The Ten Guardians: Sacrifice©

Chapter One: Memories

I was saved from the oppression of sleep by the horse-drawn cart coming to a sudden halt. The sun was mostly hidden from sight, and shadows covered everything. As I peered through the bars of my square cage, I could see the outline of a structure nearby. I assumed it was the auction block that would begin my life of servitude, my “story block,” if you will.

Life in slavery was a gamble based on who was purchasing you. I could be purchased by an aristocrat looking for a laborer for his vineyards, or I could work as an oarsman on a war boat.

“With my luck, I’ll end up working in a mine,” I muttered.

It came and went in waves. Speaking, that is. Sometimes in Acondan or Jersal, yet often in languages the traders have never heard of.

“Please stick to the prevalent detail, and keep your eyes closed so I do not have to restart the memory trance,” a voice complained in the background.

The complainer was a woman seated near two men on one side of a large, round table. She was on the right of the men, her olive-colored skin glowing from the light of an active rune etched into the table in front of her. All three of them were anciently old yet sure-eyed and impeccable in their posture. They all wore plain white robes without adornments. The table was designed to seat the leadership of the city of Dule Van, translated as Last Stand. There were thirteen chairs in total, seven for the High Elders of the School, one from each magical Kentor, and six chairs for the Magistrates of the city. Besides the four of them, there was only a courier in the corner to run errands if needed.

The boy who had been speaking was seated directly across the table from the three High Elders. He had been vocally reliving his memories through a spell, which the woman controlled with the rune in front of her. He had been at the school, which was actually a castle in a massive city, for six months. The council had requested permission to relive the day they had found him through a spell. At first, he was against the idea, but he knew he owed them for taking him in and providing for him, so he reluctantly agreed.

“I’ll try, High Elder,” the boy replied as he closed his eyes and concentrated.

Almost against his will, descriptive words came to his lips to describe his memory in detail, far more detail than he thought a memory could hold.

A raised platform sat in the center of a large cobblestone lot. To the east was my caravan of four wagons, three of which were transporting goods, and the last was mounted with removable square cages. Although the sun had almost disappeared over the horizon, there was still enough light to discern the outline of a large city to the south. The city had a fortified castle with a high stone wall around it and hundreds of homes outside of the castle walls. Past the city, there appeared to be a large forest that stretched east and west into the distance. Other than the city and its nearby forest to the south, there was nothing but desert in all directions, not that I desired to escape to the blank page of a life I could no longer remember.

I had no idea where this city was located, and I couldn’t remember anything before this caravan found me. Sometimes I dream of a life before this one, of flying through the sky, but that dream always ended with a horrifying pain and a sense of my insides being ripped in half. Because of these dreams, I avoided sleeping as much as possible.

My cage, along with the three other cages in the caravan, had been placed to the left of the platform by a tiny building smelling similar to the bottom of our cages. The closest cage dweller was a bald man with a full beard, all skin and bones, and tight brown clothing suggesting he did not lose weight in slavery to become such a shape. He never said a word, but his eyes drank in everything, never giving anything back. He was asleep at the moment, limbs in every direction through the bars of his cage. I called him Skinny.

“I would ask why, but the reason is not worth my time. Again, please stick to the important details,” the woman interrupted.

“With respect, High Elder, I don’t believe I know how. This isn’t like recalling normal memories; it’s almost like I’m reliving them from outside of my body … I will try,” the boy replied as meekly as he could muster.

“Leave him be,” said the man in the middle of the trio. “It won’t harm anyone to indulge his thoughts as they happened. It might even prove useful. Please continue, Sparrow,” he said with authority.

Sparrow hated that title, but everyone of his level at the school was called Sparrow, especially when being reprimanded. Since the boy had no memory of any other name, Sparrow quickly became his call sign. He closed his eyes and continued.

The furthest cage held Something, at least that’s what I called it. Something looked like a human, at least with arms and legs and such, but it was covered in short black fur like an animal, and a sack was kept over its head at all times, so I did not know what its face looked like. It spoke Common in a higher pitched voice with the slightest hint of an accent but never spoke unless it was sure the guards were not around, and normally just to ask its fellow captives about our surroundings.

I attempted to ask it a question once, but the guards heard me and immediately began beating the creature. I thought they were just being cruel, but there was a form of desperation in their speed to silence the creature. I began to feel they were afraid of it speaking at all. I left the poor thing alone after that.

The middle cage held a young man, very plain in every way, unnatural in his plainness. You wouldn’t notice him in a crowd if his hair were on fire. His eyes were dead and lifeless. He moved when told to move and obeyed instructions, yet he noticed things around him like I would notice my breathing. Everyone ignored him like he ignored the world. He had no facial hair, which the guards said was common for some men in the world. At the moment, he was doing what he always did, sitting and staring at nothing. They say they found him with me, but I have no idea who he is.

Sparrow could hear the tones of casual mental communication between the Elders seated across from him, but he did not want to risk being caught listening in on their conversation. They still did not know he could hear the tones, or they would have censored it instead of using casual communication. He continued so they would not suspect anything.

With what little information I was able to glean from my peers in captivity, I couldn’t figure out where I was. I knew nothing about so many things. I had no memories. I had no past. I had no name. I didn’t even know how I knew the name of the sun, which had almost stopped giving out its visionary light. With night ascending from the south, the guards threw blankets over our cages to fend off the desert cold. The small air hole in the top did little to ventilate the stench of ourselves, but it was better than freezing to death.

I hated sleeping, but there was little else to do at the moment. I drifted thinking of my story that would be told in the morning on the auction block when I suddenly realized I could hear something. It was high pitched, very high pitched, almost beyond my hearing. Yet, just barely I could hear it. It was mournful, it was desperate, and it was irritating. I could hear the guards by their fires searching in confusion for the source of the noise. Eventually, the tone dropped enough to cause slight pain.

I could hear the guards running towards us from their fires. They stopped by the cages as if they were listening and searching for the source of the noise, and after a moment, I could hear its source. The creature in the cage was making the piercing noise. In a rush, the guards charged toward Something’s cage; the blanket was removed, and blows landed. The sound immediately stopped.

The guards finished beating Something and threw the blanket back over its cage. After a long pause, the guards started talking amongst themselves.

“I don’t think anyone else heard her,” The first guard said.

“Here be hopin’. If we no be saying notin’, no one will knows. I just hope nun her kin is round these parts, or we gots trouble in the mournin’” the stupid one replied.

Come to think of it, they’re both stupid. He’s just more so than the other one.

The High Elder across the table from Sparrow on the left, a quiet man with a large burn scar on his face, sighed but said nothing.

As they walked away, I could hear Something muttering what sounded like a prayer repeatedly. I fell asleep to that muttering.

After a fitful night, I awoke and was once again reminded of how much I hated sleeping and vowed never to do so again. The dreams just aren’t worth the pain. I could hear the lull of a large crowd, with the occasional hawker proffering their inventory to the passing crowd. The guards removed our blankets to reveal that the once vacant lot had transformed into a budding marketplace.

There were people scattered throughout the stalls and more on the way from the look of the dust stretching towards the city. Something didn’t move, the bag over her face fluttered with the exhale of breathing, but other than this, she was still. Skinny was taking it all in with his normal piercing eyes.

I decided I needed to pick out my story, so I scanned the crowd to guess what type of person would be willing to purchase a teenage boy as a slave. As I looked at the crowd, I realized this wasn’t your typical slave-buying crowd, at least not the kind my fragmented memory had conjured.

Many people were in the crowd wearing flowing robes, and there seemed to be a pattern associated with the colors. The robes typically had a dominant solid color and a secondary solid color. The secondary color was either along the lower hem, a sash around the waist, or occasionally the sleeve cuff. They wore no other colors besides their selected two colors. The only exception was one man in all-white walking through the crowd. He had a social bubble around him which seemed to part the crowd as he walked like a bubble moving through water. He was either greatly feared or respected … or both, I suppose.

Skinny started talking to me in a peculiar accent, and the guards didn’t do a thing to stop.

“Ya know, boy, the solid colors do represent their preference in their branch of ma’ic. They call the branches their Kentor. Not sure what they all mean, but I know a few of em. The lesser colors do represent their rank within their Kentor. Each Kentor has its own school and its own set of rules and so forth,” he finished with a toothy grin in the direction of the guards.

“You’re gonna get us beaten again,” I hissed at him quietly.

“Actually, they can’t do a thing! This is not a normal slave crowd, you see.” I noticed his accent was suddenly gone but said nothing. “Not too many here would stand for the public beating. In fact, slaves are illegal in Dule Van. That’s why we are being sold out here. Irony at its core; the center of the slave market happens to be closest to the only city in this area that outlaws it. They can sell slaves at much higher prices here than in cities that actually allow slaves. It’s a gimmick, really, a gimmick that the slave traders use to milk the bleeding hearts of the city of Dule Van.”

“Problem for us is some people in this here crowd aren’t from this city, but by my reckoning, most of them are, which is somewhat of a surprise. I’m guessing our friend’s high-pitched call has something to do with all the magi, and the magi have something to do with the lack of normal slave buyers. Still, money is money to slavers,” the man yelled while pointing a finger and sending a wink to the closest guard.

“Names Colson, my friend. How’s your mother named you?” he asked.

“I have no idea my name and no memory of a mother. Call me as you will since you probably won’t see me again after this day … friend,” I replied.

“‘Aren’t we a little under the weather? Right then, I’m first to go,” Colson said while his cage was being opened.

“Good luck to you, boy,” he whispered as he was lifted from his cage.

Colson was allowed a few moments to regain the use of his legs, at which time he was repeatedly doused with buckets of water. I suppose he should have been grateful to be cleaned for his buyer, just like a horse. For a brief moment, it appeared the water was moving as it cleaned his body, and I felt a pull from the man I couldn’t explain. After a moment, the sensation was gone, and the water was soaking into the ground. Then Colson was escorted up a set of stairs to the center of the platform, where I lost sight of him behind the rear railing.

Listening to the halfhearted bets thrown out of the crowd, I realized Colson was right. This was more a show than anything else. The Magi were following a system they thought was correct, but only halfheartedly doing so. This will be an interesting story indeed. My life expectancy had improved considerably.

Colson was sold, and I was next. Suddenly I was very uncomfortable with getting up on that platform. My whole body began to itch, and I wanted nothing to do with that platform, regardless of it being my chance for freedom in a gifted-filled city of slavery haters. I was dragged from the cage and forced to stand while being doused with water. It did nothing for my fear and itching. I lost count of the water being thrown at me. I wanted to drown! I was caving in on myself and had to escape! I tried to run on my weak legs and landed on my face in the sand and dirt. With a curse, the guards forced me to stand, more water in my face, coughing, spluttering, stumbling, pushed. Why was I so afraid?

I was suddenly held upright on the platform, and all of my previous sensations disappeared. I felt no itch or discomfort, and it was like it never happened. The guards noticed my lack of tension and gradually let go of me, only fully doing so when they knew I wouldn’t try to run. They left the platform, and I stood bare to the waist while awaiting my sale.

It came back; the sensation of discomfort came back in full swing. I felt like I was suffocating while my soul was being drawn from my body. I didn’t know what to do or what was even happening. I was dimly aware of the crowd’s reaction to my plight … there was none! No one saw what was happening to me! I realized I was going to die if this sensation didn’t stop! I tried to yell or scream but couldn’t move a muscle. I was being ripped in half internally, and when the pain seemed to be at its worst … I gave in. I stopped fighting and felt a rip inside me, and suddenly I was no longer myself. What happened to me? I had no idea, but whatever was inside me was very afraid, angry, and cautious. It wanted to hide in me from the magi … I must be crazy!

I had to do something. So I did. With this new thing inside me, I had so many possibilities, but I couldn’t name them. I had no idea what they were or what they would do, and I needed more time to sort them out. That felt so familiar, as if ‘time’ was a concept I knew intimately. In desperation, I grappled with that thought and applied a new possibility to it. Everything physical around me slowed to a crawl in the blink of an eye, yet my cognitive state remained intact. My thoughts stayed the same, and I mentally had more time to analyze this parasite that had manifested itself.

Sparrow could hear a small intake of breath from a council member and the fury of tones in the air.

Were they surprised? He thought to himself. One of them was there, and they saw this happen … surely he told the rest of the council. It had been almost six months!”

Not wanting to jump to conclusions and sensing impatience at his thoughtful pause, Sparrow filed this away for another day and continued with the trance.

After that, either I or the new presence inside of me summoned an entity that appeared as a brilliant white globe in the air over the crowd in front of me. It was opaque except when it pulsed with a solid white color every few moments, which caused it to become solid white. Eventually, when it pulsed, I grabbed at it. I somehow could grab its surface with my mind, and I pulled the pulsing energy to one side until it tore, allowing me to reach in and draw on the being to attack the thing inside me … or was it to attack the crowd? I don’t know which I was trying to fight because they both felt like threats to different parts of me. The tear was a gaping blackness on a perfect white. As part of me reached into this blackness, the orb attacked back.

Brilliant white bars arced out at me from the opposite side of the dark hole. I pulled on the blackness and defended myself, cutting back with my own arcs, and where they connected, brilliant black and white shards flew in all directions. This continued for quite some time until I eventually realized I was winning. The globe was pulsing with darkness now, and its attacks had become less frequent. Finally, it lurched to a halt, hovering in midair, all black except for a tiny white glow pulsing in pain.

I didn’t know what to do. I realized that I wasn’t really in control of anything. What was I attacking? Why was I attacking it? The dark globe began to spin in the air, slowly at first, but gradually it gained speed. As it spun faster and faster, it started to pull the blackness into itself along with what was left of the white pulsing, which had almost disappeared.

I do not know why I had this realization, but at that moment, I knew it was killing itself just to stop me. Rage filled the half of me I hated, and instant sorrow at what I had done. I was two beings fighting for different causes in one body, and I didn’t know which cause belonged to whom. The spinning went gradually faster, pulling the darkness back in itself and then pulling a different darkness out of me. It was saving me! I felt the being howl in pain, agony, and rage, and its claws ripped my soul as it was yanked from my body. In anger, I saw its blackness turn and plunge into the globe behind it, which shattered into thousands of pieces in all directions.

With the departure of the blackness inside me, I lost control of whatever magical forces I had been using, and time resumed. My entire body was covered in sweat. I felt weak but was whole. The first thing I noticed was the absolute silence. There was no bidding or mingling, talking or shouting, and the silence was unnerving. Then I realized that although the crowd was facing my direction, they were not actually looking at me! They had no idea what had just happened to me. Did they not see what I did?

I followed the crowd’s gaze until my eyes rested on the first row of people. In the center of the row was the ancient man dressed all in white, lowering his hands from above his bald head. He had a large patch of skin on his head and neck that was a different color than the rest of his body. He looked as exhausted as I felt and was also covered in sweat. The ancient man lowered his hands to his sides and smiled.

“Buy them all, even the previously sold one, the slavers must remain for questioning…” his words grew weaker as he spoke, ending with him fainting into the arms of the man in black.”

I must have thought it was a good idea because I also hit the floor of the platform, but without a bodyguard to break my fall. All the lack of understanding of what had just happened and the pure exhaustion of the slavery experience came crashing down, carrying me into unconsciousness. I broke my vow about sleep and was rewarded with a beautiful, cold, and dreamless night’s rest.

*****

Sparrow was sitting limply in his chair, his head on the table, fast asleep. The courier was being given instructions from the High Elder with the burn scar in the corner of the room, leaving the remaining two High Elders seated at the table. The woman was talking to the man.

“You had no idea he slowed time before summoning that arcane orb?” She didn’t wait for a response to her seemingly obvious question. “Then was their battle taking place outside of normal time the force you contained in the market? Or the time spell itself?” the woman asked the older man.

He simply shook his head, too deep in thought to respond.

“There are few in our school who can summon an arcane orb to aid them, maybe less than five,” she said softly as if thinking aloud.

“And only one who could survive touching their energy, and none who could so casually destroy such an entity,” the man barked angrily, slapping the table in frustration.

The High Elder on the other side of the room paused and looked over at the outburst, then continued dictating a letter to the courier.

“This is proof, then. No human can alter the flow of time, and none of us are strong enough to kill an arcane orb, much less do so while channeling an impossibly strong spell. He must be the one the prophecies speak of. We have to act soon,” the woman said firmly.

“You think I don’t know that, Rianna?” the man responded sharply, his anger still plain. His voice moderated as he continued. “You say he is dangerous, but I only see a boy running from a past he is too afraid to remember. I look at him, and I do not see destruction and death … I see pain, hurt, and confusion. I see a child trying to find his purpose and the very reason he exists. That’s why he acts out and resists our aid. He is lost, and we could help him find his purpose, molded to take the path to restore the guardians.”

The woman realized she had mishandled the conversation. She needed his vote in the council to sway the majority to act before it was too late. That was not a boy, and the risk of letting him run around the school, let alone the world, without a name shackle, was far too great. This order had to pass before she could push for the next step in dealing with this threat to humanity.

“You see yourself in him, Marcus, from when you were a boy. I, too, wish to help him find his purpose, and we can, but we need to do so the right way. We need a safety net in place in case something goes wrong, and if nothing goes wrong, all the better for everyone.”

“Name-shackling is just so personal and violating, especially for someone so young. No one except criminals and the insane have been forced to have a shackle, and if you are right about his heritage, then who knows what will happen when someone joins with him to find his name,” Marcus said.

“If we vote for the name-shackle, then we should send someone from the Mental Kentor to have the best chance of success…” she realized her poor word choice “… and safety. I believe their strongest member is Jareth Bruno. Will he accept such an assignment?” Rianna asked.

With a chuckle, Marcus responded, “Yes, he would. He is quite fond of the boy and has already taken him under his wing, although the boy resists the attention for reasons already discussed. It is difficult feeling so excluded from your peers…”

Rianna let the older man ramble. She felt he was swaying and did not want to jeopardize the momentum with other talking points. She even prepared a persuasion spell just in case he did not come around. It was craftily hidden within the memory spell she had cast on Sparrow, which she had left active on the table intentionally. The hidden spell may have been why Sparrow had fallen asleep; she wasn’t sure. She just hoped Marcus wouldn’t realize what was happening if she had to use it. She was unsure what he would do if he realized she was using magic to sway his vote. No matter how old he appeared, she knew she wouldn’t stand a chance against his strength. She was not sure the entire rest council combined could have stopped him if they wanted to.

After a few more comments on the difficulties of youth and exclusion, Marcus eventually let out a long sigh and sat in silence for a moment. Then he finally spoke.

“Very well, Rianna. I only agree because I also see my stubborn impulsiveness in the boy, and I made my fair share of mistakes at his age with nowhere near the magical strength he possesses.”

Marcus traced a simple rune on the table in front of him. His skin tones altered as he used arcane power to trace the rune, briefly accenting his vitiligo. Using magic always accented his various skin tones, causing the patches to alter in size and color. Their movement reminded him of why he felt such a connection to the reincarnated guardian asleep on the other side of the table. He knew what it was like to feel different from those around you. Eventually, he embraced his vitiligo as a unique and wonderful part of himself. He hoped the young guardian in front of him could find that wisdom in time … if he lived long enough.

Marcus lifted his finger from the rune he had been tracing as it activated. The rune was the symbol of the Kentor he represented, the Arcane Kentor. Marcus placed his hand on the glowing rune and spoke.

“I vote in favor of the motion to name-shackle the boy in question for his own protection. As I hold veto power, I exercise the right to name a condition, which is the assignment of a liaison to the boy for the finding of his name, and for his care while he remains at the school. I appoint Elder Jareth Bruno.”

Marcus lifted his hand, and the rune rose into the air. Six other runes from around the table came to life and lifted into the air, each High Elder’s recorded vote within the rune of the Kentor they represented on the council. The City Magistrates had no vote in matters of the school’s students, only on matters that impacted the city of Dule Van’s economy, so their signatures were not required.

The runes moved together above the table, and a bright glow appeared when they touched. In a moment, the glow faded, and a parchment of paper was in the air in place of the runes. The paper was quite long, a contract detailing the rights and responsibilities of the council, along with the details of the order to name-shackle the boy. Seven small runes glowed softly below the small text as signatures, four on the left side of the paper and three on the right. The paper rolled itself up and disappeared as it was automatically transported to the records office for processing. They would see that Jareth was notified via courier, the document was stored in the records vault, and that the truth room was prepared for use in the morning.

Rianna attempted to express her appreciation to Marcus for his vote but was interrupted by a courier who had just entered the room.

“High Elder Rianna, you have a message in the communication tower from somewhere far south of our location. They are asking for you by name.”

Marcus’ eyebrows rose in surprise at the news, but he said nothing. With hidden anger, Rianna excused herself and left the room to receive her message. In her haste, she forgot to deactivate the spell on the table. Marcus sat staring at the table for some time, contemplating his decision, the curious communication Rianna had received, and the prophecies that had driven them to this point. As he stared, he realized that the memory spell was still active, and as he studied it, he could see that something was different about the spell.

Realization dawned on Marcus as he gazed at the spell. He did nothing to the spell, not wanting to gain attention, and called for the courier to bring him writing materials. The movement was working faster than they had anticipated. He needed to work fast, starting with a letter to Jareth. It was time to act.

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