Marked (7 page)

The audience began to cheer and applaud wildly, shouting the winner’s name in unison.

Komir remained perched an instant longer over the body of his conquered rival, his hated enemy since his earliest days of childhood, the person who had repeatedly caused him so much pain though he’d never done anything to deserve it. There he was, at his feet, publicly defeated. Komir knew he should feel happy—jubilant, even—but all he felt was pity for the unfortunate creature he’d just beaten. He looked down at him a second longer; the face red with rage, the eyes filled with pure fury. Nothing, no satisfaction; just a feeling of sadness for this despicable being.

It’s over. I beat him in front of the entire tribe. I showed that I am a better Norriel than he is before the whole community. I’ve waited a long time for this chance and I finally got it. No longer will anyone doubt that I am a true Norriel warrior. I’ve won the championship. I am a Norriel by right, a champion.

He turned away and walked over to Master Gudin, handed him his sword and respectfully saluted him. The Master solemnly returned the salute.

Komir started to leave the ring amidst the applause and cheers of the excited crowd. As he walked he looked for his parents’ faces among the spectators. Finally he found his mother’s face to his left among the people sitting in the first row. But something wasn’t right; her face did not reflect the joy he was expecting... it reflected a completely different emotion...

It showed...

Horror!

Her eyes wide, Mirta was looking in his direction, pointing at him and shouting something. But in the midst of the noise from the thunderous applause, cheering, and shouting, he could not make out what she was saying.

The expression on his mother’s face both surprised and startled him. He stopped, almost to the edge of the fighting ring, trying to hear what she was shouting. He strained to understand; she was screeching at him now. He tilted his head and craned his neck to hear better.

What was happening? Why was his mother pointing and yelling?

He did not understand.

A shrill screech, a piercing scream coming from his mother’s throat, stood out over the rest of the din from the crowd:

“Look out! Behind you!”

When he heard that, Komir’s heart skipped a beat. A visceral fear overcame him. He instinctively turned to look over his shoulder.

Akog, his arm raised high, a dagger in his hand, was two steps from dealing him a deathly blow in the back. The ill-fated boy’s eyes shone with the gleam of insanity. His mouth, contorted by rage, was twisted into a grotesque smile.

“I’ll kill you, you bastard!” he screeched, with all the fury of years of stifled irrational hatred.

Behind his attacker, at too far a distance to stop the treacherous assault, ran Master Gudin and one of his instructors, screaming at the top of their lungs for Akog to stop his demented attack. The spectators’ cheers and applause abruptly ended and immediately transformed into shouts of horror and alarm in the face of such a frightful, dishonorable betrayal.

Akog, ignoring all of them, took one last step, gathering momentum, and threw himself at Komir.

A fateful ending seemed inevitable.

Komir, seeing his enemy’s imminent attack and the dagger rushing toward his neck, experienced a rush of horror so acute that his chest nearly burst. But something else awakened within him along with that rush. An odd sensation flowed through him and he perceived a singular energy, born out of the deepest part of his being, running through his body. A powerful energy, set in motion by the sensation of danger, had instantly concentrated in his chest. He could feel the intense blue force pressing against his chest, trying to break out of his body.

In that ill-fated moment, time seemed to come to a standstill, freezing reality. Every sound ceased to exist, all movement stopped; the air itself seemed to evaporate, replaced by a vacuum. Akog hung suspended in midair, the deadly dagger just inches from his neck.

Instinctively, Komir raised his right hand to defend himself. But instead of placing it in a defensive position he’d reached out to touch his attacker, not knowing why. The dagger sluggishly advanced in a deadly arc toward his neck. The motion was occurring so slowly he felt he was caught up in a nightmare. An instant before the blade would sever his neck, his extended hand touched his attacker’s chest.

And in that last moment, something unthinkable happened.

With a savage wrath, all the energy accumulated in Komir’s chest surged forth as a devastating explosion from his hand.

Time awakened.

Everything returned to life.

Sounds once again filled Komir’s ears. The power of the brutal explosion was so strong that Akog was blasted forcefully in the opposite direction. He shot through the air outside the fighting ring and landed on the other side of the square with a sickening, hollow thud.

Several of the onlookers had to get out of the way to avoid being struck by his body.

A sepulchral silence came over the square.

The spectators were left speechless, in a state of shock from the horrendous event they’d just witnessed. No one moved for what seemed like minutes, trying to grasp the magnitude of whatever it was that had happened. Gudin was the first to react. He ran to Akog to see if he was still breathing. He shook his head, confirming Akog was dead.

Komir lowered his head, profoundly grieved.

A soft murmur could be heard among the crowd. The whispering was quickly getting louder until it erupted into hundreds of muffled shouts and accusations. And one word was becoming clear above the whispering:

Sorcerer.

The spectators began to chant, repeating ever more quickly and loudly:

“Sorcerer! Sorcerer! Sorcerer!”

A public accusation directed at Komir in response to the arcane act they’d just witnessed.

Looking at his hand incredulously, Komir could not process what had happened moments before. Desperation consumed him. He had killed Akog and his secret—the reason why he had never been able to integrate into the tribal society, the stigma that had marked him—had been revealed here, in front of everyone. His spirit plunged into the abyss of despair. Everyone had witnessed it and he was sure they would condemn him.

Why? Why is this happening to me now? Now that I was finally so close to being an accepted member of the tribe? Now that I could finally erase that dreadful incident that marked me as
persona non grata
in everyone’s memory? After winning the tournament, when I’d finally succeeded in becoming a rightful Norriel warrior and achieved what I’d always wanted... this will destroy all of it.
His eyes filled with tears from a mixture of anger and frustration as he heard the accusations hurled at him like a merciless lashing.

He would remain forever marked as a Sorcerer, a stigma from which he would never be free.

Forevermore he would be someone the tribal society could barely tolerate. Never would he be welcome. He would be forced to carry out his existence on the margins of the tribe. Magic and arcane arts generated fear and misunderstanding among his people. Never would he be the respected Norriel warrior he so desperately longed to be.

His dream would die, here and now.

“Sorcerer! Sorcerer! Sorcerer!” the shouts went on. His head down, he left the square with a painful void in his chest for not having achieved what he had yearned for, knowing that he would never again have the chance to achieve it. He did not even dare to look at his mother, so afraid was he to see the shame in her eyes.

Far removed from the heartache of the Norriel Ceremony of the Bear, in a remote continent beyond the Hundred Seas hidden from the known world, Isuzeni stood in the antechamber of the throne room. He was waiting to be called before his powerful and ruthless queen, Yuzumi—the Dark Queen, as she was known throughout the shattered continent of Toyomi. That morning, the queen had requested his humble presence. Isuzeni was unsure of the reason, but as High Priest of the Cult of Imork, ancestral god of the dead, and personal Counselor to his all-powerful queen, he was accustomed to being summoned to carry out the wishes of his lady and mistress.

He looked contemplatively at the chamber, his slanted black eyes noticing every detail. Before him, a large and exquisitely decorated room, adorned in velvet fabrics that bathed the walls with the Empire’s colors. A huge flag waved on a balcony showing two swords with blood-red, curved blades on a background as black as the night; a banner that struck dread in the hearts of its enemies and fear in the hearts of its subjects. The emblem that, since the time Queen Yuzumi began the conquest just over ten years ago, had gradually but savagely taken the nine kingdoms one by one, bringing the entire continent under her control. None had been able to stop the bloody and relentless advance of the Dark Queen with her unquenchable desire for power—a power that gripped then choked off everything within reach like an immense black tide, suffocating everything in her path.

The doors of the royal throne room opened and two imperial guards entered the antechamber.

“Her Highness will receive you now, Your Eminence,” they announced as they bowed in a show of respect before the Supreme High Priest.

Isuzeni went in to see his queen, never even casting a glance at them.

Surrounded by her faithful guards and seated on a rich ivory throne that paled in comparison to her exquisite, lethal beauty, Yuzumi looked at him, her face serene. Her silky hair, perfectly coiffed, fell smoothly down to her waist. It was a dazzling jet-black and her enormous slanted eyes were as dark and cold as a winter’s night. The darkness radiated by those eyes—almond-shaped in keeping with her race—was striking. Her skin was snow-white and of a delicacy that always surprised Isuzeni; the yellowish skin tone typical of her ethnicity was nearly imperceptible. Yuzumi’s beauty and power enchanted Isuzeni each time he was in her presence. But above all, it was her dark, arcane power of incredible magnitude that dazzled him.

“Supreme High Priest,” his all-powerful lady welcomed him.

“Your Majesty,” greeted Isuzeni, bowing grandly in homage. He squinted slightly and considered her for a moment. How great was the power his lady had amassed...

A mere ten years ago, the Dark Queen had taken under her sovereignty—by treason and force—the kingdom of Kotami. In spite of being the leader of the poorest and weakest of the nine kingdoms on the continent, Yuzumi had begun the great conquest. It was completely unthinkable, something no one had achieved in more than five hundred years... until the arrival of his lady. The Dark Queen had vanquished and eliminated the nine sovereignties, one by one, and had raised her flag over the capitals of the nine kingdoms. Now everything belonged to her; nothing could stand in her way. The continent of Toyomi had fallen under her bloody power. To ensure the future control of each kingdom, the conqueror had wiped out the entire royal lineage, all the royal Generals and Counselors to the throne and all the members of their families—without exception. No one remained who could oppose her. No one.

“I believe you have something to tell me Counselor, isn’t that right?” said the queen, in her velvety yet stern tone of voice.

Isuzeni knew then why he had been summoned, but did not know how the queen had found out about it.

“There has been an incident related to the Marked...”

The queen sat up straight on her throne.

“Go on,” she nodded.

“Our spies on the great western continent have received information about a possible candidate.”

“What degree of certainty is there to this information? Tremia is very far away...”

“Very low, Your Majesty. It is nothing more than a rumor, but the age coincides.”

“Has he demonstrated the Talent?” asked the queen.

“Yes, my lady. The young man has shown he possesses the Gift.”

“Give me every available detail.”

“The rumors speak of a young man in a remote village in the mountains, in the western highlands, who was capable of killing another young man with just the touch of a finger.”

“Very interesting... if it were true... That would be proof of his Talent. A powerful Talent. If it is indeed true, of course.”

“That is what caught my attention, Your Majesty.”

Yuzumi slowly stepped down from the throne, a pensive expression on her face. Her honor guard immediately came forward and surrounded her. They stood silently, like stone guardian statues. They were dressed in heavy armor, complete with overlays and as black as a moonless night. Engraved on their chest plates was their queen’s emblem: two crossed blood-red swords. Their faces were hidden behind a red mask that revealed only their almond-shaped eyes and a cold stare—the stare of elite soldiers. On their heads was the peculiar-looking, traditional helmet; it extended down over their necks and the visor hid the warriors’ faces. They were the Moyuki, the elite guard of the Dark Queen, the best warriors in all of Toyomi. These soldiers were recruited and trained because of their formidable physical strength and abilities with the sword. Tall, strong, lethal, obedient, and loyal unto death. An select force whose only mission was to safeguard their queen’s well-being.

Isuzeni smiled as he observed them.
A thoroughly commendable mission; an honor without equal.
He had seen them in action on many occasions during the military campaigns over the last several years, and it was quite a spectacle. They made up a fiendishly dreadful killing machine, capable of spreading waves of destruction and death wherever their lady required it. One hundred Moyuki fighting in closed formation created so much devastation they could completely alter the course of a battle, shifting it in favor of the Dark Queen.

Yuzumi inquisitively fixed her eyes on Isuzeni. “Are the rumors credible or simply another pack of lies like the ones we have been chasing down over the past few years?”

“I believe they are... credible, my lady. The incident took place in front of an entire village during a sword tournament. Many people witnessed it. From that moment on, the rumors rapidly spread until finally making their way to the ears of our spies.”

“How old is he?” persisted the queen, intrigued.

“Nineteen. That coincides with the supposed age of the Marked.”

“How much time has passed since the incident?”

“Hmmm... A little more than sixteen weeks. It takes time for news to cross the seas and get to us, Your Majesty.”

“It is possible he is no longer in that town, that he’s gone into hiding now that his power has been revealed,” pondered the Dark Queen as she stroked her long, silky, jet-black hair.

“Do you think he is conscious of his power... of his possible destiny, my Lady and my Queen?”

“No, I do not believe he is aware of it, although it is possible that he is under the protective custody of someone who knows of The Premonition. That would explain why all our efforts to find him have been in vain. Even now, we do not have enough information available to ensure that it is he. This could be some other young man with the Gift—but not necessarily the Marked. However, as you say, the age and the magnitude of the power do coincide... Still, I do not want to take any chances.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Eliminate him immediately.”

“Shall I send one of the Dark Assassins?”

The Queen had at her disposal a secret order of assassins to whom she entrusted the task of finding and killing fugitives. These assassins relentlessly pursued their victims; failure to carry out a mission led to dishonor and, consequently, an inconceivably painful death. Thus they unrelentingly hunted down even those who fled by ship to faraway lands—as far away as the prosperous continent of Tremia. Distance did not bring salvation to their victims; it simply postponed the inevitable. Precious few had succeeded in fleeing the ruthless and bloody claws of the Dark Queen.

“Where on the great continent is this village located?”

“To the west, Your Majesty, north of the kingdom of Rogdon. Tribes known as the Norriel inhabit the highlands. Wild savages, Your Majesty; uncivilized, though quite skilled fighters according to the rumors. The territory is considered hostile and dangerous. Rogdon has desisted its conquest after several unsuccessful attempts, mostly because of the high cost of the campaigns and the meager gains those territories bring— even though they give way to the North Sea.

“Send the White Tigers. They manage that kind of terrain better than anyone. But make sure they are not overconfident. If he is the Marked, it could be very dangerous.”

“The White Tigers are unequaled in the entire Empire when it comes to manhunters, Your Majesty. No one can elude them. I have no doubt they will complete their mission.”

“They had better. I have spent years unsuccessfully searching for the Marked. But I shall find him; I must find him. It is imperative that he be destroyed, at all costs. The Premonition will not come to pass!”

“He shall be destroyed, my lady,” pledged the Royal Counselor as he bowed before his powerful mistress.

“Do not disappoint me, Counselor. I want to bring the conquest of the entire continent to a close with the death of the Marked. Do not deny me the one thing I so deeply desire! The continent is finally mine, after ten long years of war! Get me the head of the Marked so I may celebrate this triumph. Bring it to me!”

The most powerful woman in the world had just ordered a murder. A murder that, if it turned out to be the Marked, would be of unimaginable significance. It would change the destiny of the world as they knew it.

Isuzeni turned and hurried out of the throne room, all the while remembering in wonderment that day some twenty years ago when the Dark Queen had arrived at the temple of the Cult of Imork—when he was just a simple novice Dark Priest. The child was just seven years old and already clearly radiated power. She demonstrated a restrained energy that stood out above all those graced with the Gift. Conspicuously so. One of the temple’s priests had discovered her in a small fishing village during a trip to one of the temples on the coast. She was an orphan, and no one knew anything about her past. She’d been abandoned at the door of a humble fisherman whose wife and son had died from the fever. Feeling sorry for the little girl, he had taken her into his home and raised her. The priest had had no difficulty convincing the old fisherman that the child would be better cared for and would have a much more promising future if the powerful Cult of Imork were to take her into their protection. After offering him a generous compensation, he had taken the girl to the temple on the coast.

The evidence that she possessed the Gift made it inevitable that she would be sent to the Grand Temple in the capital of the kingdom of Zchu, where notable, high-ranking Priests could adequately instruct the child and guide her toward a brilliant future. The Cult of Imork was always poised to bring in new followers, especially those blessed with the Gift. The more followers they had, the wider the Cult’s reach and influence; the more members blessed with the Gift they had enlisted in their strict pyramidal structure, the greater the global power of the Cult. Unfortunately, the Gift was scarce. Very few people were born with it, and it could neither be acquired nor transferred. Even its continuation by bloodline was not guaranteed. A father might have the Gift yet his son would not—and vice versa—though there was a greater probability it would exist within the same family. In the majority of cases, when the Gift manifested itself in a person, it did so in a limited capacity, oftentimes very subtly. Of all the priests in the Cult, most had been graced with scarcely more than four drops from the Gift’s fountain of power and only a fortunate handful had been blessed with a wellspring of considerable power. Isuzeni was amongst those in the latter group and was well aware of his tremendous good fortune.

But the power of his Gift paled in comparison to that of his lady and mistress.

From the day the girl arrived at the temple their destinies had been united...  inexorably intertwined. First as teacher and student, and then as Counselor and Monarch. His first memory of her, as indelible as it was impressive, was the very day she arrived. The intensity of her mysterious Gift was of a magnitude that had not been seen in anyone for many generations. She was a veritable prodigy and had fortunately been discovered at a young age, making it possible to fully develop her immense potential. It was considerably more difficult, and oftentimes simply impossible, to develop such a potential in adults because the bond between the Gift and the person weakened and eventually faded away with the passage of time if the union was not strongly established—just as a flower or any living organism that hasn’t been properly cared for will wither with the passing days until, finally, it dies.

Isuzeni let his memories carry him back to that crucial moment.

“Hello, child,” he had said as he greeted her with a wave of his hand and a welcoming smile.