The Undying God (35 page)

Nishka put a reassuring hand on his
shoulder, but he didn’t notice. He couldn’t escape his past as it
gushed forth.

“I do not believe he had a sense of
morality,” he said with a fading voice. The past seemed to overlap
with the present, confusing his senses. He heard the toll of the
evening bell and people crying out either in joy or fright. He
could distinctly remember the palace in the distance, a horizon
broken with spires and universities.

“Eternitas,” Arxu murmured. “I
recognize the streets and the city square. I lived here
once.”

The evening bell pealed in the
distance, the curfew for children under seventeen to return home.
Whether the bell was tolling in reality or haunting him from his
past, he couldn’t tell.

He remembered the feeling that metallic
sound ushered, a sense of disconnection. Without a home or family
to return to, Arxu felt exempt from the curfew.

Beckoned by its mourning call, he would
emerge from the burial grounds like a soul that strayed beyond the
netherworld. In truth, he harbored a secret refuge in an abandoned
mausoleum. The guards wouldn’t suspect a cutpurse of living in the
realm of the dead.

Arxu ensured the burial ground’s
haunted reputation stayed intact. Rumors of a ghostly white figure
roaming the courtyards ensured that few people ever approached to
pay tribute to ancestors. The bell tolled again as if threatening
Arxu to scamper back to his hideout.

As he walked through the streets in the
plaza, he scanned the unfamiliar faces around him, mostly guards
and reclusive noblemen. Normally, a street child could walk
invisibly among the elite, but he was not afforded that privilege.
Women and merchants clutched their coinpurses a little tighter as
he drifted by.

Suddenly, a black shape arched through
the air and clipped Arxu’s jaw.

“Damn it!” He looked down at a stone at
his feet, the object that had pelted him. Without warning, another
stone struck him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. A
familiar and malevolent voice rang in his ears, his childhood
tormentor.

Through half-closed eyes, he could see
the guards watching the spectacle unfold. Another stone lobbed
through the air, stinging his arm. Authorities would allow a boy to
be stoned to the brink of death, but they would not risk punishing
another boy with wealthy connections.

Arxu lifted himself from the streets
and began to run. Merchants cried out as he pushed them aside,
cutting a path toward the city gates. Their shouts rallied the
guards and they broke into a pursuit. Fleeing from the guards was
all the probable cause they needed to issue an arrest.

“Stop the boy from escaping!” Arxu
raced past a grand emporium and stopped short of bashing into a
horse-drawn cart. Arxu could barely remember escaping from the
city.

He tore through the forest in the dark,
nearly blinded with tears. Brambles clung to his clothing and cuts
from thickets littered his skin.

He wept until he was too tired to feel,
until the darkness weighed heavy on his eyes. He refused to move,
lying dejected on the forest floor. The city gates would admit no
one at night, leaving him to face the wilderness alone. He drifted
to sleep, having no desire to ever return to his hideaway. Arxu
shivered and rested his head on the grass as sleep swallowed
him.

Arxu woke to the sensation of a hand on
his shoulder. It felt deceitfully like a dream that transcended
reality. Fog clouded his mind. He peered over his shoulder to find
a woman with raven black hair kneeling above him. Her kind
expression calmed him, her blue eyes gazing into his.

“My name is Umbra,” the woman softly
cooed. Arxu remained silent, wary of the stranger. She wore a cloak
as ethereal as water reflecting the night sky, and a pale brooch
rested on her breast like a moon perched in the heavens. “Come with
me.”

Arxu couldn’t tell whether this was a
dream or reality. Intrigued, he followed her beyond the glen. Her
toes barely touched the grass, as if a force suspended her above
the earth. She walked with the grace of a dancer.

Even the forest around her did not feel
connected to reality. Violet and turquoise leaves bowed in the
wind, exotic highlights in the darkness. Stars wheeled above in the
sky on their celestial path, instilling awe in Arxu. He had never
seen the heavens so vividly aflame.

As Arxu crested a valley, his eyes fell
on a sanctuary concealed within the forest, a dome-like temple
glowing beneath the moon. The identity of this place began to dawn
on Arxu. He devoured stories about the Nightwalkers in his
childhood, a clan of mystics that gathered in worship of the moon
and the life that darkness ushers.

He paused at the border of the
sanctuary, terrified for the first time in years. He recalled the
rumors of Nightwalkers and their uncanny rites. People spoke of
their kind with aversion and fear; female seducers who performed
blood sacrifices for the moon, using a silver athame to cut their
arms and let their blood flow into a sacred lake.

Sometimes, they would exile one of
their own. According to lore, an outcast was cursed to never sleep,
and he or she was hideously disfigured.

Arxu wanted to turn and run, but the
woman took his hand. Her smile disarmed his fears, and he felt
unable to resist. His footsteps fell in behind hers.

He marveled at the sights that awaited
him, the moon-viewing platforms at the lake, shrines along the
forest path, and clever spires hidden among the trees.

The period of darkness between sunset
and sunrise was host to a bounty of energy. He could feel the
magick lingering upon this site, in the trees, the foundations of
the earth, in the water and the sky. Arxu was fascinated by the
Nightwalkers, people who seemed no different from men and women in
a lawful society; the only remarkable difference was their
paranormal gifts.

“Our order was born centuries ago in
the northernmost reaches of Eyegad,” Umbra said. “Before Eyegad
fractured into city-states, we flourished across the realm. The
original Nightwalkers were shamans who worshipped the moon and
night. We still hold the moon in reverence and draw power from its
light, but we no longer view it as a deity.” Arxu didn’t respond,
infatuated with the lunar asylum.

“This is the last remaining sanctuary
of the Nightwalkers and our way of life.”

The following night, Arxu returned to
the forest to absorb all that Umbra shared. He wanted to understand
the Nightwalkers and their vocation.

Each night, Umbra would await him and
they would converse until the advent of dawn. As trust kindled
between them, Arxu asked her about the principles of magick. Arxu
listened keenly to every lesson she shared. He spent weeks attuning
himself to the energy hidden in nature.

Months later, he would stand before
Umbra as a newly initiated Nightwalker. She cradled an ebony staff
embellished with a blue orb in her hands. Arxu possessed no words
to convey his gratitude. With unsteady hands, he lifted the staff
from Umbra’s palms.

She smiled in delight, enamored with
Arxu’s progress. That night he returned to the city, clutching the
staff like a lover with a new engagement ring. His heart still beat
in ecstasy, overwhelmed with a sense of belonging to something.
After seventeen years of solitude, he would have a family among the
Nightwalkers.

Unknown to Arxu, his tormentor had seen
him elope to the forest that night. From his perch on the
battlements, he watched the orphan slip into the labyrinth of
trees. The strange pattern had continued for several nights,
intriguing his tormentor. At last, he resolved to follow Arxu and
see what lured him there.

Every man and woman knew it was a crime
to associate with the Nightwalkers. Anyone affiliated with them
could face imprisonment—and the Nightwalkers’ sanctuary would be
permanently exposed and removed.

When he discovered the source of Arxu’s
excursions, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The street child had led
him right to the magick adepts sought by authorities. He instantly
remembered the price on their heads.

Arxu set out from the city like any
other night while his tormentor lurked at the forest’s edge. He
crouched behind the trees, waiting for the moment to strike. As
Arxu approached, hands seized him and dragged him into the
underbrush.

“Where are you going?” the abuser
demanded.

“Bastard!”
Arxu screamed. “Let
go of me—”

“I know your secret,” he said
insidiously. “I know about the Nightwalkers.” Arxu’s heart stalled
in his chest. They both understood the implications of his
involvement with the Nightwalkers. He would face imprisonment and
the secret sect would be rounded up by the guards. The Nightwalkers
would be sold as slaves or publicly executed in the plaza. His
abuser smiled reprehensibly.

“I will hurt them,” he
threatened.

Enraged, Arxu seized him by his shirt
and wrestled him to the ground. They grappled one another in the
dark, consumed in a frenzy of blows. Arxu thrust his hand in his
pocket and seized a fistful of powdered bloodstone. The thought
didn’t immediately occur to him that he was about to cross a point
of no return.

Umbra had warned him about the danger
of bloodstone when used against an enemy. He had assured Umbra he
would never employ such an inhuman technique.

Arxu spread his hand and reached for
his enemy’s face.

“I prolonged his death, not content to
grant him any mercy,” Arxu confessed. “I ensured that he died
slowly...” Nishka could see the signs of anger in his body even as
he tried to hide them.

“I ran toward the city as fast as I
could. I gradually regained control of myself, but it was too late.
My anger had been growing to the point where I would have destroyed
him regardless. Unfortunately, in my confusion, I left my
ceremonial staff near the corpse. Umbra discovered the weapon and
the residue of bloodstone. She was disgusted to learn what I had
done with my gifts. Upon my return, she performed the rite of
exile.”

He vividly remembered standing in the
moon shrine, a lovely temple by the lakeside. Barely illuminated
with an opaque glow, the walls surrounding him were inscribed with
hundreds of enticing runes.

He stood before Umbra, the priestess
adorned in pale garments. Her magnificent eyes were focused only on
Arxu as he stood in her judgment. Beyond Arxu, an open door
revealed the night outside, the precious sanctuary of the
Nightwalkers gleaming under the moon. He would never see their
haven again.

Arxu accepted her damning judgment; he
would not flee or attempt to challenge her. He bowed his head
before a bowl of water and blue dye. He would be permanently
marked, unable to remove the stains of his failure. There was no
cleansing the blood from his hands now. He had murdered another
human being without so much as a shred of regret.

Arxu lifted his head, traces of indigo
already showing in his hair.

“You will be scorned for what you are,”
Umbra said, the words raining on him like icy hail.

Arxu lowered his gaze. He only felt
shame that she had discovered his crime. He did not at all regret
the outcome of his rage. Umbra acknowledged this painful truth, and
she fought back tears. She had witnessed so much potential within
him during their brief friendship, and it hurt her to know she had
aided him in his crime. How easily he cast away everything she
taught him as he gave in to hate. She never could have foreseen
that he would use his precious gift to torture someone.

She blamed herself for entrusting him
with forbidden knowledge.

Arxu silently stood there, awaiting the
ritual devised for him. Two women clad in gowns approached the
exile. They knelt on either side of the man and gently took hold of
his arms. Arxu barely felt something puncture his skin and he
flinched. He closed his eyes as the mild anesthetic took effect. He
wondered what herbs the women were using and if they properly
prepared them. He could feel something tracing across his naked
skin, something cold and metallic on his limbs.

He sighed, content for the moment under
the effects of opium. He almost didn’t feel the shame of exile.
Poison pulsed through his veins, skittering across his mind like a
beetle. With a twitch, he opened his eyes. When his vision cleared,
he could see elaborate markings on his arms.

The characters extended from his
shoulders to his wrists. He delicately touched the marks, expecting
them to burn at his touch. They signified his excommunication, a
symbolic branding. How could he consider himself a Nightwalker any
longer?

He refused to return to the city of his
childhood. Too many unfortunate memories haunted the city. He
looked at the woman across from him who had become a close friend
in a short span of time. He repressed the urge to beg for
forgiveness.

Arxu retreated one step at a time from
Umbra, torn by her sad expression. He had betrayed her trust and
that hurt him the most. But given the chance, he knew he would not
have altered his murderous actions.