more alone.
How can I know such things, he wondered, when I can remember nothing else? I understand about Shashida, the slave market, and Ellistium, but I cannot even speak my own name.
Before he could find his answers his master spoke again, breaking the boy’s concentration. He had been on the verge of something, he realized. Even so, he wisely decided to say nothing of his newfound revelations. The master pointed at the man chained to the floor.
“He is a worthless convict,” the master said. “Worse, he was once an enemy soldier and a magic practitioner of the worst kind. He cannot speak to you, because after he committed his crime, his tongue was cut out in punishment.”
Pausing for a moment, the master pointed at the beeswax plaque hanging from the man’s neck. “He has been marked for sale at auction,” the master said, “but with no tongue he won’t bring much.” Then the empty hood hauntingly turned toward the boy’s face.
“He killed his slave handler while on the way to the forum, dealing the poor man a gruesome death,” he added. “It is up to you to determine his fate. There is only one correct decision, and choosing wisely will be today’s lesson. It is one of the most important that you will ever learn.”
The empty hood turned toward the chained slave once more. “His future rests in your hands,” the master said. “Over the course of your life you will be forced to make many such choices, and each must be the right one. There can be no mistakes and no second-guessing, for such errors will be taken as a sign of weakness by those who would destroy you.”
Before continuing the master placed his hands into opposite robe sleeves. “The usual penalty for murder is death,” he added sternly. “But one day you will have the power to commute such sentences and show mercy, should you wish to. So what is it to be? Will you spare him and send him back to the auction block? Or will you order his demise?”
Before the boy could answer, the master waved an upturned palm. At once a gleaming sword appeared in his hand. He held it out.
“Take it,” he said. “Make your choice, but first know this: If you wish the slave to die, it must be by your own hand. Moreover, should you choose to free him, unpleasant consequences could arise.”
With trembling hands the boy took the sword. Despite its heaviness it felt like it belonged in his grasp. The feeling surprised him.
“What consequences?” the boy asked.
“I will not say,” the master answered. “In life one must suffer the unknown results of his decisions, whatever they might be. That is how it will be today. Choose.”
As the boy looked at the slave his whole body started to tremble. Why should the decision be mine? his mind cried out. Who am I to have the power of life and death over others?
The boy lowered his sword. “I will not choose,” he answered. “Nor can you force me to do so.”
He raised his face to again look into the empty, frightening hood. “The choices you offer are worse than nothing. You say that I must either condemn this helpless man to slavery for the remainder of his life or kill him here and now…I do not know which fate is worse.”
The master stepped nearer, his imposing presence stabbing even greater trepidation into the young boy’s heart.
“Youwill choose,” he ordered. “And you will do so this instant. Indecision can be as deadly as the blade in your hand. Choose-or you will remain in this place, learning one harsh lesson after the next until you are an old man and your bones turn to dust. What is it to be-mercy or death?”
The boy looked back at the seething slave. “If I must choose, I choose mercy,” he said. “Free him and return him to the auction block.”
“Very well,” the master answered. “Be prepared to deal with the consequences of your decision.”
Before the boy could answer, an azure cloud gathered around the faceless master. Two seconds later the cloud vanished, taking the master with it.
Stunned, the boy quickly turned to look at the slave. As he did, several smaller azure clouds formed around the slave’s hands and feet. Soon the Shashidan’s manacles vanished, leaving him free.
To the boy’s astonishment the slave let go a wicked smile and charged straight for him, tendons knotting and teeth flashing.
This can’t be happening! the boy thought. I just saved him from certain death! Surely he knows that!
But the time for wondering had passed. There was only one course of action, the boy realized. He would have to defend his life.
As the slave neared him the boy felt a sudden, unbidden tingling course through his veins. As though it were second nature he quickly turned on the balls of his feet, then raised his sword high and brought it around with everything he had, taking the slave’s head off at the shoulders with one cut. As the blade passed through the slave’s neck, for the briefest of moments the boy thought that he saw it glow azure. Then the severed head and the body to which it had once belonged crashed to the white floor, spurting blood as they went. The headless body convulsed and bled for several moments before finally going still. The killing had taken less than six seconds.
His chest heaving, the boy again lifted the sword and regarded it with wonder as the slave’s still warm blood ran down it and onto his hands. He watched as the strange azure glow slowly left the blade.
Has all this been a dream? he wondered.
Dropping the sword, he lifted his hands before his face and stared at them with horror as if they belonged to someone else-a cattle butcher, perhaps, who cut into flesh as a way of life and was accustomed to having his hands bathed in blood.
Yes, he thought. He stared back down at the dead slave, marveling over how simple a thing it had been to kill another human being. I am much like that cattle butcher. But I have now become a butcher of men…
Just then another azure cloud appeared. Seconds later, the faceless master stepped from its midst. With a wave of one hand he caused the cloud, the corpse, and the severed head to vanish. As he turned toward the boy he again placed his hands into opposite sleeve robes.
At first the boy couldn’t find his voice. Finally the words came in a whisper.
“How?” he breathed. Had the boy been able to see his master’s face, he would have found the approving expression that he had hoped for earlier.
“You possess a rare gift,” the master said. “It is calledK’Shari. I granted it to your blood as you lay asleep on the stone floor. As you grow to manhood you will learn much more about it-how to harness it, embrace it, and make it your own. But for now that is all you need to know about it.”
For the first time since coming to this bizarre place, enough anger roiled up inside the boy to finally overcome his fear. He took a threatening step closer to the frustrating mystic.
“You left me alone with that freed slave!” he shouted. “You knew that he would try to kill me, didn’t you? Yet you vanished, you coward, only to reappear after it was over! Why bother to teach me these strange lessons if you value my life so little?”
“You are wrong,” the master answered. “Your life is more highly valued than you could possibly imagine. Despite your youth, because ofK’Shari you were never in danger. I vanished because I wanted you to know that you must not rely on others to save your life. But that is not what we must discuss.”
“What, then?” the boy demanded.
“Your wrong choice,” the master answered.
“Why was my choice wrong?” the boy protested. He had become so angry that his voice shook.
Good, the master thought. He is starting to assert himself.
“You chose to be merciful toward someone whom you knew to be a dangerous enemy,” the master answered, “and toward someone who had already killed one of your own kind. Your only reward for that generosity was to be forced into defending your life. That is all that Shashidans know-how to hate, take, and destroy. Never forget that. You must always strike first, and strike to kill.”
The boy calmed a bit. Turning, he looked at the blood on the floor. “Surely there must be some good in everyone, no matter what they believe or where they come from,” he offered.
“No,” the master answered. “Now, then-tell me what you learned here today.”
Perhaps the master is right after all, the boy thought, as he felt his dread of the faceless mystic continue to wane. It was kill or be killed. And I’m the one still standing. This time the boy’s answer came quickly.
