Saviors- Duty and Sacrifice Read online

Valis stared up, almost as if the house itself could tell Roba every one of his secrets, as if his father would somehow materialize upstairs and twitch the delicate carmine curtains aside to see his treachery. Kerac touched his elbow and Valis fought not to snatch his arm away from that touch. He drew his eyes away from the whitewashed wood of the upper story to give the obsidian-red painted front door a jaundiced look. It stood ajar. Roba obviously cared more about catching Valis than he had about keeping the house secure.

  “Are you up for this, Valis?” Kerac asked. He wrapped a plate-clad arm about his shoulders and squeezed as if Valis were kin. Something in Valis wanted to revel in that strength. To push into it like a cat wanting petted. But his body, so trained by his father had him shiver. He ducked under that arm, surprised that Kerac released him, and shied away a few steps back from the house.

  That evil house seemed to reek of blood and death and foul magic, and he wanted nothing more than to leave. The feeling never abated that his father stared at him from the bay window above, and he had to turn to make sure his father’s body still lay strapped to Darolen’s horse. But when he turned back around, the pitying look Kerac gave him made Valis straighten his back.

  “You don’t have to go forward,” he said. “We can do this for you.”

  Valis’ back straightened further, and he took tentative steps toward the house. He trembled, but managed to keep his voice steady even as he continued to stare at that door. “No. I have to do this. Mother doesn’t deserve to be handled by only strangers. I need to see her off.”

  “You are a good son.” That arm reached for him again, but Valis skittered away, half expecting it to be a blow. These men were strangers. They seemed nice, but his father taught him that “nice” was only an act to get what one wanted.

  Kerac let out a soft sigh, his face fallen, and pushed the door open. It swung into the house on quiet, well-oiled hinges. “You be the Heart, and Darolen and I will be your Strength.”

  “I will prepare the pyre, Brother,” Darolen said from the door. “Is there a particular place you would like it erected, Valis?”

  Valis chewed on his lower lip as he stared at Darolen. The man’s eyes shadowed with sorrow, and his lips drew into a soft frown. His craggy face tipped down with the weight of his duty. Valis shook his head and offered a small smile that felt more like a grimace. “Just as long as it doesn’t frighten the livestock, or catch anything on fire.” He turned to head to the cellar, but winced as he remembered that these men had shown him nothing but kindness. He turned to murmur, “Thank you, Darolen.”

  Darolen gave a solemn nod and headed out. Once the Paladin shut the door, Kerac aborted another move to touch Valis and stepped aside. With a nod and heavy heart, Valis turned for the east wing toward the kitchen and led him through the house to the cellar door, and down the spiral steps to the large room that spanned the entirety of the house beneath the main level.

  The rough-hewn walls cut directly out of the bedrock made Valis shiver with claustrophobia, but he headed to what his father used as a casting room. Inside lay his wooden altar to Qos. The raised circle cut into the bedrock surrounded it and glowed softly with the raw power from his mother’s blood. Crimson streaks and spatters covered the nearest walls and floor from the sprays of her final moments. His mother’s naked body sprawled on the floor inside the circle amid a pool of it.

  Kerac hissed as he entered the casting room. When Valis looked over, the Paladin wore a deep-set frown that creased his brow and lined his face. He said nothing as he unsheathed his sword. The sight of that sword had Valis cowering in the farthest corner, well away from the madman who hacked the hemlock altar to splinters, careful not to catch Valis or his mother in the hail of shattered wood.

  While Kerac dismantled the altar, Valis crept away from his corner and knelt next to his mother’s body. He stroked his trembling hand over her tacky, blood-soaked hair. She looked only to be asleep in a pool of gore, though her body appeared deathly pale from blood loss and the slit in her throat gaped at him like an obscene, toothless grin.

  Tears pricked his eyes. He sniffled, but blinked back the tears and wiped his nose on the collar of his shirt. Crying could come later. Crying had always earned his father’s greater wrath. But he couldn’t help the few tears that squeezed from between his clenched lids, or the wetness that dripped from his nose. He had to force himself to open his eyes, to show no weakness in the face of the Aesriphos who continued his assault on that evil altar just feet away.

  “It’s okay now, Mom.” The tears clogged his throat so he could only manage a soft, cracked murmur. “Father can’t hurt either of us anymore. These Aesriphos, Kerac and Darolen, are going to help me send you to a place where you won’t feel pain ever again, and where you’ll be able to watch over me until I can be with you again.”

  The noise from splintering wood ceased, and a golden light shined down on Valis so that his shadow covered his mother’s face. He looked up into the light to find Kerac stood over him. He held his sword point up in both hands with the flat of the blade against his forehead. The blade glowed with golden magic as he uttered a solemn prayer in a beautiful language he didn’t recognize. Valis leaned back to let that comforting light bathe his mother in its full glory and closed his eyes as the unfamiliar words comforted him in a way he never thought possible.

  For a moment, he forgot to be afraid. For a bare moment, it almost felt like Sovras’ arms had flowed around him, rocking him side to side and murmuring soft, cooed words into his ear as he often did in Valis’ dreams. It made it that much harder to keep the tears in, to show no weakness in front of this man who, for all he could have caused harm, had only shown kindness. But kindness was a lie.

  When the prayer ended, Kerac knelt next to him and cupped Valis’ cheek, his eyes warm and wet, enough emotion to arrest Valis into not flinching away. “I can see your mother in you. She will never be far from your heart. Let us send her home.”

  The metal that covered Kerac’s fingers felt warm against his skin and he pressed his cheek into it. Never in his life had Valis known this level of gentleness from anyone other than his mother. Just that one touch and the kind words broke his resolve and made tears flow down Valis’ face where earlier he tried to be strong and keep them in.

  After a moment, he nodded. He drew strength from Kerac’s presence as he carefully situated his mother’s sticky body on his left arm and hooked his right under her knees. He shifted back until he had his feet under him and stood on legs that wobbled like jelly after his frantic run. Kerac placed a hand on his lower back until he quit tottering, then stepped back to let Valis lead the way.

  By the time they got outside, Darolen had the pyre ready. He made good use of the firewood piled next to the shed as well as hay from the barn. It wasn’t ornate or pretty, but it would serve its purpose, and Valis was grateful that he didn’t have to do it himself.

  Numb legs carried him across the lawn. With Kerac’s help, he got his mother situated on the pyre in a comfortable pose. It took long moments for him to let go of his mother’s hands, but when he arranged them neatly on her chest and stepped away, Darolen surprised him. The craggy warrior tilted his chin up and lifted his voice in song that rumbled with his beautiful bass. The words were foreign, but the meaning came through and made Valis’ heart clench.

  After a few breaths, Kerac passed him a torch that Darolen left stuck in the ground. “Send her home, Son. She has earned her release.”

  Valis’ hands trembled as he stared at the torch. The tears from the cellar scalded his eyes again and blurred the world to turn the torch into a quivering liquid sea of orange and yellow. He blinked twice to get them gone long enough to see the hay and caressed the pile with the flickering flames. Once it burned bright, he stuffed the whole torch into the pile and stepped back.

  Kerac pulled him farther back to shield him from the heat as his mother’s skin blistered. When she started to blacken, he let out a soft cry and spun around to get away from th
e sight and smell. He found himself wrapped against Kerac’s chest. The Aesriphos stroked his hair and kissed his temple. He rocked with him in silence, letting Darolen’s voice in song do the soothing.

  Unable to stop, Valis wrenched away and ran around the other side of the pyre. He didn’t dare look at either man as he wrapped his arms about himself. He didn’t deserve comfort. He didn’t trust these men. For all he was worth, Valis cried hard for the first time since he was a child. For once, he didn’t care if he was beaten for his tears. For once, he didn’t care if punishment would come when these men decided to drop their disguises and show that their kindness was a ruse to get him to do as they wished. Before, his father always promised that if he cried, he would give him something to cry about, and he always kept his promises. Now, he just couldn’t care. Only when the flames burned themselves out did Kerac move to his side. He kept a blessed distance between them as he guided Valis back toward the house.

  “Thank you,” Valis whispered.

  Kerac gave him a tender smile. “It is our duty, and our pleasure to help send a sister into Peace.”

  “Y—you can rest here tonight. There is room.” Valis pulled the door open and led them into the short hallway between the formal parlor and the cloak room, keeping his back toward the Aesriphos so he could bolt forward to the stairs leading to the upper floors if they tried to grab him. “Are you hungry? I can cook something light before bed.”

  Kerac only shook his head. “We will stay, but we can wait until breakfast. You are exhausted. We will secure the house and find our room, Valis. Go on to bed.”

  Too physically and emotionally tired to argue, Valis nodded and took the stairs to the second floor. He bathed quickly to rid himself of the gore and dirt before making his way to his narrow bed in his small, sparse room. For the first time in a very long time, sleep claimed him almost the same instant his head hit the pillow.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, Valis took the steps two at a time. The sun already shone through the windows. He was so exhausted that he slept in, and his stomach twisted in knots with anxiety. When he ran into the kitchen, he found Kerac and Darolen sat at the table with cups of tea. Both relaxed in soft leather pants and plain white shirts, their armor nowhere in sight.

  When he skidded to a halt, both looked up at him and smiled. “How did you sleep?” Kerac asked.

  “Like a bear in winter,” Valis said. Did he take their smiles to mean they weren’t upset about his sleeping in, or were they biding their time while devising a suitable punishment? Either way, he should attend to duty. “Give me a moment and I’ll make breakfast.”

  Darolen chuckled and motioned for him to sit. “No need. The covered plate is for you. It should still be hot.”

  The two men sat across from each other. Between them sat a plate with another turned over atop it. A pot of tea sat next to it with a cup overturned on a towel. Only then did he realized the kitchen smelled of food. His stomach gurgled, and he skirted around the table to sit and pulled the plate to him, and without thinking, poured himself a steaming cup of tea. “Thank you. I’m sorry I slept in. I never do that.”

  He glanced down at the plate, afraid to touch it more than he had. His stomach squirmed, both with his hunger and with the continued anxiety. He glanced up at the two men who sat on either side of him. “What must I do for this? What—”

  Kerac made a strange noise in the back of his throat, a strangled sound and gave him a horrified look. Valis knew that look from the many times his mother had given it to him when his father had found her showing him affection. The Aesriphos reached out, but aborted the action when Valis flinched. “You don’t have to do anything, Valis. Please… please eat.”

  Darolen gave Kerac a look that Valis couldn’t make out. He’d never seen that emotion, but it made something in Valis relax. He turned to Valis and nodded to the plate. “Eat. No sense letting it go to waste.”

  Uncertain if that was a threat or not, Valis uncovered his dish and tucked into the scrambled eggs, fresh vegetables and salty ham. Kerac filled the silence with his soft voice, almost as if he were speaking to a frightened animal. “It is an honor that you trust us so. It pleases me that you felt safe enough to sleep so soundly.”

  Valis spoke between bites, not daring to meet either of their gazes. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt safe.”

  Darolen grunted, and Kerac glanced at him. They shared a look, and Kerac nodded. “We wanted to talk to you about that, Valis.”

  Raising his brows, Valis set his fork down and regarded the two men, trying to keep the food he’d just eaten in his stomach instead of bubbling up in his throat with the bile. “Certainly.”

  “You are still young yet,” Kerac said in a patient tone that Valis couldn’t wrap his mind around. “I would see you safe and cared for. You are what? Seventeen? Eighteen years?”

  “I will be eighteen next month,” Valis affirmed.

  “Too young to Lord over a farmstead and community.” Kerac sighed. “Have you any family to take you in?”

  Valis frowned as he gave a brief thought to that, then shook his head. “No, sir. Not any I trust. My aunt is crazy, and father’s brother follows Qos.”

  “We will send Brothers to deal with your uncle, then.” He shifted and sipped his tea with a thoughtful expression. Again, he looked at Darolen, and again he nodded. “Would you be willing to sell this place and follow us?”

  Valis blinked and nearly dropped his teacup. “Follow you?”

  Kerac nodded. “You say Sovras is your patron deity. The monastery would be a safe place for you. You would learn languages, skills to carry you through your adult life, and if you choose to become an Aesriphos, you would aid us in the fight against Qos and his followers’ poison.”

  A shiver went through him, and Valis turned his eyes to his breakfast. He focused on his food for a moment to let Kerac’s words sink in. Thankfully, they let him have his silence. They didn’t stare at him as if expecting immediate answers. They didn’t press him or comment on his avoidance. Instead, they lapsed into easy, comfortable chatter amongst themselves in their own language to give him the illusion of privacy to think things over.

  When he finished his food, he stood and took his dishes to the sink to wash them. Old habits died hard, and since work had become habit, it was mindless and he could turn his focus inward.

  A Paladin? No, Aesriphos. What would I do in a monastery? I’m marked, but could they remove it?

  He glanced over his shoulder and Kerac looked up to meet his gaze as if he felt Valis turn his attention his way. The man smiled gently at him and tipped his head before returning to his conversation with Darolen.

  Kerac seems so gentle. Darolen barely speaks. How would I fit in with them? His stomach squirmed, and he turned his attention forcefully back to his task with a scowl. It has to be some kind of deception. What are they really trying to do? Why haven’t they just put me into stasis like they had Father?

  Setting the dishes aside to dry on a towel, Valis leaned against the sink and stared out the window into the fields. Planting season finished not long ago. Sprouts would soon push up through the soil. He had found a certain joy in tending the fields and livestock. It brought him peace because it took him away from his father and into the relaxed company of the hired hands, and his mother often snuck out to help him, especially in the hen house and when he milked their cows.

  Just looking at the fields made him suddenly homesick as if he were already gone and in the monastery. He shivered, and in that instant, a warm body pressed against his back. Strong arms circled about his chest and pulled him into an embrace. Valis fought against the insistent urge to wrench away and run. I have to root out what they want. Why are they here? Why won’t they leave? Why are they being nice?

  “Your thoughts took a detour into a dark place,” Kerac murmured into his ear. “Don’t let the darkness in. Voice your thoughts so we may shed some light.”

  “What’s the monastery l
ike?” he asked. “What will I do there?” He spoke too fast, his words breathless with his fear, but Kerac either didn’t notice, or chose to ignore it.

  “You will continue your schooling, or start it if your father has kept it from you,” Kerac explained. “You will work hard in the fields as you do here, tend our farms with your Brothers and Sisters, help keep the grounds of the monastery in order, train in the arts of war, and as you are mageborn, you will be tested for your magical ability. If you possess it, you can become an Aesriphos if you so choose.”

  He shivered, this time with another emotion he couldn’t—didn’t dare—name. Kerac squeezed him, bringing an uncomfortable feeling of claustrophobia that Valis tried to shove back down. “And if I don’t choose?”

  “If you choose not to become Aesriphos or remain with the monastery, you will retain your money from selling this place and the monastery will help you ease your way into society. Living and working at the monastery, you will gain skills to do many things, so you will have a variety of choices if you do not want to join the Order.”

  Darolen came up beside them and gave Kerac a stern look that Valis didn’t understand. When he turned his brown eyes to Valis, he relaxed and grunted. “You will also be surrounded by family. The men and women will become your Brothers and Sisters. You will find friends. You will belong.”

  That was the most he’d heard Darolen speak at once and he stared at the warrior. He kept his gaze intent on Valis and tipped his head in a solemn nod. Everything started to crash down around Valis. Family meant pain. It meant surrender. It meant torment and punishment and fear. He was tired of being afraid, tired of feeling pain. So tired of being beaten that the thought of receiving it from anyone but his own father made him wish he had died with his mother. But the thought of death was a double edged sword, just like Kerac and Darolen wore. Death would find him release, but it would make Sovras—if he even existed outside of Valis’ dreams—sad, and Valis couldn’t bear the thought of that.