So, what's up guys. If you haven't checked out the new tiny little piece of The Scion's Ascension located in the back of the re-edited Twined, then LOOK NO FURTHER. For I am a bringer of merry times and sudden solutions.
Basically, I'm going to post it up on here. See if you like it. The book is my next project once Scarlett's is completely re-edited.
Yeah, the first time through some complications took place and the book didn't get properly edited. So I'm giving it a makeover. It's about giving people something to enjoy. The first priority is to the fans.
Anyway, here's the piece of The Scion's Ascension.
THE SCION’S ASCENSION
Chapter 1: Duty Bound, Turncoat
Crowned
He
traced his fingers lovingly over the cover of the text cradled in his lap.
Cisaro could recite nearly all its contents from memory. Every phrase he’d ever
recited, every vow he’d ever pledged, every oath he’d ever sworn, all of it
birthed from this very book. It was his prized possession, given to him from
his father, passed on through the generations of the Episcopo bloodline. If
things went his way, the position as Head Allegiant of the Misercordia Family
would be no different.
Cisaro
gazed up, towards the sun bleeding through the overlapping treetops. With all
the instruction regimens, the newfound duties as DeMarcio’s Second, the
not-so-gentle “easing” into a position of extreme consequence, Cisaro marveled
at how much he missed having time set aside for personal ventures. Typically,
if not sated with some meaningful task to sponge up his freer hours, the young
Twined would have gone insane from lack of purpose. Now, with purpose abundant,
grass was a greener tincture on the fence’s other side—if he ever found a
moment to notice it.
And
a moment he found indeed. It was an hour and a half until Cisaro was to send
for another Illusionist. Argrant, one of the older Secretant, had fallen ill
and declared himself unable to carry out his daily obligations. If even one
Secretant failed to add their contributions to the Greater Illusion, Scollant
Sanctuary would be visible to the human world. Grave repercussions would
undoubtedly recur.
Until
duty beckoned, however, a book, a breeze, and rays of the sun were his only
companions. Cisaro rested his head against the grassy slope of the hill, his
textbook perched on his stomach.
A
cracking twig, dried from recent lack of rain, caught his attention.
Perhaps
nature was not his only companion.
A
figure rushed Cisaro from behind. Years of honing Twined skills granted him
with reflexes swift enough to lash out with his book and crack this creeping
assailant in the shins. The figure flew forward, tumbled down the hill, and
disappeared into the patch of undergrowth circling the trees below.
Cisaro
would recognize such graceless acts anywhere, even if blindfolded and liquored
to oblivion. “An ambuscade. Kelder, truly? When will you learn I outmatch you?”
A
knife hovered beside Cisaro’s throat. The Twined’s eyes widened. He heard
nothing that suggested another attacker. An auburn-haired boy snickered behind
him.
Cisaro
sighed. “Feign-born bastard.” The one ability he constantly overlooked when
fighting Feign-born—Warping.
“Come,
Cisaro. When will you ever learn I outwit you every time?”
“Kelder
Castile, the day you outwit me is the day I rescind my wishes to become Head
Allegiant and banish myself from Sanctuary with an incredulous moxie.”
Kelder
roared. The knife glistened as it moved with each laugh. “Your sweet talk is
cold and appealing like the many frozen treats you owe me.” The weapon caressed
the surface of Cisaro’s throat. “Admit it, Episcopo. I caught you by surprise.”
Cisaro
scoffed. “This tactless ambush? You think me blind, deaf, and excessively
oblivious?”
His
“assailant” brought the knife down to poke at Cisaro’s shoulder blade.
“Remember what Drago says, Cisaro. ‘Kind thoughts are the Death Knight’s
shield, kind actions are his blade’.”
Cisaro
moved in the blink of an eye. He shifted his body, leaned backwards, and pinned
Kelder’s blade-wielding arm at the elbow under his armpit. Cisaro then used
momentum to flip Kelder over his hip, causing them both to tumble down the hill
and into the shrubbery below.
The
Twined kicked his assailant out of the bushes and into another clearing behind
it. Kelder moaned, his rear end sticking up in the air as he clutched at his
stomach.
The
knife was thrown, impacting the soft, grassy patch right next to Kelder’s ear.
“Do
not,” Cisaro towered over the downed boy, brushing dirt and leaves off his navy
blue shirtsleeve, “quote my own father to me.”
Kelder
held up both hands, his face buried in the dirt. “I yield, I yield.”
Cisaro
raised an amused eyebrow. “To yield, one must first pose a threat.” He offered
his hand, which Kelder took.
“Damn,”
said the Feign boy, cracking his back. “Excessively violent as always, my
friend.”
“To
match your excessive stupidity,” said the Twined with a smirk. “Don’t you have
something better to do with your time instead of bothering me?”
“I
can entertain myself. I’ve been running errands for Gallant Episcopo the better
part of the morning.”
Cisaro
blinked. “My father sent you?”
“Indeed.
Interested now, ass?” Kelder picked a twig from his auburn hair and stuck the
end in his mouth. “I suppose Feign nature makes me the ideal errand boy. Being
able to Warp from one end of Sanctuary to the other proves a useful skill.
Plus, he claims I always know where to find you.”
“I
would believe so, considering you stalk me constantly, Castile.”
A
coy shrug. “Stalking implies I try to hide it.”
“What
did my father need?”
“Merely
to inform you that the task of locating a replacement Secretant for old Argrant
has already been taken care of. Your attention is no longer required.”
“Really?
Who did they send for?”
“Oh,
no one cares, Cisaro,” Kelder exclaimed in vexation. “You’re off duty for at
least another couple hours. Take pleasure in that.”
“My
duty is my pleasure,” Cisaro said, wiping off his retrieved textbook with his
sleeve.
Kelder
picked the book from Cisaro’s grasp. He held the thing beyond the Twined’s
reach, who grabbed at it. Kelder smiled, teasing his friend all the while.
“Kelder,
when I strike you, do not claim I offered no admonition!”
“Cisaro
Episcopo, you are sixteen years hopeless and have yet to even attempt having a
good time. One day, when you’re old, empty, and cursed with an abundance of
wasted moments, you’ll look back with consternation at all the things you
wished you would’ve done.” Kelder eyed Cisaro down, suddenly very serious.
“Have you ever even kissed anyone?”
“How
is that remotely important or any of your business?”
“Well,
how will I ever brag that I was your first unless I know it’s true?”
Cisaro,
taken aback, ceased reaching for the textbook. “What?”
Kelder
closed in. “Come on, Death Knight. Let us roll down the hill again, only this
time sans clothing.”
Cisaro
let his fist fly into Kelder’s chest, half-seriously. Kelder let out a yelp of
pain, falling to the ground and clutching himself while kicking at the air.
“It’s
pretty brave to flirt with someone holding the title of Death Knight, you
thick.” He rolled his eyes. “Enough with your obnoxious theatrics, Kelder.”
As
if on cue, Kelder let his arms flop out by his sides. He watched the treetops
sway in the wind, a leafy blanket pierced by beams of sunlight.
“I
want to go outside.”
“You
are outside, fool,” Cisaro huffed.
“I
meant outside the city walls. I want to see the world and sit on a beach with
someone I love. I want to meet a human. See how different we really are.”
Cisaro
paused, thinking of the images he’d seen of beaches. All on paper, all lacking
the same life he’d heard described in the stories told by people who’d seen
them for real. And, yes, he also wished to meet one of the beings he would one
day be required to Join with.
“We
cannot leave the city,” Cisaro whispered. “At least, not permanently.”
“Not
at all. I’m Feign, Cisaro. I don’t need a human to survive. I don’t get to
leave on Pilgrimage, even for a little while.”
“If
you truly desire to leave, why not Warp from Sanctuary’s domain?”
“And
let my uncle lose his possessions, the status he worked so hard to keep?”
Kelder scoffed. “For an Allegiant candidate, you sure are unfamiliar with the
rules. Those who abscond rescind their status here. The family they desert will
suffer the accused one’s consequences in their selfish wake.”
“I
know the law, Kelder. I was merely attempting to sate this ridiculous fantasy of
yours.”
“You
think I can be glutted by pictures and stories? I cannot.” Kelder huffed. “I
crave touch, taste, and feeling. I need the true experience.”
“You
are acting like a child.”
“You
should try it sometime.”
“It
is not our place to question the Sanctuary’s laws.”
“Are
humans truly so bigoted, Cisaro? I have difficulty believing that. Will they
really cast us off at first sight once they learn of our existence? For
Cordelia’s sake, we look exactly the same.”
“It
is not that simple, Kelder,” Cisaro reasoned, feeling a hint of understanding
towards his friend’s yearning. At the very least, Cisaro inwardly admitted, he
had fallen curious of what sat outside the Sanctuary walls. The closest he ever
got to “leaving” was if an outsider Twined in a nearby town began causing
trouble, and even then he was to report straight back to Sanctuary afterward.
“We hold powers of
great destruction,” the Twined went on. “Powers those humans cannot and will
not understand. You are not the only one forced into hiding. Even those born on
the outside must conceal what they are. Revisit the lessons of Salem if you
forget our people’s history.”
“You
cannot give a textbook answer to a dreamer’s query; they don’t mix right and
everyone ends up pissed off in the end.”
“That’s
certainly where I’m headed.”
“I
don’t agree with the Separatists, I never have. They dally in lies and secrets.
Did you know the Twined word for separate, secronair, is derived from a dead
human dialect? ‘Secrete’. It means ‘to hide a thing away’, as if we are the
planet’s shameful little clandestinity.”
“No,
it isn’t. Secronair stems from the Latin adjective ‘secretus’, which means ‘set
apart’.”
“What’s
the difference?”
“Purpose.
We do not separate ourselves from the world simply to be enigmatic and
secretive. We act with surreptitious caution to ensure balance. To avoid
startling the dominant human population by brewing a storm we could never hope
to contain.” Cisaro’s eyes fell onto a hummingbird sucking nectar from a nearby
flower. “When the world is ready for our revealing, that is the time our people
will shamble into the light. Until then, this is the way things are. You would
do well to appreciate that.”
“You
don’t get it,” muttered Kelder, which captured Cisaro’s attention. “You’re a
pureblooded Twined, and a noble Death Knight besides. I am Feign. I am half
human.” He looked up at Cisaro with a sadness the Allegiant-to-be could not
decode. “And that is all the citizens of Sanctuary will ever see.”
Guilt,
summoned from an unknown place for ambiguous reasons, crept from his stomach up
into his throat. “When… when I called you a Feign-born bastard, I merely
meant—”
Kelder
laughed in the softest way. “You’re at a loss for words? How infrequent. No
need for fiddling apologies, Cisaro. I am not so easily offended.” Quick as a
whip, Kelder was up on his feet and that all-encompassing smile replaced his
dismayed expression. “Tell me, future Head Allegiant—if I succeed in finally
surprising you, then will you fall madly in love with me?”
Taken
aback, Cisaro said, “What? Kelder, I don’t like what that implies. I sense you
intend to do something reckless.”
“Something
as reckless as attacking the highest-scoring fighter in the training academy
ranks armed with nothing but a butter knife? No. When compared to such feats on
a scope of foolhardy grandeur, my future plans don’t seem reckless at all.”
Cisaro
sighed. “You are vague, devious, and that worries me.”
“Flattery
simply encourages my behavior.”
“Cisaro!”
A
female voice echoed throughout the woodsy area. Cisaro and Kelder exchanged a
glance.
“You
did not come alone?” asked the Death Knight.
“I
was about to ask you that,” replied the Feign. He reached over and grabbed
Cisaro’s shoulder. “Hang on.” In a flash of light, Kelder teleported the duo back
to the top of the hill. There, they were greeted by three individuals. A
compact, sinewy, olive-skinned young woman with jet-black, shoulder length
hair, a large ox of a teen that had his head shaved so far down you couldn’t
tell the color, and a very dark-skinned boy with short, bleach blonde hair
swept to one side.
“Cisaro,”
said the young woman. “What happened to you? You are a mess.”
He
glanced in Kelder’s direction. “I tripped down a hill.”
“Tripped?
That hardly seems like you.” She too glanced at Kelder. “But that seems exactly
like something you would do.”
“I
have a balance disorder,” claimed Kelder. “The most curious thing, really, it
seems to plague me only after I’ve sauced myself with an exorbitant amount of
alcohol.”
The
woman laughed. “Let’s hope you Warp better than you walk, Castile.”
“I
had no idea ‘tripped’ meant ‘failed to be seduced by a human fool’ nowadays,”
the ox teen said. Cisaro could feel Kelder’s face flushing red, clearly
uncomfortable. How was it that the Feign was so openly vocal about his
affections when he and Cisaro were alone, yet not around anyone else? But it
was the girl who beat him to the punch when she snapped, “Seek a quick silence,
Tyrade.”
“Yasu
feels sorry for him,” Tyrade said with a laugh. “Poor Feign thick.”
“What
a trite slur,” Kelder replied. “It’s better fit on Cisaro’s tongue.”
“I’m
guessing that’s not the only thing on Cisaro’s tongue, is it?”
The
blonde boy laughed. “Yes, what exactly were
you two doing in the woods alone?”
With
a roll of the eyes, Yasu strutted towards Cisaro, placed a hand on his collar,
and met his lips with her own—a long, passionate kiss that deterred the eyes of
all who thought to observe. Kelder was the first to look away.
“Is
there a reason you’re here?” Cisaro asked when she was done. His words were
laced with a kind patience directed towards Yasu and restrained agitation
directed at the other two. How one could convey both at once, Kelder did not
know.
Tyrade
stuttered. “We, uh, just wanted to…”
“There’s
a situation,” Yasu said, straightening the collar underneath Cisaro’s navy blue
shirt and ignoring the party as if the two of them were holding a conversation
in private. “A Maddened Twined on the outskirts of the nearby town, Ledger
Hills.”
“Subspecies?”
he asked.
“Bloodmutt.
An outsider must have reached his limit and fallen into a blind frenzy. There
have already been several human casualties—a number that will undoubtedly stack
should this issue remain unresolved.”
“Has
my father been notified of this?”
“He
has. I saw to it personally,” said the blonde boy.
“Thank
you, Dellyn. We will take on the task immediately.” He looked over to Kelder,
who, strangely, hadn’t said a word in over five minutes. A record.
“Hey,
Feign, we require your services,” Tyrade ordered. “And not the kind you’re so
freely willing to give, mind you.”
Kelder
muttered something aside.
Cisaro
sighed. Kelder and Tyrade had never gotten along. The latter believed that even
his daily stool required praise. “Kelder, I’m
asking if you would mind Warping us to the armory? It would save us the time
wasted walking there.”
He
grumbled something, lifted his hand, and a bright light joined the sun’s as
they were suddenly transported in front of the metal door to the armory, located
within the High Riser building on the west end of Sanctuary.
Cisaro
blinked, eyes adjusting to the new darkness. “Thank you, Kelder.”
Tyrade
unlocked the armory door with a series of keys. It opened, the exposed gears
turning until the entrance stood clear. Tyrade and Dellyn began to collect
their weapons. Cisaro turned to thank Kelder, who was already walking away.
“Whoa,
hold there. Are you not well?” Cisaro asked.
“Cisaro—”
Yasu started.
“I’m
fine,” he muttered, pulling away. “I need to get home. My uncle will be livid
to hear I journeyed so far west, even for the Gallant.”
“Alright.”
Guilt still stung the inside of Cisaro’s throat. For what reason, though? “We
will meet up later, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,”
was Kelder’s quiet response before he Warped from sight. Now gone, the boy’s
absence left Cisaro with the strangest numbness.
Yasu
placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. It was always she who knew the inner
workings of Cisaro’s feelings, at times better than he did. It was as if they
themselves were Joined, despite the impossibilities of it.
“I
am sorry,” she said. “I displayed affection to end the goading. Hurting Kelder
was not my true agenda.”
“Of
course it wasn’t.”
“Though,
I have to say, there’s something about the way he’s always grinning. Those
smiles he puts on… they’re the kind of smile you hide things behind,” said
Yasu.
“I
believe I need to check on some issues once this mission is complete,” Cisaro
said, his eyes still trained on where Kelder disappeared. “Do not let me
forget, please.”
Yasu
met him for one more tender kiss. “I won’t.”
“Good,”
he replied, gently tracing her cheek with his curled fingers. With a fiery
determination, he announced, “Now, let us fulfill our oath to the Misercordia
Demansch.”
Chapter 2: Love and Shiv, Note to
Give
Kelder,
hands in his pockets, trudged home. The afternoon sky shined beautifully in the
distance, mostly blocked out by the Sanctuary wall looming so disapprovingly.
No artist, he thought, would ever want to paint a picture of the horizon with a
giant wall encompassing most of the view. Painters would want pictures of crystalline
oceans, lakes, or verdant hills, not the stony prisons meant to keep you from
them.
Speaking
of stony, the ice pop vendor, Tamrath, was re-opening his shop today after a
structural issue plagued him for over a month. Kelder, with a grin, strolled
over and purchased a blue double pop from the shop window.
“How
are you today, Tamrath?” he asked.
“One
problem after another,” Tam moaned. “At least now my roof will not collapse in
on itself and crush me underneath.”
Since
Kelder had lived in Scollant, namely all his life, he’d never once seen the ice
pop vendor smile. He imagined you could drop three barrels of honey, wine, and
money at his doorstep, and you wouldn’t get so much as a quiver of the lip.
“One
of these days, I’m going to make you smile, Tamrath. I swear it.”
Tam
let out a long, dejected, uninterested sigh.
“Right,”
Kelder said, eyeing the large man. “Perhaps another day, then.”
As
he turned around, to his surprise, three young kids stood in his path. He
recognized them from the youth school up the street. Hyperactive Niall,
sandy-haired Orlanna, and shy little Beyr. Their daily route always seemed to
take them right past his house, so the four had become quite familiar.
“Why
do you keep buying double pops when you’re always alone?” Niall asked.
“Is
it because you’re hungry like a pig?” Orlanna asked.
“Is
it because you can’t count?” Beyr asked.
“Not
at all, irksome fledglings. I eat alone simply because I have yet to coerce my
love to share these treats with me,” he replied.
Orlanna
let out a childish, sing-song coo at the mentioning of love.
“Does
she not love you back?” Niall inquired.
Kelder
avoided the child’s wide-eyed, invasive stare. “No. She doesn’t. Not yet, at
least.”
“Perhaps
you should try singing to her,” suggested Orlanna.
“Woman,
have you heard me sing?”
“Then
we’ll sing to her!” offered Niall. “All we ask in return is for you to buy us
ice cream.”
“Why
you shrewd little…” Kelder cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s a good
idea, Niall. You’ll get fat.”
“Will not!”
Kelder chuckled to
himself. Then, with a sadder tone, he asked, “Have your parents told you about
me, yet?”
“Why
do you always ask me that, Kelder?”
“Oh,
merely because you’ll hate me when they do.” Before Niall could ask what he
meant, Kelder split the light blue ice pop in two, which caught all three of
the children’s attention. “Here. No singing required or desired.”
“Truly?”
Beyr asked.
“What
must we do to earn them?” asked Niall.
“Enjoy
them together, I suppose.” He gave one pop to Niall, who licked the treat
before it had even shifted in ownership. Kelder then gave the other one to
Beyr. “Orlanna, you’ll have to promise to ask Beyr to share it with you.”
“Why?”
Orlanna asked.
“Because you’re fascinated with Niall, and
Beyr is fascinated with you,” Kelder thought. “Because I only have two, and
Beyr is the elder in this motley trio.”
“Just
by a few months,” added Beyr, sheepishly. “Don’t worry; I’ll split it even down
the middle, Orlanna.” This brought a smile to the girl’s face. If only love
were that simple, Kelder thought. If only affection could be split down the
middle.
“Now,
run off. If I miss curfew because of this, I’ll hunt down all three of you and
hang you by your pants from my rooftop.”
The
boys ran off, squealing in delight at Kelder’s faked threats. Orlanna, a few
paces behind them, stopped to turn around.
“Kelder,
we could never hate you,” she said, kindly.
As much as he
wanted to believe the foolish girl, he couldn’t. “Why do you say that?”
Orlanna smiled, as
children often did when they noticed things that adults could not. “There’s too
much sunshine in your eyes.” With that, the girl sped off after her two
companions, shouting at Beyr to abstain from eating the entire pop by himself.
“And
too many storm clouds in my heart,” he whispered after her, bitter smile fading
fast.
Kelder
arrived at a lush hillside several minutes later. He stood by the mailbox that
had “Castile” written across the side. Cars passed by here and there, their
drivers glancing at him as they sped by. He wondered if they ever realized how
ridiculous they looked. Stopping abruptly in the middle of the road, nearly
causing rear-endings and various other accidents, simply to peer up the street
where the Feign boy lived. What idiots.
“Kelder.”
A black-haired girl, same age as him, appeared at the boy’s side. She wore a charcoal
sundress and sunhat, and a parasol, colored the same, obscured her face.
“Deyanna,”
he said in greeting, but she merely nodded and started silently up the road.
Kelder
followed after, ducking under her parasol. But the girl shifted out of the way.
“Woman,
your mother gifted you with gorgeous looks. You should be taking advantage of
them, showing them off.”
“Are
you implying I act promiscuous, Kelder Castile?” she asked, not unkindly.
He
scoffed, hands in his pockets. “I’m implying that you’re ashamed.”
She
turned with a sharp look in her eyes. “How dare you,” she snapped, this time
unkindly. “I am the spitting image of my late mother and have much pride in
it.”
Kelder,
not amused in the least, flicked his wrist up and caught the parasol on his
thumb. The wind took control after, and blew the thing into the overhead tree
branches with a powerful updraft. Deyanna yelled out in distress.
“I
meant you’re ashamed of me,” he said quickly. Deyanna pulled her black hair
from her face, refusing to look Kelder in the eye. “Nothing? Not even a little
verification? Fine.” Kelder started up the road without her. “You may drop the
invisibility field, Dey. By the time you retrieve your umbrella, I’ll already
be in the house.”
It
had always been like this. Dey’s mother and father, Kelder’s aunt and uncle,
had taken him in when his own mother had died from an attack back in their old
town. His own father had convinced his mother to elope with him, to pursue a
life of wonder outside the city walls. His father, being half-human—Feign, and
his mother, a Cloaker with unparalleled mastery over invisibility, thought it
would be simple for them to find a life in the human world. Against the wishes
of her own parents, and the bitter resentment of her only brother, Kelder’s
mother agreed to her lover’s pleas.
Knowing
the world of the humans was portrayed as colder, compared to the warmth of
Sanctuary.
Knowing
that by leaving, her family would suffer punishment in her wake.
Knowing
that beyond the walls, there sat a land of wonder waiting for her.
Torn
between the love of her man and her family’s begging, Kelder’s mother made a
choice. She left.
And,
before she was slaughtered by a human extremist group in the dead of a snowy
winter night, she sent her newborn son back to Scollant… in order to save his
life.
Kelder
shuddered, remembering his early childhood. Feign was a curse word. Feign were
abominations. “Remember Salem,” he was told. “Remember the trials of Cordelia”,
they said. “Remember the Blackened Plague”. On, and on, and on, he was
demonized—his genes, his people, his mistakes.
The
only thing these Twined fought to see was his human blood, even if it sported
no difference in tincture.
Kelder
walked quietly and quickly into the house, ensuring no neighbors caused any
unnecessary clamor. The small two-story home was a nice little chalet built on
hilltop. It was cozy, comfortable. His uncle usually slept in a private
addition in the backyard, but at this moment, he was actually in the kitchen
preparing some sort of meal—duck, by the smell of it. The only member of the
household who was absent seemed to be Varrick, Dey’s twin brother.
Oaf,
their giant Mastiff hound, trotted over to Kelder and nearly sucked his face in
whole with sloppy kisses.
“Disgusting,”
Kelder said with a grin. “Afternoon, Uncle. Roren.”
Roren,
Dey’s stocky, square-shouldered fiancé, nodded to him from the wooden kitchen
table. That was typically the only interaction he ever had with the man, aside
from meaningless small talk concerning work or Sanctuary politics.
“Uh,
afternoon, Uncle Delias.”
“Did
you complete all of Gallant Episcopo’s errands?”
“With
an unparalleled haste, Uncle.”
“And
you brought home your pay?”
“Next
week,” he replied.
His
uncle grunted disapprovingly. “It seems like they push your pay day a week back
every other hour. Damn whore-born Death Knights.”
Kelder
stood to his feet, wiping hound slobber from his cheek.
“They
pay me quite handsomely,” he reminded.
“For
what you are worth.”
It
was the tone in which his uncle spoke that tightened the knot nestled within
Kelder’s stomach. “Yes, I suppose.”
“There’s
firewood in the back that needs chopping. You don’t contribute, you don’t eat.
Remember the rules of the house.”
Funny.
Kelder never asked why the rules only seemed to apply to him. And he wouldn’t
today, either. “Of course. Would it be alright if I showered first?”
“There’s
only cold water.”
“I
don’t mind. It evens out my fiery, passionate soul.” Silence. “That was meant
to be a joke.”
“If
I thought you were funny,” Delias brought down the cleaver on the neck of
another duck, “you would have known it by now.”
Kelder
took what little victories he could manage and moved to the steps leading to
the second floor.
“Didn’t
Dey go out and greet you?” Roren asked.
Greet.
Kelder nearly laughed aloud at the word. Inward giggles would suffice. “She
did.”
“Well,
where is she?”
“Dey
thought it better if I went up alone, kept a league or two between us.”
“Ah,”
Roren said. “She didn’t want you to be seen with her, I imagine.”
“Would
you?” Kelder asked, quite seriously, and headed upstairs. He hadn’t expected a
true answer, until Roren thought to mutter, “Not even if the world were
ending.”
Kelder
showered. Dried off. Went into his tiny room. Oaf was already on his bed,
taking up most of the spacing within his personal quarters. Kelder instead
opened the window and peered out over the hill. He wished he could move into a
nicer home, one with electricity and carpeting. Or more than one bathroom.
Unfortunately, when his mother left the walls, this was the standard she set
for them. Compared to how his uncle used to live—excessively, to put it
mildly—this was an insult of the harshest fashion.
Kelder
picked a letter out of his pants pocket. He fingered it gently, the broken red
seal standing out like a blood wound on cream-colored skin.
Oaf
whined.
“Yes,
windbag, I broke it.” Another whine. “For I am nothing if not a nosy
delinquent, that’s why.”
He
had read the letter against his inner suggestions. To defile a secretive note
passed from Gallant Episcopo to his son? He shouldn’t have opened it. He should
have given it to Cisaro instead of trying to stab him with a butter knife.
Kelder gently tried to smoothen out the crumples in the envelope.
“I’ll
give it to him eventually,” Kelder reassured himself. “I just… I just need to
have it resealed and then—”
Wait.
The seal. The Episcopo family seal.
How could he get the seal fixed if the only Episcopo family seal belonged to
the Episcopo family? Especially if
Gallant Episcopo kept the sealing stamp on his personal desk located in his personal
office?
The
Feign groaned, leaning against the side of the window. “Why am I so stupid?”
He
gazed at the letter. Discomfort swirled within his chest in a way he was not
familiar with.
“If
Cisaro reads this letter, it’ll ruin everything,” he told Oaf. “It’ll change everything.” Oaf positioned
himself so that his head rested under Kelder’s arm. “Or maybe it already has.
If so, I guess there isn’t much to lose anyway.”
Chapter 3: Feign Born Freed, Mercy
Deed
Cisaro
walked the evening halls of his prestigious mansion with a sense of pride that
always lingered after a successful mission. With the help of Yasu, Tyrade, and
Dellyn, his team was able to successfully take down the Bloodmutt before the
beast claimed another human life. As soon as the Frenzied mutt had fallen, the
Sanctuary Illusionists and Readers ensured that no humans would recollect what
had happened. As far as the town’s inhabitants knew, a large truck had flipped
and crashed into a nearby office building, resulting in the destructive
aftermath.
It
was tiring keeping the existence of an entire species under radar. Cisaro
wondered if the members of human government believed Twined were real. Every
once in a while, a human would escape the reach of illusions or Reader tricks
and publicly announce their belief in the Twined or the supernatural myths they
represented. However, Cisaro’s father had often said that shooting down each
and every isolated human claim would only result in suspicion, which achieves
the opposite of secrecy’s desired effect.
“It
is not about achieving total silence on the matter. It is about picking and
choosing which truths the human ear is permitted to catch.” That was his
father’s last statement on the matter.
Cisaro
knocked on his father’s office door. Immediately, he heard a voice grant him
entrance. Drago Episcopo sat at a gorgeous wooden desk made from a tree that
exerted its own Aurora, much like how the Twined and Feign did. Consequently,
the wood stood sturdy against Twined powers and quickly became the ideal
material for all wooden constructions. This obviously raised its market value
by an impressive amount.
But the desk was no sturdier than its owner.
With midnight-black hair wrapped in a ponytail, crisp, lagoon-blue eyes, and a
body sculpted from marble, Cisaro’s father was not a man easily toppled,
intimidated, or swayed. He was, however, kind, humble, and honest to a fault.
Cisaro knew no pride greater than being the son of Scollant Sanctuary’s Head
Allegiant.
“Gallant
Episcopo,” Cisaro said, and bowed with his hand pressed against his heart. He
would call his father by his proper title, Head Allegiant, but Gallant was a
Death Knight rank, which technically superseded his Sanctuary position.
Drago
raised an eyebrow. “Son, the day is over. That isn’t necessary.”
“Actually,
I have two more minutes until I am technically released from rank. Therefore,
it is only appropriate—”
Drago
laughed heartily. “Cisaro.”
The
boy smiled, taking a more lax stance. “If you insist.”
“I
do.” He stood up and opened his arms, bringing his son into a warm embrace.
“Your cheek,” the man observed, rubbing against a cut on Cisaro’s face.
“Shallow.
It’s not a concern.”
“Was
the Bloodmutt successfully disposed of?”
“Yes.
Fatalities were kept to a minimum. Once we arrived, no human lives were lost.”
The
Head Allegiant clasped his son’s hand. “You have again surmounted beyond the
standards expected of you. Well done, Cisaro.”
“That
means the world, father.” The boy’s eyes lit up. “How is mother today?”
“Not
much better, I’m afraid.” Drago returned to his desk. “She’s been comfortable,
which is the most and the least I can beg the goddess for at this point.”
Cisaro
had never heard his father beg for anything. “I would like a straight answer.
Will mother ever get better? I know—”
Drago
was silent for a moment before interjecting, “Did Kelder deliver his message to
you?”
“An
odd interpolation. Yes, I am glad you found a replacement for Argrant. The
point I was trying to make about mother—”
“And
the letter?”
Cisaro
paused. “Letter? No. There was no letter.”
“Ah.
I see. He must have forgotten. The way he bounces about Sanctuary, I’ll never
get it back from him.”
“You
trust me with the lives of both the humans in the outlying towns as well as all
of Scollant Sanctuary’s inhabitants. You trust me enough to become the next
Head Allegiant someday. Why can’t you trust I will be able to handle if…” his
voice caught, “if mother…”
Drago
raised a hand. “Peace, Cisaro. The details of your mother’s illness are…
complicated. I trust you will one day understand. What I do not trust is my
ability to convey her sickness in the proper light. At least, not yet.” The
man’s expression softened. “It is I who requires time to mature, not the other
way around. Does… does that make sense?”
“Yes,
father.” Though, Cisaro wasn’t exactly sure what his father meant by needing
time to mature. “May I ask something else?”
“Well,
the night is young.”
“It’s
about Kelder.”
Drago
let out a sigh. “Did he come on to you again?”
“No.
Well, yes. He always does. That’s not the point.”
“I
know what’s coming. Tell him no. I will not carve his face into the south wall
of Sanctuary if he succeeds in belching the alphabet backwards.”
“Was
that actually a discussion you took part in?”
“He
claims the construction plans are still, quote, ‘in the works’,” the Head
Allegiant replied, massaging his temple. “That boy. Some days…”
“It’s
about him being Feign.”
The
word seemed to kill the flow of conversation completely. Drago, now glancing
out the window behind him with a steely expression, seemed immediately
distressed. Cisaro had witnessed other people stiffen at the word, but never
his own father.
“Kelder
told me today that he desires to leave Sanctuary. He said he wanted to see the
human world, and I believed he was being childish.”
Drago
still said nothing.
“The
way Tyrade spoke, he acted as if being human made Kelder inferior somehow. At
first, I dismissed this as a fault of Tyrade’s lackluster personality. However,
thinking back, I’ve noticed others behaving the same way. People who I’ve never
known to be outwardly cruel to other Twined have mocked and ridiculed Kelder in
broad daylight. Some won’t even look at him.” Cisaro shook his head. “Why is
this?”
“Kelder
is a Feign born,” said Drago. “Somehow, through the mixing of DNA, human and
Twined can conceive half-blooded children. Many Twined see that human half as…
a weakness.”
“Yes,
perhaps Kelder isn’t immortal the way a Joined Twined is. But he can Warp, a
power exclusive to the Feign. I don’t see that as weakness.”
“Perhaps
weakness is the wrong word. The Twined see humans as inferior. They do so
because they are scared of them.”
Cisaro
couldn’t believe it. “Scared?”
“The
Salem Witch Trials—the prosecution of Twined by way of a religious fervor so
great, it lead to countless brutal and senseless deaths. Even before that, The
Black Death—a human engineered disease that eliminated one third of Europe’s
population, all of them Twined.” Drago leaned back in his chair as Cisaro took
a seat of his own. “And in modern times, The Cyfrit. A human extremist group
comprised of beings with terrifying technology, bent on ‘cleansing’ the world
of our people’s tainting influence. Humans have sought war with us whenever the
option sat ready and available. Whenever confronted with a human group who had
the option to either attack or converse, never, not once, have I seen them
choose the latter.”
“None
of that is Kel’s fault!”
“You
need not preach the value of Kelder’s merit to me, my son. It was I who allowed
Kelder to return to the safety of this Hidden Haven to begin with. We do not
turn our back on our own.”
“What
do you mean by returned?” Cisaro inquired. “Had Kelder ever lived outside the
walls?”
“Do
you have time for a story?” Cisaro nodded as Drago reached under his desk and
poured himself a few fingers of Scotch. “Kelder’s Uncle, Delias, was once one
of thirty candidates for Head Allegiant. He was a proud and respected warrior born
into a kind and noble family. His sister Marlessa, Kelder’s mother, was
practically royalty. Back when I was poorer, it seemed they had everything I’d
ever wanted. Money, status, friends. I entered the tourney as the previous Head
Allegiant’s chosen second, by some miracle, and eventually Delias and I became
the two candidates most likely to claim the position.”
Cisaro
was surprised to hear that. With the little of Kelder’s uncle he’d seen, the
man was not of the pleasant sort.
Drago cleared his
throat. “There were three portions of the final rounds. Combat, knowledge, and
the Circle voting. I had my superior knowledge from years of study, yes, but
Delias had a line of sponsors and friends of status backing him. My position as
the retiring Head’s second boasted a credibility to some degree, but in the
end, the politics led the Circle to vote in Delias’ favor. Twenty out of
thirty-five. We had tied, each claiming one victory. All that was left was the
combat portion of the exam, for no Head Allegiant could be permitted to cower
from the heat of battle.”
Drago downed his
glass and poured himself one last finger full. “And?” Cisaro asked at length.
Drago shrugged. “I
lost.”
“What?” Cisaro
said with mouth agape. “You lost?”
“Indeed. The
pressure, the politics, it all was so unnerving that Delias bested me in the
last round of tourney combat.”
Cisaro
raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Fairly?”
Drago
let out a charmed laugh. “Allies and experience have gifted me the skill I have
today. I was not born outright as the man you see before you. Though thank you
for being that proud of me.” He took a sip of drink before continuing. “Even
though Delias’ family was temperate and kind, the same could not be said for
Delias himself. He struck me down until I could not stand, taunting all the
while. The last thing I remembered was him, standing over me, his arms raised
in the air and his boot on my bare chest. It was absolutely the worst beating
I’d ever taken in my life. Spent weeks in the hospital afterward.”
“That
bastard.”
“He
has a temper, true,” said Drago with another sip. “Twist my arm and I won’t
deny it.”
“I
don’t understand. You’re Head Allegiant now. Something must have happened.”
“Indeed,”
whispered Drago. “Kelder’s mother happened.”
“His
mother?”
“You
are familiar with the Law of Abandonment.” It was more an assumption than a
question.
Kelder
had spoken them earlier. Cisaro repeated the law along with Kelder’s voice in
his memories. “Those who abscond rescind their status here. The family they
desert will suffer the accused one’s consequences in their selfish wake.”
“Many
Twined strive to see the outside world. To deter them from leaving, the Law of
Abandonment was created. It’s an old law, an outdated law, and governing
through intimidation does no one any good. However, Kelder’s mother decided to
leave Sanctuary with her Feign lover. And when she did, Delias lost
everything—his victory in the tourney, his nobility, everything.”
Cisaro
knew the law was harsh. A rule specifically designed so that the absconding
Twined in question would be persuaded by their friends and family to stay,
using the ties that bind to prevent desertion. Harsh as it may be, they could
not afford to allow any more Twined outside the wall, lest the humans discover
their existence.
It
explained a lot, however. Why Kelder lived in that tiny little home with no
electricity or heat. The reason he never let Cisaro meet his family or any of
his friends. He was embarrassed that his loved ones felt ashamed of him. “Do
you think… do you think Kelder’s uncle blames him?”
“Unfortunately,
it isn’t my place to wonder that. Not as Head Allegiant.”
“What
about as a father figure? What about as the closest thing to a parent Kelder
has?” Cisaro insisted.
Drago
sighed. “Honestly? Not even Cloakers can hide the bruises. And I can vouch for
Delias’ intense temper, which I doubt has slackened over the years.”
“You
need to speak with him. Who knows how terrible things could be for him at
home.” Cisaro’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Yasu’s
earlier words only heightened his suspicions. “Those smiles he puts on… they’re the kind of smile you hide things
behind.”
Before
Drago could answer, a loud, shrill alarm blared outside the mansion walls. Both
father and son stood out of their seat. The sound meant an emergency.
“Cisaro,”
Drago said. “Get dressed and head to the main square. I will rouse the other
teams. That alarm is not a drill.”
So, there it is! For those of you who read Embers, you get a sort of different look at Cisaro's life. Hope you enjoyed the preview!
Also, don't feel bad for Kelder. Look, Sad Owl is sad for him.
Aww... poor owl.
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