Out of Darkness: Chapter 6 - The Paun & the Game Master

“You did well, Protector Augustin.” The small wooden chest sat open on Pai Marbach’s large oak desk. Pai Marbach peered in and traced his fingers over the bindings of the books. “Very well, my friend.” Marbach’s private study was a large room of fine wood paneling, bookcases, and tall windows that opened to a terrace. It was well appointed with fine furnishings arranged in small groups meant for intimate conversations. The room smelled sweet, like honey, Augustin thought. The smell, and the lush surroundings made him feel involuntarily intoxicated and vulnerable. Yet he made himself stand tall and imposing next to Aaron who slumped as he stood with his head down and hands bound behind his back.

“Aren’t you going to burn them and make me watch?” Aaron spat out. Augustine slapped him hard across the face with the back of his open hand.

“You do not speak to a Holy Pai unless he asks something of you,” Augustine said.

Pai Marbach never looked up from the chest nor acknowledged Augustin’s rebuke. “Burn them? I wouldn’t dream of it.” Marbach pulled a book out and opened it. It was a leather bound volume with thick yellowed paper. Instead of using his bare finger Marbach slipped a rubber covering on his index finger and flipped a few pages, pausing to read them. “Interesting,” he said to himself. Then he placed it back in the chest and closed it.

Pai Marbach nodded to two temple guards that stood in the doorway. They came forward and seized Aaron, none to gently, and dragged him out. Augustine watched Aaron disappear through the doorway.

“What will you do with him?” Augustine asked. Pai Marback sat down behind the desk and raised his eyebrows.

“You? Interested in what happens with your catch?”

Augustin tensed and stepped closer to the table; closer to the chest. He put his hand on it, and took his time speaking, choosing his words carefully. “I lost three men,” He said. “I want to know why. I want to know what they died for.” Augustin made as if to open the chest but Pai Marback put his hand over Augustin’s and held the lid firmly closed.

“They died to protect the Waarheid faith. They are heroes of your Sacred Order. They reside in paradise now in perfect happiness.” Augustin could easily lift the lid if he wished. But did he wish to defy the Holy Pai?

“These books speak of the Fad Matka.” Augustine said, looking up from the chest at Marbach. “Tell me, Holy Pai, tell me that you have not betrayed the faith. Why do you not burn these as the heathen said you would? Is it not our duty to destroy anything having to do with those ancient demons?” Marbach pulled his hand away and sat back in his chair. He narrowed his eyes at Augustine and a tense moment passed before he spoke.

“You have been a faithful servant to the Waarheid faith, and to me Protector Varro Augustine. Long have you been in my service. Perhaps it is time you knew.” Marbach rose and went to the door. Just outside was another temple guard. He whispered something to him that Augustine could not hear. The guard nodded and walked away. Closing the door, Marbach crossed the room and went to a more comfortable chair by a window. “Sit with me my friend. Come, sit.”

Out of respect Augustin had never sat in the Holy Pai’s presence. He hesitated, and suddenly he had trouble putting one foot in front of the other. He had not expected to be asked to sit and be on the same eye level as Pai Marbach. He had meant to be stronger in his demand for an explanation, but Marbach had set him off balance. He sat down on the edge of the chair, poised to rise. A small table stood to one side of Pai Marbach with a carafe of liquor and two glasses. Marbach poured and handed offered one to Augustin. The smell was strong and sweet as he brought it to his lips.

“How are your nightmares?” Marbach asked, before taking his own sip. Augustin nearly choked. The gift. I should have known he would bring up the gift. He will think me ungrateful.

“I have not had one these three months.” And it was true. For years since the ceremony of the Protectors he had suffered from terrible nightmares. His hand went to his sternum where the round Anam stone was firmly embedded.

“And the memories of the former keepers are clearer to me. Do not think I am…” Marbach held up a hand to stop him.

“And your supply of what I gave you? Is it holding up?” Augustin took a bottle out of a leather pouch at his side.

“There is still some here.” Will he use this as bargaining chip now? Am I to be a slave to him? No, I will take the nightmares before I forsake my sacred vows to my order. But would he?

“Are the nightmares common among those who are blessed with the Anam?” Marbach asked.

“Yes. But we do not speak of it. It would be a sign of weakness. To be given the Anam is sacred honor. I carry the memories of those who have come before me. It is a blessing.”

“A mixed blessing, Augustin. When you first spoke to me about it you thought you were going insane. What good is all of the knowledge of these great warriors that you carry in you if lose your mind?” Marbach sipped his liquor. “The leaders of your order should prepare you. Help you. Not make you feel weak for endless suffering.”

“When I first was blessed with it, I felt no different.” Augustin remembered the night he was initiated. The night was seared into his memory. Each time a Varro died the Anam stone was removed and prepared for the next carrier. He was honored by his brothers to be chosen. He remembered the darkness in the cave where the ceremony was held. He remembered the bright lights. The table. The pain. The Joy. “The older Protectors told me to be patient, that the Anam would speak to me, and that I would feel its power in time.”

“Indeed,” Marbach said. “Other’s have told me it is like the memory of every Protector who was bound to the Anam becomes your own. Hundreds of years of experience in combat, battle, stealth, and cunning. All yours.” Marbach rose and poured more wine into Augustin’s glass. “What is it like? Knowing what your opponent will do even before he does.”

“Almost too easy. Like a house cat toying with it’s prey.” Augustin finally leaned back into the chair. It was comfortable and he felt his tired muscles relax into it. He wasn’t sure if it was the strong wine or the casual conversation that was putting him at ease after being so worked up.

“Yes. But you also get all of the death, fear, pain, and doubt as well. They do not prepare you for that.”

“I must be stronger. I must learn to control it.” Augustin made a fist and pounded the arm of the chair.

“I agree. But they do not give you means to do it. It is foolish,” Marbach said.

Augustin remembered when he first spoke to the Holy Pai about the Anam. He had begun to have horrible death dreams that were so real. He seemed to be experiencing the deaths of the former bearers of the stone. Horrible deaths. Death so cold. So empty. He would sometimes forget who he was in a death dream. In the midst of the old memories it was sometimes like stepping off a dark cliff into nothingness where all thought and memory fell away, and his mind became like that of an infant. An infant alone in the dark. Sometimes he would awaken and not who he was, where he was, or when he was.

He realized that subject of their conversation had changed since sitting down, and decided to reassert the topic. “What does this have to do with these books, these people I take for you?”

Marbach set down his glass and looked at Augustin. “Everything,” He said. “Give me the bottle.” Marbach poured the contents into a small clear glass bowl on the table. It was a thick liquid and of red so dark is was almost black. “I told you to rub this into the Anam until it absorbs it. You tell me that it has worked.”

“Yes, it is a Miracle Holy Pai. This ointment is a miracle to me.”

“But what is this ointment? Have you smelled it? Have you perhaps tasted it?” Augustine had smelled it. He knew what it was but he was afraid to say it; afraid of confirming it. “Yes, I see it on your face. You know what it is.” Marbach smiled slightly.

“It is blood. The blood of some animal I suspect? Perhaps sacrificed and made holy by you?” Augustine said.

“Yes. It is holy blood. The blood of angels to be exact.” Pai Marbach dipped his finger into the blood letting just the tip touch the dark liquid. There was a soft knock on the door. “Ah. Our angel. Come,” Marbach said to the visitor. The door swung open.