertigo. He turned to the side, vomited, and then watched in horror as it smacked atop the ceiling, splattering it a messy red.

“To be expected,” the priest said. “Many things are strange here, and you will see only a blessed few. Karak is god everywhere, but we have consecrated this room with blood and prayers.”

Aaron tried to move but couldn’t. He looked to his wrists where he felt cold iron chains. He saw nothing but air. The same for his ankles. As he struggled, he saw indents press against his skin, made by no visible source.

“Chains are a deceptive thing,” Pelarak said. “Who makes them? What gives them their strength? It is shallow to call them iron and unbreakable, yet foolish to call them self-made. You have chains upon you. Break them.”

Pelarak waved his hand as he said the last command. A sudden urge filled Aaron’s heart. He could think of nothing but escape. It seemed every flight response had triggered in his mind. Every muscle clenched and fought against the invisible chains. He felt his skin rub raw. His knees and shoulders throbbed in agony. Blood dripped upward in a perverse rain. Finally he flung his entire body forward, straining so hard against the chains his neck bulged and his forehead dripped sweat that drifted upward into his hair before pooling into thick drops that rose to the ceiling.

No matter how hard he tried, he could neither break the chains nor stop his trying.

“This is life,” Pelarak said, watching emotionless. “We struggle against our bonds, unable to break them, but only because we are foolish. You have made those chains, Aaron. Break them.”

He wanted to. Oh how he wanted to. It felt like his heart would burst, each rapid beat like a hammer blow to his chest. More blood floated upward from his wrists. His mind searched for the solution. Robert Haern had always insisted he’d know the answer to a question when asked, but did this priest ensure him the same fairness? What did he mean, chains of his own creation?

“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice cracking. His tongue felt made of cotton.

“Then you will try harder,” Pelarak said. “Ignorance is not an excuse; it is a blindness fostered by this world. Your body will break, and you will die, all because of your ignorance.”

The man was clearly a priest of Karak. Only one thing came to mind that might explain the chains, and why he would think them his own creation: Ashhur.

“I’ve prayed to Ashhur,” Aaron shouted. He felt his maddening urge to struggle slowly subside. His breath shuddered as he hung limply from the invisible chains.

“Very good,” Pelarak said. “You’re making progress. Look to your hands and feet.”

Aaron did. No longer were the chains invisible. Though they felt like iron, they appeared to be made of white marble. Golden mountains decorated their keyholes. The room slowly darkened, though the chains remained bright, almost glowing.

“Symbols,” Aaron said, his voice a whisper. “They lie as easily as men.”

Pelarak’s face seemed to darken at this.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said. “I have something I want you to see.”

He stepped back. The room turned completely dark, although both the chains and Pelarak remained perfectly visible. A fire sparked in the center of the room. Within its center he saw the briefest image of an eye. The fire sparked again, then grew. It roared to the ceiling, enormous but without heat. Its life was quick, and as it died, a young girl stood before him, her fiery red hair tangled and unkempt.

“Aaron?” Delysia asked. Aaron felt his body tremble at the sound of her voice.

Just a lie, he thought. Just another lie.

But it was hard to believe that as she touched the side of his face. Her hand felt cold, but her touch was real. Tears ran down his cheeks. Her dress was charred as if by fire.

“They do lie,” the girl said. “The abyss is cold. The fires give no heat. Ashhur didn’t want me, so now I’m here. I gave no love to Karak, so he gives no love to me.”

“You’re not real,” he said. It sounded like a plea. “You’re with Ashhur. You went to a better place. You were good. You were innocent. ”

Pelarak laughed. Delysia cried. Her body faded upon an unfelt wind.

“No one’s innocent,” Delysia said through her sniffles. “But I worshipped something false. It didn’t matter how I prayed. I prayed to deaf ears.”

Aaron flung himself against his chains, desperate to touch her. She was fading away like a ghost. The darkness was claiming her, eating into her flesh so that it turned translucent. Pelarak waved a hand through her, scattering her image like smoke.

“You went to her,” the priest said. “I spoke with your father. I know what you have done. Do you not see how foolish you are? A girl. A young, stupid girl, and yet you thought she had wisdom?”

Aaron slumped, and his eyes stared at a floor with no texture or depth.

“Her prayers were so real,” he said. “She meant them. She felt them. That is what I wanted.”

Pelarak grabbed Aaron’s hair and jerked upward so they could stare eye to eye.

“Madmen gibber that demons live within them, and that their voices torment them daily. Do they not believe as deeply as that little girl did? Why not go to them for guidance?”

To this Aaron had no answer, but Pelarak did.

“Because she had a dream that you desired,” the priest said, letting go of Aaron’s hair. “You liked what she believed. It sounded sweet. But the only thing that matters is the truth. Would you willfully live a lie just because you like it? Should I tell you that your girl is fine, and that the world is a beautiful place, and that no one will ever hurt you? I’d love to live in that world, but that doesn’t make it real. What is real, Aaron? What do you know is real?”

He thought of Robert Haern dead, killed by his student’s hands. His hands.

“I know I’ve killed those I love,” he said.

“Ah yes, and why?” Pelarak asked. “What is it that brought about their murders?”

A light flashed in Aaron’s eyes. He knew. He saw his love and devotion, saw to whom he had devoted it. His guilt and shame coalesced into a hardened arrow, no longer aimed at himself. There was one person that deserved it all. The one who had strangled his soul and perverted his desires. The one who had used his love to inspire murder and destruction. His own father.

“I prayed to Ashhur,” Aaron said. It was no lie. “Because of that, people died.”

“Precisely,” Pelarak said. “Is that Ashhur’s power? Devotion leads to death? Karak is power, boy. He is the Lion. He is King of all, and all will tremble before his roar and bow to kiss his claws.”

Suddenly Pelarak was gone. The chains cracked and broke. Aaron crumpled to the ground, shivering in the darkness. He felt cold. His teeth chattered.

And then the Lion approached. It walked from afar, too far to be inside the small room. Its fur was fire, burning atop skin made of molten rock. Eyes swirling with hatred and smoke fixated upon his trembling form. When it opened its mouth, teeth the size of daggers glistened with fresh blood.

Behold the Lion, shouted a voice, impossibly deep and booming from every corner of the room. Behold the power of his majesty.

The Lion roared. Deep within its gullet, Aaron saw a thousand weeping lives. They reached upward and wailed, their cries mixing with the mighty roar of a god. Aaron felt his soul quiver. He mashed his face to the cold dark stone. Tears flowed from his eyes. He couldn’t think. He could only tremble in wonder.

Do you doubt my authority? the Lion asked. Who are you to me, mortal? When your life ends, I am the Truth that awaits you. Where shall you stand in my eternity? Will you worship beside me, or will I consume you in fire and grind your bones in my teeth?

Aaron sobbed shamelessly. He’d never felt such terror. He was naked before a god, pathetic and helpless. He pounded his fists against the floor. Sweat covered him like a cold sheet. The Lion roared again, and its breath was fire and teeth. His clothes ripped and his flesh tore. Blood spilled outward in bizarre directions, as if the laws of the world had no bearing within Karak’s sacred room.

Will you swear your life to me? the Lion asked.

A deep part of Aaron wanted to submit. He wanted the terror to end. The darkness would consume him, and it seemed wisest to surrender. Beside the Lion was better than the wailing he heard within. Infinitely better.

Aaron thought of what Robert had said. Ashhur was everything good in mankind. With tears in his eyes, he looked up to the Lion, searching for that same goodness. He saw none of it within the fire. Death, consumption, anger and condemnation looked upon him, smoldering in physical form. None of the love that had filled Delysia’s prayers could live within that horrific creature. He felt his mind splitting, as if two paths were before him and half wanted down one and half the other.

Swear it! the Lion roared. On your knees, swear your life to me. I will have it no other way. Death is your fate, child. I see it clearer than you see the sun and moon. You will die by the hand of a friend if you resist my mercy. Beside me, you will rule Neldar as a demigod.

Two paths. Two beings. Two minds. His father desired that first path, the easy path, one of bloodshed and murder. But the one Robert Haern had kindled, the one Kayla had protected and Delysia nurtured, led away into deadly light. Each filled him with fear. Deep down, he knew which was right. He knew the choice he should make. But he was afraid.

Choose! roared the Lion. Now, or I will burn away everything that makes you who you are, and deliver unto the priests an empty shell.

He couldn’t choose. Terror overwhelmed him. Stars swirled in the darkness about the Lion, as if the very heavens circled the embodiment of Karak. Smoke billowed from its nostrils. Its eyes flared with impatience. The Lion opened its mouth and snarled. His time was up. The moment was gone.

Aaron felt the roar wash over him, stronger than any before. It felt like the world would shatter beneath its strength. His ears would never hear again. His eyes burned with tears. The breath in his lungs halted. His heart beat wildly. Within his mind a fire raged, consuming all. The choice. There was only one. Aaron knew it. The fire was an altar, and he laid down his sacrifice.

Everything that meant to be Aaron, to be the son of Thren Felhorn, to murder without guilt and devote everything to bloodshed and slaughter, he flung upon that altar. He openly welcomed the roar, now a cleansing fire. He let it destroy his fear. He let it obliterate his lack of remorse. It tore down his walls. In the midst of that roar, he laughed.

“Let Aaron die,” he said. “Haern lives.”

More phantom cuts lashed his arms and chest. The blood now flowed the correct direction. Smoke poured into his lungs. His head swam, light and dizzy and free. His neck drooped. His eyes closed. A laugh still on his lips, he succumbed to unconsciousness as the Lion roared in victory.

C ome,” Pelarak said as he opened the door. Two more priests stepped inside, joining him in a small square room. The walls were bare and gray, the floor cool stone.

“Were you successful?” one of the other priests asked.

“He has seen the Lion,” Pelarak said. “None but the most faithful have done so and lived. When he awakes, his heart will belong to Karak. Of that I am certain.”

“Praise be,” said the other.

They carried the boy out of the room. Pelarak watched them leave, a small frown on his face. Something felt wrong, but he couldn’t decide what. He hadn’t heard the words of the Lion, nor seen its vision, but he had felt its awesome power as he watched Aaron sob and cry on his knees. There was something unsettling about how Aaron had laughed at the very end.

Determined to question Aaron when he awakened, Pelarak stepped out of the most holy of rooms. He’d devote an hour to prayer, then seek the sleep he most desperately needed. Perhaps things would seem better in the morning.