Jovan's Gaze

Chapter 8

"Missing something?" The voice echoed among the statues. It was a deep, sneering voice. It mocked me.

I drew my sword, spaced my feet out in a fighting stance, and waited assault. The courtyard was quiet, save for the lingering echo of the voice, which did not seem to fade as it should.

"Who speaks?" I said quietly. Nothing. "Who speaks?" I called out again, louder. My voice did not echo at all, as if the statues swallowed up my voice, trapped it, refusing to let it carry at all.

The voice laughed cruelly. It was some Dark Lord. I was sure of it.

"Face me!" I demanded. "I am not afraid of you."

"Of course you're not afraid of me," the voice intoned. "Why would you be?"

"Where are you?"

"Here," came the reply. "I am right here, even if you can't see me." The tone changed mid-sentence. The formal Kronan growl seemed to shift into something else. It seemed familiar, even if I couldn't place it.

"Let me see you," I snarled, looking left and right in search of my hidden assailant. "Come out from hiding."

"I'm not hiding, Jovan." The voice seemed amused, yet I knew it spoke the truth. What that truth meant was another matter.

"Then why can I not see you?"

"You're not looking hard enough," he retorted. "You're not looking in the right place."

"I am not afraid of you, Kronan," I spat.

"So you say," the voice replied. "So you say, and so I have acknowledged. Of course you don't fear me. Why would you? People only truly fear things they don't understand. You understand me, Jovan. You understand us."

I felt my heart stop, as if it dared not beat. My breathing held fast. My body did not move. Even my eyes did not shift in search of the voice. I felt a spark of fire ignite in my chest. The fire spread, until my entire body burned with dread. It consumed me whole, from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. Had it been true flame, I would have been a beacon of blazing flesh. Inside, it felt as though that were truly so.

"What's wrong, Jovan?" the mocking voice intoned. "Now you're afraid. Why is that?"

I wondered how to respond. I wondered what sort of words the voice expected. After a moment, I found the strength to mutter, "I do not know you."

Just then I felt a hand grasp my left hand. I felt a shock, and I dropped my sword. I stepped away, but the hand held me. I looked to it, and saw that it was gloved, the flesh hidden. My eyes slowly, painfully traced a path up my assailant's arm, which was covered in a simple black shirt. The shirt was buttoned up to the collar, which halted at the jaw. From there, a mask of cloth covered the entire face, save for the eyes. The eyes were cruel, though I could not tell what they wanted. They were familiar, though I could not place their master. They knew me, though I could not be sure how that was so.

"Don't fear me," the assailant demanded. "Don't fear me, Jovan."

"What are you?" I whispered.

I could sense this terrible thing smiling beneath his mask. He knew the truth. He knew that I recognized him, at least partially. This was the unknown Dark Lord, the statue from the corner of the courtyard. This was the Dark Lord whose name had been scratched out, whose reign had been erased. What did he want with me? I asked him.

"That comes later, Jovan." His voice shifted from amused to serious, determined. "I know exactly where you are. I know exactly where you have been. I know exactly where you are going."