 
# The Sorcerer's Sword – Part 1

By Jack Cee

ISBN: 9781310572166

To find out more about the author visit: www.jackceeauthor.wordpress.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

## Chapter One

The Beloved One looked around the public square where all the townspeople had been gathered. At his orders the adults had been placed on one side and the children on the other. He knew from experience that when it came to this kind of bloody events parents had an instinct to cover their little ones' eyes to protect them from witnessing the horror. But no one would be shielded from what was to come. All would see him execute the judgement of The Mighty.

"People," The Beloved One said in a strong voice, "we are gathered here this morning to witness and rejoice in the rightfulness of The Mighty. For He does not tolerate disrespectfulness of His intended order and his most perfect wrath will be poured onto anyone..."

He now pointed at the young man kneeling at the centre of the square.

"... who dares to think he has the right to disobey Him."

The young man did not move or say a thing. He simply held his head down and was not sobbing nor screaming. There was a calmness about him which The Beloved One found strangely annoying.

"We know from The Perfect Book," he continued, "that The Mighty in the beginning created woman to rule over all the living things of the world. But woman was not perfect, like no created creatures are perfect, and she made many mistakes. So, The Mighty created a being closer to perfection than she was and appointed him to rule over her: man. Then He commended that woman always would belong to man and that man would always be with woman to guide her. Man with woman. Woman with man. It is quite simple."

He walked towards the man at the centre of the square and drew his sword. It was a shiny and heavy weapon made from unbreakable steel from the Eastern Realm.

"But some humans are merely animals without fur and do not comprehend even the simplest things."

The Beloved One lifted his sword and the people drew their breaths. Some in anticipation, others in horror. But instead of striking down he pointed his blade at a random person in the audience. An elderly woman who began to shake as he looked into her eyes.

"Woman, what does The Perfect Book tell us in its fifth chapter, on the twelfth line?"

She cited the scripture with a trembling voice, but without hesitation.

" 'Anyone who loves any living thing, above or below, more than he loves Me does not deserve my love and shall never see my face', says The Mighty."

"Good."

He pointed his sword towards a new person. This time a young woman with long wavy blond hair and the same deep green eyes as the young man who was to die this day.

"You. Come here."

The people around her stepped aside and let her walk to The Beloved One. For the first time the young man on his knees looked up and they saw into each other's eyes as she stood in front of him.

"Is this your brother?" The Beloved One asked her.

"Yes."

"And do you love him?"

"Yes."

"Do you love him more than The Mighty?"

She hesitated, but only for a short second.

"No, of course not."

"Your brother," The Beloved One said and started drawing patterns in the snow with the point of his sword, "has greatly offended The Mighty. He has disrupted His perfect order and made himself into the likes of a woman by lying down with another man."

He put a hand on her shoulder and she shivered at his touch, strangely soft and light as it was.

"What does The Perfect Book tell us should happen to such a man, my child?"

"He should be put to death."

The woman's voice was shaking. She wanted nothing more than to burst into tears but she knew that forbidden emotions could send The Beloved One into a mighty rage. And when he raged, blood was shed.

The Beloved One picked a dagger from his leather belt and put it into her hand. She looked down at the small weapon made from the same unbreakable steel as his heavy blade. The handle was made of precious gold and had holy words from The Perfect Book engraved on it.

She knew that from where she stood she could turn around quick as the wind and stab him in the neck or in his heart. But she knew that if she took his life, his guards would take hers. And most certainly her children's too.

"What is your name, child?"

"Batta."

"Well, Batta, today The Mighty has blessed you greatly. For He has chosen you to carry out His perfect will."

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

"Kill the unlawful one."

As much as she was fighting her own feelings, she could not stop a tear from escaping her eye and running down her cheek. Her little brother, the one she had held into her arms the day he had come into this world, crawled closer to her and looked into her eyes with all the love he had.

"It is okay, sweet sister. If you do not obey him, he will surely condemn you to the same fate as me and choose someone else to take my life. My fate ends here either way, it is how it must be. I do not blame you. Do what you must and go be with your children."

She stepped towards him and whispered in a low voice that only the two of them could hear:

"I love you, little brother."

"I love you too, sweet sister."

The young man smiled at her one last time, nodded and closed his eyes. He was ready.

Quickly, to not prolong his suffering, she plunged the blade into his heart. He fell down on the glittering snow and she tried to hold him in her arms as he drew his last breath. But The Beloved One's private guards pulled her away.

As they pushed her back into the crowd, she looked up at the cloud free skies and swore in silence an oath to Spirit above:

One day, the blood of the one they called The Beloved would be the one painting the white snow red. She would make sure of it.

### *

"Sweets! Sweets! Get your delicious sweets right here! Fruity sweets, sugary sweets, even salty sweets, would you believe it!"

Djeen struggled to make his voice heard over the noise and cacophony in the stadium. As he walked between the rows he could not see even one seat of all the two hundred thousand that was not occupied. Which, even if he had no real interest in today's event, made him feel quite content. It was a great day and place for business and that was really all he cared about.

This stadium was unlike all the others he used to sell at. Here no combats or races ever took place. No plays were ever enacted and no music played. What the people of the grand city of Ily came here to see, and this was something he never could wrap his head around, were men talking.

"Seller! Seller, over here!"

A man was calling for him and waving his hand above the crowd. Djeen walked towards him, eager to earn some more coins before today's debate started, and noticed that he was sitting with a woman and three children. Two of them were seated between the two adults and were most likely his children. The third one, a little girl who looked to not have lived more than five winters, was kept on a leash and kneeling by the woman's feet. A slave girl.

Djeen did not look at her for too long as he knew that the citizens of this city thought it strange when someone would acknowledge or even notice the existence of a slave that wasn't their own.

Instead he took some merchandise out of his shoulder bag and put on the friendly seller smile he had practiced to perfection.

"What can I help you with, dear citizen?"

"I'll have two small bags of the fruit flavoured sweets for the children and one large bag of those rose flavoured ones for me and my wife to share."

Djeen gave him what he ordered in exchange for five shiny bronze coins and his children immediately started to chew on the treats. The slave girl looked up at them with envious eyes but also with an expression of resignation. Even at her young age she knew that certain things just were not meant for people like her.

Djeen could feel the rage boil inside of him. This is how they, the Ilyians treated persons and still they dared to call all other people beasts.

The sound of a horn being blown was heard across the stadium. It was the signal to the audience that the debates were about to start and to the sellers to leave the arena. If they did not, guards would soon be there to escort them out.

As every day when he left the stadium, he was greeted by the deafening sound of the crowd. It was midday and food vendors, street musicians and storytellers along with sellers of all kinds were trying to make their voices heard above the noise, competing for potential customers' attention.

Djeen stopped, like he did every single day, by the cart of his friend Xet to buy himself some meatbread. An Ilyian speciality, it consisted of a piece of pre-roasted meat rolled into a sugary dough and fried in oil. It was a perfect treat if you were in the mood for something both sweet and savoury and, most importantly, if you were in a hurry like he was right now.

"So you were at the stadium, eh?" The old man Xet asked.

"Yep."

Djeen found this an odd question since he was selling sweets there every single day and Xet knew that.

"Must have been an awful lot of people there, mustn't it?"

"Oh, yes! Not a single seat left."

The old man nodded as he dipped the meatbread Djeen had just paid for into the boiling oil.

"Must be a very popular senator debating today."

"Oh, no!" Xet said and chuckled. "But a very crazy one!"

He prepared the square plate made of leaf where he would put the meatbread and continued:

"Some man named Nov Julkis, the leader of what they call the Human Liberty Party. They're trying to pass laws forbidding people to own slaves. Can you believe that?"

"Sure. What's so strange about that?"

Xet seemed surprised at Djeen's response. He shook his head while picking from his large assortment of spices.

"I don't know, it's just how it is. There have always been slaves. What would the world look like if everybody was allowed to be free?"

"Where I come from there are no slaves."

The old man looked at him with a suspicious expression in his eyes and Djeen could tell that he did not believe him. And if he was to be honest he would have to admit that the truth was actually quite the opposite. In his homeland, everyone was a slave.

"Anyway," Xet said, "very few take his party seriously. Most go to his debates to laugh at him. Do you want the regular spices?"

Djeen nodded in response and Xet poured the colourful herbs unto the smoking hot meatbread on the plate and gave it to him.

"Here you go, lad. Have a nice day and say hello to your boss from me."

The young man nodded and smiled and continued his way through the crowd. He made it to a sweets shop near the public scare and walked up to the counter.

The face of the girl on the other side lit up when she saw him and as always it made him slightly embarrassed. It had been obvious for many days now that she liked him but unfortunately for her he had no such interest in women and he wasn't sure how to handle this unwanted admirer.

"Hi," he said and put his selling bag on the counter before she could even say a blushing hello, "it was a good day today. Sold almost everything. The left-over sweets and the money are in the bag. See you tonight."

And he hurried out of the shop to the disappointment of the shop owner's daughter who always longed to this see his beautiful face. She sighted heavily and went back to cleaning the counter, hoping still that one day he might notice her.

Djeen walked towards the east of the city, were the slums were. This is where he had lived when he first came to this city about seven hundred days ago. He had since moved into the apartment he rented from his boss and which was situated above the same shop where he worked. But he still hated passing through this part of town.

Here was where the poorest and most unwanted members of society lived. Orphans and beggars slept on the dirty streets which stank so badly it made his eyes water. From time to time he would walk by one of the young people, carrying a large bucket and whose job it was to pick up from the ground the faeces that the more fortunate of this slum threw out the windows of their apartments. This human waste would later be sold as cheap manure that only the poorest farmers were willing to pay for.

This was one of the many small jobs he had done himself when he had first come to this land. It made him nauseous to even think about it and he thanked Spirit every day that his life had since taken a turn for the better. Not least because of his skills as a fighter.

And it was with a smile on his face that he arrived at the small stadium right by the border-wall of the city. It was much smaller than the one he had been at this morning and made out of wood instead of precious marble. No statues of popular senators were surrounding it and no families with children were eager to visit it. Only the shadiest and most lawless members of society ever took the risk of coming to this place.

Still, here was where he loved to be more than anywhere else. At any other location he was just a poor young man struggling to survive like any other soul. But there, inside of this arena, he was cheered on by the crowd and admired and respected by all. There, he was a king.

### *

Arzi studied the two fighters walking barefoot on the hot sand of the arena. The biggest one of them was a tall and chubby man with a large scar across his forehead and a vicious expression on his face. He was clutching his fist and staring at his opponent, a redheaded young man with a goatee and a strange tattoo in the shape of a bird on his arm. This opponent was smaller than the other man. In fact, he was smaller than most men, but he was also quite muscular and seemed to be in good physical shape.

Arzi still seriously doubted that he had any chance in this fight. So, he raised his hand to call on the attention of the bookmaker to bet on the bigger man. As she noticed him and started to walk towards them, his long-time friend Izid leaned over and told him:

"Bet on the redhead."

"Who, the little guy? Really?"

Izid nodded and laughed at the suspicious look on Arzi's face.

"Oh, come on brother! Have I ever deceived you? Don't let appearances mislead you. This guy is one of the best."

Remembering that Izid had indeed always been nothing but honest and true to him he followed his advice and bet on the smaller fighter. Not as much money as he usually bet as he still had a gut feeling telling him that a man could not so easily beat another almost twice his size.

Arzi kept watching the redheaded man and tried to see the vicious fighter in him. But his soft, almost feminine, face and the gentleness in his eyes made it difficult to believe. The tattoo of a little bird on his skin also added to his innocent appearance.

As often, Arzi could not help but stare at the men's bodies. They were, like arena fighters traditionally did, wearing nothing but wooden cup over their genitals. This minimum of protective gear was in turn held in place by leather straps around the waist and under the thighs.

His eyes did not linger on the taller man's body. Arzi found him far too chubby and hairless for his taste. But the redheaded man had much that sparked his interest: visible muscles, abundant chest hair as red as the one on his head and thick thighs and buttocks.

It was when he saw the later that Arzi had to bite his lip and look away. He shook his head, reminding himself that he had come here today for business and not pleasure.

The sound of a horn being blown woke him up from his own thoughts and he saw the arbitrator walk into the arena. All the chatter on the stands quieted down. The fight was about to start.

"Welcome," the arbitrator's voice echoed, "to this afternoon's very exciting program. We have some of our most popular and skilled athletes here today. Such as..."

He paused and pointed at the taller fighter.

"Ydan the creature! And..."

He paused once more and pointed at the other fighter.

"Djeen the wild beast!"

The crowd started to cheer when they heard the redheaded man's name. Some men even started to beat their chests with their left fists, a traditional Ilyian sign of honour towards only the best of warriors.

It surprised Arzi that Ilyians would ever show so much respect for a man who was, as his pale skin showed, a tribesman of the north. Usually they looked upon anyone not from Ily the same way they looked at slaves: barely worth more than an animal.

The arbitrator pulled a golden coin out of his pocket and said:

"Head for Djeen and parliament for Ydan!"

He was referring to the two sides of the coin, one which had an image of the parliament and the other which had the portrait of whichever rich senator had paid to have to this coin made. Then he tossed it into the air and caught it in his hand again.

"Head! Djeen will decide the weapon!"

The young man immediately got a crooked smile on his face.

"Sword!" He proclaimed and the crowd started cheering once more.

"Swords!" The arbitrator called.

A slave came into the arena carrying two wooden swords and gave one each to the two fighters. Everyone fell silent in anticipation. The fight was about to start.

The arbitrator took a blowing horn from his heavy leather belt and said:

"As usual: one point per hit. Hits on the arms don't count. Five points per hits on the head. May Spirit be with the best fighter!"

He then blew the horn and the deafening sound echoed over the stadium. The public started clapping their hands rhythmically while chanting the name of the fighter they supported. Arzi couldn't help but notice that very few of them said "Ydan."

Down on the sand, Djeen was bouncing on his feet like a playful child and spinning his sword in his hand. Arzi thought that he was taunting his opponent and waiting for him to strike first.

But suddenly, he leaped into the air and slammed Ydan with full force on his raised arm. Then he hit him again on his side and jumped back before he had any chance to retaliate.

Ydan answered by immediately running forward and striking at Djeen with his sword. But he simply blocked the hit with his own weapon, twisted around and hit the larger man on the side of his neck.

A rageful, guttural scream came out of Ydan. He tried once more to strike his opponent but Djeen just leaped backwards with a mocking smile on his face. The crowd cheered and laughed. Djeen puffed up his chest and strutted around, proud like a rooster among his hens.

Seeing his opportunity in what he thought to be a moment of inattention, Ydan rushed towards him and tried to strike him on the head. But Djeen blocked the hit with his arm, twisted around with the gracefulness of a dancer and caught Ydan's sword under his armpit. He then slammed the hand of his opponent with his own sword, forcing him to let go of his weapon.

Djeen was spinning a sword in each of his hands before the audience and Ydan even had to the time to gasp in surprise. Then, faster than Arzi had ever seen any man move, he hit Ydan on both sides of his head at once. Over and over again as Ydan was running backwards, desperately trying to get away from him.

The large man tripped over his own feet and fell backwards on the sand. Djeen stepped back, proud as ever, and started to spin the wooden swords in his hands once again as if these heavy weapons had been light as air.

Ydan was lying down, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his gigantic hands, in shock over having received such a brutal beating from such a small man.

The crowd started to count and clap their hands.

"One! Two! Three! Four! Fi..."

He rolled over and tried to get up on his knees. Hissing and cursing Spirit as he made a last effort to get back into the fight. But his eyes suddenly rolled back into his head and he fainted with a loud thump.

Djeen raised both swords into the air and did a comical victory dance that sent the audience into a fit of laughter as they began to count again. When they got to twenty the arbitrator blew the horn and proclaimed:

"And the winner, once more, is Djeen the wild beast!"

Arzi had thought that the redheaded man could not possibly have looked more proud than he already did but found it a pleasant surprise to see that he had been wrong. As Djeen raised the weapons above his head once more and started to run around the arena Arzi could see his expression become more prideful with every time the crowd shouted his name.

Izid leaned over and whispered to Arzi.

"See, what did I tell you? One of the best."

Arzi smiled and sat back in his seat. Content, he had finally found exactly what he was looking for.

### *

Rahin felt the afternoon sun on her face. She found it to be perfect, not to hot but still hot enough to warm both her skin and her soul. In just a couple of days, she knew, her journey back to the land of her ancestors would begin. Once again, she would wander for many days through desert landscapes, battling thirst and exhaustion, fighting to survive the heat of the day and the cold of the night.

She had made this journey several times before in her life but this time would be by far the most important one. For as long as she could remember she had tried not to think about the destiny that awaited her, the one which had been decided before even her birth. But now the time had come for her to embrace her fate. Not that she had any choice in the matter.

First, though, she needed to gather the supplies needed for her trip. She continued to make her way through the crowded marketplace as she took in the smells of all the different spices and street foods being sold around her. The low voices of the shoppers and the loud ones of the venders and street singers and storytellers gave her a certain melancholy. It would be many days before she saw another person again once she left this town and she would most certainly miss the warmth of human companionship.

She looked at the people's faces, at the old men sitting on benches drinking herbal teas and at the little children playing and laughing, at the women studying meticulously the right vegetables and dried meats to buy for their families and at the smiling faces of the venders trying to get her attention. As she did so, she had to hold back tears to fall from her eyes. There were few things she hated more than being alone and the people around her seemed at this moment to be the most beautiful ones she had ever seen.

Earlier that day she had left her mount at a horse keeper's farm. The mare her boss had given her was a healthy and strong animal but she could never survive the scorching heat of the desert. For this Rahin needed a special kind of creature and she knew where to find it.

She arrived at the part of the market which sold animals of all sorts. Cattle, sheep and goats, rabbits and even small birds for cooking. But none of these interested her. What she was looking for was a sand dragon.

Personally, she had always thought that this wasn't really an appropriate name for these beings. They looked nothing like the creatures of legend, were to her not the least bit intimidating and certainly did not breathe fire.

In reality, they were short creatures rarely reaching higher up than to a person's waist. But they were three times broader and longer than a horse and could carry heavy loads without ingesting any water or food for up to fourteen days.

When picking a sand dragon to hire or buy most people would have asked the seller for their strongest or fastest beast. But Rahin had a different way to go about it. She simply looked into the giant lizards' eyes and judged their character by what she saw in them.

Sand dragons were famous for their large eyes and mindless expressions which were the origin of the expression "dumb like a sand dragon." Rahin did not let that fool her. By experience she knew to never judge a being by its appearance. She had in fact found from her many years of travelling with these animals that they were deeply intelligent and much more sensitive creatures than most humans cared to notice.

The seller, seeing that she was looking at his beasts, put on a smile and asked:

"Are you going on a journey? Or perhaps just need an animal to carry your groceries home? Whatever your need I have a dragon for it. Big ones, small ones, strong ones or fast ones, I got them all!"

"I am traveling southwards to Toyan," she explained. "I need two strong and endurant beasts to carry me and my things through the desert."

The seller seemed surprised. Few people ever had the courage to make their way between Toyan and the more northern parts of the republic except for the salt merchants that had no other means of supporting their families. But having his eyes on making a profit, he did not really care and asked no questions.

"Well then I have the perfect one for you!"

He showed her one of the larger animals and Rahin studied it and gazed into its eyes. It had an expression of serenity and happiness she only saw in these beings at a very particular time of their lives.

"It seems to me a strong and powerful animal but I think it will need much rest in the near future."

"What do you mean?" He asked and seemed almost offended that she claimed to know something about his beast that he didn't.

"Well, because it is with child."

The seller looked at the dragon with a sceptical look. As it was only in the early stages of pregnancy its belly had not yet grown enough that a difference could be seen. But Rahin could read living things as if their deepest secrets were written on their forehead and she could see the truth in its eyes as clearly as she could see the blazing midday sun.

"Anyway," she continued, "I would rather have this one. And the bigger one next to it."

She pointed at a young male lying asleep on its side with its back to her. Most people could not feel this sort of things but she sensed from it that it was a prideful and stubborn animal. Exactly what she needed for the perilous journey ahead of her.

With a nod and a grunt the seller proceeded to put harnesses on the two dragons Rahin had chosen. Meanwhile she took money from her shoulder bag and counted it. She figured that she should pay for about seventy days as the journey back and forth to Toyan would take about sixty days and it was unlikely that she would stay more than ten at her father's house.

The seller's sulky mood immediately improved as she put the shimmering golden coins into his hand. He even wished her a good journey as she left his stand.

As she still needed supplies for her trip she left the two dragons at the public square of the city, tying their leach to a pole before walking back to the market. She had no worries that anyone would take her animals. Intelligent as they were, sand dragons knew who they belonged with and attempting to steal them away resulted usually with one getting knocked over the head by a heavy tail.

Rahin purchased large quantities of dried food that could stand the high temperatures of the desert without getting spoiled. Along with it she also bought several large water bags made from thick animal skin that protected the liquids from evaporating in the heat.

She made the trip between the market and the public square numerous times to load the supplies on the dragons. It was late afternoon when she was finally done.

Exhausted, she sat down on the ground and wiped her sweaty forehead with the sleeve of her long red dress. She drank some water from her flask and reflected on the coming journey. If she left now she would be far from the city before sundown, which was preferable since it at night turned into a very dangerous place where robbers and criminals of all kinds roamed the streets in search for their next victim.

Most of all she wanted to close her eyes and sleep. Preferably she would have wanted to wake up to another life. One where she could be who she wanted and choose her own destiny.

She shook her head, disappointed in herself. After all this time she still caught herself dreaming of the impossible.

Ignoring her fatigue she stood up and untied the dragons from the pole. She made her way to the gate of the city where a well of fresh water was free for anyone to use. Filling her bags she also gave a little to drink to the dragons. They could do without it for much longer than she did but any help to survive the hot fury of the desert lands could always be needed.

Before leaving she looked at the city one last time. At the high towers were the rich and powerful lived and below them the countless small houses made of clay. She looked at the people, at their faces smiling in the sun and she dried tears from her eyes as she knew that she would not see another human for far too many days. Maybe she wept also because she knew that even when she was amongst them, they never really saw her.

Finally, she turned her face towards the desert. As vast as it was merciless, it was waiting for her. And so was her father.

She made a silent wish to Spirit that she would make it to Toyan before his passing. Then she walked throw the city gate, her dragons following closely behind her, and resigned herself to her fate.

### *

Djeen walked around the bathing room to make sure all the other fighters had left and that he was indeed alone. When he was certain of it, he took off his cup and jumped into the pool.

As he sank down he found himself disappearing in the moment, enjoying the darkness and warm water enveloping him. He found it always so comforting, reminding him as it did of his dear Mother's embrace.

But the best feelings were always found in the most fleeing moments and he soon floated up again.

He swam to the shallow side and sat down on the tile floor. His head just sticking up above the surface of the water, he closed his eyes and let himself be comforted by the warmth and the silence.

The later was something that he rarely got to enjoy since he had come to Ily. No matter where he went in the city he was always surrounded by noise. Even in his apartment he could hear through the paper-thin walls the chatting voices of his neighbours at all times of the day. This is why he loved the stadium's bathing room and why he always made sure to leave last of all. This and something else.

Djeen sat up on his knees and pictured in his mind a man. He was tall with broad shoulders, a thick beard and hair all over his muscular body. In his hand was a spear with a round, wooden tip. Around his genitals was the traditional wooden cup of arena fighters.

Djeen looked around and realized that he was back at the stadium. He too had a spear in his hand and he could feel the sand between his toes. But the rows were empty. Not even the arbitrator or any of his slave assistants were around. There was only Djeen and the mysterious man.

Suddenly, he threw his spear at Djeen, who had no time to jump aside and was hit on the knee. He fell forward, hitting the ground head first. Quickly, he spat out sand from his mouth and tried to get up. But the man was on him before he had any chance.

Djeen could feel the man's strong arms around his waist as he wrestled him back on the ground. With one hand, the man grabbed his cup and tore it off. He then took Djeen's sex in his strong manly hand and...

Footsteps behind him. Djeen opened his eyes and he was back at the bathing room. He froze, not so much out of fear as of embarrassment.

Letting go of his penis that he just had been violently stroking with his hand, he turned halfway around and glanced up at the man standing by the edge of the pool.

He was dark haired with a thick beard and looked to be older than Djeen. How much he could not tell but old enough that he had visible wrinkles at the corners of the eyes and a few grey hairs at the temples.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to... I just... I came here looking for you and..."

He was blushing and seemed just as embarrassed as Djeen was.

"No, it's okay," Djeen replied. "Just toss me a towel, will you?"

The man took a towel lying on the warm tile floor and threw it to Djeen who caught it, wrapped it around his waist and stepped out of the pool.

Just a moment ago he had wanted to disappear into the ground from shame but now Djeen felt mostly curious as to why this man he had never seen before had come here looking for him.

"My name's Djeen. I'm one of the fighters at this arena," he said.

His hand covering his still half-hard erection.

"I know. I saw you today. You are quite the fighter."

Djeen sat down on one of the woven wicker chair standing around the pool. He studied the man and saw that he was also a fighter or warrior of some kind. Not because of his clothing or any visible scars but because of how he carried himself. Usually Djeen wasn't very skilled in reading people but he could recognize anywhere the confident but guarded way of someone who knew the art of fighting.

"Thank you. I try."

The man chuckled and sat on a chair next to him.

"Oh, you do so much more than just try. Where did you learn to fight like that? Whoever taught you must be a mighty warrior."

"I taught myself."

A sceptical look on the man's face revealed that he didn't believe him.

"Really? How?"

"Well, after coming to Ily I needed money and I heard that you could fight other guys in a stadium and get paid for it. I had never fought a day in my life but I really needed the coins so I gave it a try. Turned out it was much easier that I thought and I've never lost a single fight."

It was the truth but the man still looked to not be convinced. This didn't really bother Djeen. What other people thought of him was something he preoccupied himself very little with.

"That sounds impressive. But no matter how you learned, you still have an unusual talent. This is why I came here looking for you."

He leaned back in his chair and studied Djeen in silence with his blue-grey eyes before continuing.

"A talent that shouldn't be wasted fighting here, in this part of town that Spirit itself has abandoned. Do you want to be a rich man, Djeen?"

"As long as I've got everything I need I don't really care."

This was obviously not the response he expected. He raised one of his eyebrows and gave Djeen an amused look.

"Well, either way I have an offer for you. First, I should probably introduce myself. My name is Arzi. I'm the owner of a small private troop called The Red Wolves. We mostly work on catching escaped criminals and gangs of marauders outside the city. I recently lost one of my employees in a fight with one of these gangs and I've been searching for someone worthy of taking her place. She was a truly exceptional warrior..."

Arzi seemed to disappear for a moment into his own thoughts but quickly shook it off and continued:

"I would like you to come work for me. You will get your own mount, the very best equipment and weapons and your very own cabin at The Red Wolves' camp. The pay varies depending on how many criminals we catch, but you can count on making at least ten thousand gold coins for every fifty days."

Djeen had a hard time believing his words. He had never dreamed of owning even a thousand gold coins at any point in his lifetime.

"What's the catch?"

"Well," Arzi said shrugging, "I guess the catch is that like any warrior you might get maimed or killed. That's the risk of the job. So, what do you say?"

Djeen nodded and answered with a crooked smile:

"I say let's kick some butts."

### *

There were very few things which The Beloved One enjoyed. Having been enlightened by The Mighty Himself he knew that there was nothing of worth here in the world. But something that always gave him an almost ecstatic pleasure was the smell of the rotting flesh of wrongdoers after a day of executions.

It was early morning and the sun had not yet gone up. The streets were empty, which suited him since the faces of his fellow human beings always gave him so much melancholy. They were all so imperfect, so wrong in the eyes of The Mighty. And he also could never deserve His forgiveness and care, even if He had named him "Beloved".

The sweet odour of death came from the pile of bodies lying in the centre of the public square where yesterday's executions had taken place. They were of different genders, ages and stature. Some were scrawny old women, others muscular young men.

This made The Beloved One smile. Such things meant nothing to The Mighty One. He tolerated no disrespect to his perfect order. His furious justice was blind, in the most perfect sense of the word.

Amongst the bodies were also all sorts of limbs that had been cut off from their wrongdoing owners. The foot of a man who had been running around spreading gossip. The fingers of a woman caught pleasing herself. The hand of a little boy who had stolen from a merchant.

The Beloved One felt pleased with the sight as well as the smell. Soon soldiers would come to carry away on a cart the evil flesh of the wrongful ones and transport it to the Sacred Cave. There, it would find a new use as part of The Mighty's perfect plan.

The Beloved One felt a light wind blow. It came southwards and this is where his eyes now turned. At the horizon, he saw the Wind Mountains standing like quiet giants in the dark. They stood so tall, so majestic, with their snowy tops glimmering so beautifully in the light of the moon.

He could not help but cry a little tear at this sight. The world, although so filthy and full of wrongdoing, was still full of such miracles giving the living only a glimpse of the perfection of The Mighty.

But, The Beloved One remembered, beyond these mountains were countless peoples who did not know Him. And in their utter ignorance they practiced the most vile and despicable things. They ate wrong, spoke wrong even slept wrong. Every second of their lives was dedicated to spitting in the most Perfect Face of The Mighty.

The Beloved One could almost feel his blood boil inside of him when he thought about it. His body began to shake and in his rage he let out a scream which echoed across the square.

He picked up his sword from his belt and, still screaming, struck the pile of bodies. Flesh and rotten blood hit back at his face. This only added to his rage and he struck again and again until he had to stop to catch his breath.

Exhausted, he wiped his blade on his trousers and looked towards the heavens. Calmly he reminded himself what The Mighty had told him would happen to the wrong ones.

The Beloved One rejoiced at the thought of their blood watering the fields and quenching the thirst of the birds of prey. It made him nearly as ecstatic as the smell of death still on his clothes and face.

With a smile, he gazed once more towards the mountains and whispered:

"Prepare yourselves, oh wrongful ones! The Mighty One is coming and with Him... your doom!"

## Chapter Two

Djeen had been walking many days when he finally reached Ily. How many he did not know. It could have been a hundred or five hundred, perhaps even a thousand. However it was he had stopped counting many nights ago.

At that time, he was traveling with two siblings, a brother and a sister, whom he had met along the way and who were coming to Ily to find work. Their father was a poor farmer who owned only a small piece of land where he grew, during the good seasons, barely enough crops to feed his wife and children. So, to help their impoverished family his oldest children often made their way to the Republic's capital to find any small work they could and come back with enough money to help make sure that all their younger siblings would survive the next bad season.

The brother and sister told all of this to Djeen and spoke warmly of the small village where they had grown up. Naturally they were curious about his own story and where he had come from.

As usual Djeen repeated the story he had made up to hide his true past. He told them that he had grown up in the green mountains of the north as a sheepherder's son. One day a rival tribe attacked his village, slaughtered half of his family's herd and stole the other half. So now he was coming down to the greatest city of the Republic to make enough money for his family to survive and perhaps even buy some sheep for a new herd.

Djeen had repeated this story many times since the beginning of his journey and even worked along the way on adding more details to make it more believable. But no person he had met yet had seemed to distrust his tale.

The city of Ily, he discovered, was located in the middle of a bright green prairie where one would never expect to find the grandest city in the Republic and all of the known world. It was surrounded by high walls of the most blinding white marble he had ever seen. What surprised him the most though was the absolute silence. As they walked around, looking for the city gate, they could hear not even a whisper coming from the inside.

This was, he would soon discover, not because the city was empty but due to the walls being so thick and high that they shut out any sound.

Only when they arrived at the city gate could he hear some chatting, and most of it came from other people waiting to come in.

Djeen looked up at the gigantic wooden doors. He had never seen in all his life such high gates and, he was convinced of it, never would again. Not even the entrance to the sacred temple in which he grew up even came near the majesty of the gates of this the grandest city of all.

"What does it say?"

He pointed upwards at letters that had been carved into the wood and painted gold.

The girl he was traveling with answered as she was the only one of the three who knew how to read Ilyian:

"The Jewel of The World."

Djeen stood in awe and looked at the bright golden letters glimmering in the sun. Whatever was beyond those doors would be more exciting than anything he had previously seen.

It had been early morning when they had arrived but the gates never opened until midday. So, they passed the time with snacking on the little food they had left from their trip and chatting about what they would do after they entered the city.

"I wanna walk around the stadium," the boy said, "and look at all the fancy statues of senators. Some of them are painted with gold and decorated with precious stones!"

"That sounds boring," the girl said. "Me, I'm gonna go to the public square and listen to the street singers and storytellers."

Djeen sat in silence and listened with a smile at all their plans. He had previously not felt any special excitement at the thought of coming to Ily. When he had met the two siblings he had been simply a wanderer with no purpose or destination. But now he dreamed of nothing more than to see with his own eyes "The Jewel of The World."

Then finally came midday. The opening of the gates was announced by the sound of a blowing horn. It was followed by a crackling noise so loud it kept ringing in Djeen's ears even after it had ended. The massive wooden doors seemed to open as by magic and revealed a large street paved with golden coloured setts.

Djeen had to remind himself to breath as he passed through the gate and looked up at the tall, blinding white houses.

He was shoved here and there in the crowd. People everywhere around him and the sound of their voices loud as a thousand rivers.

Suddenly, the hand of his friend on his shoulder and his other hand pulling him closer.

"Watch out!"

Djeen looked around and saw that people around him were moving to the sides of the streets and quieting down. The deep voice of a man echoed above them.

"The Silver Eagles passing through! Move aside for our glorious warriors!"

To try to see what all the commotion was about Djeen stood up on his toes and, not for first or last time in his life, cursed nature for having made him of such a short stature.

Then he felt his friend's touch again, as the young man put his arm around Djeen's waist and lifted him up.

Further down the street Djeen could see the silver reflection of soldiers' armours. His heart started to pound in his chest. If it should be from fear or excitement he knew not but as the crowd around him began to cheer he concluded that it should be the later.

Along with the adorations of the crowd, the sound of the stomping feet of the soldiers and the metallic rattling of their gear echoed in the air. They were marching two and two behind the man shouting to the people to give honour to the warriors. He was himself distinguished from the others as he was carrying no weapons but the tall feather on his helmet stood higher than all the others. Djeen wondered if maybe if he was some sort of leader. Regardless, it was the polished weapons of the marching men that really caught his eyes.

In their hands were decorated lances that seemed to be made of pure silver, just as the large circular shields on which were engraved the image of a proud eagle's head. On their feet were high boots of silver-painted leather and attached to their belts were sharpened short swords. Their armours, which were the same colour as the rest of their gear, were engraved with patterns Djeen realised with amusement were meant to resemble feathers.

"Who are they?" Djeen asked, whispering in fascination.

"The Silver Eagles!" His friend answered and put him back on the ground as the troop had now passed by and out through the gates.

"I know! But what do they do?"

"They kick butts!"

His two friends proceeded to tell him about the many private troops serving in the area. In Ily only the most powerful senators had constant access to the city's own guards. So, for protection the rest of the population was mostly dependent on privately owned soldier groups. Most of them were financed by public donations and were highly loved by the inhabitants of Ily.

"They specialize in different things," the girl explained. "Some in catching escaped criminals, other in investigating murders. Most patrol the streets and the surroundings of the city, though, to help make sure that everyone is safe."

"And they all have different glorious names and uniforms," the boy added. "Like The Jade Dragons with their blue-green gear and The Bronze Bears with their bronzy armours. But none of these troops are stronger, more skilled or more majestic than..."

He stopped, jumped in the middle of the street and imitated the roar of a lion. The whole scene was made even more comical as he shook the fuzzy blond hair on his head.

"... the Golden Lions!"

### *

It had now been seven hundred days since Djeen had come to The Jewel of The World and witnessed for the first time the marching of the Silver Eagles. It had been only two hundred days since he had started fighting in the arena and discovered that he was good at it and maybe fifty days since he had begun to dream of a career in one of the city's many private troops.

He had assumed that these dreams would remain just that, as he had no military education and not enough money to pay for one. So, when Arzi came with his offer, there was no way he would have declined. This was a choice he now strongly questioned.

Djeen had never heard of The Red Wolves and he had assumed it was because it was one of many smaller troops that operated mostly outside of the city walls. But he had greatly underestimated just how small this particular group of soldiers would be. And just how much they wouldn't look like warriors.

Exactly five people were in front of him as Arzi introduced them: A large bearded man named Izid, a tall skinny man named Laur, a person named Vayl who Djeen could not tell if they were a man or a woman, a dark skinned young woman named Liva whom Djeen assumed was from the desert lands of the southern parts of the Republic and, most surprising of all, an elderly woman named Ussa who was not even awake but sleeping on her side in the grass.

"And this is Djeen," Arzi said and laid a hand on his shoulder. "He will join us to take the spot left by our dear Oia. As you all know the law requires for a private troop to have a least seven soldiers before it is allowed to ask for donations from the public and I needed to find someone new fast before we lost the biggest part of our founding. It was a hard decision for me to find a replacement just twenty days after we lost our friend but do not worry, I did not pick just anyone to join us. Just wait until you see this guy fight. He will not disappoint you."

Izid and Vayl nodded and smiled welcomingly at Djeen. Laur studied him with a raised brow and a smirk while Liva seemed to be completely indifferent to both Djeen and the whole situation. Ussa simply kept on snoring.

### *

Batta found herself unable to cry. Not because she felt no sorrow but because her eyes had long ago lost their ability to shed tears. A temple nurse had once told her that this could happen if a person had cried too many times in their life. Batta had not been sure if it was true or not but now it seemed to her that it was.

She, along with the small group of people that had known and loved her youngest child, were standing in the city's cemetery, looking at the large kettle of water boiling over blazing firewood. The liquid was then to be poured onto the frozen ground to make it soft enough to dig through.

What they were digging was a grave for her daughter who had lived only two winters and had passed away the night before.

It was the fifth time Batta had lost a child. All had died from hunger. Except for one son who had been caught speaking foully and had his tongue cut off by the temple guards. The wound had then become infected and a devastating fever had taken his life only three days later.

Every time one of Batta's children departed from this life she was left with a sorrow so deep no words were able to describe it. And with no words did she speak about it. Not to her friends, not to her sisters or her mother. Not even to her husband, who had cried only when his sons died, as The Perfect Book said:

"Sons are a gift from The Mighty. Three times the joy of a daughter they will bring to your souls."

No, she kept her despair to herself. Sometimes she did not even feel it. Only emptiness filled her heart on these occasions. And it seemed numbness and sorrow would now be forever her fate.

But a thought lifted her spirit, even so slightly: her dear daughter, her little winter child, was now free from a life in this Spirit forsaken land where happiness was but a rare dish.

If what Batta's great-grandmother had told her was accurate, if there was any truth in the forbidden worship that existed in these lands before The Mighty came and did his best to eradicate it, then she knew that all of her children were now in a better place. A beautiful world where love was the only rule and happiness a constant meal.

Batta wished she knew with certainty that this was the case. There was really only one way to find out for sure and she did not mind it. But first there was one thing she had to do.

Four winters ago, right after her hands had been stained against her will with the blood of her own brother, she had made a promise to Spirit above. Today she had no children left to protect and therefore no reason to not fulfil it.

Now the time had come for retribution.

### *

It was a small bird, no bigger than Rahin's fist. The feathers of its plumage were a mixture of red and dark brown and its beak as yellow as the sun blazing above.

Rahin pondered whether or not to bother shooting it with her bow. There didn't seem to be enough meat on this little creature to make much of a difference in the hunger plaguing her guts.

"But", she thought to herself, "Number One will probably appreciate a snack."

Number One was the young male sand dragon she had picked for her journey due to his strong character. She had named the other one Number Two. In another place and time she would have made an effort to give the sand dragons more fanciful names but in the desert all she could think about was how to survive her next step and could not bother to put any energy on such trivialities.

She decided to kill the bird, feed it to Number One and go on her way to hunt for the desert deer whose still fresh faeces she had found just a moment ago.

Rahin carefully picked an arrow from her quiver and with as slow movements as she could make, put the nock to the bow string. She pulled it back, closed one eye and aimed.

As the arrow flew towards it, the little bird turned its head and looked straight at her. Rahin thought that it would surely fly away but it stayed in place and, shockingly, let the arrow pierce its body.

Just as Rahin gasped in surprise, she was even more shaken to find that the bird was still alive. The arrow had gone through and was still stuck inside of its flesh.

Rahin could barely believe her eyes as the bird looked around with the greatest indifference and proceeded to clean its plumage with its beak.

Slowly, she stood up from the large rock behind which she was hiding. Although she did not make a sound, the bird immediately sensed her movement and looked up at her. It gazed into her eyes and Rahin could feel its spirit. She determined it to be one of great anger.

Then: blinding light. A deafening sound like that of a furious river. And most intensely of all: unbearable heat.

She found her whole body to be caught in flames which were eating at her flesh, burning away her skin and reducing her long black hair to ashes.

In horror, she rolled down on the sand and tried desperately to extinguish the fire consuming her.

But to no end. The more she fought, the higher it grew. She could now feel the burn down to her very bones. Desperate, she tried to call for help even though she knew that no one would hear her scream.

Her tongue fell to pieces in her mouth as flames sought their way down her throat and into her guts. The fire spread through her body and she realized that all hope was gone. Only a short moment left and her suffering, as well as her life, would end.

In the sky above she suddenly saw the bird again. It had grown immensely and soared over her like a gigantic red sun. The creature's feathers had become flames and its wings a raging fire. Smoke rose from it, blocking out the light of the sun.

Darkness, flames and the scent of ashes. It seems to be the last things Rahin would ever see and feel.

She looked into the bird's gaze and saw her own reflection, her own body being ravaged by the blaze. Then she closed her eyes and accepted her fate.

Rahin woke up with a gasp. A violent pain grasped her guts as she stood up, fell on her knees and vomited unto the sand.

Number One came to her and let her lean on him as she got up again. His gentle eyes had noticed her distress before she had even woken up.

Like every time she experienced these violent visions he had been watching over her. Sometimes Rahin almost wondered if he understood the extent of her despair that he took such good care of her. Either way she felt the deepest gratitude for his presence on this journey. Spirit knew it had just begun.

Rahin picked up the shoulder bag and the water bottle she had dropped when she had suddenly fallen into trance. There was no time for resting and cry over her nightmarish visions she could do while walking.

Her father was waiting for her in Toyan. He needed her now more than ever and Spirit willing she would reach the city before he left this life.

Time was of the essence.

## Chapter Three

Mornings felt like a new beginning. After pondering about it, Torem concluded that this was the reason he loved this particular time of the day. The sun rising over the tree tops, the singing of the little birds and the smell of the dew-wet grass always gave him the feeling that the world had been reborn while he slept. That whatever sadness or evil had been in days passed was forever gone and a better future was in his own hands to create.

Torem rose up like every day at the crowing of the rooster. He did not want to miss the quietness of a pure morning so he let his children and wife sleep in while he made his way to the barn to milk the goats.

Carrying his bucket and his milking stool, he smiled as he saw the Wind Mountains at the horizon. He had heard so many stories about these highlands. Most sounded so insane he could not imagine them being true. Demons and evil creatures of all kinds were rumoured to wander in the snowy hills. Some said this was the reason why no one had ever gotten over to the other side of the mountains or even returned from attempting to do so. Torem himself believed that it was most likely the cold on top of the gigantic peaks that took the life of anyone foolish enough to try and get over. Monsters and the like was nothing he believed in. At least not until he saw one with his own eyes.

The goats started to wag their tails when they saw him enter the barn. Torem picked up one of the kids bouncing around his feet, petted its soft black fur and put it back on the ground. He sat down on his stool and whistled to the first goat to come to him.

He proceeded to milk all of his ten grown female goats while singing his favourite morning songs and watching with a smile the kids fight and play in the hay. Life was good and the morning peaceful.

Suddenly he smelled the odour of death. Torem recognized the sickly-sweet scent of decaying flesh. He rose up and looked around the room, hoping that nothing had happened to any of his animals. Twice he counted them and found to his relief that all of them were alive. Some wild creature had probably crawled into the barn to find a warm place to die.

Torem took a pitchfork and started turning hay over to see if there was anything beneath it. He figured he was looking in the right place as the smell grew stronger. Then he heard steps.

Thinking that his wife or one of his children had woken up and come to help him, he turned around. What he saw made him throw himself back in horror.

A tall creature in the shape of a man was staring down at him. Its eyes were white as snow and its skin grey like a corpse. Heavy breathing along with the most putrid smell came out of its mouth where a few dark decaying teeth still hanged from its gum.

"What do you want?" Torem whispered, his whole body shaking.

The creature only walked closer to him. That is when Torem realised it had three arms instead of two, the third one strangely longer than the others. Even more bizarre was that the being was wearing fine clothing embroidered with gold. On the chest were writings Torem did not understand as he did not know how to read.

"Who are you?" He asked.

And those were the final words of Torem the farmer.

### *

Camp Red Wolf was located about half a day's walk from Ily. Like most private troop camps it was surrounded by a high palisade and had a wooden tower in the middle of it. On the lower floor of this tall building was the apartment of the troop leader who in this case was Arzi. Further up was the weapons room and on top of the tower an observation deck.

This is where Djeen used to sit, looking at the horizon or down at the log cabins below. One of them, the smallest one, was his. Arzi had kept his promise to Djeen and let him move in his own little house on the camp just five days after their meeting at the bathing room. He also gave him his own armour, weapons and horse on the same day he came to Camp Red Wolf.

Djeen had never owned this much in all his life and he was deeply thankful for the unexpected riches he had been given. But there was something else this new job gave him which he loved more than any material things he could acquire from it: adventure.

Although, for the time being, he only got to experience it vicariously. Every night he waited by the gates for the others to arrive. Then he served them the food Arzi had ordered him to cook and sat by the soldiers' feet, listening to their retelling of the day's exploits.

On some days they would be coming to the camp dragging some caught criminals behind them. Djeen's job at this point would be to lock them up in the log cabin that served as a prison and which he used to guard when he wasn't up on the observation deck or down in the camp cleaning or cooking.

This was all far from what Djeen had dreamed of doing when he joined the troop. But Arzi had promised him that if he showed himself obedient and trustworthy he would very soon be allowed to join the group on their patrolling. Djeen was not bothered by this. After all, he had spent most of his life as a servant in the temples of The Mighty. He was used to servitude and had not much difficulty swallowing his pride to perform what some would consider lowly tasks. Patience, he knew, would eventually pay off and he would soon be able to not just hear about adventures but to also live them.

Then came the day he had been waiting for. The troop was sitting in the kitchen cabin enjoying breakfast when Arzi entered the room. He studied them with a concerned look and pointed at Djeen and Liva.

"You two. Follow me. We have a special mission in town. Take your food with you and get your horses. We have no time to spare."

Djeen stuffed his mouth and pockets with bread and jumped out of his chair. He quickly put on his armour, took his best sword and jumped on his horse, which he prepared every morning in case he was finally called out on patrol.

Riding behind Arzi and Liva through the gates, he looked up at the sun rising over the bright green hills.

At last, his moment had arrived.

### *

The temple was an unusually quiet place and this was the only thing Batta liked about it. Located up on a hill east of the town, it had a simple rectangular shape and was painted a plain grey colour. The goal of the architecture was to make it look similar to The Perfect Book, which Batta thought they had succeeded with as the building was on the outside as well as on the inside just as boring as this most unappealing of books.

Staring at the grey ceiling above her she wondered what it was with The Mighty that made him hate anything beautiful. It seemed whatever things which gave humans happiness displeased him. Colours, music, love or sexual pleasure; somehow he had a way of always ruining everything.

The silence in the main hall was abruptly ended by the sound of a door opening and closing and by the desperate screams of a tortured lamb. Someone was coming out of the backroom where the animal sacrifices were performed.

It was a handsome man about her own age. He was wearing the traditional temple garb, a long grey tunic, and had gorgeous red locks. This colour of hair was very typical in temple workers as The Perfect Book ordered that every child born with red hair would be given to serve at the nearest temple where they would stay for all their lives. As such they were not allowed to marry or have children. Batta found that to be quite a shame, especially when she looked at the beautiful man in front of her.

"Be welcome," he said with a warm smile. "My name is Hamin. What can I help you with?"

"Greetings. My name is Batta and I would like to pledge servitude."

The man seemed surprised but nodded and kept on smiling. It was probably unusual for an attractive, still somewhat young woman to want to dedicate her life to temple service. Most people who joined the order by their own choice usually had no one and nothing to lose. Which was her case. She just didn't look like it.

"Well follow me, Batta. This way."

He led her to the east wing of the temple and showed her into a small room. In it was only a short bed and a jug of water on the ground next to it.

"There is a service garb under the pillow. Put it on and leave your old clothes by the bed. A temple servant will come tonight to take you to the sacrifice room and your initiation will begin."

Hamin closed the door behind him, living her alone to stare at the grey walls. Batta proceeded to take off her clothes, symbols of her former life, and put on the new ones. She felt strangely joyful when doing so. Her life up till now had been nothing but sorrow and she could not wait to leave it behind. At least now she had a hope, one pleasure to look forward to: revenge.

With nothing else to do she decided to sleep for a while. It took only a short moment before she drifted away into peaceful dreams.

### *

Djeen felt worried by Arzi's silence. He had not said a single word during their ride from Camp Red Wolf to Ily. Not that the man was usually very talkative.

Or, rather, it wasn't so much his silence which bothered Djeen but the nature of it. Arzi had not stopped frowning all morning and Djeen had never seen him so worried. Whatever their mission was in Ily, it must be of the greatest importance.

Upon arrival to the city Djeen was surprised to see that the gates were already open although midday had not yet come. Members from the Republican Guard were guarding the entrance to the city and letting only other soldiers in and out. Citizens, mostly travelling merchants, were arguing with some of the guards to let them pass. But as Djeen overheard one of the republican guards explain:

"Sorry, but the order came from the Highest Senator. Our hands are tied."

Further into the city everything seemed as usual. People were going about their day as if nothing had happened. They did not seem to pay any particular attention to the three soldiers riding by, wearing bright red armours with helmets shaped like vicious wolf heads. Only a small child looked up, pointed at them with its little hand and gasped in admiration.

Liva and Djeen kept following behind Arzi as he made his way towards the wealthier parts of the city. Having still no clue where they were going or why, Djeen would sometimes try to make eye contact with Liva to see if she knew and would give him a clue. But as usual she did not look at him or even acknowledge his presence. Ever since he had come to Camp Red Wolf, she had made it her mission to try her best to pretend like he didn't exist. If it was because of his still low status in the troop or because she simply did not like him, he knew not.

The three soldiers arrived at The Gold Gates. Made out of precious gold, these fences served as a barrier between the rest of the city and The Golden Village, where the richest and most powerful lived. Djeen did not know much about this place except that it was mostly inhabited by senators and that the likes of him were not welcome there.

"I am Arzi, leader of The Red Wolves," Arzi presented himself to the republican soldier guarding the gate. "Wife Julkis sent for me this morning via message bird. Would you be so pleasant to let us in? She is waiting for me."

"Sure," the soldier said. "You can come in. But not these two. Only pure citizens are allowed in here."

He pointed at Liva and Djeen as they did not look like Ilyians. Her being from the southern desert lands and him being a pale skinned northerner.

"These two?" Arzi said and chuckled. "These are my slaves. They are as much people as my horses. Pay no attention to them."

"Really? You put your slaves in armours and give them weapons?"

"I do. They are my slaves and I do what I want with them. Now, would you please let us in or do in need to ask my friend Wife Julkis, wife of a senator, to speak to your leader and have you kicked out of your troop for delaying my investigation?"

The guard swallowed nervously and reluctantly opened the heavy golden gates. However he had made them, it seemed Arzi had some powerful friends.

Djeen was surprised to find that The Golden Village was even more beautiful than he had imagined. Every house was at least the same size as the temple he had grown up in and all had lovely gardens around them. Republican soldiers were guarding the gates to each home as well as patrolling the large boulevards paved with what Djeen discovered to his astonishment was actual gold.

The Red Wolf soldiers arrived soon at a villa in front of which a large group of people were gathered. Djeen concluded that something of great importance must be occurring inside as the streets were otherwise almost empty and pleasantly silent.

"Tell Wife Julkis that Arzi of The Red Wolves has arrived," Arzi ordered a soldier at the gate.

The young woman nodded and ran to the mansion. Djeen felt slightly less worried now that he was looking at the people gathered around them. It seemed they were joyful, chattering away with smiles on their faces.

"Arzi!"

A woman came running out of the house. She looked quite like Djeen imagined a senator's wife would. Her long pleated dress was white and glimmering of gold, her beautiful brown hair breaded and tied in a knot. On her hands were expensive jewellery of real gem stones and the gracious way she ran across the yard reminded him of a deer trotting across a field.

A guard opened the gate to let Arzi in but pointed menacingly with his spear at Liva and Djeen to know their place.

The woman threw herself at Arzi, tears running down her face and sobbed into his shoulder. Strangely, the people gathered in front of the gate did not seem to have their cheery mood disturbed by this scene. Their smiles grew wider and Djeen could even hear some of them chuckle.

Wife Julkis ordered the guards to let in Liva and Djeen and they followed her order, although not without casting a last suspicious look at the two non-Ilyians.

The garden around the house was full of trees blooming in red, pink and purple. A narrow path of white gravel ran through it and on both sides were fountains where small birds bathed in the clear water. The house itself was a traditional Ilyian villa of white marble with high pillars surrounding it. On the sides of the entrance were statues of a man and a woman, most likely representing husband and wife Julkis.

"Watch out!"

Liva grabbed Djeen's arm as he was falling. Caught up in admiring his surroundings he had not paid attention to what was right in front of his feet and tripped over a pheasant crossing his path. The people behind the gate laughed joyfully as Liva helped him up and the colourful bird ran screeching and terrified into a nearby bush.

"Idiot," she whispered under her breath.

These were the first words she had said to him since the day they met.

Unsurprisingly, the inside of the house was as pleasant as its outside. White marble, golden as well as gem stone details and the soothing scent of incense welcomed the visitors.

"He is in the upstairs bedroom," Wife Julkis said and wiped tears from her swollen eyes.

Arzi nodded and gestured to Djeen and Liva to follow him up to the first floor, which was located up a flight of black marble stairs. They came to a wide hall leading to several rooms. Staying in front of the large oak door of one of them, Arzi put his hand on Djeen's shoulder.

"Djeen, do you know why I picked you and Liva to follow me on this mission?"

The young man shook his head as he knew not.

"Because you see so much," Arzi explained. "You have both very active minds and you notice things others often miss. What I want from you two is that you take in the room, study everything and tell me what you see."

Liva and Djeen nodded with obedience and Arzi pushed open the door. The pleasant scent of incense was immediately replaced by an odour all too familiar to Djeen: the sweet and rancid smell of death.

Arzi and Liva covered their noses as they stepped inside. Djeen did not. After having lived most of his life near the Redeemed the odour of decaying flesh did not even faze him.

Instead he calmly studied the corpse of the old man lying on the bed. He was wearing a traditional senator's robe which was just like the white bed covers tainted with blood. Next to him was a silver goblet, dropped unto the sheets and its purple content spilled on them.

"Liva, what do you see?" Arzi asked.

"The window is open. Could the murderer have escaped through it?"

A servant standing by the bed shook his head.

"No. The window was closed when we discovered the body. We opened it to... let the smell out."

Arzi put his hand once again on Djeen's shoulder. He found the touch from his boss much more pleasurable than was appropriate for the situation.

"Djeen, what do you see?"

"Well, it seems there is only blood on his chest, around his mouth and on his lap. It also seems like he did not try to get away. One thinks that he would have tried to crawl towards the door or perhaps towards the window to call for help. But he did not. He just laid back down on the bed after throwing up blood."

Arzi nodded and started walking around the bed.

"What does that tell you?"

"Either the poison worked so fast he had no time to react. Or maybe he wanted to or did not care if he died."

Picking up the goblet, Arzi swirled its leftover content and smelled it.

"Odourless. Liva, come take a look at this."

The young woman joined him on the other side of the bed and studied carefully the inside of the cup.

"Do you see this greenish residue at the bottom?"

"I do," she said and nodded. "Tiplipli root powder. It must have been a very painful death. And a slow one."

"Then it wasn't a suicide. Most likely," Arzi said and put down the goblet on the bedside table. "Somehow I don't know if that's better or worse."

He turned to the servant watching dutifully over his master's body.

"Who was the last person to see him alive?"

"That would be Vaëz. As Wife Julkis may have already told you she left the city for business about fifty days ago. The only person left in the house with senator Julkis was Vaëz, his personal servant. Upon returning Wife Julkis found her husband dead and Vaëz missing. My most humble guess would be that he is the murderer. Dusties are known for their deceitful ways."

The servant looked at Liva as he said the last sentence. Dusty was a slur commonly used to refer to someone from the desert lands.

"That is your opinion. Tell me more about this Vaëz," Arzi asked.

"Well, I don't really know that much about him. I know he's from the southern part of the Republic and that senator Julkis hired him as his personal servant. Although he registered him as a slave. Otherwise he would not have been allowed to take him beyond the Gold Gates. But he was no slave. Senator Julkis did not believe in owning them."

"Yes," Arzi said and looked at the oddly peaceful face of Nov Julkis. "He was a good man."

As Djeen also watched the decaying corpse of senator Julkis he noticed something on his chest, sticking from beneath his open robe and lying white as snow on top of the dried blood.

"What is that, master?" He said and pointed to the mystery object.

Arzi leaned closer to the corpse. Pinching his nose, he took a tissue out of his pocket and picked up from senator Julkis chest what turned out to be a white hibiscus flower.

"Not a stain of blood," he said and studied it closely. "Did someone put it there after finding the body?"

The servant shook his head and replied:

"I have been in this room since the body was discovered and this is the first time I've seen this flower."

"Then it probably was the murderer who put it there after the blood had dried. But why? What does it mean?"

All the people present in the room looked with sorrow at the deceased senator's face. He had been a good and noble man and would be dearly missed.

"Perhaps," Liva whispered, "a last farewell."

### *

Batta woke up laughing. In her dreams, she had found herself thinking about her husband and how furious he would be when he found out what she had done. She could see him raging, throwing chairs across the room and bawling like a gigantic child. Few things in this life still gave her pleasure but the thought of him suffering always brought a smile to her lips. Best of all was that she might never have to see him again. Soon she will no longer be his wife.

The Perfect Book allowed divorce in only two situations. One was infidelity, in which case the guilty party was of course executed, and the other was when one or both of the spouses pledged servitude. Joining the temple order was also the only decision a wife was allowed to make without her husband's permission. The explanation for this was that no one should ever be more important to a person than The Mighty. If a woman chose to forsake her husband for the sake of better serving Him then this could only be a good thing.

Which most likely wouldn't be the opinion of her soon-to-be former husband. But he would soon forget her and probably replace her with some young girl still too naïve to see through his deceitful charm.

When the door to the small, cold room finally opened Batta knew not how long she had waited. As the temple had no windows she also couldn't tell if it was night or day. Neither did she care. She simply followed the temple servant leading her to the sacrifice room and smiled. Her new life was about to begin.

This was not the first time Batta had been in the sacrifice room. Like The Perfect Book ordered she brought an offering to the temple every tenth day as well as on the special celebration days. She hated it every time. Ever since she was a little child seeing for the first the despair and terror of a lamb being slaughtered upon the altar she had asked herself why The Mighty, if he was so all-powerful and loving as they said, needed to see so much suffering to be pleased. But she had always kept her wonderings to herself. In this land, you did not ask questions. At least not unless you wanted to die in the public square.

The sacrifice room was quite small and contained nothing but a stone altar, burning torches upon the walls and the bronze utensils used to slaughter the offering. Only four people were waiting for her. Two were temple servants. The third one was a woman called Mother who served as some sort of maternal figure to those growing up and working in the temple. And least but not last the very man she had joined the order to find, the man she had sworn to destroy for the innocent blood he had made her spill: The Beloved One.

He was a red headed man maybe ten winters older than her. His expression as well as his eyes seemed for the most part empty except for in the moments rage possessed them. As much as she hated this man, Batta could not help but feel that there was something sad about a person who was so unacquainted with joy. But then again, who could truly be happy in this miserable land?

Beside one of the temple servants was today's offering held on a leash: a calf wagging its tail, happily unaware of the horrific fate waiting for it. Looking into its innocent eyes Batta felt great sorrow for the poor beast. She also felt sadness for the humans who could have been eating its meat instead of starving like most people outside of the temple walls were.

"Child," The Beloved One said, "you have made the greatest decision a person can ever make. You have chosen to give all of yourself to the service of The Mighty. The Perfect Book tells us that a good person never lies or goes back on their words. Therefore, I will not ask you if you are sure of your decision. You joined the order the moment you expressed your wish to do so."

Standing behind the altar he grabbed the large bronze knife lying on top of it.

"This is a good thing you are doing," he continued. "But no one is truly good. Only the mercy of The Mighty can make us clean. You have done wrong many times and carry within you the filth that has been in all of us since the very first human. Therefore, we shall beg for forgiveness and spill the blood of the offering to satisfy the just rage of The Mighty so that He may forgive you."

The temple servant holding the calf picked it up and laid it down on top of the altar. Still unaware of what was coming the animal did not seem to mind. It even tried to rub its head against the temple servant's hand, perhaps hoping for a scratch behind the ear.

The Beloved One tied the calf's legs with its own leash and continued:

"To pray for The Mighty's underserved mercy we shall chant the prayer 'Forgive Us Oh Greatest One'. Chant with me, all of you."

Batta knew every word to this supplication. It was one of the very first children were taught in school and without hesitation she joined in as everyone in the room sang the anxious words.

"Forgive us, oh Greatest One. Forgive us, oh Greatest One. For we are filled with filth. All of us, old ones and little ones. Wealthy ones and poor ones. Our wrongdoings pill up to the heavens. Oh have mercy, oh Greatest One! Oh, but we know oh Mighty One that we nothing deserve and nothing are without You. But Your Perfect Mercy is greater than our filth. Clean us from filth, accept our blood offering!"

With a scream of rage The Beloved One plunged the knife into the calf's neck and slashed its throat open. Dark red blood started to flow over the grey stone as the beast began to panic, desperately trying to get up but couldn't. Batta looked into its wide, terrified eyes. The last spasms of life shook its body. The last heavy breaths never reached the lungs but escaped in bubbles of blood though the wound. Then silence.

Batta held back tears from her eyes and looked up at The Beloved One. His hands were covered in blood, his face spattered with it. This seemed to bother him not at all. She looked around the room, in this place which saw only suffering, and cursed silently the one they called The Beloved. Prayed that he one day might meet the same bloody fate as all those he had slaughtered.

### *

"Damn you! Damn you!"

Rahin kicked the sand beneath her feet. Fell to her knees and punched it. Screamed at it. She could swear it was taunting her. Everywhere around her all she could see was sand. It was the only thing she had seen for days and she had become convinced it would be the last thing she would ever see.

How far away was Toyan? How many more days would she have had to walk to reach it? Surely, she would perish before she ever saw her homeland and her dear father again. She was out of food and water and too exhausted to take even one more step.

Lying down on the ground, she closed her eyes and prayed to Spirit to take her to the other side. Hunger plagued her guts, thirst her throat. And the very thought of getting up once more to face this world where she was despised just for existing was too much to bear.

A shadow over her. Was this the sweet darkness before being reunited with Spirit? The thought was comforting but when she opened her eyes she found that Number One was standing over her.

"You just won't let me give up, won't you? Your dumb beast."

Rahin sighed, stood up and started to throw all of her baggage from the backs of the dragons and unto the sand.

"I have no food, no water. It would be a perfect opportunity to give up. Wouldn't it? But no! You just won't let me, your damn dragon!"

She laid down on Number One's back and stared at the clear blue sky above her. It was beautiful, she found, and for some reason this made her even more irritated.

"Take me to Toyan then," she told Number One. "Rescue us from this Spirit forsaken desert if you're so smart."

She closed her eyes and rolled to her side. Number One began to walk. The gentle waggling of his steps soothed her and she wished it to rock her into peaceful dreams but her sorrow was too great and she could find no sleep.

So, breathing softly, she tried her best to calm herself down. Time passed. Day turned into night. Absolute silence surrounded them.

Number One eventually stopped and she could feel how he lay down on the ground, as if to signal to her that it was time to get off his back.

The bright stars above were the first things Rahin saw as she opened her eyes. Then the face of a child staring curiously at her. She stood up, looked around and was surprised to see other children observing her. Behind them was a simple mud hut like they were so many in this place.

A woman was standing in the doorway, smoking a pipe and watching the children play. She smiled at Rahin and said:

"Welcome to Toyan."

## Chapter Four

Rahin had tears in her eyes as she looked at her father. He had been an old man since before she was born but she had never seen him so weak, so emaciated. Skin and bones seemed to be all that was left of the once healthy man.

"I knew you would come," he said.

His voice was but a whisper and Rahin may not have been able to hear it if it wasn't for the complete silence of the room.

"I felt you getting ill," she said. "And I had visions of it."

Her father slightly turned his head and smiled at her.

"Do cry, my child. But feel no sorrow for me. I have lived a good life. I have been happy and loved you and your mother more than words could ever say. But Spirit has come to take back what it gave and take me once more to the first home. Miss me but do not despair for me. I surely do not."

Rahin let tears run down her cheeks and took his hand in hers. He squeezed it softly and smiled reassuringly.

"What is it, my dear daughter? I can sense something else troubling you."

She didn't want to bother him with her problems, especially not when he was in this condition. But she knew that he could sense her state of mind regardless so she saw no point in trying to hide them.

"I am having terrible visions. Ones of great violence and horrible things to come. Father, I don't know what to do. I feel so lost."

She stopped the pointless effort of trying to dry her tears and instead sobbed heavily into her hands.

"My poor child," her father said with tears in his eyes. "It is a very heavy burden Spirit has placed on you. And it has not been made easier by me not telling you the whole story, either. But you are now ready to hear all of it. Spirit tells me that this is the moment you will learn your destiny. I will tell you all you need to know on this day, while I still can."

### **

"I was born in this very town, like they would say further north, two hundred and ten winters ago. This is far more than most humans can live but as you already know those with a connection to Spirit can stay linked to the life force for much longer than the average person.

My father was a salt merchant who made the constant travel between the seas of salt further south and the cities beyond the desert up north. He had eight children, including me, who only saw him briefly when he stayed for a couple of days on his way up or down. My mother was a homemaker who did her best to feed us with the little rice and wheat our father would buy on his trips. But she was also a very bright person and a great judge of character so she became a popular matchmaker, arranging marriages between the young men and women in the town and earning some income this way.

From a young age, I assumed that my future would be to become a salt merchant like all men in my family. But it turned out that I was gifted with a connection to Spirit and would have a much different life.

My unusual abilities were discovered in my childhood, on a beautiful day when my friends and I were playing outside of my parents' house. We were chasing and kicking a boll between us when suddenly we heard the screams of a sand dragon. We immediately stopped our play and looked in the direction of the cries. A young sand dragon had stepped on some sort of sharp, rusty instrument which had pierced through its foot.

As you know, sand dragons have very thick skin so they rarely get injured in such a way but when it does happen they are extremely sensitive to infections. Even if someone managed to take out the instrument and stitch the wound close, the poor beast was very unlikely to survive.

Still, we rushed to the animal. We took the sharp object, which turned out to be a small gardening machete, out of its paw and I wrapped the wound with my shirt. The other children ran to get our parents as they were all gathered in the public square for a town meeting.

Alone with the beast, I took of the improvised bandage I had made and took a closer look at the injury. As I saw the blood dripping from the foot and felt it running cold over my hands, I suddenly experienced a strange emotion. Or it was more like a conviction. For some reason I could not explain I simply knew that if I put my hands on the wound all would be well.

So, I did and kept holding the animal's foot until my friends had come back with our parents. When my mother saw the injured sand dragon she asked me to show her the cut. But when I let go, there was none to be seen despite my hands being covered in bright red blood.

I still felt chocked even though I had known on some level that this would happen. Afraid that our parents would think we had made the whole story up, I reassured them with tears in my eyes that just a short moment ago there had indeed been a deep cut on the animal's foot.

But to my surprise the adults did not disbelieve me. On the contrary, they were very happy over what had happened. They told me I had a gift and was destined for great things.

The sand dragon made a complete recovery and my life was never the same. But while the adults in the town were thrilled over my newfound abilities, the children were not so much. One thing about children is that they can be incredibly cruel to those who are different.

Although, they did not beat me or mock me in any way. You see, they were afraid that I would curse them. Which is something I would not have known how to do at the time even if I had wanted to.

No, the other children did not beat or make fun of me. They simply shunned me and made of me a very lonely boy.

My mother, seeing this, arranged for me to meet a boy who lived on the other side of town. His name was Ezlen and he was the son of one of the many couples whose marriage she had arranged.

Ezlen was like me gifted with a connection to Spirit. Although his talent had been discovered much earlier than mine. His mother once told me that when she used to breastfeed him sometimes he would bite her a bit too hard so that her nipples would start to bleed. Ezlen would then simply put his little hand on the wound, heal it and continue suckling as if nothing had happened.

As he had discovered his gift much earlier than I, he was more skilled and taught me many things. We also worked hard on developing new Spirit talents together and as time went by we became close like brothers.

You know that sorcerers usually have one thing they are most gifted with. For you it is visions and foretelling. Ezlen and I shared strong healing powers. We did not miss a chance to put them to good use, helping both humans and beasts to regain their health.

The inhabitants of Toyan were of course most thankful for this and we both loved our city dearly. But somehow Ezlen and I felt that it wasn't quite right to share our gift only with the people of our hometown. So, when we became young men we bought each a sand dragon and made our way across the desert to heal and serve people all over the Republic.

We travelled far and wide, from the grand city of Ily to the mountains of the north and to the plains and forest lands in between. Through our journey we saw all sorts of diseases, plagues and injuries. We healed young and old, beasts and humans, poor and rich. Never did we care about who people were or what they had done in the past. Neither did we accept any kind of payment for our services. As we saw it, our only duty was to share the unconditional love of Spirit with all.

But as time went by and we made many such trips away from our dear home, Ezlen became increasingly unhappy. I saw for each day that passed the light slowly disappear from his eyes as if existence itself had become a burden to him. One day I finally asked him why he seemed to feel such misery.

He told me that he had started to despair over the world because of all the suffering we saw. There was no way we could heal all, he said, and some people's illnesses were so severe that even our healing powers combined could not remedy them.

The fact that there is darkness as well as light in the world and that we could not possibly save everyone was nothing new, I told him and wondered why he suddenly had become so sorrowful over something we had known all along. As an answer he only let tears run down his eyes.

The following day he came by my house and asked if I we could go on another journey through the Republic. We had just recently returned from such a trip and I had been hoping to spend a little more time with my family. But I thought that maybe this was what Ezlen needed at that moment. If he could spend many days healing other beings then maybe he would start to despair less over all the ones he could not help.

We left Toyan a few days later and while we walked through the desert Ezlen told me of a project he had started working on the previous day. It was a book on medicine. Preventive medicine to be more exact. As we had seen on our many trips, one of the most common reasons for poor health was that people were often uneducated on the topic of how to properly take care of themselves. His book would be a guide of sorts on how to live one's life so that one minimized one's risk of getting ill. This project seemed like a good idea to me. Most of all, I was happy that Ezlen had begun to focus on helping people once more instead of despairing over the evil existing in the world.

Thirty days after leaving Toyan we finally reached the nearest town. We immediately started working and bringing healing to any being we could. Ezlen started to feel better and as we travelled towards the north I felt nothing but hope.

One day we arrived at a little village located in the forest lands of the middle of the Republic. We encountered a family where the husband had severely ill lungs. After examining him, we determined that this was most likely caused by the lifelong smoking of an energizing herb which grew in the area. This was something we had seen many times before and after we healed him we encouraged him to give up his dangerous habit. The man promised he would. I don't know if he actually did but we had done our best to help him.

As we left the village the following day I could tell Ezlen was upset about something and asked him about it. He explained that he felt angry with the man we had healed the previous day. Smoking this popular herb was widely known to be harmful. Then why did he do it, especially when he had so many children to care for?

I agreed with Ezlen that it was frustrating to see people do what they clearly knew was not good for them. But I also reminded him that our job as healers was to help people unconditionally and that in the end every individual was in charge of their own life.

At this point Ezlen became very agitated. He mumbled something about 'maybe they shouldn't be' and when I asked him what he meant he told me to forget it, that he didn't feel like talking. I respected his wish and gave him some space in hopes that he would start to come down and feel better.

But after that day he never did. I saw him slowly sink into despair again. Every night as we sat by the campfire, he would just stare into the flames and not say a word. From time to time he would pick up the little notebook he carried with him everywhere and write some lines.

Previously he had let me see what he wrote in it and it was good advice, like what foods were healthy to eat or what herbs and roots could help treat different ailments. Now he refused to let me see it and he started to speak to me less and less.

After some time, I began to sense something growing in him. To this day I could not tell you what it was, if it was some to me unknown dark side of Spirit or some other force entirely. But day by day I could feel his connection to this mysterious evil become stronger.

Apart from his writings, he also began to work on discovering new potions and spells. His sorrowful silence by the campfire was replaced with chanting and the sound of experimental concoctions boiling over the flames.

Meanwhile I tried my best to cheer him up so that he would not entirely lose himself to his own sorrow. One night in particular I asked him if he wanted to accompany me into the nearest town. There was going to be a comedy play in the city stadium and I thought a good laugh would lighten his spirit.

His reaction was not what I expected. Furious, he kicked over the cauldron in which he was working on a new potion and spilled its still boiling content unto the ground. He screamed at me, asking me how I could even think of having a good time when people all over the world were in pain.

I told him that one could not just think about the evil in the world all day long otherwise one would easily lose one's mind. To stand the darkness everyone needed to experience the light and happiness of the world also.

As a response he just snorted at me and told me that if I didn't care about helping people then maybe I shouldn't have been born a sorcerer.

Hurt and on the brink of tears, I ran off and did not come back until the following morning. Upon arrival at our campsite I discovered that Ezlen was gone and that he had left a note for me by my sleeping bag.

It said that he was sorry that he had hurt me the previous night but that soon all would be well. He was on the verge of a great discovery, one which would bring an end to all suffering. The note ended with it saying that he loved me like his own brother and that he would be back after a couple of days.

So, I waited. Of course, I still worried about him but I thought that maybe some time alone was just what he needed. I decided to keep myself busy while waiting for him by making potions and doing healing work in the surrounding towns.

But as the days went by, I became more and more anxious. I had expected him to be back very soon but after twelve days he still hadn't come back. So, I decided to venture into the woods where I suspected he had gone to find solitude.

I walked for about half a day, visiting the nearby caves and abandoned cabins. Seeing no sign of him I decided to meditate and connect with Spirit so that I could better sense Ezlen's soul and perhaps locate him.

There was a river by the hut I had just searched and I decided to sit by the shore to do my spiritual exercise. I sat down on the wet grass, took a deep breath and closed my eyes. That is when I was suddenly struck with one of the most powerful visions I have ever had.

I saw a crow, a gigantic one, spreading its wings across the heavens. The shadow it cast spread slowly across the earth and any living thing, whether it was beast or human or even vegetation, died and withered when it was touched by it. The bird crowed, exactly three times, and stared down at me. It looked deep into my eyes and I realized that the crow was Ezlen.

Terrified, I cried out and asked him what he had become. Ezlen crowed back and although he did not use human word I understood. He was telling me that he had become one with a mighty force which had given him the power to rule over life and death. Through this force he had also discovered the truth to all mysteries and brought an end to all suffering. With pride he told me to look over the earth and see all the joy he had created.

But I saw only bodies scattered over fields of ashes. I looked up at Ezlen, searching desperately in his eyes for an answer to what had happened to him. He only laughed, a strangely innocent laugh like that of the child, and flew in a flash to the north.

I opened my eyes again, saw the peaceful forest and heard the soothing sound of the water and of the singing small birds. Jumping quickly on my feet, I began to run and call my dear brother's name. Getting no answer, I made my way towards the north for this was wherefrom I could sense the soul of Ezlen. And the dark force enveloping him.

For forty whole days I walked, staying only to sleep or pick up berries and roots to eat. As I travelled I felt Ezlen continually moving further up to the north. Something as evil as overpowering had taken over him and was driving him forward.

I felt him stop once he reached the foot of the Wind Mountains. These gigantic peaks covered in eternal snow are impossible to cross even with the best preparations and equipment so I thought he would turn back or change his course to the east or to the west. But he stayed for the whole five days it took me to catch up to him.

When I finally found him in the late evening of an unusually cold day, he was sitting by a fire and petting a creature which from far away looked like some sort of dog. As I approached the animal seemed to become frighten and ran into a nearby bush before I had a chance to take a good look at it.

I sat down on the other side of the fire and studied the face of my brother. He was staring into the flames and seemed to not even notice me. His eyes were swollen, his face and body emaciated.

"I knew you were following me."

I was surprised to hear him speak to me but as the same time relieved to hear his voice after so many days.

"Yes. I became worried when you didn't come back."

"I appreciate your concern. But you need not worry for me. Soon all will be fine."

He tossed a new log into the fire and finally looked up at me. His eyes were filled with tears of joy but his expression was that of great confusion.

"I have discovered the one true path, the one which lead to the end of all suffering."

"Which is that, Ezlen? How did you find it?"

My brother stared at me with a suspicious look, as if he was surprised that I didn't know.

"It is right in front of us at all times. It is in the life force surrounding us. There is an answer to all questions, a remedy for all ills. It is perfection."

Not wanting to upset him or make him run away once more, I played along. The more I knew about this mysterious madness that had taken over Ezlen, the better were my chances to help him.

"Show me, brother. Show me the truth path, I ask of you."

He smiled, shaking with joy, and jumped up from the log he was sitting on.

"I will, brother! I will show you what I have created!"

Ezlen turned towards the bush were the doglike creature had previously run to hide.

"Come here, Wolfie! Come here, boy!"

The beast emerged shyly from the vegetation. It circled the campsite slowly, as if to study me and make sure I did not impose any threat. The dim light from the fire revealed gradually more of the animal as it came closer. What I saw when I finally could see it clearly almost made my stomach turn inside out.

The creature looked long-dead although it was alive. Its eyes were a yellowish white, its flesh rotten. The fur had almost completely fallen off it, giving the creature a strange naked look. And most shocking of all: the smell.

Never in my life before or after have I ever sensed such a horrid odour. My nose nearly hurts just by thinking about it now.

I had previously vaguely felt the smell of death but assumed some wild creature had crawled under some bush and died. But as the doglike beast approached me, the stench made me almost unable to breath.

"What is this? Ezlen, what have you done?!" I cried out.

His reaction was not what I expected. He started to laugh.

"Brother, I have ended suffering! I have ended death!"

He kept laughing with joy and started to hop around like a playful lamb.

"Let us spread the good news, brother! All over the Republic! All over the world! But first, over the mountain!"

Ezlen pointed at the snowy peaks and started to walk quickly towards the path which led to the mountains. The undead dog following him closely.

"Stop! Ezlen, you are out of your mind!"

My brother turned around and stared at me with an amused expression on his face.

"Why have you so little faith? Can you not see that a great new age is born? Come with me and I will guide you to the one true path!"

Losing my patience I said the words that I then regretted for the rest of my life. Not because they weren't true, but because they told a truth Ezlen was not yet mature to hear.

"There is no one true path!"

The amused expression disappeared from his face and was instead replaced by one of great fury like I had never before seen in my brother. He clinched his fists and hit them violently and repeatedly against each other. They began to glow more and more, bright red in the dark night.

"Ezlen, wait!" I begged.

But he did not care for my pleadings and shot a boll of speeding energy towards me. I was hit in my shoulder, fell backwards and screamed in pain as my flesh began to burn and bleed.

Ezlen turned around like my pain meant nothing to him and started to walk once more towards the mountain.

"Wait!" I yelled and jumped back on my feet. "You will freeze to death up there!"

No sorcerer I had ever known or heard of had enough magic to hold them warm for the many days the crossing of the Wind Mountains took and Ezlen had not even a proper coat on his back. Desperate to save my brother from certain death, I ran after him as fast as my feet could carry me.

Ezlen chuckled as he heard me approach. Without stopping or even turning around he raised his fist and threw another boll of energy at me. This time I was hit in the head, which gave me burn scars on one half of my face as you can see even today.

I felt an intense pain for a short second and then... darkness.

When I came to again, daytime had come and the sun was blazing with all its afternoon heat. I sat up in the grass and felt my face which was still bleeding and badly hurting. So much time had passed that Ezlen had probably already frozen to death up on the mountain. Distraught, I put my head in my hands and cried. My tears mixing with my blood.

So devastated was I that I didn't even care about healing my own wounds. The pain in my soul could never be overshadowed by the one in my flesh and the scars served for the rest of my life as a reminder over the unbearable sorrow and guilt I felt over not having been able to rescue my brother.

I walked back to our camp, packed up the tents and began the journey back towards our homeland. Many times along the way I thought about returning, organizing an expedition to the mountains and trying to find Ezlen. But deep down I knew that even in the very unlikely event that he had somehow survived all the way to the other side, he would not let me find him. Ezlen was always a far more powerful sorcerer than I ever could dream of becoming and he could easily block me from connecting with him through Spirit, thereby making it impossible for me to locate his whereabouts.

No, my beloved brother was gone. I mourned him, cried over him countless days and nights. Then life moved on. I continued my work as a healer, got married thrice and to shield myself from the pain managed somehow to not think of Ezlen for a very long time. That is until you were born.

A fateful day it was, like they would say further north, twenty winters ago. I was in a house a street away from our own and had just finished healing a patient when our neighbour came running in to inform me that your mother was in labour.

I rushed home and was met with your aunt Bibia guarding the entrance. Tradition forbids a man to be present in the room when his wife is giving birth but her sister knew that I care very little for tradition and that I would want to use my healing powers to help your mother. So she stayed put in the doorway for the whole afternoon it took for you to be born.

Luckily my abilities had not been needed as everything had gone well. I was finally let inside the room as the sun went down over the dunes. And from the very moment I saw you, I loved you more than any person I have ever loved.

Your mother was holding you in her arms as I stepped to her bedside. She looked up at me and smiled, proudly showing me our only child wrapped safely in a white wool blanket. I sat down on the edge of the bed and she put you in my arms.

You were asleep at first but then you opened your eyes. I touched you little baby cheek and you looked up, smiled at me with your still toothless gums. Holding you closer to me I wished to protect you from all the evils of the world, to make sure you never knew either pain or suffering. But as you already know, fate had other plans.

As I was sitting with you in my arms, I heard the sound of the wind. Thinking that it came from the outside I didn't think much of it although I found it odd that the weather had shifted so quickly. Then I felt the cold and the snow blowing around me. I was suddenly in the middle of a vision.

I saw the Wind Mountains and on top of it a young man. His eyes were icy blue, his hair bright red. He gazed towards the snowy lands north of the mountains and saw that they were covered in darkness. Then he turned around, looked towards the southern lands and saw them illuminated by a beautiful daylight.

In both his hands were long swords shimmering in the light of the moon and of the sun. The young man did not move as a violent wind blew around him. He stood quietly, in the darkness and in the light.

I realised that I was standing in front of him, so close that I could see the snowflakes in his beard. He stared into me with cold eyes and suddenly he was a little child, a baby being held in his mother's arm in a cold and poorly lit room.

The woman was crying as she looked down at her son. She kissed his forehead and gave him over to an elderly woman in a long grey robe. The child began to cry and scream and his mother broke down in tears as he was carried out of the room.

I could see him in my arms as if I was the woman holding him. He continued to cry and stared angrily at me with his blue eyes. Which became brown tearless eyes.

Suddenly the child had become you and I awoke from my vision. From this moment on I knew that whoever this little boy was, your destinies were intertwined.

As you grew up more visions came to me. They were a few, I could count them all on one hand, and very cryptic but they told me that a great evil was on its way and that only you and this mysterious boy had the power to stop it.

I wrote down all the visions I had in a notebook which I will now give to you. On these vellum pages are their descriptions and messages, including a spell that came to me in my latest vision about five days ago.

I do not understand exactly what this danger is that you will have to face. But I have a strange feeling that it has something to do with Ezlen. The Wind Mountains, a great shadow of evil spreading across the earth and some other signs in my visions make me thing that all of this is somehow connected to him and to the premonition I had by the river.

I do not know for sure if this is the case. You also have your own connection to Spirit and a greater gift of foretelling. Perhaps you know better than I what is coming, perhaps Spirit has chosen to not disclose to me some of the truths of your fate.

But either way, know my dear daughter that I love you with all my heart. And fear not, Spirit will guide you and show you the way.

I feel very tired, Rahin, and I can feel Spirit calling for me to reunite with it. Before I go, hear my very last wish:

If ever you see Ezlen, if ever by some miracle he is still alive somewhere, please tell him that I loved him. No matter what he did, no matter how far into evil he allowed himself to drift, tell him that I loved him. Tell my brother that I loved him until my very last breath."

### **

Her father spoke no more words after these. His eyes closed and she knew that the end would soon be here. She watched him sleep, watched his chest go up and down with breathing, until it no longer did.

Rahin kissed his still warm forehead and went outside to inform her two cousins waiting outside that her father had passed. The men came inside to wrap the body in white linen and pour expensive perfume on it like was the tradition before the ritual burning. Then they carried her father into the desert where they had prepared the funeral pyre.

Family and friends gathered around it, crying and singing prayers to Spirit as the pile of wood along with the man they had loved was set on fire. The flames rose up to the sky, the smell of burnt flesh and perfume was dispersed through the air.

Rahin could not bring herself to cry. It was if as her mind had not yet comprehended that he truly was gone, that her dear father whom she had been talking to on this very day would never again speak.

When nothing of the pyre and body was left but ashes, she returned to her parents' house. It was empty of people as her mother had passed away when Rahin was still just a child. The poor woman had been killed by marauders who attacked and assaulted her when she had gone outside of the city to fetch water from a nearby well.

It was after this happened that her father, a peaceful man who had always abhorred violence, brought home a sword. He wanted to make sure he could protect his child if ever he needed to and he had even taught Rahin how to use it.

Although Rahin had always been much more skilful with the bow and arrow, she decided to take her father's sword with her on her journey back. You could never know when you would have to engage in close combat. And the only thing certain about Rahin's future was that it would be anything but peaceful.

## Chapter Five

"There is no boy."

These were the words of Ussa as she looked at the sketched drawing she was holding in her hands.

"What do you mean?" Arzi asked.

"I mean that this boy, the one they call Vaëz, does not exist."

Arzi took the piece of paper from her hands and studied it closely. He frowned, staring first at the sketch then back at the old woman. Finally, he sighed and put it back down on the table.

"How can there be no boy? Numerous people have told us about him. Wife Julkis herself drew this for us to help us find him."

Ussa shrugged.

"I don't know. I can only tell you what Spirit tells me."

Arzi started to walk back and forth in the room as he often did when he felt worried or anxious.

"Could it be that he's dead? And that is why you cannot sense his soul?"

The woman shook her head and answered with certainty.

"No. Even the dead can be sensed in Spirit. But this boy never existed."

"Then what does this mean? That Wife Julkis and her household all lied?"

Ussa slurped a couple spoons of soup and answered slowly, as if she was careful to repeat exactly what Spirit was telling her.

"No. No, they did not. Rather, they think he does exist. But he does not."

Not taking her eyes off the bowl she added salt along with dried bread into the soup and carried on with her meal. It was obvious this whole conversation interested her very little.

Arzi gave up on trying to get information on Vaëz for the time being. Instead he focused on the white hibiscus. He put the flower on the table and sat down on the opposite side.

"I will soon leave you to have your supper in peace. I know that it is late and you are very tired. But before I go, could you please sense this flower for me and tell me what you see? Someone, probably the killer, left it on senator Julkis' body."

The sorceress took the flower into her palms and closed her eyes.

"I sense great anger," she said. "And deep bitterness. I am trying to feel the murderer's motive but the fury they felt clouds it."

She kept concentrating and hummed some sort of chant. After a while, she opened her eyes again.

"But Spirit tells me he was killed because he was an obstacle. Someone wanted something to happen which could not unless he died."

Arzi felt satisfied with the answers. They were his first clues since he left Ily earlier that day.

"Thank you, Ussa. I greatly appreciate your help. I will let you have some repose for the rest of the evening. Have a good night."

He made his way towards the door and out of Ussa's cabin but she called to him as he was going through the door.

"Boss!"

"Yes, Ussa?"

"The red one, the short one?"

Arzi felt confused by her words at first but then realised who she was talking about.

"You mean Djeen."

"Yes, the little red man. He is the right choice. He is the right way."

Sorcerers always spoke in such riddles. Arzi found it frustrating but he did not hold it against her. Like she said, she could only tell him what Spirit told her.

"What do you mean?"

"You will know," was her simple answer. "You will know."

### *

Batta felt both happy and frustrated with the work she had been given at the temple. She liked it because she enjoyed cooking but she disliked the fact that her assignment to the kitchen meant she virtually never saw The Beloved One.

Still, she never stopped plotting his demise. She had become acquainted with the routines at the temple and knew that he was here mostly in the evening. During the day, he spent his time patrolling the city with his guards and looking for wrongdoers. When he found them it usually resulted in them dying or having body parts cut off. From what Batta had heard he considered a failure every day on which he didn't come back with a least a little blood on his clothes.

Apart from nights and evenings, The Beloved One was also present for special occasions and holy celebrations. She didn't know when next such event would occur as she had lost counts of how many days had passed since she had come to this place. But she knew that when the opportunity presented itself to destroy her enemy, she would not miss it.

Wrapped in a dirty towel and tied to her inner thigh was a small knife she had stolen one day when she had been working alone in the kitchen. Ever since she had started every morning by taking her secret weapon from under her mattress and tying it to her upper leg.

Batta felt fairly sure that no one was unto her. No guards ever demanded to search her room and as sexually repressed as the men of this place were she doubted that the thought of looking at her thighs would even cross their minds.

It all seemed almost too simple but she didn't mind. Soon the blood of The Beloved One would be on her hands and nothing else could make her happier.

### *

The house of the Highest Senator was located on the highest hill of The Golden Village and was in its architecture quite different from the surrounding villas. While most of the other senators' homes were rectangular and encircled by beautiful gardens, the Highest Senator's was of a circular shape and had a garden in the centre of it instead of around it.

It was in this inner sanctuary, which also served as some sort of waiting room, that Arzi and Djeen were patiently anticipating the moment guards would call them into the Highest Senator's office. While Djeen seemed to feel quite relaxed sitting in a wicker chair, Arzi spent the time by walking up and down the white gravel path in the centre of the garden.

His nerves were starting to get to him and he wondered if maybe he had taken on a task he could not possibly fulfil. Murder investigations were not one of his specialities. In fact, this was his very first and it was very unlikely he would have even gotten involved if it wasn't for the past he and Wife Julkis shared.

To sooth his anxiety Arzi closed his eyes and focused on the sounds of the garden. The running water of the fountains. The singing of the domesticated birds. The crunching sound of his feet touching the gravel. Somehow he had to find a way to conquer himself and focus on the task at hand.

He opened his eyes again and sat down next to his companion.

"Djeen, how much do you know about politics?"

"Not much," the young man said shrugging. "I know that the senators are chosen by the citizens and then the senators debate in the senate and make all the important decisions for the city."

In deed it was not much. But Arzi had not expected him to know more than this. After all he was not an Ilyian and was unlikely to be acquainted with the cunning ways of the city's politics.

Arzi suspected that Djeen wasn't even from the Republic. There was just something about the way he talked that gave him away. Arzi had travelled all over the land, from the icy north to the hot south, but he had never heard anyone with an accent like Djeen's. Although Arzi chose not to bring it up. He figured there was a good reason Djeen felt a need to persistently lie about being a tribesman from the far north of the Republic.

A guard interrupted his pondering when he came to inform them that the Highest Senator would now see them. They followed him down a long hall with marble pillars on both side. On the floor beneath their feet was a succession of colourful mosaics, most of them depicting the Senator and all of his exploits in the senate. Golden statues and gigantic paintings on the walls also depicted him. Every single one of them.

It seemed the Highest Senator was a man very fond of himself and Arzi wondered if maybe there was a way for him to use this knowledge to his advantage.

The soldier led them to a massive wooden door guarded by two other members of the Republican Guard.

"Wife Julkis' friend is here," he announced knocking on the door.

"Let him in!" A man's voice answered.

The doors opened slowly and without a sound. Arzi began to walk down the long purple carpet but Djeen went to the corner designated for slaves as he was considered unworthy to step further into the Highest Senator's office.

It pained Arzi to see his friend treated like some animal but he figured the house of the most powerful man in the Republic was not the right place to express his personal distaste for Ilyian customs. Instead he put on his politest smile and said as he stopped in front of the Senator's desk:

"Greetings, Highest of senators. I wish before everything to thank you for taking the time to meet me. I know that you are a very busy man with heavy responsibilities and I truly appreciate you granting me this favour."

The Senator was lying on a high divan on the other side of the desk. Sitting by him and on the floor were several scantily clad female slaves, one of which was feeding him grapes from her hand.

"Thank you for your flattery," the Senator said. "But let's just get to why you are here. I understand that you are the person Wife Julkis has given the mission to investigate the death of her husband. Please have a sit."

Arzi sat down on one of the wicker chairs in front of the desk. The Senator looked around the room and asked:

"Can I get you anything? Perhaps some food, drink or some... pleasant company?"

He pointed with his right hand to a long table on which lay a wide assortment of foods and to the wine fountain next to it. His left hand he put on one of the female slave's curvy behind.

"A glass of wine could be pleasant", Arzi answered and tried to distract himself from staring at the gorgeous women the Senator was holding on golden leashes.

Truly he understood that if the women themselves had any choice they would have chosen to be anywhere but here. Still, the sight of their exposed skin and plentiful bosoms awoke his desire.

A slave poured the Senator's guest a glass of wine from the fountain at the order of his master. Arzi took a sip, hoping that the alcohol would calm his nerves.

"I understand that Nov Julkis wasn't really popular in the senate."

"It is true", the Senator said nodding. "Most thought him a fool. The only reason he was even is the senate is because he was elected a long time ago, when he was still a member of the Justice Party. Then he began to develop all sorts of nonsensical ideas and started his own party. Since senators are elected for life there was nothing we could do to kick him out even if many wished they could."

"Do you think one of the senators who wanted him out could have taken matters into their own hands?"

Arzi jumped in his seat at the sound of the Senator's hand striking the face of the woman feeding him. Spitting out a grape from his mouth, he pushed her down to the floor.

"This one was rotten! Watch what you are giving me before you put it in my mouth, your dumb slut!"

"Guards!" He called out. "Take her back to the cage in my bedroom. I will teach this one a lesson when I'm done here."

Turning back to Arzi and having regained his calm as quickly as he had lost it the Senator asked:

"Do you know how many senators joined Julkis' party?"

"I do. It was none."

"Exactly," the Senator said. "We are here talking about a man with so little political power that not even one of the other four hundred and ninety-nine members of the senate wanted to join him. I sincerely believe that if his ideas would be put into practice they would lead to nothing less than the absolute collapse of society. But, thank Spirit, no one took them seriously. So Julkis had no power and was in nobody's way when it came to political matters. If you want my honest opinion I don't think his killer is to be found in the senate."

"So you don't believe his murderer had any political motives?"

The Highest Senator shook his head but then abruptly stopped, as if he had suddenly remembered something.

"Well, it might. But not from anybody in the senate. Are you familiar with a group calling themselves the Together Party?"

The very mention of the terrorist organisation sent chills down Arzi's back. He had seen with his own eyes the horrors they were capable of.

"I do, unfortunately. I was present during the Massacre At The Market and was one of the few to get out alive."

"How horrible. You must have been just a child at the time?"

Arzi nodded but quickly changed the subject. There was much pain associated with this event and he would rather not think further of it.

"So, you think the Together Party has something to do with it?"

"It's definitely a possibility. They had some common goals with Julkis, such as the abolition of slavery. But they hated him. They saw him as a hypocrite who claimed to want to change the system but still worked within it. My personal theory is that if they killed him they did so to create more animosity towards the senate and gain more members in the process. Many of those unworthy of voting, such as slaves and non-Ilyians, liked Julkis. But with him out of the way, there is no one in the senate they can sympathize with and no other person or organisation fighting for their so-called rights. Thinking of it, the Together Party had only things to gain from his death."

Arzi agreed. It was definitely a lead worth investigating. But he still didn't discount the possibility that some other senator, perhaps even the Highest Senator himself, was involved in the murder.

"Incidentally," the Senator continued, "one of the most important leaders of the Together Party was finally captured just a few days ago. If you come back tomorrow I can arrange for you to interrogate him in prison. I also want to say that while Nov Julkis was a rambling idiot, he was still a senator and I will not tolerate anyone hurting a member of the senate. I assure you that if and when you find out who is responsible for this murder, that person will be punished with the utter most severity allowed by the law."

With his face turning red from anger, the Senator seemed genuinely upset over what had happened to Julkis. But Arzi knew better than to trust his own impression. Ilyian politicians were the most skilled in all the Republic when it came to being manipulative and he knew that.

"Thank you for all your help, Senator. Interrogating this terrorist sounds very interesting. What is his name?"

"Goran Bezz. Do you know who he is?"

Arzi felt the hair rise in the back of his neck as soon as he heard the name. Goran Bezz was one of the founding members of the Together Party and the prime instigator to the Massacre At The Market. The very mention of him gave Arzi so much rage that he could not even form a coherent answer in his mind. Luckily, the Senator just kept on talking instead of waiting for him to respond.

"Anyway, he is a very important leader in the Together Party and if they had anything to do with Julkis' murder then he must know about it. It's unlikely that he would just tell us the truth but the guards at the city prison can be very... persuasive. And if you need anything else for your investigation, just come to me. I truly hope for the murderer to be discovered soon. Mostly so that I can put his head on a spike in the public square."

### *

As he was watching Djeen play with his little puppy, Arzi was reminded of how complex people were. Just two days ago he had seen Djeen come home from patrolling proudly waving around several human heads tied together by their hair. Since they had markings on their faces signalling that they were very dangerous criminals Arzi had felt content as he knew that he would get a good price for them when he took them to the headquarters of the Republican Guard.

Still, he found it a strange feeling to see the same hands that so frequently slaughtered vicious men now cuddle and pet a dog no bigger than his forearm.

"You should wash that thing," he said. "It's probably full of lice."

"She is not a thing," Djeen retorted. "I'll have you know her name is Rose."

"You know this breed gets huge when they're fully grown, right? Like a small horse."

"Then maybe she can be of use to us in our patrolling. She'll bite the heads off our enemies, make you plenty of money and then even you cold-hearted man will love her."

Arzi shook his head and laughed. He loved their playful bickering.

"Fine, you can keep her. But she's not sleeping in the bed with us."

Djeen made a sound which sounded like a celebratory giggle and kissed the pink nose of the puppy he had earlier today saved from being eaten by a bigger and older street dog. He put her on a pile of his own clothes next to the bed and crawled down under the covers.

The two men were in a tavern in the shadiest part of town. Since they would have to rise up early the next morning to visit the prison and especially since the city gates only opened at midday, they had decided to stay the night at Ily instead of riding back to Camp Red Wolf.

Arriving at the tavern they had discovered that just one room was still vacant and that it only had one bed. Arzi felt a bit uncomfortable with the arrangement and had chosen to keep is undershirt and long pants on.

Djeen on the other hand was far less shy and had taken of everything except for a tight loincloth which left very little to the imagination.

Arzi tried to not think too much about the fact that this athletic young man he had desired since the very first time he laid eyes on him in the stadium now was lying right next to him. He closed his eyes and focused on trying to sleep but he was disturbed by Djeen's whispering voice.

"Arzi, what's the 'Massacre At The Market'?"

Opening his eyes and turning to him, Arzi replied in a voice that sounded angrier than he intended.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I... I don't know. It's just one of the few things I was able to hear from across the room at the Senator's. I've lived over seven hundred days in Ily but I've never heard of it before."

His cheeks were turning a pinkish red colour and Arzi felt a dash of guilt over having reacted the way he had done.

"What they call the Massacre At The Market," he said, "is something that happened when I was a child. The city had raised a number of taxes which forced many merchants to raise their prices to still be able to make a living. The Together Party saw this as an act of oppression from the merchants towards their clients, many which were poorer than them. According to the Together Party's political beliefs, dooming yourself to a life of poverty is the only right thing to do if it spares someone else from having to spend more money. The filthy terrorists decided to attack the city's biggest market in the early morning when it had not yet opened and the merchants were still setting up their stands. They rode in heavily armed and proceeded to slaughter everyone, even women and children. Their rationale for killing even the little ones was that they would most likely grow up to take over their parents' businesses and thereby, according to the terrorists' beliefs, also become evil oppressors. As for me, the only reason I survived is because I hid under a pile of animal skins."

"You were there?"

By the horrified expression on Djeen's face, Arzi figured he had not heard that part.

"I shouldn't have brought it up," Djeen said, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. But we should try to get some sleep now. We have a full day tomorrow."

Arzi closed his eyes and tried to repress the memories that had been brought back to life on this day. Memories of witnessing his parents and baby sister being murdered, of their corpses among hundreds of others in the market place and of being found by a republican guard who held him in his arms while Arzi cried in hysterics.

To find some peace he tried to reminisce happy moments from his life before the massacre: His mother cuddling him. His father letting him sit on his shoulders while he ran around their small apartment. The sweet smiling face of his little sister.

All these memories made Arzi feel only slightly better. With his back turned away from Djeen so that he could not see, Arzi had to shed some tears before he was finally able to drift off to sleep.

He awoke from nervous dreams later in the night. Through the window Arzi could see the moon and the stars shining brightly over the city, their light reflected upon the white buildings. Not a sound was heard, not even the shy steps of the street dogs so common in this part of the city.

Arzi felt uneasy with this peaceful ambience. It was almost an encouragement to feel relaxed and this was something he never allowed himself to be. When you least expect it is when the worst things happen. He had learned this lesson the hard way.

He looked down and saw that he was lying close to Djeen, his arm around the young man's muscular waist. Arzi could feel Djeen's buttocks against his groin. Red fuzzy neck hair against his cheek.

Arzi let go of him and did not move to make sure he had not awoken. Then, when he was fairly certain of it, he suddenly felt Djeen's hand on his own. Guiding Arzi's arm, he put it back around his waist.

"Don't go," he whispered and pressed himself harder against Arzi.

Laying his head back down on the pillow, Arzi kept holding him. The smell and touch of Djeen's warm skin soon reassuring him into a peaceful sleep.

### *

Looking up at the starry sky, Rahin felt better and more hopeful than in many days. Soon, perhaps even the coming morning, she would finally reach civilization once more.

But in the meantime, and since she was too exalted to sleep, she decided to take a look at the notebook her father had given her. She took it out of her shoulder bag, opened it at the last page and sat down on the sand. The flames from the fire in front of her illuminated the words describing her father's very last vision.

She sent a silent prayer up to Spirit to guide her and began to read:

"I saw first darkness. Such utter darkness that I could not even see my hands in front of my face. I called out to find out if anyone else was around but all I heard was the echo of my own voice. Then I felt a strange cold wind. It carried with it the putrid odour of death.

Whispering voices started to circulate slowly around me. I tried to make out what they were saying but realized that all I could hear were strange gruntings which made the mystery beings sound like a mixture of man and beast.

I demanded to know who they were and what they wanted from me. All I got as an answer was being hit in the guts so that I fell to my knees. The beings proceeded to bite me, all over and restlessly, tearing the flesh from my bones.

I reached for a dagger which was attached to my belt and tried to fight back but I could not manage to stab even one of the creatures. No matter how hard I tried, all I hit was air.

Then I heard another whispering voice, that of a woman. She said the same words over and over again. I did not know what they meant but repeated after her:

"Spreading his evil across the land, he has come to slaughter all, but call on the light and all his demons shall fall."

As soon as I had said this, the darkness disappeared. In an instant, I was pulled upwards to the heavens so that I could look down on all of the Republic, from the snowy north to the desert land I call home. A shadow was slowly disappearing from the earth and the light of the sun shinned once more upon it.

I saw also beyond the Wind Mountains, saw the gigantic pine forests and the tundra. There also the darkness disappeared until it was no more."

Rahin turned to the previous page and, too restless to ponder about the possible meaning of her father's last vision, began to read his third one:

"I saw ice everywhere in front of me. Looking up, I realized I was standing by a tall wall of ice so clear I could see all the way through it.

I noticed a person on the other side. As I looked closer, I saw that it was the young red headed man I had seen in previous visions. He was nude except for a simple loincloth. Tears were running down his cheeks and his fists were closed in anger.

He began to walk back and forth, staring at me as his rage grew. After a while, he stopped and seemed to gradually become calmer. That is when he suddenly screamed.

Never in my life, before or after, have I heard such a loud cry. All of the pain and all of the fury he had ever felt seemed to be expressed through it.

His bright red hair turned into flames and I saw a fire in his eyes. He leaped right through the ice wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Without stopping even for an instant, he began to run towards the south and in the horizon I saw the Wind Mountains.

Running faster than I have ever seen any man or beast run before, he reached them before I even had the chance to call out to him and ask him where he was going.

Then he jumped once more. This time so high, he hurdled over the mountains as if they were but a pebble in his way. After he had landed on the other side, I saw him no more."

Rahin closed the notebook and put it beside her. She wondered what this all meant. Who was this mysterious young man? Why was he so important? And how in the world would she find him?

With a sigh she sent up another prayer for guidance. Spirit knew she needed it.

## Chapter Six

Djeen awoke in the early morning when the sun had not yet fully gone up. Rose was sound asleep on the pile of his clothes. Arzi was lying next to him and filling the room with the peaceful rhythm of his breathing.

The quietness reminded Djeen of the one in The Mighty's Highest Temple and revived in him memories of loneliness and hurt. Each day he tried his best to forget about his past but sometimes simple things like a smell, a taste or even a silence reminded him of it.

Somehow, he also felt that he should not forget. He had seen such things in his homeland, such horrors he wished he could shout about from the rooftop of the highest building of Ily. Only he knew no one would ever believe him.

Djeen picked up his shoulder bag from the floor and took out of it a pen and a notebook. Then, without really knowing why or for who, he began to write:

"I was born, like they would say in my homeland, twenty winters ago. I never knew who my real parents were because I was taken from them at birth. There is a law where I come from that when a redheaded child is born it must be taken to the nearest temple, serve there for the rest of their life and never be informed of their origin.

I did have a parental figure in my life. In every temple there is a woman called Mother who takes care of all the children. The Mother of the temple I was in was a small woman with puffy cheeks and the biggest bosoms I ever saw. She would often kiss and cuddle us and she would tell us all sorts of fantasy-full stories every night before we went to bed. Mother was the first person in my life who gave me love and Spirit knows that it is a rare thing in my homeland.

In the temple there was also a man who was sort of a father figure to us. His real name was Hamin but they called him The Beloved One. That title makes it sound like there is only one who has it but it is simply what the leader of each temple is called.

They are called beloved because they are personally chosen by The Mighty, who is the deity worshipped in my land. Or rather the demon worshipped like a deity. But more about that later.

So Hamin was the closest thing I ever had to a father, even if I saw little of him. He was away for most of the day and was rarely affectionate when I did see him. Still, I loved him as much as I loved Mother.

Sadly, I would at a young aged be torn away from them like I imagine I was torn from my original family.

I remember a particular time when I became very ill. Some mysterious fever had taken over me and no matter what medicine they gave me or how much rest I got, I never seemed to get better. It became so bad that everyone was convinced that I would die.

One day when I was alone in my room with Mother something happened that would not only save my life but change it forever.

After having put a chair against the door so that no one could come in Mother told me:

"Djeen, there is something I can do to make you better. But you must promise me to never ever tell anyone."

With the little strength I had left I nodded and Mother proceeded. She put one hand on my forehead and the other one on my chest.

"Take deep breathes," she said, "and close your eyes."

I did as I was told and soon I began to feel a strange sensation coming from Mother's hands. The closest I can describe it is that it was as if streams of lukewarm water were running into and through me, giving me life and energy as it did.

After a while Mother let go of me and told me to rest some more. I did and before the day was done I was completely healed.

The other residents of the temple were amazed by my sudden return from the brink of death. They attributed it to some miracle of The Mighty but I knew that what Mother had done was what really saved me.

You would think her act of love would have made me happy, especially since I would not have made it without it. But according to the religion I had been raised in, what she had done was an act of pure evil.

This might sound strange to someone who has lived all their life in the Republic where sorcerers are valued members of society, but where I come from Spirit gifts are considered an abomination and those found to have them are executed in the most brutal ways.

You must understand my confusion after this event. The Mother I knew was far from evil. In truth, she was the most loving person in my life. But I had been told for as long as I could remember that those who could utilize magic were despicable, filthy monsters.

So, after thinking about it for some days I reached the conclusion which seemed the most logical to me: what I had been told was a lie.

This was quite a shock for me who had lived through only seven winters at the time. It got me thinking and questioning many other things I had thought strange but previously always accepted. Like why did the deity we worshipped long for animal sacrifices and seeing innocent beings suffer? Why did he dislike women more than men? And why did he despise almost everything which gave humans happiness and pleasure?

I asked myself many such things but kept them to myself. If I had expressed my doubts about the religion I would have been executed. I thought it better to stay quiet and go along with it like I always had.

Shortly after the event of my healing something else happened that would deeply shape the rest of my life.

One day, Hamin gathered all of the temple workers in the main room and announced to us that The Mighty himself was coming to visit our temple. Everyone was really happy and excited over this news. As for myself, I also looked forward to his visit. Mostly because I hoped that meeting our god himself would answer some of the questions I had begun to ask myself.

We spent the next couple of days cleaning the temple from top to bottom and prepare for the rituals and sacrifices that would be performed in his honour. Perfection was what we strived for, nothing else could be worthy of our creator's approval.

Then finally came the day of The Mighty's visit. Every temple worker was ordered to stand on one of two sides of the main hall. The men on one side and the women and children on the other. We were instructed to sing songs of praise and to not look up from the ground unless we were told so. Even looking at The Mighty without permission would result in one's immediate execution.

I stood next to Mother but even her presence couldn't calm my nerves and I shook like a leaf. We had been told so many horrors about the god we worshipped that I had the terrifying feeling that not everyone here on this day would make it out alive.

At first the only thing I saw of The Mighty was the bottom of his black and silver robe as he walked by. He proceeded to sit down on the silver throne prepared for him and on which only he was considered worthy of sitting.

I expected him to say something but he kept quiet and listened to our praise. I don't really know for how long, but long enough that my jaw and tongue started to feel numb.

After having sang what felt like the thousandth song we were finally instructed by the song leader to keep quiet. Then, for the very first time in my life, I heard The Mighty speak.

"Gaze upon me!"

His voice sounded like it came from the darkest of abysses and felt like the coldest of winters. It sounded like the void, like death.

We all obeyed and looked at him. He had the hood of his robe up and on his face was the strangest mask. It had no holes for the eyes or mouth and had no features, it was simply smooth and silver.

He raised his hand in the air and then pointed down at me. Or at least that's what I thought.

I froze in horror and was certain my end had come. But as it turned out, he wasn't pointing at me but at Mother.

"Woman," he said, "what does The Perfect Book say in the seventh chapter, one the second line?"

With a trembling voice she answered:

"Any person, man or woman, who is found to have magical powers shall be executed. You shall make no exception and you shall clean the filth from off my land. Do not even cry over such a person because there are no eviler ones."

Everyone was holding their breath and me most of all. I already knew where this was going.

"Do you know," The Mighty said, "that as the creator of all things I can sense any disturbance in my creation? And that I therefore feel whenever there is magic around?"

Without waiting for an answer he got up from his throne and began to walk down the aisle towards Mother. He stopped in front of her and stood there with a hand on the pommel of his sword.

A fast swooshing sound suddenly broke the silence. Before I even had the chance to wonder what had happened, Mother's decapitated head rolled down in front of my feet. Her blue eyes staring up at me in shock.

The world seemed to stop for an instant. My breath became heavy and my heartbeat was racing. The sound of The Mighty's footsteps as he walked away rang in my ear like a loud bell.

Before I even knew it myself, I was screaming and running after him.

"Djeen! No!"

Hamin hurried after me and wrestled me to the ground. His cry of pain for a moment drowning out my screams of anger.

As he let go off me and I stood up again, I could see smoke rise from his body. The front of his temple garb falling to ashes. His skin red and bleeding.

I looked down at my own body and saw that it stood in flames. But I felt no pain. I didn't even fell warm.

But as soon as I noticed what had happened to me, it ended.

I heard a laughter. By the unsettling sound of it I knew who it came from. The Mighty was standing over me and he raised his sword.

I thought for sure that he would strike me down. But he just wiped his sword against my clothes and said:

"Foolish little boy. Do you not know better than to challenge your own creator?"

As I felt Mother's blood sink into the fabric of my temple garb and touch my skin, I made a silent promise to her that if ever I was given the chance I would kill this man. I say man and not god because in that moment my doubts had become convictions and I knew that the one they called "The Mighty" was nothing but an evil impostor.

"Please," Hamin begged as he crawled towards The Mighty, "he is just a boy. He doesn't know what he's doing. Your love and mercy is so abundant, oh Creator. Please forgive him. If you must punish anyone then punish me. I am the one who failed to properly control this child I was responsible for."

The Mighty only laughed at his pleas.

"Do not worry," he said. "I will not hurt the boy. I find him far too entertaining. He will come with me to the Highest Temple. But you will indeed be punished. I find it quite insulting that you think you can influence the actions of The Mighty Himself by your whining. This kind of disrespect cannot be tolerated. I do remember that I once named you Beloved One. Therefore, I will spare your life but another will take your place as leader of this temple."

He turned to his guards and ordered:

"Take him outside and rip out his eyeballs."

Without protesting, Hamin followed the two guards escorting him out. He looked at me as he walked by and smiled affectionately. It hit me in that moment that this would be the last time we would be able to see in each other's eyes.

The Mighty ordered some other guards to lock me in a room and the ceremony proceeded as if nothing had happened. From where I was I could hear the singing of the praises and later the agonizing screams of the animals being sacrificed.

I spent the time crying. Once the anger had subsided, sorrow had taken over. I felt it so strong that I scratched my own arms until they bled because I didn't know what to do with all the pain.

Mother had not deserved what had happened to her. She had not deserved to die such a degrading death. And Hamin, who I loved like a father, had in no way earned the terrible punishment he would be subjected to.

That someone claiming to be the creator himself and the most loving of beings could do such thinks made me so furious that I hit my fists again the wall until several of my fingers broke. Because I didn't know what to do with all my rage.

The ceremony continued for the rest of the day. When I was finally let out and led out of the temple, night-time had come.

A guard lifted me up onto a litter carried by four other men. I was seated on the opposite side of The Mighty and we went away.

We travelled for about twenty days, stopping only to sleep or eat. Except for The Mighty. I never saw him do either of these things, not during this trip and not after.

Not a word was spoken to me by the guards or the so-called god for all this time. Not even the guard who was ordered to splint my broken fingers said so much as a "hello" to me. When we finally arrived I was dying to speak to another human being.

The Highest Temple looked to my surprise exactly like the temple I had previously lived in. Later I would find out that all temples in the land looked the same: grey, square, boring.

But the Highest Temple was different in that it was built on top of an underground cave which also served as The Mighty's throne room. This is where I would spend the rest of my life. Or at least I think that was the plan until I managed to escape from this soul-crushing place.

I was given a bath by a guard who also gave me new clothes. I refused to give up my old ones at first because the blood stains on my dirty temple garb was all I had left of Mother.

The guard put a hand on my shoulder, looked into my eyes and whispered:

"Please, just do what you are told. He will get very angry if you don't. Be obedient and he won't hurt you. Do you understand?"

I nodded and put on my new clothes, both because I knew I had no choice and because I so wanted to please the first person in many days who had shown any sort of caring towards me.

I was then led to the throne room and as we walked through the temple I noticed that there were no temple workers around. Just empty rooms and the echo of our steps.

The underground cave, I found, smelled absolutely disgusting. Kind of like vomit mixed with faeces and sprinkled over a thousand corpses. That's the closest I can describe it.

The Mighty ordered the guard to leave us and I was left alone with the man I despised more than any other.

"Do you know why you are here?" He asked.

I shook my head and he continued:

"Well, it is because you have shown that you have magic. Do you know what The Perfect Book says should happen to such a person?"

I knew the answer to that question but didn't respond. Instead I looked up at him. He had not given me permission but if he was going to kill me anyway I wasn't going to go without one final act of defiance.

"Death is the answer. They should be put to death. But do not worry. Merciful as I am, I have decided to spare your life."

Perhaps he expected me to thank him but I just kept staring at him. I wanted him to know how much I hated him.

"You will get to stay here in this room, doing very important work. You will be clothed and fed and will never lack any necessities. In return I want you to do something for me."

He got up from his silver throne and walked down to the pool in the centre of the room. It was filled with some strange purple liquid but the mist rising from it was a dark red.

"Djeen," he said with his back turned to me, "I want you to tell me how you did what you did back at the ceremony. I have travelled all this land, trying to purge it of magic but I have never seen anyone with powers like yours."

By his words I assumed that he admitted to me that he wasn't in fact the creator of all things. How could I have known something he didn't if he really was who he claimed to be? But it would remain an unspoken truth between us that I saw through him.

"I don't know," I said. "It's never happened before."

He turned around and looked at me from behind his unsettling blank mask.

"Well," he said, "then we will try to figure it out together."

As it was late, he told me I should get some sleep and pointed me to a small mattress in a corner of the cave. This is where I spent the night but I found it hard to fall sleep. I could have sworn that I heard breathing and steps around me but whenever I opened my eyes The Mighty was still on his throne.

He woke me up the following morning and took me outside. We waited there in the cold until the arrival of several horse-drawn wagons. Their content turned out to be large piles of corpses and body parts.

You would think that a sight like that would be shocking to a small child but it was nothing I hadn't seen before. It was the practice in every village and town in the land to gather the bodies and cut-off limbs of criminals who had been executed or amputated. Then guards would come and take them away. I had always wondered where they took them but assumed it was to bury them somewhere.

So, as I mentioned, the sight didn't bother me much. But the words of The Mighty as he put his hand on my shoulder did:

"Now, let's get to work."

He ordered the guards to drive the wagons down to the cave; the rooms and halls of the Highest Temple being plenty large enough for them to be able to pass through.

Perplexed, I watched how the content of each was emptied unto the floor of the cave. I could for the life of me not figure out what this work I was about to do could possibly be.

The Mighty ordered me first to separate the bodies from the severed limbs and the bodies which were missing limbs.

"Then," he said, "maybe you can have breakfast."

I proceeded to do what I was ordered, which as you can imagine was both repulsive and heavy. When I was finally done I was covered in my own sweat and in the blood of others.

For a short moment, I was allowed to take a break and have something to eat.

"You can wash yourself in the pool if you wish," The Mighty said. "Just don't jump in. It's far too deep and you will drown."

I was unsure at first if I really should clean myself in this strange looking purple liquid but figured that I had nothing to lose. Not even my own life was dear to me at that time.

To my surprise the purple water turned out to feel just like regular water and I enjoyed the feeling of having the stink and filth cleaned of my body. Unfortunately, this wouldn't last for long as I was ordered to go back to work as soon as I was done.

The Mighty came down from his throne to inspect. He looked for a moment at the pile of corpses that were missing no limbs. When he was satisfied, he kicked them down into the pool. I looked in the water and saw how they slowly disappeared into the depths.

"Now," he said, "you will repair the bodies which are not complete. This will take a while but fortunately you will not have to do all this work on your own. Redeemed ones, come forth from the darkness!"

I suddenly sensed movements from the parts of the cave which were the darkest and where no light could reach. Animal-like gruntings were heard and what then emerged from the shadows was by far the most horrifying thing I ever saw.

They were corpses, but walking around as if they were still alive. Their eyes were white or hanging from their sockets, their flesh green and rotting. The horrid stench that filled the cave became even more intense as they came towards me.

Terrified, I tried to run in the direction of the entrance to get away. One of the undead ones stopped me and picked me up in its arms. I kicked and scream but to no avail. It carried me to The Mighty and dropped me violently on the ground in front him.

"Do not fear," I heard him say. "They will not hurt you. They are our friends. Now, do you know how to sew?"

I found it an odd question but answered that I did. He signalled to one of the creatures to come forward, which it did and put a needle and some thread in my hand.

"Good," The Mighty said. "Then just do what they do."

I turned around and saw that the creatures had begun to sew limbs unto the bodies which were missing them. So, I sat down with them and got to work as I knew I had no choice and found that this new assignment was even more disgusting that the previous one. Blood and various bodily liquids would after that stain my hands every day until the happy one on which I finally escaped from the cave.

It was a tedious job but it would sometimes require a bit of imagination. Like when there were more limbs than the bodies needed. Then we would have to improvise and make ones with extra arms or legs. I even managed once to create one I was particularly proud of, which had a whole three heads sewn unto its torso.

Soon I also learned the purpose of this work. One day The Mighty ordered me to take a break from my macabre work and to sit down in front of his throne. Pointing at the undead beings who were still sewing away behind me he asked:

"Djeen, do you know why they exist?"

"No," I said.

"Well then let me tell you about these creatures which are called the Redeemed. As you know the bodies and parts which are brought to us from all over the land are from criminals, wrongdoers who rebelled against my perfect laws. You would think then that I would bury them somewhere or burn them like the garbage they were during their lives. But merciful as I am I have instead chosen to repurpose them for a greater good. That way they can be of use to me and to all of humanity. So you see, when you stitch these parts together you help me redeem wrongdoers and bring goodness to the world."

His words confirmed my suspicions that the ones he called the Redeemed were created by the same work I did every day. But I didn't buy the idea that what we were doing was somehow for the benefit of mankind. Although I did wonder if perhaps he himself believed it to be true.

"Do you have any questions?"

Oddly enough these were to me the most shocking words he had ever spoken. Where I come from you don't ask questions. You accept guidance and follow orders. Anything else is blasphemy.

"How do they walk around?"

He chuckled at my question but it wasn't a funny kind of laugh. It was an unsettling one, like that of a marauder right before he assaults his victim.

"Watch."

The Mighty raised his hand and all the Redeemed fell to the ground. In an instant, they had become as lifeless as the corpses lying around them. Then he moved his hand slightly and mumbled some words. Immediately, they all came back to life.

"They are animated by my spirit. I am the one who makes them live. Through me they are reborn."

On another day, right after I had finished my work and the Redeemed had returned to the shadows, The Mighty had a guard come down to the cave. It wasn't anything unusual but the order he gave him was.

"Slap the child."

The man looked at me with an expression which seemed to beg for forgiveness. Then he hit me. But apparently not hard enough for The Mighty's taste.

"Slap him harder. And do not stop until I tell you to."

The guard proceeded to hit me over and over again. I closed my eyes and focused on the pain. I was determined to overcome it and let it give me strength. Above all I refused to let The Mighty see me cry.

Slowly, I felt the rage rise inside of me. A rush of energy went through me and I jumped at the guard, biting him in the throat. I only let go when I saw his clothes and faces become engulfed with flames.

He panicked and threw himself into the pool. His screams of pain echoed through the cave as did the laughter of The Mighty.

"I knew we'd figure it out," he said rising from his throne. "We have found what fuels you, what gives you your power: anger."

I looked down and saw that my body was covered in flames, just as it had been during the ceremony at the temple. Only this time it did not stop after I noticed it. The fury in me was still very much alive.

Without hesitating for even a moment I leaped towards him. He caught me mid-air by the neck.

"Do not be foolish," he said and squeezed, "you must learn to control your emotions. Only then will you be able to master your powers."

The glove on his hand as well as his sleeve began to burn and fall to ashes. Soon a hand was revealed. To my shock I saw that it was not that of a man but of a skeleton.

I tried to kick him but he just let out another of his sinister laughs and threw me against the wall. As I hit the ground, the flames around me disappeared. Rage had been replaced with fear.

"Your stupid little boy. Don't you know that nothing can hurt me? I have conquered death itself."

After that event there would be many more occasions on which he had me beaten. And for every time my powers got stronger and stronger as I learned to control them. Before long, I could start to burn at will and even do things like shooting balls of fire from my hands.

The Mighty often reminded me of how thankful he thought I should be that he helped me develop my natural talent. But deep down I never stopped hating him. He was the person who had killed Mother and hurt the man I loved like a father. I never forgot the promise I made to Mother and plotted all this time, trying to figure how I could destroy him.

As he had powers far exceeding mine I never succeeded in my few attempts at attacking him or escaping the cave and whenever he went away he would lock me into a thick metal cage and have guards watch it at all times.

No matter how hard I tried, I could never figure out how to get away. One day I decided to make one final attempt at freedom. I seriously doubted it would work but I had nothing to lose.

It was a day on which The Mighty was away to visit another temple. I was as usual locked inside my cage and had just finished a meal which had been given to me by the guards through a hatch in one of the metal walls.

I put two fingers deep down my throat and threw up on myself. With my hands, I smeared it all over my face and through my chest hair. I then made loud choking sounds to call on the guards' attention.

The hatch opened and I saw the eyes of a man peeking through.

"What's happening in there?"

I grabbed my neck and raised one hand towards him as if to call for help. To really get his attention, I rolled back my eyes and pretended to faint.

"He's choking! We have to open the door!"

"Are you crazy?!" I heard a voice protest. "The Mighty said we're not ever allowed to open the cage! He'll kill us!"

"Well he'll kill us even more if we let the kid die! Just give me the keys!"

Some fumbling sounds were heard followed by the turning of a key. The door opened and the two guards stepped in. Leaning over me, one of them gently held up my head.

"He choked on his own vomit. Quick, put your finger down his throat and try to get it out!"

The other guard put two fingers in my mouth and without hesitating even a moment I bit him. The taste of blood filled my mouth. I jumped up and pushed them both against the wall of the cage before running out through the door and towards the entrance of the cave.

But other guards have been alerted by the tumult and were already blocking the doorway. The two men in the cage stepped outside and drew their weapons. I was trapped.

Having nothing to lose I raised up my hands. A guard came towards me with ropes to tie me up. I smiled at him. Then I jumped backwards and down into the pool.

I kept my body in a straight position to let myself sink. The blurry images of guards staring down at me faded slowly as I descended further and further down. At this point I was convinced that I would not make it but I have finally escaped that damned cave. I would die, but as a free man.

Soon I hit the bottom and discovered to my surprise that the pool was not nearly as deep as I had imagined. Everywhere around me was darkness. Under my feet the ground was unstable and I realized that I was standing on a pile of the many corpses that had been thrown down there.

You would think that I would have been distraught over dying in such an awful place but I felt at peace for the first time in a very long time.

Suddenly I saw a light in the corner of my eye. I began to swim towards it. The light grew and grew as I was coming closer. From time to time I would bump into a corpse floating around but I pushed them away and kept swimming. I was soon standing directly under the source of the light.

It was circular in shape and as I swam upwards I found myself inside some sort of tube which was just a little wider than my body. Metal rungs were located on one side which I climbed. Before I knew I was sticking my head above the surface of the water.

My lungs hurt as I took a deep breath. Also my eyes ached as they had not seen the light of the sun since I was a child and by the time this happened I had become a young man.

I crawled out of the tube and looked around. As I saw nothing but trees I concluded that I was in the forest behind the temple. The calls of guards and the barking of hounds was heard in the distance so I began to run in the opposite direction.

Everything around me was still blurry as my eyes were getting once more accustomed to daylight.

But I saw clear enough that I could avoid the trees in my way. There were so many of them. They seemed to never end.

I kept going, reaching to that infinite energy source to which I was connected through my rage. I had learned over time to channel it so that instead of bursting into flames I could repurpose my inner fury to give me physical strength. That is why I am much stronger and faster than most people, although for the most part I hide it.

Outrunning the guards and their dogs was like child's play to me but I did not stop running until I was on the verge of fainting and pretty much had to. By then night-time had come, so I found a comfortable spot under a large pine tree and fell asleep.

The light of the sun awoke me the following morning and as I looked around I realized that I was by the foot of the Wind Mountains. As I gazed up at them and heard the loud noise of the wind which gave these mountains their name, I felt a conviction inside of me. I don't really know how I knew but somehow something told me that if I walked over these peaks I would survive through the heat Spirit would give me. Although I didn't call it Spirit back then but simply "the energy."

My journey over ended up taking ten days. It varied in challenges. One day I would be climbing bare rocks, the other making my way through snow so high I was practically swimming in it. And always this wind blowing violently towards me, moving me one step back for every two steps I took forward.

This will probably come as a surprise but I actually enjoyed crossing the mountains. Every obstacle was to me new fuel to my aggression and gave me more strenght. By the time I had reached the foot of the mountain on the other side, I felt full of life. Like you do after a good run or an intense fight.

But the most shocking thing would probably be that this whole time I did not feel cold. Not even for a single moment, despite the fact that I made the journey wearing nothing but a thin temple garb.

As I arrived at what I would later learn was called the Ilyian Republic, I took a moment to enjoy for the first time in ten days the feeling of the soft grass between my toes. I looked up at the sky and saw a little bird fly across the blue.

Finally, I was free."

Putting away his pen and notebook, Djeen laid back down next to Arzi who was still sound asleep. He pressed himself against him, laying his head against Arzi's muscular shoulder. Djeen breathed in his manly, arousing smell and returned to resting. Took a last chance to enjoy the warm, fleeing morning.

## Chapter Seven

Bazk ordered one of his soldiers to blow the horn and announce their arrival at Camp Silver Eagle. A guard immediately showed his head above the rampart.

"Who is here and what is your purpose?" He asked.

"I am Bazk, the captain of the Republican Guard. Your leader sent for me this morning through message bird."

The guard nodded in recognition and ordered the doors open. As Bazk and his soldiers rode into the camp, he saw that the captain of the Silver Eagles was already waiting for him by the entrance.

"Bazk! Old friend, you are here already!"

"Absolutely," Bazk said and dismounted, "you said you required my presence urgently. It is good to see you see again, Tez. But what is this emergency that brings me here?"

"You will see. The reason I had you come here is because one needs to see such a thing with their own eyes to believe it. Follow me."

Tez showed him to his log cabin where two wooden boxes were lying on the floor. The captain of the Silver Eagles ordered one of his soldiers to get a chair for his guest.

"I think you need to sit down for this," he told Bazk. "It's quite a shocking sight."

Bazk had been a soldier for most of his adult life. He had seen so much bloodshed and suffering that he doubted anything could shock him anymore. Out of courtesy he sat down anyway on the chair offered to him.

"Yesterday some of my men were patrolling south of the city," Tez began. "They came across two tall figures and as they approached they realized that they were corpses. Except they were standing up."

"Like impaled on a pole?"

"No. They were walking. They were alive."

"Well if they were alive then they weren't corpses," Bazk said and chuckled. More out of confusion than amusement.

"You will understand what I mean in a moment. Anyway, these... things attacked my men. Seemingly for no reason. One could have assumed that these creatures would have been no match for them as they were only two against my fifteen soldiers. But as it turned out, they had a strength far beyond that of any human and without any weapons or armour they still beat my men, killing most of them. The few who survived brought with them two body parts that they managed to cut off from the creatures before they got away. You really need to see this."

Without explaining further, Tez lifted the lock from the first box. A rotting, severed arm was revealed. Bazk had seen many gory things in his time but nothing quite like this: the arm was moving, shaking its fist as if in a rage.

"What in the world is this?" He asked and noticed that it was tied down with steel wires to the bottom of the box.

"I wish I knew," Tez said. "I have never seen such a thing. We even had to tie it down because it... flew."

"Flew?"

"Yes. And it was pretty aggressive. Punched and slapped people. It even tried to choke one of my soldiers to death. But it isn't even the most bizarre thing my men brought back with them."

Tez opened the second box, revealing a head just as rotting as the arm was. The large, glassy eyes staring up at him gave Bazk a chill down his spine. When the mouth suddenly opened as if to shout, Bazk jumped up in fright. The face of the severed head became distorted in an expression of rage.

"Is this some sort of joke?" Bazk asked and looked at his long-time friend.

"I thought so too at first. I was sure that there was some sort of trick, that the men were just pulling a prank on me. But I assure you this is very real. And I know what heavy responsibilities are on your shoulders. I wouldn't waste your time just for a laugh."

Bazk gazed down at the head again. A piece of spine was sticking out from the neck and whatever angle he studied it from, it looked like a real decapitated head.

"Something strange," Tez continued, "is that the body kept on walking even after they cut off its head. As if some sort of evil magic was animating it."

He put back the lids on the boxes. Neither of them could stand the sight any longer. Or the putrid smell.

"The Highest Senator needs to see this. I will take the boxes with me back to Ily."

"Do so," Tez said and nodded in agreement. "And whatever these creatures are, let's all pray we've seen the last of them."

### *

Arzi found the prison of Ily to be a deeply unsettling place. In the light of the torch held by the guard walking in front of him, he could see the humidity on the dark walls and the furious faces sticking up behind the small barred windows in the cell doors. But what made the hair stand in the back of his neck were the deafening screams echoing all around him. Cries of pain and sorrow so desperate they barely sounded human.

"Watch out!"

He felt Djeen grab his arm and pull him backward. In the same moment, he saw something fly in front of his face. When he looked at the brown goo that had hit the wall on the other side, he realized what it was: human faeces.

Laughter was heard from behind the door of the cell from which it had been thrown.

"Don't worry," they heard the guard behind them say, "we're going to teach this one a lesson later. A very bloody one."

The group kept on walking and soon arrived at a cell which looked different from all the others. The door had no window and was made of heavy steel rather than wood. It was also guarded by two soldiers.

One of the guards opened the door and they stepped in. Arzi found that Goran Bezz looked nothing like he had expected him to. He had assumed that such a popular leader of his movement would have a much more charismatic appearance. But Goran was a short and obese man with a gut so big it hanged over his genitals as he was tied with heavy chains to the ceiling.

"Hello, Goran," Arzi said barely hiding the disgust in his voice.

Goran smiled tauntingly in response, distorting his face so grotesquely swollen and blue from all the beatings it had received.

"You will die soon. Your ugly head will be impaled on a spike in the public square and the city will be better off for it," Arzi said and took great pleasure in erasing the smile from off his face.

"But first," he continued, "you will do something for me. Probably it will be the only good thing you ever did in all your worthless existence."

The terrorist answered by spitting in his face. Arzi wiped the bloody spit with the back of his hand and smeared it on Goran's forehead. Then he punched him on the chin.

"Don't fuck with me," he said pulling out his sword, "or I will gut you like the disgusting pig you are."

Arzi drew his blade lightly over Goran's belly, leaving a wound dripping out dark red blood. The thought of killing him crossed his mind but Arzi knew he still needed him alive.

"So now that we have gotten that out of the way... Tell me about senator Julkis."

"What about him?" Goran asked.

"You killed him."

Goran threw back his head and laughed loudly.

"What? Why would I do that?"

"Well you wouldn't. You're too much of a coward to do something like that yourself. But one of your lackeys probably did it for you."

Goran snorted with disdain.

"You obviously know nothing about what the Together Party stands for. We don't have leaders, we don't have lackeys. Every man is his brother's equal. Either way, why would I want to see Julkis dead?"

Arzi studied Goran's face but it was too swollen for him to be able to properly read its expression. His white unkept hair, separated by a large balding spot in the middle, stood up on his head and made Arzi want to punch him again.

"Well, with Julkis out of the way there would be no one left in the senate who fought for the rights of slaves and non-Ilyians. So these oppressed groups would have your party as their only remaining hope. Many would also assume that Julkis was killed precisely because of his views and this would spark even more animosity towards the senate. The Together Party had only things to gain from the death of senator Julkis."

"That's cleaver," Goran said and nodded his head pensively. "I wish I had thought of that. Unfortunately, I didn't. Besides, if I was responsible for this what could I possibly win by denying it? I will be dead in a couple of days and in this place I have been tortured in the most inhumane of ways. I am a man with nothing left to lose."

The thought crossed Arzi's mind that maybe Goran could be trying to protect someone but quickly dismissed it. This would imply that the terrorist had some sort of conscience and knowing the kind of things he had done Arzi thought it highly unlikely.

"If we're talking motives," Goran said, "you have more of it than me."

Arzi laughed as the very notion seemed so absurd to him.

"What are you even talking about?"

"Well, he did steal your fiancée. It is known that you and Wife Julkis were betrothed before she left you for the senator."

"You know who I am?" Arzi asked surprised.

"Of course I do. You are Arzi of the Red Wolfes. We in the Together Party know about all the private troops and their leaders. We also know about every single senator and their particular weaknesses. One needs to become acquainted with the enemy when preparing a revolution."

Arzi did not take the last part very seriously. The Together Party had been talking about the coming revolution since before his grand-parents were born and it seemed to him obvious by now that it would never happen.

But he did believe that the terrorist group had a lot more knowledge about what happened behind the scenes of the city than was commonly known. The party had quite a lot of sympathisers among non-Ilyians and slaves and he didn't doubt some of them could be found in the homes of troop leaders and senators.

"Well your intel is a little wrong. Julkis did not steal my fiancée. We broke up our engagement on friendly terms."

The part about their relationship ending on good terms was a lie. She had left him after finding out about his past love with another man and to this day she never looked at Arzi without at least a little bit of disgust.

"Anyway," he continued, "I am still not convinced of your innocence. But either way we will make you talk."

He called on a guard who came in with a small wooden chest under his arm. Opening the box, he revealed a phallic metal object and gave it to Arzi.

"We will make you talk and we will make you squeal."

Arzi situated himself behind Goran and slapped him on the buttocks with the object.

"So here is how we're going to do this: you're going to tell me everything I want to know and if you don't I'll shove this thing so far up your ass you'll never be able to shit it out. Do you understand?"

Goran nodded. Arzi could not see the terrorist's face from where he was standing but he did catch a glimpse of Djeen leaving the cell. He made a mental note to talk to him later on to see if he was okay. But now he had, possibly, a murder to solve.

"So... Who killed senator Julkis?"

"I've told you I don't know!"

"Wrong answer."

Arzi put the tip of the phallic object against Goran's anus. He pressed slightly and Goran began to scream.

"No! No! Don't! Please! I'll tell you everything!"

After putting the object back in the box and resisting the urge to hit Goran in the face with it, Arzi stood in front of him again.

"Tell me."

"It's like you said: we wanted to eliminate the only person except for us who fought for the oppressed and also create enmity towards the senate. We did it. I confess."

Goran was talking fast, stumbling over his own words in fear.

"How did you do it?" Arzi asked.

"We had one of us disguise himself as a servant and sneak into The Golden Village. Then he broke into Julkis' home and put poison in his drink."

"What kind of poison?"

"Zatum leaf poison. It strong and works fast. It's perfect for a murder. Please don't hurt me! Please!"

The old terrorist was sobbing like a little child and although it felt like a treason towards his own murdered family Arzi felt a sudden surge of empathy towards him.

He turned around and left the cell without a word. Djeen was waiting for him outside.

"It wasn't Goran," Arzi told him. "He got the poison wrong."

"I know. I heard."

Djeen still seemed upset so Arzi put a comforting hand on his shoulder and asked him if he was okay.

"Were you really going to do that to him?"

"No," Arzi said. "I was just trying to scare him."

"Well that's a pretty awful way to scare somebody."

Djeen removed Arzi's hand from his shoulder and began walking away from him. Arzi caught up to him and took him gently by the arm.

"Djeen, wait. I'm sorry. I should have warned you I was going to do that. In our line of work we see awful things everyday so I didn't think it would upset you that much."

"I know," Djeen said and turned his eyes away. "And I know the kind of things Goran did and what he did to your family. He would probably have deserved it anyway. I just... Last night I really liked being close to you. But if you are the kind of man who can violate another like you threatened to do to Goran, then maybe you're not who I thought you were and maybe I shouldn't like being close to you."

Arzi put his hand on Djeen's bearded cheek and turned his head toward him so that they looked into each other's eyes.

"Djeen," he said. "I would never hurt you. The thought wouldn't even cross my mind."

The redheaded man blushed and smiled. With a hand on his hip Arzi brought him closer. Kissed him lightly on the lips.

"The city gates won't open until midday," he said. "Let's go back to our room."

### *

Batta struggled to keep her eyes open. She was tired after a long day of working in the kitchen and she longed for her a good night's sleep. But tonight was the full moon and in accordance with the orders from The Perfect Book the temple workers were to all attend a special sacrifice ceremony under the moonlight.

In a small glade in the forest behind the temple, a temporary altar had been built with logs from the surrounding woods. Three kids of animals had been brought: a calf, a sheep and a goat. All were to be butchered in a specific order and in a specific way. Batta had seen it all before and it bored her to no end.

The whiny voice of The Beloved One singing the sacred supplications felt like a distant noise in her mind. She was staring at his back and thinking about how much she despised him when suddenly it hit her that now was her chance.

She had waited for this opportunity for so long that she froze up in the moment, terrified that she would make a mistake and destroy her only chance to avenge her beloved brother.

Batta reached for her thigh but remembered that she had put that knife back in the kitchen. Instead she had acquired a smaller one which she kept tied around her forearm. So she put her hand inside of her sleeve, pretended to scratch herself before grabbing the knife and leaping at The Beloved One.

The knife plunged into his back, pierced his heart and he fell sideways unto the ground. He had some spasms and a strange gurgling sound filled his throat. And then: silence. It had all been over in an instant.

The people gathered in a circle around the altar stared wide-eyed and with open mouths at her. They stood in shock, frozen like statues. She smiled at them and then looked down to delight in the sight she had longed for ever since her brother's death: the blood of The Beloved One painting the white snow red.

## Chapter Eight

The worst kind of criminals were prowling in the area but Rahin felt no fear as she undressed. She knew that if anyone tried to hurt her, Number One would maul them down without effort and perhaps even have them as a snack if he was in that mood. Buying him from his former owner and bringing him on her journey back had been one of the best decisions she had made.

Rahin sank her toes into the pond water and found it pleasantly lukewarm. She kept walking until the water reached her waist. Small fish were swimming about her feet, nibbling on them and tickling her.

She felt strangely comfortable although she was nude. The sight of her own body usually gave her feelings of uneasiness to the point where she barely dared reveal it even to lovers. But for now she felt only calmness, perhaps because she knew she was alone.

Thinking of former lovers, she remembered one young man in particular who had been the last to share her bed. He had been tall and slender with a boyish smile that felt like an invitation to playful pleasures. He had been hers only for one night but she could still reminisce the smell of his skin and the feeling of his soft curls between her fingers.

Disappointed in herself, Rahin shook her head. She knew better than to fantasize about men who would never be hers. Rahin was the kind of girl guys were happy to play with on occasions but were too ashamed to bring home to their mothers. Or that's how they made her feel anyway.

To distract herself from her melancholic thoughts she began to scrub herself with a scented washing oil she had bought upon her return from her journey across the desert. She had chosen this one because its floral aroma reminded her of the beautiful springs around Ily. It reminded her also of another young man, one who had kissed her under a blossoming tree and made her feel for a moment like the most loved woman in the world.

Realising that she was once again drifting into thoughts of unhappy loves, she tossed the vial of washing oil unto the shore and dived beneath the surface. She swam for a moment and observed the colourful fishes swimming around her. They weren't bigger than her thumb and fluoresced in a rainbow of bright colours. It was such a simple sight but still so beautiful.

Rahin rose up to the surface again and let herself float on her back. She closed her eyes and tried to connect herself to Spirit, to that peaceful place where there was no sorrow. Soon she reached it and began to feel so relaxed she could almost have fallen asleep.

Suddenly something dragged her down beneath the surface. It felt like a hand grabbing her by the leg and she tried to kick it away but it was too strong. As she opened her eyes underwater, her suspicion was confirmed when she saw a hand around her calf.

To her shock she realised that it was not the hand of a living man but that of a corpse without a head. Thinking that it was the body of murdered man that had been thrown into the pond she struggled harder, assuming that her leg had gotten stuck between the dead man's stiff fingers.

But the corpse immediately responded and grabbed her by the throat with his other hand. He kept dragging her further and further down until they both hit the sandy bottom. Rahin used all the energy she had to fight back, but to no use. He was simply too strong for her and soon everything started to go black.

That is when a horse's hoof hit the corpse on its back. Then three more, over and over again. Rahin realised her faithful mare had come to rescue her from her assailant and after much kicking and punching she managed to free herself from his grasp.

She swam quickly back to the shore and observed how her horse kept trampling the monster. Then suddenly the mare was standing up on two legs, as was the corpse. To her astonishment Rahin saw that his arm was inside of the horse's chest.

Without much effort, he pulled her heart right out. The mare fell with a loud splash into the water, her blood painting the small pond red.

The monster tossed the heart aside and began to walk towards the shore. Rahin looked around for Number One and wondered why he hadn't come to her rescue earlier. She found him trying to fight off another walking corpse. This one was missing an arm.

Quickly she ran back to her campsite and took her bow and arrows. She shot five times at the monster coming out of the water but although she hit him twice in the heart he kept walking.

Trying something new she picked up her father's sword and rushed towards the monster. With one strike she cut off one of his arms then struck again and cut off the other one. The monster stopped in his tracks without having even put up a fight.

Rahin felt new confidence. Maybe you couldn't kill what was already dead but you could cut it in small enough pieces to render it harmless.

Her newfound optimism was short lived. Something suddenly knocked the sword right out of her hand. She looked down and saw that the arms which had just a moment ago fallen onto the sand now where hovering around her.

One of them picked up the sword from the ground and Rahin began to run for her life. She needed to figure out something fast or she would never have the chance to help rescue the world from the coming evil.

The flying arm swung the sword at her and nearly missed her body but managed to cut off a handful of her long black hair. A thought hit her.

Rahin retrieved her bow and one arrow from their quiver and, faster than she had ever spoken any words before, said:

"Spreading his evil across the land, he has come to slaughter all, but call on the light and all his demons shall fall."

The head of the arrow began to glow in a blue light and she shot at the arm wielding the sword. As the flying limb was hit, it immediately fell apart as a cloud of blue powder. The same thing happened to the other arm and to the rest of the corpse that was still standing by the shore.

Putting back her bow into the quiver, she picked up the sword and rushed towards the other monster. She repeated the spell and saw how the blade began to shine in red. Then she dropped it with a scream of pain.

Smoke rose from her bleeding palm. The smell of burning flesh invaded her nostrils. She wondered briefly what had happened but her attention was soon called on by Number One's helpless screams.

Terrified that he would meet the same fate as her mare she picked up the arrow whose tip was still glowing and threw it at the corpse. When it was hit the same thing happened as with the previous one: it became a cloud of blue powder which fell to the ground.

Number One looked around, utterly confused about what had just happened. When he saw her he began to run towards her, wagging his massive tail in joy. Rahin hugged him and kissed his scaly forehead. She had come so close to losing him.

"Let's get out of here in case any more of these disgusting things show up," she said and began to redress.

She noticed that the sword had stopped glowing so she wrapped a piece of clothing around her hand and picked it up by the hilt. To her relief she found it to no longer be burning hot so she put it back in its scabbard.

Only one more day of walking and she would be safely back home in Ily.

### *

"Was it worth it?" Hamin asked as he looked out the window of her cell.

"Every moment of it," Batta responded.

He turned around to face her and sighed. There was an emptiness in his face that made her feel sorry for him. Hamin had now the same dead stare as The Beloved One used to have. Perhaps it was because he had been proclaimed as the new Beloved One by The Mighty and his whole existence would now be focused on bringing death and suffering around him.

"The reason you are still alive," he said, "is because The Mighty Himself wants to carry out your execution. He wants everyone to understand what a filthy offence it is to kill the leader of a temple."

"Oh, I feel so honoured," Batta said mockingly.

Hamin shook his head and sighed again.

"Batta, you are still so young. I understand that you felt a desire to avenge your brother but why did you have to throw your whole life away? What good is that to him? Or to you?"

She took a moment to think about a proper answer to his question. Then she said:

"What is life worth without happiness? Without hope? Are any of these two things to be found anywhere in this land?"

Hamin nodded and left her cell without a word. He knew as well as she did the answers to these questions.

### *

"I'm sorry, Elizz. I've followed every lead, interrogated hundreds of persons... But I have yet to find any plausible suspects."

Elizz, or Wife Julkis as most people knew her, dried her tears and looked out the window of her chamber.

"It's okay, Arzi. Maybe it's time to accept that there is nothing more we can do."

"For now maybe it is," he said and sat on the wicker chair next to her. "But I will not give up in this. You deserve to know what happened to your husband. And that Vaëz guy is wanted in all the land. It's only a matter of time before we find him and then many questions will be answered."

"Let us hope so."

She took a sip from her goblet of wine and Arzi found himself once more fascinated with how much elegance was in her every gesture. Many seasons had passed since the days they were lovers but he had never stop desiring her.

"In any case," she said, "I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done. Nov didn't have many friends but you were one of his true ones. As for me, I think I may have wrongly judged your character."

"What do you mean?"

She rose from her chair and put one of her beautiful brown strands of hair behind her ear. There was an expression of shame on her face.

"I've wondered so many times if maybe I chose the wrong man. Don't get me wrong, Nov was a wonderful husband. But you don't forget so easily your first love."

Arzi felt a weakness in his knees when she saw into his eyes with her large dark ones. He was grateful that he was sitting down as he felt like he just might have fallen over.

"When I left you I was so young. I was immature and afraid of things I didn't understand. There were sides of you that confused me so I gave up on us. But you are truly a good man, Arzi. Could you ever forgive me?"

The leader of the Red Wolves felt surprised by her words, especially her apology. He had never himself felt like she owed him one. Women were for the most part repulsed by men like him but it was just how things were. He had never thought that they shouldn't be.

"I have," he said. "I forgave you a long time ago."

Tears appeared once again in her eyes but this time they were tears of relief. She sat back down on her chair and rested her head against his shoulder.

"You can't imagine how happy I am to hear this, Arzi. I have felt such guilt over what I did to you."

He turned his head so that he could see her face. Her eyes met his and he smiled. As if he only now realised how much he had missed her.

## Chapter Nine

It came as a shock to her but Batta found herself missing her life at the temple. Sure, it was a dull and joyless existence. But at least there was always something to do. All she could spend her time with in her tiny cell at the prison was staring at the grey walls and try her best to entertain herself with her own thoughts.

Although recently she had begun to see things, which she was fairly sure were not real. Colourful birds flying across the room, gigantic butterflies the size of horses and even her deceased children living again and playing around her bed. It was as if her mind was creating illusions to keep itself from going insane. Or maybe it was her mind going insane.

It was because of this that she at first did not believe her eyes when she saw the strange figure enter her cell. Wearing a long black and silver robe and an unsettling mask which had no features, he said:

"Hello, Batta."

His voice sounded not quite right, as if it was echoing in a large empty hall.

"That's new," she said to herself and tried to go back to sleep.

"Batta, wake up!"

It was Hamin shaking her. She sat up in her bed, shook her head and took a deep breath as doing this usually made the hallucinations go away. When she looked up again, the strange figure was still here and Hamin was standing next to him. She understood that what she saw was real.

"So, this is the woman who thinks she has the right to disrupt my perfect order."

By his words she understood that the man was the one they called The Mighty. It surprised her own much he didn't look like a god.

"Sorry," she said, "I didn't recognize you. For some reason I didn't expect my god to be a guy wearing a weird mask and a curtain."

Hamin looked like someone had just knocked the air out of him. He probably thought that somebody's head was about to roll. But The Mighty only laughed.

"Ah! Aren't you a funny one! I feel almost disappointed that I have to kill you."

"As am I," she retorted coldly.

If he was going to kill her anyway she wasn't going to go down without letting him know how much she hated him. And how much she saw through him.

"Well, then you will be glad to hear that you will get to live a little while longer."

He turned to Hamin and asked:

"Why didn't you tell me the woman was with child?"

Hamin stared baffled at him, then at her and back at him again.

"I... I didn't know," he stuttered.

"I'm not with child," Batta said with a confused laugh. "That's not possible."

She had not had relations with a man since before she joined the temple and she had experienced her latest bleeding just fourteen days ago. Batta didn't know why The Mighty had such a ridiculous idea but she knew he was wrong.

"Yet," he said as if he could read her mind, "you are."

He turned to Hamin again and ordered:

"Let her live and take care of her until the child is born. Then I will come back to execute my vengeance."

Batta had, like every other person raised in the land, been taught to memorize The Perfect Book by heart. She knew what it said should happen when a woman is sentenced to death while pregnant: The child shall first be born, then the mother executed and finally the child shall be crushed under a pile of heavy rocks.

The explanation for this cruelty was that an unborn child was automatically defiled by its mother's filth. If a pregnant woman committed a wrongdoing serious enough for her to deserve death, then the child in her womb was just as guilty as she was and should share in her punishment.

None of this really made sense to Batta but she didn't worry too much about it. She knew that her child would never had to meet such a cruel fate. Mainly because it didn't exist since she could not possibly be pregnant.

The Mighty left her cell without a word. Hamin followed him out.

His face was almost as pale as snow.

### *

It was in the middle of the night but Arzi could find no sleep. He heard the chirping of the crickets outside as he went in his head over his investigation, over and over again. Was there anything he had missed? Any little detail which could help him figure out the identity of the murderer? Had the Highest Senator's suggestion of looking into the Together Party been a plot to throw suspicion off himself?

Arzi held Djeen closer to him, kissed his neck and tried to go back to sleep. He knew that there was nothing he could do at this late hour anyway and he needed to be well-rested for a long day of patrolling tomorrow.

Other thoughts began to bother him. Thoughts of Elizz and Djeen and how he loved and desired both of them. He wondered what Djeen would feel if he knew that Arzi had begun sleeping with his former fiancée again. And what Elizz would think if she knew that a handsome young man shared Arzi's bed at camp Red Wolf.

Neither of them had officially claimed Arzi as their own so he figured that they wouldn't have any reason to see him as unfaithful. Perhaps there wasn't anything wrong with enjoying both of these loves. When he thought about it, he couldn't really see why anyone would be expected to love only one person anyway.

His ponderings were interrupted by a knocking on the door. It was unlikely that an intruder had entered camp Red Wolf as Laur, who was assigned to the night watch, would have warned them if it did happen. But just to make sure he took his sword in his hand before opening.

A large eagle, as tall and wide as a grown man, was standing outside. It leaned over and gave Arzi the parchment it was holding in its beak.

"Thank you," Arzi said although he was fairly certain the animal couldn't understand him.

He read the letter quickly and his heart began to beat fast with excitement when he understood the purpose of the message. Shaking Djeen softly, he woke him up and ordered him to put on his armour and prepare his horse.

"Wha... What? Why that?" The young man asked with drowsy eyes.

"Hurry," Arzi said yanking the blankets off of him and giving him a kiss. "It's that Vaëz guy. He's been spotted south of Ily."

### *

"Vaëz!"

It always made Rahin cringe whenever she heard her birth name. She tried to recognize the voice calling for her in her dream but she could not. Then she felt someone kicking her in her side.

With a scream of pain she stood up and when she saw that she was surrounded by people with drawn swords pointing towards her, she realized that she was not dreaming.

She took a quick glance around, estimating their numbers to less than ten and to her surprise she saw that they were not marauders but soldiers.

"Who are you people?" She asked

"Are you Vaëz?" The man wearing the leader's helmet asked.

"Yes, I am him," Rahin said although it felt like a lie. "What is this about?"

She looked for Number One and saw him tied down and beaten on the ground. A redheaded young man holding a heavy wooden club was standing over him.

"Vaëz," the leader said, "you are under arrest for the murder of Nov Julkis."

### *

Djeen and Vayl. These were the names of the two soldiers assigned to guard her. The first one was the same young man she had seen sanding over Number One's unconscious body and the other was a person which curly black hair and an appearance androgynous enough that Rahin could not tell what sex they were.

The two persons, whose names she had figured out by listening closely to their conversation, were discussing an upcoming horse race and which horses to bet on.

"I don't know," Djeen said, "I really can't see the red horse beating the green one."

"You know, usually I would think that too but the red one has had some great last couples of races and I really think it's got a chance. Plus, with the odds as they are right now, it would be a much bigger cash price if it did win."

"Well, I really don't think it will but, hey, you do what you want. It's your money."

He looked over at Rahin and added:

"Talking about prices... Maybe we should collect ours before the others show up."

In that moment Rahin wished she had more sinister powers than her healing and foretelling ones. None of these could save her from what she believed was about to happen to her. But she realized her suspicions to be wrong when the young man walked up to the table at the far end of the room without even glancing at her.

"I don't think I need to remind you," Vayl said and followed after him, "that it's my turn to have first pick."

Rahin's belongings were lined up on the heavy wooden table. Her weapons, jewellery and even her beautiful red dress had been taken away from her when she had been stripped down and tied naked to a chair in the middle of the cell. She felt so low and humiliated that she didn't even bother to protest as the two soldiers discussed which of them would get to steel what items from her.

"Well, you can keep most of it. I only really need one thing right now," Djeen said and picked up Rahin's sword.

"Ah, come on. Don't tell me your broke another one?"

"I did. It's the steel around here, it's terrible. We might as well be fighting with twigs."

He spun the weapon in his hand a couple of times then sat back down in the chair in front of Rahin. A chill went down her spine as he studied her with his icy blue eyes.

"That's not true," she heard Vayl continue behind her. "If you just incorporated a little elegance in your fighting you'd be able to keep your swords sharp for far longer. But you keep chopping away like a madman."

Djeen shrugged and kept staring at Rahin. He was frowning as if he was trying to figure out something. Vayl sat down next to him and considered the necklace of gold and precious stones in their hand.

"Cheap gold, inferior gems. Won't get much money for it but it's the most valuable thing on that table."

Rahin could see her other jewellery sticking out of Vayl's pocket. She could feel the blood boil inside of her. How dared these people treat her like this, like a common criminal? And why did they believed she had killed Nov? Her eyes were still wet from crying over the news of his death.

"Do you always go dressed like that?" Djeen asked and pointed to her red dress with the tip of the sword.

The question was not asked in a malicious way. He seemed genuinely curious. Still, Rahin believed that if was none of his business and refused to answer.

"Maybe he's one like you," he said to Vayl. "You know, one that's both."

"I am not both," Vayl protested as if they had had to explain this far too many times. "I am neither."

"Same difference," Djeen said staring uninterestedly up at the ceiling.

"No, not same difference. I..."

The conversation was abruptly ended by the entrance of two men into the room. The first one was the leader of the troop of soldiers that had arrested Rahin. He ordered the two guards to leave and shut the door behind them.

The man accompanying him was one renown throughout the city: Bazk, leader of the Republican Guard. Rahin had seen him before numerous times when he was patrolling the streets of The Golden Village. She knew he had a reputation for being as brutal as he was merciless.

"Hello Vaëz," Bazk said and sat down in the chair in front of her. "I suspect you know why you are here."

If it was due to fear or the coldness of the cell, Rahin did not know but she found herself shaking.

"You... You th- think I killed Nov," she stuttered.

"Well, didn't you?"

His voice sounded almost amused. To keep a bay the panic she felt rising inside of her she closed her eyes and tried to connect to Spirit, to that place of infinite warmth and love.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He shouted and gave her a kick on the shin, forcing her to open her eyes and look up at him.

"I did not kill him," she answered in a determined voice. "I didn't even know he was dead until you arrested me."

"Then why did you leave Ily? And try to disguise yourself as a woman? It looks to me like you were trying not to get caught."

The leader of the private soldier troop was now speaking. He was a tall and muscular man with broad shoulders and thick dark hair and beard. On his red chest plate was the image of a ferocious black wolf so Rahin concluded that the name of his troop probably was the Red Wolves or something similar. She felt a much kinder and sympathetic energy from him than what she got from Bazk, whose coldness she found deeply unsettling.

"I left Ily to visit my father. I had received news that he was ill so I returned to my hometown of Toyan to care for him. He passed away just a couple of days after I arrived."

"Yeah, but the dress? What's that about?" Bazk demanded to know.

Rahin turned her eyes away and, taking a deep breath, prepared for ridicule.

"It wasn't a disguise. I just... like to dress like that. I was going to put my regular clothes back on before I reached Ily but I never got the chance."

Bazk laughed like she had expected him to. But the other man just scratched his beard and looked at her in silence. There was no confusion or disgust in his eyes which Rahin felt was surprising. The bearded masculine warrior types were usually the first to mock her feminine ways.

"So you were on your way to Ily?" He asked calmly as Bazk kept on chuckling.

"Yes," she said and nodded. "I was going back to senator Julkis' home. I haven't had any contact with him or his household since I left for Toyan, so I wasn't even aware that he had been murdered. What happened to him?"

Unable to hold back her tears, she let them fall. Turned her head to the side and dried them on her shoulder since her hands were tied behind her back.

"He got stabbed," the man said. "Fifty-two times."

Rahin let out a scream of despair which echoed through the cell like the moaning of a ghost. Her body began to shake uncontrollably and she could taste vomit in her mouth.

"I don't feel so good..."

Those were the few words she managed to get out before she had to turn her head to the side and throw up. The man came up to her and, with hands surprisingly soft and gentle, held up her hair as she emptied the content of her stomach unto the cold stone floor. When she was done he patted the top of her head and turned to Bazk.

"Get this boy some food and water. Untie him and give him clothes to cover himself with. I will come back tomorrow to speak with him some more. Until then, take care of him and make sure he is well."

"But..." Bazk protested as if the order had been some personal offence.

"No, not but. Wife Julkis has put me in charge of this investigation and I am telling you to take care of our suspect."

He walked up to Bazk, stared him right in the eyes and added:

"And nobody touches the boy. Not in any way. If I find a single scratch on him when I come back, I will give you the exact same injuries I find on him and perhaps even a couple more. Is that clear?"

Bazk nodded, an expression of sour resilience on his face. Then the soldier in red disappeared through the door. The sound of his heavy boots echoing through the cold prison halls.

### *

The reflection of the sun unto the gold paved streets blinded Arzi as he looked down at The Golden Village from the balcony of Elizz's private chamber. She was still sound asleep on top of the sweat stained white sheets of her bed where they had made love. Her legs were still spread, her scent still lingering in Arzi's beard.

The heat of the summer sun gave him a light headache and a heavy feeling in his limbs. He wondered if maybe these were early signs that he was getting too old for his job. With a sigh, he thought that if only The Massacre At The Market had never happened he would have probably gone in his father's footsteps and been a maker and seller of toys. Instead of violence and death, his days would have been filled with bringing joy and seeing children smile.

But it was all too late for that now. His life had taken a different turn a long time ago, on a hot summer morning like this one.

He remembered how he on that day had been sitting on the ground of the public square and played with his wooden figurines while his father had been setting up his stand. Arzi's little sister wanted to play with him and marry her doll Flower to one of his arena fighters but Arzi had refused, telling her that his brave warriors had no time for such girly endeavours. Little sister had cried running to their mother and complained about how mean her big brother was. Arzi had felt a sting of guilt at the sight of her tears and reluctantly agreed to let his fighter Zukr be joined in matrimony to the ugly doll Flower. He figured they could always get divorced later on.

His mother said that she was going back to their apartment to get her coin purse, which she had forgotten on the kitchen table. Little sister followed with her. If only they had left just a short moment earlier they could have made it out alive.

It started with a woman's scream and the sound of galloping horses. Arzi looked up from his toys and saw men, riding on horses and waving around weapons. He saw how they stroke down everyone they saw. Man, woman or little child; it didn't matter to them.

A couple of stands away he saw his mother take her little daughter into her arms to protect her. They were both trampled by the heavy hoofs of horses leaving their battered and bloodied up bodies behind them.

Frozen in terror, Arzi could not move or breathe. He stared at the horror in front of him as if his mind was trying to comprehend it but couldn't. The screams of despair like ghostly murmurs in the distance, as if they were but a figment of his imagination.

Arzi's father picked him up, threw him over his shoulder and ran. Armed horsemen were everywhere around them, blocking every entrance to the market. There was no way to run.

With no other options, Arzi's father turned around and hid his son in the first place he could find: under a pile of animal skins next to a tanner's stand.

"Stay there and don't move!" He said.

The poor man would only take a few steps before Arzi heard him being struck down and killed. His last scream forever echoing in his son's memory.

The carnage continued for what felt like forever. Arzi's body shook violently as he prayed to Spirit above to make everything okay, to make so that his family would all be alive and come home. But as Arzi learned, the mysterious force they call Spirit is largely indifferent to the tolling and suffering of humans. After that day, he never prayed again.

More horsemen rode into the market, fighting ensued. The yells of warriors and the metallic sounds of swords striking swords filled the market place. Thereafter, and finally: silence.

Arzi lay down still until he was certain the market place was empty of people. He crawled, careful not to make a sound, out of his hiding place. Immediately, he saw his father's body. A large stab wound from a sword through his chest. His still opened eyes staring up at Arzi in what felt almost like an accusation.

Arzi began to shake and scream and ran towards the nearest exit of the market. Avoiding bloodied and mutilated bodies with every step.

Then he saw them. Lying among the other corpses like anonymous piles of flesh, as if they had never been anything else: the bodies of his mother and sister.

Crying the bitterest tears of his life, he lied down next to them. His mother's face was distorted to the point of being unrecognizable. If it wasn't for her clothing and the fact that she was still holding her daughter in her arms, he wouldn't even have known that it was her.

His baby sister's face on the other hand was as angelic as it had always been, apart from the dried blood from a wound in her scalp. If it wasn't for the coldness of her skin when he touched her cheek, Arzi could have believed she was only asleep.

He noticed that she was holding her little doll Flower in her arms. Crawling closer to them, he took the doll from between her stiff arms and put it inside of his own shirt.

"Don't worry," he whispered to his baby sister. "I'll take care of her for you."

Arzi closed his eyes and took both his mother and sister into his arm. He swore to protect them and warm them through the cold of the night which was quickly arriving.

Something suddenly lifted him up. He realised that it was a man's hands and he began to kick and scream.

"It's okay," the man said and turned him over so that he could face him. "We're here to help you."

Arzi saw that he was wearing the standard uniform of the Republican Guard. But he kept screaming as the soldier carried him away.

"No! No! Let me stay with them! I have to stay with them!"

The boy's hysteria did not stop until he nearly fainted of exhaustion. By that time he had been taken to the headquarters of the Republican Guard, where he was given a mattress to sleep on and a sour tasting drink that almost immediately put him to sleep.

He was awaken the following morning with the news that his paternal uncle and only still living relative was on his way to take Arzi home with him. But as Arzi suspected, the old drunkard had no desire to take care of a child and denied even knowing the boy.

The soldiers confronted him with evidence, amongst them Arzi's citizen card, but to no use. With no other options left, they took Arzi to one of Ily's many orphanages. This is where he would spend the rest of his childhood.

Upon arriving he was immediately targeted by some older boys who took great pleasure in tormenting and mocking him, mostly because he carried a little doll with him everywhere.

The abuse was only verbal at first. But as time went by and Arzi became increasingly used and indifferent to their words, they decided to incorporate some physical brutality into their harassment of him.

It all started one evening after bedtime. The caregivers had left for the day, leaving the boys locked inside the large dormitory where they slept. Arzi was holding Flower close to him and wrapping the thin woollen blanket tighter around them. It was wintertime and the cold stone basement where the dormitory was located was even more frigid than usual.

Just as Arzi was about to fall asleep, someone pulled the blanket off of him. He sat up on his mattress and looked around but the room was pitch-black. Then someone lit an oil lamp, revealing the faces of the boys standing in a circle around his bed.

"Aren't you a little old to sleep with a dolly, little girl?" One of them said mockingly and delivered the first blow, right to his face.

Arzi barely had the time to scream and grab his bleeding nose before the other boys were on him, hitting him over and over again. They did not stop until ordered to be their ringleader, an unusually tall and thick boy by the name of Esk.

Quietly, they stepped away from Arzi and let Esk come forward. He had an unsettling expression on his face, as if Arzi's suffering gave him the greatest pleasure.

"You know that when a boy plays with dolls it makes him a butt-rider, right? Because we don't take kindly to butt-riders around here."

Esk grabbed Arzi's by the throat and tore the doll from his arms. He put her head inside of his mouth and bit down, severing it from her body before spitting it down on the floor.

Filled with a sudden rage, Arzi punched him in the elbow to try to make him let go of his throat. He even twisted his head in an attempt to bite the bigger boy's hand. To no use.

Esk lifted him up and laughed, the cruellest and most heartless laugh Arzi had ever heard. He threw Arzi on the floor, next to the doll head, and proceeded to kick in the guts far more times than Arzi could count. Finally, Esk stumped on his head once before stating:

"Well, I think that's enough for today. Back to your beds, boys. We taught that one a good lesson."

All the boys went back to a peaceful sleep, leaving Arzi bleeding and sobbing on the floor, as if nothing had happened.

The following morning the caregivers saw that he had been hurt but they did not say a thing. They simply gave the boys a piece of mouldy bread each and let them out for the day to stroll the streets of Ily until the doors of the orphanage were reopened in the evening.

Arzi made his way to one of the city's public indoor gardens and, beneath a blossoming apricot tree, gave Flower a proper burial. He shed some tears. Not so much from mourning as over not having been able to keep the last promise he had given his sister.

When Arzi returned to the orphanage that night he thought that maybe the other boys would go easier on him now that he no longer had a doll. But he was wrong and they jumped on him a soon as he walked through the door.

From that day onward and for the rest of his childhood Arzi would have to fight to survive. He fought the other boys over the meagre foods they were given, he fought to keep the clothes on his back and the blanket over him at night. Mostly, he fought to make it through each day.

When he reached the age when his voice began to drop, and he therefore was considered an adult by Ilyian law, Arzi was finally allowed to leave the orphanage. With no family and no one to turn to, he decided to unroll in one of the Republican Guard's military schools. There he would train to become a soldier in service to the city and to the whole Republic.

He was pleasantly surprised to learn that the living conditions were nothing like what he had experienced at the orphanage. Here, he was well fed and clothed and taken care of whenever he was ill or injured. In other words, he was treated like a human being for the first time in a long time.

The days at the school were spent on the sand of the training square learning the art of fighting or in the classroom studying military strategy. In the evening he and his classmates would relax at a local tavern or at the school's dormitory, which was shared by both male and female pupils.

Many romances grew between the boys and the girls of the school and Arzi began to also notice the beauty of the opposite sex. As well as that of the same sex. Although at the time he managed to convince himself that what he sometimes felt for other boys was nothing more than deep admiration.

By the time Arzi had begun to grow hair on his chin and cheeks, he was finished with his training and accepted into one of the Republican Guard's sub-troops. He moved into a garrison located just outside The Golden Village and spent much of his days guarding The Gold Gate. Life was good and he felt hope for the future. And then there was Jok.

Arzi and Jok had met on his first day at the garrison and had immediately gotten along. Whenever they could they would spend their time together, often sitting in one of their rooms and talking long into the nights. They were separated during the day since they were assigned to different tasks in opposite sides of the city but always came together as soon as they got back.

As time went by, their feelings for each other deepened. Arzi tried to deny it at first but as his desire and love for the other young man grew, he could no longer run away from what he was. Who he was.

It didn't really help either that Jok, unlike Arzi, felt no shame over his attraction and would never miss a chance to tell his fellow soldier how much he loved him. Although always whispering and only when they were alone. They both knew what would happen if anyone found out about it.

One evening, as they were walking in a public garden and admiring the fireflies twinkling around them, Arzi found himself no longer able to resist his feelings. He looked around briefly to make sure they were alone, kissed Jok on the cheek and whispered in his ear:

"Come see me tonight in my room. I'll leave the door unlocked."

The way Jok then smiled and gazed into his eyes made Arzi shiver with pleasure and anticipation.

Later that night, as Arzi was sitting in his bed reading a book, he heard the door open and saw the man he loved enter his room. They embraced briefly before Arzi got up nervously to lock the bedroom door and put a chair behind it just in case. At this late hour it was unlikely that anyone would come unannounced but considering the much forbidden nature of what they were about to do it would have been foolish to take any risks.

Jok, being much more experienced than Arzi when it came to this sort of things, took the lead. He kissed Arzi passionately and, with one hand, removed Arzi's loincloth while using his other hand to firmly caress his buttocks. Arzi could feel himself become aroused and his excitement only grew when Jok pushed him gently unto the bed and proceeded to take of his own clothes.

Like most young soldiers his age, Jok was muscular and lean. A few scars here and there witnessed of injuries acquired in battle or in the training square. Arzi felt captivated by the other man's wide shoulders and narrow hips and above all by the way he looked at him with his hazel eyes.

When Jok removed his own loincloth, revealing his fully erect member, Arzi felt self-conscious that it was bigger than his. But he was quickly distracted from his worry when Jok lay on top of him, kissing him tenderly.

"So... What do you like?" Jok whispered in his ear.

"I don't know," Arzi said. "I've never done this before. I mean, you know, not with a guy."

He looked away, blushing. A sudden fear that Jok would be shocked and leave made Arzi's heart race on his chest. Biting his lip, he dared look up at Jok and saw that he was smiling at him.

"I kind of suspected that. How about I show you some things and you tell me how it feels?"

That night Arzi let Jok do what he wanted with his body. Leaning back on the bed and focusing on the pleasure given to him, he could feel the shame disappear more and more as he came closer and closer to ecstasy. And after they had both finished, their cum blending together on top of Arzi's stomach, he no longer felt any.

The next couple of days were spent in a state of bliss, as if the ground beneath Arzi's feet had turned to clouds which bore him up to heaven. As if the sun was shining brighter than it ever had before and the birds sang the sweetest songs birds had ever sung.

But soon the truth dawned down on him. What he and Jok had was in Ilyian society regarded as an aberration, something that claimed to be love but could never truly be. In other people's eyes, their love for each other would always be seen as a disease in need of a cure.

For this reason, the two men kept their relationship hidden. Their feelings were only expressed in private, usually inside of rented rooms in taverns as sneaking into each other's bedrooms at night had become too risky. To avoid suspicion they began to spend less time together at the garrison. And every night when Arzi laid in his empty bed, he could feel his body and soul aching for his lover.

Sometimes he would fantasize about them leaving the Republican Guard together, perhaps create a new life for themselves in a city far away from here. But he knew that Jok would never agree to this.

Unlike Arzi, who had joined the Guard's military schooling program mainly to have a place to sleep, Jok had dreamed his whole life of becoming a republican guard. He was passionate about his work and excellent at it. Arzi could see him become a great warrior, perhaps even a war general. It wouldn't have surprised him if Jok would have later become one of those legendary military leaders who led the Ilyian army into the conquering of new territories for the sake of the ever-expanding Republic. Sadly, a turn of events would guarantee that the young man's talent would remain forever wasted.

It happened on a regular day like so many others. Arzi and Jok were lying on the bed of a rented tavern room. Their naked limbs intertwined, their sweaty skin sticking together. The warm afternoon sun was peeking through the drawn window curtains, reflecting its shiny rays unto the wooden floor and heating up the already sultry air. Soon, one of them would have to leave and return to the garrison. A little while later, the other one would leave also. They always made sure to not arrive at the same time and avoided suspicion that way. Until then, they still had a short while to enjoy each other's company.

That precious moment was suddenly shattered by a loud knock on the door. Arzi got up to open, thinking that it was the tavern servant who sometimes came by to offer guests snacks and refreshments. He only took a few steps before the door flew open, revealing armed republican guards staring at them both with determination and disgust.

The soldiers bound Arzi and Jok and beat them before taking them to the headquarters of the Republican Guard. There, they were beaten once again. This time by a young ambitious troop leader eager to participate in cleansing the Guard of, as he called them, butt-riders.

Arzi thought that they would be subjected to an interrogation. But the violence brought on them was only a punishment, something which the leaders of the Guard knew the two men would not get from the city as the law of the Republic did not forbid sexual contact between people of the same sex.

Still, in the eyes of the people, love between men was considered an aberration. Some thought it to be a result of insanity, others saw it as a sign of having an evil soul. Yet others believed in the idea that such tendencies were caused by a chemical imbalance in the body and bogus herbal remedies against "the sick attraction" were sold in dark back alleys all over the Republic.

When the troop leader had satisfied his sadistic urges and no longer felt like hurting them, he informed Jok and Arzi that they were dismissed from the Guard. Soldiers were sent to their garrison to pick up the two men's few belongings before they were both thrown out on the street.

To this day Arzi did not know how the Guard had come to know of their relationship or through whom. For a little while he had felt almost thankful towards that person. Arzi had thought that now maybe he and Jok could finally create a life together. But those feelings were short lived.

While Jok and Arzi did start to live openly and moved into a small apartment in the centre of the city, it was obvious that Jok was not happy. His lifelong dream had been shattered and not even all of Arzi's love could ever repair that.

They still tried their best to move on. Jok got a job at a bakery and Arzi as a ticket seller at an arena. As expected they received a lot of disapproval from the people around them. Their friends disappeared from their lives one after another when they learned the true nature of the two men's relationship and the neighbours pretended like they didn't exist, except when they would give the young couple disgusted and disapproving looks. The only shunning they didn't have to worry about was from family, as both Arzi and Jok were orphans raised by the city.

Sometimes, seeing the growing sadness in Jok's eyes, Arzi would suggest to him to try out for this or that private troop. These groups were certainly not known for passing any sort of judgement on their soldiers' lifestyle choices. Or any other sort of choices for that matter, as long as they fought well and helped their leaders earn lots of gold. Jok would have none of it.

"These people have no integrity or discipline," he would say waving his finger at Arzi. "They know nothing about honour or serving your fellow man. All they care about is gold and booze and getting their dicks wet. Over my dead body I would join these savages, I tell you that!"

Arzi eventually stopped pressing the issue and hoped that Jok would find fulfilment in something else than a military career. Life went on, days passed. And slowly, like a picked spring flower shedding its petals, the passion between them died.

Even though they never had any heated arguments or prolonged conflicts, Arzi had felt it coming. Somehow he had always known that their relationship would not survive Jok losing his dream. Above all not the fact that his relationship with Arzi was the sole reason for his loss.

Arzi took some time to cry over it, to mourn their love. He moved out of the apartment and, having gathered an extensive gambling debt, joined a small private troop so he could earn enough money to pay off what he owed.

Jok stayed at the bakery where he worked. He would eventually inherit the shop from the old owner, who had died without having children. Arzi still saw Jok from time to time. He wondered to this day if Jok had finally found happiness or if he still lived in bitterness over his destroyed military career.

The troop Arzi had joined was called the Red Wolves as it still was today. There he met the leader at the time: an elderly soldier by the name of Hakl. A tall and thin man with whitening chestnut hair, Hakl had started off as a republican guard. Seeing that there was much more money to be made in the private military business, he had then left the Guard and founded his own private troop.

Hakl was a charming man with a sophisticated speech and urbane manners. A common guest of the upper class, he often frequented the lavish parties held within The Golden Village. As Arzi realised as he got to know him, Hakl could talk himself into any place and make a friend out of anyone. Skills he never failed to use to his own advantage.

One of Hakl's many powerful friends was a senator by the name of Diuz, a member of the ruling Party of Honour and Tradition. Hakl and Diuz had been close friends since their youth when they both served in the Republican Guard. During a military campaign in the east Hakl had saved the life of the future senator, bounding the two men for life.

Hakl was for this reason a much-honoured guest at the famously decadent parties held at senator Diuz's villa. Only the richest and most famous of the city were ever invited to them. And also Arzi, whom Hakl often brought with him.

Arzi didn't care much for being around loud drunken people stuffing their faces all night with greasy delicacies from all over the Republic. He didn't really enjoy either having naked slave girls shaking their bosoms in his face wherever he turned. Not because he didn't like a nice pair of tits. That is surely did. But because even back then he felt disgusted with the custom of slavery, of selling and owning human beings as if they were nothing but cattle.

Hakl still insisted that Arzi come with him to Diuz's parties. He said it was a great way to make contacts that could advance the young man's career. Arzi wasn't so sure of it, as he doubted the rich and powerful guests would pay much attention to him. Or even remember him in their blurry drunken memories.

To spend the time Arzi would often sit in a corner and enjoy a variation of foods from the gigantic buffet. Sometimes, when Hakl had gotten too drunk to notice, Arzi would sneak out to sit in the garden outside and read a book in the light of the moon.

One evening when he was sitting beneath a tree, enjoying the exciting adventures of Guzl the dragon slayer, he suddenly heard a woman's voice.

"That's a great book. Not as good as the first two of the series, though."

A woman about his own age was standing above him. Her full lips slightly bent in a cheeky smile, her eyes shimmering like the stars above their head. She was wearing a long white and gold dress and had finely braided hair, which indicated that she was of the upper-class.

"Yes, let's hope the fourth book will be better than this one."

It felt like an awkward answer but Arzi could not think of anything better to say. He had rarely seen such a beautiful woman and beauty regardless of gender always made his knees weak and his tongue clumsy.

"Indeed. Fortunately, we won't have to wait long to find out. Did you know it's coming out in only four days?"

She sat down next to him, so close that their shoulders touched. Arzi felt a nervous shiver down his spine as he felt her skin against his.

"Yeah, I heard about that. There is even going to be a book signing with the author down at the main market. My name is Arzi, by the way. What's yours?"

"It's nice to meet you, Arzi. I'm Elizz."

And she smiled at him once more with her beautiful brown eyes. Enchanting him in that moment like only she ever could.

They spent the rest of the night talking and enjoying each other's company. The fresh summer air keeping them warm and energized as they discussed books, the Ilyian socialite life and even politics. He found out that she was the daughter of senator Diuz but an active member in the Justice Party, which of course was the reason for much conflict with her father. Arzi himself was a supporter of this the second largest party of the Ilyian Republic, much to the disappointment of Hakl who was a staunch traditionalist.

Realizing their common political values, Elizz invited him to come with her at the next party meeting. A proposition he gladly accepted as the sun began to rise in the horizon and he had to leave her to go back inside before Hakl awoke from his alcohol induced unconsciousness.

Elizz and Arzi met up a few days later at the city's largest book market. They walked around for a while, looking at the hundreds of different stands where thousands upon thousands of books were displayed and sold for about the same price as a loaf of bread each. Most vendors were selling second-hand books but many were self-published authors who had invested in, or even built themselves, a hand-operated printing press and now sold their own writings. Many were the stories of such ambitious independent writers, often from the lower class, who had through their talents managed to lift themselves out of poverty. But the competition was tough and most made only a very small income from this endeavour.

Elizz and Arzi were both deeply passionate about reading and by the time they left the market for the evening meeting at the Justice Party's headquarter, they were both carrying heavy leather tote bags full of books. The enchanting and unique smell of new literature tickling their nostrils. Tantalizing promises of new exciting adventures waiting for them between thin papyrus pages.

The meeting was held at the senate, in one of the smaller debate chambers. Upon the wall, a banner had temporary been raised which showed the official emblem of the Justice Party: a golden weighing scale on a red and blue background. Men and women wearing white senator robes were standing on the wooden podium of the half-circle shaped room. In front of them were white marble rows where an eager audience of attendees were sitting and waiting for the meeting to start.

The subject for the evening's debate was whether or not to support a new motion from the ruling party to raise the taxes on wheat and barley. Most of the evening's debaters favoured the proposal, which wasn't much of a surprise since the Justice Party was notoriously enamoured with taxation. But some did not, among them a man by the name of Nov Julkis.

Arzi did not know much about him at the time except that he was considered to be one of the most moderate of the party. He opposed many of the most radical propositions from his own group, especially those that entailed any sort of forceful coercion towards the people. This was all before he had forged his own political philosophy, which championed the ideas of individual rights and personal freedom for all. Nothing back then really gave a clue that the mild-mannered middle-aged man would be the same person to, during a heated debate with the Highest Senator, famously proclaim that "taxation is thievery" and provoke the hysterical laughter of the whole senate.

"Don't believe," he would one day say to Arzi, "that I am unaware that most think me to be insane. I know very well that my ideas are accepted by only a very few. But the truth is that I believe in every human's right to freedom so strongly that I could not keep my mouth shut even if I did care for what the world thinks of me. My hope is that I will at least sow a seed, even the slightest love for freedom, in the heart of my fellow humans. So that one day maybe it will grow enough to bring on the change I never could during my lifetime. You see Arzi, when you have a dream driving you then the mockeries of others sound but like a whisper in the wind."

Throughout everything, through the ridicule and the shunning, Elizz would stand by her husband. Although seeing her with Nov always reminded Arzi of his lost love, he couldn't help but be impressed by her unfailing support for the man she had married, the most reviled man of the senate. Sometimes Arzi wondered if maybe it was her unconditional love that had impelled him to start fighting for what he truly believed in.

But before she had become Nov's, Elizz had been Arzi's. After that first date at the book market and Justice Party meeting, they would continue to see each other. First in secret, but it didn't take long before the watchful eyes and spies of one of the city's most powerful men saw what was going on.

Unsurprisingly, senator Diuz was less than thrilled by his daughter's relationship with a man of such low standing as Arzi. He let him know about it and one time even offered Arzi a large sum of money to break up with Elizz. But no fortune, no matter how vast, could ever measure up to the love Arzi felt for her so he politely declined.

In any other city or part of town, the senator could have just forbidden his daughter from seeing her lover again. The women of the Ilyian upper-class were famously independent, some would even say rebellious, and senator Diuz was a smart enough man to know that it simply would not be enough. If anything, it would only have pushed her further into Arzi's arms.

Luckily for the senator, he would soon find out details about Arzi's past which would abruptly end the passionate relationship between the two young lovers.

In retrospect, Arzi wondered how he could have not seen it coming. Senator Diuz had informants in all the important organisations of the city and enough power to make happen almost anything he wished to make happen. It had only been a matter of time before he found out why Arzi had been kicked out of the Republican Guard and informed his daughter about it.

Arzi recalled the end of a winter day. The sun was setting in the horizon and the snow falling softly in the dying light. Ilyian winters were usually mild so snow was to the habitants of the city a rare and precious sight.

As Arzi was enjoying the spectacle from the balcony of one of Elizz's many villas, he heard steps behind him. At first he didn't think they were hers. She had a softness and elegance in her walk that gave her steps an almost musical touch. No, these were angry like the stomping of a raging horse. When he turned around he found to his surprise that it was Elizz, staring at him with a fury like he had never seen in anyone's eyes.

"Is it true?" She demanded to know.

"What is?"

She threw a rolled-up piece of parchment at him as a response. He picked it up from the floor and began to read what turned out to be a letter addressed to senator Diuz. At the bottom of the page was the seal of the Republican Guard along with the signature of Arzi's former troop leader.

He knew what it would say before he even read the message and he knew in the same moment that Elizz's love for him had died as she had read the words. The letter was, as Arzi suspected, an answer to a request from the senator to know why Arzi had been dismissed from the Guard. It explained that they had received anonymous information that Arzi and another male soldier were involved in a relationship of a sexual character and would meet at a specific tavern every third day. Soldiers assigned to the task investigated the claims and caught the two men together. Arzi and his fellow soldier, whose name was not mentioned in the letter, were immediately discharged from the Guard and banned for life.

"So?" Elizz asked, growing impatient as he was reading.

"It is," he said and nodded without meeting her eyes.

A scream was heard, as high and furious as only a scorned woman's rage could give birth to. He felt something hit his face and a hundred shattered pieces of a precious vase fell around him.

"Get out! Get out of my sigh! Get out and never come back! You disgust me!"

Arzi left without a word, his head bowed down as he felt too ashamed to even look at her.

He spent the rest of the night wandering the streets of Ily with his horse by his side until the sun came up. Shocked over what had happened now, only fourteen days after they had gotten engaged. So enamoured he had been, so utterly intoxicated by her being, that he had completely forgotten about his past doings and not seen how they undoubtedly would one day come back to bite him.

When midday came, he left the city and rode back to Camp Red Wolf. His face and clothing still bloodied from the vicious cut the shattering crystal vase had left on the side of his head.

He ran into Hakl upon returning to the camp and as an answer to his shocked expression simply said:

"She found out."

No more words were needed. Hakl knew of Arzi's past and wise as he was had probably already long figured out what would eventually happen. Neither of them spoke of it again, even as senator Diuz cut all ties to Hakl and never again invited him to any of his lavish parties. Certainly as a punishment for having brought Arzi into Elizz's life.

For reasons Arzi never figured out, Hakl seemed to hold no grudge against him for what had happened. With time he even made the younger man rise in the ranks until he was second-in-command in the Red Wolves.

When Hakl abruptly died of a heavy lance through his skull during an attack upon a group of marauders who had terrorised a nearby village, Arzi had been made leader of the troop by default. Most of the soldiers left. Many because they had loved Hakl so deeply they could not see themselves serve under any other leader. But many others left because, and this they made no secret of, they believed Arzi not worthy of taking over Hakl's legendary legacy.

Left with only a handful of warriors and not the best of them at that, Arzi would struggle to keep the troop afloat. Still he had managed until now, pouring his soul into his mission and sacrificing both love and a tranquil life to live up to the task. Sometimes he wondered why he had even bothered. It was clear by now that the Red Wolves would never again rise to their former glory. Maybe the time had come for him to hang up his sword and enjoy a well-deserved retirement.

He felt suddenly the soft arms of a woman around his waist. Her wet lips kissing the back of his neck as she whispered.

"It's so early. Come back to bed."

Interrupted in his train of thoughts, all his recalled memories now seemed unreal. As distant from his life as a story told on the papyrus pages of a book purchased for the price of a loaf of bread. And maybe they were just as insignificant. Maybe all that really mattered was the present moment, the only time one had any power to change anything.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," he lied. "Just... enjoying the morning sun."

A sense of calm came over him for the first time in a long time. In this precious and intimate moment, everything seemed to be how it always should have been. The choice he had made yesterday felt now clearly to him like the one that had always meant to be.

Making his way to Elizz's house the previous evening after having interrogated Vaëz, he had found himself thinking about his two loves and how different they were.

What he felt for Djeen was the soft, compassionate kind of love. The type that made you want to be a better person. Made you one, even, just by being in your heart.

But what he felt for Elizz was so much stronger. No because it was a purer kind of love, quite the opposite. It was a raging fire in his bones. A potent poison, like an enchanted curse he knew he could never escape. The kind of passion which led men to war and violence just for a kiss from their beloved. And the greatest killer of men, far above greed and power lust.

By the time he had arrived at her door he knew that between the two he had to choose her. Not that it felt much like a choice. In her hands he was like a young bull, eagerly going to his slaughter with a hop in his step. He came to her knowing she was the only one who could ease the desire she had put in his flesh.

Now he just had to tell Djeen that what they had was over. Arzi dreaded his reaction. The first love always left the biggest scar and Arzi had been his first in more ways than one. The first kiss, the first night of tender loving, the first time getting fucked up the ass until he screamed like a tortured pig. And young people always idealised their romances, pouring their souls into it like nothing else ever mattered. However Djeen took the break-up, he would not take it well.

Arzi worried about how this would affect his troop. By experience he knew that love drama always negatively affected the morale of the group. There was on top of that the very conceivable possibility that Djeen would leave the Red Wolves. Arzi would thereby lose his greatest warrior and have to find a replacement for him fast before the troop lost its right to seek funding.

Maybe it was best to wait a little bit before he told him the news, at least until they had figured out the whole situation with that Vaëz kid and whether or not he had anything to do with Nov's murder.

"I don't think he did it," he said to Elizz now that his thoughts had brought him to the matter.

"Who? Vaëz?"

"Yes. He seemed so devastated about Nov's passing. I don't think he was faking it. I hate to say it but I'm quite sure Nov's killer is still to be found."

Elizz sighed. He felt her heavy breath on his neck and became slightly aroused.

"That would make sense," she said. "Tiplipli root powder is quite expensive, especially for a simple servant. Unless maybe someone gave it to him."

A sudden realisation, as quick and unexpected as a slap in the face. Just as shocking.

"How do you know that?" Arzi asked.

"Know what?"

He freed himself from her gentle grip and turned to face her.

"That Nov was killed with Tiplipli root powder? I lied to you about what poison he was given so that you wouldn't have to know that he died such a painful death."

Turning away from him she sat back down on the bed. Her naked body as inviting as ever, but on her face an expression of annoyance.

"The servant who was in the room when you examined the goblet. He told me."

"I doubt that."

"Why?"

"Because it was his idea. He approached me with it right before I left the room to talk to you. He said that you were a good and noble person and that you deserved to be spared of the pain."

The annoyance turned to cold anger. Arzi could see the disgust in her eyes as she held his. After a long moment of tense silence between them, Elizz finally said:

"Don't you dare judge me, Arzi. You have no idea what it was like being married to Nov. You don't know what that man put me through."

That man. The disdain in her voice as she said these words was as bitter as the confession now coming from her. Arzi felt weak in his body from the shock of her revelation and had to lean back against the wall.

"I married a man of high standing, a senator. Someone respected and admired by all. But he just had to throw it all away. He had to start spewing these ridiculous ideas that everyone should be completely free and make us the laughing stock of Ily."

"You could have divorced him. You didn't have..."

"Ah!" She interrupted him. Her high-pitched laughter echoing through the chamber. "But I did. You know very well the ridicule suffered by women who divorce senators. All the sick rumours of sexual affaires, the perverted drawings in the news posters all over the city. I had been humiliated enough. By Nov, by the people of The Golden Village, by you and learning of your perversions. I had enough. This time no one was going to spit on me anymore. Besides it was only fair that he would suffer in his final moments just as much as I have suffered all this time his ideas have made me a pariah in this city."

The tears in her eyes were a strange contrast to the hatred in her voice. A mixture of emotions not unlike the inner turmoil Arzi felt as he looked at her. He had to turn his back to her to try and gather his thoughts.

"Do you want to know how I did it?"

Something taunting in her voice. A sick desire to shock him.

"I was quite simple," she explained without waiting for his answer. "You know Nov wasn't much of a drinker. But he would take a glass of red wine whenever his gut troubled him. So, I bought a bottle of his favourite wine and put some Tiplipli root powder in it. Then, on the morning I left Ily, I put the bottle on his bedside table along with a note. Do you want to know what it said?"

He could hear the pleasure she took in revealing all of this to him. And once again she did not wait for his answer.

"It said: 'With all my love, for the wonderful kind of man you are.' I signed it with my name so that he would be sure I was the one who left it there. So he would know in his last moment who eradicated him from this world."

She laughed. A bitter, sobbing laughter. Arzi recalled how Nov had been lying on the bed, covered in his own bloody mess. It was obvious that he had never tried to get help or even struggled against what was happening to him. As if he had simply accepted the sentence given to him by his beloved. Perhaps he had done so out of sorrow, perhaps out of love. Most likely both.

"When I returned," she continued her confession, "I walked up to his bedroom and saw to my delight that he had ingested the poison. Vaëz was nowhere to be found, as I expected. Although I thought he had left because he feared he would be blamed for Nov's death. I didn't know he had left Ily before Nov had even drunk the wine. I took away the note which was still one the bedside table. Then I ran downstairs to scream for help."

"And the flower?" Arzi asked. "The white hibiscus you left on his body, what did it mean?"

A long silence. The steps of a patrolling republican guard unto the golden pavement. The singing of the domesticated birds down in the garden. Flowing water running from precious marble fountains.

"It meant he had played out his role," she said finally. "It means you all have."

Before he could even start to wonder what she meant, Arzi felt a sharp pain going through him. He could feel the warm blood running down his stomach and unto his groin and saw the glimmering of the blade that was sticking out from below his ribcage. He remembered Ussa's word about Djeen: He is the right choice. He is the right way.

Turning around to face Elizz, he knew that his end had come.

She had sneaked up behind him. Her soft steps unheard on the warm fox skin rug.

"I'm sorry, Arzi. But you know too much. I cannot let you drag my name in the dirt."

Elizz screamed, a high-pitched hysterical scream. She punched herself in the face several times as hard as she could and pushed him. He tried to fight her, but the world was far too quickly turning black.

She kicked him until he was half-laying on the railing of the balcony. A light final push was all that was needed for him to fall over and onto the ground below.

## Chapter Ten

The sun was setting over the ocean Djeen was seeing for the very first time. He had heard it described to him but nothing could have prepared him for the beauty of this spectacle. The sky looked as if a little child had playfully painted it in the most gorgeous colours of orange, pink and purple. A slight evening breeze made the waves dance softly towards the shore, bringing to Djeen the salty and sensual smell of the sea.

He took a step into the water, finding it pleasantly lukewarm. Two men about his own age were waiting for him further away. They were tall and muscular, scruffy looking with strong buttocks and large cocks. Just like he loved them.

It hit him that he had never been fucked in the ocean before. He couldn't wait to try it out.

"No! No! No! Damn it! Djeen, wake up!"

Djeen woke up with a jolt and saw all around him the dark stone of the prison cell. He felt the icy dampness of the air against his skin. Realised bitterly that his fun hot day at the beach had been nothing more than a pleasant dream.

Vaëz had fallen to the floor and was convulsing violently while Vayl was holding his head in their lap.

"Hurry! Go get help! Go get Ussa!"

Djeen leaped from the cold floor where he had dozed off, flung the cell door open and ran down the corridor. He made his way to the guards' break room where he had last seen Ussa and expected he would find her either sleeping or eating, as it was how she spent most of her time. Interestingly enough, he found her half-doing both. Resting her eyes while munching on a piece of cake.

"The prisoner is cramping! Quick!"

He knelt with his back turned to her so that she could climb on it. When he felt her frail arms around his neck, he put his hands under her thighs for support and ran back to the cell.

A couple of republican guards, alerted by the tumult, were standing by the entrance and jumped aside to let them in.

Djeen knelt softly to let the old woman climb off him. She immediately put her hands on Vaëz, one on his forehead and the other one on his chest.

The prisoner was now rambling words which were either gibberish or some language Djeen had never heard before.

"Aï," Ussa said and shook her head. "Such a struggle inside."

"What's wrong with him?" Djeen asked.

"Visions. Spirit is trying to warn."

"Warn against what?"

Ussa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She began to tremble as she tried to gaze into Vaëz's vision.

"Hm, so clouded in darkness. I hear men screaming. Tearing of flesh. But I cannot see. Spirit will not allow. It is only for the eyes of the young woman."

Djeen was about to ask who "the young woman" referred to but was interrupted when the prisoner began to scream even louder. The words were now clearly Toyanese and with the little he knew about the language Djeen could make out the sentences "the slaughter is coming" and "he has no mercy". These along with the blood chilling screams of Vaëz sent a shill down Djeen's spine. A sense of impending doom lingered in the walls even as the prisoner was beginning to calm down.

Vayl and Djeen lay him down on the hard stone bed of the cell. Vaëz was still shaking but now more because of the cold than any bodily convulsions.

A republican guard showed his head through the door opening and informed them that Izid was looking for Vayl, who immediately hurried out.

Left with only Ussa and the prisoner, Djeen took of his coat and lay it over him. It wasn't in his habits to be so compassionate with prisoners but something about Vaëz's soft features and kind expression pulled at his heartstring.

"Is he going to be okay?" He asked.

"She will be alright", Ussa answered.

"She? You know it's a guy, right?"

"No. No, she is not."

Djeen chuckled at what to him sounded like a ridiculous claim.

"Ussa, I've seen him naked. Believe me, it's a guy."

Ussa looked up at him with a motherly smile. There was compassion in her expression but also a bit of sadness, as if she felt sorry for him.

"You believe so but it is because you only see with your eyes," she said pointing demonstratively to her own.

Djeen shrugged. He really didn't see what else you were supposed to look with. It was probably just another of those annoying riddles old sorcerers and sorceresses liked to play people with.

"But you will know," Ussa added. "She will teach you how. And many other things."

She tapped on the edge of the bed and he sat down next to her. Not without keeping an eye on the prisoner lying behind him. Vaëz didn't seem like a violent kind of person, but you never knew.

"I must tell you things, young man. Such things Spirit compels me to say."

Ussa cleared her throat and began to speak in a whispering tone as if what she was about to say was of the outmost importance.

"You are the arrow, but she is the bow. You have the force, the ability to kill many men. But she will aim you, for she is wisdom. Tell me, to the hunter which is more precious: the arrow or the bow?"

After thinking about it, and although he still had no idea what she was talking about, Djeen said:

"I would say that both are pretty useless without the other."

"Both are needed for the hunt. One without the other cannot slay the beast."

The old woman smiled at him with her toothless gums and patted him affectionately on the cheek.

"Soon you will see, young man. Do not worry. She will aim you to your destiny."

### *

The bird was red and dark brown with a bright yellow beak. Batta would see him from time to time on the windowsill, often in the morning when he sang his melodic tune in an attempt to charm a possible mate. This specific species was called a djeen, after an ancient word meaning cheeky. It was one of the few wild animals that could still be found in the land. Most had been hunted into extinction by the starving population but the djeen was famously quick and hard to catch and had managed to survive until this day.

Seeing the djeen was one of the few enjoyments Batta had while being tied down to the same hospital bed where she had given birth to her child just three days ago. Sometimes the bird would even come into the room through the open window and explore his surroundings.

On one occasion he even stood on the bed post, cocking his head back and forth as he looked down at her. The lucky animal was freer than she was, or ever had been for that matter.

Soon her suffering would end. Hamin had informed her that she would die this very afternoon. Her newborn child would be crushed under heavy rocks shortly after that. According to Hamin the process was very quick and the child would pass before it had the time to feel any pain. It was a gruesome death but still one of the most merciful one could expect to be given in this land.

Batta was still in shock over having given birth. For a long time she had not even believed she was pregnant. There was, as far as she knew, no way it could have been possible. But still, as The Mighty had told her, she had been.

She continued to wonder how it had happen. Had one of the many sexually repressed men at the temple had his way with her in her sleep? Perhaps even used some herb mixture to sedate her? She could not figure it out and had accepted by now that she never would.

A knock on the door post awoke her from her weary thoughts. Hamin stepped inside holding in his arms something wrapped in a plain grey blanket.

"There is someone I think you should meet," he said smiling.

He pulled back a bit of the blanket, revealing the face of a sleeping baby.

"You introduce me to my child before you murder it? You are a crueller man than I thought you to be, Hamin."

"No," he said shaking his head, "look."

Hamin pulled back the blanket some more, revealing the child's bright red hair.

"He has been chosen by The Mighty. Your son will get to live, Batta."

The Beloved One sat down on the edge of the bed and put the child into her arms. Batta felt her eyes fill with tears when her son opened his and looked up at her with his icy blue stare. He studied her for a moment with a frowning expression on his face, as if he sought to know who this curious person was who had dared awaken him from his sleep.

"Hello there," she whispered.

He blinked at the sound of her voice, then smiled. It was the first time Batta held or even saw her child. Nurses had taken him out of the room as soon as he was out of the womb and the umbilical cord was cut. The Perfect Book stated that the condemned mother should under no circumstances be allowed to touch, and thereby further defile, the newborn. Even more so if the child was one of the chosen and therefore allowed to live on.

"Isn't it a great risk you are taking, Hamin? To let me hold my child? What if The Mighty finds out?"

Hamin looked pensive for a moment, then answered with words that sounded as empty as they were mechanical:

"The Mighty's mercy is the greatest of mercies. None of us deserves it but He spreads it from Mountain to Sea, from Heaven to Earth. The Mighty's mercy has no end. None can comprehend it. A great mystery it is."

"So it was his idea?" She tried to translate from his quoting of The Perfect Book.

Hamin nodded and put a gentle hand on the child's head.

"A great mystery is His mercy indeed."

Batta could not fandom why The Mighty would do such a thing for her. But he wasn't much for giving answers to the questions of mere mortals so it was most likely a waste of energy and time, both of which she had very little left, to ponder about it. All she wished for right now was to seize the moment with her son and give him all the love that was still in her heart.

With its little hand the child tried to reach for her breast. He opened and closed his mouth with a suckling sound as if he wished to feed. Batta gently moved the little hand away as she did not wish to make him ill with milk from her diseased body.

After Batta had given birth, a nurse had crudely sown shut her wounds without disinfecting or even washing them first. Then she was left there alone in her own blood, faeces and piss for a whole day before anyone bothered to give her a bath and change the bedding.

So she was now ill, probably from some blood infection. Her vision had become slightly blurry in the last three days and her head felt like caught in her burning fire. And always this horrible pulsating pain from the wound between her legs.

The child tried again to reach for her breast and again she moved his hand away. An expression of indignation on his face, he cried out in anger.

"He's a feisty little man," Hamin said with a smile.

The rare sound of a singing bird was heard in the room and before she even saw the red and dark brown animal, Batta recognised the melodic tune of the djeen.

"Yes," she said. "That means he's a survivor. Hamin, has my son been named yet?"

"No. Did you have anything in mind?"

"Djeen".

"Like the bird?"

The baby made a cheerful babbling sound which made Hamin chuckle.

"I think he likes it," he said.

If had become a rare sight to see the previously so friendly man laugh or even smile. But today, at least in this moment, he seemed to have regained some of his good humour.

"Will he live with you? At the temple?"

"Yes. At the closest temple from where he was born, just as The Perfect Book orders."

With a sadness in his eyes, he looked into hers and added:

"And I will take care of him. I promise you this, Batta. Like he was my own."

Batta felt shaken by his words. Making a promise to another person was one of these things which were not forbidden by The Perfect Book but discouraged in it enough that few dared to do it.

She looked down at her son, at her little Djeen, who had now fallen asleep in her arms and she found comfort in knowing that he would have one of the best lives one could wish for in this land. At the temple he would be fed every day, clothed and sheltered from the cold that was ravaging the surrounding plains. And who knew, if better days ever came or if he ever found his way to happier lands... Then maybe one day he might even be free.

### *

Liva had never liked Djeen. Not from the day she met him. Initially it was mostly due to an irrational resentment over the fact that he had come to replace her beloved Oia in the troop.

Of course, Djeen had nothing to do with what had happened to her. He wasn't among the criminals who ambushed the Red Wolves that tragic day. He wasn't with these green-painted marauders hiding amongst the treetops. And he certainly wasn't the one who shot three arrows through Oia's chest.

But whenever Liva looked at him, she was reminded of the fact that her lover was no more and it triggered in her the deep sorrow that had never left her since the moment Oia had died in her arms.

Over time Liva had however started to dislike Djeen for other reason. He was like so many young male warriors his age mostly preoccupied with showing off his skills and good looks in an attempt to gain admiration and notoriety.

Every morning at the camp he would start off his day with lifting heavy rocks to work out his muscles and then massage them with expensive oils that tanned them and made them glow.

He had started to do this even more since Arzi had taken a liking to the lad and invited him to share his bed. According to Laur, Djeen had also started to work out his buttock muscles more which kind of confirmed the crude jokes told around the camp that "Arzi brought the spear and Djeen the target to the practice".

Either way, Djeen seemed to make Arzi happy; which was why Liva had recently decided to try and not hate the guy so much. Or at least be a little bit nicer to him than she had been until now. Not that he made it easy for her. Since yesterday especially she had found him quite annoying.

He had stolen this sword from a prisoner and had gone around bragging and showing it to everybody like a child proud of their shiny new toy. The sword itself was one of these cheap but carefully decorated gimmicks so very popular with young and vain warriors like Djeen. The pommel was even shaped like a golden crown, probably to let the wearer fancy himself a king.

But for the moment at least, Djeen was quiet. Just like the rest of the Red Wolf troop, patiently waiting in the guards' break room to find out why they had been called there by the leader of the Republican Guard. Only Arzi was nowhere to be seen and had been since the previous evening.

"I have ordered the release of the prisoner formerly suspected of senator Julkis' murder," Bazk finally said after a long silence. "It seems we have found his true murderer."

He had his back turned to them and was staring out the window. All of which Liva found quite odd for a man like Bazk, a man who had not feared to stare death itself in the eyes on many occasions.

"We were called this morning to the Julkis residence where we were met by a highly upset Wife Julkis. An old friend of hers had stayed over for the night and, apparently stricken with guilt, had confessed to the murder of her husband. This friend had been in love with her for a very long time and, driven by jealousy, had poisoned the senator by putting Tiplipli root powder in a bottle of his favourite wine and giving it to him as a gift. After confessing to the deed, the man flew into a passion-driven rage and tried to assault her. But she managed to defend herself, killing him by accident in the process."

Bazk turned around to face them. A sadness in his expression gave Liva a bad feeling.

"That man," he said, "was your leader Arzi."

Liva thought she must have heard wrong. She had known her troop leader long enough to know what kind of man he was and it certainly wasn't anything like Bazk had just described.

"Arzi... Arzi is dead?" She asked to make sure she had understood his words correctly.

"Yes. I'm very sorry."

Instinctively, Liva turned to Djeen. His face had turned pale and he was staring down with empty eyes, as if he was struggling to comprehend that his lover was no more.

She walked up to him and put a comforting arm around his shoulder. All animosity she had ever felt towards him had been chased away in an instant and all she could feel was a heart-wrenching compassion. If there was a pain she knew all too well, it was that of losing the person closest to your heart.

"Arzi would never do such things," Izid said. "There must be a mistake."

"Are you saying Wife Julkis, the wife of a senator, is a liar?"

Bazk, a hand on the hilt of his sword, shot him an angry stare and Izid understood with once that he should be quiet least he tasted steel.

Djeen's skin was beginning to become strangely warmer, to the point where Liva felt that she barely could stand to touch him any longer. His face had turned a glowing red as his expression had become increasingly furious. Liva thought she must be seeing wrong, but she could have almost sworn she saw small flames dances in the dark of his eyes.

"You are lying, your cunt!"

Djeen drew his sword, pushing Liva aside with the same movement. He pointed the end of his weapon at Bazk and said in a voice which sounded unnaturally cold and low:

"Take back these lies or I will gut you like a rotten fish!"

Izid stood in front of him and tried to calm him down.

"Djeen, please come down..."

The young man turned around instead and kicked the wall behind him. Punched it with his naked fists. Struck it with his sword until a thousand sparks were flying across the room.

"Will you restrain this northern savage!" Bazk demanded, exasperated. "Guards!"

Two republican guards entered the room at the order and ran towards Djeen, who was still hitting the wall and screaming. A deep, sorrowful scream like Liva had never heard before.

Djeen turned around when he heard the two soldiers behind him. Tears were running down his face and he was breathing heavily, his muscular chest heaving up and down with every quick breath.

Then, suddenly, a strange calmness seemed to fall over him. He closed his eyes and raised his weapon over his head.

Liva became convinced that both her eyes and her sanity were betraying her when she saw Djeen's hair and the blade of his sword turn into flames.

Before the people in the room even had the time to gasp, he leaped into the air and swung his fire sword towards the soldiers. First left, then right. Making both their heads roll in less time than it took to blink.

He turned around and threw fire from his hand at the wall, making it fly in a hundred pieces onto the street outside. Cheers and whistles were heard from the adjacent rooms and men wearing prisoner's uniforms ran out into the city.

"Liva, quick! Take Ussa out of here!" Izid ordered before running after Djeen.

Liva obeyed, going down on one knee to let the old woman climbed onto her back, and fled down the hall of the prison.

Numerous republican guards hurried past them and by the time she stepped out of the prison's entrance, the city's alarm was being sounded. The specific melody played by the trumpeters signalling that the emergency was taking place in the centre of Ily.

More republican guards as well as soldiers from private troops were rushing towards the site while the panicking populace was running into the surrounding buildings to hide.

Liva walked quickly into the nearest place she could find, a bakery, and put Ussa on the floor behind the counter where a group of people were crouching in fear. Seeing Liva's soldier's uniform, several grabbed unto her and demanded to know what was happening.

"Is the city under attack?" An old man asked in a trembling voice.

"Is the city burning? I can smell smoke!" A woman holding her three crying children in her arms said.

"I... I don't know... Ussa, stay here. I'll be right back!"

"Liva! Wait!"

But she was already out the door, running back towards the prison. Soldiers fleeing past her shouted warnings as they saw her.

"Turn back! Get out of here! It's a monster!"

"A fire monster!"

The agonising screams of dying warriors echoed between the tall buildings all around her and more and more bodies cluttered the street the closer she came.

A decapitated human head came flying past her, its face still distorted in fear, and she finally saw Djeen. Or rather the high flames showing where he was in the battle.

A fire escape she noticed on the windowless east side of the prison allowed her to climb up to the roof, where she got a good view over the carnage.

Several hundred soldiers were now involved in the battle. Djeen was in the very centre of it and was moving in an inhuman speed, chopping body parts left and right and making them fly all over the place. Anyone who got close to him died in an instant before even getting a chance to strike at him.

A raging fire covered his whole being, making only his silhouette visible in the bright red flames. From time to time he would shoot fire from his sword and reduce twenty, thirty soldiers at once to nothing but ashes. But more and more soldiers, running in from all parts of the city, joined the fight. Liva could not believe her eyes that not more of them tried to get away from this losing battle.

A hand on the handle of her axe, she struggled with whether or not she should join. It all seemed pointless. Nothing less than a suicide mission. Still, she could not just stand and watch. She had to do something.

Water. It suddenly hit her. You fought fire with water. She needed to find some. Large amounts. And find a way to bring it all here.

Liva ran back towards the fire escape but stopped in her tracks when she saw in the corner of her eye Djeen jump above the crowd, leaping in the air far higher than was humanly possible.

He ran, faster than the most rapid of war horses, towards the gates of the city. The massive wooden doors were closed but Djeen charged towards them without stopping. He crashed right through them, making shattered wood fly all around him and setting the doors aflame.

High flames towered up to the sky and dark smoke rose from them, spreading its shadow over the city. Thick ash began to rain down as Liva looked up towards the sun and saw it disappear into the darkness.

### *

Rahin awoke with a gasp and was welcomed back by the sight of the dark stone walls of a prison cell. She rose from the hard, cold bed on which she was lying; knowing with a rare certainty where she had to go and why.

The cell door was wide open and a republican guard informed her as she walked out:

"You're free to go. They've found..."

"I know," she said. "I saw it."

"I should inform you that something happened in the city..."

"I know," she repeated calmly. "I saw that too."

To her left, part of the wall was gone and a large hole was left through which she easily stepped out onto the street. The smell of burning buildings and scorched flesh hurt her nostrils and worsened the headache that tortured her.

Rahin looked around for someone who might know where she could find Number One. Assuming those Red Wolf brutes hadn't stolen him too.

The leader of the Republican Guard was sitting by the entrance of the prison. Nothing could be found of his legendary fierceness in his expression. The man's face was as pale as a ghost's and Rahin could see tears in his eyes as he stared blankly at the thousands of soldiers' corpses Djeen had left behind him.

"What was that thing?" Bazk mumbled to himself. "I never saw such a thing. I don't know what that thing was."

He didn't even notice Rahin as she approached him.

"Excuse me," she asked, "but you don't happen to know what happened to my dragon?"

She spoke in a soft voice to not startle him but he still twitched in surprised and looked around, confused.

"Oh, you," he said when he saw her. "You're free to go. We found..."

"I know. I was informed. I just wish to know where my dragon is."

"Yes... The dragon. Check the stables behind the building. It might... It might be there..."

Bazk was once again staring emptily at the death in front of him. Tears appeared anew in his eyes and Rahin left him to his sorrow. Behind her she could still hear him mumble:

"That thing... Never saw such a thing. What was that thing?"

Rahin found the door to the stables to be open as well as the doors to all the stalls. It came as no surprise as she had seen in her vision how escaped prisoners had broken into here to steal horses to get away on.

At first sight, the small building seemed empty. No humans, horses, dragons or any living thing was to be seen. But Rahin had a gift which allowed her to see with more than just her eyes and she could sense a familiar lifeform. As she walked deeper down the hall, she could also hear the wet and hard sound of his mouth chewing through flesh and bones.

Number One was sitting on a pile of hay inside of a stall and eating the body of a man. By his prisoner's clothing Rahin could see that he had been one of the escaped criminals and had probably tried to steal him. Sand dragons were kind and gentle creatures for the most part but fiercely loyal to their owners and trying to take them away from the humans they loved rarely ended well. Something this poor fellow had apparently not been aware of.

Number One came running towards Rahin when he saw her; a human arm still hanging out from his wide grinning mouth.

"Just hurry up and eat... that," she said and pushed the bloodied arm further into his mouth.

It only took the blink of an eye before he had obeyed her and swallowed the entire thing.

"Good," she said and patted his scaly head. "We have a long journey ahead of us."

The young woman and her faithful companion made their way to the city gates, which had almost entirely gone up in flames. A pile of ashes the size of a small building was being shovelled away by republican guards with terror still written on their faces.

Rahin walked out of the city, hot ash softly burning her naked feet, and looked up at the setting sun. Orange and red it was, just like fire.

She saw in her mind's eye the road she needed to travel. Into wild forests, through creeks and over hills. Then a peaceful lake, beside which was a cave where she could rest. It was there Spirit told her to go, there she would receive further visions and wisdom.

Rahin turned around and took a last look at the grand city of Ily. Strangely peaceful it was, shut into silence by an evil far beyond its comprehension.

She shook her head in despair and let tears run down her face. These poor folks had only seen the beginning. Far greater sorrows were soon to come.
