The Custodian, Ch1 Part 2
The other half of Chapter 1.
(The beginning of this chapter can be found here)
Gallard approached him, stopping so close he could see a dusting of light hair on the sides of his cheeks and tiny fracture lines around his eyes. The man’s eyes, always so freakishly dark, as if the light itself couldn’t get in them or chose not to, locked on his. He held his gaze. This was the closest he’d ever stood to this man, and he noticed swirls of light brown around the irises. These spots of lighter color were like little broken pieces of amber when the light hit them just right, semi-translucent fragments of not quite glass. Calysta’s light dwelled in him after all. Calton blinked, wishing he hadn’t stood close enough to notice it.
“As you are the oldest here, Calton, you get to choose first.” Gallard held a long, straight sword and a hunting knife out to him by the flats of the blades, his hands steady. Calton almost laughed at seeing the knife. It was, of course, no secret that he was the best hunter out of this group of boys, but the idea that he’d ever choose to use that weapon on anything but game was so bizarre he felt he was being mocked. He grabbed the knife and threw it out of the ring, angling it into the mound of soft dirt just outside the boundary. It stuck, as he knew it would.
“The sword then.” Gallard nodded to the guard, dismissing him. Calton picked up the blade and took a step back. The hilt felt warm. He ran his thumb over the edge of the weapon, drawing blood. It was as sharp as it needed to be to get the job done cleanly.
Gallard took a small step toward him, hands slightly raised, palms up. He swallowed, the discomfort of the Custodian’s gesture–one of surrender or a peace offering–putting him on edge. He’d never seen any Custodian do this before in all the years he’d watched the Ceremony from the arena. Once the weapon was chosen, the opponents faced each other and exchanged their last words for the people they were leaving behind, honor-binding the victor to do their duty and deliver these messages unchanged. Then the fight started.
The oddest thing he’d ever seen happen was a boy striking at his opponent just as soon as the final words were said. Didn’t even wait for a nod. He didn’t really blame him for it, though he never thought he could do it himself. It felt every kind of wrong to lunge at someone who wasn’t ready for it.
Gallard looked him in the eye and winced, taking yet another step closer, his chest almost touching Calton’s chin. The man was unnaturally tall. Calton had to look up at him to meet his gaze. He held it, the man not wincing any more, but looking uncomfortable. The lines around Gallard’s eyes and mouth were tight, muscles working in his jaw. Calton swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Gallard’s, but the anger that he’d kept inside for so long now pressed like a hot brand against his guts, and he couldn’t hold it in.
“Is there something else you need, Master Gallard? Something above and beyond our lifeblood? Or are you just prolonging your enjoyment of this to last you ’til the next ceremony?” Calton made his voice deliberately soft and coaxed the whisper-breeze not to carry it, but there was no breeze anyway, and he didn’t think anyone but Gallard would hear him. Gallard’s face flushed, but that was wrong. The Custodian did not blush or look embarrassed or ashamed. Not ever. Yet, here it was. Gallard leaned closer and sucked in a shaky breath. He smelled of essence of speoria bush, a rarity only someone in his position could afford. It was a rich, musky scent from the dark fertile soil of the Far East, beyond the reach of any of them. It was rumored that a single drop of speoria essence could feed all of Cyroxia’s soldiers for a cycle. It was also rumored that Calysta favored it and would bestow some small measure of luck on anyone who oiled themselves thus. Only, Gallard didn’t need any more luck. He was the luckiest man there.
“I’m truly sorry it had to be him, Calton, but you are stronger than he is,” Gallard whispered in one quick breath. His face was set, all hard lines, and fleetingly–for a moment that felt imagined–Calton saw a flash of pain in it. The man abruptly turned and left the ring.
He shook himself out of the strangeness of the encounter. It didn’t matter. He just had to finish this. He took the few steps to his best friend, holding the sword in front of him, the edge pointing downward, both hands on the cloth-wrapped hilt. The weapon felt lighter than he thought it would, after the heavy, unwieldy ones Malork used to let him borrow. For a brief moment he wished he'd had access to this lighter blade. He might have gotten a lot better if he had, maybe good enough to be sent to Cyroxia instead of where he was.
Greer held a curved blade in front of him, his stance relaxed, practiced. Calton wondered, stupidly, how he’d missed him choosing his weapon. It didn’t surprise him that Greer picked the light, curved blade. Greer had always preferred these elegant long knives to swords or maces, but he felt both surprised and saddened that he’d missed the choosing of it. He looked into Greer’s eyes, hoping to see that something had changed since he’d asked last, but he already knew that it hadn’t. Greer shook his head, took a step back and extended his blade up and toward him.
“All right,” Calton whispered. He took a deep breath, and without giving himself any time to rethink it, he threw the sword at the feet of his best friend, dropped to one knee and bowed his head. He heard gasps and then shouts from the audience, the tension surrounding him like a chill. The voice of Master Viland cut through the noise, the hoarseness of it grating on his nerves: “Calton has forfeited his lifeblood. You know what you must do, Greer. You must do so now.”
Calton flinched at the words, and hoped nobody saw him do it. He kept his eyes on the glinting edge of the sword amidst the dirt. He needed for this to be over. His back ached from all the tension in him and the muscles in his thighs were starting to tremble. He kept himself still, fighting against the need to look up at Greer or at the benches to the right, the benches where the girls sat.
He blocked the murmurs from the crowd, blocked everything but the clean edge of the sharp blade in front of him. He couldn’t see anything but the blade and Greer’s bare feet. Greer still hadn’t moved. He lifted his eyes to his friend without lifting his head and whispered for him alone. “You don’t have a choice. Make it fast and clean.”
Footsteps approached in the dirt, the crunch of crushed snail shells breaking the silence. Heavy-soled boots. The guards. Viland's over-used, paper-thin voice issued orders. Calton didn't care. Please give him enough time to do this. If Greer just got a few moments to process it, he would do what needed to be done….
A long, curved knife fell next to his sword with barely a sound. Calton closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see what would happen next, not to either of them. He was suddenly exhausted, his lifeblood cooling. He wished he could sleep right where he was, if only for a small moment. He shivered at the sound of someone standing behind him and he drew his shaking hands into fists.
“Put your hands behind your back and stand up,” an unfamiliar voice commanded. He did. Metal bit into his wrists and then he was spun around, the audience a fuzzy blur of colors and sounds around him. He dropped his eyes, afraid to see Sorana, afraid of what he’d see on her face. Gallard’s voice from somewhere nearby was reciting from the ancient laws, the words long and pretty, song-like. It seemed fitting that they’d make his and Greer’s execution sound noble, honorable somehow. He forced himself to look up and his best friend’s eyes were on him, calm, friendly. Greer didn’t look afraid, and for a small moment, he was ashamed.
“The ceremony will take place on the second Moon of Gileon,” Gallard finished. Grand Master Viland bowed deeply to the Custodian and with a wave dismissed everybody but the four guards whostood in a semicircle around him and Greer. He’d never seen these guards before. It was uncanny that they’d managed to dispatch new guards on such short notice.
“Calton and Greer.” Gallard’s voice was surprisingly soft. “You will face our esteemed Grand Masters and Whisper Masters at your trial. They will not pardon you for this, as they cannot, but you will be allowed to speak freely. You will spend what time you have left in the House of Ash. You have until midday tomorrow to think of what you want to say to those you love. As Custodian, it will fall to me to deliver your final words.”
Gallard nodded to the guards and they each took them by the arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to let them know they couldn’t run. He already knew they couldn’t run. Not with their hands tied the way they were. Even if they could get free of the ties, there wasn’t a thing they could do about their brands.
Gallard stepped toward them, stopping the guards with his outstretched hand. He locked eyes on him and then Greer, and shook his head. “I wish it hadn’t come to this, boys. I truly do.” Gallard turned away and motioned to the guards. Calton was too tired to fight the guard pushing him to move. Too tired to even be angry at him or the other guards. There wasn’t a thing he could do now, but make his feet move steadily toward the blasted mountain prison.
Here are links to the following Chapters & Parts (in order they get published)
Chapter 2, Part 1
Chapter 2, Part 2
Chapter 3
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Great second half. Now I'm wondering what is in store for them since they avoided death here. Chapter two coming next?
Yes. Maybe tomorrow. :-)
I really enjoyed reading both parts of this. Looking forward to finding out what happens to Calton and Greer in chapter two!