Blood of War (3 page)

That first morning, Jurel had slammed the door in Andrus's face and went back to bed.

Later, he had been visited by Kurin who had suggested it might be for the best if Jurel knew a little more about the world. Jurel had heard the rebuke in the gently spoken words, but he had argued nonetheless. What more did he need to know? He could tie his own laces, he could handle a sword, he was even a passing fair reader. Kurin had simply stared at him dolefully. He sighed, and agreed not to slam the door in Andrus's face again.

Now, weeks later, Jurel sat staring out his window into the verdant fields beyond the Abbey proper. In the distance, a band of ragged children silently gamboled under the smiling sun. Behind him, sitting at his table, Andrus continued to prattle on about some obscure mathematical principal. Jurel did not listen. He did not hear the silence that suddenly filled the space behind him as he watched the sunbathed vista that spread before him.

“Will you please pay attention, milord?”

“Hmm?”

Jurel turned, realizing belatedly that he had stopped paying attention some time ago, and focused on Andrus.

“I'm sorry Andrus. My mind wandered. What did you say?”

Andrus sighed and ran his fingers nervously through the thin gray wisps that remained of his hair and resettled his spectacles on his nose.

“You must pay attention, milord. I know this is boring to you but it would behoove you to face the world with knowledge.”

“I know Andrus. It's just-”

“You are a god-” his eyes flickered as he said this; Jurel wondered what that meant, “-and perhaps that means the knowledge I impart is useless to you-”

“No, it's not-”

“-but I think you must start somewhere. I know we are mere mortals and we must seem so small to you, but we are doing the best we can, milord.”

If anyone else had said that, Jurel might have suspected sarcasm. But he knew Andrus well enough by now to realize that sarcasm simply did not exist in his nature.

Jurel sighed and raised his hands placatingly. “Andrus, it's not that. I'm not bored because this is beneath me. You've taught me so much and I am grateful for it. It's just a beautiful day out there and I want to go do something. Use my hands, work, maybe spar a little in the yards. That's all. I'm sorry.”

Andrus sniffed. “Perhaps if you paid closer attention, these lessons would go more quickly and you could get out earlier.”

Maybe Andrus was capable of a little sarcasm after all.

* * *

Much of what he did at the Abbey that summer was boring. But he needed it. He needed to keep himself occupied. If he did not, then his thoughts inevitably turned to the spring just past and his time at the temple in Threimes. And Daved.

I love you son...

He simply did not have the necessary defenses to keep that memory from driving him mad.

I love you too, father.

He had to keep busy.

Chapter 3

There was one thing to be said about Brother Andrus: he was persistent. He was also a fidgety, prissy little man who knew a great deal about everything—and knew it—which only made sense; after all, he was a devotee of Maora. The area where Andrus did not seem to have any knowledge whatsoever was on how to be interesting. He had the singular ability of rendering even the most interesting of subjects to a procession of raw facts that were so dry they puffed dust. Jurel had never known anyone to have the ability to cause suffocation with mere words.

But by the gods, he was persistent.

Every day, over the last month, at some point during the interminable lessons, Andrus would shut his massive tome with an authoritative clump, adjust his spectacles, and say, “Now Jurel, we turn to the subject of arcanum.”

At which point Jurel would inevitably groan.

Andrus's monotonous drone that day, a thorough dissertation comparing various political ideologies, petered out and he shut his tome. Pushing his spectacles up, he said, “Now Jurel, we turn to the subject of arcanum.”

And, as always, Jurel groaned.

Arcanum, Andrus explained, was simply a process by which humans tapped the power of the gods. Through meditation and devotion, a person could connect to his or her patron god. A sort of conduit is created—the exact nature of which was unknown but there were several groups working on theories, Andrus assured him—through which a limited amount of arcane power flowed.

“And what exactly is this arcane power then?” asked Jurel, interested despite the dry bird chirp tone in which Andrus spoke.

Andrus hesitated. “We are not entirely certain. We know what it can do. We know how to use it, but we cannot say exactly what it is. Like the conduits, the power itself is being studied by many.”

“Any theories?”

Andrus adjusted his spectacles and shrugged. “Some believe it is the power of the gods. Some believe it is more than that. The latter group believe that it is the power of the universe itself and the gods are embodiments of various aspects of that universe—life, death, knowledge and so on. The arcane power that we tap, therefore, would be a miniscule fraction of the universe's power, filtered through various levels and delivered to us through a constricted vessel for our use.”

Andrus gazed in consternation at Jurel. “This is why I have difficulty understanding your recent inability to touch your power, Jurel. All things considered, it should be as natural for you as, say, walking.”

“Yet I can't.”

“So it would seem.”

They stared mutely at each other across the table for a moment before Andrus shifted. Adjusting his spectacles, he said, “Right then. We will try. This time, I want you to really concentrate.”

As if Jurel had not the previous dozen times they had tried this.

“Now Jurel, open your mind. Let me in.”

Jurel had never understood this part of the process. It was something that Andrus always did but Jurel had never been entirely comfortable with it. It always felt like an invasion to have another muddling about in his thoughts. Up until now he had kept his curiosity to himself but Andrus was there to teach him after all.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Andrus looked nonplussed.

“Why do I have to open my mind? Why do you have to join with me?”

Adjusting his spectacles, Andrus said, “Two reasons. Number one, it facilitates your connection. I know what I am doing and can guide you. Number two, I can help you avoid the hazards.”

“Hazards?”

“Well, yes.” Andrus gave him an astonished look. “Do you not know of them?”

Jurel glared back flatly. “No. It would seem my tutor neglected to mention them to me.”

“Well...I...well.”

Andrus began pacing the small room, adjusting his spectacles as he went. After gathering his thoughts, he stopped and spun to face Jurel.

“I apologize. It seems I have been remiss. I should have been more diligent in my duties.” He sighed. “Yes, there are hazards when one seeks out his source. The human mind is filled with pitfalls and traps that vary in seriousness. Some will do no more than cause your concentration to fray and keep you from tapping your power. Others are much more serious. If you stray off the proper path, you may be driven mad, or even sent into a deep sleep from which there is no waking. I believe the Valsans call it 'coma'.”

Jurel leaned back with a sour smirk. “Sounds like fun.”

“That is why a novice always has an experienced teacher for guidance.”

Andrus resumed his seat. “Now, open your mind.”

With a sigh, Jurel closed his eyes. It had taken him a week to figure this out; opening one's mind is harder than it sounds. But it came easier with each success.

Soon, he felt Andrus's familiar presence floating beside his consciousness.

“
Remember Jurel: concentrate.”

He steeled himself and allowed himself to float in his own mind. He searched. He knew what to look for; they had done this many times. Ahead of him, shining in the distance was what appeared to be a star. Jurel fixed his sight upon the star and moved slowly forward.

As always, it was a difficult process. He felt as though he was being buffeted by gale winds as he slowly clawed his way toward the shining beacon. Memories and emotions roiled like storm tossed sea currents threatening to blow him off course. Voices whispered from the darkness—

I love you son...

—causing him to tremble. There was incredible pressure here as though a mountain was pressing down on him. He was sweating from exertion, gasping burning air, though his body had not moved a muscle.

“
Steady, Jurel. Steady.”

Jurel inched forward, the shining star growing slowly. So slowly. Images began to form before his eyes, the whispers becoming more insistent, more cutting.

Valik, a hate filled expression:
You're a coward Jurel! A useless pig shit coward!

Jurel turned away and pushed his way forward.

Erin, beautiful blue eyes dulled by hurt:
You left me Jurel. Why did you leave me?

I didn't! I didn't want to!

“
Ignore it Jurel. It's not real.”

Again he turned away and pushed forward.

But he was not yet finished. As the light grew in his mind's eye, another image flashed before him. He stopped short and stared in horror at the visage that emerged. Blunt, rugged features framed piercing hawk-like eyes.

No. No, not you.

I love you son...

The severe expression softened, a smile spread across the blunt features. Jurel drifted closer. His horror was splintering. In the cracks was a happiness he had not known he was able to feel. The form of Daved materialized, expanding until he was fully there. Daved reached out a hand.

Father, I...

I'm here son. I've always been here.

Father...

“
...rel! Jurel! Come back! You must not touch...”

Jurel brushed away the annoying buzzing noise and began to reach his hand forward. He smiled.

Something struck Jurel between the shoulders, knocking him off balance. He spun, angry words forming on his lips. There was no one there. When he looked back at Daved, he frowned: Daved's form was wavering as though Jurel was seeing him through water.

Father?

Daved reached for him, still smiling that gentle smile. He tried to take his father's hand but lurched off balance again as a searing light blinded him. He staggered, gasped, fell backward. Pain exploded in his head. The world tilted sickeningly. He shut his eyes.

And when he opened them, he found himself staring at Andrus across his table. Andrus was trembling, sweating, ashen faced. They regarded each other, neither speaking a word. The only sound was the rasping of unsteady breathing.

Andrus swallowed with an audible click, and muttered, “Well that was interesting.”

Rising, Jurel stalked to his window. He needed to see the sun. He was not sure how else to banish the sudden darkness that threatened to engulf him. All the memories were fresh again, ripped open and bleeding. He took deep breaths to calm his trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut but opened them quickly when Daved's image appeared.

“I am sorry Jurel,” Andrus said quietly.

A tear leaked from Jurel's eye and coursed its way down his cheek. “Why did it happen? Why didn't it do that before?”

Silence.

Jurel turned slowly, woodenly, to face Andrus who gazed back sorrowfully, sympathetically. “Why?”

Adjusting his spectacles, Andrus shrugged. “I'm not entirely certain. Perhaps the suggestion of the dangers inherent in seeking your source put doubt in your mind.”

“Are you saying that telling me about it made it happen?”

Andrus smiled wanly. “Well...I don't know that I would put it quite that way, and there is a little more to it than that, but essentially accurate.” Andrus resumed his teacher's expression. “Now come. We must not let this discourage us. We shall try again.”

Incredulous, Jurel glared at Andrus who went ashen faced.

“Try again? Try
again!
” He took a threatening step forward. “Why you gods-be-damned callous bastard.”

“Now Jurel, I understand you are upset but-”

“Get out.”

“-you must not let this discourage you.”

“Get. Out.”

“You must be strong and-”

“
I said GET. OUT!
”

For a moment, Andrus stared at Jurel in the way a disappointed parent looks at a wayward child. Then he picked up his tome and walked primly to the door.

When the door latch closed with a quiet
snick
, Jurel sank back in his chair and buried his face in his hands. His body shook as the memories continued their assault. Daved was joined by Galbin; the two men had been the best of friends and a constant in Jurel's life for as long as he could remember. They had been the pillars that Jurel had held Jurel's life together. They had been his friends, his mentors, and above all they had been his family.

Within months of each other, both had been taken.

And now Jurel was lost.

He had discovered that he was chosen to be the God of War. He had proven his power at the temple in Threimes just this past spring, though he had been unsuccessful in tapping that power since.

But what did any of that matter without his family? He was adrift, without direction, lost.

He wept.

* * *

The knock at his door roused him from a fitful doze. He raised his head from the cradle of his arms and blinked to clear away the cobwebs. His room was gloomy; the sky outside his window was overcast. Yet even so, he was able to estimate that it was late afternoon and he had been asleep for three or four hours. The memories tried to encroach again but he managed to keep them at bay.

He glanced at the door. “Come in, Gaven.”

Gaven entered and favored Jurel with a bright grin. “How'd you know it was me?”

An ex-Soldier of God, Gaven had found it difficult to fit in at the Abbey for the first month. There had been too many suspicions. His skill with a sword and tactical training, along with his upbringing as the son of a minor noble, made him a natural leader and shrewdly, Mikal had enlisted him under his command as a lieutenant. He had thrown himself at his assigned tasks with an eagerness and honesty that had ultimately won over the men under his command. His aristocratic good looks and confident charisma, on the other hand, had made him quite popular with the ladies. Still attired in his leather cuirass and tight fitting breeches, his blond hair swept wildly back, he cut quite a figure. It was a rare evening indeed that Gaven was not seen in the company of one beautiful young lady or other.