The Price of Learning

“Excuse me?” Gestarin said in shock. Surely he had misheard. “The man was a what?”

“A Harvester, your Majesty,” Vixin replied. “From one of the outer Junarian provinces. Though, admittedly, that doesn’t tell us much about who hired him. I heard him sneaking into your chambers with so little sound, only a Wolfsbane could hear it.” 

Gestarin slumped back in his throne as Vixin gestured for all of the guards to leave. The problems all seemed to be compounding. At the very least, he held some solace in the fact that he had been right: there had been a Bloodwielder in his personal chambers. That only worried him more. What other fevered worries stood true, caught in the haze of his irrational fear? He shuddered to think.

“My Lord, there is something else.” Vixin said, pulling something out of his trouser pocket. He held it up to the light. “A small locked box was found on the assassin. Your captain of the guard broke it open with his broadsword. This was in it.”

“What is it?” Gestarin asked, the small trinket in Vixin’s hands too small to see from where Gestarin was sitting. “Bring it closer.” Vixin complied, handing it to the king.

Gestarin rolled the crimson cube around in his hands, noting the glyphs carved into the edge. A ruby cube, the highest denomination of currency throughout Oaiao. Different countries had different coinage, but Prisms were accepted by all. This particular specimen was the paramount Prism, worth thousands of lesser ones. It was ten years wage’s worth of money to a serf, and a year’s worth to a Vassal. This single gem was worth a fortune- and a large one at that.

Somebody wanted Gestarin dead very, very badly.

“You found this on the assassin’s person?” Gestarin asked, looking up at Vixin.

“Yes, your Majesty,” Vixin said “The glyphs say that the Prism was inspected and approved by the Junarian National Bank. From there, no one knows where it went.”

“Well, the Junarian National Bank seems to be the best place to start.” Gestarin said, tossing the Prism back to Vixin. “Viceroy, you are the Royal Inquisitor. This is your responsibility.” Vixin nodded.

“I will do my best, your Majesty.” He said with a bow. “Though, there is something else…” He handed a small square of parchment to Gestarin. “This was also in the box.”

Gestarin took it and squinted at the faded writing.

The wife and the daughter before him, it read. His pain is the most important. In his grief, he will alienate the people. True rule can grow from it.

Gestarin heard a guttural, growling sound, and it took him a moment to realize that it was coming from his own throat. He crushed the paper in a white fist.

“Go, Vixin. Things have become much more urgent now.” Vixin nodded and turned to leave.

As he neared the door, he was almost slammed full in the face by the queen bursting through the threshold. 

“My lady,” he said, somewhat clumsily as he sought to regain his bearings. The Queen did not even acknowledge the Viceroy. Her fiery eyes were fixed firmly on Gestarin, who sat with a look of chagrin on his face. Queen Riina stormed right up to the throne and stared at the king with an icy glare.

“I did not realize that my Lord had an intense desire for his own demise,” she said acidly. “Perhaps he should discuss his dying wishes with his wife and family before going out to be disemboweled.”

“Riina…” Gestarin pleaded, but she would have none of it. The Queen launched into a tirade of fierce words and profound gestures, rebuking Gestarin for his apparent contempt for life and wondering blatantly whether he even loved his family. She theorized endlessly as to whether he wished to gain control over his life, and pointedly suggested several less dangerous ways to do such a thing without putting himself in unnecessary danger.

“I wish for my Lord to be happy, but I do not wish for him to be happy whilst buried under the earth, leaving fatherless children and an unhappy widow to deal with his absence.” She glared hotly as Gestarin sat, slightly cowering, in his throne. Aia’s blood, he’d rather face ten thousand bloodthirsty Reledanian berserkers than try to stare down his Queen. 

Almost as soon as Riina ended, however, she let out a sob and rather ungracefully flung herself onto Gestarin. He sat awkwardly, slightly confused as to the whole matter.

“Why did you rush in, Gestarin?” Riina cried, pulling away and staring intently into Gestarin’s eyes. “Why didn’t you simply let the guards deal with the assassin?”

“My love,” Gestarin said gently. “Inalla was in danger. Would you have let the guards deal with it, or would have fought to protect your daughter?” Riina was silent, but her eyes spoke the truth. “What is truly the matter, Riina?” Gestarin pleaded, stroking her hair. “What is wrong?”

Riina took in a ragged breath, tightening her grip around Gestarin’s neck. “My son was healed from his greatest ailment, and was spirited away but a moment later. My daughter was taken against her wishes to a place where she will stand out far more than she had ever intended. My husband is nearly killed the same night by an assassin of the Church.” Her voice became husky with emotion. “There are so many feelings boiling away in my heart that I can scarcely believe that it continues beating.”

“I know, my love, I know,” Gestarin soothed, grasping his wife’s hand tightly in his own. He had no desire to tell Riina of the assassin’s targets- she was already bearing too much. “But we must cope with it. We must be strong for the people.”

Riina sighed. “Is it always this hard? Being king, I mean. Always staying strong, not showing any weakness.”

Gestarin looked away.

“More than you will ever know.”

* * *

Jiriinii, for the first time in her life, was truly terrified. She had been scared before, of course, but never as much as this very moment. Walking through the halls of Valanal, flying through the air in the arms of a Jod, even those could not compare to how utterly frightening it was standing before the Seat of Jod. She knelt on the shining floor next to twenty or so other children, including her brother. They knelt before a magnificent golden throne, and on it sat the most beautiful man Jiriinii had ever laid eyes on.

He was young, abnormally so. He looked to be only a few years older than Kiinrin, but his eyes betrayed a wisdom that few scholars could ever hope to attain. He wore burnished golden armor, a compliment to the white that his comrades wore. Long, luxurious black hair matched perfectly his strong jawline and chiseled features. In his hand was a blood red scepter with the likeness of an angel carved at the end, and he pounded it against the marble floor, silencing everyone in the room.

“The Seat of Jod welcomes the new initiates,” he boomed. “Rise, children, for none of you shall bow anymore. You are of us now, and you shall not be required to give obeisance to any man, save Aia himself.” The children all rose shakily after a moment, still uncertain as to their purpose. Jiriinii did not care; she wanted to go home. She did not belong here, in a world of warriors.

“My Lord Valanal,” Vilkanai said, striding forward to address the Seat. “I would like to present myself for judgment. I have used the Aether without your permission, and I open myself up to the consequences.” Valanal’s eyes narrowed.

“Proceed, Captain Vilkanai,” he said. “Explain your actions.”

“My Lord, I cannot dictate why Aia chooses who he does; I only go forth to proclaim his word. However, I was moved to channel the Aether to help one of his chosen.”

“Who was this?” Valanal asked, eyes sweeping over all of the children. Kiinrin stepped forward confidently, looking Valanal straight in the eye. Jiriinii gasped- wasn’t he terrified?

“I am,” Kiinrin proclaimed loudly. “My name is Kiinrin Galarin, Crown Prince of Glausiania.”

“A royal, I see,” Valanal said, obviously surprised. He looked back at Vilkanai. “And to what use was the Aether put?”

“Prince Kiinrin,” Vilkanai explained, “was, from a very young age, plagued with an ailment of the mind that reverberated throughout his entire body. I felt that it made no sense for Aia to choose a child who would be afflicted for the rest of his life, so I assumed he must be healed. I readied myself to channel Aia’s power and proceeded to do so.” 

A gasp sounded from the Jods. Jiriinii was confused. She had never heard any of this before, and she certainly did not know that Kiinrin had an ailment of any kind. What was this Jod talking about?

Lord Valanal was silent for a few moments as he contemplated Vilkanai’s words, and Jiriinii began to worry. This man held all the power in this room- so what was he going to do to Kiinrin? If she understood, he had been healed illegally. Lord Valanal could almost certainly toss Kiinrin out by his ear.

 After a moment, Lord Valanal let out an enormous laugh, a smile appearing on his face.

“Captain Vilkanai, I cannot allow you to apologize or plead for punishment for this use of the Aether,” he said, gesturing Vilkanai forward. Vilkanai walked slowly up to the golden throne, a puzzled look on his face.

“My Lord?” he said. “I channeled the Aether without your express permission. I put myself and this young man at risk. God’s power is a dangerous thing to wield. Why will you not punish me?”

“Captain Vilkanai,” Lord Valanal said, standing and clapping the Jod on the shoulder. “You were in no danger. Aia would not allow the Aether to overcome you while you were healing one of his children.” Vilkanai did not look convinced, but he forced a slight smile anyway. 

“Thank you, my Lord,” he said with a bow, before retreating away from the throne. Valanal descended the dais and stood before Kiinrin.

“Your Highness,” Valanal said, putting his hands on the young man’s shoulders. “I am gladdened that you have had the opportunity to experience the love and power of Aia. Are you able to begin your training?” 

Kiinrin hesitated, but nodded after a moment. Valanal smiled and embraced him quickly. 

“Wait!” Jiriinii cried, emboldened by Kiinrin’s introduction. She bounded towards her brother with her skirts in hand. Valanal raised an eyebrow, a look of consternation and slight annoyance flashing across his face.

“Who is this?” he said, looking at Vilkanai. The Jod cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“This is Jiriinii Galarin, my Lord,” he said. “Princess of Glausiania.” 

“Two royals?” Valanal sounded shocked- understandable. “And a princess at that?” He laughed. “Today is indeed a day filled with surprises. What do you wish, your Highness?”

Jiriinii summoned all the courage she could muster. “I want to go home.”

Silence engulfed the room.

“What do you mean, your Highness?” Valanal said slowly, turning his head in confusion.

“I want to go home,” Jiriinii repeated stubbornly. “I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to train, and I don’t want to be one of you. I want to go home!” Anger coursed through her body,  and her fists clenched almost on their own.

Lord Valanal held up his hand and, despite her frustration and anger, Jiriinii bit her cheek to stop herself from saying any more. Angering the Lord of this hall would serve no purpose. Valanal looked past Jiriinii and gestured to the gathered crowd.

“I would like a few moments alone with the princess,” he said, clapping his hands. The initiates immediately stood and followed their respective Jods out of the room, leaving Jiriinii alone with the Seat of Jod.

The moment everyone left the room, Lord Valanal heaved a deep sigh and placed his scepter on the ground. With a quick motion, he ripped his breastplate away. 

Beneath it he wore a simple tan tunic, clean but unassuming. Tossing the breastplate to the side, he proceeded to remove all of his armor, throwing it on the ground with indifference. In the process, he revealed the clothes underneath to be plain and, to some extent, boring. Jiriinii gaped at the man. What purpose was there in this action? Lord Valanal was exchanging authority and his overwhelming presence for… she was not sure.

“My Lord?” she said tentatively, all anger and frustration replaced with a massive amount of confusion.

“Please, princess,” he replied with a wan smile. “Call me Ventoros.”

She gaped at the man. “Ventoros?” she said, rolling the name off her tongue. It felt… foreign. Wrong. And yet, it somehow matched the man before her almost perfectly. “But I thought you were…”

“The Seat of Jod?” he said. “I am. I am Lord Valanal, Seat of Jod, prophet of Aia and plague of the Flaenes.”

“But…” Jiriinii said slowly.

“I am also Ventoros, son of a slightly heretical Harvester and lover of obscurity.” He gestured to his plain clothes.

“I…” Jiriinii stuttered. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t expect you would,” Ventoros said, descending the dais to stand before Jiriinii. He put his hand on her shoulder with a gentle movement. She was led to a window overlooking the city.

“This city is filled with people, my lady.” He waved his hand at the citizens bustling about on their daily business. “These people do not realize that they live in constant danger.”

“Danger from what?” Jiriinii asked, still confused and skeptical. She did not understand what Ventoros was doing, or even why she was to call him by that name. Lord Valanal, the Seat of Jod, held so much more meaning, so much more power. Why was he ridding himself of it?

“The Void,” he said simply. “Aia’s chosen are constantly under attack from the Flaenes, the demon children of Oio.”

“Flaenes are just a myth,” Jiriinii snorted. Preceptor Tixier had taught her that much, at least. “They’re a bedtime story told to little children so that they will obey their parents.”

“Really?” Ventoros said, slightly amused. “Are you aware that I am considered to be a myth, a story for children?”

“You’re different.”

He laughed. “And how do you know this?”

“I just do.” Jiriinii’s temper flared up once more. “Everybody knows it.”

“One thing you will have to learn, my lady, is that what the common people ‘know’ may not be an accurate depiction of the world.” Ventoros face was stern. “Now, may we continue on the assumption that the people of Valanal are in danger of these ‘bedtime stories’? It would make our conversation exponentially easier.” Jiriinii sighed, folding her arms in a slight show of defiance. Ventoros paid her no heed.

“These people cannot defend themselves,” Ventoros said, looking back out the window at the people below. “They are not capable of fighting beings who can immediately adapt to fit whatever situation they find themselves in. They do not have the power to fight the Void itself. So, who will fight for them?”

“The Jods,” Jiriinii said automatically. She could see where this conversation was going. Next, she assumed he would begin to lecture her on tactics and how powerful the Jods were. He would begin to talk like the vendors in Matrikanian marketplaces, fast-talkers that tried to get her family to buy cheap trinkets at exorbitant prices. This was one enormous attempt to make her believe in training with them.

“And who will lead the Jods?” Ventoros continued.

“You,” Jiriinii replied, readying herself for the lecture on the great power he held.

“Why?”

Jiriinii’s retort died in her throat as she thought quickly of another answer. 

Why? Why what? Wasn’t he going to launch into an enormous speech about how marvelous it was to lead and to fight? She’d heard it before, from her father’s court. Every man relished the opportunity to give a hyperbolic account of some venture.

“Because you are the most powerful,” she said, picking the safest response she could think of. “Because you are the right choice for a leader.”

“But why?” Ventoros said earnestly, turning his eyes away from the city and looking intently at Jiriinii. “Why am I the right choice?” He looked over at the armor strewn about the dais with disgust. “I did not, and still don’t, wish to be the Seat of Jod.”

Jiriinii was taken aback. A man who did not want power? She had only met one other with such feelings. 

Her father.

“Why?” she asked, puzzled.

“I was a simple child, my lady,” he said. “I was content to be a farmer all my days, even as my father groomed me to be a noble. When the Jods took me, I was like you. I did not want to come and learn how to be great. I did not want to become a Jod. All I wanted to do was sow my seeds and harvest my crops, like a normal man should.”

“What changed that?” Jiriinii said. She was genuinely curious.

“I learned that sometimes it does not matter what we want,” he said. “Sometimes, the ones who do not want power or authority are the perfect candidates to receive it.” He smiled as Jiriinii looked at him with an air of disbelief. “I made that same face when the Lord of Valanal told me that. Tell me, princess, who would make a better ruler? A man who wants to be king and will do anything, even abuse his people, to keep that power? Or would the man with a kind heart, who does not strive for power or glory, be able to fill the position better?” Jiriinii fell silent as she contemplated his words.

“Well…” she said slowly, and Ventoros nodded his encouragement. “It would be the second man, wouldn’t it? Because he does not want power, he will focus more on caring for the people than trying to obtain glory or more influence.”

“Precisely,” Ventoros said with a smile. “Now you see why I am two people, and why you cannot return home.” 

“You serve the people because you need to, even though you do not want to,” she said. Tears welled up in her eyes. “And so must I.” With a wailing sob, she threw herself into Ventoros’s arms. “It’s so hard!” Ventoros patted her back and stroked her hair gently. 

As he did, Jiriinii felt a warmth spread throughout her body. Being held by the Seat of Jod made her feel like she was home again, in the arms of her father. But, this felt different than that, more… personal. Brotherly. No, not even that. She couldn’t quite find words to describe it.

“Fear not, princess,” Ventoros said softly. “Bearing your burdens will become easier with time.” He pulled away from her. “For now, you need your rest. It has been a long day, and you need to sleep.” Jiriinii nodded, and, almost immediately, she felt herself falling asleep right where she stood. The last thing she remembered was Ventoros holding out his arms as blackness took over.

* * *

Efstany stood on a rise overlooking the city of Matrikai, the wind beating against his body but finding no purchase. He had retained form, far longer than Aia had asked, and stayed in the world for a fortnight.

Why was he still here?

He had not been the same since his last Harvest. The sight of little Lyria holding Jitirj’s head filled him with terror. And then Lyria’s charge for his sword… Aia’s errand was a purpose, a task to set his mind to. But nothing could shake this feeling that had replaced Efstany’s love for the flesh. There was no excitement in gaining a body, in being sent. He had even felt… despair. Yes, that was the word.

 Something was changing. 

Efstany was afraid of what might happen because of it. He had heard stories of Flaenes who had sought out more than the information given them. Rumor said that it was the influence of Oio, the evil leader of the Jods. All the Flaenes were encouraged to seek out and kill Jods, spite the being that tried to lead them astray.

Efstany was not so sure.

An hour ago, he had stood on the hill with Falconeyes in his hand, vision penetrating a window in the king’s palace. Efstany could see the sound waves emanating from a duel in the hallways. A battle was raging, and the only thing that kept King Gestarin alive was his new Viceroy. Vixin Xiviir- The murderer.

Funny. Efstany thought to himself as he remembered the skirmish. Some people would call me the same thing. He chuckled bitterly, turning away from Matrikai and contemplating the dilemma of the current situation.

He did not want to return to the Void. He did not want to return to the enveloping darkness, to the feeling of nothingness. In the Void, he was no one and he was everyone. In the Void, he belonged to Aia. Here, Efstany was Efstany. Here, he was free.

Traitorous thoughts. Treasonous ones. But it was what he truly felt, what he thought if everything else was torn away. The Void was destroying him piece by piece, and he could not deny it anymore. What would happen if he left? What would he endure to rid himself of that black, suffocating everything?

He would do anything.

Not taking any time to think, Efstany quickly morphed into the black smoke of the Flaenes and sped away into the night. He had no idea where he was going. He didn’t care. As long as it was as far away from the Void as possible, he would be content. 

He may even be happy.

Reviews

[David Jae]

This is good. I like your characters, particularly Jirini. You're descriptions and dialogue are well-written and polished, crafting an intricate and compelling world.

If there is a criticism, it is that the text is tightly grouped and your dialogue could be better spaced, to make it easier to read.

You should be pleased with this.

Ganbare

[CodyB]

Thank you so much :) I was just wondering, have you read the prologue and other chapters before this one?

[David Jae]

No. I came across this and was drawn in. It was hard to put down.

[CodyB]

Well, theres a prologue and two other chapters before this one. I would advise reading them as well, as it will make the story make more sense.

[David Jae]

I will. Thank you