Chapter 121: Fated Meeting of Two

Book 3, Chapter 21 - Fated Meeting of Two

Aaron continued to wail against the harsh weather battering his face. Every drop seemed long in falling, each one carrying memories not of his own, flashing by and spinning in his mind round and round until it all became a blur. His head slumped forward and he pressed his hands down against the ground. They sank in, the ground softened by rain.

Sand…

“Sand?” he breathed in a daze, the memories at last retreating to wherever it was they'd come from. He turned over the wet dark coat in his hand. Slick mud was slathered against it just as his wet hair matted his skull. The rain came to a standstill and cracks formed in the sky, spilling blades of light as if they were beacons of hope.

Hope. Such a thing did not exist. Not in this world. Not in any other.

Aaron looked up at the sky with glazed eyes, vision still fogged. Strange. The rain had stopped. But the pattering had not. A rhythmic pattering still remained. Followed by a jingle. And then more pattering.

Aaron blinked, at last deciding to wipe his eyes and face. He saw horses and camels. Hoofs clopping against wet sand. He blinked again. His fists curled into a ball. He ground his teeth against themselves. How? Why? His mother had sent him to safety. Yet before him were enemies charging at him with mounts. Men in those same dark cloaks with spotted white. Hate boiled in him anew. His head throbbed as memories of past Zz'tai bubbled to the surface of his thoughts again. Aaron slowly rose to his feet. Regardless of what memories he saw, they all spoke a single clear message.

Vengeance. Kill them all. Kill every last one of them!

“Who…?” a rasped voice asked.

Aaron's head jerked to the side. Someone in all black sat on his knees, a black mask covering all of his face save for his mouth and below —the skin there a dark grey like mountainsides and the lips a near to black magenta shade.

“Who are you?” the person asked, voice shaky as if afraid. “Where did you come from?”

Who am I? In that moment, Aaron could not answer. He was Aarondel. And also Lera. And Aerthema. And Valrun. And Rilla. And so many others from House Zz'tai. Such vivid and cruel memories, such differing identities. He was all of them at once right then and there. He looked to the approaching enemies. And then back at this person in black.

Kill them all .

Aaron lunged at this figure, at his closest target. Kill! Vengeance! His hands wrapped around this person's throat and he pinned them against the wet sand, holding them down with his body weight. But for how long? He was still just Aaron. Just a boy. This person would be up in no time. And yet, they weren’t. They thrashed and struggled as Aaron squeezed harder, seething with parted lips, spittle dripping down like a rabid beast. The person beneath him was a boy just as him.

I can win. He isn't stronger than me. I can win. I can kill at least one before I die!

The boy vanished.

Aaron's hands pressed against the sand and, off balance, he slumped forward into mud. He looked around wildly. Vanished. Just like that. No Gates to another location. Just gone as if he'd sunk into the ground. His memories spoke to him. Informed him. Shieda . That boy had been a Shadow Walker.

The pattering and jingling grew stronger. The riders were almost upon him. Aaron at last understood. His life was just one misfortune after another. These new enemies were hunting a Shadow Walker child. And he just happened to arrive in the exact same spot.

The soldiers stopped before Aaron, some of them dismounting. His head hung low. He would die here. A hollow smile spread on his lips. At least he would be with his mother. The sound of drawing iron rang in his ears. The sound of a blade being drawn. A sound he was so familiar with. A sound imprinted deep within his memory. Fight! Kill! He wanted to. Flames knew he wanted to fight. To stain these darkened sands even darker. But his hatred was chained. Chained by fear and a loss of hope. How could he, a boy of thirteen, hope to defeat two dozen armed men?

“You there, boy. Who are you? From where do you come? We saw you come through a Gate. Did Lord Sun send you?”

Aaron stood mute.

“I asked you a question!” the man demanded. He pointed a sword tip at Aaron's throat.

“Kill him,” another man ordered. This one had dirt orange hair the color of rust. He was still mounted. “The Shadow Walker child was here. He should still be exhausted. Get rid of this brat and continue the search.”

“But Judge Lacerta, we saw him strangle the Shadow Walker. He could be—”

“Could be what?” the man named Lacerta demanded. “The Lord Sun does not send children to do his bidding. Look at those red eyes. That glare. I have half a guess as to who that child is. Children do not just appear out of Gates created through Chronary. Boy, does the name Orion ring a bell?” Aaron couldn't help but flinch. He bared his teeth. The hate within him tugged violently at the shackles of hopelessness restraining them. “I knew it,” said Lacerta. “Kill that boy immediately!”

The soldier raised his blade above his head. Aaron watched the motion. Watched as the blade's edge rose up. It was a curved blade. A sword used by those of the desert. A beam of sunlight touched the sword's tip as the soldier brought it fully above his head. Aaron looked into the man's eyes. Hesitation. Regret. The look of a man who knowingly was parting with a fragment of his soul by committing this atrocity.

The shamshir came down. Its shadow enveloped Aaron's gaze, narrowing in on his face until it was a dark line tracing his nose and going straight down his center. Aaron's hate continued to tug at its binds. It didn't escape in time. But his imprinted memory, years of training with Orion, and centuries of memories of past warriors from amongst his ancestors, forced his body into motion. He sidestepped the slow attack. His hands gripped the soldier's arm, one hand upon the forearm and another upon the elbow, and he leaned in hard, applying pressure with as much weight as he could manage, snapping the elbow joint the wrong way.

The soldier cried out and jerked back. He dropped his weapon, clutching his arm instead. Aaron, in a heartbeat, picked up the shamshir, and slashed without hesitation, without regret. Red spilled from an open throat and the soldier collapsed on his side, thrashing and wheezing.

And dying.

Aaron's hate broke free of their binds. He stared down the twenty three remaining soldiers, armed with shamshir, ancient memory, and rage worth many lifetimes. From the corner of his eye, he saw a black gloved hand poke out of the shadowed ground and rob the fallen soldier of the knife on his belt. Two against twenty-three.

“Kill him you louts!” Lacerta roared.

Every soldier dismounted and charged at that order, mud flinging with their steps. Aaron didn't have time for doubts. Didn't have time for fear. Blood was going to be spilt and it would either be his, or theirs. He planned on spilling a whole lot of theirs before any of his touched the sands. He charged the nearest man, ducking beneath a swing meant to sever his head, before lunging forward with all his might.

With a feral scream, Aaron thrust forth, praying to the Flames that his childish strength was enough to pierce the chainmail hidden beneath those clothes. The blade went through. The body fell forward, its full weight bearing down on Aaron, blood rolling down the hilt of the shamshir. He heaved the body to the side, the maneuver sapping much of his arm strength, before struggling to pull his weapon out from where it lay buried.

Another soldier was already on top of him. Aaron swallowed hard, knowing he'd never pull his sword out in time. So much for spilling more of their blood. But fate wouldn't let him die. Not yet. The Shieda child appeared from the Umbra and clung onto the soldier as insects cling to walls, stabbing wildly with his stolen knife. The soldier went down in a torrent of screams.

As they should , Aaron seethed. His vision shook just as his entire body trembled with rage. Screams. So many screams erupting in returning memories. But the further down his memory went in the past, the more diluted their vividness became. His rage stemmed from something fresher. From the agony and pain Lera had suffered throughout her life. From her ailing heart during her final moments. From Aaron's very own memories of not a few minutes past. Of his screaming mothers. Of Mely's burnt face. Of Temelia lying before Orion's feet.

The hate took hold of him. It tore at his brain and caused a splitting ache. Amidst the whirlwind of his emotions, Aaron knew one thing. He had to kill. He had to hear the screams of his enemies to drown out those within his mind. Only then would his headaches disappear. And so he did just that. He killed alongside his Shieda ally. He hacked and slashed and ducked and dodged. He revelled in the butchery and the rain of blood that ensued. The soldiers could not match him. Not with their heavy bodies sinking deeper in the mud than Aaron. Not with their movements hindered by fear of the invisible enemy popping in and out of the shadows.

One by one, every enemy fell. Only Lacerta remained, watching with eyes wide. He reeled his horse around as Aaron lumbered toward him, breathing hard like a panting beast that'd chased down its prey for many miles. Aaron plunged the edge of his blade into the horse's hind thigh, causing the animal to cry out and fall on its knees. The Shieda child then jumped out and tackled Lacerta to the ground, stabbing repeatedly. Aaron watched as Lacerta struggled, screamed, and then began whimpering. And then was silent altogether. The Shadow Walker was still stabbing while muttering with that rasped voice of his.

“Give me back my pa. Give him… back,” the child breathed as his black clothes turned darker yet with the blood stains accruing upon them.

Aaron at last dropped his own weapon and lumbered back to where he'd dropped his black coat. He fell before it and cried into it, hoping to smell that cheap perfume he was so used to, inhaling the bitter smell of burnt wood instead.

***

It was over, and so was the lingering darkness. Clouds cleared away, and yet, Vi'An's hands did not stop moving. How could it be over so soon when he felt as if he'd suffered for years? Felt as if he were alone for lifetimes? He plunged the knife into Lacerta's unmoving chest over and over and over again. Thunk, swish. Thunk, swish. Thunk, swish. With each stab, more warmth gushed out, relieving Vi'An's heat drained body. He could taste the iron of another as he gasped with an open mouth. Arms heavy, he finally let go of the knife and let them slump at his side.

Lacerta's horse whinnied as it struggled to stand with a wounded front leg. Nothing could be done unless someone came for it. Vi'An looked around. Bodies of Union soldiers lay scattered about. Horses and camels alike walked in circles. Then there was the boy that came from nowhere, crying into a dark coat.

The boy that had saved Vi'An's life. A life with no value. A life that no one wanted. He had saved it, though perhaps unknowingly. Vi'An no longer had a reason to live, except but to pay back this debt. Pay back what he assumed was an act of kindness.

He trudged through the quickly drying sands as the naked desert sun bore down upon the vast emptiness. Much of the foreign blood on him had already dried, leaving him to stumble about with crusting clothes. He reached this crying boy, who had smooth black hair and a fair face, though hollow eyes. Would my eyes look that way had I any to show? Vi'An wondered. The boy kept whimpering 'ma' as he wiped his face with the coat's sleeve. What a strangety. Two orphans, who'd lost their parents on the same day, stranded in the middle of nowhere.

But he saved my life. My useless, and unwanted life. If this boy wanted to kill Vi'An still, then so be it. But for now, he was a weapon. Vi'An was this boy's weapon. This time, he hadn't been broken. Hadn't been entirely useless. He'd managed to protect this boy as well. A weapon has no use if it is broken. I will be your blade. Your right hand, so long as you decide to keep me . But how to talk to this crying boy who just a few minutes ago was murdering with such visceral resolve and hatred? Vi'An extended a hand. “Hello,” he managed through his rasped voice.

The boy looked up, eyes wet and red. “Shieda,” he murmured.

Vi'An paused. Yes. Shieda. Shieda who are shunned and hated by normal people. Who are labelled darkspawn and hunted all their life. The very same Shie—

“Friend?” the boy asked, head tilted.

Vi'An felt a terrible ache in his chest. Sand brushed along his boots as a hot breeze blew by. Small grains caught upon their sticky red surface and sparkled beneath beams of blistering radiance. Friend . Vi'An's very first. That's twice I'm in his debt . His face hurt again. He wished he were normal. Wished he could cry and let this pain out. He was no longer alone. He nodded. “Friend,” he responded. “I am Vi—” he stopped himself. Vi'An… Vi'An was weak. Vi'An wasn't a stable weapon to be relied upon. How was he to serve this boy in that state? “I am Viper,” he said, hand still extended. A name belonging to his father. His father who had always been strong and wise. A proper name for a weapon.

“Aarondel,” the boy said, taking Viper's hand and pulling himself up. “Aarondel Zz'tai. Aaron works too.”

Zz'tai . A Flame Bearer. The Creator's chosen. One who was also hunted. Something else Viper had in common with the boy. He opened his mouth to ask more questions but more shouting stole his attention. Katuri guards were pouring out of the city and marching toward them. They knew the existence of a Shadow Walker, and had just witnessed a small squad of Union soldiers get slain from a distance. More enemies . Viper looked behind at large wisps of sand gliding across the dunes, carried by hot winds. And only an empty hell to retreat into . He might survive by disappearing into the cold of the Umbra, but Aaron would not. They had to fight. He was a weapon and it was time to be useful.

Aaron staggered forward, picking up a fallen curved sword. It was caked in sand sticking to the blood on its surface. Viper hadn't noticed it before, but the boy's clothes were a tattered wreck. Unnaturally grey and black with tears and charred holes here and there. Viper rummaged around for a weapon of his own and stood beside his new friend, holding the hilt of a heavy longsword with both hands, struggling to keep the weapon up with exhausted limbs near stiff as lead. There were more than two dozen Katuri guards pouring out. Their number was closer to fifty and they were running abreast in lines of ten, spears pointed forward. This wouldn't be easy. Perhaps impossible.

The soldiers suddenly halted about ten dozen meters from them. They talked amongst each other, pointing towards Viper and Aaron. And then they turned around and ran to the city. Viper dropped the longsword with a ragged sigh. He fell to his knees, grateful for this moment of respite and the sun's glorious embrace. Anymore Shadow Walking and he might've succumbed to hypothermia.

Aaron looked down at him. “Why are they running?”

“I don't know,” Viper answered, his voice nearly muffled by a heavy gust of wind. The horses and camels began running towards the city. All of them ran save for the crippled one who still struggled. Are the bloodied figures of two children really that scary? Darkness enshrouded the world again and thunder rumbled overhead. Heavy winds blew this way and that. Strange. Rain did not come twice in one day in the desert. Such fortune was unheard of. Storm clouds were already rare and only usually accompanied by… “Accompanied by,” Viper muttered, slowly turning his head.

A wall of dust, greater than any tide after an earthquake, was closing in on them, lightning flashing within it. “Run! Run!” Viper cried, but his voice was not louder than the constant rumbles of thunder. Aarondel stared wide eyed, mesmerized by this sight he'd likely never seen before. Viper pulled him by the arm and dragged him along. He swallowed hard, looking back at Katur. The last of its soldiers scrambled inside. One half of the gate was closed shut while the other half was letting in the horses and camels that had fled towards it. And then the second half of the gate was shut too.

It didn't matter. They'd have never made it inside on time anyway. Viper saw the crippled horse. Its dark brown fur was a mix of light brown as wisps of sand surrounded it. Its struggle futile, it sat down and lowered its head. The beast was their only chance at survival. Viper pulled Aaron forward, but Aaron tugged against his grip and slipped away. Panicking, Viper glanced back only to see Aaron running straight towards the storm, crying with arms out. His black coat was hovering in the air, moving here and there, floating too high for him to even grab.

Viper considered disappearing into the shadows and trying to catch the coat himself. But no. The storm was too close. He'd be torn to shreds by its violence the moment he came out. Was this it? Was this how this newfound friendship ended? I am a weapon. A useless and broken weapon… The Flame Bearer, the young prince, was bound to die. Pain in his chest, Viper sprinted for the horse, leaping over its sitting body and taking refuge behind it. Of course, he could have just disappeared into the Umbra. But he held on. Held on to a string of hope that maybe Aarondel would survive and join him there.

Moments passed. The storm wall engulfed Viper. Light flashed amidst that darkness and the skies roared with a fury greater than a pride of lions. Viper's legs were going stiff as piles of sand began to rest upon them. He nestled closer to the horse, feeling the outlines of its ribs with his shoulder as they slowly rose and fell with each breath. He curled up and covered his head to avoid breathing in sand and protect his face from whipping winds.

With the last sinew of hope just about burnt out, Aaron leapt above the horse and pressed himself against it, an ethereal amber glow covering his body. A deeper amber covered the entirety of his black coat. Viper stared with mouth agape.

“I did it,” Aaron breathed, curling up as the color around him faded to nothing. “I did it. I used the Flames of Preservation. But how…?”

A Flame Bearer his age had a Flame? That didn’t add up. According to Shieda Spoken History passed down by generations of Eldari, the Zz'tai only receive their own Flames at the age of twenty-one. But this boy had one. It didn’t matter. He was safe. Viper's new friend and master was safe. Once the storm passed, they could find a way to enter Katur through a different door. No one was likely to come out. A desert storm always struck thrice in succession, with barely a half hour in between.

They could get to the city and Viper could retrieve his father's swords. And perhaps bury him too. Assuming the storm hadn't buried Vi'Din first.