Date: Tue, 3 Dec 2013 11:23:54 -0500
From: M Patroclus <thephallocrat@gmail.com>
Subject: Marked By The Gods, Part 7

"Marked By the Gods"
A Myth in Eight Parts

By ThePhallocrat (email: thephallocrat@gmail.com)

CHAPTER SEVEN

The lamps in the little room were unlit, and the moonlight through the
window lent only a small illumination, so Mouse was forced to wait in the
doorway for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Behind him he heard the snoring
of two guards, fast asleep at their post. They would be punished for their
negligence, perhaps even with their lives, but Mouse found he held little
remorse for them. It had been a simple thing to put the men to sleep. They
had consented to hear one song from the Emperor's musician, and as it
happened one song was all Mouse had needed.

The quiet of the room and the utter darkness suggested Tytus slept
too. Mouse had put away his instrument and drawn his blade. He did not know
to use it, but he suspected that it didn't require a genius to know how to
kill a sleeping man.

Inside, the old anger burned inside of him, rehearsing every moment of
injustice and torment the Prince had ever inflicted; and not just the
Prince, but every master, every man who had given orders and dispensed
punishment since Mouse's family had first sold him into captivity. This
murder, for Mouse could not deny that that was what it would be, was the
final answer to every moment of pain the world had made him
suffer. Afterwards, he would move on. Afterwards, he would start a new life
as a free man. But for the slave in him to die, the man who had held his
leash must die first.

With soft steps he began to more fully enter the room. Now he could make
out the frames of a large bed and the lump of a sleeping figure upon
it. His pulse quickened, and he raised the sword in eagerness for his task.

The figure stirred. "Rannell, is that you?" It was Tytus, his voice slurred
and drowsy. "Where have you been, my Guardian? It is no matter. Come to
bed, my love."

Mouse stopped. Love? Tytus and the Guardian? Nonsense. This was just some
fevered dream; Tytus the monster was not a being capable of love, of that
much Mouse was certain. He took another step forward.

"It's my fault," Tytus mumbled, "I know that now, Rannell. You worked so
hard to protect me, but they weren't even there to kill me. They wanted
you. My father took our defiance more seriously than I thought. But I
couldn't bear to lose you."

This did not sound like the whining, selfish prince that Mouse
remembered. He tried to push this new voice out of his mind, tried to
ignore his words. It didn't matter. He had to die.

"I saw the crossbow and... I acted. Without thinking, Rannell. Do you
understand? Without a second thought I was ready to give my life in
exchange for yours. I love you... I love you so much that I care nothing
for myself. I love you so much that I would die for you. And that's it,
isn't it? The love of the Lightbringer that you said I could only learn for
myself."

Silence. Mouse could not move another step. What was this? Words of love
when Mouse needed hate? Words of peace when he sought for anger?

"I see things much clearer now. Well, almost dying has that kind of effect
on you." The prince laughed bitterly, more conscious now. "I've been such a
fool. I've been a horror... a monster. I've been too much like my father. I
won't be like that. Kent, I swear it. I swear. When I am Emperor I will
serve the people well. I will show them the love of the God of the Sun and
rule wisely... well, as long as you are at my side to provide the wisdom. I
swear it, my love."

Mouse had reached the bedside. Tytus tossed gently back and forth, his eyes
closed, a thick bandage at his shoulder where it met the neck. From this
position it would be easy to accomplish the deed that had brought Mouse
here. A quick stab down and it would be over. Or perhaps he could draw the
blade across the Prince's exposed neck. Then he would lean down until he
was staring into the monster's eyes, letting his enemy see just who had
wrought this terrible justice upon him. Mouse raised the weapon.

Tytus giggled and grinned suddenly. "Come to me, love. Come in me, love. We
will worship the Lightbringer all our lives, but for tonight let us give
the King of Beasts his due."

At that moment of gust of wind passed the window; Mouse could hear it
rushing outside the castle walls, carrying with it the sounds of the city
at night and the faint suggestion of music from somewhere in the dark. The
music passed through Mouse, too, and without realizing it the fingers of
his free hand began to flex and move as though he were holding the lute. He
plucked invisible strings and sang silent melodies that sprang from
nowhere.

The music, he was not surprised to discover, cured his madness. The name of
the God, his new God, had been invoked, and without knowing why Mouse found
himself leaning down touch his lips to his former master's gently, felt
their tongues brush together as smoothly as the Prince's silk sheets
brushed his naked skin. The kiss was somehow salty, bitter, and sweet, and
Mouse, tasting it, wept.

Tytus pulled from the kiss, a look of fear and confusion on his face. "Who
are you?"

Mouse told him his name.
______________________________________________________________________________________

Is this what senility feels like? Damek could help but wonder as he
struggled to bring his attention back to the task at hand. It was clear
that Rannell Kent and the Prince had taken refuge in the Palace, where they
were little more than glorified hostages to the enemy. And that was only
assuming Kent had not turned, giving his knowledge and skills to his former
foes. Now more than ever it was vital that the Guardian be removed and if
possible the Prince recovered, but Damek didn't see a way to do that on his
own. His decision to leave his men behind and complete this mission alone
now reeked of foolishness; he had good reason now to suspect his own
sanity, and he didn't know what to do about it. How do you think your way
out of a problem, as Damek had always done, when the very problem was your
thinking itself? Despair waited, lurking just out of sight in the corner of
his eye, and again Damek wished he was not utterly alone.

Which brought his mind back yet again to Captain Joren.

"The penalty for desertion is death," Damek had pointed out. The threat had
little effect. Captain Joren had only laughed.

"And where are your soldiers, old man? Were you formally relieved of your
command? I think not." Joren shook his head. "No, whatever punishment lies
in store for me waits for you too. You can't scare me."

"I am on a mission for the Emperor," Damek insisted.

"What mission?

"That's need-to-know only, Captain."

"Well, then. I'm on a mission for the Emperor too." Joren had crossed his
arms, his voice mocking. "Need-to-know only."

"That boy you travel with..."

The Captain's face darkened. "You forget about him. He's none of your
business."

"He's from Nathar, isn't he?" Damek asked. Joren grew silent. "I see. It
may surprise you, but I understand."

"Understand? You understand shit, old man. You're an unfeeling old bastard
and you always have been. You don't see people, you see numbers. You see
tools. You don't understand me, you can't. You'd have to be human first."

Damek arched a brow. "Well," he said wryly, "That was passionately
delivered. Should I applaud?"

"Fuck you," Joren said, turning his back and walking away, muttering,
"Gods, you're just like my mother."

The Commander had watched his former officer go, not nearly as calm as he
appeared on the surface. The man's words had struck a nerve for he felt his
hands shaking and they would not stop even when he gripped them
together. He had replayed the encounter over and over in his mind in the
hours since Joren had stormed away, something about the whole incident
troubling him more than it should. It didn't matter. Rannell Kent was all
that mattered. The mission. Obedience. Return to the core of what you are,
he told himself, and all will be well. All will be as it once was. To the
hells with Captain Joren, his opinions, his anger, and his bloody mother.

Damek turned a corner and stopped. Suspicion poured over him, making him
gasp as though it were a barrel of ice water dumped on his head. He raised
his hands again to watch their incessant, knowing trembling.

With a cry of anguish, Damek turned around and ran back the way he had
come.
_______________________________________________________________________________________

"It smells really bad in here," Calder said, wrinkling his nose. For so it
did, and even pinching his nostrils together couldn't hide it. You could
taste the bad smell, feel it on your tongue, gagging you.

"Well, it's a sewer, what do you expect?" Joren replied, sounding queasy,
"But this is the way the old hag said to go."

"Are you sure? That's what you said last time, and you were wrong. And the
time before that."

"I'm doing my best," Joren snapped. His usual joking tone was gone.

Calder cringed. "I'm sorry. I was just kidding, I..." He didn't know what
to say. He didn't know how to explain that Joren's jokes were the only
thing that made Calder feel normal, like everything was okay. He could
still feel dried blood on his face, though he'd tried scrubbing as best as
he could. He could feel the weight of the knife at his belt, dragging him
down. He needed a little levity, something to bring a smile back to his
face. But Joren was not in the mood, hadn't been since he had met with that
strange old man, who he still wouldn't talk about.

"Never mind," Joren said distractedly. Calder could hear shuffling nearby
as Joren sought for something. "Well, looks like I was wrong
again... wait. What's this?"

Calder scooted closer to his friend. "What is it?"

"A symbol, etched into the stone. This is the right place."

Excitement and fear overwhelmed Calder. They were so close, he knew it.

"That means," said Joren, "if the old woman wasn't making up stories, all I
should have to do is press... here."

There was a click, and then a rumbling as something nearby shifted, rock
rubbing against rock ominously. A breeze of cool air suddenly brushed
Calder's face, and with it new scents that pierced the odor of the sewage:
a dank and a humid smell. There was water nearby. Clean water.

The rumbling stopped, and all was silent. In the distance, behind them,
Calder heard another sound. He cocked his head.

"What is it?" Joren asked.

"I think we're being followed," Calder whispered. Joren's hand gripped his
and squeezed comfortingly. Then, tugging gently, he led the blind boy down
the newly opened tunnel to his destiny.
___________________________________________________________________________________

The Guardian of the Flame was already uneasy when the sounds of footsteps
outside his door announced the arrival of visitors. Since denying the
Emperor his services, Kent had sat alone in the room appointed to him with
no news of Tytus' condition. He had sat for hours, forcing his breath to
stay regular, or sometimes pacing about the room. Again and again he
convinced himself that the Prince was well. Had the young man died, they
would surely have told his Guardian. Wouldn't they?

When the door opened and three guards entered, Kent's heart sank. They did
not look very happy.

"Where is the Prince?" one asked.

Kent blinked in surprise. "What?"

A guard stepped forward and backhanded Kent with an armored hand, twisting
the Guardian's head and making his ear ring. "Where is the Prince? How did
he escape?"

Rannell Kent was silent for a long moment, staring at the floor. "The
Prince is missing?" he asked quietly.

One of the guards spoke. "His bedchamber is empty and his guards--" He got
no further. The Guardian of the Flame attacked. The three guards died
within moments, and when two others entered after hearing the conflict,
they died too.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

"There," Calder said, "There's a turn to the left, go that way."

Joren was silent for a moment. "It's pitch black, I can't see anything."

"I can," Calder realized, "It's so clear, we go this way. Come, I'll lead
you." And then, taking the man's hand, he guided him through the twisting
tunnel that led further into darkness.

"Well," Joren murmured wrly, "This is different. You leading me, I mean."

Calder didn't say anything. They'd come around a corner and there, spread
out before him, was the little cave and the pool of water that somehow,
bizarrely had a reflection of the moon shining upon it. Creeping around the
edges of the water, Calder finally figured out how - there was an opening
above the pool, a kind of crack or chasm that opened straight up to the
night sky, but the moon would have to be in just the right spot in the sky
to shine through it and make a reflection on the water. And then he knew he
was in the right place at the right time.

"Well, now what?" asked Joren, shifting uncomfortably.

"Help me down into the water."

"You don't have to do this." Joren sounded very serious now.

Calder frowned. "It's okay. It's not too deep, I think I won't be too
scared. Besides, this is where I'm supposed to go."

"Let's just go. I don't like this, any of this. We don't know what's going
to happen. I don't trust this God, Calder. Let's just leave, and we'll find
a life for ourselves someplace else. Okay? We'll just go be a family
together, some place far from the war, doesn't that sound nice?"

"We've come all this way," Calder said firmly, "I have to know. I have to
see." He began to strip off his clothes, not even waiting for a rebuttal.

The older man sighed and then Calder heard him undressing too. Then,
gripping his young friend's hands, Joren led him into the water, which rose
up to the boy's waist. The feeling of the water against his flesh caused a
sudden swelling of panic, and he clung to Joren suddenly, pressing his head
against the older man's chest, who ran a hand through the boy's hair
comfortingly. They stood together like that in the water for a long
moment. Nothing happened, but it was quiet and the water was cool but
comfortable, and Calder could hear Joren's heart beating fast, like the
sound of a running horse.

"Lower me under the water," Calder said at last.

"Calder..."

"Please. Just this one last thing. Please."

Slowly, Calder felt Joren's arms tipping him back and lowering him down,
and now the water was in his ears and covering his face and now he was
under and now he was in a burning building, screaming a woman's name, and
then there she was, his mother, and she was so beautiful even though her
face was stained with dirt and red from the flames. She reached for him,
beckoned him forward, called his name, and Calder began to crawl forward,
wincing from the heat, but then suddenly there were other men there, big
and angry men wearing uniforms. They had just killed someone, a man, a man
Calder knew, his father, and now they strode towards his mother and the one
who led them had a sword in each hand and each dripping with blood and
framed by the flames he looked like an angel of death, and when he reached
Calder's mother he struck her hard against the face with the butt of one
blade so that she went sprawling, and some of the other man laughed and
dragged her away, and Calder could hear her screaming fade as she went, and
then the man with the two blades leaned down until his face was level with
Calder's, and Calder screamed and wept and cursed him and saw the man's
face go pale, and then the man looked like he might weep, but instead he
brought the hilt of his blade down on Calder's head and then all was black.

Calder came out of the water sputtering, gasping for breath, shivering
uncontrollably but not from the cold.

"I would have taken care of you forever," Joren was saying, his voice
trembling, "I would have protected you from the world."

"You..."

"I'm not a good man, I told you that. The war made us all into monsters,
made us do things we'd never thought..."

"No," Calder said, squeezing shut his eyes, "No!"

"And when I saw you, when I saw the look on your face, I saw what I'd
become and I couldn't bear it anymore."

Calder found the edge of the pool and pulled himself out of the water,
desperate to get as far away from the horror as possible, but it didn't
matter how far he went it was always right there with him. "My parents..."

"I couldn't save them. I couldn't. But I saved you. I took you the Temple,
I asked the priestess to heal you, I gave up everything, turned my back on
my whole life so that I could protect you and make sure no harm ever came
to you again."

"So that... what? Why? For forgiveness? You wanted me to forgive you?"
Calder had found his clothes, and his hand wrapped around something cool
and hard.

"No," Joren laughed sadly, coming to stand at the edge of the pool, legs
still in the water, "Not forgiveness. We were seeking out the wrong God for
that, and I didn't want it anyway. I don't deserve it. I got scared when we
got here. I wanted to turn back. I didn't want things to change. But it's
better this way. This is how it should be."

"You don't want to be forgiven."

"No."

"You want to be punished."

"Yes."

Calder strode forward in two quick steps and thrust the knife into Joren's
chest. The man gasped in shock, but made no movement, did not try to
resist. Still holding the hilt, Calder rested his head on Joren's shoulder
and wept.

"Shhhh," Joren said, voice tight with pain, "Shhhhh, it's okay. This is
right. I'm sorry, Calder. I'm... Thank you. Thank you."

Calder pulled the knife out and pulled away, then took hold of Joren's hand
and placed it over the wound, which was already leaking blood angrily. "I
missed your heart," he said, "If you can keep from losing too much blood,
you may live for a while."

Joren looked surprised. "Bad luck? Or bad aim?"

"Neither. The God of Night will judge whether you shall live. Goodbye."

And without waiting for a reply, Calder gathered his clothing, turned, and
disappeared into the darkness, knowing for the first time exactly what he
was supposed to do next.
____________________________________________________________________________________________

The air was cold and stale and stunk of death.

"Where are we, Ammon?" asked Tytus, limping heavily, "Where's my Guardian?"

Mouse sighed, still supporting the Prince's weight and holding up a torch
with the other hand. "I told you already. These are the catacombs under the
palace. I'm going to go back for Kent after I find some place safe for you
to hide and wait."

"Why are you helping us?"

"Because..." Mouse hesitated. He didn't really know the answer. He hadn't
told the Prince who he was, who he used to be, but if he had then there
would probably only be more confusion about his motives. "Look, I'm the
Emperor's musician, right? He told me he is planning to kill you before
your father can take the city and save you, as some kind of final act of
defiance."

"And you didn't think that was right."

"Well, I don't now," Mouse said wryly.

"And you'll bring Rannell to me soon?"

"As soon as I can, now quiet. I'm trying to think."

It felt nice to give Tytus orders for a change, and even nicer that he
obeyed them. The Prince obediently fell silent, and Mouse took advantage of
the opportunity to look around. He find a small tomb tucked away around a
corner that seemed the most unobtrusive spot. He got Tytus settled there
and promised to return soon.

"You're taking the torch?"

"It's hardly a good hiding spot if the guards can spot your torchlight if
they come looking down here! Besides, I'll be back soon with the Guardian,
you won't have to wait long."

"But I'm cold."

Mouse lost his patience. "Well, I'm SO sorry, Your Majesty! I know its
awfully inconvenient to your delicate royal person to have your life saved
in this manner, and to see what its like when you don't live in a bubble of
wealth and privilege protecting you from everything uncomfortable. Yes,
it's cold down here. Life is cold. The rest of us know that already, so
welcome to the club."

Tytus had the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be
ungrateful... You are right. I know little of how most people
live. I'm... I'm sorry."

Mouse didn't expect an apology so he wasn't sure how to respond to it. He
merely nodded. "Alright then. I'll be back soon."

"Thank you."

Mouse paused. "The Guardian. You and he... you are really...?"

Tytus looked up and stuck out his bottom lip defiantly. "Yes. You have a
problem with that?"

Despite himself, Mouse grinned. "Not at all, Your Grace. Not at all."
_________________________________________________________________________________________________

Damek had lost the trail, but he knew Joren and the boy had come down here
and were around somewhere. It was important that he find them. There had
never been anything as important in all of Damek's life.

He heard the sound of footsteps down a corridor, and he rushed forward to
catch up to them. He was no longer in the sewers, he could tell, the stone
was older and the air was cold and stank of death. These must be catacombs,
leftover from Kadnaris' ancient days. He shuddered and wondered what could
have possessed Joren to lead that poor lad down here.

Damek rounded a corner, and only years of experience as a military man
saved his life as a blade came swinging towards his neck. The Commander
buckled his knees and fell straight back, rolling over a shoulder and into
a crouch. He drew his own sword in defense, and then he saw his opponent.

"Stay back or I will kill you," said Rannell Kent, "Where is the Prince?"

"Kent? By the Gods..."

They were in a circle antechamber, with connecting tunnels spreading out in
four different directions, and there was just enough light to see even
though Damek couldn't quite make out where the light was coming from. His
attention was on the man in front of him, the man he'd originally come to
this blasted city to find but who he'd completely forgotten about. The
Guardian strode forward and attacked with two precise swings of his sword,
both of which Damek barely managed to deflect.

"Rannell Kent, you damn fool, it's me. Damek. We're on the same side, damn
you."

Kent paused in his attack and stepped back, recognition flickering across
his face. "I'm not on any side, not anymore."

"Well, then we're truly allies."

"What in the name of the Four Gods are you doing here, Damek?"

The Commander laughed gruffly. "Well, I had planned on killing
you. Emperor's orders, you understand. No hard feelings."

The Guardian readied his blade again. "So, it was your men that attacked
the Prince?"

"Not the Prince, Kent. You. But damn, you must be better than I thought."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"To tell the truth, I'm sick of killing. No more wars for me. I'm looking
for somebody, somebody very important to me. He's down here somewhere. Just
let me continue on my search and I won't get in your way. I wish no harm to
the Prince."

Kent seemed to considered, then tightened his grip on his blade. "I don't
know if I can trust you, Damek. There's too much at stake for me here."

"I understand. Well, I can't hope to defeat you. I'm old, and I wasn't as
good as you even when I was young. So all I can do is beg, Kent. I beg for
my life. I'm sorry I tried to have you killed. It was commanded, and I have
always obeyed. Found it a little more difficult lately for some reason, but
then from what I hear, so have you, eh? But I can't die yet, man, not just
yet."

Kent seemed to consider, looked as though he might say something, but then
there was suddenly the sound of approaching footsteps from one of the
tunnels that led to the chamber. Both men kept their weapons at the ready
but turned to look as somebody new entered the chamber. It was a young man
with a lute strapped to his back and carrying a torch, appearing very
startled to see them. He opened his mouth to speak but then seemed to have
second thoughts and clamped it shut again.

There was another sound, a slight shuffling, and then another figure
appeared, the small silhouette of a boy standing at the very edges of the
torchlight, wearing a piece of cloth around his eyes and tied behind his
head.

It was silent. The four looked at each other for a very long time.