Motherland - Chapter Two
The assassin sprinted most of his planned escape path, but it hadn't been necessary. If he had been taught one thing from in his time in Gaia, it was that no one would search the forgotten caves beneath the earth for him. They would scour the land and the skies, but no one would find him so long as he remained beneath their feet.
No, what pulled him on was exhilaration, not necessity.
He ran on in the darkness of the earth, blind as a bat, but knowing these caverns so well that he did not need his eyes. It was an ecstatic liberty to be able to escape the eyes of the entire world in the faithful darkness. Here, in the caverns, no one could see the blood on his hands, the badge of the President of Shinra that he had taken as his memento of this hunt. He laughed, oh how he laughed, but no one would hear except for the mute creatures of the underworld, too primitive to betray his secret.
"Gloria! Gloria!" was his victory cry.
He did not know how long he ran, nor did it matter. Time was nothing in the depths of the earth that knew neither rotations of the earth, the rising and setting of the sun, nor patterns in the stars, or phases of the moon. He eventually steadied his pace, recognizing the murmuring stream and the smell of its mineral-rich waters.
He waited until he was ankle deep in its warm caress before he flicked his fingers to give life to a tiny flame. With a breath, he broke the tiny fire into nine parts, which flew to nine torches of their own accord, filling the cavern with a warm light.
"Ah, Master Verian. Very good, sir."
Verian took no heed of the formal, courteous greeting. "I hunger, Mevel."
A thin, lanky figure gave a stiff bow. "Yes, my lord. At once, sir."
Verian sighed, completely satisfied with his day's work, and seated himself in a padded chair of dark maroon velvet. He raised his feet to rest them on a footstool, casually kicking off his boots, and then pushed up his sleeve to the shoulder, baring an arm of two shades. The darker portion extended from just above the elbow to his fingertips, a healthy tan of a strong noble. At that one point, though, was a clear line where a sickly pale began, splayed with the shadows of the old bruises and the flares of the new. Around this deformed shoulder was laced a crude leather brace, held with buckles of rusted iron. With the other hand, Verian began to unlatch these buckles, easing the straps off where sweat had pasted them to his skin, and rubbing to fade the marks where the straps once had laid.
"Mevel," Verian called darkly, a clear warning.
"Y-Yes sir. It's nearly done."
Verian smirked, amused by his servant's gangly, ugly stutter.
Mevel had once been Princess Emmalyn, born of nobility, the heir to the throne of some-land-or-another, (Verian never could keep his conquered lands straight), but Verian's conquest had ended her high status. Through his mercy, he had spared her pathetic life on the grounds that she learn to serve him. She was a good girl, submissive and obedient, and a good cook besides. Once, she might have been beautiful, but Verian saw to it that she was kept in a physical state fit for a servant. She was painfully thin, her plain earthen green dress and cream colored apron hanging off her gangly shoulders. Her hair was a cocoa brown, once as smooth and silky as the waves of the sea, flowing to her hips, but now it was crudely cut just below her ears, tangled and dull. Eyes once of verdant jade were now a plain, ordinary shade, lacking depth and luster.
In her hands was a clay bowl filled with her day's labors. In her wanderings in the caves, she had happened upon a small bunch of mushrooms. She had sautéed those in butter she had churned with her own two hands from the cream purchased from a farmer. Those were finely chopped and mixed with long grained rice from their stores brought from their homeland and further seasoned with dried herbs that also had been stored since their departure. On the side sat two white eggs, which had been a rare find. These she had boiled, peeled, and sprinkled lightly with sea salt.
"We have a little of the berry juice we made in the forest," Mevel said softly. "Would you like that tonight to celebrate your victory, sir?"
"Bring it. It will do, but I expect finer of you tomorrow. Understood?"
"…Yes, sir. You are very gracious, my lord."
But they both knew that Mevel would find no berries or fruits in this cavern, and tomorrow she would reap the punishment for the underworld's infertility. He saw her hands begin to tremble, and looked forward to tomorrow. It would be good to remind her exactly how much she was worth to him.
She scrambled off to get the remaining nectars of the tropical berries. Perhaps if the amount remaining was inadequate, he wouldn't have to wait until tomorrow.
She brought an entire flask though, which made him a little sour. After she had served him, she made as if to sit on the dusty ground, keeping still and silent until he was finished so she could gather the dishes, but Verian bade her to stand. "Remove my brace," he commanded simply as he began to eat.
Mevel bowed slightly and then rushed forward to humbly accomplish the task. Her hands were still that of a noblewoman's; soft, milky white, tender.
"Does it pain you, my lord?"
"It doesn't suit me. I feel worse a cripple with it on than without it. Tell Silas to fashion another."
Her felt her tense; he knew how uneasy she felt around the magician, but she would do it because she knew what would happen if she didn't. "Yes," she murmured. "My lord."
"And be quick about it. I'll not have my wife view me for the first time in several years to see a cripple."
"Of course, sir. Right away, sir."
Mevel slipped the brace off his shoulder, gently tugging the lower half of his arm off with it. When the contraption was completely removed, Verian was left with a pale, disfigured shoulder and a stump of an arm that ended just where the elbow should begin.
"More of the salve, Lord Verian, for your infection?"
Verian grimaced, but nodded his affirmative. It had been years since he had lost his arm, years, and still it would not heal, causing him pain that by all reasoning should have vanished. Silas's dark herbal balm was the only cure for such an overpowering ache.
"Lord Verian," the servant girl pleaded humbly as she spread the salve. "Perhaps if you gave it time to heal before fitting it with a brace…"
Verian backhanded her, sending her sprawling on her back, clasping a bleeding cheek and lower lip. "Mind your tongue girl. You know less than nothing."
She was trembling now, like a little child. "F-Forgive m-me, my l-lord. I-I meant only to h-help—I mean," she corrected herself hastily. "I…I spoke irrationally. Forgive me. Please, Lord Verian, f-forgive your worthless s-servant…"
"I tire of you. Go and tell Silas I will be with him shortly. Tell him that I strike tonight. Bring me whatever he has ready."
"…Yes, my lord," she squeaked out, unable to hide her terror of running an errand to see Silas.
She hurried away, gathering fistfuls of her dress and holding it up so it wouldn't drag and get dirty as she ran. Verian frowned. It wasn't like her dress was worth salvaging, and it was filthy anyway. The only reason for such behavior was either habit from her days as royalty, or worse, she was being openly defiant in her own way.
Either way, it told him one thing through that small, insignificant gesture.
He hadn't fully beaten the Emmalyn out of Mevel.
Not yet, anyway.
Mevel came back white as a sheet. In her hands was a bundle that she held awkwardly, away from her body, distancing herself from it as much as possible. Verian smirked, not caring if she saw. As he had predicted, a trip to Silas's workshop would put her back in her place.
"H-He s-s-says…"
"Spit it out, girl," he seethed, his patience growing thin.
"This is the A-An-Animus," she said, too quickly. She swallowed heavily a few times before she held out the bundle helplessly to him, begging him to take it himself, but he waited for her to deliver it to him, just to make her terror deepen. She handled the small glass bottle like it was lethal poison, dropping it in his palm and then shirking away. She noticeably breathed easier when it was out of her palm.
It was a good sign that she was so afraid. It meant she knew what damage it could do; that it was as dangerous as he had hoped it would be.
"How long did Silas say I have to do it?"
"The A-Animus will be effective until next sunrise...and as for your escape, he says as soon as you have Lady Dawn, blow the whistle and he will transport you instantly to Bellarieve."
The thrill of it was almost more than Verian could bear. Tonight, he would claim his Lady Dawn and exact vengeance on the man who had stolen his birthright and his arm.
Mevel gave him a wooden whistle, which sounded silent, but would call Silas when the time came to whisk his Gloria Dawn away on the wind. Among his magic supplies was a curious looking collar.
"Silas says he will work on making you another arm. A…more capable appendage."
"And how is the construction of the dagger?"
If the Animus made Mevel cringe, it was a wonder the mention of the knife didn't knock her out cold.
"It is ready, too."
He arrived at Faramir just after dawn. He was well hidden in the bushes just a few yards from their front door. With the aid of another charm Silas had provided, no one would be able to see him.
He could see and hear everything. He was so close that when the silver-haired boy dashed out the door the wind from his speed rustled Verian's hair. Soon, his father followed.
Verian had to bite his lip to keep from whispering in triumph, "I've got you now."
A/N: Those of you who haven't read my past works are probably wondering what the heck Sephseph has to do with all this. Not to worry. He appears next chapter.
Those of you who have read Everglow, remember Verian?
Summer vacation begins Friday. I want to get a chapter a day out for either Motherland or The Marked. It's a good goal that will stretch me. No promises though. ;)
Thank you for your support!
