The Third Eye Initiative (37 page)

It had only been a few days since his confrontation with Dormic and his Elites. Elias had been furious with him for confronting them by himself, but Tsaeris could tell that behind the anger, the man was impressed.

Aedrus was more wounded than he had let on, and had remained at Tyrier’s clinic since the two had returned during that stormy night. He had dozens of cuts and a few of them were fairly deep. He would be fine, though, according to the Doctor. Tsaeris was happy. That boy was growing on him.

Tsaeris kept a lot of the details of that night from Elias. He didn’t tell him about Gravelock sicking Pyron and his guild on him, afraid that Elias would pull a Dormic and try to kill Gravelock himself. He also kept the fact that Raina had been an Elite from Elias. Tsaeris didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. She had been used by Dormic, and didn’t deserve any punishment.

His relationship with Raina had suffered a bit. He had, after all, punched her in the face. After he told her the whole story, she seemed to be more understanding about it. Still, he expected to hear about it now again for many years to come. If he was still alive in a few minutes, that is.

Tsaeris stood at t
he end of the long dark hallway, in the Third Eye Initiative compound, staring at the open door. After everything he had learned, he knew without a doubt that Gravelock was inside. He knew he had to confront him. How could he just go on, ignoring everything that he had learned? He tried to ignore the fact that anyone who crossed that door without permission never returned.

Tsaeris swallowed. He knew
that the open door was an invitation. He was expected. He hesitated for a long moment, and then took a step into the hallway. His shadow flickered in the murky torchlight, growing large, then small as he passed. The air seemed almost damp, and he had trouble breathing. The march down the hallway seemed to take a long time. It seemed like the door was retreating as he approached, a cruel joke to extend the ominous march.

He was being silly. It was just a door. The hallway was not changing length. He was acting like a small scared child. He took a deep breath, and quickened his pace. He would not become one of those superstitious idiots. Tsaeris was a man of reason. He reached the door, and crossed its threshold without pausing.

The room was empty. A single candle sat on a desk in the middle of the room. There was an empty chair on the other side of the desk. The desk was clear of all but the candle. The room was dark, but small, and Tsaeris was sure he was alone. There were no wall hangings, no shelves. Nothing but bare stone and a desk. Nowhere to hide. The door slammed shut behind him

Tsaeris spun around, scanning the room frantically. His nerve was fading, and suddenly he just wanted to get out of that room. He tried the doo
r, but it wouldn’t open. He began pounding, feeling desperation. It was no use. He put his ear to the wood, but there was no sounds coming from the hallway.

He turned away from the door, looking for something he could use to force
it open, but he had not been mistaken in his first observation. The room was empty save for the desk and candle. He wondered how long they would leave him in here.

Suddenly something on the desk caught his eye. It was a brass ring. It sat beside the candle. How had he missed that? He was sure that there had been nothing on the desk. He stepped closer, and picked up the ring. He held it in the light of the torch and examined it. It was plain, with no markings. It was a simple band of brass. He put it back down on the table, not liking the
implications.

Suddenly he was grabbed from behind, his arm twisted painfully behind his back. His attacker slammed him face down on the desk. Tsaeris tried to struggle, but whoever had grabbed him was much stronger than he. Tsaeris felt like a child. His right cheek lay flat against the cold table. He tried to yell out, but a large gloved hand covered his mouth.

“Ye move, ya die. Ye cry out, ya die. Ye get one warning.” A rumbling yet grating voice whispered in his ear. Tsaeris was still in shock. How could somebody have possibly been in the room? It was so small. There had been nowhere to hide. The attacker let go of him, but he dared not move. He knew that this man had not been joking in his warning.

A cloaked head entered his vision. The face was turned away from him, but he could make out a long
greying black beard coming out of the hood. A beard and an accent. This was a dwarf, Tsaeris thought. How was any of this possible?

The face turned towards him, but it was obscured by the shadow of the hood. Then the shadow split apart to reveal a hideous, maddening grin. The teeth were so stark, so white that they were visible even in the dark shadows. It was the only detail Tsaeris could make out.

A sound of metal hitting wood echoed through the room, and the brass ring landed on the table in front of Tsaeris’ face. The cloaked dwarf continued to grin at him. Tsaeris felt his stomach knot. He was terrified. Finally, the face turned away.

“
You killed Cyra,” Tsaeris accused, swallowing hard.

“
The City Killed Cyra, boyo,” The horrible dwarf replied.

“
You had me tortured. Had my eye cut out,” Tsaeris said.

“
Ye lookin fer an explanation? Yer a smart lad. Deep down, ye know what I did was necessary. Ye would’ve have joined Dormic otherwise. Ye love it here. Ye do, don’t deny it. Ye love what we do.”

“
You’re wrong,” Tsaeris said, and then groaned in pain as Gravelock twisted his arm painfully.

“
Ye think I’ll explain meself? Try to get ye to forgive? Ye think I care what ya think? No, lad. Ye’ve thought it over. The results of me actions speak fer themselves.”

Gravelock picked up the brass ring with one hand. It disappeared for a moment,
and then returned to the table, hanging on a leather cord. Tsaeris stared at the ring.

“
Ah, ye can admit to yerself now, eh? What ye really came here fer,” Gravelock placed a finger on the ring, “Is this. Ye want in deeper. Think ye deserve that ring? Well, take it then.”

Tsaeris was shocked to discover that the dwarf was right. Cyra dying was the result of murderers, who had been put down because of those events. And Tsaeris was happy to be a part of the Initiative, and had decided ages ago that it was worth the price of an
eye. No, what he really wanted was one of those rings. He liked the idea of it, the power behind it. Who better than he to wear one?

“
I have one rule.” Tsaeris said.

“
Ye won’t have to break it, boyo. But this work is dark and bloody. There ain't no place fer scruples. And there ain't no turning back.”

“
You won’t leave me to die like you did to Dormic?” Tsaeris asked.

“
Not unless it serves me. Take yer badge, boyo. And don’t ye dare take it off. Ever.”

Tsaeris blinked in shock as the face vanished. He listened for the door to open, but the sound never came. After what felt like an eternity, Tsaeris finally found the courage to stand up straight. He looked around the room. It was emp
ty. He shuddered uncontrollably, and then reached down and picked up the ring, holding it in front of his eye considering what it meant.

He was smarter than Dormic,
Tsaeris decided. He would be able to plan ahead, make sure his neck was never on the line. He would never be a scapegoat. Tsaeris Sydarin, Elite of the Third Eye Initiative. He liked the sound of that. And all he needed to do was operate without scruples.

Tsaeris smiled, and placed the ring around his neck and tucked it beneath his shirt. Too many scruples were for the weak. He would get on fine with just the one.

Tsaeris opened the door, to find Elias standing in the hallway. The man looked him in the eye, and grabbed him by the chest. Tsaeris tried to pull away, but Elias held him fast. Elias reached a hand under the neck of Tsaeris’ shirt, and pulled out the ring. Elias nodded, seeming not upset, but not entirely happy either. Tsaeris shrugged.

“
My turn,” Elias said, and Tsaeris grinned at him. Elias passed him, with a quick pat on the Tsaeris’ shoulder, and disappeared into the room.

             
Tsaeris had to fight the urge to whistle happily as he made his way back down the dark foreboding hallway.

             
Things were about to get very interesting.

Dreaming up fantastical stories since childhood, J.J. Newman was a writer long before he put pen to proverbial paper.  He lives in Welland, Ontario with his wife and children, and continues to work on sharing his stories with the world.