We were naive. We were blind in our thinking. We proclaimed the Arbiter of moral value dead, yet we were very simplistic in our moral thinking. Good could only produce good, wicked could only produce wicked. The Eight came from good, safe homes, and we trusted them. The King came from a shattered mess, conceived in evil. And we loathed him for it.
***
You are not a monster.
Laidu awoke to whimpering. On the floor, Thaen was sleeping, quiet and insensate to the world. Torvan was the source of it. The bandit was slumped over, still tied up, asleep, but terrified. Terrified of Laidu, terrified of the monster.
You are not a monster.
Laidu frowned. That was a new voice. Kasran's acidic hatred bubbled underneath a layer of...something, willpower or resolution. They were thoughts and feelings, but there was a tangible aspect to them, as if they were as real as the blanket he lay under, as real as the lumpy straw mattress that he was stretched out on. Those feelings and thoughts were something more, and Laidu was the one who wasn't real.
I'm not a monster? he asked the voice, conveying disbelief with his thoughts. He was getting batter at communication with them. It was a bit disturbing and unsettling, actually. He was getting better at talking to the voices of insanity.
You are not a monster. The voice was adamant, and somehow, Laidu could feel the iron resolution, could feel the willpower behind those words. It was an odd feeling, an almost physical sensation.
And how would you know? Laidu asked, rising from his bed.
I have lived it. And with that, the world changed.
Well, the world didn't change, but it felt like it did. There was a hatred, a vile, disgusting hatred, like filth and sewer slime and maggots poured, no, forced, down Laidu's throat, a powerful, almost undeniable self-loathing. What do you know of being a monster? What do you know of being hated? Hated by everyone, including yourself? Answer!
Laidu slumped to his knees, staring at his arms. But they weren't his. He didn't have innumerable scars, crisscrossing his forearms, raised lines of dead flesh, ripped scales. What do you know of loathing? Have you ever felt unclean? Dirty? Born by the seed of hatred, spawn of maggots?
Laidu hissed as pain ripped through him, tracing the lines of scars with lines of burning, scarlet pain. And he knew. He knew that it was his hand that carved those scars, his hand that brought the pain. What do you know of being a monster, where your very flesh is a blight on the earth, and pain is your only penance? Tell me, then. Please, enlighten me. Laidu grunted, grinding his teeth, his claws digging into the floor, pulling up little curling shavings. The pain and sickening emotions were a physical force, crushing him down to the floor.
Tell me, then. Have you ever hated yourself to the point of tearing into your own flesh, scarring and mauling yourself, because you would rather look at these abominable scars, and not look at yourself? Laidu looked down, at his chest, rising and falling, breath heavy with anguish and agony. He could feel claws digging into his chest, tearing at his flesh. Do tell me, the voice hissed, almost mocking. How are you a monster?
A hand touched his shoulder, and the vision vanished. Laidu's breath was ragged. "Laidu? Are you alright?" Thaen asked. The Vesperati was wearing a pair of pajama pants, made with red, black, yellow, and white cloth, in a traditional Vesperati fashion. It clashed with the grey and brown fur of
"Yeah. Now I am," Laidu said. He sat down, leaning against his bed. Thaen sat next to him, pushing up against Laidu's side.
"You don't seem it," Thaen said. "Is it...is it about the voices?" Laidu nodded. The Vesperati leaned in, putting an arm around Laidu. "You want to talk?" Laidu shook his head. How could Thaen understand? How could he ever comprehend the worry? The fear?
Laidu didn't voice the thoughts, but he did respond. He put his arm around his friend, and felt Thaen lean against his shoulder. "You know," Thaen said quietly, "my offer still stands. All these years. You adopted me into your family, you shared your room, your meals, your home with me." The Vesperati looked at Torvan, checking the bandit over. "My family wants to meet you. They call you the older brother they never met."
Laidu looked at his friend dubiously. "Really? Why would they do that?"
Thaen chuckled. "For a good two years, you were all I talked about. Remember when you gave me these?" He asked, pointing to the tiny burn scars on hs lips. "The people who saw these thought I was a hero. They thought I had the courage and the gall to attack a dragon. Eventually, I started to believe some of their stories. These scars, probably the best thing that happened. My ma and pa noticed the change. They demanded to know who was responsible. I told them it was you."
"Right. You said that before" Laidu said.
"My parents want to meet you." Thaen smiled. "My brothers and sisters do too." He smiled, leaning against the bed. "After this is done, come in and spend some time with my family. That should be helpful for you. It's hectic, but good for the soul."
Laidu nodded. "I might." That, however, posed more problems. The Ranger Corps would have issues with him taking a leave of absence that long. And he'd be leaving some close friends. Kyra. Skaria and Karik'ar. Even Indra.
Thaen sat up. "Hey. Shouldn't you be fake killing me?" He paused. "Don't worry. The bandit is still asleep. I checked his life pulse. Still out cold."
Laidu nodded. "First, I need your help." He looked at Torvan, still asleep, slumped over. "We need to move him."
Thaen nodded. "Where to?"
Laidu paused. "Hmm." He walked over to the trapdoor that led down into the root cellar. "Hold on. Just make sure he doesn't wake up." And with that command, Laidu kicked open the cellar door with one bare foot. "I'll be right back," he said, stepping down into the root cellar.
He walked through the dark cellar, grabbing the small lantern on a crate, sticking his finger on the wick, and lighting it with his Fever Blood. Kasran snarled, wordless, but it was quickly hushed.It seemed like he only surfaced when Laidu used his power. Was Kasran somehow tied to that part of Laidu's psyche?
The room was mostly old wood and hard-packed earth, and shelves of food shared wall-space with creeping roots that poked their way through the packed dirt walls. The odor was musty, and didn't smell like food. That part always confused Laidu, seeing as the shelves were almost overflowing with grain and other nonperishable foodstuffs.
The perishable foods -meats, fruit, eggs, and canisters of milk- were stored in chests, bound with steel, ones that hummed with the energy of the aether that chilled and preserved the food within. Laidu stepped past them, and stopped at a heavy door.
It was a storeroom, one with a sheer stone floor, and no shelves. Currently, it was empty, except for a small box on the side. Frowning, Laidu opened the box.
Chalk.
This was no storeroom, then. This was a casting room, designed for any Ranger with a hint of magical talent to use. Most likely, magic circles. And that gave Laidu an idea. Something from his lessons at Ranger Training. About Tethyd.
"Down here," Laidu said. "Move the chair over the trapdoor, and I can help lower him down." Immediately, a shadow covered the entrance of the root cellar. Laidu grabbed the legs of the chair, and slowly lowered the still-sleeping bandit down. Thaen hopped down a second later, sliding down the ladder. "Hey, make sure he's asleep. Alright? I need to untie him."
Thaen nodded, and stuck his finger in his mouth, and popped it out, slick with saliva. He swabbed it in Torvan's mouth. "That is foul," Laidu said, grimacing.
"Hey. It works," Thaen said. "Now, why do you need to untie him?"
"First rule of interrogation we were taught was to make the subject uncomfortable, right? Make them feel vulnerable." Laidu undid one of the knots, and began on the second. "How did they do that in your training?"
"A few ways, to toughen us up mentally," Thaen said, sitting on a crate. "They sleep-deprived us, overheated and exhausted us, exposed us to the elements, forcing us to strip naked, constant berating, beatings-"
"Rule out the ones we can't do."
"Beating him, sleep depriving him, disrobing him...oh. That. That's gross," Thaen said.
"Ironic, seeing as you feed him your spit," Laidu said. He pulled off the ropes, and yanked Torvan's shirt off. "Clothing is a kind of armor. We feel better with it on. Safer, less vulnerable. Well, most of us, at least. Karik'ar, not so much."
"Huh? He always wore clothing when I saw him," Thaen said. "I mean, he still smells like a goat, but I don't think he does that," he remarked.
"He did. Oh, right, you weren't there," Laidu said. "We had all taken a bath in the river we were near, and Karik'ar came back starkers." Thaen winced. "Probably scarred Kyra for life," Laidu said with a chuckle, as he spilled Torvan onto the floor. Vesperati spit did work, it seemed.
"Well, that's awkward," Thaen said. "You'd think a brute like him would at least know to keep his clothes on."
Laidu rolled his eyes. "Look. Try not to antagonize the guy. Please," he said, as he began to yank Torvan's dirty pants off. The man snored slightly, completely unaware of what was happening to his state of dress.
"Hey. His smell antagonizes me," Thaen said.
"Karik'ar doesn't smell."
"Not to you!" Thaen hissed. "Besides, he's Kai'Draen," he snapped. "They're all gross. And stinky. And one of them helps the rest of them. He's probably spying on you, you know."
Laidu shrugged. "If he was spying on us, then why did I see him get fearful when I saw his scars? Why did he make you swear not to tell anyone when he used his magic?" Laidu shrugged. "I met a Kai'Draen who mentioned any child born with magic not from a certain caste was killed. Karik'ar's probably got a death warrant on his head."
"Oh. Huh."
He grimaced at Torvan's body. Grimy, with hoglike, sallow skin, and a pot belly. Lovely. Well, Laidu had to go all the way, no matter how gross his . He undid the loincloth, sat the bandit up in his chair, and began to fasten the ropes around him again and again. "Light above, I feel like I need a bath after just touching him," Laidu muttered.
"Really? How do you think it feels sticking my hand in his mouth?" Thaen asked.
"Doubly gross. I don't want to know what he had in his mouth."
Thaen made a face of pure disgust and revulsion. "Hold on. I'm going to go clean the limb off. Or amputate it." He went back up into the main room of the cabin, and Laidu dragged the still sleeping bandit into the room.
The binds were tight, but Laidu had another idea. He moved Torvan over to the center of the room, and went over to the box, drew a piece of white chalk out, and went to work. First, a circle around Torvan, mostly round. Then, he began to draw shapes. A square, the corners facing Torvan's front, sides, and back. Another square, this one's corners touching the middle of the larger square's sides, also surrounded Torvan. Then, Laidu began to draw symbols. Vague alchemy inscriptions, thaumaturgic glyphs, even a few Ajandi-looking spirals. He tossed in a few more geometric designs, and he was about halfway around the circle when Torvan woke up.
"What are you doing?" Torvan asked, eyes wide. "Where are my clothes?"
"Away," Laidu answered, not looking up. "And don't move." He kept drawing, filling the room with the sound of ragged breathing and the scratch of chalk on stone.
"What are you drawing?" Torvan asked.
"A ward. It turns your body heat against you. Causes the fluid in your eyes to boil, causes the fat in your skin to go up like a candle wick." Torvan's eyes widened even further; any wider, and they'd fall out. Good, it was supposed to be terrifying. It had to be if Laidu was to fake it.
Laidu knew a bit about magic symbols. A bit. He knew which were deadly, which were not. He was hoping that Torvan knew nothing about the mage circles.
"It...it's not humming," Torvan said. Drat! Instantly, Laidu remembered that man, the conjurer in the castle. Of course Torvan would have had experience with magic circles. Laidu had to come up with something fast.
"Humming magic circles are inefficient. Ten-Zuani circles," Laidu said, "don't hum. They kill without sound." Torvan's eyes widened. Hopefully, he believed that.
Laidu finished with the drawing, and stood up. "Now, I want you to tell me who hired you," he said, scanning the bandit's body, letting his disapproval show in his body language. It would put Torvan on edge, being forced to be exposed. His cheeks reddened.
"No," Torvan said, glaring. "I'm not telling you."
"Fine." Laidu said. "That was your chance." He stepped into the circle, and yanked off a few hairs from Torvan's head. The bandit yelped, and Laidu placed the hairs in a small circle. "There. The circle is attuned to you. Try to step out, try to inch out, try to move the hairs, and you die. Painfully. " Laidu turned.
"Wait!" Laidu turned back. "You can't just leave me alone here!" Torvan said.
Laidu paused. "You don't want me here. Not when I'm hungry." With that, he closed the door.
He climbed up, back into the light of the cabin. "Thaen!" Laidu snarled.
"Yes?" a voice right behind his head asked. Laidu jumped and tried to turn over, and nimble as he was, he wasn't expecting the head trauma of him jumping up into a rafter. "Yeesh, clumsyscales," Thaen said, flipping down from his perch, "you going to trip over your own feet next?"
"No." Laidu rolled his eyes. "Did you see the picnic basket I got out last night?"
"Yep. Still downstairs. Why?" Thaen asked. He had his long-collared vest on again, and his weapons strapped onto him. "You going to take the bandit out for a picnic?"
"Not for me. For the rest of the crew." Laidu hopped back down into the basement, stepped over to one of the humming chests, and opened it. Wind rushed out, and Laidu stared at a variety of meats and eggs, canisters of milks and chilled beverages. He paused, pulled out a few slabs of meat, wrapped in wax paper, and shut the chest.
Laidu carried it up, along with the picnic basket. "Thaen," he said, "get ready to go."
***
Without Thaen, the cabin was empty. Just him and a terrified bandit locked up. Now, it was time to get to work.
Laidu checked the blood on him in a reflection on a relatively clean pot. Of course, he had to move and shift to see himself past some of the dirt on it. He had smeared the blood on again, having Thaen rip out some hair, sticking that on him. He really did look ghoulish. But that was what Laidu was aiming for.
He grabbed a towel laying down next to the pots and pans, and wiped a bit of it off. He could still smell the blood, and underneath that, a much more savory smell: bacon. Laidu had cooked quite a bit of meat for his friends. It was something he enjoyed, something that made him feel more human.
Of course, he needed to be more of a monster now.
Wiping himself off, he hopped down the ladder, into the root cellar, and opened the door, and stopped. "Really?" he asked flatly.
Torvan was on the ground, the chair on top of him, eyes wide with terror. Before he could do anything, Laidu yanked the chair upright. "Now," Laidu said, "will you talk?"
Torvan shook his head. There was a look in his eyes, the look of an animal who had seen the stinging end of the stick too much, the kind of animal given the belt or whip for any minor mishap. Terror. Torvan was afraid. Absolutely terrified. And there was only one way Laidu knew of to make him talk.
Become the new terror.
Kasran, Laidu said. I need to talk to you.
There was a dark, almost sluggish movement under the surface of the mind. Now you want to speak with me. I see. What do you want?
I need your help to scare Torvan, Laidu said. He didn't like trusting the voices, but here, he had no choice. He had to terrify immediately, terrify unreservedly, and terrify overwhelmingly. So thus, Kasran was his tool.
I have so many ideas, Kasran said dreamily, and images began to flood Laidu's mind. Torvan, suspended by his ankles, his head submerged in centipedes and worms. Torvan, weak and bloody, steel nails biting into his dirty flesh. Torvan, his body bent and-
Stop. Laidu commanded that, but the images changed. Karik'ar, bare limbs wrenched down, at unnatural angles by chains, all his exposed red skin black and blue. Indra, a length of rope stretching her body apart. Skaria, body filled with the thinnest of jagged blades. Thaen, his bare fur, covered head to toe in his own blood, whimpering softly as he cowered. Kyra, pushed on the ground, Laidu's hand at her throat, crushing her breath and scream in her windpipe, eyes wild with fear, as Laidu-
ENOUGH! Laidu roared mentally. Instead of forcing Kasran down, he grabbed the voice, forcing it against a wall made with its will. Listen to me, you miserable wretch of my mind, Laidu snarled, his hatred as powerful and acidic as Kasran's. You're in my mind. Today, you play by my rules! Understand?
Y...yes, Kasran whimpered. He was a coward.
Good. Now, the help I wanted?
Of course. This time, Kasran was quite helpful. Let me guide your words, let me counsel your tongue. Laidu didn't want to trust that voice, and he'd rather take cheery, idiotic Rhaem over Kasran any day. But now, he had to work with Kasran. There was no other choice.
"You still won't answer me?" Laidu asked, quietly, his words chosen and articulated by the voice, feeling like a layer of slime and oil over his tongue. Torvan shook his head. Laidu shrugged, prompted by Kasran. "Fine."
And then he punched Torvan in the nose.
The bandit reeled, and his bare, grime-stained chest was flecked with his own blood. "There. Now you know the price of disobeying me," Laidu said. He looked down at his own chest. "oh. Huh." Then, Kasran said something that made Laidu's skin crawl.
I am not doing that, Laidu insisted.
You have to, if you want to sell him the fact that you're a monster, Kasran said. Laidu sighed in his mind, then wiped a bit of the mix of hog and rabbit blood onto his finger, the blood Karik'ar, Thaen, and he himself had smeared over his scaly chest.
Then, he popped the finger into his mouth and sucked the blood off. Ugh! He wanted to gag at the iron-metal taste of it, but the Ranger forced himself to swallow. Foul! Very rarely, Laidu had tasted his own blood, and had always spat it out. He didn't understand how Thaen could like it. It was horrible to taste.
The effect on Torvan, however, was perfect. Here it was, in the bandit's mind. The empirical proof that confirmed his fears. Laidu had eaten his friends. It was working!
"Let me explain this," Laidu said. "You will talk."
"I won't," Torvan said. "He'll kill me."
"You shouldn't be worrying about if he'd kill you," Laidu remarked, looking away and wiping off his chest with the towel, buffing the scales until they shined. "After all, if you're not going to talk, I'll be doing things. Things that will get you to talk, make no mistake," he said, Kasran feeding him lines. "Things that will make you beg to be let free, so he can hunt you down and slaughter you. Things that will make you plead, make you lust after your own death."
Laidu turned to the door. "Soon, you'll experience the Inverted Drink. I have never experienced that, thankfully, but I must know everything about it. Every agonizing moment," he said. "Of course, I have to get the hot wax to just the right consistency before I begin to pour. You'll sing like a songbird," he said. "Good night." Laidu opened the door, and let it close.
I just recruited his imagination, Laidu realized, in my little quest to get him to confess.
Of course. You are too innocent, too much of a romantic, to think up these tortures. The filth within, Kasran said, is more adept at imagining the horrors. As am I. He chuckled.
Now, go away, Laidu said.
As you wish, gracious host. Call my name when you need me, swine. I will answer you. With that, Kasran's presence faded.
Laidu finished getting all the blood off himself, and left the towel down underneath, in the root cellar. Now, there was nothing else to do. Nothing but to wait.
He climbed up the ladder, stalked over to the bed, and flopped down on top of it. The thing creaked ominously, but held. Laidu put his hands behind his head -keeping tension off his neck, constantly being forced forward by his horns- and exhaled. It was exhausting, this job. But eventually, Torvan would talk. He was afraid of someone else, but Laidu could make him more afraid. Now, though, all he had to do was wait.
He sighed, and turned onto his side. A nap sounded nice. A nice, little rest. But, oddly enough, Laidu felt something off. There was something he hadn't felt in a while, ever since he had met Kyra, since he had met Skaria, Indra, Thaen, and Karik'ar. Something he was used to, but the past two weeks without the feeling had left him...spoiled, in a sense. He should have been used to it, but the past weeks had dulled his immunity.
He was lonely.
Not alone, no. Alone was when you were with yourself, when you were fine with the solitude. Introspection, meditation, high thoughts of philosophy, ethics, and truth were born of this time. He was lonely. When the hunger for isolation was quenched, when the soul had consumed enough philosophy, and the hunger for another person's presence, for the touch of a kindred being, just the sound of them breathing, was all you wanted, and you felt the absence like you felt a frigid blade into your heart. That, Laidu reasoned, was loneliness.
He curled up on the bed, keeping his feet from going over the edge, and hugged the blanket close to him. It still wasn't enough. His only companion was silence, and it said nothing, offered no comfort, only space for the void in Laidu's heart to grow larger. He settled down, and exhaled. Rest. Rest would help. Rest, sweet oblivion of the mind, would keep the loneliness at bay. That, and maybe some soup.
Soup would wait, maybe when Laidu woke up. The heavy lethargy spread through his body, weighing down his eyes and chest, and soon, he was asleep, his now blood-free chest rising and falling in even patterns. He drifted, mind insensate to the world around him.
Rest, o swine of mine. While you slumber away, I and my friends shall play.