Tales of Gaiosis
Temples of the Twin Suns, Chapter 1: First Blooding
Introducing the hybrid, Lyria, at the beginning of her journey to find her place in the strange violent world of Gaiosis
Please note: this story is a draft intended for inclusion in a future eBook and is subject to revision. You are welcome to comment.
This was necessary, she told herself. Lyria had to earn the warlord’s trust. It was something all of his cutthroats had to do: demonstrate they were indeed cutthroats.
It was particularly necessary, however, for her. They sensed that she was different somehow, even if no one could put their finger on why. Imagine if they realised that she was a hybrid, a bastard child of two species.
A shiver went down her back.
She must erase their doubts by sharing their infamy. Those who followed the warlord, Tark, were called, Children of the Noose; so called, because of their crimes. Without exception, they were murderers and proud of it. Tark boasted it was worth an extra ten fighters in any battle.
She watched as the old priest strode from the temple, his eyes unblinking, determined. The crowd formed up behind the man who had always been their comforter, counsellor, and oracle. They turned to him when facing the unknown.
But they had never dreamt they would face this. Tark and his brigands were sitting on horseback in three lines stretched across the square. Their sabres were drawn, their faces hidden by infamous red bassinets.
Lyria’s horse reared up, its nostrils flaring, and she pulled firmly on the bridle, desperate not to draw attention. She couldn’t blame her mount for its skittishness, however, because it simply reflected her nervousness and discomfort.
It was almost time to spill blood to prove her loyalty, very publicly, to the brutal warlord. She remembered how Kieron, Tark’s lieutenant, had taken delight in describing her rite of passage in sordid detail. An example was going to be made.
The priest’s voice rang out.
“Friends, if you seek enlightenment and peace, dismount, lay down your weapons, and join us in seeking the truth of the Twin Suns.”
For a moment, there was silence, and then Tark roared:
“Dismount!”.
The priest stretched out both arms wide. It was unclear to Lyria whether it was to welcome the warlord’s apparent obedience, or to protect his followers. Behind him, many hugged each other and a few fell to their knees to pray.
Tark pulled up his visor.
“Peace? Do we look like we’re here to find peace?”
The brigand lord turned to the armoured figure standing beside him.
“Kieron? Provide the old man with peace.”
Tark’s most loyal lieutenant ran forward and knocked the priest to the ground. Two more brigands followed him and pinned the old man down. There were gasps of horror within the crowd.
Kieron waved at Lyria. She felt her legs begin to move all by themselves. This was really going to happen. She was actually going to do this, but how could she? Yet, how could she not?
The old priest didn’t struggle or say anything until she stood beside him.
“Do not do this, sister. You will cut and wound your eternal soul much more than my temporary body.”
She glanced at Tark, and saw that he was staring at her, expectantly. No going back now, she thought to herself, regardless of what the priest said. The only way to have avoided this moment was to have never stepped into Tark’s camp.
“I’m no one’s sister, especially not yours,” she heard herself say.
She raised her sabre and swung it down hard, hoping to behead the priest cleanly. But the blade deflected somehow, gouging into the man’s shoulder. A second blow yielded the same result.
Someone in the crowd screamed. Others gasped. There was only silence behind her.
Pulling up her visor for a clearer view, she struck again and again, hacking at the man’s neck. A firm hand gripped her shoulder.
It was Kieron. She glared at him and then, looking down, saw the priest in pieces at her feet, his lifeblood pooling into a halo around his head.
Her gaze returned to Tark, the tip of her sword resting on what was once the priest. Their eyes met for a moment, and then he looked beyond her to the temple.
“Attack, kill them all. Attack!”
He charged, roaring and swinging his sabre from side to side as he went, his brigands charging with him, their shouts echoing his.
Lyria, however, stared again at the torn body of the old priest in ghastly fascination. She could not take her eyes off the body.
Something thudded into her, causing her to turn. It was another of the recruits, a woman named, Benning.
“What are you waiting for? Charge!”
Benning regained her balance and disappeared off towards the temple. As Lyria closed her visor, she thought she felt tears on her cheek, but then she realised it was flecks of the priest’s blood.
She ran. The torn body of the old priest in ghastly fascination. She could not take her eyes off the body.
It was pitch dark by the time it was done. The townsfolk that survived fled into the surrounding forests, and a bonfire was built in the square. Sacred wines were plundered from the temple, and the brigands sang and danced, drunk on holy alcohol and battle lust.
Lyria immersed herself in the festivities, desperate to dull the memories of the day. She stumbled into Kieron, and they began to dance. They clinked their tankards together. He grinned. She laughed, and he pulled her close.
They kissed passionately, but when he started to pull at her shirt, she stepped back, vague feelings of panic stirring within her. Undeterred, Kieron pulled more firmly, laughing, thinking it was a tease.
She shoved at him, simply trying to push him away. Kieron was strong, battle hardened, but he was sent flying, tumbling to the ground. Their eyes locked, and before he had a chance to recover, Lyria disappeared into the crowd.
As she struggled through the revellers, Lyria’s panic turned into fear. What had she been thinking? Warnings from Higron, her guardian and mentor, echoed in her mind.
“You’re different, Lyria. People hate what they don’t understand.”
“You’re stronger than them, Lyria. They will fear you.”
“The best way to protect yourself, Lyria, is to hide your differences.”
No one could see her as she actually was. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
Yet, it was difficult always being distant and aloof, especially now. She had never killed before. Fought and injured people in self-defence, yes, but ended life, no.
It wasn’t that the act of killing had been hard. Actually, it had been too easy. The priest had become an object, something to be butchered. And her other victims? They were a blur of slashing blades. She couldn’t remember a single face.
But when the bloodlust had faded, she was left with a feeling of emptiness. It was a void that she had wanted to fill, so she had thought for a moment, it could be filled by drunkenness and then unexpectedly by Kieron.
Kieron’s fumbling had triggered her mentor’s nagging warnings, however. She had not meant to push so hard, much less send Kieron, Tark’s lieutenant, crashing to the ground. What could have been said to make that better?
All she could do was run, painfully aware she carried her troubles within her. Pushing and shoving her way through the revellers, she finally found a way out into the dark streets of the town.
After stumbling down a side street, she found an open door. Discarding her tunic and boots, she collapsed, exhausted, into a sleep haunted by dreams of the priest’s last moments.
Read the next chapter of Lydia’s story in “Unjust Rewards”
