Caught on the Blade's Edge

“To me, men! TO ME!” 

Efstany heard Lord Jitirj’s call to arms through the open window. He didn’t care. There were no men in this mansion that could stand against the Flaenes, save Lord Jitirj himself.

“Another one,” Diksala said beside him. “Another petty lord who thinks he has god on his side.” He shrugged. “Can you blame him?”

“Of course,” Efstany said. “Never trust god to be with you, not when Flaenes are knocking on your door.”

Triinor fell in beside them. “Are we actually going to knock this time?”

Diksala smiled. “Of course not.”

Triinor grinned, and Efstany almost smiled. Triinor, somehow, had managed to hold on to something from his former life. A sense of humor had no purpose within the Void, but at the very least he could use it during a Harvest. It was infectious, spreading to the other Flaenes and giving at least a semblance of satisfaction to their duty.

The three companions stood before the door to Lord Jitirj’s mansion, a relatively small entrance to a large building. The three storied sandstone edifice curved at the edges, creating the illusion of less space. As it was, the mansion could likely hold well over two thousand refugees should any invading force come calling. Lord Jitirj, however, was one of the most miserly lords Junar had. He scarcely had any servants employed- privacy was first and foremost.

Thus the Flaenes were confused when, at the moment they were first spotted, the serfs all flocked to the mansion. They were far more baffled when the serfs left, all laden down with a myriad of items. Expensive, noble items.

With a nod, each of the Flaenes raised a leg and kicked the door with all their might. The wood splintered, folding in on itself and flying across the room beyond. Jitirj’s guards hastily dodged out of the way. 

Before they had even crossed the threshold, each of the Flaenes had drawn a Blade. Efstany held Viperbite, and his sense of smell increased a hundredfold. He could smell the freshly laundered guard uniforms, mingled with the smell of dripping sweat and even soiled trousers. 

He could also smell their fear. It was an earthy, dull scent that pulsed with their heartbeats.

“We are not here for you,” he said. “We are here for your lord. Any who lay down arms will be permitted to leave.” 

“It speaks,” one guard whispered. He trembled viciously, sword shaking dangerously close to his face. “It speaks like a man. Oh Aia’s Blood, they’re just like us!”

“Ignorant human.” Triinor chuckled. “Trust me when I say this, we’re nothing like you.”

The guard gave a bloodcurdling scream. He raised his longsword and charged at Efstany, madness in his eyes and steps. Efstany sighed. Just once, could humans use the minds Aia had given them? Chances were, if any of them actually thought for a moment, many would come out of this alive. 

As it was, none of them would.

Efstany deftly ducked underneath the guard’s clumsy swing. With an almost lazy motion, he spun in a full circle, lopping off the guard’s head before turning to face the others.

“So be it,” he said, blood dripping down to the tiles. “You shall all be harvested.”

“Efstany,” Diksala said. “Remember to put on a show for Noface.”

Ah yes, Efstany thought. Make the spectacle exciting enough, and most initiates would feel the bloodlust begin to take control. There would be no doubt left, after that.

“Enough,” the captain of the guard growled. He raised his own sword and pointed at Diksala. “Kill them! Any who slays a Flaene will be exalted in the Emperor’s halls!” 

Like the foolish men they were, they charged. Efstany shrugged and met their attack head on. The smell of fear became almost tangible, and it mixed with the pungent scent of false bravado. Soon they were both overpowered by blood.

Efstany’s Viperbite spun and slashed, striking down men with nearly movement. A few men came close to striking him. One tried to come from behind, but Efstany caught the scent of his triumph and cut him down. Another innovator decided to throw a sword at Efstany. Unfortunately, swords are not meant to be thrown, and he only succeeded in stabbing his comrade through the face. 

“It’s like they’re all drunk,” Diksala grunted. His Wolfsbane whistled as it whipped through the air. “And this is their tavern brawl.”

“I kind of like it.” Triinor stood with Sickle in hand, cutting men down from angles they had not expected. “Makes you feel alive again. That’s what all this is about, right? Well, that and Aia. Can’t forget him.”

“No, you certainly can’t.” Efstany cut off a man’s sword hand before swiftly cutting him in two. His torso fell to the ground, the legs a few feet away. The man looked at them and, strangely, smiled. 

“Well,” he said. “One less thing to worry about.” With a hacking, insane laugh, he died.

Efstany let out a breath as Triinor killed the last guard, stabbing him through the neck. So much death, and for what? A few guard’s pride? Surely Aia would not condone this slaughter. 

Surely Carnidoni had been enough.

“Well, Noface,” Triinor called. “What’d you think? Feel like this is the job for you?”

A man stepped over the remains of the guards and the front door. “Quite a mess, don’t you think?” He looked over at Efstany.

“Looked” was the wrong word. He had no eyes to see with, nor mouth to speak, nor nose to smell or ears to feel. His face was a flat, smooth patch of skin. 

“Still fighting it, are you?” Triinor said. “Still telling yourself that you’re not supposed to be here?”

“Did you do any different?”

“No.” Triinor chuckled. “But I certainly wasn’t as stubborn about it as you are.” 

“I suppose if I had known that I’d look like this as punishment,” Noface gestured to his head, “I probably would have accepted Aia’s offer the moment I hit the Void. But now, it’s a matter of principle. I am not a Flaene, and I will never be a Flaene.”

“Saying it doesn’t make it so. Aia already has you, boy.”

“Boy? We’re the same age.”

Triinor raised an eyebrow. “We may look that way, but I’ve been at this for almost six centuries now. You were what, thirty five when you were Harvested?”

“Thirty.” 

Triinor laughed again. “You still have a long way to go.”

Noface shrugged, but continued turn his head toward the bodies. Efstany wondered how it would feel to betray no emotion with a look, to have your thoughts completely your own. 

Dangerous, he thought. Our thoughts are never out own.

At least they didn’t have to call him by his real name, not until he was a full Flaene. It was a small blessing. Efstany could avoid the horror of that night, the horror he caused, the horror surrounding Noface.

“Can we just get on with it?” Diksala said, pointing to the main stairs. “Aia did not send us to talk.”

“No he didn’t,” Triinor said. “He sent us to kill a man. All these guards were simply a warmup.”

Diksala glared at the smiling Flaene. “Can’t you take anything seriously?”

“Absolutely not. That’s your job.”

“Who ever heard of a laughing, smiling Flaene?”

“Everyone who’s also heard of a grumbling, complaining Flaene: no one. But eventually, someone will, and I’ll be the one they tell stories around the fire for.”

“Enough,” Efstany said. “We go.”

They stepped over the bodies into the halls of the mansion.

* * *

The resistance didn’t last very long. Not against three Flaenes.

The guards at the front door were apparently the stubbornest of them all. Most of the remaining soldiers fell to the ground whimpering as soon as they saw the various Bloodblades Efstany and his companions held. For the rest, Triinor’s sickle felled them like wheat.

“It’s a pity the Church doesn’t let normal men wield Bloodblades any more,” Diksala said. “Those days were at least somewhat of a challenge.”

“Personally,” Triinor said, wiping his Blade on a dead soldiers face, “I prefer to not have higher chances of dying.”

“Is it really death, though?”

“To be reincarnated- to lose who you were? Absolutely. I like this beautiful face of mine.”

Efstany held up a hand, and the two fell silent. They stood just beyond the door to Lord Jitirj’s chambers, and Efstany could hear whimpering inside.

“He’s not alone,” he said.

Diksala cupped a hand to his ear. “Sounds young.”

“Then the reports were correct. He will kill her.”

“What do you do in this instance?” Noface whispered. With his head cocked to the side, Efstany thought he almost looked curious. “We’ve killed guards. Do you cause the death of a little girl?”

“If we can avoid it- we gave the guards a chance to stand down. Aia does not want unnecessary slaughter.”

“Really?” Noface laughed bitterly. “My experience says otherwise.”

Efstany ignored him, mulling over his options. They could find some other way in, avoid showing their faces. Unfortunately, that would lose them precious time. For every minute they let Jitirj alone, he had that much longer to think of some way to escape.

But if they went straight into the room, Jitirj had an opportunity to damn his soul even further. The Void was not kind to the evil and perverse- Noface was a perfect example of that. Efstany did not want to see yet another man condemned to upholding Aia’s justice for eternity. 

Still, better that than to let him live and kill again.

“We go in.” Efstany sheathed his Blade. “But without weapons.”

“Is that wise?” Noface said. “He may have more guards.”

“I don’t think so,” Diksala countered. “It sounds like there is only two in there, and going in without Blades means less chance of a dead child as our responsibility.”

“Would it be even better if we were naked?” Triinor asked. “I know that there are parts of me that would distract him…”

“That is unnecessary.” Diksala made a face. “And disgusting. Don’t say anything like that ever again.”

“It’s true, though. The big truth, you might say.”

“Enough,” Noface snapped, and pointed to Jitirj’s chamber. Triinor sighed, but the four kicked down the wooden door and entered the room.

Jitirj stood in the middle of a ransacked bedchamber. Curtains hung in tatters from the bedposts. Priceless tapestries and art lay crumpled on the floor- a sight that would put any noble to tears. Efstany had the sense of a rushing throng of people, coursing through this room and destroying all they came in contact with. It was the only way he could explain the scene.  Jitirj himself had unruly hair, ripped nightshirt, and a little girl with a Fishmonger to her throat.

“They took everything from me,” he whispered. “They saw you come, and they took everything.”

“Not all,” Efstany said. “The rest is for us.”

“What have I done?” Jitirj yelled, the knife pressing more against the girl. “Why do I deserve damnation?”

“You fool yourself,” Diksala growled. “What insane mind thinks perversion such as yours is right?”

“Have they been harmed? Have I not given freely to those I take?”

“You destroy their minds,” Triinor said, all trace of levity gone. He was the most fearsome out of the three. “You destroy their lives because of it.”

“They adore me!” he screamed. “Tell them, Lyria. Tell them how good I am, how kind I am to you. Tell them how much-”

“Kill him.” The little girl’s quiet voice was cold, hard. “Please, kill him. Kill me too.”

Efstany stepped closer, attempting to find something to say. Aia above, what had Jitirj done to this girl’s spirit?

“No closer, demon,” Jitirj hissed. “Or else she dies.”

“Why damn yourself further?” Efstany said, glaring at him. “You have not reached the hell of hells, Jitirj. There is still a chance at redemption.”

“Redemption?” Jitirj laughed wildly. “Why would I need redemption? All I have to do is escape you.” 

With that, he let go of the girl and pushed her to the Flaenes.

Triinor jumped to grab her even as Jitirj rushed for the open window. Efstany wasn’t entirely sure what the lord’s plan was- did he have some safe way of descending? Sure enough, Jitirj produced a coiled, knotted rope from the folds of his clothes. He slipped a loop over a brazier and threw the rope out the window, laughing maniacally the whole time.

In his laughter, he failed to notice Efstany had covered the distance inhumanly fast.

“The blood has been paid,” he said. “Let Aia’s justice be served.”

“Aia can go rot in the Void!” Jitirj cried. He clambered up onto the windowsill.

“He already has.”

Efstany reached over to his left shoulder and ripped the spike free, grunting at the pain. He executed a diagonal slash even as the blood flowed from the wound, the blade not completely formed. Jitirj looked back with wide eyes.

The last thing he was a stream of blood forming into the shape of a Fishmonger and cutting into his neck.

Efstany brought his Blade around to rest next to his side. Jitirj’s head dropped onto the tile in front of him, a smile of insanity etched upon the lifeless face.

“Well, I don’t think that could have gone better,” Triinor said. “We killed the evil man, saved the girl, and got to kill a couple platoons as a bonus.”

The little girl, Lyria, ignored Triinor’s comments and walked slowly up to Jitirj’s head. She knelt, tears welling up in her eyes as she picked it up.

“You got what you deserved,” she whispered. “You thought you could break me. Well, guess what? You did.”

With a cry of intense anguish, she flung the head against the ground. Sickening crunches resonated through the room as she slammed it again and again, bone and gore being flung from the impact. Efstany winced each time the head hit. This was wrong, more wrong than he would care to admit. Aia above, first Radiran, and now this? He could not look on this scene with anything but absolute revulsion.

With a final, bloodcurdling scream, the girl’s blows ended. She knelt on the bloody tile, weeping with her head in her hands.

“Young one…” Efstany said softly. He still hadn’t moved. “What do you need? Where can we take you?”

Almost like lightning, the girl was standing. “Take me?” she said. “You can take me to the Void.” 

Efstany suddenly realized that he could not, in fact, move any part of his body. Something, someone was holding him in place.

This must happen. A deep, resonating voice said in his mind. Avert your eyes, put your thoughts elsewhere if you must. But you cannot stop this, no more than man can stop the waves.

Time seemed to slow down. Efstany’s companions, the little girl- all seemed to move as though through jelly. Efstany could only watch as Lyria ran toward his right arm.

Ran toward his arm, and buried her throat on the edge of his Blade.