Unrest--excerpt from The Last Scion, Shadows I
March 24, 2010The scent of a hearth fire told Ahmavia she was close. The woods were dark and the nightly critters foraged in the underbrush, while feathered nocturnal hunters stealthily stalked above in the thick canopy. She could smell the decaying detritus, and sense the critters that had tucked in for the night. Her boots crushed the recently churned path, furrowed by wagon tracks, the scent of moist earth comforting to her rather than the familiar smell of dusty sand.
The meandering narrow road suddenly gave birth to an abrupt clearing. A squat earth hut sat like a fat toad nestled against the backdrop of giant spires of evergreens, a plume of white smoke spiraled from the short crude clay chimney, and flickering candlelight warmed the only window she could see. Standing in the door was Cervius in a green tunic and dirty pants tucked into his hide skin boots. An earthen mug in his hand, the salt and pepper former captain of her father’s greatest army stood leaning indolently against the doorframe, a crooked smirk on his weathered face, and all of their past strife was forgotten—for now. The crinkle of his crow feet was home to Ahmavia and she felt her lips lift in a smile of her own.
Hello, my Darkling.
“Hello, yourself,” Ahmavia’s dark voice whispered quietly in the chilled night, her breath fogging before her.
Cervius stepped off the porch, placing his mug on a wood chopping block, and reached out to take her lithe form, now more womanly than he’d seen her last some centuries before. He smelled like cloves and soil and Ahmavia wrapped her arms around his strong trunk. She was shocked at the lack of fanfare, this modest, solitary hut Cervius was holed in. Ahmavia wondered if it bothered him, a revered Captain in the Atramentous used to concubines, castles and palaces with Revenant footmen waiting on his every order to fetch his tea, scribe a missive, or polish his sword. Now, fallen from grace, aside from his thinner form, drawn features and reasonable quarters little looked as if it bothered Cervius. But Ahmavia knew better than to underestimate the wiles of the man now holding her at arms’ length, approvingly looking her over.
His thoughts were clouded to her, and she thought she caught just a hint of a pinch in his dark orbs, a sense of static in his warm aura as if tainted with nervousness. Yes, wary of him she was indeed, for Cervius was always scheming. His letter had made up for the histrionics she expected upon her arrival, the beckoning, urgency and underlying conspiracy that had laced his words that brought her here, ripping her from her mission, and she regarded her former mentor closely.
“I am so happy to see you, Ahmavia,” Cervius beamed and patted her shoulder, guiding her into his cabin.
She ducked, just as Cervius had, to clear the door. The cabin was one room, with rugs of every color and pattern tossed on the dirt floor to keep the bugs out and the temperature warm. A small table with two stools sat near the hearth, a bed nested with furs and hides on the other side. A round black iron cauldron sat in the mouth of the hearth and a hardy bed of coals glowed beneath. Simple shelves lined the cabin, piled with dusty tomes, scrolls and other items caught her attention. The smell of boiled meat and potatoes wafted from the fireplace.
Ahmavia knew Cervius had fallen out of favor with Tophet, but she hadn’t expected it to be this drastic. She’d heard he was kept with a diminutive remote position, his purpose to patrol as a scout and report back on anything that would ultimately lead to someone like her being dispatched to investigate. It made her sad to see him in this state. So much so, she hadn’t been listening to him happily chatter away as he crouched over the cauldron and slopped out stew for her to eat. She’d ignored his cerebral prods at her clouded thoughts and shielded mind.
Cervius placed earthen bowls on the table and gestured for her to come over. “Put your cloak away, and eat with me.” His familiar smile was broad.
Ahmavia’s eyes left the sorrowful domestication of her combat instructor and flicked to his hunched form. Her voice was as gentle as dusk fall. “Why have you called me here?”
His smile faltered and his form stilled. “It can’t be because I miss you?”
She smirked as she sauntered to the table, leaving her cloak clasped. It was a little drafty in the hut. You’ve always been a purpose driven captain first. Sentiment later.
He chortled and straddled his stool. “How’s Adair?”
“Why?” She eyed him suspiciously as she joined him at the table, flicking her cloak out from under her so as not to get caught in it.
“Why the hostility?”
“I’m not hostile,” Ahmavia frowned and looked into the bowl in front of her. Its steam aromatic and enticing, but the meat looked gristly and a slick of oil beaded on top of the broth. “I’m wondering what news you have to deliver.”
A sigh slipped from Cervius across the table. All pretense aside, his fidgeting hands sat poised around the bowl and he gazed at her with the only the snapping of the fire filling the silence between them. “I find myself faced with a similar situation not unlike your futile attempts to defend Abu Simbel because of Tophet’s rage.”
Ahmavia’s brows piqued. It didn’t take near as much prodding as she thought it would to break Cervius’ admission of an ulterior motive. But the words Abu Simbel arose a feeling of dark sadness in her and old wounds opened as fresh and raw as the day itself. The fall of her court, Abu Simbel, because of Tophet’s gratuitous flex of muscle to prove Ahmavia weak and ill prepared would be a day all of Atramenta remembered. The day Ahmavia Traven failed. The day of her failure that so many of her people were slaughtered and Queen Prim was murdered while she slept in the massacre hordes of mortals seeking revenge.
“Explain,” Ahmavia directed as she tried to swallow around her clenching throat.
Cervius played with his fork. “Look around our world of Atramenta. We are kept within a wall of encroaching mortals who reject our influence, are wary of our trade and suspicious of our kind.”
“You can blame the Revenants for whatever rightly suspicions they have, not Tophet, Cervius.”
He rolled his eyes in exasperation of her prejudice. “I know our brethren have their flaws, but they are Tophet’s first, they deserve our respect.”
Ahmavia pointed to the table with a gloved finger. “They disrespect us by bringing upon us the likes of tragedy – my home of Abu Simbel, the death of our Queen, and the hordes they brought through Altus’ court!”
“Come now,” Cervius sighed. “I know you struggle with things left unsaid between your mother and you but Abu Simbel was the fault of Tophet and his tyranny. No one believes it was your fault.” He stood and grabbed a cloth from the table. He picked the kettle of its hanger in the hearth and poured the hot water into a clay mug.
Ahmavia watched the line of his form, tense and sharp even though he was trying very hard to appear relaxed and comfortable. As she watched him take tea leaves from a jar and pack them into an infuser, she could hear the screams of her Darkling guards being murdered in the fields, the cries of the Revenants dying in their sleep as they were staked by the spies within the walls of Abu Simbel. Cervius watched her carefully as he placed the cup in front of her.
Ahmavia lifted the tea cup and sipped off the top, her eyes on him as he circled the table to sit across from her. She knew what he was doing, trying to play on her failures to get her to bite. Ahmavia still remembered the haunting dream Prim left behind as her spirit crossed the Gates of Atramentous into her final resting plane. Where she rightfully should have gone so many millennia before. Tophet had brought the hordes to her doorstep because the Revenants wouldn’t listen to her. He had shown his most revered daughter no mercy in her suffering as her court was razed to the ground and their queen dead.
Ahmavia gently cleared her throat. She’d bite the bait. “You said you were facing the same as I did when Abu Simbel fell, Cervius. Explain.”
“Things have never quite righted themselves between Tophet and myself since Merrick was born. I feel as though he has purposely exposed us to an enemy that cares not what stands in their way when exacting revenge.”
Ahmavia shrugged. “What difference does it make? Either way the enemy force will be obliterated whether it be by your hand or Tophet’s.”
Cervius scowled. “We should not have to be forced to do anything, let alone have to reveal what we are.”
Ahmavia gestured disinterestedly. “Did you summon me to help in this fight, talk to Tophet, or what?” Her eyes scowled upon her former mentor and she found a disconcerted look on his face. Despite his clouded mind that shut her out like a thick door, she could sense his dark thoughts in his mind brewing like twisters in the desert and it played publicly upon his swarthy features. Ahmavia managed as blank of an expression as she could despite the chills marching down her arms.
“To fight, yes.” Cervius stared at her with stark conviction. Silence fell before he broke it again. “He is a weak god.”
Ahmavia glanced at Cervius, startled, afraid of the blasphemy that slithered from his lips. “He is our father!”
“Would you know that the Greeks believe there are other gods? Many gods, in fact. One for each of their needs!”
“Their needs, not ours! What are you suggesting?” Ahmavia turned to stare at him, his salt-and-pepper hair shadowed from the flickering hearth light, giving him a younger appearance. What could he possibly think of gaining from the slaughter of Tophet?
There would be no monetary benefit, as Tophet mortal or deity kept nothing of value but the temple erected in his worship. What he wore, ate and bedded was provided by his mortal followers, Revenant whores and Darkling children.
Searching for a reason of just and righteousness, Ahmavia peered with a strained expression at Cervius as he spoke. His own expression one of understanding as his voice coddled her like a warm swaddle to a baby. “Ahmavia, I’m not suggesting we adopt a new religion, but rather perfect the one we have.”
“We need a god to worship to perfect the religion we have!”
Ahmavia. The single word that was her name resonated in her head like a clanged gong. She hushed. “He is weak. From the time he borne us all, he has been weak, hiding behind us to do his bidding. Rape, pillage, and plunder all because he wished it so. We’ve made enemies where we could make allies, all for his fancy.”
The still night was eerily interrupted by wind that howled outside the small hut and while it was warm in Cervius’ small home, a chill quaked her from within. Her trembling hands enveloped the small tea cup hoping it would impart some of its warmth to her.
“There has always been a reason for our motions, Cervius. He would not send us out to war without a reason…”
“War,” Cervius spat. “War? Does that word make what we’ve done seem more glamorous? Purposeful? Sniping off those who have questioned Tophet? Assassinated those that would threaten us and only threaten us because we have clumsily tread where we should have not in disrespect? Where he sent us to in the first place?” Cervius’ anger was palpable, in his thoughts, his exuding temper, and his raising voice.
Ahmavia bit her lip, black eyes holding his reflection. “This is treason.” Ahmavia’s small voice was weaker than her will at the moment. A will she had thought to be as strong as the pillars of her faith. But right now that was crumbling too. Memories of the looks that were cast in her direction as she and her remaining few made a pilgrimage for refuge into Cervius’ court. The shame she felt, the fury at her father, Tophet who refused to acknowledge that he had brought this upon her when she quested for peace amongst her trade route. But no, Tophet would not have peace.
Distraught that the Revenants again had brought neighboring mortals fearful and enraged to her doorstep she had pleaded with Tophet that she be allowed to banish them to the outside of their walls and make an example of their brethren who refused to live with rules. But no, Tophet wanted her instead to show the neighboring trade village that they and the Atramentous were worthy of fearing.
“The sooner you realize mortals are feed and provide the husks for our fledglings and nothing more, the sooner you’ll be happy!” Tophet bellowed as he gazed down at her, his impatience with her arguing finally breaking.
But she wasn’t about to back down. Abu Simbel was her kingdom now. Her court. “It does not make me happy to know we have slaughtered hundreds for the sake of one Revenant.” She wanted them gone, and come Atramentous flame or the Gates of Baphomet she would banish those Revenant animals to the exterior of her walls! But as Tophet glared at her with death in his eyes, she knew his recent flex of muscle in razing the village would only be the harbinger of what was next to come. At her and her people’s expense.
“The only mistake made,” Tophet seethed, “was trusting that you wouldn’t be a spineless leader.”
A second wave of Etruscan village warriors raided in the night, killing what was left of her guards, gaining entry into the palace and murdering whatever was moving, undead or not. Only when Cervius and Altus had arrived at her distress call was she able to escape with the fledglings and surviving Darklings.
Tophet said nothing when Prim had been interred. He hadn’t spoken to Ahmavia since but for the annual rituals and festivals. She had forgiven her father, and felt ashamed she’d disappointed him. She had been disappointed in herself, but the dark void within her that she would never receive acceptance or gratitude had turned her into the ruthless assassin she was. Just to prove to him she had in fact been worthy of the leadership he bestowed upon her she paved her path through Atramenta with a carpet soaked in the blood of anyone who stood in her way. It was Tophet’s fault he had stacked the odds against her.
Cervius seemed content in watching her relive a painful memory and trailed his hand to the head of the table where he set his palms on the surface and leaned across. The candle light splashed harsh shadows upon his face giving his irritation an evil countenance. “He is a demagogue, Ahmavia. A sybarite. We line his golden pockets with the blood of allies.”
Cervius had always been a leader known for the dramatic, something Ahmavia was able to see through in the past but his current hyperbole was creating a knot of thorns deep within her belly. Ahmavia felt detached, as if she was dreaming and this wasn’t really happening. At least she hoped it wasn’t really happening. Suddenly trust and her position came into question. If I do not agree, will Cervius think I am weak? If I do not agree, will I be deemed an enemy? How safe am I should I stand behind Tophet? How many others feel this way? Ahmavia made sure a careful fabric of solitude was woven around her mind, one of her aplomb’s was that of clouding her mind from others. Even from Cervius.
Ahmavia had never questioned her father’s or the council’s orders. If they deemed a ruler of a foreign land was a threat and needed to be neutralized, Ahmavia was their assassin of choice. She reveled in the prestige, but even more, she loved the thrill of the hunt, the taste of fear like candy on her tongue, the scent of human blood spilt acrid and tangy. Ahmavia loved the sensation of her weapons in her hand, her power coursing through her, the challenge of taking on so many sentries – that she had never thought as to the why. Was it really beneficial? Or had she become programmed like an enthralled servant? Was there an end to this? Was there more to her than this? Ahmavia stopped. Was there? It is the way it’s always been. But does that mean it is what’s right?
Cervius seemed to realize his approach was frightening his one revered Darkling. He smiled sagely, his head ducking as his eyes dropped to the tea pot in the center of the table. He sat, suddenly looking very old even by Darkling standards. A sigh slipped from him and Ahmavia couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or discouragement that she saw flittering in his expression. He peered up at her through his eyelashes, thick meaty hands laced before him on the table. “This will happen with or without you, Ahmavia. It just depends on what side you will be on.”
Ahmavia felt her soul stir in the bowels of the vehicle that was her body. If she was a weeper she would have cried. How unfair it felt to have Cervius put this on her shoulders, to know her world was going to change and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Or was there?
Her love for her father at her feet, her love for Cervius in her heart, she gazed at him incredulous at the decision he placed before her. “You would have me choose?” Ahmavia’s brow furrowed into a deep, mistrusting scowl.
“Aren’t you tired of it?”
“Of what, Cervius?” I will make him tell me the reasons he deems all-important for this holy war. Make me believe that my battle-lust is not what I wish there all to be of me.
“Do you know what we can be?”
“He will castigate us if we do not succeed.” Ahmavia bit her lip at saying ‘we’. She had not agreed to anything yet, and if this was some sort of trap she did not want to lean in any direction. But yet, this seemed to amuse Cervius.
Cervius nodded, however. “This is no venial sin. You’re right.”
“How many others?” Think like you?
Cervius smirked. There are many. You’d be surprised how deep this unrest lies.
“I have seen none of it.”
You have not seen the things I see.
Ahmavia let her gaze fall to her steaming tea cup. The liquid within rippled with the tremor of her hands. The crackling of the hearth bridged the gap of silence between them. I cannot do this against my father. Tophet is too strong.
“Is that your final stand?” Cervius’ voice seemed to be a gross affront. She jumped.
“You are telling me this for a reason. Why?” He either needs me or…
“You know I love you.” His voice was caressing, emotional and deep, a tenebrous whisper.
Ahmavia peered at him and gave an almost involuntary shake of her head. “You want me to die for you?” Because you know I will. Cervius gazed at her with held breath, his eyes intense and earnest as he regarded her closely, and waiting for her next words – waiting to see if he needed to convince her. “I can not, will not, ask this of Arul.”
Cervius gave a nod of understanding or dismissal, Ahmavia couldn’t tell which. “There is a plan.”
Posted by Michelle Smith. Posted In : The Shadows
An epic story of a breed of demon-spawn and their revenant brethren carving an existence out of the mortal flesh of humankind. Struggling to overcome the tyranny of their Blood-God father, the Darklings wage war to save their only hope of survival.
