Foxfire (The Blood Oath) old version

Chapter 24: A Wolf in Sheep's Skin (new inclusion)

It was time to move again.

Drake was ready to say a proper goodbye to his home this time. He walked down a long passageway in the Palace Court, pondering on the responsibility fate had dumped on his shoulders. Soon the monks would come to take him away. The pious men were right. He was too inexperienced to carry the mantle of a Shade, a spiritual leader to the world at large. People from distant lands would come to him to find solutions to their problems. How then can a boy who has only seen sixteen summers and winters, give comfort Kings and their Vassals?

He bit his fingers. Nervousness crept upon him like a bad case of a running stomach during a council meeting. Somehow, he had found courage to fend off an assassin of the Night cult. It was a feat few in the Nine Worlds could boldly claim. Where was that courage now that he needed it most?

"My Lord," a servant called, "the Monks of Divination are ready for you. They await you at the palace court."

"Thank you," Drake muttered.

He glanced down at his grey coat to make sure he was properly dressed and then followed the servant towards the court. They guards at the entrance pulled their spears aside to make way for him and Drake entered.

The hall was full.

Noble men and their ladies had gathered at one side brandishing colourful coats and dresses. Drake felt the sweat licking his face. Their eyes were all set upon him. His hands shook from anxiety, but he managed to calm them.

His father, the Duke of Dale, sat on a chair made of precious stones. It might look beautiful from afar, but Drake had sat upon that chair before when his mother was still the Queen of Laughter. He could remember how much his buttocks hurt after he retired to his chambers.

"Son," a monk came to his side, "are you ready?"

Drake recognized him. His name was Brother Benedict, a monk of Divination sent by the Highorder of Dale's Temple to bring him for the Rites of Transference.

"Yes," he replied coldly.

Elizabeth entered the court escorted by William. Drake's eyes lingered upon her. He did not like the way his half-brother has recently developed a friendly attitude towards her. All eyes seemed to have lost interest on Drake and settled upon Elizabeth. She was in a blue flowing garment, belted at her waist with a golden girdle. Flowers of lavender, blue roses, and jasmine, had adorned her hair as a garland. Golden hairs fell upon her shoulders, bright in the light streaming through the hall's stained glasses.

William played the gentleman, relieving her hands upon those from an older man who seemed to be her father. The elderly man was one of the Chiefs of Elondale's tribesmen occupying villages at the Kingdom's borders.

"You know, I see the way you look at her." The Monk smiled at Drake.

"What?" Drake pretended.

"I don't blame you," Brother Benedict said, "She possesses a wild beauty."

Drake remained silent.

"I'm sorry for the burden you must bear," the Monk continued.

"What burden?" curiosity aroused Drake's attention.

"The path of a Shade is one which he must walk alone. You cannot share a life with anyone."

Drake hung his head. His heart was certainly now divided. "What do you mean?" he asked again, face frowned as if he hadn't heard the Monk at first.

"Well," Brother Benedict paused for a second, "the thing is that Shades are supposed to go through their life celibate. Think of it like this, you get so powerful for one little sacrifice. So you and her, or anyone else, is not happening."

A monk in a brown robe with a hood over his head came to Brother Benedict. He leaned closer and whispered to the monk's ear.

"It is time," Brother Benedict glanced at Drake. "You passed the Brotherhood's test. Now, you must swear your oaths before the Seven Patrons, while the Kings of Men must bear witness."

"Aye," Drake nodded. "I just have to take a piss."

Brother Benedict's hand came upon his shoulder. "I know you are scared, kid. But you can do this."

Drake gazed into the man's brown eyes, for a moment it seemed like he was looking at Alfred, his dead guardian. The monk seemed to genuinely mean what he said.

"Okay," Drake said, breathing in hard.

"Come with me," Brother Benedict beckoned at him, "there is something I would like to show you."

The monk slunk into the long passageway and Drake followed him. There was little light in the hallway. Its walls were decorated with carved faces, somewhat bizarre but beautiful. He had walked the hall a thousand times and had memorized each face of Elondale's heroes carved on the wall.

"Did I ever tell you about the origin of the Shades?" Brother Benedict tucked his arms in each other as he walked.

"I supposed we have not established that seeing we met a few days ago."

"Yes, of course," the monk flashed a wide grin. "Can I speak honestly?"

"You are a free man," Drake replied.

"I believe the Nine Worlds needs something new. Shades are instruments of a decadent tradition, a time when the world needed protection from fire worshipers and stone men. Blood sigil is a dying miracle, a fading tree under cloudless skies."

Something didn't feel right. Drake paused and stared at Brother Benedict. His mind was torn with confusion.

"What are you trying to say?"

Brother Benedict turned to face him fully. "Let's be frank, Drake. The world has changed. People no longer need the protection of Shades. You are more valuable in the power tussle of Kings than your job of protecting the Nine Worlds, that's why they are all gathered here to see you. They did not come for a Rite of Transference, but to compete among themselves as to who get to you first."

Drake remained silent trying to weigh the monk's words in his mind.

"There is a place where I can take you to," Brother Benedict continued. "You will learn amongst those with a mind like yours and become something far greater than a peacemaker."

"Drake, Drake . . ." a voice cried behind him.

Drake turned. Elizabeth was moving hurriedly towards him with another monk at her side.

"Where have you been? Everyone is waiting for you."

"I'm sorry," he said, "I was just engaging in a conversation with Brother Benedict here," he pointed at the man standing by his side.

"Brother Benedict?" The second monk stopped suddenly, forcing Elizabeth to do the same. "Brother Benedict has been dead for five years now. He was the chief Abbot of our monastery in Helmshill."

A jolt of anxiety surged up Drake's body and he moved away quickly, setting a distance between him and the monk. Brother Benedict unleashed a smug smile.

"Who are you?" Drake balled his fists.

The monk rubbed his palm on his face and his features took another form. He appeared to be an old man this time, with receding white hair that fell long on his back.

"An Illusionist," Elizabeth didn't seem to be impressed.

Brother Benedict opened his arms wide. An uncanny gust of wind rushed through the passage way. Fire kindled on the dead torches hanging on the walls and then brightened the hallway. Drake noticed the man had summoned the flames drawing from his bond to Destruction magic. But there was something odd. Brother Benedict's palms were free of any runes that signified the presence of his blood sigil.

"What demon are you?" Drake cringed, moving a step further away from the monk.

"He is Darkness!" the second monk voice was laden with fear. "The Nightfather comes . . . the Nightfather comes . . ." he panicked and dashed back towards the palace court.