Bond Breakers

Plans in the shadows

Targun stood with his arms folded across his mid-rift, rubbing either of his arms. He wasn't cold. No, it hardly got cold in Aradia. In fact, he was hot. The Sulf-robes were made of a thick fabric, covered with light silk. He couldn't imagine why his ancestors had decided to make the clothes this way. From his studies, Sulfa was one of the hottest continents in Myrindia. It made no sense to punish its people, then again... he glanced at the high priest. It wasn't unknown for Sulphites to be hard on their own. It wasn't an easy life. But it wasn't supposed to be. Shakur stood at his side; he didn't look uncomfortable about setting foot on this infested platform. Festiva was an aberration. A scar on the land. He could feel the wrongness emanating off it setting into his bones, making him squirm.

"Will you stand still," Shakur hissed without moving.

Targun went rigid. "Sorry High priest."

"it's just... what are we doing here?"

"We're meeting someone."

"Down here?" He asked without even thinking.

Shakur grabbed him by the ear and twisted so hard he went to his knees. "Are you questioning me boy?"

"No, sorry, it's just..."

The priest twisted further, but he didn't cry out, it would only be worse if he showed pain.

"You're forever sorry Targun, always apologising. Will you ever learn?"

"Yes, yes, yes," he said over and over, the cartilage in his ear cracked and the pain made him cry.

Shakur released him and then put his foot on his back and pushed him over onto the rocky floor. "Pathetic, and I had such hopes."

Targun lay on the floor trying to figure out what exactly he'd done wrong this time. He knew it didn't take a lot, but he could usually figure out what sparked the High Priest's rage. Lately, it seemed to be his mere presence. But he didn't let the thought keep him down, it would only spur more punishment. He got to his feet without another word.

Shakur didn't say anything. He just waited, occasionally glancing towards the other side of the platform. A swirl of dancing fog and dark shadows where the old caves used to be. Erya's grandfather had had them destroyed to disarm the Sulphites and win the war. Shakur appeared to be plotting, but Targun was afraid of asking. He simply stood in the shadows, his eyes trailing the spectacle. The swirling lights, amalgamation of voices, melody on the breeze, it blended together into an emotion. One that he registered as happiness. It was that he sensed on the platform. He gagged. If the high priest knew what he was thinking... he shuddered. He had to get away from this place. Back to the familiarity of his bare walls and evening prayers.

He was about to suggest he head back when someone appeared. He knew right away that the man was close to death. It wouldn't be obvious too any but a trained Sulphite, if used incorrectly, the usage of Gift-stones was an addiction to all other races. The effects, dramatic ageing with every use. However, there was nothing visible but a yellow hue, almost like a bad tan, it was only internal where it could be seen. The victims' organs would shut down long before they showed any of the signs.

"Shakur," the man said in greeting.

"Reeka," the High priest responded, a scowl on his lips, he didn't want to be here anymore than Targun did, "did you get it done?"

Reeka nodded. Even in the shadows he glowed yellow. The whites of his eyes like twin lamps, the signs of his body rejecting him. "They fell for it. Started a fight like you said and split up."

"Good, that'll put a spanner in the kings plans," he said more to himself than them. "And the stone?"

Reeka held up a blue stone. "Here's the little beaut."