The Brand

Took some from the last chapter and added it to this one. A lot more satisfied with the result.

Wesler Grot was picking the weeds from his country-side cottage when two men’s shadows darkened the lawn beneath him.  He didn’t say or do anything.  He panicked before a familiar young, male voice asked behind him.

“Do you need help with those?”

The other man behind Wesler remained motionless and speechless as the boy knelt down at Wesler’s side.  No other words were exchanged while they pulled weeds in silence.  With two pairs of hands, they were finished in no time.  Wesler’s cottage was small and crumbling on the south side, the roof also needed to be re-thatched, but his garden was his pride and joy.  There, he supplied all the towns around Rosen Lake with herbal remedies for breathing difficulties and ointments for summer rash and the like.  He was self-educated and always covered in dirt, but very well liked.  The boy who came visiting today was the young lord Tofen Aster, son of Tywos Aster, Archon of the Ivy Estate, a more or less humble man of power, but still an Archon, a Force majister at that.  He’ll buy Wesler’s liquid concoctions and powders, but he had no real appreciation for his work.  Wesler was a man without majik to aid his craft.  Above all else, he was an aging man.  Already passed his fiftieth year.  The only real admiration he received was from this boy, Tofen.

When the weeds were in a pile, Tofen scooped them in his arms and brought them behind the cottage and added them to the compost heap by the stick fence.  When he came back around, old man Grot was still struggling to his feet.  Those knees of his were sticking out, red and swollen, unyielding to the body’s command to unbend.  Tofen’s bodyguard, Var’nic, was unmoved by the man’s side.

“Offer him your arm, Var’nic!  What is it you think you are doing?”  Tofen snapped, coming back around the cottage.

“Waiting.”  Var’nic said in his deep, thunderous voice.  He said it simply and without much volume but the word could have been yelled and said with less force.

Tofen hurried to Wesler’s side and over the course of several minutes, finally got him to stand.  Tofen offered assistance where Var’nic would have let suffer.  It wasn’t only apathy that made him stand by, but honor.

“The Carthus desert tribes do not wait until hair is white and bones make noise.  They forfeit their life long before that.  To live passed the ability to hold sword in hand or draw bowstring to chest is to offend the entire tribe.  When time comes when you are dependent on the tribe to sustain your life, is time long passed worthy death.”  Var’nic told them nonchalantly.

Tofen was livid even though Wesler cracked a smile and began laughing, “It is high time to die when you can no longer stand on your own.  I agree, son.  I cling to life too desperately these days.”

Var’nic turned his stoic face to the old man and nodded, “When you need relief of old age, I will offer my arm.  No sooner.”

Tofen stared at them for a moment, Wesler with his hunched back and resigned smile and Var’nic with his infuriating stubbornness.  He glared, “We are not in Carthus.  When a man cannot stand on his own in this land, one offers an arm.”

“No.”  The word rumbled in Var’nic’s chest.  “When man cannot stand on his own, one offers a sword arm.”

Wesler moved away from both of them to the mat outside his cottage’s wooden front door.  He half-heartedly wiped his bare feet off before opening the door, “Enough, the both of you!  Surely you came for a reason other than to argue my timely demise?”

Var’nic sneered, “If we did, I do not see the point.”

Tofen’s glare deepened, “You’ll be silent for now on if you know what is good for you.” Var’nic snorted in defiance but said no more.  Next, Tofen turned to Wesler, “I’m sorry, Wesler, he is my father’s newest talent.  Whatever he lacks in manners I can assure you he makes up for in battle.”  If he did not I can guarantee he would not be accompanying me…

“Think no more of it, young lord.  His comments do not bother me in the least.”

The three of them entered the house, Var’nic remained standing just inside the door while the old man and his lord both take seats at an unfurnished table.  Tofen speaks first.

“My father is leaving for a time.  An old… acquaintance… of his has recently acquired a thing of great value and therefore requires a gathering of mutually interested parties.  The trip has a certain delicacy to it and he has personally request you come with us.”

“I take it there is a good reason why you resort to vague and puzzling explanations?” Wesler stared at the young lord’s face and leaned back in his seat.

Closing his eyes and turning his face away for the briefest moment, Tofen sighed and brought his hands up to cross his fingers on the table’s surface.  “It is by my father’s instructions that I do not dare tell you more.  At least, not until I have your answer.”

“How will accompanying this trip matter?  What would be the extent of my involvement, if the Archon’s interest in this “thing” is less than pure?”

Wesler was a smart man with little holding him to this world, but his craft.  An alchemist only has his garden and recipes.  Or at least, that was all this alchemist had.  Asking him to leave it for an object of unspecified importance?  It was absurd.  And totally something Archon Tywos would do…

Tofen, too honest for the lad’s own good, said, “I can’t make a saintly claim or preach about an amazing expedition that will benefit all races, sir.  I can only say this,” meeting Wesler’s eyes the boy suddenly had the look of a man, “the legacy of Sarenhal lives on.”

Wesler sharply sucked in air, and held it, his eyes widening in astonishment.  The older man lowered his head to shadow his eyes and carefully got to his feet.  He did and said nothing, only stood.  Somehow the action calmed him.  As if reassuring him that he was actually there, hearing those words.

Var’nic, too, was taken aback by his lord’s words.  Even Carthus tribes have heard some variation of the story of Archon Sarenhal, the last majister to rule Hrothera.  The legend is often reminisced over large gatherings or around the fire under the full moons.  But that’s how it’s told. As a legend.  His lord now speaks of it as if it were history.

“My father would travel to confirm it with his own eyes.  He would ask that you come as well.”

Looking up, a spark could be seen in the old man’s eyes, “What if it is not true?  What then?”

Tofen, seeing how their conversation was coming to an end, stood as well.  He took a deep breath and leaned over the table for effect.  A certain ominous tone hanging between them.

“What if it is?  You should be asking yourself, sir.  What if it is? And you were not there to see it?”

 

 

 

“I’m sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, Grandmaster, but I have someone I think you should meet. I present to you, Carson Aldwon.”  Daniel said to the back of a cloaked figure. 

Grandmaster Opol had heard them come in, but had yet to feel the urge to turn around.  Though the sun was setting, through the window, below in the courtyard, Castla and Brin were at it again.  Castla, one of the only females in her class was facing off with Brin, one of the most accomplished female Adept.  With the title Adept, you had to possess a remarkable amount of control and precision.  Skills not commonly associated with the school of Force majik.  Castla, belonging to the school of Transmutation, had quickly become notorious for her lack of both when they were paramount to its study.  Transmutation and Force, clashing of these two were a favorite among the younger students and a brief, if not consistent, amusement for the veterans.  Not to mention the clashing of personalities!  It served as quite a pleasant distraction for the grandmaster.

A circle of people were around them, some cheering, some merely observing.  Yes.  The fight in the courtyard was far more interesting than anything Daniel had to say.  As was the case with most things.

“I’ve told you before,” Opol grumbled irritably, “I don’t care for personal introductions.  Just take him down to the Chamberlain and get his arrival notarized.  You know I don’t fret over the tiny details.”

Carson stepped forward, “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if I could see the face of my overseer.”

Daniel’s cheeks flushed, he was appalled by the boy’s manners!  “How dare you speak to Grandmaster Opol in such a way!”

“Calm yourself, Daniel.”  The man commanded in such an off-hand way that it seemed to Carson that he was quite old and very tired.  He wasn’t really sure why he thought the Grandmaster would be anything different.  To reach the level of Grandmaster alone meant he’d dedicated his life to majik and attained a skill level that far surpasses those around him.  It had to have taken years, decades even!  Could rival any Archon.  And here, Carson was starting to think he was something special!  Suddenly being taken away, forced to travel across the country, and now brought to meet the Grandmaster of the Order of Chevaliers?  That wasn’t something everyone did, was it?

With a put-upon sigh, the Grandmaster turned around.  His hood fell from his head to expose short, wavy, brown hair and with a small yawn, the young face of a man nearly thirty.  Not an elder?  Not even middle-aged!  Opol’s lazy, hazel eyes met Carson’s widened ones with a noticeable indifference.

“Not what you were expecting, son?”  Opol yawned again and walked over to his chair behind the grandmaster’s mahogany desk.  He sat down, leaving the fight in the courtyard to lesser officials.

“I thought you’d be older, is all.”

Opol chuckled, the sound deep and attractive.  His sensual lips curved and his dark eyebrow arced.  The tan skin of his face folded around his mouth and wrinkled his forehead due to too much exposure to the sun as a youth, but aside from the handsome lines, there were no other signs of aging.

He pretended to be offended. “And I thought you’d be a brat.  I guess we’re both disappointed.”

Now that he’d got a good look, Opol was admittedly surprised by the lad’s height. Six foot and still an adolescent?  Not too many giants here in Hrothera.  He and Cleaven were going to be fast friends.

“Sir, I wished you to meet him because-“  Daniel began but was soon cut off.

Bored already, Opol asked the lad, “Force?”  Blatantly ignoring the Elemental.

Carson, oblivious to Daniel and the grandmaster’s exchange, was confused but then one of Daniel’s “dumbed-down” lessons told to him on their travels surfaced in his mind, There are four schools of majik where we are going just as there are four Creators worshiped in Hrothera.  You do know about the Creators, I hope.  Of course he had. Good. Force, Creation, Elemental and Transmutation.  Aetar, Eschelan, Y’lond and Jormaine.  You are a Force majister, Carson.  You will study under the symbol of Aetar.  If you complete the courses given to you, one day you can become a Chevalier, like us.  Around the campfire, the four of them had been haloed, almost awe-inspiring.  For a moment, Carson wished to be like them.  Majestic and… fearsome.

“How did you know?”

Opol scoffed, “After a while, you just know.”  Then turning to the older man over Carson’s shoulder, “Daniel?”

The Elemental was exasperated, but answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Can I assume you wanted me to meet him because he’s talented?”

“Uh, yes sir.”

“Well, I trust your judgment.  I’m making him your charge.  Take him to the Yard in the morning and evaluate just how talented.  I’ll expect the books on my desk by then as well.”

Daniel took a deep breath and steadily exhaled.  “Yes, sir.”

“What books?  And what’s the Yard?”  Carson asked.

Taking a moment to think over his answer, Daniel looked up and to the left. “Just some academic tombs we were on our way back from retrieving when we found you.  As for the Yard? It’s a… obstacle course.  Kind of.”

Grandmaster Opol smirked at that last bit, “Just show the lad and get out of my office already.”

Daniel motioned Carson to the door and out they went, closing the thick wooden door behind them.  After they’d left, Grandmaster Opol leaned back in his leather chair and looked up to the ceiling… Obstacle course? Ha! Never thought to think of that one!  Well, it’s not like he’s wrong, it’s just more like he’s not telling the whole truth…  A loud boom shook the windows behind him and made the hair on Opol’s arms stand on end.  He stood quickly and moved towards the window to see what caused the noise.  Alas, it was Brin… demolishing the stables?!

And for a moment, the grandmaster despaired, remembering that it was now his job to stop these things from happenings.  The previous Grandmaster held the office for thirty-two years!  Thirty-two years!  Nope.  Opol planned on dying before he spent a second decade as Grandmaster.

Damn you, Rofusin!  Damn you and your inconvenient death!

 

 

 

There were days Karenina wished she’d never been born.  They weren’t nearly as often as one would think, but they did exist.  For example, when she was twelve, her father became addicted to a white powder that had just hit the underground market.  When lit and inhaled, the powder made Josep delusional.  One night, he completely lost his mind and came after her.  He screamed and beat her and only once his knuckles shed his blood on her swollen face did he fall to the floor with her blood on his hands and wept.  Unable to do more than cry, Karenina looked down at him with unforgiving, orange eyes and wished him a thousand horrible deaths and then wished for her own.  What did her father’s hands touch that they didn’t destroy?  And to be his seed?  Yes, she could remember several instances she wished she were dead.  But no matter how many battles she fought against the man and no matter how many hands she was forced to let touch her, she had reason to live too.

She dreams of such splendid things.  It was unfair to their world to keep them to herself.  She had her dreams, Baleen… and now Gorgic, who she owed a great debt.  Things were going to be okay.  Lady Olivian had been a Creator’s blessing in a troubled time.

Oh, how the kind-hearted woman had deceived her!

Of all the dreams she’d dreamt, Karenina had never foreseen anything.  She could see that, in her dreams, Baleen had an irrational infatuation with the Nate, of all people!  She couldn’t always choose whose dreams she shared, for the only time she’d entered Josep’s sleep, she’d visited a most intimate moment between him and who she could only assume was her mother.  That wasn’t something easily unseen.  She still shuddered at the thought.

So, tonight when she slept, she was prepared for all her new surroundings to throw her off the deep end.  Worst case, she fell into Olivian’s dreams and invaded her privacy.  The Archon was still out by the time the sun lowered and the air chilled.  She’d meet him in the morning, she told herself.

Instead, she was pulled from the most absurd fantasy, of a faceless young man with wavy, brown hair that brushed his broad shoulders and tickled Karenina’s cheeks when he leaned down to whisper in her ear, despite his physical lack of a mouth.  She wasn’t scared of him though.  He was a real person, just without a face.  She felt his breath and heard his voice, but he had no mouth.  His eyelashes kissed her own when he brought his “face” close, even though he had no eyes, only empty divots were eyes would’ve been.  They rolled around in a moonlit bed in a playful manner.  They wore robes, she didn’t think it was an erotic dream.  No, it was a flirtatious rumble in a room with open windows to let in the night breeze.

It wasn’t a dream based in reality like some others she’d experienced.  This one was impossible and joyous.

Are you my love?  She wanted to ask, but would never get the chance.  She woke up to strong hands shaking her in her bed.

Her first, half-asleep thought was, where’s my journals?  I need to write it down before I forget!  But her fingers grasped air when she reached over to the bedside table where she’d left her bag.

Someone brought a candlestick over to her and illuminated her and their face.  A mean, twisted face of a man materialized before her in the darkness of her room.  She tried to scream but one of the hands on her shoulders came up to clamp down on her mouth.  The sound was lost underneath the man’s laughter.

“So they shine even in your sleep.  How curious…”

Karenina tried to pull away with all her strength but the stranger tightened his hand over her mouth and bruised her upper arm in his grip.  It wasn’t the drunken hold she’d become familiar with, the hands that held her were of the sober variety and their intention was not yet clear.  She was afraid for her life so she did the only sensible thing a helpless sixteen year old girl could.  She clutched the hand over her mouth and bit down as hard as she could on the flesh between the thumb and the index finger.  The man yelped in surprise and pain and dropped the candlestick in his other hand on the bedside table.  Luckily, it didn’t fall on the bed.

Angered by her resistance, he squeezed her jaw so tight he heard a pop and threw her from the bed to the floor where her hands and knees collided hard with the wood.  She unconsciously let out a cry of pain and unknowingly woke the household.

The mysterious intruder crouched down beside her and when she tried to crawl away, grabbed her by the throat, using Force strength to keep her there.  He spoke in a deadly tone, “Be still.”  And just like that, all the strength in Karenina’s limbs left her.  She could no more fight back than she could go crying to Baleen.

And tears did indeed threaten to fall.

“Do you know who I am?”  The man asked her.

Karenina’s eyes watered but the man no longer choked her; merely keeping a firm hand around her neck should she get uppity again.  She croaked out a “no” but she could now see and remember his face.  Front row, where he sat with his wife.

She came to know these last couple of hours to be lies.  There would be no happiness here.

 

A brief, sharp cry ran through the halls, making Olivian shoot straight up in her sleep and immediately clutched the empty sheets to her left.  Oh no!  She sat up, lit the lantern beside her and bolted from bed.  Meeting Deloris halfway across the manor.

“Where is he?!”  She hissed.

Deloris wordlessly pointed to the only open door in the corridor.  Olivian didn’t waste time, she ran to it.  Danerius, the b*****d, had raised a Force wall, making entering the room an impossible task.  Olivian shouted for him to take it down, to stop this madness.  Uncaring of the consequences, she banged on it with all her strength until her fists were bloodied and she was unable to uncurl her hands.  She would do anything to pull her husband from Kara’s room and turn his wrath on her.  Anything to keep the girl from suffering what she’d suffered so many times.  She screamed until she was hoarse but it did no good.  Danerius still fell upon the girl.

“NOOOOOOOO!!!”  She wept, “Get aWAY FROM HER!!!  Danerius?!  I know you can hear me!  Take me instead!!!  TAKE ME!!!”

When Danerius refused to respond or cease, she called for help.

Tome came running down the corridor moments later with Deloris, carrying a treatment bag.  While Deloris tried to pull Olivian away, Tome started pulling out gauze to treat her wounds.

This wasn’t the first time Danerius had waited until night to assault his subjects.  Deloris and Tome’s quick response to the situation was proof that they had witnessed all the atrocities he’d inflicted on their Lady.  It was by instinct that they were by her side, not conscious thought.  When they finally looked into the bed room, theirs eyes widened in surprise that it was not Lady Olivian actually enduring the Archon’s torture.

“Not me, you fools!  HER!”

Tome had never seen Lady Olivian cry for anyone but herself.  She tried her hardest not to cry even when suffering at the Archon’s hands… And here she was bloodied in an attempt to free a girl she barely knew, with tears falling fast down her bright red cheeks as if she were her very own sister.

Crazed beyond reasoning, Olivian watched through the gruesome streaks of her blood on the invisible wall as Karenina’s fearful, wide, orange eyes met her own.

Deloris and Tome took a step back from their Lady and… watched.  That was all they could do.

She knew he had to have had the branding iron with him already, but to her, he seemed to pull the red-hot rod from thin air!  “Don’t do this, Danerius!  I’m begging you!  Please!”  Not her!

“Beg a little harder, darling.  You know how I like to hear you beg.”  He told her while chuckling darkly to himself, not even bothering to look at the mess she’d become.  He flipped and pinned Karenina down to the floor and tore open the back of her night gown.

His words didn’t even register to Olivian.  Her eyes remained glued on the iron rod in his raised hand.

Easily securing Karenina’s flailing body beneath him, he smiled down at the frightened girl fighting as desperately as Olivian had that first night.  He loved the feeling it gave him but there was something missing…  Her eyes were flashing a wild array of yellows and oranges and she fought back but she wasn’t screaming or begging.  Not like Olivian was.

“Let me hear that lovely scream of yours, Karenina.  Such a beautiful sound can’t stay trapped in your throat forever.”

And just like that, he brought the iron down on the back of Karenina’s exposed right shoulder.  A sickening sizzle sounded and then he got what he wanted.  A scream so terrible it made even the Archon wince, broke out of Karenina’s chest.  The pain dragged on so long, she thought it would never end.  Smoke rose and the smell of burning flesh reached even Tome’s sinuses through his repeatedly broken nose.

“No…”  Olivian whispered in horror.  Not her!

Eventually, the pain must have been too much.  She passed out moments later.

Author's Note

Any feed back is better than none. I'm looking for suggestions, comments, thoughts, criticism... I don't care what form it takes, just please! Let me know what you think. And don't sugar coat it haha I can take it!

Reviews

[Daxis S. Dundra]

Most under announced super power ever. I have orange eyes, a abusive father, and can dream walk.

[Elizabeth Marie O'neil-Smith]

I'm working on it >__