The Auric Insignia (16 page)

One black and one tan

- Racka!? Are you sure, human?

     The mentioning of their brother had shot like lightning through Ama and Refaz. Staffan once again closed up in front of Ama’s aggressive demeanor, drawing his son behind him.

     - You said you weren’t from the keep.

     - And I spoke the truth, we’re not.

     - But the beast said...

     - We are not from this keep, I swear to you, Staffan, I promise.

     Staffan had a look of uncertainty about him, like as if he wasn’t sure what to believe.

     - Brightseed, the town we come from, remember?

     Staffan nodded cautiously.

     - It was attacked, and a lot of people were killed, by a large pack of hounds.

     The poor man’s eyes grew bigger with the mentioning of the dogs, a reaction Roarke noticed.

     - You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?

     - I...I.

     - Staffan, listen to me. The only reason we are here, is Racka and this pack. We have been hunting them, tracking them from Brightseed, until a rainstorm washed away our only chance of ever finding them.

     - I can’t help you, I’ve said too much.

     - Staffan, please. We lost our trail not far from here, did you see Racka come through here?

     Staffan was just about to say something, when he was interrupted by his wife, who had started to groan in pain. He kneeled beside here, taking her hand in his.

     - Aneka, sweetheart, I’m right here.

     Her skin was turning red and irritated in reaction to the remaining film of substance still left on her, the effects worsening as it dried.

     - Sweetie.

     - Why is it only affecting her?

     - She jumped in first, because I wanted her to be protected, I mean, at least from....Honey, I’m here, Arni as well.

     Roarke stood by, watching, meanwhile feeling more and more powerless as the woman’s condition deteriorated. He hated it, and knowing the same would happen to the husband, made him feel sick. Sick, because he still wanted, needed to know the answers to his questions.

     - Staffan, I’m going to ask you again, and I need you to answer. Did Racka come through here?

     - Why can’t you just leave us al....

     Staffan had turned around to face Roarke, only to see that Roarke was holding the black spear against him.

     - We need to know, okay? We need to know.

     - Please, if they find out I said something, they will come for us.

     - If you tell us, we will make sure that doesn’t happen.

     Staffan looked at the spear’s dark point, and then at Roarke’s watery eyes, pleading to him to answer the question.

     - They came through here, traveling south.

     - Who? Was Racka with them?

     - No, it was a pack led by two larger dogs, one black and one tan.

     - What!?

     - Uh..

     - What did you say!?

     - There was pack of dogs, led by what looked like some sort of leader dogs, one black as night, and the other one a dirty tan. That’s all I know, okay!? Now please leave us alone.

     Roarke’s grip on the spear faltered, causing the tip to fall to the ground with a thud, followed by a larger one as the whole spear fell, bouncing on impact with the dirt below.

     - She...

     - Roarke, what is it?

     Roarke didn’t answer, his mind completely focused on processing what he had just heard. Knowing that Marielle was the one who had delivered the snares was one thing, this on the other hand, was proof that Marielle was responsible, or at least involved in the massacre of their hometown, and it pushed Roarke to the edge.

     - Roarke?

     - It was Marielle.

     - What? What do you mean?

     - Those dogs, they belong to Marielle.

     Ama and Refaz looked at each other, without saying a word, whilst Roarke focused on Staffan, eerily calm.

     - You said they went south, when was this?

     Staffan, who had returned to tending to his wife, answered without letting his wife out of his sight.

     - I’ve said enough, leave us! Haven’t you done enough!?

     Before Roarke knew what was really happening, he had jumped on the nursing husband and father in front of him, landing blow after blow.

     - Roarke!

     Ama and Refaz pulled him off, Roarke kicking and fighting them every bit of the way. He wrestled and fought their grip until he, in his rage, saw the son, Arni, looking at him with pure fear in his eyes. When he saw that, it was like someone had thrown water on the fire burning inside of him.

     - I’m, I, I’m sorry.

     He reached out towards the child, trying to say something that would make it all better, but coming up short. Seeing this, the boy recoiled, causing Roarke’s hand to fall to his side, trembling with emotion and adrenaline.

     - I’m, I didn’t mean to, didn’t mean to....

     Staffan coughed where he laid on the ground, blood running from his broken nose. With help from his son, he rose to his knees, only to return to his wife’s side, not even looking at Roarke. Now, also his skin was starting to turn an inflamed red, his frame shaking like as if he was shouldering a great weight. The cold response his outburst was receiving, felt like it was killing Roarke. He wanted to be yelled at, cursed at and beaten, anything was better than the silence, judging him. Staffan’s turned back was a torment far greater than all physical retribution he could ever have received.

     - I’m sorry I....

     - Look at her, look.

     Aneka, the wife of Staffan and mother of Arni, was trembling in what seemed like excruciating pain. Her skin had turned brick red, tearing in the wrinkles and folds of her skin as she tossed around in a feverish state, asking for help amidst incoherent murmurs.

     - Haven’t you done enough?

     Roarke’s muscles relaxed, his whole body growing dull. He turned and picked up his spear that he had dropped, and started walking along the small path, leading to the road.

     - Roarke?

     - Let’s go.

     Realizing that there wasn’t really anything they could do for the family, even if they would have wanted help, Ama and Refaz started to walk away as well. So they left Staffan, Aneka and Arni, a family who had had a hard life, a life that had gotten even harder since the three companions had entered it. The road, big enough to allow a cart to move unimpeded, rolled on, seemingly without end.

     - Roarke.

     The road hugged closely to the edge of the watery basin to the west. Roarke didn’t know how large it was, but he had not been able to discern any landmass on the other side, so he had guessed it must be of an substantial size.

     - Human, we are talking to you.

     It felt strange to walk on padded dirt after treading on grass and moss for so long. By now they had walked so far that the clay huts behind them, were no longer visible. Looking forward, Roarke could see no other houses, or any signs of civilization, besides the road they were walking on.

     - Stop!

     He felt a clawed hand land on his shoulder, pulling him backwards. Without resisting, Roarke let himself be pulled around, his body feeling heavy and tired.

     - We can’t just walk on here, out in the open, without discussing our plan.

     When Refaz twisted Roarke around, he and Ama was met by a blank expression, and eyes that were glazed over.

     - Roarke, back there...

     - I know, some help I were.

     - That’s not what I.....

     - I can’t be a Kappa, I can’t lead, I can’t even keep my temper!

     Roarke felt the familiar lump forming in his throat, taunting him with his weakness, showing on his face for all to see. The two brothers looked at each other as if they were trying to decide what, and what not to say.

     - Roarke, I don’t know what Plista has told you, or what he has asked of you, but listen to what I have to say. Being a Kappa, is not to be perfect. You don’t have to look further than at Ama or myself, are we without flaws?

     Roarke looked out over the swamp, trying to steel himself.

     - No, Roarke, we’re not. Look at the others and I promise you, you will find faults as well. Plista gets caught up in ideals and memories, far from the reality he lives in. Marel can’t even hold a serious conversation for more than a couple of minutes before he gets uncomfortable, his barriers of gag and one-liners rising up. Stari is hotheaded, rushing into things without taking the ones around her into consideration, must I go on?

     - Yeah, but you saw what I did back there.

     - And I’m not saying it was your finest moment, Roarke. What I’m saying is, in the grand scheme of things, that was nothing.

     - Tell that to the family who just got their already shitty lives totally fucked!

     - It was terrible, a horrific fate, I’m not arguing that. All I’m saying is, no matter how much they suffer, even if they die, the world will not mourn them.

     Roarke was taken aback, shocked by what he was hearing.

     - Remember what Plista said, “intelligence does not equal worth or importance”, I mean, how many animals and plants have you killed and consumed in your lifetime, just to not starve?

     Refaz didn’t wait for an answer but instead continued on.

     - Countless, and what makes their lives any less valuable than yours or mine? Nothing. Still, nobody could blame you for doing so, because it’s the circle of life, the same when the rabbit struggles when caught, it’s natural. It’s the balance we Kappas have sworn to uphold.

     - Refaz speaks true, human. I understand the instinctive bias you might feel for other humans, it is a feeling we know as well, but to be a Kappa, is to be able to distance oneself. To see the big picture when it counts, not to be perfect, whatever that means.

     - That however, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t strive to help those we can, when their pain and death is meaningless. Unfortunately, I think all three of us know that before this is all over, more deaths will occur.

     Roarke looked down at his gloved hands, where the armored knuckles had been temporarily stained red with blood. He flexed them, turning them in the air only to see the partially coagulated blood in the palms, reminding him of the warm pain in his left ear, or what was left of it.

     - So the end justifies the means?

     - More like, for the greater good.

***

Enter

- Is everything according to the lady’s wishes?

     - Have my belongings been brought up from the courtyard?

     - Yes of course, I apologize. I put them by the bed, my lady.

     - Then you can leave.

     The young woman who had been assigned as Marielle’s maid, looking no older than sixteen or seventeen, seemed relieved to be allowed to leave the room, and proceeded to do so before her lady had a change of heart. The chambermaid’s long skirt whipped in the air when she turned to leave, her obvious lack of experience making itself known in the eagerness of her step. She closed the lacquered door as controlled as her fidgets allowed her to, leaving Marielle alone in what had been offered in the ways of sleeping quarters. In comparison with the great room she was used to visiting while at the keep, or the vast cave hall situated below her feet, this room was more practically sized, which suited Marielle fine.

     The bare stone walls were lit up by a chandelier, hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room, and as with every other lamp in the keep, it ran on gas. Standing against the side opposite to the door, was a large canopy bed made with sheets in black with moss green details. On top of the bedding lay a fresh set of fine linen clothes, Marielle did not deny that she could benefit from a bath and a change of undergarments, however, upon taking a closer look at what the maid had laid out, the inexperience showed once more. The finery, however rare and expensive it might have been, had not been tailored to either fit, or be utilized by someone in active duty, let alone actual combat. At least her belongings were where the maid had said they would be, the leather knapsack filled with only the most necessary items, along with her longbow, quiver and her knives, it was all there, nothing missing.

     She let her gaze wander from the bed, moving across, and inspecting the room and the furnishing within. There was a dressing table, made out a dark wood, swerving from the floor, up towards the ceiling, into which a mirror had been placed. Holding little interest to Marielle, she moved on, looking to the other side, where she saw a small lamp, that, besides the chandelier hanging above, was the only light in the room. Looking closer at the lone light, she noticed it was placed beside a subtle door that had been painted gray in order to make it blend in with the surrounding stone walls. Catching her attention more so than the powder boxes, ornate combs and the other tools of vanity to her right, she decided to investigate further. Walking up to the narrow door, at first, only the thin outline, coupled with an understated door knob, told of its true nature. The door had not simply been painted in a plain gray, but given the illusion of shadow and texture, truly giving it the appearance of stone, in order to further fool the eye.

     She twisted the small knob and creaked open the door. Welling out, enveloping her, and beyond that, billowing out in clouds on the stone floor, was water steam, hot and wet. When the vapor had dissipated enough, she could see inside the new room, where she found the source of her now, foggy bedroom. In the middle of the room, which was about half the size of the main one, stood a large wooden bath, steam rising from its still surface. Folded towels lay neatly stacked on the counters along the nearest wall and on the floor next to the large vat, stood a section of bottles, varying in size and design, bottles that Marielle guessed, contained oils and scented soaps. Luxury items that she doubted would hold much sway against the stench of the swamps.

     Looking back at the room she was standing in, she couldn’t help but feel that it was terribly mismatched. Everything from the dresses laid out on the bed, the make up on the dressing table, everything down to the ethereal oils and perfumes, seemed, when it was all added together, like some sort of deliberate slight or insult. A slight orchestrated by Racka, lord of the keep, rather than due to the greenness of a maid, concerning her lady’s needs and wants. After all, no servant, especially in this keep, acted on anything other than the orders of their lord. Whatever the subliminal message of all this were, Marielle could not be less interested, she was tired and was looking forward to some much needed rest. Too tired to concern herself with what some might feel about her, or her position as a mere human in the ranks of the master.

     She walked away from the bathroom, towards the chair standing by the dressing table, loosening the straps of her leather corset. She continued to disrobe, removing her boots, her leggings and finally her undershirt, leaving her naked but making the chair the opposite. As she reached up to let her hair out of the braid she always kept it in, her eyes caught on their own reflection in the mirror in front of her. For a second, she didn’t move, cold, light blue eyes staring at their own visual echo, before she moved own. With her thick and lush, strawberry colored hair hanging free, she made her way back towards the small gray door, now standing open. Walking barefoot, the stone slabs underneath the naked soles of her feet, turned from being cold and dry, to becoming more warm and moist for every step she took.

     Knock, knock.

     There was a rapping on the door, making Marielle stop mid step.

     - Enter.

     Marielle guessed it was the chambermaid from before, who, in her hurry, had forgotten to perform some surely menial task. Yet when the door opened, there was no young servant woman with an apologetic face, but instead, there stood a young man, shocked by what he had walked in on. His healthy and somewhat athletic build, coupled with a full set of limbs, characteristics that were uncommon among the servants of the keep. This told Marielle that he had most likely come from out of town, presumably a messenger with a mission.

     - Apologies, my lady, I did not mean to barge in! I’ll leave immediately and come back once you call for me.

     The messenger looked intently at the leather sandals that covered his feet, normal everyday sandals that now, for some reason, had suddenly become extremely fascinating as he awaited permission for him to leave. Marielle on the other hand, did not share the man’s feelings of unease brought on by the situation. She experienced nothing other than total insouciance at the thought of lusting eyes, burning on her bare skin.

     - I said enter.

     The messenger, who in his mind was already halfway down the stairs, had a mental crash before he fully reacted to the words that had been spoken. Without raising his sight from the floor, he entered the room fully, closing the door behind him.

     - I, uh, I have a message for the lady.

     - From?

     - It comes all the way from Cayrock, my lady, and it carries a seal like none I’ve ever seen, a golden one.

     - Give it to me.

     Fumbling with the latches on the leather bag that was strapped across his chest, the courier eventually produced a letter, slightly larger than the palm of an adult man’s hand. Marielle, still standing where she had stopped, forced the man to come to her. Carefully, he looked up, anxious, as if he were afraid lightning would strike down and burn him for acting above his station. His cheeks reddened, failing to conceal his reaction to her bare exposed figure. There she stood, a strong body, her toned muscles melding perfectly together with her female curves. A human specimen of the highest tier, a lethal weapon. A sentiment only amplified by her hard, unflinching eyes, meeting his as they made their way up her body.

     He gave her the letter and stepped back, caught in a sort of pleasurable torment, where his curiosity urged him to look more, for he had never seen anyone like her, whereas his better judgment told him to keep his exploring eyes to himself, lest he would go blind from staring at the spectacular sun that was her muliebral physique. No matter how intensely he wanted to be on his way, his duties required him to remain, should she want to send a response. This meant he was stuck where he was, whilst Marielle read the letter, and even further on, until she saw fit to allow him to be excused.

     The letter, made of a thick, expensive parchment, was heavy for its size. The reason for this was well known to Marielle, it was the seal, depicting a human skull with a Capital H stamped on the forehead. The insignia was comprised of two pieces of metal, made out of pure, unmixed gold, hammered together with a square press, fastening the two auburn bands that held the letter closed. The auric insignia, the personal signature and symbol of Gota, present on all of his correspondence. Retrieving one of her knives, Marielle severed the bands, causing the heavy seal to fall to the floor with a resounding clank. The auric insignia was a sign of power, a gift to the receiver, valuable enough to feed a poor family for at least a year, if not longer. Unconcerned, and not in need of monetary alms, Marielle kicked it towards the messenger without giving it a second thought, her interests lay with the letter, and the text within, her true directives.

     - Thank you, the lady is most generous!

     Marielle wasn’t listening and therefore didn’t respond, instead she opened the letter, revealing the black ink penned inside. Simple, yet beautifully painted letters covered the paper, meticulously drafted by Gota’s personal transcriber. She read through all of it, and when she had finished, she read it once more, to imprint the words in her memory. Beside her, the courier was looking at the, for a person of his stature, extremely lavish gift, imagining all the things he would now be able to buy with his newfound affluence. He twisted the golden object in his hand, inspecting the skull that adorned the surface, almost glowing when the light from the chandelier hit it, as if it had just been taken out red hot from the furnace. His adoration went on until he remembered where he was, after which he pocketed the treasure and cleared his throat.

     - Uh, does the lady wish to give a response?

     Disturbed in her total focus, Marielle looked at him, just the faintest of smiles showing on her face. A smile that, coupled with her striking features, made her terrifyingly stunning.

     - No, no I don’t.

     And with that, she turned on the spot and started to walk towards the bath she had been held from. With her back turned, the messenger snuck one last look while he could, her rolling hips moving in a almost hypnotic flow as she moved towards the small camouflaged door, standing open. Just as she was about to go through the entrance to the bathroom, she stopped, and with a swift jab, fastened the letter, pierced on her knife, on the wall above the lamp’s open flame. Lodged in the crack between two large stone blocks, the knife vibrated, almost humming, when she let it go. There she left it, entering the room without another word, leaving the man alone, watching the thick paper catch on fire. As the flames took, and the letter disintegrated into smaller pieces, slowly floating down to the floor in a fiery descent, the messenger understood that had been his cue to go. And so he left the sleeping quarters behind him, going down the stairs in an odd state of arousal, mixed with confusion and fear, not really sure what to make of what he had just experienced.

***