Rise of the Red Harbinger (10 page)

But in truth, Baltaszar questioned whether he truly had the capacity to undertake the type of journey that Slade asked of him. He had always believed himself to be brave, but he realized more and more that he could scarcely remember many times throughout his life in which he had acted bravely. His father had taught him that killing oneself was against the laws of the Orijin, and a coward’s actions at that.
But what has the Orijin truly given me in this life to make it worthwhile? How much worse would it be to defy Him now?

Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to make a decision on the matter, Baltaszar lay back and closed his eyes. The day’s events left him physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. As his consciousness melted away into dreams, he came to one conclusion.
If the opportunity presents itself, I’ll go through with it. But I won’t go out of my way.
The word ‘fool’ whispered in his head.

***

The following morning, Baltaszar awoke while the sun barely glanced over the tree-littered horizon. He had trained himself to wake just before sunrise when he was fifteen. Back then, he would sneak over to Elmer Guff’s farm and steal the best apples, figs, and grapes, and bring them back to his yard before any light interloped the sky.

Baltaszar arose, stretched off the stiffness of sleep, and slung the packs to his shoulders once more. He planned to refrain from eating for as long as his stomach could hold out, and rely only on water. He walked on, surprisingly calm and clear-minded; and best of all, after walking for four hours, the voice had not spoken once.

This was his third day trekking through the forest, and Baltaszar finally stepped out into the world beyond the Never. Beyond the forest lay grassland with trees interspersed here and there. The sun grew warmer the further he walked, but he felt comfort in keeping the black cloak on. Slade had told him that it would be just over an hour’s ride to the city of Vandenar once he reached the edge of the forest, but Baltaszar was unfortunately without a horse. That long on horseback meant almost a day on foot.

Thus far, the journey had been relatively easy. The only difficult part had been when the sky had gone pitch black two days before. The darkness had lasted over a quarter of an hour and all Baltaszar could do was set down until the light returned. He admitted to himself that he’d felt some fear, but mostly because any predator could have hunted him down too easily. Baltaszar could only hope it would not happen again.

Baltaszar walked faster, excited at the prospect of a town, food, and most importantly, a bed. After an hour, the trees had completely thinned out around him and a river appeared on the horizon.
Slade, how could you fail to mention a river? How am I supposed to cross this blasted thing?
In Haedon, Baltaszar had never accompanied the fishermen down the mountain to the shores. This was the first time he’d come so close to a body of water. He stepped to the moistened dirt at the edge of the river and kneeled for a closer inspection. He expected the water to be blue and clear, beautiful as it had been described by the fishermen of Haedon. This water, however, was a cloudy brown, which he guessed was from the dirt at the bottom. It cooled his fingers as he dangled them in, so Baltaszar scooped the water in his hands and drank.

What am I going to do? I can’t even swim
.
And even if I could, how am I supposed to carry all of this across the water?
Hope escaped him. How much more was he supposed to do? There was no way to cross the river. Baltaszar already knew that he would not walk along the bank to find a crossing, as there was none in sight and he lacked the physical and mental energy to search for a way.

Thoughts flooded his mind again.
Father. Yasaman. Bo’az. Haedon. Slade. Those bloody dreams.
The thoughts repeated continuously, faster and faster. A rumble formed deep down in his belly and it grew stronger and stronger as it reached his mouth.

“RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Baltaszar roared again and again, surrendering to the catharsis until a burning rawness plagued his throat.

He lay back and closed his eyes.
Should I do it? Is this the opportunity presenting itself? Can I actually go through with this?
Hours had passed when Baltaszar arose from the ground; the sun had already begun its descent, and the weight in his mind remained just as overbearing. He was not ready to die yet. And regardless of everything else, Bo’az was hopefully still alive. If not in Haedon, then somewhere else. As long as he had his brother, Baltaszar would continue on.

Tiny objects dotted the water’s surface in the distance.
Boats! They must be boats! Yes!
Baltaszar doubted they would see him this far away. He had never even walked in the water, aside from puddles here and there.
Now is not the time to be a coward. I need to cross this damn thing, and I need to cross it now.

Baltaszar took one tentative step in, the cloudy water immediately soaking his leather boot and filling it. Another step. The water chilled both of his feet more than he would have liked, but it was a minor nuisance. He continued. At first too quickly. He slipped and jerked about to regain balance. After several feet, Baltaszar learned his lesson and slowed his pace, testing every step. The water level rose higher up his body, reaching his waist. His cloak clung to him. His steps became half steps. He waved his arms wildly and shouted. “Hey! Over here! Help me!” again and again. “Help! Over here!”

After yelling and flailing his arms for a few minutes, a nearby boat turned its bow toward him.
They turned! They can see me!
The boat slowly drew nearer.
Well, like I told Bo’az, this could work out good or bad. Hopefully Slade was right and this thing on my face will help.
The small boat continued toward him.

Baltaszar stopped yelling and stood in place. His cloak still clung to his legs.
Why is it tighter than before? I haven’t even moved.
Baltaszar reached down to pull the cloak away from his body. He felt for the clinging fabric.
That…that’s not my cloak.
Two long teeth stabbed into his hand, slicing through to the bone. Baltaszar pulled his hand out of the water.
A snake? A snake!
The serpent’s head still clung to his blood-soaked hand, unable to pull its teeth out. Baltaszar staggered.
Must…think. Must…pull…out.
He snatched the snake by the neck and pulled. It writhed wildly in his hand, whipping its tail against his body.
Too weak
. With his remaining strength, Baltaszar yanked at the snake. Its scaly body burst into flames. The head ripped away from his hand, the fangs still in him. The snake’s lifeless body turned to ash and crumbled in his grip.

How? Father? No. I don’t…under…stand.
The boat was less than a hundred yards away. Baltaszar took one step toward it. His foot, which he could no longer feel, gave out beneath him and Baltaszar crashed face first into the water. By the time he had sunk to the riverbed, Baltaszar could no longer feel the rest of his body.

Chapter 5

The Prince

From
The Book of Orijin
, Verse Ten

It is in your nature, Mankind, to create,

destroy, pervert, and explore truth.

Know that the only truth is in Our word
.

Prince Garrison Brighton had sought truth for the past year of his life. Truth about the Orijin and His followers. About life. About his father, King Edmund, and his father’s decrees for the world, especially the decree that required Garrison to travel through Ashur and hunt down Descendants—people marked with black lines down their left eyes. But the truth was that Garrison was one of those same Descendants bearing a black line on his face.

There had been too many things Garrison had seen in his travels that had unsettled him. Finally, over a year ago, he’d decided to learn about the world and its history beyond what his father had told him. Unfortunately, Garrison had found more truth about himself than he cared to know.

One of those unavoidable truths was that Vanna Wynchester, the beautiful girl lying naked in his bed, meant nothing to him.

“Take me with you,” the girl pleaded, holding the bed sheet tightly around her body. Her chest pressed through the silk and her silky black disheveled hair did more to arouse Garrison than put him off.

It was easier for Garrison to tell himself that she meant nothing when he wasn’t staring at her smooth petite frame. It was also easier
after
he was finished sleeping with her. “You know I cannot. The House of Darian would not welcome you. You are not one of them. One of us.” He still lay next to her, but looked away. It was easier to have the conversation this way.

“You assume they will accept you. They know who you are, Garrison. They know your crimes. Do you really believe that you can simply walk up to the House of Darian and they will welcome you with open arms? Of course, Garrison. That sounds incredibly reasonable! They will see you and say, ‘Prince Garrison, you and your army have killed scores of Descendants, but we will forgive you for that because you are here now and would like to join us.’ How can you be so foolish?”

Now he was angry. He turned to her. “If you speak of my past again, my future will not be the only future for which you will be concerned. I am going. It is final.” He sat up at the side of the bed.

“And what would you have me do while you are gone, my love.”

Garrison’s eyebrows shot up.
My love? That was a new trick
. “Vanna, between the two of us, I cannot be certain that I shall return.” That was a lie, but a necessary one. Garrison could not have her know the truth. She would have to move on. If she didn’t, all of Cerysia would expect a betrothal between them once he returned. And Garrison could not bear to think of Vanna Wynchester as his future wife and queen.

Although a nice girl, beautiful, and sinfully seductive behind closed doors, Vanna was at best completely shallow. She slept with Garrison because he was a prince, not because he was Garrison. Garrison had enjoyed her as a young man. But he could no longer think like a young man. Now he must think like a prince…a future king. Only those decisions that would prepare him to become a great king to the entire continent of Ashur were the right decisions. Vanna was no longer the right decision.

“Tell me you love me, my Prince. Tell me that you shall marry me as soon as you return. I shall give you all the heirs that you desire. I shall bear you an army of sons.” When all other reason failed, Vanna resorted to seduction. Quite often it worked.

No. Not this time
. “I will not say nor promise any of that. None if it is true or possible.” Garrison arose from the bed and walked to his closet against the stone wall to find undergarments.

A candle crashed into his back, the flame and wick burrowing into his flesh while the hot wax seared down his back, slowly hardening. Garrison had a habit of being too honest with Vanna. Quite often he went unpunished; the burning candle was a first. Although annoying, Vanna still had feelings. Garrison only now realized the difficulty of the situation for her. Not many people knew of her exploits, but those who did were the wrong people. If Garrison cast her off, her prospects would be few.

“I apologize. My words were harsh,” Garrison grimaced as burnt, raw flesh stretched while he picked up the candle and blew it out. “Truthfully, Vanna, it is more likely that Donovan will become king. I cannot guarantee that I shall return.”
The lies we tell just to achieve truth
.

“Are you suggesting that I am only interested in your title? Or that I marry your brother?” Vanna let the sheet fall and walked over to him, her slender golden-brown body beckoning with every step. “I am not as stupid as you think I am, my Prince,” she kissed the red flesh of his back where the candle had burned. “I can make a good wife. A good queen. I would be whatever you require me to be.” Her lips had reached his shoulders and neck. “Your partner. Your confidant. Your support. Your
whore
.” The last work lingered in Garrison’s mind longer than he would have liked. Her hands pressed his chest and slowly slid down his body.
Perhaps I can make this decision when I return
.

Garrison turned around and roughly kissed Vanna’s moist lips. He lifted her by her hips and tossed her back onto the bed. “You need to convince me better than that. Remind me of how you would ease my troubles as a queen would for her king.” Garrison crawled onto the bed and pulled her close from her waist. With a seductive grin, she straddled him.

***

A loud and impatient knock sounded at the door. Garrison’s eye shot open.
Donovan!
Garrison’s guards would have been more considerate. He peered out the tower window. The sun still hung low over the amalgamated orange and purple horizon. Vanna lay next to him, snoring softly.
Even her snoring makes my blood race. Would this be the worst thing to get used to?
Garrison donned a robe from the closet and opened his chamber door.

“You are still planning to do it today?” Donovan, Garrison’s younger brother by a year, glared into his eyes. Donovan was a hair taller than Garrison and kept his hair cropped short, as opposed to Garrison’s cleanly shaved head. Their skin tone was near identical, the golden-brown hue natural to Cerysians.

“What would have changed my mind?” The moment he heard the knock, Garrison knew that Donovan would make one final attempt to persuade him not to leave Cerysia for the House of Darian.

“There are things that must be said. Brother, hear my words. Heed my advice.”

“Not here, Donovan. There are too many ears. Wait downstairs while I get dressed.

Donovan peeked into the large circular room and laughed, amused at the sight of Vanna sleeping on Garrison’s bed. “Ah, you have the orphan sleeping here again, do you? I suppose it is easy for a girl to spend her nights with a prince when she has no father or mother to answer to. And even Vanna could not sway you? Surely she does not want you to leave!”

Garrison rolled his eyes at the accuracy of Donovan’s jests. “Just go downstairs and wait!” He returned to his room and quietly dressed himself. Vanna snored more loudly now; the last thing he needed was for her to wake and start asking questions. He met Donovan outside at the base of the tower.

“Let us take a ride, Garrison. A final ride if you intend to be your normal, stubborn self.” Donovan smiled as they walked toward the stables.

“Fine. The usual place then?” From the time they could barely ride, the two brothers and their best friend, Wendell Ravensdayle, were inseparable. They would take trips daily to The Stones of Gideon, an ancient battlefield, thousands of years old, from the time of the second set of Harbingers.

The Orijin’s second wave of Harbingers, meant to rid the world of mankind’s corruption and evil, consisted of Gideon, Darian, Lionel, Abram, and Jahmash. According to legend, the Orijin had graced The Five with specific manifestations in order to bring mankind back to justice. Gideon had been graced with the ability to turn anything to indestructible stone. At the time that the Harbingers had developed these manifestations, the world had been at war for decades. A great battle threatened to plunge it into further chaos. No matter which side won, the victor would have continued on until the entire population of the losing side had been decimated.

Gideon, barely Garrison’s age at the time, sacrificed himself to protect the innocents left in humanity. Before the battle began, Gideon positioned himself between the two sides and ordered them to stop fighting, to come to peace, and return home. Not a single soldier listened to the decree. As a result, Gideon used every ounce of life he had to turn the entire battlefield, including every soldier present, to stone. The battlefield spanned the size of a small village. The legends said that Gideon had tapped into so much of his power that it consumed him as well, turning him to stone in the middle of the battlefield.

The grey stones had remained the same, perfectly preserved, for as long as Garrison could remember. He’d spent hours and hours studying the remains of the soldiers, Gideon especially. Gideon looked like a young boy, standing there between thousands of soldiers. The Harbinger stood with legs apart and arms raised to the sky. His head was tilted up with his eyes tightly shut and his mouth wide open in agony.

Gideon looked so innocent to Garrison: shaggy haired and lanky with a boyish face. The Harbinger’s features shone quite clearly, despite being stone. In fact, all of the stone on the battlefield was incredibly smooth and preserved in minutest details, as if they’d been intricately sculpted.

As a child, Garrison could never fathom why someone so young would give his life to so many people for nothing in return. His father, King Edmund, had never done much to ease Garrison’s wonderment. His father insisted firmly that the Stones of Gideon were not comprised of real people turned to stone, but instead a giant sculpture created over centuries. For years, Garrison swayed back and forth about whether he believed his father.

It was easy as a child to believe the stones had been real people once. But growing up, it was also easy to follow his father’s teachings that they were no more than sculpture. Garrison decided on his own once King Edmund decided to build the Cerysian Wall. The king’s original plan, despite much opposition, was to use the rock from The Stones for the wall. However, once the miners and soldiers began, not a man could chisel away even a scratch from anything. In fact, most men broke their tools trying. King Edmund rationalized it by explaining to everyone that the rock was not the correct type to be used for a wall. That was one of the many factors that prompted Garrison’s search for truth in the world.

He and Donovan arrived at the center of The Stones, between the two sides of the battle. They’d always come straight to Gideon. Somehow, Garrison had always felt comfort in his presence.

As always, they let the horses walk around on their own. The beasts never wandered too far and seemed equally amazed at the surroundings. Donovan broke the silence. “Garrison, if you leave, everything changes. Father will become more obsessed with wiping out the Descendants. He will feel betrayed. No matter what you tell him, he shall only see it one way.” Donovan no longer pleaded, but seemed forceful and insistent instead.

“I cannot live for him any longer. I must go. I have lived with this manifestation for over ten years now, Donovan. Most Descendants would be at the House at my age, anyway.” Garrison could not back down. “I am doing this so that I can become a better king than he.”

“Then wait until one of his enemies finally kills him and have Descendants come here to counsel and instruct you. I agree. He has turned this world to shit. But if you confront him, he will only make it worse.”

“And if he lives for another thirty years? What then, Donovan? Am I to continue to waste my life away blindly following his ways? You have seen as much of the world as I have. People are poor. They suffer. They live in hiding and fear the throne. And they are correct in doing so because the throne has done nothing for them in over twenty years. The Descendants are a light in our world of darkness. They give people hope. Whether I become king one day or not, I would rather do some good with the House of Darian as a regular man, than sit here and do nothing as a spoiled prince.”

Donovan sighed. He looked down, his countenance reflected defeat. “Your intentions are noble, brother. I truly believe they are. But be honest. What will the House of Darian do to you if you simply show up at their doors? Do you really think they will welcome you with warm smiles? For more than four years you have hunted them and killed them. Yes, you did so for your father, for the King. But that will not matter to them. They will not accept you, Garrison. You are a fool to go there. Up until about a year ago, you were never really a nice person either. You never granted mercy to your prey. You and your soldiers killed them openly and violently.”

Garrison cheeks reddened. “What exactly are you saying?”

“Do not be so sensitive or stubborn. You have always been a good brother and friend. But you are the one who sought truth. Perhaps you should accept the truth about yourself as well. I am not judging you, brother. But if you truly believe that you are a good person, or at least that you
were
a good person, in the eyes of Ashurians, then you are mistaken. You killed—massacred—people. And you enjoyed it. Regretting your actions now does not change that. You are…or at least
were
a murderer. I look past it because I am your brother. The rest of the world will not.”