Chapter 18

It took two weeks of recovery after his mysterious coma for Aris to become his old self again. Or as much of it as he could be.

Something inside him had changed. He would never be the same man again and a tiny voice inside of him he refused to acknowledge whispered that to him every day.

Those first few days of his recovery, it felt like anything could trigger a vision and Aris often felt himself overwhelmed with nausea. Oftentimes it was enough to bring him to his knees and he’d desperately scramble to find a bucket or some receptacle to empty his guts into.

Corrine anguished as she watched her husband struggle. She hated seeing him so helpless. It was terrifying seeing what had happened to him. Why did that look in his eyes feel so familiar? Why did it feel like she had seen it before?

Where though?

Corrine couldn’t shake the feeling that she had lost something dear.

It terrified her.

Corrine hated that she couldn’t do anything to help her husband. She had promised to be there for better or worse but now that it was worse, she felt powerless.

She prayed that she could shoulder his burden for him, seeing the pain in his eyes passed physically hurt her, but despite the itch in her soul, she was at a loss to help her husband and it filled her with guilt.

Why couldn’t she do anything? Why did the look in his eyes make her want to cry?

Corrine had felt like she’d regained her equilibrium, truly regained it, when three days passed without a fit from her husband. She had begged him to tell her what was happening to him, but he avoided her questions. He seemed to be at as much of a loss as she was over what was happening to him.

But he was silent. He wasn’t talking to her.

He’d never done that before. 

It tore her heart in two. Aris had many things he couldn’t share. But he never avoided her questions before. What had changed?

Corrine cornered him for an explanation.

The little he said left her more confused. He had said something about seeing a life that wasn’t his and couldn’t explain any more.

What terrified Corrine was the sense that she knew what he was going through. She just couldn’t remember why.

*****

Aris couldn’t stand the look he saw in his wife’s eyes but something held him back. A dark part of his heart had convinced him that if he shared what was happening with Corrine he would lose her.

She was his rock. He loved her too much to lose her. He loved her too much to endanger her with whatever…this…was.

If it were just insanity as he thought it might have been at first, he knew he would have no problem sharing with her.

But Aris, despite his desperate attempts to convince himself of a sudden onset of psychosis, knew himself to be perfectly sane.

That was the disturbing thing.

It meant something beyond understanding was happening to him.

Whatever had happened to him had to have something to do with the Inquisitors. It was the only thing that made sense. His visions had to have been caused by those boogymen.

Aris had only seen them three times in his whole life. He had seen the agony they could cause without even touching their victims. His mysterious illness had to have something to do with them.

But why? What had they done to him? Why had they done it?

What alarmed Aris was the lack of control he felt. Though Aris had gambled with fate before, he’d always been in control in some way. He hadn’t gained his position by being faint of heart, and unlike many during these peaceful times, he had been assigned to the violent borders for his first years in the service. Aris knew what it meant to be brave. Both on the battlefield and in the streets.

He had been forced into bravery from a young age at the hands of a violent drunk.

Aris had seen the worst of the world. He had been the one to find the lair of Tress the Collector, the most infamous serial killer that Fiell had ever seen. He’d gotten his name because each victim he’d taken had had a part of their bodies taken from them. When Aris had stumbled onto the nightmarish hideout he had found a Chimera from the depths of the hells. He’d barely been able to keep himself from throwing up at the site of the ten foot tall monster pieced together from Tress’ victims. The other inspectors hadn’t had the same intestinal fortitude as him, and had lost their stomachs upon first glance.

He’d seen worse fighting the Wendig tribe. It had been the only thing that had him from spilling his stomach right there.

Despite all that, Aris had never been as unsettled as he was now. All the other times he had been in control. He had his mind, smarts, and self discipline. Now Aris felt like a stranger in his own body. It was as if another person had taken residence in his mind. Which thoughts were his? Which ones belonged to the invader?

Was that what made the Inquisitors so feared? Could they invade the brains of their victims with some strange magic?

Aris was putting on a brave face as he recovered, but he knew he was becoming someone else. Whatever had happened to him had changed him.

Aris needed find out what had happened.

He couldn’t lose himself. Not now when the attempt on the life of the Emperor had only served to worsen the border disputes who’s tension grew every day, and had infected the Veaish capital of Fiell with a growing sense of dread.

No. He couldn’t lose himself.

*****

“Be careful daddy!” the twins shouted at Aris.

He smiled, turned around and placed his lips on both of their foreheads and then pecked his niece Sephira on the cheek. Then and gave Corrine a jealous kiss that felt like it had something to prove.

When he heard the twins giggling at the prolonged display of affection he broke from his wife and had a chuckle as his eyes caught site of Sephira whose face showed a mixture of embarrassment and wonder at the two.

He let out a laugh as the sound of his Corrine addressing their adopted daughter caught his ears while he walked away. “Don’t look so jealous young one. You’ll find your own set of lips to own soon enough.”

Aris couldn’t hear Sephira’s response, but he recognized the exasperated pitch of her voice. He laughed. Things were finally starting to feel normal again.

Aris’ spirits were high once again as he walked from his estate to the palace in the brisk  early summer morning. The sun was halfway through its brilliant ascent to take its place in the clear summer sky and the eastern horizon was painted with a dazzling array of pinks and oranges.

Aris took comfort in the fact that no matter what horrors may lay ahead, there would always be the constant beauty of the rising sun.

“This is what I fight for. This city is my home. I’d sacrifice anything for it. It’s my family.” Aris thought as he took in his surroundings.

Aris truly loved Fiell. It felt as if the city were a part of him. Its heartbeat was connected to his. Aris Ravenscroft’s life was intertwined with the sprawling, ramshackle urban center that lay at the foot of the powerful Kearn mountains.

Aris would do whatever it took to keep Fiell, and by proxy, Vealand safe. It was his home. He protected his own.

Roughly a half an hour later, he arrived at the massive grey granite Imperial Keep. Its grey granite spires cut through the air with a militaristic architecture that mirrored the harshness of the mountains that were its backdrop.

It wasn’t beautiful, but there was a comfort in that building. There was a comfort in finding a sense of normalcy that had left him after the attempt on Emperor Evrain’s life. At least he was finally returning to work.

At least he had that.

Aris nodded to the guards stationed at the servants entrance. They had long ago grown accustomed to his strange habit of forgoing the fineries and entering with the lowest of the keep servants.

Aris felt it kept him grounded in a way that few others among the court seemed to be. Aris did his best to greet every servant he met by name. It was ones such as them who were the backbone of Vealand. The moment that was forgotten, was the moment that empires fell.

He’d read enough histories to know that all it took to overthrow an empire was to convince the servants and workers of the nation that they were victims. They would fight to the death, even if it were their own, to destroy those they thought were hurting them.

After a quick detour to the kitchens, where he grabbed a large leg of turkey to tide over his rumbling stomach, Aris made his way through the servants corridors where assassination attempt had taken place less than two months ago.

Aris hesitated in the hallway, reflecting what had been but weeks ago, but already felt as if it had happened in another life.

He still remembered his anger at the execution of the invaders. It had taken all his self control to keep from unleashing a torrent of curse words at the Minister of Defense, Edrian Wolls, who had ordered the execution of the band to cover his backside for his previous failings.

Aris wasn’t sure what had happened to him following the dying screams of Dren, the leader of the rebels. He had heard his agonized panting and whimpering at the hands of the nightmarish Inquisitors, then there had been silence.

It was in that silence that he’d felt his mind being torn apart, exploding with foreign memories.

Aris shivered at the memory. The idea of losing himself had always frightened Aris more than any other thought, and in this hallway, his worst fear had came true.

Something had changed in him. He had lost control of his life.

Aris shook himself free of the thoughts and buzzed past the area where he had fallen and made his way to meet with the cabinet through the servants corridors.

It was here that the leader of the rebels had fallen. His small band had been ferocious enough to cut through a large number of Edrian’s troops and had opened a path for him. But the injuries he sustained in the battle had slowed him enough for the Inquisitors to catch him and practice their atrocious horrors on him.

As Aris ascended the stairway, he noticed a small rusty spot that didn’t match the rest of the grey and black splotched marble interior. He immediately recognized it as blood.

Was it from Dren?

Another wave of memories washed over Aris and drove him to his knees.

*****

Aris remembered the agony in his side where, just moments before, a Kukri had found its home and torn deep into his flesh. He’d killed the wielder of the blade then, but not before taking the life-threatening injury. It would surely kill him, but he would take Emperor Evrain with him.

Memories of torture assaulted Aris’ mind.

“I’m gonna die here,” Aris remembered thinking. “I’m gonna die and the nation’ll die with me. It’ll die serving a monster that it thinks is its savior.”

Memories of metalvines pounding him and kukris tearing into his flesh assaulted Aris. He remembered dying here.

Was he seeing the memories of leader of the rebellion!?

*****

“What was THAT?!” Aris thought as his vision cleared and the images stilled. “What did I just see? Was that what I think it was?”

Had Aris really gained the memories of the Dren as he died? How was that possible?

“What was that?” he said aloud.

What was happening to him? What was he seeing? Were his visions products of whatever the Inquisitors had done to him, or had he truly seen the world from the Rebels eyes?

“Just what am I seeing?” Aris asked himself. “And what does it have to do with my brother?” 

Aris’s mind was so occupied that he barely noticed when he entered the Cabinet’s office. He absentmindedly greeted the other generals and nobles seated around the gigantic circular table made from the wood of a nearly thousand year old redwood tree.

Aris barely noticed the meeting passing before him. His mind was too busy with the questions gnawing at it. The next thing Aris knew the meeting had ended and he was exchanging obligatory pleasantries with the various other heads of state.

“Are you excited for your celebration?” the minister of the State Bank, a fat elderly man with always reddened cheeks named Lang Vallen, asked him, breaking Aris out of his daze.

“Excuse me? You said celebration. What are you talking about? What’s going on?” Aris’ full attention had been drawn to Lang Vallen’s chubby face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I assumed you knew,” the elderly man flushed, causing his already reddened cheeks to turn a shade darker. “It was your intel that saved the Emperor’s life. He saw it fit to honor you for what you did for him in stopping the rebel mercenaries. He had Edrian Wolls put in charge of the celebration for you.”

Aris’s eyes widened.

What was happening?

What was Edrian planning?

What was the Emperor thinking!?

“He’s to be the one to honor you for saving Emperor Evrain. He'll be the host of the party tonight, and it's being thrown at his expense. We were told that it was because he was so grateful for what you’d done for him.”

How had Aris not known? Edrian had to be up to something. He had seen the fury in the man’s eyes. He had to be plotting something.

Aris couldn’t believe the naivety of the older man, but gave him a pleasant smile regardless. Lang Vallen was one of the few men among the cabinet Aris felt as if he could trust.

The fat man hadn’t sought out his position. It had just fallen into his lap. He truly didn’t care about the recognition or power that he was afforded. He just loved mathematics and economics. His eyes lit up whenever the subject came up. He had given Aris a headache one more than one occasion when he’d gone to the fat man with questions relating to financial crimes.

He truly did love what he did and it was the only reason he did it.

Lang’s simplicity was endearing.

Aris had heard many others complaining about Lang behind the back of the older man, but that made him trust the man even more. He never partook in any of the court gossip and preferred to stay to himself with his numbers whenever he wasn’t called upon for an economic report.

Aris felt as if he were walking on eggshells every time he interacted with most of the other nobles and Cabinet members. Lang was one of the few he trusted. Edrian Wolls, however, Aris would never trust. Hearing the news that not only a celebration had been planned in his honor, but the raptor-like Minister of Defense had been put in charge of it and forced to finance it made Aris’ hair stand on edge.

Why was he being celebrated in the first place? He had barely done anything. Why the high honors bestowed? What was the Emperor thinking?

This was pure foolishness!

He knew that the hawkish man was planning something and the celebration made Aris more wary than ever. Surely Emperor Evrain had to know of the enmity between them. Was the Emperor truly so angry with his Minister of Defense that he planned on completely humiliating him, or was there something more to his actions?

What games were being played? Why was the Emperor being so foolish?

Why was he doubting the Emperor?

Ever since his coma, everything had changed for Aris.

He prayed that his mind had been infected by a deep lie. It would be easier if that were true than what Aris kept feeling more and more with each passing day. That the rebels were right. That line of thought terrified him.

“What…you…think?”

Aris hadn’t realized he’d zoned out.

“Pardon?” he asked Lang Vallen, who’d been saying something that he had missed.

“Oh, never you mind. I know the look in your eyes. It’s the same one I get when I’m presented with a particularly intriguing math problem. What I said was of little import anyway. I’ll leave you to the question that’s got you so intrigued,” The older fellow said with a look of understanding. “But if whatever it is that’s bothering you needs another pair of eyes, make sure to let me know. I love a good problem.”

Aris nodded and smiled as his eyes followed Lang Vallen who turned to walk away. He rarely interacted with the man, but it was good to know that he had the small pudgy man in his corner.

Aris smiled faded from his face the moment that his eyes fell on Edrian Wolls. He saw nothing but hatred reflected in them.

Aris could see that the party grated on the Minister. Edrian had lusted for the glory, and Aris had stripped him of that. Aris had torn down Edrian’s plans with a single sentence. Aris knew it was impossible for there to be no repercussions.

He tried offering an apologetic nod towards the Minister of Defense, but Edrian Wolls just stared back at him before turning his head and spitting on the marble floor in disgust. Aris’ defenses went up quickly. Few things are more dangerous than a proud man forcefully humbled.

“Please let there be no fanfare,” Aris thought as his mind wandered to the events of the evening before he was shuttled to the keep’s tailors to be fitted for an expensive new suit made especially for the occasion.

*****

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Aris was shuffled all over the large keep, one second he was being stripped and thrown into a large tub that seemed to be the size of his courtyard full of perfumed water and then washed by beautiful nubile servants —whom he insisted remained clothed, not wanting to let the sight of them tempt him any more than he already was at the sight of their clothes sticking to their wet forms—  and the next he was being toweled dry and manicured before being brought to the tailors once again.

They fitted Aris with an ornate military uniform of the deepest turquoise coloring with a verdant emerald collar. He had been given new underclothes as well. How they been able to get such a perfect fitting was a mystery he thought best left unsolved.

By the end of the three hour ordeal Aris looked like an entirely new man. Gone was his rough military demeanor and in its place was the image of a high noble, complete with the lavish stylings preferred among Fiell’s elite.

Aris barely recognized himself when the keeps servants placed a huge gilded mirror in front of him and offered him a look at their handiwork. His short serviceman’s beard that he preferred had been shaped into a well-defined goatee and his blond hair had been quaffed in a small —albeit militaristic— attempt at a high fashion pompadour.

Aris examined his reflection and took in just how different he looked. His rough, often ink-stained fingernails, were glossy and shining, and his skin that had been rubbed raw just hours ago reflected in the light.

It felt wrong. This wasn’t him. He felt more naked than he’d ever been in his life bedecked in the expensive fineries.