Chapter 10 - The Last Messenger

Chapter 10 - Saniel

Saniel leaned out the front door and shouted. “Aael!”

Leaving the door open, Saniel walked to her favorite chair and sat. Plain and crafted from pine, the chair reminded her of mountains and snow, home. She waited. She really hated waiting.

A few minutes later, Aael’s head inched carefully into the open doorway, his body hidden by the doorframe.

Saniel sighed. “What are you doing?”

“I had a problem with a door earlier. I’m just trying to learn from my mistakes.”

“That would be a first.”

Aael walked into the house and sat across from her. He sank into Caden’s “thinking chair,” a plush ugly thing.

Aael smiled. “I love holidays. No work, just a day to relax and enjoy.”

Saniel smiled back. “Nice try. It’s a southern holiday and not even a proper one. What culture makes a holiday of killing each other?”

Aael opened his mouth to respond, but Saniel cut him off. “Grab some jerky. I want to show you something, and I can’t do it here. You can eat on the way.”

Aael frowned, and Saniel raised an eyebrow. He muttered something about a proper holiday but pushed himself up, groaning as he left the chair. He’s too thin. A growth spurt had taken all his bulk, and his attire made it worse. She hated the way he kept himself hidden behind those clothes.

Saniel narrowed her eyes. “Are those clean?”

Aael smelled his armpit. “Yes?”

“How hard is it to put clean clothes on? You’re going to get a rash, and you probably stink.”

“It’s fine, Mom.”

Saniel felt the compulsion like a punch to her stomach. Return!

The command reverberated through Saniel’s body, and a sliver of her screamed to obey, to turn north and run. She stood.

I will not be commanded! Saniel screamed in her mind.

The compulsion stopped smothering Saniel.

I love my husband, Saniel said the words in her mind like a chant.

The compulsion weakened, and Saniel sat, balanced on the edge of the chair.

Saniel let these last words fill her thoughts. I love my son. 

The compulsion retreated, and Saniel collapsed back into the chair.

Saniel glanced at Aael to see if he’d noticed, but his focus remained on the pantry. He swung the pantry door closed with his foot and turned toward her, a piece of jerky hung from his mouth and wafers filled each hand.

“Whut?” Aael asked, the word garbled by the jerky in his mouth.

Saniel’s chest ignited with love, a love built month by month in a womb she thought would always be empty. That love had been powerful enough to fight the compulsion. Her love had kept her free.

Standing, Saniel grabbed her backpack from under the chair and walked out of the house. She heard the door shut and then Aael’s footsteps behind her.

“Where are we going?” Aael asked.

“Out.”

“This day gets better and better.”

They walked toward the western gate of the Abbey. This area remained empty, reserved for future expansion she guessed, and they didn’t encounter anyone. This gate had a single oak door five foot long and ten high. Saniel pushed the door open and glanced up at the clay wall. Maybe twelve feet thick, the walls were more show than protection. She wondered how long it would take to tear down. She pushed the thought away. Her days of destruction were behind her.

Saniel waited for Aael to pass through and then shut the door. She adjusted the backpack, the secrets inside far heavier than the mere contents. They walked south, nothing but endless sand before them.

Aael talked through a mouth full of wafers. “Did you know Padda’s exercise is used for fighting?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Saniel hesitated, not wanting to answer Aael’s question. She hated the need to parse her words. Internals did that. She spoke her mind, and hiding, even hiding words, went against her nature. 

“I’ve seen variations of it. It’s not an effective style. It relies on your opponent’s decisions. Better to…”

Saniel swept Aael’s feet with her right leg. He fell backward, and she threw an elbow at his face. He dropped the wafers, grabbed her elbow, and pulled his legs toward his body. She knew he meant to use the ground as a springboard, leverage to kick her in the stomach.

Saniel opened her Vym, her connection to Thalt’s power. Six colors saturated her body and pushed outward in a chaotic rainbow. She ignored the internal colors, easy since they were trickles, and grasped the violet stream with a thought. Using it, she pulled air from around them and created a cushion under Aael to slow his fall.

Aael jerked down on her elbow and thrust his legs upward. But his back rested on air, and it made his kick powerless. She snapped the violet flow and pulled the air from under him, sucking Aael to the ground.

Air left Aael’s lungs in a rush. Saniel rested her elbow against his nose. She smiled, and reached for the trickle of yellow, little more than drops, in her connection. With effort she pushed the smell of strawberries into his mind.

“Did you slow me?” Aael wheezed.

Saniel stood and smiled. “Two lessons for the price of one.” She held up a finger. “It’s better to act than react.” She paused and then held up a second finger. “It only gives your enemies pleasure when you whine a fight isn’t fair.”

Aael stood and dusted the sand off his clothes. He picked up the wafers that hadn’t been crushed and looked at her. “So you’re my enemy?”

Saniel’s smile faded. “If I was, you’d be dead.”

They started south again. 

Return! Thalt’s compulsion boomed in Saniel’s mind. She stumbled, and Aael grabbed her arm.

Saniel chanted in her mind.

My freedom!

My husband!

My son!

The compulsion retreated.

“Are you okay?” Aael asked.

Saniel patted Aael’s hand, which still held her arm. “Yes. You must have tired me out.”

Aael let go of her. “Yeah, right.”

They walked in silence for the next couple of minutes. Thalt’s compulsion tended to come in swarms, and Saniel wanted to make sure the God had finished. Even after all these years, the compulsion still overwhelmed her, and she didn’t want any extra distractions today.

“How did you get separated from the others in Hylt?” Saniel asked.

Aael stopped, and Saniel turned to face him. He leaned away from her, his cheeks red, and his body stiff. He opened and closed his mouth and then just frowned.

“Was it that stupid game?” Saniel prodded.

“It’s not stupid!”

Saniel didn’t understand Aael’s fascination with that bloody competition. What kind of barbaric culture placed men and women in an arena to kill each other? She hated living so deep in the south, but Caden’s patterns confirmed the necessity of it. Who would think to look for them among a sea of enemies.

“You’ve nothing to prove,” Saniel said.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Only one way to be sure.”

Aael pressed his lips together, but Saniel could tell he wanted to talk. She kept silent, giving him space. For all his training with Caden, she could still read Aael’s emotions.

Saniel strode south again and heard Aael’s footsteps behind her. It took less than a minute for him to speak.

“I’m like them,” Aael said.

Saniel stopped and grabbed Aael’s shoulders. He looked intently at the ground.

“You are not!” Saniel hissed.

Aael looked up, his eyes moist. “I’m a misfit, deformed, different. But I can fight,” he said, making a fist. “Someone like me belongs there. I’d be accepted. I’d be normal.”

Saniel let go of Aael, horrified. Why would he need acceptance from these savages? “This culture glorifies suffering. They scar their bodies and stain their skin with instruments of death. You are not one of them.”

“They agree. Empty hand isn’t recognized. Without a weapon and a tattoo to prove mastery, I can’t compete.”

“Is that where you went? To enter the Blood Dance?”
 Aael narrowed his eyes. “Yes, and I’m not sorry for it.”

“Put away your claws, little one. That rule demonstrates their ignorance.”

“Everyone is inked with at least one weapon. It’s stupid you won’t teach me one.”

Saniel slapped the side of Aael’s head. He tried to dodge but failed. There were only two people in the world who might have avoided it, and she hadn’t seen either in decades.

Shrugging out of the backpack, Saniel retrieved a baton the length of her forearm. The black baton prickled her hand where it touched her skin. She hated mageblood weapons. Aael’s eyes widened in surprise when she tossed it to him.

The blue stream poured from Saniel’s open Vym, and she wrapped herself in it like a blanket. Her left hand transformed into a dagger, her Blue Spire training altering her body like muscle memory. She shook her hand, and it regained its normal shape. Thank the gods, Aael had remained focused on the baton and hadn’t noticed the change. She relaxed her limbs and tensed her core.

Saniel stepped backward three times and then nodded at the baton. “Imagine you’ve trained your whole life with that. There is no one better. Attack.”

It pleased Saniel that Aael didn’t hesitate. Aggressiveness had come naturally to him. Caden called it rashness and didn’t approve, but what did a Red know of fighting. If Aael had been born with a connection to Thalt and studied at the Blue Spire, he would have been unstoppable.

Aael feigned left and then swung the baton with his right hand, hard. Saniel stepped into the attack and turned, her back toward him. She used Aael’s momentum and flipped him over her shoulder. He landed on his back, and she twisted his right wrist, snapping the bone.

Not even a whimper, Saniel thought with pride.

Saniel looked down at Aael, and she still held his broken wrist. He used his left hand to trap her hand against his broken wrist, and jerked his legs upward and around her neck. He yanked downward, pulling her forward.

Releasing Aael’s wrist, Saniel rolled to her feet and faced him, the baton now in her right hand. He flipped himself to his feet and mirrored her stance.

Out of habit, Saniel evaluated his form, pleased he hid the broken wrist so well. “The lifetime you trained with this,” she held up the baton, “is now wasted.” She paused to make sure her next words resonated with him. “Weapons are crutches for the weak, and you, my son, are not weak.”

Aael gave Saniel a small nod. His neutral expression meant his anger, along with the pain, must be in Moonless Night. More internal magic, but at least this magic had value in a fight, so she didn’t scold him for it. She could never manage Moonless Night, but wouldn’t use it if she could. Emotions should be felt and used, not hidden away.

Saniel hoped her point stuck in Aael’s thick skull. Her demonstration had been clear. Even with a broken wrist, he was dangerous. The same would not be true of the baton master.

Tossing the baton at the backpack, Saniel strode to Aael. He winced as she pulled his broken wrist straight. Her Green stream, thickest of all her colors, poured out of her like a river. She focused the energy around Aael’s wrist, healing the broken bones and damaged muscles.

Green was Saniel’s prime color and her ticket to the Spires ages ago. Greens were the only color mage the people trusted. Silent Mages they were called because they stopped the cries of the sick and hurt.

Saniel held Aael’s wrist until he looked at her. His dark blue irises blended into his pupils, and it made his eyes look almost black. Caden had said it would happen, that it was necessary, but it had still surprised her. She gave herself a mental shake. Her thoughts were everywhere today.

“Your feint to the left was terrible,” Saniel said. “What is the first rule of a feint?”

“Belief. If I believe they’ll believe.”

Saniel nodded. “How’s your wrist?”

Aael rotated it and then flexed it back and forth. “Fine.”

They walked south again, the silence between them uncomfortable. No, not uncomfortable, Saniel just dreaded what she needed to discuss. It brought back painful memories of her previous life. She needed to get through it, though. This conversation would be the easy one. The hard ones were coming.