#173 Septua Sanguis/The Eight Temptations: Tareme Ch.13

We meet our first human! And what do they say? Are they coming? Find out in chapter 13 of this epic book! It’s only just beginning! 

Transcript

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You are either brave or foolish, a voice says from the shadows. Tareem jerks her head up, startled by the silent entrance of the voice, plus the darkness surrounding it. The meager light of her candle reaches no further than fingertips, so she can only guess at who the voice belongs to and why the shadows are behaving oddly. Tareem grips the dagger beneath her tunic like a firebrand. It's a secretly made weapon, rough hewn, but better than nothing. She remains alert as a hooded figure steps forward, dragging strange patterns behind. Her body tenses, taut, toned, honed and sharp, every fibre trained with preparedness, making her dagger all the more lethal. Would you like a new life? The hooded figure asks, then pauses before continuing. A chance at a new life? Tarim senses a trap. Maybe her captors are testing her again, or maybe they already know. Otherwise, why would this woman be here? And how did she find me? Tarem asks herself, all while assessing her options. But she doesn't need to. She already knows the answer, and there is only one. If this woman is here, they know, and are simply baiting her, toying with her for their enjoyment, or as an example, but it doesn't matter. Tarim is done. She can't take this life anymore, and if this is all there is, then her life is already forfeit, and she is unafraid. She has long prepared for this, and it is certainly not her first kill. She was trained to kill, to succeed at any hunt, any hunt, and this is simply one more hunt, one more prey, one more kill. Tarim twists the handle of the dagger just slightly, gripping it with the greatest purchase of skin. She will not fail. She will protect Ching An. She will do what she must, just as her father taught her. One arrow, two eyes. I can kill you with ease, Tarim says quietly. As can I, the hooded one replies, then leans forward, causing the hood to fall farther over the face. The voice lowers, rumors. I know who you are, so shall we speak before we kill? Tarem stopped listening the moment the shadows thrummed. She assessed the thickness of the robes and determined she will go for the neck. The stool beneath her tilts as she twists, lessening her exposure, and lunges backward, all while channeling the forces of her body into a fisted hand. In an instant she is a weapon of both flesh and blade, and she strikes hard with a side flying stab, her body an effortless arc of power. She follows her thrust into the hooded figure and then beyond, into shadows and shadows and shadows, everywhere shadows, surrounding her, heavy with time and secrets, so many secrets. Tarim stumbles, offbalanced and confused. She crouches low and realizes she touched nothing. There was nothing except shadow. A hot shiver races through her, heightening her awareness. She hovers in a fighting stance, determining her next move. A split second later, she leaps upward, striking the heel of one foot into a spin. This time, if her blade doesn't connect, her foot will. Tarim's revolving body adds strength to both blade and heel as they charge in tandem toward the figure. She whips her wrist, releasing the dagger, straight as an arrow, into the hooded face, then slams her foot into the chest. She tumbles after, falling through chilly despair before landing awkwardly upon the ground, just as her blade thunks into the far wall. A raw tremor runs through her body, mind, and soul. She did not miss. She knows her aim. She watched the dagger go straight into the hood and her foot connect with something, only it wasn't flesh. Tarim prepares, she crouches, ready to attack, but she can't determine where or how. I've come a very long way, the hooded one says, and while I'm impressed with your skills, I'm not interested in them. Please listen. Tarim does not answer. A few moments ago she was certain she would leave this room alive, and equally certain the hooded figure would not, but now she's certain of nothing. Her thighs burn with unspent tension. They beg for release, but she demands they stay and obey. Another thrum rises from the shadows, this time in ringlets. Like snakes they curl and twist, rattle tails, hiss secrets, hide venomous fangs. Tarim senses an invisible presence, but where and who? She looks around but sees no one. Another game she thinks, and a scalding rage burns her throat. She holds back the scream and instead snarls at the shadowy robes. Who are you? There is an audible sigh which seems to release the presence back into shadow. That is not important, but you are. You are Tarim, the renowned huntress, known for your skills, both natural and trained, and you specialize in sight hounds. Kepi, I believe. But no longer. That all changed when you were kidnapped, taken from your home, even as you risked your life to protect others. Very brave, even now. Tarim's heart pounds, a wild horse thundering across an open sky. Rage stains her blood and her vision blurs. How can this hooded one know? Know the unknowable, the unbearable. Suddenly a loyal face shines in Tarem's mind, a flash of memory so vivid it never truly fades. It merely haunts. She sees the desperation, the gnae plea for relief, the plodding footsteps of her worst nightmare, the bleached bones of her life. The rage in her drains away, and Tarim lowers a trembling knee to the ground. The voice resumes in a measured, even tone. Tarim, I know of your captors, what they have forced upon you and other women, so I come to offer you a new life. Are you prepared to accept a chance at a new life? Another thrum, but this one bolder. It strides across the room directly toward Tariem, as though sound and shadow mark the space between her and the hooded figure. The flame on the candle lowers, the light dims, and questioning alarm fills Tarim. Something grabs at her chest and she pushes it away but finds nothing. Tarim, the hooded one says, Remember your father. One arrow, two eyes. Tarim gasps. Her father, remember. She promised him, she swore an oath, a pledge to follow him, but not until he could no longer serve. Is that now? Is he gone? Did he die? Questions flood Tarim's heart and she lowers her other knee to the ground. This was her father's domain, not hers. This was his role. He was on the divine path. And service to a Hura Mazda. Tarim was not involved. She only did what was required, but now what is happening? Tarem didn't pay attention to the lessons her father taught on service. Only lessons on hunting and warfare, fighting to protect. Those are her domain. Yet here she is, with a hooded figure she can't touch, much less explain. Perhaps her father sent them to remind her that she must be obedient, she must follow her father, follow the father, but she isn't even sure how. She wonders if this is a disciple of a Hura Mazda. They don't look like she thought they would or act, but then she never considered such a thing. But what else could this be? Tarim bows until her forehead touches the earth, hollowing air from her lungs, expelling some of the doubt. I am sent for, she says. Stand up, the woman says, or at least seat yourself. Tarim does not. She cannot. To do so is blasphemous. She mutters to the earth, Am I judged? Deemed worthy in service to heaven? The hooded response is clipped. Where you are going is not heaven, I assure you, but neither is it hell, it is both. Or more properly stated, there are possibilities of both. Tarim taps her forehead on the ground. Not heaven, not hell. Then who or what does she obey? Tarim mumbles as she strains to remember her father's lessons. She recalls something about sacrifice. A true disciple must make the greatest sacrifice in order to be found worthy. You must sit up so I can hear you, the hooded one interrupts. Tarim rises slightly. Do you find me worthy? No. Tarim shudders. Then I am unworthy? No, you are neither. Stop worrying yourself with such things. Tarim doesn't understand. She's supposed to be worthy, but of what and how eludes her. She knows there must be great sacrifice. Her father was clear on that. So what would be her greatest sacrifice? Tarim feels sick. No, never, she can't ever. She sits higher. My friend must come, she says. No. The answer is quick and sharp, but then softens. This is for you and only you. It is something no human has done, and I must begin with you. So listen, what I am offering you is beyond all your imaginings. There are opportunities to become far more than you are now or ever could be. And there is the possibility, if you succeed, to come back for your friend. Tarim lowers her gaze. This disciple bothers her. They put shadows between words, hiding truth even as they speak truth. Every answer is half revealed, half hidden, leaving a streak of lies. Is Tarim supposed to obey a disciple that isn't honest? She doesn't recall her father teaching such a thing, but it doesn't matter. Tarim can't make this sacrifice. Anything but this. She must protect Cheng An, and she will, except she didn't. She already failed. She cannot help Cheng An, not from here. This isn't happening, Tarim thinks. This can't be real. To be told her father is gone and that she must serve thee, father, and leave Cheng An? No, this isn't happening. How can she lose everything she loves again? Tarim raises her eyes, staring up at the starless ceiling. Can I go to heaven and be with my father? she asks. There is a groan from the woman and then exhaustive silence. Something licks the length of Tarim, but does not touch her. It feels soft and cool, violet, yet also violent. Tarim rocks back on her heels, but it is too late. Blackened shards of terror invade her bones, the marrow quakes, leaving dusty remains. Her mind washes from the seashore of her consciousness and her body falls upon the earth. She enters a hell of incomprehension, anguish and misery, the parting of soul from body as agony rips through whatever of her is left, drenched in torment. And then it's over, it's done, it's gone, like it never was. Tarim clutches her knees, ashamed and furious at her cowardly behavior. A sin. How is it that she, the one who never fears, is afraid? Her eyes flick open and she finds the candle on the ground beside her. The flame is strong, even stronger than before, and shadows dance along the wall. Tarim notices her blade. Her blade. She is a blade, honed and sharpened, trained by her father. Father. The word strengthens her resolve, and she promises she will not fail. She will obey. She will serve, she must serve. Serve the Father, as her father asked. I forget how fragile you are, the hooded figure says, then swishes over and kneels before the flame, before Tarim. The voice speaks in waves, rising and falling with gentle sways. I can take you away from here to a world where no human has ever been. You are the first to be given this opportunity, and you may create a new life for yourself. But it must be your choice. You must choose to go. Tarim watches the cone shaped flame, then stares into the droplet of blue hidden at the center. Fire and water, she thinks, the purifications. She does remember that part. This must be a sign from her father, to obey, to purify just as the flame does. The flame, the spirit of Ahura Mazda, the Lord of Wisdom, the protector of souls. Are there others like you? Tarim asks. Yes, the hooded one replies, and if you like fire as much as you seem to, there is one in particular you may enjoy. He too is devoted to fire. A harmazda, Tarim whispers. Then she lifts her head from the earth and speaks to the hooded figure, to the shadowy darkness, to the starless night and bleak heart within her chest. Her words are clear, one silver thread of possibility. I will go, I will serve.