Jackal Among Snakes

“How were you actually born?” Anneliese asked the horseman on his steed of shadows as they walked through the lifeless Shadowlands.

Other than some mutterings between the ancient heroes—some of whom had become fast friends, after putting aside their desire to genocide the other—Anneliese’s incessant questions to their escort Shadowlander was the only sound permeating this endless dreary place. She was asking questions that Argrave himself wanted the answers to as they charted their course and remade this realm without further intervention.

“I don’t know how I was born,” the rider responded, trudging his steed across the mesas.

He created bridges of shadows to span the gaps between the separate grassy plateaus, allowing everyone present to walk freely toward where the so-called Manumitter awaited. It was there where Argrave would undoubtedly be used as a cudgel against Traugott, to be discarded when the time was right. Though he listened to the exchanges between Anneliese and the black knight, he also formulated ideas for how they could emerge from this all on top.

“You simply came to be, as you are now?” Anneliese pressed.

“No. We are all born as the creatures that you fought against—the lowest of the low. They are the detritus that is expelled upon your world when the Hopeful makes his millennial bargain with the Hopeless. Within our hierarchy, we fight ever upward. When a lesser defeats his better, they are promoted. This brutality maintains the iron will needed to resist the hunger, should the darkness ever fade away.”

They had already established that the Hopeless was Gerechtigkeit, yet this talk of bargains brought Argrave pause.

Anneliese asked the question in Argrave’s head. “Gerechtigkeit—the Hopeless—makes a bargain with your leader?”

“Yes. In exchange for releasing some of this millennia’s detritus—those who could not advance to a higher status in the one thousand years—the Hopeless gives the Hopeful the power to reassert his authority and bring new life into our abyssal realm. We possess a cycle, too. Ours is one where only the greatest rise upward, perpetually. This is all in preparation for the Final Fight, where we will do battle with the hounds of hunger and banish them from our bodies. We need only the best of the best when that day finally comes.”

Argrave agreed with an earlier statement: this was brutal. All of those people that they’d slain here were competing amongst each other to rise higher. Those that didn’t win the struggle were released upon Argrave’s world, where they were exposed to their hunger. Argrave had felt the hounds of hunger. It was only with the Fruit of Being allowing him to ward it away that he’d been able to suppress them. That, and his absurd mind.

Anneliese sounded fascinated as she inquired, “But where does this new life come from?”

“Only the Hopeful and his lieutenants are privy to that information.” A bridge of darkness stemmed out from the rider’s feet, and their party began to cross a valley.

“You’re being awfully forthcoming about that information,” the Rose’s founder, Bhaltair, commented.

“Any information could help you. You’re already dead. Your point of entry will be watched by the Hopeful himself, stopping any escape,” he answered simply. “And you released me.”

Argrave studied him. “You can feel gratitude?”

The rider stopped. Argrave did, too, half a step after. By the time Argrave was going to ask what was wrong, the rider resumed his route. “I must return to the shadows. I need updates on where the Manumitter hides. Continue to progress where I run to, and expect my return shortly.”

With that, the rider ran off ahead, and everyone obeyed his words and followed after while remaining cautious so they wouldn’t be ambushed. Argrave, meanwhile, wondered if their escort meant what he said, or if Argrave’s question of gratitude had scared away the man for some reason. He dismissed the thought, failing to see its relevance.

“I imagine you heard what he said?” Argrave asked Anneliese.

“He said quite a bit,” she pointed out.

Felipe I had the same thought Argrave did, and spoke up. “The Hopeful is going to be watching the point that we came in from. That monster… no disrespect to Argrave’s power—none of us could do a damn thing, after all—but even that monstrous [Apollyon] spell could barely suppress the darkness that thing emitted. I don’t have the highest of hopes about going through him once we’re no longer useful and need to escape.”

“Escape is different than a straight-out fight,” Argrave consoled. “And if you’ll remember, that thing staggered away from me in terror after I showed him the horrors I went through back in ‘Nam.”

“All I saw was a smile that never faded,” Emperor Balzat countered, completely ignorant of the joke Argrave was making—it was hard to show sarcasm in one’s voice when everyone was forced to use a monotonous voice not so dissimilar from some terrible text-to-speech programs.

Ghislain reasoned, “Traugott, for whatever reason, is attempting to manumit those the Hopeful has subjugated. That—”

“The hell does manumit even mean?” Aurore interrupted.

“Release from slavery,” the former Great Chu emperor said. From what Argrave knew, he had outlawed such a thing in his empire—it made sense that he would know.

Ghislain cleared his throat, then continued. “Given that Traugott is manumitting some of the Shadowlanders here, and he’s enough of a threat that that the tyrannical Hopeful would give us freedom in this empire he so zealously guards… there may be opportunity here amongst those freedom fighters he leads.”

“No. God no,” Argrave disagreed as vehemently as he could—he sounded neutral even in anger. “I’m not working alongside that damned snake. The moment that I lay eyes on his smug face, I’m using [Apollyon], and I’m ending his damnable life. He’s not going to live for another second the next time I lay eyes on him.”

“You’re wrong,” Anneliese disagreed. “I’m going to kill him, I’m afraid, long before you even cast a spell.”

Argrave was taken aback by her competitive confidence and only laughed.

“Whether he lives or dies, I think Ghislain is right,” the Archchief agreed—and Argrave knew he was being genuine, considering how much that the southern tribals hated the southron elves. “Traugott’s built a foundational movement that’s enough of a threat to the Hopeful’s regime that he sends us forth. Therein lies our opportunity to break his advantage. If possible, we should find a way to harness their burgeoning force to make our own escape.”

Argrave grunted in displeasure, but he couldn’t deny the good sense of the suggestion. The alternative was fighting the Hopeful and all of his lieutenants in open combat. The idea was immensely nauseating, even after Argrave had shown him the horrors of ‘Nam.

“Alright. We’ll act with discretion,” Argrave agreed. “But I don’t retract what I said. Traugott’s existence is too much of a threat to let him walk free for even a second after we get our kill shot.”

Anneliese nodded in agreement, then looked ahead. “Our escort is taking his time, is he not?”

#####

The rider basked in the shadows and the abyss, reveling in the sense of nothingness that it gave him after his time enduring the harrowing hunger of the changed realm that Argrave had created. It took immense willpower to not become a mindless beast before the hounds of hunger, as those that were lesser than him so often became. That which Argrave and Anneliese created subjected him to the hunger the Hopeful spared them from.

The rider was not loyal due to the bonds of servitude alone. Protection from the hunger was immensely important to him. Before the hounds, he felt lesser—a shell of himself. It took immense willpower not to devolve into a slobbering beast, like those he commanded. Yet… even still, he couldn’t deny something that the human had pointed out to him. He’d felt gratitude. Gratitude.

When Argrave had pointed out he felt gratitude, he knew immediately why their reconstructed Shadowlands had felt so wrong yet so intoxicating. It brought with it more than light, more than sight and sound and smell. It brought with it other aspects of life that the rider had so long ago forgotten. Yet… this sense of forgetfulness… it said so much, yet too little. What had been forgotten? What was the rider remembering?

All of these strange sentiments only reinforced what he knew—the Manumitter, Argrave… both needed to die, right alongside the company they kept. This heresy had to be purged with a steady hand, and the Shadowlands had to become black once again. No other outcome could be tolerated. Dreams of liberation were just that—fanciful conjurations by those stepping out of the comforting purity of the darkness.

With his resolve reforged in the chill of the abyss, the rider felt it a fitting time to rejoin those he’d left. He would not again let trifling sentiments interfere with the purity of his servitude. Such things as gratitude were fostered by malignant presences that undermined the Hopeful’s Grand Dream. He trusted in the plan their master had laid out.

Not because he had to—because he wanted to. Without a doubt…

#####

Orion stared at the sleeping adopted princess. Elenore stroked Sophia’s hair gently, then pulled up the covers of her blanket and left her there. Then, she walked out, shutting the door.

“You will be a good mother,” he told her.

Elenore stiffened, hearing that. “Pregnancy sounds inconvenient.”

Orion smiled. “I’m pleased you don’t deny it.”

Elenore shook her head, but then looked up at him. “What’s with you? You’ve been awfully reticent, awfully withdrawn. Is it still Vasquer?”

“No, it isn’t Vasquer.” He studied her with his gray eyes. “I never thought the day would come when you would express concern for me. It’s very pleasant.”

“Don’t make me regret it by saying ridiculous things,” she chastised. “What’s wrong, then?”

“I’ve had a feeling budding within. It’s only grown stronger since Argrave left.” Orion shook his head, then looked up to the stars. “I believe my time is coming.”

“What the hell nonsense are you spouting?” Elenore crossed her arms. “Is this about that Fruit of Being? Even without the damned thing, nothing’s ever gotten close to putting you out of our misery before. Stop being ridiculous. You’re in the heart of Blackgard, with gods and the best spellcasters the world over watching over it.”

“All I know is what I feel.” Orion looked at her. “And I feel that death is coming. My intuition is never wrong.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Shame that same intuition couldn’t lead you to the conclusion our father deserved to die before he crippled me.”

“I apologize, Elenore.” Orion dipped his head.

She planted her hand on his forehead to stop him from bowing. “No, no… I didn’t want you to apologize, damn it. I… I shouldn’t keep bringing that up.” She sighed in defeat, almost ashamed of herself. “Listen. I’m better at predicting these things than you, and I’m saying the probability of your death is incredibly low. The only way I see you dying is by doing something stupid. So—whatever comes, if anything… don’t do something stupid. Death can come, for all I care. Just step out of its damn way.”

“And if doing so ends in your death?” He gestured at the door. “In Sophia’s death?”

Elenore shook her head. “And what if a meteor crashed from the heavens and killed us all? Hypotheticals do nothing for us. Just… just act smart, Orion. Despite our differences, I no longer want you to die. I may go so far as to say that I’d like you to live a long time. I rarely hold such sentiments, but there it is.”

“That is heartening.” He nodded solemnly. “I will not compromise. But I will try and think.”

“I know thinking is hard for you, but that’s all I ask.” She smiled mischievously. “Look after Sophia. I have some work to do before I sleep.”

“I will.” Orion bowed his head. “Take care.”

“You as well,” she managed to say kindly, with some effort.