Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen 1)

He paused, smiling wryly. “But you are not the last Bhikhu. You are merely a pawn in a game of power played between Tyrus of Kenatos and myself. He would send us back into the abyss of ignorance by freeing all of the serving spirits. Yes, I said serving. He and others claim they are slaves. They serve us. They are not our slaves. Every one of them will be set free when their commitment is fulfilled. They are preserving us, Paedrin. They will help us survive the coming onslaught. And Tyrus seeks to hasten it. Tyrus aids our enemies and undermines our ability to save as many souls as we can.”

Paedrin shook his head, hearing the Arch-Rike’s words but unable to understand what he meant. “By this ring, I can see that you believe you are telling the truth. But certainly there can be two opinions on this matter. Locking me in this cell is hardly befitting one who has been trained to serve Kenatos.”

“Of course you will continue to serve Kenatos. But you must die first.”

Paedrin shook his head. “How can I serve Kenatos when I am dead?”

“You will serve me best as a Kishion. They are dead as to things of this world. They do not marry. They do not have children. They have no past. They have no future. You will accept blame of your role in the theft of the blade Iddawc, and you will be hung for the crime. But of course a Vaettir cannot die by hanging, so long as he has breath. You will survive and you will be reborn. I have great need of you, Paedrin. You must serve Kenatos still.”

Paedrin felt a sheen of sweat appear on his back and trickle down. He thought of his master. He thought of Hettie. He thought of the man with the ravaged face who had broken his arm.

“I will not,” he answered. “I would rather die by hanging.”

“Or remain here in the dark for the rest of your life?” the Arch-Rike said with a small smile. “Come, Paedrin. You will serve me. Twist the black gemstone on the ring.”

An overpowering compulsion rushed inside his body. Unable to stop himself, he turned the gemstone on the ring. The stone detached itself.

“Give it to me.”

Paedrin tried to stop his arms from moving, but he could not. The compulsion was incredibly powerful, going directly through his arms and fingers. He reached through the bars and handed the stone to the Arch-Rike, who fastened it to a jeweled necklace around his neck. There were matching ink-black stones inset into gold.

“With this necklace,” the Arch-Rike said, “I control all of you. You are my servants. You will forget your name. You will remember being born in the darkness. You will say what I wish you to say. You will do what I wish you to do. Is that clear, Paedrin?”

The feeling was total and utter hopelessness. Every instinct screamed at him to resist, to defy the Arch-Rike. But somehow part of him was taken away when the stone left the ring. Some spirit magic was at work now. It crushed him.

“Yes, my lord,” he whispered in a choked voice.

“The Romani girl was snooping around the Paracelsus Tower today. What was she looking for?”

Again his tongue loosened without the ability to stop. “Tyrus sent her for spirit magic that he had left behind. A leather bag with three uncut gems.” Stop it! Stop speaking! he screamed at himself. The realization of his helplessness struck him with horror.

The Arch-Rike’s brow wrinkled. “Peculiar. We discovered no such artifacts when we searched the debris. Well, we will have a chance to speak with her tomorrow. She is at the Bhikhu temple, you see. When Master Shivu comes to see you in the morning, I will send a Kishion to fetch her. She is Romani, after all, and Romani are forbidden to enter the city. One cannot trust them, you see.” The glint of his smile revealed his triumph.

Reaching for the torch, the Arch-Rike gave Paedrin one last look before retrieving it. “You realize that removing the ring will kill you. I am certain you are clever enough to consider that, but just to be sure.” He walked back down the hallway, plunging him into blackness.

“I was once at a banquet with the Arch-Rike and some intimate associates. For all his vast wealth and lavish accommodations, he exercises the most amazing self-control I have ever seen. I saw him eat no meat, only natural things like apples and cucumbers and the like. He refused any attempt to refill his wine goblet. Some say he is overly suspicious of poison and that is why he eats so little. I propose that he will not take any substance into him that might addle his thoughts or control his emotions.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

When Paedrin was a child, he had broken a bone for the first time climbing a tall dresser. He had managed to pull out the drawers to act as rungs and thought it was a brilliant idea until the entire structure came down on top of him and smashed his leg. He was five years old. Paedrin remembered the brace, the tight bandages, and the crutches that allowed him to hobble around. Mostly, he remembered the pain, especially at night. While there were leaves he could have chewed on to remedy it, he was given nothing. Pain was a teacher. It was cruel at times.