Cordolium - Part 3

Before we dive into the story, I’d like to take this moment to do two things.

First, I’d like to apologize for the delay. Anyone can attest to how crazy life can get at times. Between working full time, directing a play, and taking time for family and friends, this new site got lost in the shuffle. But I aim to correct that moving forward.

Second, I would like to thank you all for continuing to read my story. These characters are dear to me and I’m thrilled to share them with you. So without further ado…

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After oddly passing out in the ring of ice, Oron awoke to the gentle tapping of a finger against his skull from the man with white hair. Oron scooted back, not expecting to be this close to the man who dragged him to the ground a short while ago. When his new bindings were untied, Oron sat up and found the room filled with an uneasy tension. Emma was there, somewhat shaken. 

“What’s going on?” Oron asked.

“Oron,” said Emma. “It’s a lot.”

Oron then listened as they explained what happened to them. The injury, the time unconscious, the lost memories. All of it. As Homer and Frankie explained, Emma moved closer to Oron and the two sat while they took in the story. Occasionally, Oron would look to Emma who could only nod to confirm the story. She had already heard most of it. 

“We were hunting someone?” Oron tried to piece it together. Knights could be tasked with tracking someone down, but their jobs were usually more about hunting daemons and protecting travelers.

“Yes, a real nasty piece of work,” Frankie offered up. “His name is Erebus. Well that’s what he calls himself.”

“That’s a stupid name,” Emma commented. She shot a glance to Oron who gave a slight grin at her comment. At least Emma could try and joke away the tension. Oron was stuck stewing in it.

“Still, he’s one of the most wanted men in all the great cities. He’s been labeled as a terrorist and a killer by most of them.”
“What was he doing?” Emma wondered.

“Killing knights.” Homer let the words hit. Knights were strong warriors; it was not easy for some random person to just kill one. So either Erebus had some special training, or something worse. The world could be a dark place.

“Why was he killing knights?” asked Oron.

“That’s hard to explain,” Homer dodged the issue.

“Ok,” Oron continued. “So we were hunting this guy, Erebus. And we had friends with us?”

A hush fell over the room. They had talked around the issue a few times, but it was unavoidable now. Emma and Oron had not been alone on their journey, but they certainly woke up alone now. Something had happened to their allies. Something dark. Oron’s stomach sank as he tried to figure out what happened. Was it better to not know?

“When you left La Rezza, it was just the two of you.” Homer’s voice was somber, etched in regret. “While you were traveling you met up with a group of knights from your home city. Ashe Langston, another noble like you, Lady Emma, and Finn and Ingrid Marigold. They joined you and the five of you made it to Azul Hallow.”

“There was another one,” Emma added briskly.

“Yes. You met a woman named Revka in Azul Hallow.”

“Was she also a knight?”

“No.” Homer shook his head. “But she had a lot of useful information for you. She got caught up in the hunt as well.”

“We had six of us all together and we still couldn’t take this one guy down?” Emma huffed.

“You’re forgetting that Erebus didn’t work alone, he had his own people that you needed to contend with.”

“Still, we should have been able to take him down.” Emma looked away and Oron knew she hated the idea of failing.

“It was more complicated.”

“Ingrid was injured and kidnapped,” Frankie explained. “They set her up to be the bait for a trap.”

“It took everything we had to keep you from rushing into more danger,” Lorenzo added. He sounded eager to be a part of the conversation.

“I begged you to wait,” Homer went on. “I offered to call for additional knights to help us save Ingrid, but her brother Finn was stubborn. And the two of you were eager.” Oron swallowed hard as the story continued. “You found Erebus, but everything went wrong.”

“We found Revka unconscious outside the hideout.” The man with the white hair rose to speak. His voice was smoky and soft. Oron had almost forgotten he was there. “Inside, we found Ashe chained to a wall, shot. Ingrid was unconscious, beaten and bruised. And the two of you and Finn were stabbed, bleeding out on the floor. We managed to save the two of you, but Finn was already gone.” 

“Whatever happened, you took on an opponent you weren’t ready for,” the brown haired woman with a scar on her cheek pointed out.

“How bad are these injuries?” Oron asked.

“You can see for yourself,” Frankie answered. Oron remembered the bandages wrapping his chest. He didn’t feel like going to the bathroom since he already wasn’t wearing a shirt. He slowly unwrapped the bandages there in front of the others. In the center of his chest, creeping slighting over his left peck, a deep fissure dug into his flesh. The divet in the muscle was tender to the touch with red and pink skin stretching tight to seal the wound. Thin tendrils of new skin spread out from the central wound, like the blade had cracked the surface of a glass mirror.

“It will take some time to fully heal,” Homer explained, “but I’m confident that we can get the two of you back up and fighting again soon.” 

“My scars look just like that,” Emma added. “But I’m not showing them off for anyone. Put a shirt on, Oron.” She threw a pillow from the couch at him. 

“How are you treating us for these?” Oron did not see any medical equipment when he searched the building for Emma earlier. 

“That would be me.” Homer came forward and knelt before Oron. He held a hand to Oron’s scar, his skin cool and weathered. When skin collided with skin, Oron felt his blood rush to the scar. Stinging pain, like pinpricks across his flesh, rippled out through his chest. Homer held his hand still as some of the red scar tissue on Oron faded to pink. Slowly visions of a woman back in the city of La Rezza filled Oron’s head. A kind woman, tired of Oron and Emma’s constant injuries, who used her gift to heal them. Oron knew this power.

“You’re a stitcher,” Oron said, more of a question than he intended.

“Yes, that’s my gift,” Homer answered. “I’ve been trying to speed up your recovery ever since we found you alive.”

“Is that what you were doing when I woke up?” Emma asked. Homer nodded. “Well you should have just told me that.”

“You weren’t exactly in the mood to listen at that moment.”

Emma shrugged. “Fair.”

“We nearly died.” Oron lowered his head.

“Apparently,” Emma grunted.

“You were up against a pretty strong opponent.” Homer took a seat.

“I just find it hard to believe that we could lose this bad. Emma and I were the strongest fighters out of La Rezza this past year.”

“You’re a long way from La Rezza, boy,” the scarred woman added. Emma rolled her eyes and groaned.

“I get that. But we should have put up more of a fight.”

“Maybe you’re just not as strong as you thought you were.” The words came from the man with white hair. 

“I’m sorry, but who are these people?” Emma curtly asked. “And don’t be snide and say I should remember you.” She glared at the woman. 

“Actually,” Frankie jumped in. “You haven’t ever met them. At least, not like this.”

“What does that mean?”

“She means awake.” Homer cleared his throat. “Before your injuries, myself and my assistants Frankie and Lorenzo were helping you to track the man down. In all honesty, I did not want you to confront him because I knew how dangerous he would be. I told you that I was going to send for other knights to help you.” There was a pause in his speech as everyone knew what he would say next. “Well, these two are the knights I sent for.”

“Them?” Emma inquired, incredulous. “I don’t see it.”

“They were the ones who rescued you from Erebus’s hideout.”

“But they couldn’t get there faster to save our friends.” Emma glared at them and crossed her arms. They met her gaze but dismissed her taunt. “Couldn’t save Ashe, or Finn?”

“Lady Emma, they got there as soon as they could,” Homer sighed.  Emma ignored him and kept her attention on the two knights.

“Names?” she demanded. The two looked at one another and the white haired man shrugged his shoulders.

“My name is Ezra,” he boasted. He stood close to Emma’s height, maybe even shorter. His frame was lean and slender, nearly just skin and bones. Scars dotted his hands and forearms. His white shaggy hair hung over his forehead and covered the top of his eyes, but his deep red irises shone through. The red of his eyes unnerved Oron, and he felt a chill in his sides. 

“Alma,” the woman whispered. She towered over her partner. The scar on her cheek ended dangerously close to her eye before cutting down under her chin to the top of her neck. A scar like that hinted at a past filled with fighting. A perfect story for a knight. She carried herself with all the elegance and arrogance of a noble, but she didn’t look familiar to either Oron or Emma, and they had seen a lot of nobles in their life. She ran her long fingers through her brown hair and pulled it behind her ears.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Oron offered.

“Charmed,” Emma lied. 

“Like it or not, we saved your asses,” Alma threw at her. Emma clenched her fist. She tried to breathe deep.

“Don’t antagonize her,” Ezra told Alma. 

“No, let her say what she wants to say,” Emma invited. The fire had been stoked and Emma wanted to show this woman who she was messing with.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew that you needed to show a little gratitude,” Alma taunted.

“I’ve got your gratitude right here,” Emma rose from the couch, and Oron tried to grab her arm to hold her back. Alma was a bit taller than Oron, and even Oron loomed a foot over Emma. But Emma was used to being looked down upon. She held her scowl as her arm shot out. Emma held her hand open, as if waiting to catch something between her fingers. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Emma let out a stifled grunt and bent over, clutching her chest.

Oron jumped up, catching her in his grip to steady her. She forced herself up, panting from the pain. She looked at her empty hand, upset and bewildered that there was nothing there. 

“You can’t forge,” Alma commented, watching the scene unfold.

“Yes I can,” Emma shot back. “I’m just sore. You know, from the gaping hole in my chest.” 

“No. You can’t forge.” Her words carried a weighty tone with them. It did not sound like she was commenting on it, but more as if she were revealing it. 

Oron held out his hand and tried to forge. He reached into himself and tried to summon his sword, but he could not grasp the steel blade. It wasn’t there. Oron strained to pull the sword from the air and felt his chest tighten. The pain of a blade tearing into him forced him to stop. There was no blood or break in his body, but it felt like he had been skewered again. 

“I don’t get it,” he grunted to Emma. “We’ve been able to forge for years.”

“While injured, too,” she added.

“This injury is a bit different,” Homer admitted. They looked at him and they knew the next bit was going to be difficult. Lorenzo and Frankie had pulled back and were looking away. Alma and Ezra averted their eyes, unwilling to meet Oron or Emma’s gaze. They suddenly felt alone, cut off from the others. It was just them and Homer and whatever he was going to say. “Please, sit.”

Oron sat first. Emma had to be defiant and stand for a second longer, unsure of Homer’s intent. When he also sat, Emma knew she should follow. The room was still. Oron could hear the others adjusting themselves and trying to settle. It didn’t seem to be working.

“Look,” Homer started, “by now you realize that your injuries were very serious.” Oron agreed. “Both of you suffered physical damage; but, that’s not the full extent.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about what you’ve noticed so far. You’re having a hard time remembering things. You cannot yet forge your weapons. And when Emma used her gift, it hurt her to do so.” Emma dismissed that part. “Those are all symptoms of a much deeper problem.”

The problem with not having all of your memories at the moment is that when people try to explain things to you, you don’t even know what you forgot in the first place, so a lot of it is confusing. Homer was trying to lead them to the answer. He didn’t want to be the one who said it. But Oron’s mind was like a child’s at this moment. Blank and scared. His eyes told Homer as much.

“What do you remember about the art of Orenda?” Homer asked. Oron picked at his fingernails. 

“It’s the art of awakening your spiritual self,” Emma explained. Her eyes were wide, speaking as the knowledge came back to her. Apparently, years of tutors drilling lessons into her did work. “Every body holds within its flesh a soul from times of old and a heart from the earth itself. These forces intertwine in the body. Two forces of time and nature making one being. But, if a person is able to separate these forces, pull them apart, they can find power in the void between them.”

“Yes,” Homer nodded.

“People who can separate the forces can forge weapons of their own willpower to use in combat.”

“And they can awaken gifts,” Oron chimed in, still sounding a bit unsure. “Not everyone can accomplish this, but those with gifts are blessed with unique abilities to help them defend themselves.” Pieces of his training came back to Oron. Emma spoke true, and the art of Orenda was a powerful practice handed down over generations to give the people of this world power against the dangers lurking in the distance. Those strong enough to wield the art earned the title of knight. The Great Cities raised their knights to protect the people. Oron remembered being a teen when he learned to pull apart his soul and his heart. Emma was the one who taught him, right? 

“I’m glad to see things returning, you two.” Homer smiled faintly. 

“Keep going,” she pressed. “What does this have to do with us?”

Homer swallowed hard, holding back the torrent of words. “The blade that Erebus used to stab you was no ordinary piece of metal. Before people found ways to meditate and train to split the soul from the heart, they resorted to more primitive means. Special blades were created to awaken the soul or the heart within a person. They hoped to speed up the process. Erebus found another use for this weapon. He takes his weapon, his soul blade, and uses it to remove a person’s soul. To rip it from their body.”

“What happened to us?” Oron demanded, hesitation staining his words. His heartbeat quickened. He could see Emma’s leg bouncing nervously. He tried to find something constant in the room to hold on to. The walls and the carpet were ugly and plain. No one else would meet his gaze. He tried to find a crack in the plaster of the ceiling. A hand grabbed his forearm and clamped down tight. 

Oron tilted his head and saw Emma, facing forward, eyes locked on Homer. Her gaze was piercing as her green eyes shimmered in the light of the room. But her legs continued to bounce, and her nails dug into his skin. The fires raged within her and she was doing everything she could to keep it together. Oron placed a hand over hers. He felt the tension in her bones die down just a bit. 

“Lady Emma. Oron.” Homer chewed his words. “Erebus stole your souls. He ripped them from your bodies. You shouldn’t be alive.”