Balance of Death Read online

  “What of Amnekian officials? Won’t this cause more trouble Kentro?” Zugarod asks.

  Daeva pops open the chest before lifting it and turning it upside down. A head drops down and rolls to the center of the table. The room examines the head unsure of what is happening. Eventually most of them recognize it as the head of Todar Evic the lord of the Decifall Kingdom; and the cousin to Nkeng the regent of Wrathbrook. Todar being related to Nkeng held considerable pull in Wrathbrook and had long since been in the circle's pocket.

  “All this has you unhinged.” Ataleo boldly states seeing Daeva’s display as distasteful and impetuous. “I ha..” as his mouth opens a blade stabbed through the back of his head exits his mouth and punctures into the table freezing Ataleo in position. His blood drips down Star’s blade. Star with one hand still on the blade. The mood in the room takes a complete shift and any comfortability that had existed is gone. Ataleo’s enforcer a large dark skinned man with dreadlocks and eyes as black as night stands there with a large sword on his back and ragged pirate clothes unsure of how to act. A feeling that isn’t familiar to him. Knowing that he doesn’t stand much of a chance against Daeva’s men and the death dealers.

  Without skipping a beat. “What is your role radians.” Daeva questions the stunned room. For Daeva to execute a radian for something as trivial as talking back is a drastic move; especially one with such pull amongst the circle and more tenure than anyone else. The radians silenced from a mix of shock and fear searching for a proper response. “You are to take my will and carry it out in your territories. This isn’t a democracy, and any power you have is borrowed from me.” Daeva leans on the desk. His arms tense. “AM I FUCKING CLEAR!” Daeva roars.

  The radians nod their heads a few of them; “Yes Kentro.” Daeva turns to Ataelo’s enforcer.

  “Cut his head off and put it in my chest.” Daeva commands. Sliding the chest across the table. Ataleo may have survived the death dealers blade through his skull-given time to heal. But, he will certainly be killed by decapitation.

  Star gracefully pulls her blade from Ataleo’s skull rotating it around her hand and slipping it back into its holster on her back; while Ataleo’s head drops to the table. After a moment of hesitation in the enforcer: a man familiar with death.

  Before he walks over to Ataleo’s body and grabs his head as he pulls a blade from his belt bringing it to Ataleo’s neck before severing his head. He slowly walks over before dropping it into Daeva’s chest. In this visceral act returning the power Daeva.

  Daeva blinks over to the chest slamming it shut before sliding it to the center of the table. Then, speeds away, disappearing from sight so fast-it is as if he teleported.

  Moments later in the quarters above the dining hall. A room that once stood Treggin’s domain seems to have no remnants of him. The room now serves as more of a lounge with a few couches. The walls lined with racks holding either wine, mead, or cigars. Deava sits on one of the couches puffing on a cigar deep in thought when Jerek steps in.

  “Kentro.” Jerek greets Before closing the door and entering. “May I offer my thoughts Kentro.” Daeva with a flutter of his hand in the air giving him authorization. “Why would you keep pushing them like this? You know the weight Ataleo carried with everyone. I don’t understand your mind in this.” Jerek trying to understand why Daeva would take such haphazard actions.

  “There are few people in this world that make their own choices.” Puffing on his cigar taking his time. “Most are lead by a convoluted network of drives actually tracing back to either survival or some given belief.” Daeva pauses for a second looking upward. “Most men unable to overcome that voice in them that tells them when they are tired, what makes them happy, and leads their life through these subtle inclinations.” Daeva leans back and stares at the ceiling while taking a long drag. Breathing the smoke in deep as it fills his lungs. Holding it in for a moment to savor the taste before exhaling it out. “I know where I am going and I don’t need permission from anything. Not reality; not the gods; and certainly not my fucking radians!” Daeva roars. “ I am not going to see if they will respect me; I will make them.” Daeva orates and in the process exalts his actions and thoughts in Jerek’s mind.

  Asta is walking through the bustling Qilong city. Not many people live here, but the ones that do seem to keep busy. But, not in the same way as she has noticed from Amneka. It is more of a collaborative effort. Her hair still gorgeous and flowing, but noticeably less kept. Being far from civilization and those that would provide such a service. Wearing a poncho less glorious than her usual garments more hand made, but it is unmistakably different then anything she would get in Qilong city. At her waist though is a strip of fabric with a symbol woven into it with jade material that shows her status as a cognate.

  As she walks through the road she reflects on her classes. They started well, but lately she is less pleased with them. She is struggling to keep up and feels behind the group. She is stuck on things they moved passed in early classes. She is not familiar with being intellectually inferior, and is confused by it. She approaches a man who is standing behind a metal rack over a fire cooking slabs of meat. On the side of the road underneath an overhead attached to a wooden building behind him.

  “I was told you would be able to help me with food.” Asta say’s barely present in this interaction as she is still obsessing over her classes.

  The stranger greets her with a smile; “Be glad to. How much do you need?” the stranger asks.

  Asta surprised by the pleasantness of the stranger. She assumed the interaction would be more formal; that the villager exchanges his services for protection from the clan. The stranger wearing comfy looking baggy cloth pants and a non descript cloth shirt. An apron hanging just at his front likely to catch the spattering and spitting of the meat as it cooks over the fire.

  “Why do you give this food away for free?” Asta questions.

  The man looks at Asta almost confused by the question. “What would you charge your sister for a meal?” the man poses to Asta. “I trust that if I do my best to keep my community strong they will do everything they can to do the same. Then we are all the better for it.” The stranger shares. As he wraps up her meat in paper and hands it to her.

  Asta surprised by the stranger’s answer, but not interested in engaging him. She grabs the meat with a nod and continues down the road. She walks for a moment getting some distance between her and the villagers. Once she is sure no one can see her. She then disappears, running faster than the eye can track. Before long she is at the outskirts of the village. Where she takes a seat on an edging that wraps around a building.

  Pulling the wrapping aside she takes a bite still obsessing over her circumstances. Suddenly. “Troubled.” An old man startles Asta. Her reaction, trained for years, hides this fact. It is uncommon that her heightened senses wouldn’t have identified the man. He seems to be tending a magshift garden just outside town.

  “Confused would probably be a better way of putting it.” Asta replies

  The man looks up from his gardening and makes eye contact. “Something I can help with.” The man humbly offers.

  Asta scoffs; not taking the man seriously. She decides to reply hoping saying it outloud will help her work through it. “I am keep getting dragged down trying to understand. Meanwhile, I miss the next thing only furthering my confusion.”

  “I see.” The old man goes back to his gardening tasks. “You know I make the best patches in all of Qilong city.” The man professes. Asta losing interest in his ramblings. “A good garden takes intent, vision. Most people are what I would call care takers; they learn how to plant, soil, water, and give proper light. They are given the formula and run with it making beautiful arrangements-albeit only of linear or predictable designs. If your goal is to have flowers, that works perfectly, but if your goal is to create life you will find this method to be hollow.” The man concludes.

  Asta sits letting his words resonate with her predicame
nt. The clarity it provides seem to dilute any questions about the man himself.

  Chapter 16

  At the kingdom of Tyrinda within the region Thoraza; Thromb walks towards a carriage waiting for him sent by Daeva. The carriage obviously an expensive vehicle as it hovers above the ground it has fans that come out around it to direct the debris away from riders. An unnecessary luxury. The carriage driver opens the front door segregated from the back where the passengers ride, and steps out greeting Thromb. The opulence some people seek baffles Thromb. He wonders what they must say to themselves to justify access to such needlessly indulgent things.

  As Thromb steps in he sees Oenopain and surprise turns to anger. “What are you doing here.” Thromb say’s with anger surrounded by worry.

  Oenopain kicks his feet up on the bench on his side of the carriage holding onto his blade. “You thought I was going to let you live it up in style here and not join you.” Oenopain remarks deflecting from the real concerns of being involved in a mission that is a direct disobedience of the cleric and therefore Thatos.

  Thromb exhales in frustration. He was hoping this would be a lot simpler just him; no others need to take the risk. It is not easy to tread this path alone, but he pushes himself to. “You will go back to the village NOW!” Thromb commands.

  “You’re not the sage of this carriage.” Oenopain with a smirk as he sits up.

  Thromb leaning in. “Enough. Now leave.” Thromb says firmly.

  “When you convinced me to join this shit you told me I would no longer be a soldier. I would be a brother, and my only concern would be my family there only concern me. Don’t take that away from me now; when it matters most.” Oenopain says with a clenched jaw as the thought of letting his family down partially chokes his words. With a nod of his head Thromb is forced to acquiesce.

  They sit in silence for awhile as they glide down the road. An occasional bump as the carriage's hover adapts to major disturbances in the terrain. Before long; “You know that we are riding into what is likely a trap by the circle of śmierć: the most deadly criminal organization to have ever existed.” Thromb argues.

  “Okay.” Oenopain agrees. Without the proper regard; that the potential of their death-warrants.

  “And, even if it does work out the plan is to infiltrate the most heavily guarded portions of Amneka and kill some of the most influential leaders. Which would be a death sentence through Amneka’s broken justice system. Assuming we aren’t killed on sight.”

  “I’ve always wanted to see the architecture of a big Amnekian city.” Oenopain ignoring the mortal threats.

  “Then, if we happen to make it through all that. When we get back to Qilong if the cleric even slightly believes we are lying about where we were; he will bring upon us a brutal death.”

  “I am already going you don’t have to convince me!” Oenopain smirks. They both laugh at their prospective fates.

  “Do you ever think about the mistakes of the past.” Thromb asks looking out the window.

  “That would be a whole days work.” Oenopain counters. Then he looks at Thromb seeing him deep in thought; “A wise man once told me only this and the ones going forward are the moments I can change and should be my focal point. Armed with the clarity that only the present exists, and the knowledge of those things currently not within my influence. I will have the arsenal to ensure my serenity which breeds success.” Oenopain opens up.

  “Focal point..” Thromb say’s still looking out the window. “How does one know when thoughts of those outside of your focal breech an acceptable level?” Thromb inquires.

  “Well, I would say when it is not to the direct benefit to those in your focal point.” Oenopain reacts forming words as they develop in his mind. Teetering on the edge of rhetoric and question.

  Meanwhile at their destination. Daeva sits in a university meeting hall; something afforded to him through relationships and donations. He is with Aeshma and Jerek. The building itself is quite large built impressively at the top of a waterfall: surrounded by massive raging water. Two small bridges from both edges of the water reach out to the center where the main building is. The large cathedral domes reach up with the main structures having rounded tops and the smaller ones more pointed. The design is mirrored downward as well. Going down the waterfall as if the structure was flipped. The church to knowledge and magic stands as a boisterous example of the Amnekian college’s resources.

  In one of the domes reaching downward, Daeva and the other two sit at a large hall. “The radians have submitted their dues. But I fear with Lucio taking some territory back, and our last encounter with them we are bound to lose a few.” Jerek concerned about radian’s turning on Daeva. The pressure on them remains. While Lucio, with the assistance of Amneka, has begun taking back some territory.

  “The only reason the rat Lucio is still squirming around is because he is sucking at Amneka’s tit.” Daeva argues. .

  “The radians may not believe that though Kentro.” Jerek worried about a fight with other radians, and how it could be the death of the circle.

  “Cotus tells me that some of the other enforcers have been in conversations with their radians discussing betrayal.” Aeshma adds.

  “Let us focus on what is at hand and ending Lucio as quickly as possible.” Daeva paces.

  “Then why are we here?” Jerek says.

  “If these Shanshe men can pull Amneka’s attention away from Lucio. It will make our path a lot easier.” Daeva responds.

  “I just don’t see how you are so sure of their loyalty. And, what will it cost us?” Jerek continues.

  “I am not sure of anyone's loyalty Jerek. Loyalty is a commodity, and held only by those who have been compensated.” Daeva with a degree of resentment. “The beauty of this arrangement is their compensation is simply the use of our transportation hubs, gear, and a few men.”

  “Surely you know we would do anything for you Kentro, and our circle mates.” Jerek quickly counters. Looking at Aeshma for corroboration.

  The conversation stings Aeshma as these artificial relationships begin to take life. “It is true, but I cannot say that I am not challenged by similar things.” Aeshma says sharing his true thoughts. This always gives him the sick feeling of failure.

  “That is good Aeshma.” Daeva says focusing on ensuring they are paying attention. “Because, loyalty is understanding. Fire is not loyal to heat; if you are set upon a path by another without understanding how it began and where it is going, then it is not loyalty but reaction.”

  The next morning Asta sits with her Qilong Clan peers in consecutive circular rings of benches around one of the Qilong masters teaching them about Soten. “Now I want you to move to the crow Soten; remember focus on the interpretation we worked on for you; it should be unyielding perseverance through adaptability. This is a difficult one, so do not be discouraged if you are having trouble.” Covirus Catalus the master explains.

  “Covirus.” Asta say’s to get his attention. Covirus not expecting questions at this point, but never-the-less turns to her. “I still don’t get how these understandings of the Soten were chosen, or even the hand signs themselves.” Asta giving voice to a question that had been bothering her.

  “Less chosen; more discovered. These are the symbols that speak to our souls Asta.” Covirus explains.

  “How did anyone ever discover the hand signs and their interpretations?” Asta wondering how a person could discover these specific hand signs and the proper mindset for each. She is not content simply using them; she wants to understand.

  “Through properly understanding one’s self combined with much trial and error.” Covirus getting slightly annoyed at her questions.

  These answers, while sufficient to keep things moving and not make the master look as if he doesn’t understand his own teachings. Provide Asta with no clarity: what are the hand signs doing; how do these interpretations correlate with them. Asta takes a deep breath and holds back her mounting frustrations and disapp
ointment. “Okay, but what must they have done to come to such conclusions, which is really just alluding to the real question which is what is actually happening when we perform Soten.”

  “I told you the hand signs are a connection to our soul.” Covirus repeating his hollow words.

  Asta tightens her jaw shaking her head; “Then if the same hand signs and interpretations speak to all of our souls, does that mean our souls are the same?”

  “No. But, they speak the same language.” Covirus, somewhat confused now, responds. The class, clearly, getting frustrated with Asta’s digressions.

  “If we use that logic language is merely a medium to communicate ideas. The medium isn’t important only the ideas. Does that mean there are other hand signs and interpretations that could be used? Like there are other languages one can use to communicate ideas.” Asta responds. Clamoring for more knowledge.

  “No it isn’t that strict of a metaphor.” Covirus says. Leaving Asta frustrated, and exposing the fact that Covirus’ was responding based upon memory not an understanding. Thus, he led himself into a hole.

  Asta just sits silent allowing the class to move on. As they do she is still stuck pondering her unanswered question. Resenting her peers for, not only, their willing ignorance, but their reaction to her pursuit of understanding.