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

"The Ruling House calls you in Bertan, the new Leader of the Third Line to the Throne," an odd pleasure appeared in his voice as he softly hissed out the last word, "Now."

"You see yourself I'm not robed, nor equipped for that visit, Ash." Her hands flew restlessly to make a point that only, as obsessed with the royal court rules male as Ash of the Second Line, would understand.

"We will wait for you Bertan," he mocked her tone, and restless hand gesture and he started to retreat closely followed by his guards. "While you will be getting ready for that visit," he whispered knowingly.

There was a moment of a great stillness, just after the loud clang of the closing doors had waved into its last echo. Not one breath broke that silence. Hidden Genes witnessed a silent movement of a red fury in the place that Bertan had stood just moments before. It was as if she became one with the missing wind. She was taking steps on her tiptoes, and her flowing robes would not match her speed. A fleeting and red night flower took its form for just two eye-blinks, to vanish just as quickly.

In his admiration Genes didn't dare to leave his hiding place, behind her sofa. Her hyper-awareness made him even more uneasy than the never-ending a'De state just moments before. He closed his eyes when she crouched to face him.

"Are you ready to hate me yet, Genes?" Bertan asked him softly. She searched, for fear in him, fear strong enough to melt his will, and erase his core. It was present, of course, it was there, just behind his eyes that he was slowly opening again, in the tremble of his hands, and in the way he bit his lips when she looked straight through him. His fear wasn’t strong enough to kill them, she decided. "Are you ready to hate me now Genes?" She repeated with the impossible force that felt so natural for her like it was her own.

"No." he breathed out "Yes." He closed his eyes to confess his deepest secret. "I don't know what hate is Bert. I don't know what love is either. I don't feel anything. And it's not like I have to kill it, I lack that ability within to feel anything more than the connection to seek."

"Is it your thing? I mean Anarthan?" she paused, thoughtfully analyzing his statement.

"Maybe, I don’t know. It’s not the thing we talk about freely,” he stuttered, “And now, I won't ask how do you know what lies at my core. But soon I will Bert, and you'd better have the answer ready." Fearless, as if a mere mention of his true origin made him find that last grain of courage to hold onto. He straightened up, feeling Great Cycles older. The maturity didn't just only awaken in him, but it reached its full potential, in one single moment of decision, he was forced to make. "What is it that you want me to do just now? Why would I hate you for that?"

"I need you now Genes, as much as you need me here to stay alive. It’s not safe for you to play my slave anymore, and now I hold the power to make you a Sword. Know that once it's done, it cannot be undone. You will be Sword until the day you die if the Fates are that kind to you," Bertan approached him slowly whispering into his ear, "Know that without it, we are as good as dead at this moment. There is no other way for you to leave the Sword territories alive and you are the only person I can trust in this place." She paused to give him some time to process her request, "It was not me who killed my Mother, just moments after we arrived here. You must be changed into a Sword. Are you ready to hate me for that Genes? Are you ready for a fight to stay alive for a little bit longer now?" She whispered that last plea almost inaudibly.

It was clear to his mind, and soul that she asked for his permission to make him into his own enemy. It felt weird for him to feel absolutely nothing about it. He heard no quiet voice of reason and no whispers of treason. Smile as bright as the starlight graced his face. It was becoming clear that placing his life and destiny in her hands brought a strange state of joy at his core. There was no other way, so it was the only right way, and it felt way too good to be a wrong choice.

"Do what must be done," was his only answer, “But I’m not cutting my hair,” he said stubbornly, tensing in anticipation for the unknown strike.

"I think, it will be best for you to take a bath now," Bertan said lightly as if no previous words were said out loud.

"A bath?" Genes repeated taken aback, suddenly uncertain of her sanity.

"A bath… to hide and replace our real scents, real Royals are weird that way," she explained.

"Real Royals? Are there the ones that are not real?"

"Yes. We are not real Royals. Me, and soon you too, are of the Third line to the throne. That means we are three steps away from being the real thing." Bertan laughed with ease looking less tense ever since he agreed to her proposal. "And that is actually the best what could have happened to us."

"Why?" It was hard, for a redneck boy, to grasp the complicity of his new formal reality.

"The Royal House is where the evil reigns," she said somberly, and her smile was quick to leave her face.

"So bath is needed so the evil wouldn't scent us?" he asked. He was surprised when she didn’t object his ridiculous statement.

"Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"Ah, you see, all my life I have been running away from this place, and I've spent a lot of time abroad. I've never paid any attention to the formal stuff," Bertan grimaced, "And apparently, now it's going to bite me in the wrong place."

"Isn't there one person you can ask?" Genes asked tentatively, “I just hope it’s not the thing you can do in a wrong way,” he muttered.

"As you well know by now, I'm having trust issues now, and Ash is waiting behind the main doors to take me for a visit to the source of evil," she groaned, clearly unhappy with the way events were unfolding. ”And I’ve never heard it could be done badly. I think.”

The bathroom they entered was blood red, like everything else of the Third Line. It was steaming with a white mist and a white foamy liquid that filled the bathing pools. A strong fragrance, emanating from that liquid, was pretty neutral, almost nice, but it felt like an acid in Genes' nostrils, burning and making him sneeze.

"What is that smell?" he almost failed to say, while struggling with the spasms of unending sneezing that shook his body time after time.

"It's the aroma of the assigned to the Third Line underwater fruit of Napple. It's also one of the ingredients of the Tharo Juice, our only food source. Our scent line as well as color originate from in. I think, it's important for you to remember that part, though it's used only in official situations. People of any Line always copy the Royal house customs only, never their own. There are seven Royal Houses of the Swords, each has own color code. Each House has one ingredient of the Tharo Juice assigned to its care. There are seven distinct scents, one for each House. Everything is neatly ordered into a six-pointed star that you can see almost everywhere around." Genes followed with his eyes where she motioned and was surprised to notice the star embedded into every surface and every furniture. What really surprised him was that he didn’t notice it before, even though it was literally everywhere around. It was impossible to miss it and yet it was the first time he truly saw that star. He looked around while Bertan searched for something in all of the drawers in the bathroom.

"Why a six-pointed star if there are seven houses?" Genes finally asked. He was starting to feel more and more unwell. As if a great weight was attached to every pore of his skin, dragging him down to the floor.

"The seventh is the Ruling house, the point in the middle where all the lines meet." She looked more and more distracted, "Gods, where is that needle when I need it?"

"What do you need a needle for?" he asked more out of curiosity than fear, for at that moment his body felt like it was no longer really his.

"I need to mark you now, and there is no time to visit a marking fairy." She started to rummage through a pile of their old travel robes to find the travel sack. Genes recognized it at once. There it was, a small safety pin secured one of the belts. "That will have to be enough," she muttered, and turned to face the moony-eyed Genes that was lying on the floor already. Bertan turned him onto his stomach, and cleaned her safety pin with fire.

The origins of the Napple fruit were hidden deep inside the Naam mountain range. Spring water that fed it came up to the surface of the hills, only to be swallowed back almost immediately. There, it penetrated a thick surface crust to drip into the massive, underground lake that spread out under a large part of the Swords territory. The other half of their lands had the mark of fiery rivers and lakes of fire as well as a caustic, unbreathable air. The brownish, thin, and elongated fruit that Bertan took from one of the tables contained hundreds of highly poisonous and deep-red seeds.

With a heavy heart, she broke the ripe fruit in half and dripped its red juice on Genes' hand. She held up her breath, and she nicked her fingertip to encourage one single drop of her blood to drip onto the juice dot marrying his skin already. She knew, once she pierced his skin, and the mixture of the poison and her blood entered his system, there would be no way to reverse the process anymore. He would be changing slowly, but ceaselessly.

Without anyone present to stop her, all she could do was to go on with her insane plan. The sharp safety pin pierced the boy's skin gently. The Fates could not be undone at that point. She looked at a piece of the fruit still in her hand. Bertan was afraid to look at his body that was already trembling and straining with the poison. All this pain because of her. She dropped the piece of fruit into the bathing pool. At changed the white fluid into a sizzling and bubbling red foam and she walked right into this exquisite potion carrying the newly made Sword in her arms, for the full poisoning of his body to take place, and to keep him sanely alive. Time stopped to restart its course later on.

"It is true then," a disapproving whisper swirled through the air all around Bertan that was still soaking in the pool filled with red bathing foam.

"To whatever is the thing you are thinking of right now..." Bertan opened her eyes, still covered in the foam that seemed to seep into her skin as she looked at her visitor, "Yes."

She knew that masked man, shrouded in secrets, lies and the killing so much that he had never been named. The Unnamed was a position, a title, and a choice that his parents, his Mother, burdened him with at a pretty young age. Not that it ever appeared to be a wrong choice, for his cold nature, guaranteed that the most vicious