章節 13: Crow dreams
Half an hour later Artam left the temple alongside the other worshippers. Javara had said he would deliver the goods in three days, but only half.
The rest would come after the feast.
The half-moon had broken through the clouds.
He turned his back on it and lifted his eyes to the Red Crown, blazing lavender red and crystalline in the moonlight.
Even after all these weeks, the sight of it still gave him the shivers.
Centuries had done a poor job of waning its awe; if anything, it might still be as awe-inspiring as the day the last brick was laid.
It was as if the earth had risen to embrace the sky, its pristine scarlet red domes glowing with an ethereal light.
The central dome, perfectly rounded and symmetrical, rose majestically above the complex, crowned by a delicate finial that seemed to pierce the heavens.
Four minarets, slender and graceful, stood at the corners; their heights added poise to the Red Crown's silhouette as if they were guardians standing on eternal watch.
The palace shown lavender red in the pale moonlight, and it often seemed a pale grey in some areas, the color of an overcast sky … but during the day, when the sun caught it fair on a bright day, it shone, alive with light, a colossal scarlet palace that filled up half the night sky.
'One of the largest structures ever built by the hands of man,' Eryk had told Artam during one of their nights.
Not far from the Red Crown stood the Central Temple– The Serpent's grave.
Although Artam couldn't see the building currently, as it hid behind the colossal Red Crown.
It took a while before Artam realized he had forgotten himself on the road while watching the city. The yellow moon was already climbing.
Artam reached the keep, clutching the Tokan.
"Who goes there?" a guard demanded as Artam drew nearer.
Artam stopped in front of a pair of unfriendly guards.
Both of the young men, barring their way, wore their legion banded armor, with the insignia of the Flau Raths– A flaming serpent coiled around a sword.
Their weapons in their sheaths and the glimmer in their eyes warned anyone approaching not to test their patience.
Artam bowed and said nothing.
The guard snickered when he noticed it was Artam approaching.
"Let him pass." He motioned to his colleagues.
They looked at Artam without even trying to hide their disdain.
Artam hesitated, then walked past them.
One of the guards glanced at him and grinned. "Well, tonight we might see something entertaining, do us a favor and put on a good show."
Chuckling in a low and sinister tone, as Artam walked past.
He passed a group of slaves; many of the men relaxed, backs to the wall, waiting for their next assignment.
A group of soldiers passed by, clearly returning from their watch.
Before Artam could get back to the barrack, he noticed a Naldean boy hustling across the yard toward him.
What was his name again? I think it was Roi?, Artam scratched his head.
"You!" Roi said, pointing at Artam.
"What do you want?" Artam stopped, waiting with folded arms.
"I've news for you," Roi said with a wicked smile.
"Lord Julan, had some assignments for you earlier. Since you weren't around, he passed them to me and the rest," He said, pointing to a group of Naldeans loitering leisurely under a shed.
Then he pointed at Artam, his voice frothing with anger;
"The next time something like that happens, not even those wooden doors will be able to save you!" he threatened.
Then the wicked smile on his face grew even more sinister, "Oh! And Julan promised to beat you boneless when he finds you."
Suddenly there was a commotion coming from the inner yard.
Roi smiled, "Speak of the devil."
"Where's that cursed Murmer? I'm gonna skin him alive!" Julan voice rang through the keep.
Suddenly Artam paled. Suddenly remembering the assignments he had forgotten about.
Julan was marching toward Artam, with two of his lackeys– guards that had accepted his gifts for their services.
There was a crowd, soldiers, some maids, servants, and a few slaves; Artam even spied Cara.
"Good luck, Murmer. Watchers know you need it." Roi stepped away from Artam.
When Julan was a mere foot away from him, Artam stepped forward.
"Milord, I had been busy after the evening prayers."
"I don't want to hear it!" Julan said, but Artam continued anyway, "After prayers two ardents had required me to stay behind for catechesis. As they noticed my faith waning."
Without hesitation, he moved to prostrate.
Kneeling, he placed his hands on the ground, fingers together, then lowered his forehead to the ground, with his nose also touching the surface.
His elbows were raised, not touching the floor, and his feet were positioned together, toes pointing in the same direction.
All I can do is stroke his ego. Artam thought with gritted teeth.
In this humble posture, he silently prayed the watchers would sway Julan's intention.
The prideful bastard scowled.
"Get up! On your feet!" he snarled,
"Beat him," he said, "but don't kill him." He turned and ordered a watching servant to bring him a bench to sit on.
Fuck!
The soldiers walked up to Artam. They were both dark-haired– not much difference between him and them save for the fact that he was a Naldean; they might as well have been demons for all the disdain they showed him.
Artam closed his eyes and steeled himself.
Watchers show mercy
The flat side of a gladius cracked down on his shoulders, his neck, and his upstretched arm. Groaning in pain, he somehow remained standing.
Then an iron gauntlet to the gut knocked him to the ground, and he gasped as the soldiers began to kick. They beat him boneless one booted foot at a time.
A flurry of blows followed, sinking Artam even deeper into the ground.
Agonizing pain radiated from his back, his arms, and his shoulders.
Julan stood up and stamped on him, once, twice, the sharpened hobs of his leather boots ripping Artam's chiton and raking the flesh underneath.
Despite the pain, he didn't scream or shriek.
I'd be damned if I let him have the satisfaction of hearing me shriek, and he knew if he cried out, Julan would redouble his efforts.
The soldiers didn't stop either, kicking at the Naldean as if he were a ball used in a game of shinty.
Julan paused to breathe.
"The damn Murmer thinks he's tough." He laughed, that laugh was dangerous.
"You think you're tough!! Huh?! Murmer!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
Several pigeons and crows nearby flew away, scared away by his shout. Save for one.
He slicked back his hair drenched in sweat, and hammered a blow into Artam's solar plexus.
A muffled groan escaped Artam's lips.
Blood spurted as Julan's hobs raked Artam's cheek.
After a while the bastard stopped, chest heaving.
"Get him to his feet." He ordered the soldiers.
The soldiers took an arm each and pulled Artam to his feet.
...Must..do everything I can to prevent myself from wobbling. I'm seeing stars. I want to wail. Want to cry? I want to look them in the eyes and see how they look at me now, Artam thought, half-conscious.
The crowd was still there, the soldiers stifling laughter and some whispering honeyed words in some wash maidens' ears. Slaves and servants stared at him with mixed expressions.
Cara? Where's Cara? His thoughts muddied.
Ah? I guess she left. A girl's heart is a frail thing.
He hadn't even realized he was smiling, till a wicked slap from Julan sent his head snapping.
Artam spat blood and started coughing violently.
"I should have you whipped!' snarled Julan, with a cold gaze that could freeze the weeping valleys and the inferno hell inside the bleeding mountains.
"Do you know what I suffered because of you?!"
Artam didn't give him the pleasure of a reply.
Frothing with anger Julan screamed, "What?! Have you gone deaf now Murmer?! A deaf Murmer! Ha! I thought they said the gods were dead! Because only they could play foul tricks on an unlucky sullied."
Artam stared at Julan with blazing anger; his ears were ringing, and his heart thumped wildly.
"Fetch the whip."
A stunned silence followed the order.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Fetch me the whip!" Julan bellowed.
A servant stumbled and ran to get it.
By the third minute, he had returned, and Artam was about to be tied to a post for whipping.
"Lashing a slave for attending a sermon?" a familiar voice said, cool with mocking.
He was near a shadow himself; thin, long, and gaunt, with black eyes and neatly combed black hair and a stubble of beard.
His skin was deathly pale, to the point it looked unhealthy, and he was dressed in full armor save for the helm. A red cloak with the Flau Rath's sigil embroidered on it, and a sheathed longsword hung on one hip and a Dirk on the other.
"Did a sellsword just challenge me?" Julan asked with disbelief.
"No not a sellsword." Eryk replied, tapping the insignia on his breastplate, "That's the vice-captain of the Den's guards to you."
"What could a mongrel like you kn-"
"Aye, what could I know?" Eryk cut him off, "I don't know much if truth be told. But I do know the prince won't be happy the slave who saved his life was whipped to death on account of attending a sermon."
Julan halted. Something in his eyes . . . could it be that he was scared?
"Get out of my way." He snarled leaving the yard with his lackeys.
Eryk turned to face the crowd, "Aye, I think the show's over; now be on your way, you sorry lot!"
The crowd dispersed, and Artam felt the strength leave him.
He collapsed, but a frail body caught him. Barely.
That night Artam floated.
The fever in him was strong, and he tussled in bed.
He murmured something intelligible, cold sweats and hallucinations.
Then he dreamt, most of the dreams that followed the Murmers felt like he was reliving other people's lives.
Occasionally he had the crow dreams, the ones he was free in.
He dreamed of crows that night.
A great murder of them.
He was bigger than any of them, stronger, swifter, faster.
Of course he was, they were cousins. They were of a lesser kind; his blood was superior.
He would grow to be much bigger than them, much more powerful.
He loved being a crow.
His belly was never empty long, and his feathers kept him warm even when the wind was blowing cold.
He still remembered his family.
Mother and his siblings had died when he was a chick and he had to eat their flesh to survive.
He had cousins now.
And his cousins were with him, many and more of them, fierce and terrible.
They would never leave him.
In the beginning, they had been unfair to him.
Giving him the worst part of the spoils, stealing his food.
But now, they'd begun to fear him.
He'd grown faster than any of them, and soon enough, he'd lead the murder.
But that aside, tonight he needed to find someone.
he's so close I could almost smell him . . . . . . and then he could smell him.
The scent was faint beneath the other smells, beneath the smell of wine and roasted meat and men.
He landed softly on a window's edge, then he cocked his head when he caught sight of him.
An old man sat behind a desk, speaking calmly to a much younger man.
It was the younger man that piqued Vyde's interest.
He wanted nothing more than to tear his face piece by piece.
They spoke in the tongue of men.
"… you should have.."
"..was just an excuse…."
"…you're dismissed…"
Then the old man caught him spying; he motioned for the other man to grab a funny-looking stick.
One of men's many talons. But Vyde had already flown away.
He wouldn't wait around to see what they could do.
The crows were screaming at men and filling the air with feathers.
Idiots you'll only get killed
The men below were displeased, cursing in man tongue.
And one of them had shot an arrow at one as it took flight and caught it by the wing.
The man released a haughty laughter
Such a shame he was a good fellow, he thought watching his cousin fall.
It made him want to pluck the man's eye himself.
he wanted to taste the blood, to hear eyes pop between his beak, to fill his belly with warm flesh instead of cold.
He landed on a ledge near the kitchen.
He was hungry and the meat was all around, but he knew he could not eat.
The men would kill him.
Suddenly, he felt the moon calling; he'd heard her speak before.
He'd heard many things he shouldn't have; some sounded like weeping.
Her voice was stronger now.
He pricked his ears up and listened to the melody of her voice, the shriek of angry crows, the whirr of wings, and the sound of dirty pigeons.
Somewhere far off he could hear horses and the calls of living men, but they were not what mattered.
Only her melody mattered. He pricked his ears again. There it was, and now he saw her too,
The moon was half her strength today.
But she sang nonetheless.
He took off, soaring in the air.
As if trying to reach her.
The winds were strong but he was stronger. He flew almost reaching her.
He needed to hear her words, what did she want to tell him?
Then he heard.
"Wake up!"
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