V. Avram
The man didn’t know what he had done. But this was not the time to break oaths. Avram didn’t put much weight into Pvsota’a, or any other demon, but even he knew it was foolishness to act in any way other than holy in the sun-coloured light. Pevro and Thira had been the first ones to act. That was wise of them. It meant they would only have to restrain him. They did so quickly and efficiently, placing a threatening blade on his neck for good measure.
The story listeners sat in stunned silence. Avram could feel their quickened heartbeats. He looked at Iva. She was scared. He was too. They walked to the man together. Iva drew her sword.
“No!” Aimir cried.
“Is this story you tell true?” Avram demanded. Aimir didn’t respond. “It’s a lie, isn’t it? Tell us it’s a lie!”
“I tell you no lies,” Aimir said in desperation.
Avram looked at the man. Urging him to say otherwise.
“Please. Leave me living. I am not your deceiver.”
Avram looked at Pevro and Iva. Pevro nodded. Iva hid her terror well. Avram held the blade with her. It only took a push to bury it in the foreigner's heart.
Blood touched metal. Soul touched soul.
Avram looked in terror through another man’s blurry eyes at the terrible beast who dug its claws into his shoulder. Each claw hurt with a pain deeper than a simple knife separating flesh from flesh. The demonic energy of Pvesota’a cursed this wound to burn. It was a burn Avram knew. Once from the paktmarks, and once from the man with the chisel. A strange rune was made. The lines glowed black. Aimir screamed.
His vision blurred. His shoulder forced attention upon itself. He heard a voice. “Take this as an opportunity to be less evil.”
He fell to the ground, hitting the hard dirt, pushing the air out of his body. What was this? He felt his arms being lifted to wipe his tears. The wretched blue-scaled serpent towered over him. Vas Kostep. The Demolisher of Ethoa. The Wise Trakov. The Murderer of Avram’s mother and father.
The blue serpent and its servant flew away, curving through the air. They became smaller and smaller as they journeyed further into the distance. Avram realized what this was. This was a punishment for hesitating. The violence of his action had transported Avram to a dark vision. A nightmare of things to come. He would face Vas Kostep. He would be cursed. And Kostep would escape, unharmed.
He felt himself reaching into a bag. He must have been looking for a weapon to fulfil his first oath. If the trakov would not kill him, he would have to take the duty upon himself. But it was no blade that emerged from the bag. It was a rotting fruit of a variety he had never before seen. His hand brought the fruit to his mouth. He tried to stop, but he was not in control of his body in this vision. Stop! STOP!
Aimir fell to the ground, dead. Avram breathed deeply. His hands were no longer on the blade. The blade was left in the body, sticking out of the storyteller’s back. Avram looked at Iva. There was something strange in her eyes. Had she also been given the vision?
Blood pooled and flowed gently to the flame, reminding everyone that thaktas could not be made to rejoice in Vtekalan. The flame roared, making a wicked call to the body, a call that would have to be headed by the four. No more stories would be told that night. A demon had revealed itself.
Thira knelt down, positioning her arms to pick up the man by his shoulders. Pevro followed suit, taking the legs.
“No.” Iva said. “Take him to sea. He didn’t know.”
Thira shot Iva a look.
“Pa Iva--” Pevro said, and gestured with his eyes to the people sitting around the fire.
Avram’s breath quickened. They had been given the location of a trakov. The air would not enter his body quick enough. The smell of smoke overwhelmed his senses. They had been given Vas Kostep’s location. And they were taking the foreigner’s word as truth. They killed him. He killed him. Kaornest. Kaornest. Kostep would curse him. He would die by his own failing hand. The vision had brought him the future. The trakov. It killed them. He killed. Death. So much death. The blood pooled. The smoke spread. The sun was inside them all. His breath crescendoed. What had happened? What had he done? What did the fruit mean? So much death. The sun made him kill.
His breath stopped. He swallowed. Then he let it out slowly. He bit his lip and accepted it. He looked at Iva, letting her see how close to tears he had grown. Iva froze. She understood too. Avram and Iva looked away, as the other two swung the dripping body into the fire. Avram tried to ignore the sounds and smell it made. It wasn’t hard to.
They would have to leave. They would leave Ethoa, on a hunt for an unkillable beast. Or they could mark themselves, breaking their oaths and marks, throw themselves into the flame, and join the ranks of sun-lead demons.
Avram packed a bag while Esmar slept. He didn’t attempt to sleep, he knew he wouldn’t get any. He thought about what he would say to his sister. He cried some, but not loud enough to wake her.
He held the sac of theovis, smelling it. He would ask his friend to help them travel by ship to get north. It would be far easier to do than climbing through the mountains to the west. He measured through his sunstring. He would want as much as possible for the journey, but he would want to ensure Esmar would have enough to live on.
Would she be mad that he did not wake her? This was time they could have spent together. But no. Tomorrow would be hard for both Esmar and Avram. And if Avram was given the choice to sleep, he would take it. That was what he could tell himself anyway. A good enough excuse to wait as he thought about how he could possibly convey that he would leave her that day, and most likely never return.
As much as he wished it didn’t, time did pass, and the sky did begin to lighten. Esmar woke to the sight of Avram holding his bag.
“Off to the ports?” Esmar asked with a tired and quiet voice.
“Yeah.” Avram chuckled. “Um–” Avram looked at Esmar, holding his hand up against his face, looking for words he hadn’t found in the night. “Um–” He turned away from his sister, not willing to face her.
“Esmar?” Avram’s emotions betrayed him. He began breaking down.
Esmar awoke, surprised to see this from her brother. She frowned. “Avram?”
Avram gathered himself, wiping his tears. “Last night– Kostep, we know where he is.”
Confusion flashed on his sisters face, before it was replaced by realization and terror. She cried. She rushed out of bed and held her brother. They stayed like that for a short while. Crying, trying to stay close during this last opportunity.
Avram took a deep breath, broke off the hug, and looked his sister in the eyes. “Esmar, I need you to forge a pakt.”
“What?”
“The army. They won’t invade if they have to kill a paktevta. Wait a few days, then go to Perai’i.”
“Avram, I–”
“Please, Esmar.”
Avram walked Esmar through what he would be leaving her with. He left a considerable amount of spices, he went through each of them, listing reasonable prices for each of them, who would be best to sell it to, and where and when she could find each trader. He even left some charcoal copies with instructions on where to find and how to gather different plants in case Esmar wanted to begin doing so after relinquishing most meat.
And last he gave her a letter. Hand-carved. He said to read it after he left.
Then he left.
Heartbreaking! He's leaving AND she has to make a pakt?!
I also need some clarification. I've been taking notes so I can keep better track of names and vocabulary, but I think I missed some.
"thaktas could not be made to rejoice in Vtekalan"
I don't remember what thaktas is, or Vtekalan.
I also don't remember what "Kaornest" is/means.