Blades of Gresva (Falls of Redemption) Read online

  BLADES OF GRESVA

  A FALLS OF REDEMPTION SHORT STORY

  Justin M. Sloan

  www.JustinSloanAuthor.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Blades of Gresva (Falls of Redemption)

  WHAT TO READ NEXT

  AUTHOR NOTE

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  Also By Justin Sloan

  To my family and friends, and all the others who believed in me as I set out on this writing journey. This was my first book, and therefore a scary endeavor, but you stuck with me.

  BLADES OF GRESVA

  by Justin Sloan

  Copyright © 2016 Justin Sloan.

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. No people known to the author have become gods or believe themselves to have done so. The language in this novel has been modernized so as to keep it comprehensible, and liberties have been taken as such. Please consider leaving a review, and tell your friends about BLADES OF GRESVA.

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  The morning sun glinted across the ripples of the calm ocean, almost dancing as they approached the gently swaying fishing vessel of Sergon Maigus. This was his home when he wasn’t tending to the needs of Valhia with his wife and children.

  He gave a nod to one of his men, Charos, to pull in the nets. Charos was no fisherman. He was more of a fighter—and one of Sergon’s most trusted servants. The muscles bulged under Charos’s tanned robes. Sergon was happy to have the man on his side. Even more so when considering the servant’s way with a sword.

  “Help the man,” Sergon said when he saw the others had already pulled in their nets.

  They rushed over to help, struggling against the heavy load that had somehow taken to Charos’s net, but none of their own.

  Fishing wasn’t the true reason Sergon was out here today. He turned to the bow of the ship and scanned the horizon.

  “You keep looking away,” a man said, stepping up next to him, “when the fish are below.”

  The man, Arkist, was old enough to be Sergon’s father if he guessed it right, but he stood tall and strong as some of the youngest fishermen. Only his wrinkles and the gray in his hair gave any hint of his age.

  “It doesn’t concern you, Arkist.”

  “As chief guard to the mayor, the question of your sanity always concerns me.”

  Sergon scoffed and considered telling the man about the mission—but no, now was not the time. The Reveries of the religious land of Gresva had said they’d send someone, and soon. But apparently that didn’t mean now. Why they were to come by sea was beyond him—he only knew what they had told him. Someone was to arrive by ship, and Sergon was to go with him, no questions asked.

  Well, he had questions, but he knew how to be patient, to wait until the right moment. More often than not, his questions were answered before his curiosity got the best of him.

  “Shall we turn the sails, then?” Arkist asked.

  Again Sergon scanned the horizon, hoping for the smallest glimpse of sail, but when none came, he nodded.

  They sailed back to Nethia, the scent of fish strong, but welcome. It meant a change of pace from the lamb his wife, Gaila, preferred more nights than not. He steadied himself against the mast, watching as they rounded the cliffs, waiting for Nethia’s city walls to show themselves. When they did, he sighed in satisfaction that this was the land he called home. Often at this time, the same memory would flash across his mind—he was small, a young boy, and his father was holding him on his shoulders so the young Sergon could see the city they were moving to.

  Where they’d come from, he couldn’t remember. They had arrived by ship, but he could never ask his parents about the journey. His mother had died years before, and his father only lasted six months in this new city once dysentery had set in.

  That part of the memory was best blocked out, so instead Sergon focused on the new life he had. How he had struggled through the fishing trade to make his way. How he’d met Gaila and fallen for her on that sunset-lit evening when, just after a storm, the sky was still swirling with clouds. And how he had his two sons, Narcel and Sinoda, to see that the Maigus name lived on.

  They tied off the ship. The men at the docks helped with the fish, some of them merchants who paid him immediately, others servants who took the remaining catch back to Maigus Hall to prepare the feast.

  “Nothing?” asked a servant, who Sergon knew worked for his friend Maceo.

  “Tell him we’ll have to check again tomorrow,” Sergon said, and walked past the servant on his way home. He passed by the towering statue of the god Ordius in the town square, and the barracks where his sons studied warcraft. He continued, careful to avoid the east side of the city, where ruffians cared little for the fact that he was their mayor. Money and blood were the same, regardless of who they came from.

  Sergon returned home to find his young sons playing in the yard. An urge came over him to turn and run away. It was difficult to see them so happy, and to know he’d have to leave them soon. Better to build a wall around his heart and be done with it, but that wasn’t him.

  He charged into the mix with a shout, hands up like a bear. Narcel, the younger of the two, shrieked. Sinoda laughed and charged his father, but the bear was too powerful. He lifted Sinoda up into the air before “devouring” him and setting him back down.

  “Did you catch many fish, Father?” Narcel said, tugging on his father’s robes.

  “We did, but I ate them all on the way back. So, sorry, none for you.”

  “I’d say we all win in that case,” Sinoda added with a smirk.

  “Enough of that. Where’s your mother?”

  Sinoda nodded to the doorway where Gaila stood, leaning against one of the thick wood planks. Sergon loved the way she had tucked her hair behind her ears, so that he could see her beautiful neck—the neck he wanted more than anything to press his lips against at that moment. Her beauty was compounded by the turquoise robes and aquamarine sash usually worn on feasting day, even though that day was still months away. She knew they were his favorite.

  “You were out long enough,” she said.

  “No arguing with that.” He went over to her and took her in his arms, ignoring the snickering from his boys. “You’re as beautiful as the day we met.”

  “That day was many years ago. And no, I’m not.”

  “You always will be.”

  She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide the smile pulling at her lips.

  “Come, boys,” Sergon said, motioning them all inside.

  Having retired to the back room, the boys watched Sergon paint. Gaila moved to the front room to finish going through their finances, as she often would. It was up to Sergon to fish and train the boys, and her to do the finances, run the house, and manage the servants.

  If he didn’t get his time with his paints or charcoal, his thoughts and all the chaos started to run together. Painting was really about maintaining his sanity—and partly his secrets. This wasn’t the first mission from Gresva. Years after taking on this role, he still hadn’t been allowed to tell his family. A quick brush stroke along the edge of the wood, a splash of red along the center, a stab with the paintbrush for more paint. This was his way of trying to push back the thoughts of what he’d seen in the depths of the cave, where he’d gone to put down a faction worshipping the old gods.

  H
is hand shook at the thought, images taking over—smoke swirling above a mutilated corpse, long dead... and then it had twitched. The body had glowed with moonlight silver, standing to look at him before the Reveries at his side had called upon Ordius and struck with their blades, which had been soaked in the waters of the holy mountain of Gresva. The spirit, or whatever it had been, shrieked and exploded in a burst of light, leaving the men and women who had participated in the unsavory ritual to flee into the night. Hunting them down had almost been worse than watching the man come back from the dead. Almost.

  “Father?” Narcel said.

  Sergon looked up from where he had collapsed to his knees. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped painting, or that the memories had gotten the better of him. Sweat had clumped his hair together, and he had to pull his hair aside to see his boys. They were staring with open mouths and wide eyes. He pushed himself up, holding his face in his hands.

  “I—I’m sorry.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Narcel said, staring at the splattered colors. Thick globs of red, bursts of chaotic purple and blue. “Isn’t it, Sinoda?”

  “Control yourself, father,” Sinoda said before slamming the door behind him on his way out.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” Sergon repeated. He went to the door and opened it. “Come, dinner must be ready by now.”

  Narcel simply stared at the painting, infatuated with it. Perhaps Sergon would have been impressed with himself too, if he had painted it in his right mind. But that abomination of colors was simply a reminder of his pain, of the dancing act he was playing with sanity every time he thought of the true horrors of this world. The horrors he hoped his sons would never know.

  He turned and walked down the stairs, stomach rumbling at the scent of oil, fire, and baked fish. Anything to distract him.

  “Sergon, dear?” Gaila said from just beyond the turn in the stairs, her shadow visible from the kitchen light.

  “I’m coming. Narcel should be right behind me.”

  “It’s not that....”

  He turned into the kitchen and saw Gaila at the door, two Reveries in their purple robes standing in the middle of the room. Both women stood tall and proud, but one wore the silver threads in her hair that signified a rank higher than any Sergon had yet to meet.

  Not again, not so soon. He wanted to flee or shout and tell them to get off of his property. But the fear lasted only a moment before he steeled himself and focused on the mission. He was a servant of Gresva, not some cowering dog.

  “At last, we find you,” the higher ranking of the two said. “It has been quite the journey.”

  The younger one, who couldn't have been much older than Sergon's eldest son, turned to her partner in confusion and said, “Should we not wait?”

  “The time for secrets has passed, Carmea.” She turned to Gaila. “Gresva has need of your husband. We apologize, but we must be off now.”

  “What could you possibly need my husband for? Is Gresva suffering from a lack of fishermen?”

  “Vierna,” Carmea, the lower ranked woman, said as she stepped forward cautiously. “You may not have been told that the full picture has been obscured in favor of secrecy.”

  “Is that so?” Gaila looked at Carmea, then to Sergon. “And you’ve actually been able to keep this all to yourself? I’m impressed.”

  Sergon started to smile, but saw the annoyance pass over Gaila’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Gaila held up a hand. “You know how I feel about them.”

  “Them?” Carmea said, a tilt to her head as she waited for Gaila to elaborate.

  Sergon took his wife’s hands in his. “ I have to go.”

  “You haven’t eaten.”

  He looked at the Reveries, but Carmea shook her head.

  “It’s time,” Sergon said, flinching when Gaila pulled her hands from his. He had expected her response to be worse, but it still hurt. “Tell the boys... tell them I’ll be back.”

  Realization swept over Gaila’s face, and she turned on him. “All those long nights away, spent in the fishing trade, they were part of some, what, exactly? A religious cult or something?”

  “The opposite, actually.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Sergon bit his lip. Then, without looking to the Reveries for fear they’d try to stop him, he told her the truth. That he was never actually a fisherman, that he’d been working with the Reveries as an assassin, of sorts. To stop the old ways from returning, the worship of The Six.

  The look of betrayal on her face was nothing compared to the dry, hollowness of her voice as she said, “Just go.”

  And so he did. He found his belongings tossed next to the entryway and donned his war helmet. Its flowing hair rose out of the top in a way that gave the impression he was several inches taller. He told his sons he had more fishing to do, hugged each of them, and left.

  It wasn’t until the house was small in the distance that he realized wearing the helmet to “go fishing” had probably come across as a tad suspicious.

  The Reveries led him toward the water, but soon turned north. They walked in silence, a long silence that gave him time to think about his boys and wish things had gone differently with Gaila. He loved her dearly, but she’d always thought the worship of gods foolish. If she had ever glimpsed the slightest bit of how devoted he was to Gresva, he was sure she would’ve stopped loving him. At the very least, she wouldn’t have been able to look at him with respect.

  They were approaching the outskirts of Nethia when he couldn’t keep his thoughts in anymore.

  “Was coming into my home all that necessary?” he asked, his voice nearly cracking in frustration.

  “Mr. Maigus, keep your voice down,” Vierna replied, motioning to several heads that had popped into nearby windows to see what the commotion was all about. “Reports of our situation are worse than we’ve seen in the past. A man appeared at the borders of Gresva, tattered, eyes mad, claiming he’d seen a man brought back from the dead.”

  “Could that be possible?” Though of course he feared it was. Images of the body he’d seen rise came to his mind. Screaming. The scent of burnt flesh.

  “I see in your eyes you know,” she said. “They’ve gone undetected, and may grow too powerful to stop if we don’t hurry. So forgive us if we seem a little too rushed to worry about upsetting your wife.”

  “We must wipe all memory of The Six from Braze,” Carmea said. “And then from the world.”

  “So let it be done.”

  Sergon steeled his nerves, breathed deep, and asked, “Are we taking my ship or yours?”

  ***

  Within the hour, Sergon had his team assembled—two men from Valhia that he’d come to trust over the years, one of them his friend from before he could remember. That man was Maceo, and he towered over the others. He’d won all the women’s hearts, all except Gaila. Ever since that day, the man had looked at Sergon with more respect, and even more so when Sergon’s hard work training with the sword paid off, and he’d bested Maceo.

  “Equals now,” Maceo had said, his wide grin revealing teeth stained from the root he chewed on.

  “We were equal before,” Sergon had replied. “Now I’d say it’s time you look up to me.”

  Maceo had laughed and picked himself up off the ground, towering a good foot over Sergon. He’d nodded and said, “Agreed.”

  Now he stood next to Sergon, following his orders without question. Not as a servant, as the other man was, but as a loyal friend.

  They used the crew the Reveries had sailed with, but took Sergon’s ship. Otherwise, people in the village would ask questions regarding his whereabouts. Seeing as he changed his crew often, the new crew wasn’t a problem. He could stick to his fishing voyage story upon return.

  Waves beat against the ship, but the choppy waters meant more wind to speed the sails along. The men at the oars helped keep her steady, and the rhythmic drumming kept Sergon’s head stable.

  “Have you
met these two before?” Maceo asked when they had reached the deep sea and half the crew could rest.

  “The senior one, I’ve heard about. But met them? No.”

  “Even when the wind pushes strong, the captain steers the ship, remember that.”

  Sergon nodded, taking note of the way his friend stared at him.

  “What?” he finally asked.

  “After last time, I wasn’t sure we’d be coming back out here.”

  Sergon rubbed his ribs, feeling the sting of the scar there. It’s true, he’d considered calling it quits. Having to lie to Gaila and say it was a fishing accident, not a follower of The Six, had taken a mental toll on him just as the wound had done its damage, keeping him bed-ridden for several days.

  “True, but the mission ... Do you know anyone better at it than I?”

  “Yes, me.”

  The two laughed, and Sergon clasped his friend on the shoulder. “I’d be dead once and many times if not for you, I can’t deny that.”

  “And I you.”

  “If you two are done here,” the crisp voice of Vierna said. She stood behind them, hands folded behind her back. Past her, Carmea was leaning over the ship’s rails, looking sick. “I’d ask if you have any herbs on board. She’s still finding her sea legs.”

  “I’ll show you the way,” Maceo said with a bow of his head.

  Carmea looked at Sergon with a weighing eye, then followed Maceo below deck.

  Most of the night they sailed, keeping the moon port-side, careful never to lose sight of land. Out here, if you couldn’t see land, you were likely never to see it again.

  “Feeling better?” Sergon asked Carmea when he found her below deck, sipping on tea.

  “Much ... Well, somewhat, anyway.”

  “Maceo took command so I could check on you.”

  “You... didn’t have to do that.”

  He sat down on the steps beside her. “There’s a lot I don’t have to do that I do anyway.”

  She smiled, looking sheepish over her mug, the steam rising up and around her gray eyes.

  “What’re you doing here?” he asked.