Heretics And Sheep

9: Rusted Flower

Marcus woke up to a knock on his wall.

"I lead you through the Dead City, I assisted in watering those Sanguinus, and now, I bring you here as my guest, to Majal Al'haya, my home... I count three tasks Marcus, we are even." The Desert Reaper waited outside his door.

Marcus sat up in his bed, fully alert. He half expected him to blow past the curtain that covered his doorway and charge him with his daggers drawn. Marcus gulped in uncertainty. A fight with Barabbas is a deadly one no matter your condition; Marcus here was sleep-deprived and without his home turf. This would be more than a little trouble. 

Barabbas continued as Marcus awaited his fate.

"Get dressed and come with me... You are to be judged today, but as one of my own."

Marcus tried to hide his relief and put his shirt on. By the time he was in the hallway with Barabbas, he was still counting his lucky stars. They sat down outside his room. In the same hallway Marcus woke up in last night.

"I'm not much of a sleepwalker, this desert's fucking with my head..." He thought to himself.

Before he could focus his mind on the nightmare, Barabbas spoke. "Do you know why I am a Head Commander Marcus?"

Marcus perked up, surprised his benefactor was talking about himself.

"Besides the obvious of course, like killing the former Head Commander... You see, with this status, my 'students' have almost as much authority as a normal commander. They can, essentially, do as they wish. The council's jurisdiction ends where my command begins. They can live their lives and enjoy their youth..."

Marcus looked away; a straggling SaHraa'di girl made her way to breakfast. He thought for a moment, then asked.

"I don't get it, why are you telling me this?" Barabbas shifted his right leg down, crossing his legs.

"Because, you see, youth is invaluable to me." He smirked at Marcus.

"And as far as I'm concerned, you're just a fucking kid."

Marcus laughed for a moment with his mouth closed, making a "hmph" sound. He smiled and looked away, this conversation reminded him Barabbas was human, and he tried not to laugh even more. The Desert Reaper got up.

"You are just like her..."

He didn't look at Marcus as he spoke.

"Mari. You saw her last night no? She's one of mine. They say she is of Maedin like you. They tried to make her a tool as soon as I brought her here. A fifteen-year-old girl. Do you understand?"

He looked to him but didn't wait for an answer. He instead started to walk away but stopped within a couple of steps.

"Mari and Chretien are SaHraa'di of the highest talent. One day they will be my equals. Marcus, you will be one of them as well."

He turned to him before disappearing into a passage.

"Do not forget your sword, You may need it yet."

Marcus stood at the back of a large room, some kind of auditorium. It was supported by carved pillars and even had smooth sand plates for a floor. Barabbas held his right flank, laying below a pillar taking a nap. He had his right leg raised and god rays shone into his eyes. This would have strained them if not for his scarf. Barabbas almost looked defenceless here, but from whispers in the dining area, Marcus quickly learned that this wasn't the case. The Desert Reaper was the strongest. Only he, could openly oppose the council without looking over his shoulder every night. More SaHraa'di, including the white-robed woman, who he earlier learned to be "Mari" Al'ul'tisal, stood guard. They were down the hallway leading up to the barracks, lined like statues, motionless and unbreakable. The auditorium was built in such a way that you would always be looking at The Elder Council's door. It was placed where perhaps a throne might be. Behind it, the cruel ruled. The Elders schemed. Fat and bloated with power. They would decide his fate this day.