Rohvim #1: Metal and Flesh (27 page)

“Aeden is my best friend. He’s like my brother. We grew up together.”

“You grew up. He is a noble, and as such, will never grow up.”

“But I’m the son of the twenty-sixth duke! My father is the steward of the artifacts!”

“Is he? Very impressive. You and I both know, Priam, that the nobility ceases to be technically royal after the twentieth duke. Somehow, I don’t find that quite fair. Do you?”

Priam hesitated, “Well, no, I guess.”

The man went on, “But now, now you have a real opportunity before you. I tell you, I’ve been in your mind, and I’ve seen your destiny. Would you like to know what it is?”

“Sure, ok. Why not?”

“There are twelve kinds of rohva. What the differences are between these twelve kinds is mostly unknown to us at this time, but for many, many years, it was clear that among the society members there were only ten of the rohva kinds represented. Where was the second kind, and where was the eighth? Clara and the master healer were puzzled by the very existence of twelve different kinds of rohvim, much less that two of them should be missing. For many years, we searched for these ….”

Priam interrupted, “Wait a minute, if there were only ten kinds of rohvim in the society, then how do you know that there are really twelve?”

“Ah yes, I get ahead of myself.” The man lamented. “In the early years of the society, Clara and the master healer were obsessed with finding ancient documents and artifacts relating to our true natures. There are very few left, for the knowledge of humanity’s true self has passed out of knowledge for thousands, even tens of thousands of years. Any scrolls or books are long gone. Anything inscribed on or made of wood is long perished. The only things that remain are inscriptions on stone or special types of metal, or artifacts made of these materials. In their travels, they found a few sites across the kingdom and neighboring kingdoms where these items could still be found. High up in the mountains east of Elbeth—there they discovered caves wherein was found one item in particular. On it—a circular slab of stone, was carved twelve peculiar markings in a strange language. No one understood them. Finally, Clara made the connection—in our minds, on the wall is written script in the same language, and in one location, common to all rohvim, is written what kind of rohva they are—which one of the twelve, that is. The artifact was inscribed with these same markings. A slender ridge of stone extends from the center of the circle, pointing at one of the symbols, which we designated the first, and a shorter one points at the symbol twice removed to the right of the first. Whether they are numbers or letters or names, we have no idea, just that there were twelve of them and that we could only find representatives of ten among ourselves.”

Priam interrupted again, “So what does this all have to do with prophecy, and why I’m so special?”

The man paused, “Well don’t you see already? You are from the second kind of rohva. You are the first any of us has encountered from that kind. All that remains to discover is the eighth, and I have some ideas about that which I will share with you later. And the prophecy? I’m surprised that you do not know. It is in the very Chronicles that you have supposedly copied out and illustrated by hand over the past many years. In the same Chronicles that you recite in the communal house and read during feasts and celebrations. Do you not know now?”

Priam shook his head, “I was never that devout. I just bought a copy of the Chronicles from a vendor in the market.”

The man voiced his approval, “Very prudent. I never much saw the point in personally recopying the whole thing yourself, though I myself did, and I studied it, and I saw our heritage in it—a heritage that the whole world does not realize, except us—you and me and the rest of the society. And even most members of the society do not see it plainly written out in the Chronicles. Let me recite it for you:” And he continued in an elevated voice:

“The first shall fight, and the fifth shall cry,

The ninth shall sing, and the fourth shall die.

The tenth will weep, and the twelfth will shout,

The eighth will lead, and the sixth will doubt.

The seventh shall hate, and the third shall cheat,

The eleventh will love, and the second complete.”

And that is but one of the prophecies. What does it all mean? I don’t know all, but pairing this with other passages and other artifacts we have found over time suggests that a rohva from the second kind will play a crucial role in the events of the quickening—that time that even the priests, who do not know their nature, speak of. The time when all men will be quickened and become as the Creator himself. Most do not believe this literally. But whatever does happen, I believe we are in the events leading up to it, and that you will play a critical role.”

The man fell silent. Priam was speechless. His mind was abuzz with the thought of him being important, of playing a crucial role in anything. “So what exactly do you need from me?”

“I need you. I need you yourself. I need you with me, so that when the moment presents itself, we will be ready. And when the world changes, you will be exalted. You will have power. You will be heralded as our master and our savior.”

Priam waited for him to finish. “That’s it? Just stay with you?”

The man hesitated, “Well, no, not just that. I also need your help locating a few more artifacts. I wonder, have you ever seen a peculiar little metal mechanical toy, with the shape of a man but with metal gears and it moves when it is wound?”

Priam nodded, “Yes. The master healer has one that he shows to those he recruits into the society.”

“Does he now? Most interesting. I thought he gave that to Clara long ago for safe keeping with the others we had found. So far, we have found eight, all mostly alike, with subtle differences. Did you ever wonder how he obtained it?”

“I just always assumed he found it or bought it something. My father has one just like it in his collection of artifacts that he holds for the lord of Elbeth. We were never sure if it even belonged in the collection or if some wandering merchant managed to dupe my great grandfather into buying some junk.”

The man had fallen silent. He started again, “You say, your
father
owns one?” The man did not speak for several moments again, apparently deep in thought. “That is most interesting, my boy. Truly, your family should be the ruling family of Elbeth, and not the filthy sons of dogs that currently hold the scepter, well, I should say
used to
hold the scepter until very recently.” The man fell silent yet again, pondering the significance of this discovery. “Along with this circular tablet discovered in the mountains, we also came across other inscriptions with related markings that also included rough sketches of these mechanical toys. We did not think much of them, until we found one of the toys nearby. They are very strange, aren’t they? They are metal, yet show no signs of rust, suggesting that they are recently constructed, and yet in truth, they are thousands of years old. Possibly tens of thousands. And now, you tell me that another one was right under our noses in Elbeth this whole time.”

Priam could not see, and might not have appreciated the gleeful smile now spreading across the face of the owner of the voice. For, now, at last, but a few pieces remained of the puzzle. The end was clearly in sight.

Betha and Darla wandered among the trees, gathering fallen sticks and branches. “So?” Betha inquired.

Darla smirked. “So, what?”

“So, did you find much firewood? With Frederick?”

Darla, faking innocence, replied, “Ohhhhh! That. We found enough.” She picked up a few more pieces. “He is a decent kisser. Spunky. I like that.” Their arms nearly full, they started retracing their steps. Darla went on, “And you? Seemed a little friendlier than usual with the prince back there? Getting soft?”

Betha rolled her eyes, “He’s … oh you know. He thinks he’s wonderful, obviously. You know I can’t stand people who have been given everything, especially when they squander it. But watching him struggle so much with the rohva skills made him seem so …”

Darla finished her sentence, “like a sweet vulnerable little puppy?” she said in a syrupy voice.

“No!” snapped Betha. “Made him seem more … human, I guess.” She paused, for they neared the camp, then adding in a whisper admitted, “And I know he knows it, but he is a little easy on the eyes. Did I just say that out loud, or was that in my head? Oh… stupid spoiled noble brat…” she trailed off, to Darla’s obnoxious laughter.

They dropped their wood by the fire and sat to eat some of the provisions laid out by Stuart and Gregory. The party was a little merrier that evening, telling stories by the fire, joking with one another, sharing tales and songs, and, by the end, even Aeden’s spirits were lifted, in spite of his sadness from Priam’s loss.

They went to sleep. The fire died down to glowing embers while Aeden lay there, thinking of his poor sister, his father, his dear mother back in Ramath, his best friend now missing, and finally, of his brother. He had few memories of him, being but three when he had gone missing. He remembered his brother throwing him up in the air and pretending not to catch him until the last possible moment—which he recalled finding humorous beyond all reason. He remembered meal times when the servants would bring in the food, and sometime after the meals started, his brother would come running into the dining room, flushed and breathless, cowering under the berating of his parents as he slunk into his seat. He remembered his smell, of all things.

“You awake?” Aeden heard Rupert mumble nearby. He rolled over.

“Yes.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“None of your business.”

“Aw, come on. Ok, I’ll start. I’m thinking about Priam. Do you think he’s ok? I bet he’s giving them hell right now.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“He was a good friend, wasn’t he?”

“Is. He is a good friend. My best friend. We grew up together. We spent all our time together. I’ve told him things I wouldn’t dream of telling my father, or even my brother, if he were still alive. He was like a brother to me.” Aeden huffed impatiently.

“You have a brother?”

“Had. He went missing when I was three. We heard later that other teenage boys in the city went missing around the same time, and so we think they were all abducted. But we don’t know that—all we know is that he’s gone. Probably dead. My father and his brothers and our servants searched for nearly a year before they had to come home. He went out the next year for several more months, but eventually….” He trailed off.

“I’m sorry.” Rupert looked over at him with his narrow set eyes. The awkward boy from the daytime replaced by a somber, even reflective young man. “You know, I don’t have many friends, and I don’t talk a lot with people one on one. So I haven’t told anyone this:” He took a breath, “I hate royalty.”

Aeden looked up, eyebrows raised. “Really? Well. I’m only the heir of the sixth duke—it’s not like I’m the prince or something…”

Rupert smiled at him, “No, I don’t mean you. Well, I thought I hated you when I first met you. Ok, I did kind of hate you when I first saw you. But, you’ve been through a lot. I had this image of royal’s kids coasting through life, living on the backs of their servants and their daddy’s money and title ….”

Aeden smirked, “Well, that’s not entirely untrue …”

“Ha!” Rupert did his silent convulsive laugh that tended to make girls stare in awkward disbelief. He recovered, and continued, “Yeah, I know you had that kind of life, but I always imagined that bad things never happened to royal kids, and if anything bad ever did happen, their parents or some rich relative would take care of it and make it all better. You,” he paused, “you, lost everything, and here you are, fighting for liberation.”

“I’m fighting to kill my sister’s killer, and my father’s killer, and now maybe my best friend’s.” Aeden said, stone faced.

“Well, ok. But at least you didn’t run away down to the capital city and try to live at court or something. I might have after losing what you’ve lost. But you’re here.” Rupert nodded at him approvingly. “I like that.”

“I’m glad you approve, my friend. Do I have enough approval to get some sleep? Or at least a few pointers for our next duel?”

“Yes. Think small.” Rupert replied, apparently quite able to abruptly switch subjects without skipping a beat. “You were a dragon. I was a tiny hawk made of iron. To tell the truth I was just playing with you before that.”

“Well thanks for the honesty.”

“You’re welcome, and furthermore,” Rupert continued quickly, not noticing the sarcasm, “you relied almost totally on weapons. You had one brilliant bit where you breathed that sticky stuff at me, but weapons?” He looked disapprovingly at Aeden, “weapons are no match for a properly trained rohva. When I decided to end it, it was over in about three seconds. Remember—smaller is better, and trust your inner rohva a little more and your sword arm a little less.”

“My inner rohva?” Aeden practically choked over the words. “You almost sound like my aunt Kate, except take out rohva and throw in words like soul and creator, and you get my fanatically religious aunt.

“I thought you were religious.”

“I am. Just not like my aunt. One time, during the spring festival of lights, we sat at prayer to the Creator. I was ten or something, and I starting fidgeting a little bit, I mean, they’re long prayers, right? So she looks over and sees me, and looks down until the prayers are over. Then she marches over to me, grabs my ear, rips it nearly clean off as she drags me in front of the priest who was giving the prayer. ‘This boy has the inner spirit of a devil!’ she yells. ‘His soul is crusted over with idleness and reeks of sin!’ or some blather like that. So when you said inner rohva, it reminded me of her ravings about our inner spirits, our souls. But yes, I’m religious—I believe in the Creator and the Chronicles. I was invited to become a priest, you know.”

“No. You’re kidding, right?” Rupert looked at him in disbelief.