The Seer Page 3

  Sybilla vividly recalled her first lesson in divination, given to her when she was only four solstices old. She had always been interested in many things and when one of the older sisters had entered their communal room with a viper in her hands, Sybilla had been the only one who dared to go near the snake. She walked boldly up to the serpent and touched it, while the other little sisters cried. She loved the feel of its cool, smooth scales under her fingers — their uniform size and bright orange and yellow markings — for she had never feared animals. They were creatures created by the goddesses, just as they had created chromes.

  Just then, Arunthia called everyone to order.

  “Come, our Seer. It is time.” She placed a pendant around Sybilla’s neck and intoned: “This is the Raw Carnelian Pendant. It was worn by Liunilla, before you and it will be worn by the new Seer, after you.” Sybilla looked down at the polished, orange-red stone, and she felt a tremendous swell of pride fill her heart. It was said that the jewel’s surface had been worn smooth by the touch of a thousand seers.

  She thanked Arunthia and put her new spessartine mask on once more. Then Arunthia cried out: “Sisters, we conclude the Rite!”

  The other sisters donned their masks, too. They formed a circle around Sybilla and they raised their hands to the sky. Then they bowed, touching their foreheads to the earth to honor the goddesses.

  Sybilla, who had practiced her particular part of the Rite in Crodya, approached each one of her guides. She touched their masked foreheads, whispering, “Goodbye, my sister.” Then she offered up a small prediction for each. Sybilla remembered what each female had longed for, thanks to whispered secrets which many had forgotten during their youth, but never her. Now she tried to lace her predictions with good news for them all.

  “Goodbye, Seer. May the sacred triad guide you and protect you,” they answered. One at a time, they began to retreat from the circle, moving back toward the path that would return them to Crodya. All, that is, except one sister, who remained standing where Sybilla had touched her. Sybilla hesitated for a moment before touching Delphica’s mask, again. “Goodbye my sister,” she finally managed to say.

  Delphica did not answer her.

  “Goodbye my sister…” she said for the third time.

  Delphica remained in her place. Contrary to the ceremony, Sybilla gave her one warm, final hug and murmured: “Go now! You shall not be forgotten.”

  Delphica hugged her, as tight as she could, before running and sobbing to catch up with the rest of the sisters.

  41. The Hunt

  The captain of the Red guards mustered all the young nobles before the city gates. The early morning air was crisp and the cadets tried to move around to keep warm without being noticed.

  The captain looked at them and thought: another season and another group of greenhorn nobles about to take on the Territory. He had seen a lot of these Ashis break quite easily. They were the elite of Samaris, of course, the noble caste of the Red Kingdom, but they were certainly not soldiers — not like him. The captain was a member of the Sayi caste. He had been trained for battle since his birth. Moreover, he was aware this would be his hardest command yet, for the King’s son was amongst this group. The captain would be forced to use tact and diplomacy, something he felt he was ill trained for, himself.

  Indeed, the subject of the captain’s concern — the king’s son, Chtomio, was also observing his commanding officer under hooded eyes, even as he shook the coldness brought by the gusty wind from his muscled limbs. The captain was tall and robust. His figure instilled both fear and respect in his troops. And that was before looking at his skull-shaped gray mask. The silver armor and a blood-red colored mantle did the rest.

  The captain shouted something that Chtomio didn’t catch, for the waves of the sea crashing against the walls of the city obliterated all other sounds. The only voice Chtomio heard clearly was the whisper of his friend, Keiran, who continued to make silly jests at the captain’s expense. Soon, Chtomio found it almost impossible to keep from laughing out loud.

  The captain noticed the pair and he strode over to Chtomio. “Am I brightening your precious day, Your Highness?” He shouted in Chtomio’s ear. Chtomio noted the sarcastic tone that marked the Captain’s utterance of Your Highness.

  “No, captain, never!” Chtomio was quick to respond.

  This seemed to appease the captain. He signaled for his troops to crowd around him. “All right, noble Ashis, the time has come for you to prove your valor,” he said.

  The captain treated all of them to a hard, long, uncomfortable stare that set the young warriors fidgeting. “Today will be a long one.” He intoned. “And we shall start it with… the mark. You have all been marked at birth for your noble descendance. Today’s mark will strengthen your devotion to Adio and Adia and to the Red Kingdom.”

  “Why do we have to perform this rite on the beach?” muttered one of the cadets. “I feel like a lowly Janis.”

  “Because our families don’t relish the smell of burning flesh in their nostrils,” Chtomio returned.

  “Chtomio!” the captain barked, “you will be first. It is only fair that the heir to the throne sets an example.” Chtomio did not miss the barbed tone behind his commander’s order. He also heard someone snicker behind his back. He didn’t need to turn around to recognize that it came from Oris; a backstabbing, fellow cadet he would have gladly thrown into the sea.

  Chtomio obeyed his captain and walked over to the blacksmith. This smith, appointed by the royal court, wore a heavy iron mask that cloaked his expression. Still, Chtomio couldn’t miss how eagerly he grabbed a red-hot branding iron from his portable forge.

  “Please take your mantle off, Your Highness,” he said with deference.

  Chtomio unfastened his cloak. It fell to the ground, exposing his wide chest. Two Parabathai warriors held Chtomio, while a third placed a leather gag in his mouth for him to chew on, in anticipation of the pain.

  The blacksmith continued to gaze at his sizzling brand, which was shaped in an ‘A’ for ‘Ashi’, the noble caste to which Chtomio belonged. This ‘A’ was bigger than the smaller one given at birth with ink but just like the previous one, would be marked indelibly on his body for the rest of his days.

  The blacksmith swiftly pressed the brand to his left shoulder. The acrid smell of his own burned flesh assaulted him. Then, the pain set in. It was as if a volcano erupted inside his arm and spewed molten lava all over his body. He let out a muffled scream and almost fell down. The two warriors holding him up let go and splashed ice water over his shoulder. Then they backed away. Chtomio knelt on the ground, writhing in agony. Control yourself, he thought. You are the king’s son. He made himself rise slowly, grabbed his mantle and returned to where his companions stood. When I’ll be king, this barbaric custom for male Ashis will be removed, he noted to himself.

  “Female chromes bear the pain of marking better than you, Chtomio; you are weak!” snorted the captain. Of course, everyone knew quite well that female Ashis had their adult brands painted on them with the same indelible octopus ink used for infants rather than endure a caste symbol burning.

  “Your wife wasn’t of the same opinion last night, captain,” Chtomio wanted to rebut. Instead, he kept quiet, although his eyes sparked with rage like twin scorching flames. Speaking of burning, his flesh was still bubbling and he felt like an overcooked boar. He moved closer to Keiran and whispered: “How does it look? I can’t see it all the way back there.”

  Keiran was about to speak when the captain called his name. He walked slowly toward the blacksmith and then looked at the captain. He was tall – Keiran – the tallest of the cadets, but his awkward slender body, too thin for his height, and his long, blonde hair made him stand out from the other Red chromes in a sorry way. Chtomio, however, liked that Keiran wasn’t like everyone else, in looks or temperament. That’s why they were friends. They were both oddities in a kingdom that worshipped conformity as a valued trait in their ancient aristo
cracy.

  The two young chromes spent much of their time together, discussing how the iron-fisted rules that governed their kingdom could be changed. Too many injustices were perpetrated by the Nobles, they felt. Both Chtomio and Keiran had seen just how far those in power would go to push their barbarous limits and they were sick of it.

  The Parabathai warriors got ready to restrain Keiran, but the tall cadet shrugged them off with a theatrical gesture. “I don’t need you,” he said confidently, “Nor do my teeth need something to chew on, for I am not a horse. Just get on with it.” He threw back his cloak and uncovered his shoulder.

  “As you wish, noble Ashi,” snorted the blacksmith in a sadistic tone. He turned and grabbed the branding iron with the same vigor he’d reserved for Chtomio and swiftly marked Keiran’s shoulder. Keiran did not move or utter a sound. Once branded, he sauntered away from the blacksmith back to the group, affecting to have not a care in the world.

  Chtomio beat his fist on his chest as a sign of respect for his friend. This action was immediately taken up by the other cadets. Keiran was like that, he thought. His deeds always spoke louder than his words.

  “You have shown courage, Keiran.” confirmed the Captain. “But save some for tonight — because you shall need it.” He looked at the other cadets and repeated: “You shall all need it.” Then the captain returned his attention to the blacksmith, clearly enjoying the continued marking rite of each Ashi.

  “You surprise me every time, Keiran,” whispered Chtomio.

  “You should know me better than that by now, Your Highness,” replied Keiran, grinning. He also lowered his voice: “I had an anecdote against the pain.”

  Chtomio’s eyes widened behind his mask. “Who gave it to you?”

  “I can’t say,” answered Keiran.

  “Bastard. Why didn’t you give me some?” said Chtomio.

  “I wasn’t sure it was going to work!” He chuckled.

  “Keiran!” the captain’s voice thundered. “You have proved your valor, but remember: it is not only with marking that I judge whether you will become a great warrior or a sniveling Red minister.”

  “Who says I want to be either?” Keiran rebutted.

  “Hear, hear,” said Chtomio.

  When the marking of the Cadets was finished, they marched back in the direction of the Samaris gates, where their path was blocked by the Parabathai warriors.

  “Did I say we were finished?” shouted the Captain, behind them. “The Parabathais will now show you a trick or two that may save your miserable hides in battle.”

  Chtomio studied the devoted, mated warriors and then turned to his friend. “Did you hear that, Keiran? These lovers are going to teach us some new tricks! But I don’t see any female Ashi to do those tricks with,” he laughed.

  “These are our best soldiers, Chtomio, you should have more respect for them,” replied Keiran sternly. “And the fact that they are lovers who fight for each other makes them even more noble in my eyes.”

  “Aw, spare me, will you?” said Chtomio. “The whole concept is foolish. If I were in danger, I would only think of saving myself. It’s just the nature of things. Now, if, on the other hand, we’re talking about coupling with a female warrior, well I would make sure to think of her needs—.” Before Chtomio could finish, one Parabathai surprised him by tying him up with a rope.

  “Are you mad?” He shouted. “Captain! Tell her to release me at once!”

  “Shut up, fool. It’s for your own good.” replied the captain.

  “What are you talking about?”

  But the captain had already turned to face the other cadets. “The Parabathais will teach you how to free yourself in case you are taken as a prisoner. Turan!”

  Chtomio’s female parabathai warrior approached the captain and knelt. Other parabathais tied her up just as she had done with Chtomio.

  “Now watch,” said the captain.

  Turan inhaled and exhaled, practically collapsing her chest with her breathing. Chtomio observed, mesmerized, as the ropes loosened around her body with every contraction. In no time at all, she was able to shake them from her like a pile of dead snakes.

  “How in Adio’s name did she do it?” the prince asked. He tried to emulate her but without success.

  “The key is to use your breathing wisely. Keep still. Do not struggle. Let the breaths you take do the work,” explained the captain.

  Turan untied Chtomio. She then showed him how she first tensed her muscles before being tied and then how she relaxed them, afterwards. Although she was well built, her feminine grace was still her most outstanding feature.

  “So you never talk, do you Turan?” asked Chtomio.

  Turan shook her head. Chtomio knew well that all warriors who became Parabathai had been sworn to silence.

  “And who, may I ask, is your lover?”

  Turan indicated with her finger, pointing at a well built male warrior who was demonstrating similar rope escape tricks to the other cadets.

  “Turan,” whispered Chtomio careful not to be overheard by the captain, “may I ask you something else?”

  Turan nodded.

  “Would you really die for him, for your… companion?”

  She looked at her lover and nodded again, firmly.

  Then she pointed her finger to Chtomio.

  “What? Me? What? I don’t understand…”

  The female warrior shook her head and pointed at him, once more. She indicated that he, Chtomio, was her number one priority by raising one finger. After that she pointed at her male counterpart and raised two fingers. Chtomio was taken aback. “Are you saying that you would die for me first and second for your…?”

  Turan bowed to him, nodding.

  “If it ever comes to that, Turan, if ever fate puts us in that situation, I don’t want you to die for me, understand?”

  Turan shook her head.

  “Listen to me, I’m serious now,” added Chtomio, “I would never forgive you if you put your life before mine.”

  Turan looked him straight in the eyes, from deep within her mask. She slowly shook her head again and left to return to her companion. Chtomio felt chastened by her devotion. He would never be so cavalier in his judgment of the Parabathai, again.

  ––—

  That night, the noble cadets were ordered to converge once more outside of the city gates.

  The captain stood in the entrance of the tunnel that led into the walled Red city of Samaris. He strode toward his troops, followed by several other gatekeepers. These chromes carried many swords.

  “Isn’t it a bit late for playtime captain?” drawled Keiran, while the rest of the Ashis laughed.

  The captain waited for the laughter to die down and said: “Noble Ashis, tonight there will be a special hunt for you.”

  “I thought boar season was over.” Oris said.

  “It is not animals that you will hunt,” said the captain, “tonight you will hunt… Janis.”

  A buzz of confusion immediately rose from the group of cadets.

  “Kill a fellow Red? Have you gone mad?” demanded Chtomio.

  “Watch your language, cadet!” snapped the captain. “Janis are not like other Reds. Their caste has been rejected, even by the gods. You all know that.”

  “You have gone mad!” rebutted Chtomio. “I will tell my father about this!”

  “Your father, His Royal Highness, the king, is the one who devised this hunt,” replied the captain firmly.

  “But what have they ever done to us? How, in the name of Adio, could we even think of doing such a thing?” continued Chtomio in disbelief. He looked around at his comrades but their murmurs had now died down. The fact that it was the king’s direct order had turned them all silent. All, except one.

  “I agree with Chtomio,” said Keiran. “I won’t do this.”

  “These are your king’s orders! The Janis breed like rats. We periodically need to thin the herd to prevent an uprising.” The captain said, with growin
g impatience. “You will take a sword and each and every one of you will bring a dead Janis here before the new sunrise.”

  “What if we refuse?” asked Chtomio.

  “The king, himself, shall punish you with death. Even you, my prince.”

  “What if they fight back?” said another voice in the dark.

  “That’s what these swords are for,” replied the captain.

  After further buzz and murmurs, slowly, one by one, each Ashis accepted a sword from the guardsmen.

  “There are still two swords left.” the captain growled.

  Chtomio moved as if to challenge him. Keiran, who was by his side, furtively held him back with a hand to his arm. “Calm yourself, Chtomio. Let’s take the swords,” whispered Keiran, “I have a plan. We won’t spill one drop of blood, I promise you.”

  Chtomio gazed at Keiran through the slits of his mask. Keiran nodded as if to say, “Trust me.”

  Chtomio, convinced by his friend, decided to obey. “All right, captain, as you wish…” he said, putting a sword in his scabbard. “I am not going to use it, though,” he whispered to Keiran. He still was in a state of disbelief. It’s not that wearing a sword was something a cadet wasn’t allowed to do. Rather, their empty scabbards were more symbolic. This was because a weapon was supposed to be proudly earned after using it in battle – but this was no battle. This was an atrocity.

  Keiran replied reassuringly, “We won’t use them.”

  ––—

  When the last of the fires died down, the Ashis cadets set out in search of the Janis. They headed for their poor straw and mud villages scattered on the coastline, not far from the city walls. Many had drunk “the warriors’ nectar” to give them the strength — or rather the courage — to kill innocent chromes. It was a strong mead guaranteed to set a soldier’s blood flowing.

  “Come, it is our time to move as well,” said Keiran to his friend.