Bertan`s quest by Michelle Tarynne (ereader android .txt) 📕

"The High Council had just finished their proceedings. Seekinglands representatives are on the run for some reason, though no official and visible power hunts them. The Axes plan to settle all of their forces in the Ombre Valley," Bertan reported the main points of her latest investigations.

"Excellent news!" the man seemed so exceptionally pleased that he clasped his hands together. He was readying himself to go back into the streets of the Royal City once again, to deliver the good news further into the chain of command. "I think we might be ready soon, too," he murmured more to himself than to her. After a moment of pondering on the news, he looked at her and frowned. "Why are you here Bertan? There are safer ways for you to deliver this kind of message."

"I know, but I need to speak with the High Mother of the Third Line," Bertan answered slowly. Her words were heavy with the weight that drove into her as she uttered them. Her Fate was sealed right then, by those words of her free will.

"Nothing has changed since your last conversation, and I'm sure, you are aware of that." The man was one of the few, who had witnessed first-hand the disastrous aftermath that the last meeting between Bertan and the Mother had brought upon the whole Second Line House. The bloodbath that followed Bertan's blood training resistance wiped out nearly all the House slaves, and that put everyone, even him, in a very uncomfortable situation for the next Cycles. He had always thought that someone, so concerned with the lowlifes, would have more sense to keep more of them alive. That one swift strike of a sword had been her right, and her duty. This girl should feel lucky that her Mother had a soft spot for her, and revoked the only suitable punishment.

"Yes. I'm clearly aware of that fact, and I still require this meeting to take place within the Royal City walls," Bertan admitted, stern and uninviting in her tone and posture. She wanted nothing more than this conversation to end. It was her adapting a Sword way and consider many words to be nothing more than obstacles to any future plans lying near ahead.

"But of course," he flustered. He was probably mindful to hide his most useful slaves. Just in case. "May I be of service guiding you, Bertan of the Third Line?" his tone and style became suddenly all too formal and intense for her comfort.

"I know how to find my way, High Priest Lyk," Bertan smoothly adapted present formality. Having been raised in the Third Line Home, required fluency in rigid protocol in order to survive, and preferably keep your head on your shoulders.

"Of course, I'll call upon your Line guards to accompany you." The High Priest had quickly bowed and hurried away, stressed by the way today's events turned out. Informing the High Mother of her last daughter's request was of the utmost importance.

The four guards had appeared silently, Bertan noticed they were the same that had intercepted them once their platform arrived.

"Guide us to the Red Rooms of the Third Line," she commanded quickly, feeling tired already. She would not know what the next cycle brings, but at least she could meet it clean, and wearing her favorite, comfortable, and fresh robes. Bertan felt a need to lie to herself a little bit longer, for she knew exactly, what was expected of her, when she comes back to her Line's House.

The only reason she accepted the Southern Point position back then, under the excuse of being trained into her 'other' ancestors ways, was the need to run away from the bloody in-house training. Freedom never bore any meaning in the Swords territory, whether you were a slave or a master. Somebody would always own your body, thoughts, and will.

They were escorted in silence. The sole focus of Genes' mind was on the floor that was inviting him with its slight glow of a faint light, embedded with crystals in a colorful glass. He was too tired and overwhelmed to look around, to maybe try to hear things around, and too slow to try to connect with Bertan.

She started to scare him a bit then, if he were be honest with himself. Not that he even tried at that moment, as honesty would mean the acceptance of the very unacceptable. One moment, she ceased to be a thief of facts only to become a Royal Lady, graceful and tense in her statue. She spoke with such an air of command, as if the world revolved around her, for the sole purpose of being owned by her graces.

Genes came to a late, and a startling conclusion that, after all, this was her home. Bertan of the Third Sword's Line, or at least something along those lines, and he agreed to be her slave. Lost in his thoughts, he paid no attention to their route, following her like a faithful shadow, almost running into her when they reached their destination. He would trust her with his life though, for what other option was there for him?

"Are you thirsty?" were the first words Bertan said when heavy doors closed behind them, leaving only the uncomfortable silence than hung in the air like unwanted truth waiting to be revealed. Genes just stood there silently for a long while, clearly struggling to grasp everything that surrounded him. She came to him, got his makeshift hood off, and untied the kite's sheet of fabric to uncloak his body that was worryingly unresponsive.

"Are you thirsty Genes?"Bertan asked again, taking his face in her hands. His only answer was a quick nod. He stood there helplessly, not knowing what to do with himself, what to say, where to sit, as the red room appeared to be nothing but a large, luxurious but empty space.

"Just who exactly you are, Bertan?" he asked dazedly. She had no answer for him so she took his hand to lead him. Without any argument, he let her be his guide around this foreign place that spelled his death in each darkened, and yet painfully beautiful corner.

"Let's just drink for now or maybe you would want to get cleaned first?" Bertan said easily leading him to a curtain-covered wall, that proved to be no wall at all, but a richly decored niche.

"Water please," he croaked tightly, having just realized how thirsty and dry he really was.

"All right. That can be a bit difficult Genes. We don't drink water here. I hope you will like our juice though. It's not the Idle Juice obviously," she answered the unspoken question in his eyes handing him a huge chalice. "Drink up, it works miracles, believe me. We call it a Tharo Juice."

She immediately snorted with laughter, noticing the way grim-faced Genes carefully examined the chalice, and the juice itself. Finally, after he had his first sip, his face lightened up a bit and he just downed whole liquid at once.

"Gods, you just can't pretend, can you?" she couldn’t stop laughing. All the tension left her at once with the light mood that her laughter provided. The future ever so dark bore no meaning. For a few moments innocent inner peace reigned in her core.

"No, we don't lie," Genes answered sternly, unwelcoming any further conversation on the topic of her lies, truths, and omissions.

"I know, but let's face it… you all seem quite a serious, uptight lot," she said lightly, after drinking her own portion of the juice, waiting for its miracle works.

"Who?" he asked, totally baffled.

"You… Seekinglanders," she explained exasperated, "It's not like there is anyone else in this room, but you and me.'

"No, we are not uptight!" he scoffed at the impossible, for him, reasoning. "We know how to have fun."

"Not really, you don't. Let's be honest, you are all about the Oracle, analyzing every sound it ever made." Bertan thought deeply about the observations, she had made during her brief interactions with his tribe. "Drinking hazing juice doesn't mean having fun. It's like, you don't know how to take the world less seriously."

"You just don't get it Bertan. I'm not sure you ever could. You don't know, how it is to feel the end of your life creeping in constantly. You don't know, the joy that can be packed into one last word, and the intensity in knowing you are not meant to last," he said slowly, looking at her through his dazed eyes.

"That's what I'm saying. You are too serious… too intense to have fun…" she couldn't finish her thought. She felt that she got too deep into her own feelings. It wasn't a place she wanted to dwell too long.

Genes couldn't focus on her words as well, for a strange warmth has engulfed his whole body at once. "Are you sure it's not a hazing juice?" He almost slurred, in his relaxed state. The sofa, that appeared to be on his right side, suddenly looked the most inviting, so he heeded its invitation with a groan of pleasure.

"Yes, I'm sure. It will be over soon. It's rich in the things a tired body needs, and it will give you some strength. It gives so much more to the Swords." Bertan walked to another curtain, which hid, even more beautiful niche.

"We need to drink now as much as possible. It's not allowed to take it outside the city's premises." Bertan did not mention that it was forbidden to give it to the slaves too. Technically, he still wasn't one, so the loophole still existed. All the repercussions that her actions could bring, were pushed to the corners of her mind, not to be worried about at that moment. Fates be gentle, or just let them perish in peace, she thought.

"Ah, the legendary, magic potion. I've heard so much about it," he sighed, deeply within the blissful state that the juice brought into his body. His mind refused to work, so he closed his eyes for a while.

"It's not magic," she scoffed at him quickly, but added hesitantly, "It's just a nutritious juice made of few plants that grow in the caverns deep underground. It keeps the life flowing inside you more freely."

"So, does it work on everyone?" Genes asked curiously, though as in slow motion, not bothering to open his eyes anymore.

"Basically, yes," she hid the truth once again, and she had the feeling, it would not be the last thing to hide from him either.

"On me too?" A soft tug at his core tried to tell him, there were things she was not sharing with him, again. He decided to let it go, unwilling to break the beauty of a strange bond that seemed to link them together in the unimaginable ways. He could almost feel, as if his core was tuning up for her, and it tingled every time she tried to mislead him. He let it go, for what other option did he have.

"Of course it works on everyone. Why would it not? Are you that afraid of living a few years longer?" she asked carefully. The serious tone of that question was covered with a lack of eye contact, and a light tone of her voice.

"If it's by magic, or bloodshed then yes, I'm afraid," he said wearily. The fog clogging his mind seemed to start lifting.

"I told you, it's no magic. Everyone in the city can make the juice out of the plants. It's just that most of the people here are lazy royals that tend to have people to wipe their butts, so of course, nobody really makes the juice the juice. Everyone just gets it." Uneasy truths had to be told at some point, she knew. At one point, he would have to learn every dirty Sword secret. Just not yet, she decided, he should not learn to hate her so quickly.

"People here don't do what here?"