Divided (77 page)

Even as a few of them dropped to their knees, he couldn’t
see their faces.  He swung his sword before his eyes truly registered the men
that he killed.  Blood soaked the floor beneath him, and he could smell it,
feel it, and the rage grew.  Rage grew as he remembered the rag that he’d left
on the floor of his room—and it grew as he felt the amulet humming against his
chest. 

With a final swing, his sword tore into the skin of another
man’s throat.  The blade cut with precision and the man collapsed without so much
as a gurgle.  The silence that reigned over the room brought Calis out of his
trance temporarily, and he gazed around the grand hall.  As he panted, he
realized that he’d actually exerted quite a lot of energy.  So much that his
entire body seized with spasms for a moment. 

Only after the spasm ran its course did he glance around the
grand hall again.  A red canvas, along the walls, coating the floor, and
coating the bodies that lay across the floor.  He hadn’t realized that so many
men had run to greet them once they had been discovered.  He stood in a pool of
blood. However, he would have been hard-pressed to find a place without a pool
of blood since the splatters along the walls were scarce compared to the ones
of the floor.  Certainly, though, the ones on the wall weren’t scarce, some of
the red liquid seemed to have reached up to the banister across the upstairs. 
Statues and pictures were smeared with it, and glancing down at his own body,
Calis realized that he too was covered in blood—his sword gleamed red. 

Realizing that he hadn’t seen any movement, there was a
growing worry echoing through Calis’s mind. 
Lee!
  His head snapped
about, and he turned to find the movement in the room.  Lee was drawing his
knife out of another downed man—covered in spatters of blood of his own.  A long
gash ran from Lee’s shoulder to his arm, and another dent ran down his light
armor.  Concern lit onto Lee’s face as Calis stared blankly at his advisor’s
blood-soaked knife.  Lee had always been enough of a match for Calis in
sparring matches, though Calis had never seen Lee drive a knife into a man’s
throat quite like he had now.  Somehow, given the situation, Calis found that
he was impressed, rather than frightened.

“Calis, your face—are you alright?” Lee’s voice pulled him
from his thoughts.  His face?  Calis noticed further that Lee’s hair was matted
to his forehead with blood that didn’t appear to belong to him.  How long had
they fought for?  Calis moved his hand to investigate his face—as Lee seemed
concerned.

Immediately, he found that it was also coated in blood, but
as his fingers moved to the center—stinging made him wince.  His skin had torn
to the side, a large gash straight down the center—starting on one side of his
nose and crossing at the bridge, stopping at the left corner of his mouth.  It
hurt, or rather, it should have—Calis found himself unaware of it aside from
the sticky and loosened flesh underneath his fingertips.  “I’ll be fine,” he
declared.

“Well,” Lee said, though his eyes remained on the gash for a
few more moments, “we ought to go to the execution cell.  I doubt we’ll run
into very many more guards.”  His words were so flat that it was nearly
humorous.

Calis surveyed the room.  So many guards were dead, and yet
he felt nothing but satisfaction at seeing the bodies—and some limbs—spread
about the room.  A grin eased onto his face.  “Indeed,” he said and then
started to the execution cell.

Lee followed him swiftly, and within moments, Lee was
walking next to him.  “That was frightening,” Lee said warily, “watching you was
frightening.”  Calis supposed he had done most of the killing then, though
looking over Lee, the advisor had clearly not been idle.

For some reason, Lee’s words amused Calis, and he laughed. 
“I’m not sure what happened before—I’ve never felt so angry.  I just wanted all
of them dead.  I’ve never been unable to feel those around me, and just then… I
couldn’t.  I couldn’t see or hear anything from them—all I could do was predict
their movements, know how to kill them quickest.”

Their pace didn’t slow, but Lee was obviously considering
what Calis had said.  If it concerned him, he gave no indication.  “You were
unstoppable,” Lee finally said.  “Focus your anger when you fight—though I
would warn against losing control.”

As they turned the hallway that led to the dungeon, Calis
took the first step before he managed a response.  “I won’t,” he said quietly. 
“I won’t… unless…”  No, he didn’t want to think like that—and if he did, then
he could feel control slipping already.

“We’ll save him,” Lee said without hesitation.  The dungeons
held very few guards as well, and Calis couldn’t help the prickling sensation
that ran through him at that.  Even though there had been a large fight in the
grand hall—the dungeon guards wouldn’t have noticed it.  There should be some
of them here. 

At last, another man revealed himself.  His eyes widened, no
doubt at the sight of blood covering both Lee and Calis.  A hard line came over
Calis’s face, and he prepared to use his sword again, but this time, Lee was
the one who stepped forward and jammed his dagger into the man’s throat.  As
the man fell, Lee gestured with his head for Calis to hurry. 

Hurry they did, until they reached the room where the
execution cell was held.  The top level of the dungeon—Calis remembered, and he
entered with a clenched feeling in the pit of his stomach.  The room, though,
was empty.  There was nothing, and no one behind the bars in the room.  The
shackles attached to the wall hung empty, and the wall was smeared in blood. 
Calis’s eyes widened.

“Lavus must have…” Lee choked the words out.

Calis shook his head.  No, they couldn’t stay here—not for
another moment.  They were already out of time.  “Hurry, Lee!” Calis cried, and
with that, he sprinted back up towards the castle exit.

“The destiny of a hero is one that he chooses for
himself.”

-A Hero’s Peace v.ii

The pain of their dragging and pushing, along with the agony
his legs had put him through, came to culmination as Lavus tore the blindfold
from Taeru’s eyes.  A whimper escaped him, though he tried to pull it back. 
The light of the sun pierced into his vision, and the entire world was white
for several moments.  He could see the sparkling buildings first, and he knew
that he was in the Shining District.  His hands were still bound behind his
back, and his knees finally buckled.  He fell, resting on them.

He could hear murmurs from people, and he opened his eyes
again—trying to investigate where he was.  As his head began to move towards
the sound, though, a hand seized his chin and forced him to stare forward. 
Lavus was glaring down at him, and within his eyes anger the likes of which
Taeru had never seen pulsed.  “Taeru Lassau,” the name, his name, rang in
Taeru’s ears.

The murmur of the people continued, even as Lavus consumed
all of Taeru’s senses.  The king was furious, and the hatred was vibrating from
him.  It didn’t feel natural.  This wasn’t natural, and Taeru knew that.  This
was due to Aleia—the Magister who had plagued him in dreams for the past two
cycles.  She wasn’t gone, though, and if Taeru died here—as seemed likely—he
would have failed to stop her.  Or maybe not.

Don’t fool yourself, fallen prince,
she whispered, as
if acknowledging that she had been absent from his mind for such a long time. 
Taeru quivered at the feel of her voice—like an ice cold hand at his throat. 
Your
death would certainly ensure that I’d won this battle.  You cannot beat me, and
I will laugh as you hang from that rope.  First, though… Lavus intends to make
an example of you…

Taeru winced, trying to push the words from his mind.  Lavus
was speaking again, and Taeru knew the words ought to be important.  “For your
deceit, and your crimes—you will hang—but first, I will show all of Shining
District just how weak Cathalari are.  You are going to squeal like the rat you
are.”  An example, he realized—he ought to not be surprised at the Magister’s
knowledge of events before they happened, but he was.

For some reason, Taeru felt compelled to speak then.  He had
one last chance to convince Lavus that this was madness.  “Lavus!  I did
nothing to harm Telandus!  I came here with no intention of harming anyone.  I
was here for five years—and I did nothing!”

A hard fist came across his jaw, though the blow felt so
familiar that Taeru hardly flinched.  Lavus’s voice, though, silenced him. 
“Five years—causing social unrest, no doubt to try and make it easier for
Cathalar to come here and invade!”

Taeru shook his head, and his eyes welled with tears. 
Don’t
cry, you imbecile.  You’re supposed to be strong! 
Rather than crying, he
gritted his teeth and spit blood from his still torn and aching mouth.  “No! 
Cathalar doesn’t want to invade here—you are the one that pushes constantly for
the war!  I need not weaken this country—if war happens, it will fall.  I
sought to empower your poorer citizens,” he cried, and after another blow, he
continued, “I only stopped nobles who already frightened and injured people in Dark
District!”

“Have you not realized that your word means nothing here,
Cathalari?”  The words stung, but Taeru realized that they were probably
true—thus, his problem.  “Tie him to the whipping post, now,” the words were
flat, disinterested.

Taeru’s teeth clicked together, and he felt his body wrested
from the relaxed position on his knees.  With a quick movement, his wrists were
fastened about the post, and he was pushed onto his knees so that his back was
exposed to Lavus.  “Stop this war, Lavus!  Don’t you see how many innocent
people you will kill?  Everyone knows you can’t stand against Cathalar.  This
is madness!”

A whip bit into his already ravaged back, and he let out a
weakened cry. 
One
. 

Taeru felt a faraway memory tugging at his mind.  It gnawed
at him, until he could see the scene before him.  A small man huddled against
the ground as Veyron hit him with a whip.  The way he shouted out words was so
confusing—Taeru stared at him, eyes wide and frightened.  Then, the question
that had haunted him as he’d watched the man squirm. 

What were you counting?

Count the blows.  It gives me something else to think
about.
 

And so Taeru did, and he worked his mind in a direction away
from the physical pain.  In reality, it didn’t matter—not now.

Why did Lavus refuse to listen?  Taeru could feel in the
man’s anger that Lavus knew Taeru’s words were true, and yet he refused to
believe them.  The Magister—certainly she had something to do with Lavus’s
inability to see reason against the war.  But then, Lavus himself surely
allowed that.  “Please!  Can’t you see you’re being manipulated?” he cried out
again as the whip struck him. 
Two
.  “Lavus!”

“You have no right to say my name!”  This time, the whip hit
harder, and the thing snaked into his skin and tore it away. 
Three
. 
This was more than a leather whip—perhaps it was barbed.  Taeru had no idea,
all he knew was that the pain made him sick.  The venom from the Prisoner’s
Bane had only begun to die down, and this new pain seemed to reignite it. 

Taeru shook his head.  He was having a hard time combating
the tears that continued to form.  He wasn’t sure if they were from the
physical pain, or the possibility that he was about to fail every, single
person in Telandus and Cathalar—his father, his brother, Aela, Calis… Calis. 
That amulet had worked, and Taeru knew that.  Calis had not deceived Taeru—not
in any manner.  That was a thought to which he could cling, Taeru reminded
himself.  And he did.

Four. 
The whip struck him again, and Taeru bunkered
down against it.  His teeth slid against one another painfully.  His wrists
being bound upwards kept him from preparing well, though.  “Please,” Taeru
choked.  “I know you’re angry with me… but please—think about this.  Kill me if
you have to, please… but stop the war.  Stop it.”  His eyes widened when the
whip struck him again. 

Five
.

“Don’t pretend as though you aren’t only doing this for your
own sake,” Lavus hissed.  “Granted, I’m sure you’d love for me to surrender to
Cathalar so that you could take Telandus.  After all, weren’t you the crown
prince?” Lavus snarled. 
Six.

“No!” Taeru cried.  “I renounced my name.  I’m not even a
Lassau anymore!”  Again, the whip, and it kept him from continuing his
statement. 
Seven
.

A chuckle came from behind him, no doubt Lavus, as everyone
else seemed to be sitting in stunned silence.  Taeru’s mouth pressed into a
thin line.  “Aren’t you?  So why is it that you kept your ring?” 
Eight
.

Taeru had known that would ruin him.  He should never have
kept those mementos.  If he wanted to be done with the Lassau name, then he
ought to have been done with it.  But he’d been too sentimental, too attached
to Ryo, to Aela, and even to his father—to let it go.  “No,” Taeru choked.  “I
kept the ring because they were my family.  Because I loved them.  If I ever
planned on going back, I wouldn’t have brought it here—I would have left it
there, in Cathalar—rather than risk exposure.”  His voice was a whimper, and it
was softened further by a new blow from the whip. 
Nine
.

“Liar!” Lavus’s tongue was unforgiving, and Taeru flinched
against it. 
Ten
.  “You pretend to be a hero—when you have deceived
every, single person in Telandus.  You are nothing but flea-bitten scum,” Lavus
snapped. 
Eleven
.

Taeru shook his head.  “Cathalar doesn’t want this war!  It
can’t maintain a land so far from it, especially if the citizens didn’t want
its rule.  A war would be foolish—and keeping control would be nearly
impossible.  Revolts would spring up constantly… we’d have no way to control
any of you, and within years, Telandus would be free, and Cathalar severely
weakened.” 
Twelve. 
Taking a breath, and flinching, he persisted. 
“But, before that, your people would be the ones to pay the price!”

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…
The whip came
again and again.  Taeru tried to focus his mind, and yet, the only thing he
could see was Calis.  He had never longed for anything the way he longed to be
wrapped in the blond’s arms the way he had been the morning he’d seen the
seedling.  He had felt so safe—and that moon in the meadow—
no, don’t think
about that.  It’ll make it worse
. But he did, and Calis played through his
mind like a haunted melody.

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty…
Finally, the
blows were so entirely consistent that he couldn’t force himself to count any
longer.  On and on—the rhythm was strange, almost a beat but not quite. 
“Please!” he shouted again and again.  “Listen!  Why won’t you listen?  You
know you’re being manipulated!  You know, and because you are a fool, you
condemn your people to death.”  Speaking through the blows got easier as he did
it. 
There will be so much more death if you don’t listen, Lavus—please.

But the blows kept coming, and they didn’t stop until Taeru
was reduced to soft whimpers and choked sobs.  He fought with his tears,
somehow keeping them from his eyes, but his sobs came without them.  Ache for
Calis—longing that would never be answered, and ache from the pain that felt as
though it would never stop echoed through him.  And lastly, guilt became him
because he was going to fail—what more could he do?  His words meant nothing to
Telandans, and he ought to have known that before he left Cathalar like an
arrogant fool.

His world faded from light to darkness, and he could hear
the murmur of the crowd increasing.  He wasn’t sure why, but as he began to
wane from his own consciousness—they grew soft again.  The seedling flashed
before him, larger, and its tendrils reached for him.  He tried to pull away,
but when he did, the whip cut into his skin—back and forth—wake and sleep—sun
and moon—light and dark.

Endless.

Then, at last, as one of the tendrils wrapped around his
wrist, yanking him towards the tree, Taeru was forced up by his hair.  His legs
buckled instantly, but Lavus kept him where he was.  Lavus, because Lavus was
the one holding him, not the obelisk.  The hand moved from his hair to his
throat.  He whimpered, choking blood up onto the raised stage.

He realized for the first time that they were on a large
stage, standing before the wooden plank beneath the noose.  A lever, that would
be released while he was standing on the plank, sat to the side, and a rope
hung ominously overhead.  Finally, Taeru could see the people through blurred
vision.  Certainly there were a hundred of them standing there, staring up at
him.  He was in the Shining District, clearly, as half of them were guards and
the other half were incredibly overdressed.  “I think we’re finished here,”
Lavus said.  Taeru realized that he’d already been untied from the post, and
his hands were behind his back again. 

Shoving him forward, Lavus said another sentence that Taeru
couldn’t understand in his grogginess.  Why couldn’t he help himself?  Why
couldn’t he help this land?  Why was he the hero, when all he ever seemed to do
was fall short? 
Pick someone else,
Taeru begged. 
Don’t let them all
die.

His head was lifted, and he felt the rope tighten around his
neck.  He winced, staring blankly out into a crowd of people he didn’t know. 
The rope about his neck reminded him that Tareth had cut him there earlier. 
“Lavus!  Stop this!” a voice cried from somewhere.  It was female, Taeru
realized.

His eyes tried to find the voice, but his vision was so
blurry and unreliable that he could scarcely see anyone at all.  The voice,
though, was distinguishable and it continued.  “He doesn’t deserve this,” the
voice whimpered.  “You know he doesn’t!  We all do!  He has done more for this
kingdom than any of our family has, and we are charged with controlling it.” 
Her voice was pained, Taeru realized. 
She is trying to stop Lavus.  So
someone listened!

Lavus’s response was cutting, and being so close to the man,
it startled Taeru—even after being yelled at so frequently over the past few
cycles.  “You fool woman, silence yourself before I kill you here.”

“N-no!”  Another female voice made itself known.  “She is
right!  You—you are hurting an innocent man!  He’s just a boy.  He has saved
lives in Dark District, even after knowing who he is—they protest.  He is a
hero, and you know it as well as I.  Just as you know as well as I that a war
will destroy us!  You torture an innocent boy, and to what end?  To punish your
son—for falling in love with him?  You don’t even care for your own son!  How
should we expect you to care for a kingdom?” 

Taeru’s eyes widened, and finally, somehow, he found the
woman that was speaking.  She had black hair, and she was wholly beautiful. 
Her eyes were alight with determination, despite the fear that she held in her
body. 
So maybe… the book talks of faith?  Maybe… if I… I can’t die not
knowing!

Taeru struggled, but a few guards were still holding him in
place.  “Guards, handle them!”  There was a commotion, and Taeru could see
people moving, and finally—the black-haired woman and another one were brought
towards the front and forced onto their knees in bindings.  The other woman was
the blond from the torture room—Calis’s mother!  Guilt wracked his body again. 
“Now, I am going to hang him, and the two of you are going to watch and
understand that there is no other way.  And then, I will hang the two of you
for treason.”  His words were pragmatic.  Taeru’s eyes widened.

“Wh-what?  That’s your wife!  You can’t!”  Panic shot through. 
Now he was going to be directly responsible for Calis’s losing his mother?  No,
no, no, no…