Marked (27 page)

“Welcome, my sons.”

“Grand Master,” responded the thirteen in unison as they bowed before Isuzeni, High Priest of the Cult.

“Prepare the Altar of Sacrifices,” ordered Isuzeni, pointing toward the elaborate altar on the polished wood floor behind him. The faint light coming from the smoking torches hanging on the wall lit the ill-fated sanctuary situated in the center of a perfect black circle. The altar bore the infinite scrutiny of Imork, Master of the Dead, depicted on an enormous tapestry that presided over the chamber; a sinister skull with long, portentous horns and fangs devouring bloody hearts.

The thirteen surrounded the altar of the gloomy room, taking care to remain outside of the circle. They began to recite the psalms for Imork. Full, deep voices offered up words of exaltation to their Master of Death in the gloomy room.

As the mournful chant filled the chamber, Isuzeni commanded, “Bring in the slaves!”

Six guards pulled the two sacrificial slaves into the chamber. Isuzeni looked them over. They were young and strong and would serve their purpose well. Sensing the gravity of the situation, both tried unsuccessfully to break away. The guards dragged them across the floor until they were lying before the altar.

Isuzeni smiled. Slaves... one of the most valued resources... More abundant than gold and more essential than crops—at least, for his purposes. A necessary commodity, that’s what they were. Many wars and political tensions of the past among the continent’s nine kingdoms were due exclusively to the slave commerce. Their economic importance had been the cause of countless conflicts. Isuzeni had never understood the arrogance of some kingdoms of the faraway continent of Tremia—like Rogdon—where slavery had been abolished and its commerce made a punishable offense. How dare those haughty, pretentious, big-nosed westerners go against the will of the Master of the Dead! Yes, slaves were necessary—not just for making a nation an economic power, but for the sacrifices the gods demanded of their subjects and servants. Other more intelligent nations of Tremia, like the Nocean Empire, continued to allow slavery and promoted the slave trade. It was because of that that they
were
Empires—because of the wealth generated by the trafficking and exploitation of human beings. Rogdon, on the other hand, would soon pay dearly for its insolence; before long those arrogant men in blue and silver would be begging the all-powerful Imork for their lives.

The two slaves’ sobbing and pleading brought Isuzeni back to reality. With the guards holding them down, they foresaw the fatal destiny awaiting them in that chamber.

He pointed at the tallest of the two, and then at the altar.

Two of the guards began forcibly dragging him to the altar. The sound of the wretched slave’s sobbing and crying out for his life was barely audible in the sealed chamber beneath the acolyte’s sinister chanting. Nothing would save this slave; Isuzeni knew this well. The guards placed the young man face up on the altar’s black marble surface and firmly held him there. Isuzeni gently took the Skull of Destiny from its velvet box. He approached the unfortunate slave and asked that the thirteen be silent.

He raised the Skull with both hands and offered the slave to his god. “Master of the Dead, god of the night, hear your humble and loyal servant. Allow me to achieve what I so long for, in your temple, in your presence. We sacrifice for you the life of this slave so that we might earn your approval and placate your anger.” Isuzeni looked at the unfortunate slave whose eyes were wide with terror. He took out the ceremonial dagger, the Dagger of Sacrifices.

Lifting the Skull with his left hand and the Dagger with his right, he looked at the great tapestry of Imork hanging on the wall and continued. “I have here the life of this young man; he is yours, Master!” With a swift and powerful blow, he plunged the ceremonial dagger into the heart of the slave.

The thirteen acolytes resumed their chanting and Isuzeni knelt before his god, showing him the bloody dagger in his hand.

“The sacrifice has been made, Master! Grant me the power to use the Skull.”

He gestured for the guards to bring him the other slave—who, after having witnessed in horror what had just happened, was screaming and trying desperately to break away from them. They forced him onto the altar and held him down.

Isuzeni approached and placed the Skull of Destiny on the slave’s naked torso. He immediately positioned his hands on the Skull and invoked that he might use its power. He began to feel the vital energy leaving his body as the Skull consumed it. Isuzeni removed his hands so that the Skull would begin to absorb the slave’s life force. He waited a moment then placed his hands back on the Skull and concentrated. A distorted image began to take shape, projected on the radiant Object as it absorbed the slave’s spirit. For several unbearably long moments Isuzeni tried to make out the garbled image, to find in it a vision that had some meaning.

But he could not.

Time passed quickly by and, as the Skull depleted the last drop of the sacrificed slave’s vital energy, he died in a fit of uncontrollable spasms. His body was as rigid as a dissected animal’s; not a drop of life was left within him. The Skull immediately began to suck the life from Isuzeni’s body. He had no choice but to surrender to the impossibility of controlling the powerful Object.

He pulled his hands away and took a step back.

The thirteen silenced the chant they were reciting.

Raising his arms, Isuzeni bitterly lamented, “Why do you deny me this, oh great Master? Why? Me, your most devoted subject? Me, your earthly representation?”

Defeated yet again, he put the Skull in the box and closed it.

“Get rid of the bodies,” he ordered his priests as he left the chamber with his head down.

“The time will come... It will come...”

Isuzeni went up to his room and forced himself to forget about this latest failure and instead concentrate on what was truly important: the Marked and The Premonition. Not only had the White Tigers not succeeded in eliminating the Marked, but his agent in western Tremia had also suffered another serious and unforeseen misfortune—he had failed to kill the White Soul.

When he had fearfully communicated that to his mistress, for a moment he’d thought the Dark Queen was going to kill him right then and there in the throne room. Fortunately for him, she had managed to control her dreadful rage—nothing short of extraordinary since the Queen slayed on the spot anyone who displeased her.

The failure to assassinate the Marked had been an unexpected setback. The White Tigers never failed, and the Dark Queen knew it. But something good had come from that adversity; they finally had identified the Marked. The fact that he survived could only mean they had at long last found the true Marked, after having fruitlessly combed the continent in search of him for so many long years. And the failure of those magnificent man hunters could only mean that the power of the Marked had already manifested itself. Very disturbing... but at least they finally knew his identity, and had forced him out of hiding and into the highlands, in the west of Tremia.

As if the failure to kill the Marked was not already enough of an inexcusable offense, what had infuriated his Queen most had been the additional disappointment suffered during the attempted capture of the second person who tormented her Dreams.

The White Soul.

After a lengthy search, they had finally discovered where the meddlesome Custodial Brotherhood was hiding him—just after he was secretly moved and had escaped their grasp. And that setback had greatly enraged the Dark Queen.

He had to die.

Without further delay.

Isuzeni opened the box and looked at the crystalline Skull looking back at him with its diabolical face, its eyes like bottomless wells. The Premonition had established that the Marked and the White Soul would meet; their paths would unite, making of the two, one. He had to take measures to ensure that they would never join together and create one single destiny. He was sure his agent would not give up on the mission to kill the White Soul, but if he had joined with the Marked it would be difficult to destroy both.

Isuzeni nervously wrung his hands.
Best not to take chances. If they are together, they shall die together, now, before they become a real danger to the Dark Queen.

He stood up, went to the window, and looked out into the impenetrable darkness of the night as he considered the forces already deployed and at his disposal on the far-off continent. White Tigers, Dark Assassins, Moyukis from the Dark Queen’s elite guard...

What I wouldn’t give to know their exact location right now. Could they have joined forces? Will they stay in hiding? If so, where? It makes no difference. My agents will find them. The earth could not have just swallowed them up.

“Let’s see how you survive my plans,” muttered Isuzeni.

I am about to faint... This man is going to kill us!
Aliana watched Sergeant Major Mortuc moving forward at the front of the group, hiking up the side of the mountain at a hellish rhythm.
I have barely any strength left. I don’t know how I am going to be able to keep going at this pace.
But Aliana did keep going, her lungs burning all the while with the intensity of a fire devouring dry wood.
It’s like my body is beginning to revolt against me!
She felt stabbing pain in her right thigh. If the Sergeant kept climbing at this brutal pace she would collapse before long.

She hit the aching thigh with her fist.
No! I have to hold on; I can’t give up—no matter what!
Breathing in the mountain air at this altitude froze her lungs. With each difficult step toward the top she felt a thousand needles stabbing her in her chest.
I have to control my body and my mind... to try to dole out the little strength I have left. I have to keep going... Keep going... I will not give up!

At the first light of day, they had left behind the last row of pines from the forest and now were moving up the steep, snow-covered mountainside. The landscape was truly beautiful; the views from that elevation, spectacular. The higher they climbed, the more snow covered the slopes of the three peaks of the great mountain—Ancestors Mountain, as the Usik called it, but they knew it as Eagles’ Peak.

Aliana looked at Gerart walking in front of her, his boots sinking into the snow, his energetic steps still firm and strong though the ascension was getting harder with every step. The cold was beginning to have an effect on their exhausted bodies. Gerart had taken off most of his heavy armor and was now wearing only his chest plate, his chain mail, and his cape.

They continued to ascend for several hours without stopping to rest before arriving at the first of the large caves of the middle peak, the highest summit. The Sergeant stationed two of his men on guard and the rest collapsed in exhaustion inside the cavern. The surviving Royal Lancers and the two Protectress Sisters from the Temple of Tirsar stretched out on the floor, with not an ounce of energy left to even speak. Only the Sergeant and the Prince remained standing at the entrance of the cave.

Aliana looked at them, admiring their physical strength and courage. She knew they both must be completely drained from the exertion, but they refused to show any sign of that to their men.
The sacrifice of leadership... truly impressive. I expected that from the Sergeant; he is full of courage and honor. But from Gerart, it surprises me—in a good way. He is really showing extraordinary bravery and fortitude.
Aliana felt a strangely pleasant warmth and sense of well-being when she looked at the Prince. Wrapped in that comforting sensation, she stretched her stiff legs out on the cold stone floor.

They rested and ate just enough of the provisions they had brought to replenish some of the energy they had burned. Aliana’s feet were freezing from the climb through the snow and she started to shiver uncontrollably. She laid her hands over her muscles, closed her eyes and, as if overflowing from a fountain of light, a pale blue energy burst forth from her hands and into her frozen extremities. The trembling stopped and her feet recovered the warmth they so desperately needed. As soon as she felt able to walk, she went to the wounded soldiers and, laying her hands on them, cured them one by one... every wound, all the damage from the harsh cold, the strains from the difficult climb. All were coming along well, with no serious complications—which, in the midst of this fateful expedition, pleased her. For a moment, she actually forgot about the anguish and the horror they had lived through on that cursed mission.

She looked farther into the cave and could make out several tribal tombs—niches constructed out of stone and adobe, positioned symmetrically in rows and adorned with motifs of past battles in which large red and black symbols predominated. Presiding over the crypts and protecting their eternal inhabitants on their journey into the beyond were axes, swords, and animal skins. But the most striking of all the objects that guarded the perpetual rest of the ancient Usik warriors were massive, gorgeous feathers from a bird she had never before encountered. The size of those feathers was incredible. Aliana could not imagine a bird with plumage like that... it would have to have been gigantic. It was confounding—and somewhat frightening.

She shrugged her shoulders to shake it off.
Objects for the beyond, to help those brave, fallen warriors when they crossed over into the realm of no return.
She knew a little about the tribal traditions and rites of other ethnic groups. As her eyes swept over the interior walls and ceiling, she saw they were completely covered with pictorial representations that told of battles and victories in the lives of the dead who had been laid to rest there. Undoubtedly this was a mausoleum for warriors of the Usik tribes.

A soft whistle reached her ears and she immediately turned toward the sound.

The Lancers posted as guards had just sounded the alarm.

The entire group was immediately on their feet, preparing for combat. The guards signaled again with their hands and Aliana quickly deduced that there was no danger since the soldiers had suddenly relaxed. Two figures ran into the cave and headed straight for Sergeant Mortuc and the Prince. They stopped in front of them and doubled over, breathing heavily, unable to get a single word out between gasps.

At first Aliana did not recognize them. Their faces and skin were covered in mud and dirt. She observed them carefully, trying to discern who they were. As she moved a bit closer she saw that it was Lomar and Kendas. She was gratefully surprised—having not really expected to ever see them alive again.

“Catch your breath and report!” barked the Sergeant, crossing his powerful arms across his chest.

“We... hid... the... hor... ses, Sergeant,” Lomar stuttered. He looked as if he might pass out and drop to the floor at any moment.

“Any sign of the Usik?” asked Gerart, looking at both men, hands on their hips and still trying to catch their breath.

“They... They’ve been... tracking you... Your Highness. There aren’t many of them, at the moment... a small group of no more than twenty... about a half-day behind,” Kendas answered.

“That does not give us much time. Those woodland savages are quick, damn it!” exclaimed the Sergeant, gesticulating in frustration with his fist tightly clenched.

Aliana approached the group. “It’s best if we keep climbing toward the highest cave. This is not the cave we’re searching for; it’s too small. We won’t find what we came here for —I’m sure of that. We should keep climbing.”

“I agree that this doesn’t seem to be the cave we’re looking for. Besides, it will be easier to defend ourselves from up there than from this cave,” commented the Sergeant.

“That’s what I think, too. We have several hours before the first Usik group catches up with us; we should take advantage of that,” said the Prince.

“We’ll rest five more minutes and then we’ll go on,” Mortuc announced.

Lomar and Kendas leaned heavily against the wall of the cave, letting themselves slide down until they were on the floor.

A young girl with dark, wavy hair came toward them. Kendas gave Lomar a nod, and when Lomar looked up he was instantly lost in the most captivating green eyes he’d ever seen.

“I see the Usik didn’t manage to finish you off, Lancer,” the young girl said.

“I see that even though you know my name you never use it, Jasmine,” replied Lomar, pretending to be hurt.

“I came to bring you some water.” Jasmine handed him a canteen.

“And I sincerely thank you,” interjected Kendas as he snatched the canteen and drank greedily.

“I see you’re not excessively glad to see I’m alive,” accused Lomar.

“Well, you’re wrong. Of course I’m glad. It means the horses are safe, and that’s great news since we’ll need them to get out of that forest alive,” she answered indifferently.

“So, you’re happier about the horses than about us!” chided Lomar.

“The horses are noble and beautiful, and they’ll carry us to our salvation. You, on the other hand, are
men...
”

Kendas choked on the water and started to cough.

Lomar looked at his friend for a second, dumbfounded. Then the anger he’d begun to feel faded away like smoke spread by the wind.

“I should have figured. I see you still hate—for no apparent reason, I must say—everyone of my gender. It’s about time, I think, to tame that hatred since these
men
are helping you.”

“Men are men, and the Order’s teachings on the subject are perfectly clear.”

“And
I
say, could there not be an exception? I can assure you that those present are no threat to the Order. On the contrary, we are here to protect you.”

“Just knowing that such gallant Lancers are here to defend me makes me feel so much more calm,” said Jasmine sarcastically.

Feeling more like himself again, Kendas couldn’t keep from bursting out laughing.

Jasmine didn’t miss a beat. “But you are right about one thing. I think there should be one exception.”

“Finally! I was afraid I would forever remain in a position of disfavor,” said Lomar.

“I think in Kendas’ case, since he has always proven himself to be respectful and humble, I will make an exception.”

“Kendas? Why Kendas?” exclaimed Lomar in disbelief.

“So kind of you, Protectress. I thank you for this highest honor from the bottom of my heart,” said Kendas, smiling ear to ear.

“You are quite welcome, Kendas. You can count on my approval,” affirmed Jasmine, her expression serious but her brilliant green eyes gleaming.

“I can’t believe this! I’ve tried to be a complete gentleman and I’ve gotten nothing but one kick in the teeth after another!” huffed Lomar.

“Well it appears you haven’t achieved your objective, Lancer,” stated Jasmine. She turned abruptly and headed toward a surly looking Olga, who’d been watching the scene unfold. 

Kendas started laughing again at his friend’s absolute frustration.

Lomar elbowed him. “Don’t laugh. It’s not funny. Since the day I met her I’ve tried everything I could to please her, and that’s how she repays me. I can’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry your gallantry and subtle city-slicker, womanizing maneuvers didn’t work with the Protectress,” smiled Kendas.

“Stop laughing at me, you hick.”

“Don’t take it out on me. The Sister is a tough nut to crack! She sure did get you stirred up—but you deserved it. Who would even think of courting a Protectress Sister of the Order of Tirsar! Have you lost your mind? They will hate men until the day they die!”

“I’ve experienced that firsthand, smart ass.”

“You are sick in the head, my friend. But all the same, I think you might be getting somewhere...”

“Really?”

“I picked up on something... a kind of tension, maybe... not exactly hatred...”

“You think so?”

“At any rate, we’re in the midst of hell and you look like a cat in heat. Want to do me a favor and concentrate? For the sake of the Light!” reprimanded Kendas.

“You’re right. I don’t know what happens to me when she’s around... it’s those eyes...”

“Let me remind you that those women live for the Order; there is nothing else in their lives. No matter how much you try, you’ll never make her yours. It’s insane, so let it go.”

“I know, I know. It’s just that—”

All of a sudden, Sergeant Mortuc moved to the center of the group, and all eyes focused on him.

“Soldiers! Ready yourselves! We’re moving on!” He had shouted so forcefully that it seemed like even the skeletons of the Usik warriors lying there would rise up and follow him.

After several hours of climbing they were entering the cave at the highest elevation on Ancestors Mountain. On their ascent Aliana had noticed that all the other caves they had come across had paintings and symbology related to death on the exterior. But the cave they were in now had nothing painted either on the outside or the inside—which seemed rather strange to her, and certainly significant. The cave appeared to be immense; the inside penetrating deeper and deeper into the dark shadows.

No tombs or graves were visible inside the cavern. Apparently, the Usik did not use this cave to bury their dead, unlike the other caverns they’d discovered on the way up to this one. This must indeed be the cave the Usik never dared to enter, fearing it was inhabited by spirits and beings from the beyond. The thought of that sent a shiver down Aliana’s spine; a chilling frisson that felt like a drip from an icicle rolling over her skin. She did not believe the stories about the spirits—quite the contrary—but for some reason her intuition was warning her that this hidden, enclosed place posed a dormant but real danger... a danger of mystical origins. Since her intuition rarely steered her wrong, this distinct presentiment regarding what awaited them inside that dark cave alarmed her.