Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Valsigian grabbed his father’s sword with his left hand as he stood and backed away from the reborn eternal flame. The flame itself looked no different than it had before, unlike himself, who now bore this pattern upon his shoulder. When he released the Aureate, the glow had stopped, but the pattern itself stood out in stark contrast against his tanned skin. He rolled his shoulder again, amazed at how the braided metal moved with his skin. He felt no tightness, no pulling from the pattern, no matter how he moved. There was no redness around the edges where his flesh met the engraved pattern. He felt no pain from this... thing that had marked him so deeply. He concluded that whatever this metal-like substance was, it mimicked the pliability and elasticity of natural skin. In a way, it felt like it had always been there. Had always been a part of him, but had just now revealed itself.

He wasn’t entirely sure why, but another thought had just occurred to him. He carefully lifted his father’s sword and tapped the flat of the blade against the pattern on his shoulder. As soon as the blade made contact with the pattern, it rang out like a struck bell. The vibration from the ringing traveled down the length of the blade as if it were a tuning fork. He could barely maintain his grip on the handle, it was vibrating so ferociously. The pattern on his right shoulder flared to life again in response to the ringing blade. It didn’t form the symbol as it had when he had embraced the Aureate. This time, the braided metal seemed to slither and move around in geometric patterns that seemed attuned to the pitch of the ringing blade. As the ringing and vibration slowed and finally stilled, the pattern on his shoulder muted itself and returned to forming the same pattern as before.

Valsigian’s skull could barely contain his eyes; he had opened them so wide in utter disbelief at what had just happened, he feared they would pop out of his head. Shaking his head in disbelief at what he had just witnessed, he began to wonder what else the pattern was capable of. He decided to try tapping the metal with the sharp edge of the blade. He slowly lifted his father’s sword back to his shoulder, twisting his wrist to align the cutting edge, and tapped the pattern again. It’s light flared in a violent display of red-gold as soon as contact was made. With a force he was not expecting, and as such was completely unprepared for, his father’s sword was repelled away from his shoulder so suddenly that he lost his grip on the weapon. The sword was flung across the room, ricocheted off the wall behind the eternal flame, and was sent spinning and skittering across the floor. It finally came to a rest at the base of the wall to his right.

He hadn’t even realized that he had thrown both of his arms over his head and had crouched to the floor to protect himself from the flying sword until he began to stand and slowly lowered his arms back to his sides. He stood in silent awe of what had just occurred. The potential advantages of this strange metal immediately began to swirl in his warrior’s mind. He imagined battlefield armor fashioned from it. Ropes of this material strung from the walls to repel any type of siege machine. The possibilities were endless. The only problem was, he didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t know how to get more.

As he walked over to retrieve his father’s sword, he remembered what a world of trouble he was in. He had to figure out how to get to the king before his knighting ceremony began. He had to explain everything that had happened. His vows, his… extra vows, Zerathis nearly freezing him to death, his visions, and the hidden symbol within the pattern on his shoulder. His head began to ache, his thoughts swirled, as he contemplated how he would tell Thorvald that he could not swear his oath of knighthood. He hoped the king would believe him, would understand that he was now on a mission from Zerathis himself. The words that he was forming in his mind to explain why he couldn’t swear his oaths seemed weak and unimpressive. He started to imagine his beheading as a result of his inability to form a cohesive argument. This only made his head swim with gruesome possibilities; he needed to think clearly. Hopefully, by morning, he will have formed a speech for his king worthy of keeping his head.

A knock on the door of the chapel snapped him out of his self-deprecating thoughts. Why would someone come knocking on the inner chapel doors in the middle of the night when everyone knew his vigil was tonight? “Who’s there?” he said, managing to put a little steel in his voice. “Why do you disturb my vigil?”

In response, the doors began to swing open, revealing the morning’s sunlight streaming through the small windows in the bath chamber. Dayne stood in the open doorway, a smile upon his face. “Disturb your vigil?” he crowed. “More like disturb your slumber you dolt. You were supposed to be dressed and ready by now.” He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the door frame, smile bright as the morning sun. “King Stormson sent me to collect you and bring you to the citadel for your big day.” He scoffed and made a circular motion with his finger while pointing at his head, as if to say that his best friend had gone crazy. “Or did you forget what today is all about? I hope you didn’t fall and hit your head on the way out of this huge tub,” he said as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder behind him.

“No, it's not possible,” Valsigian said as he stared at his friend with disbelief written on his face. “I just started my vigil a few hours ago.” He looked past Dayne at the morning sun streaming through the windows. It had to be at least an hour past sunrise. He turned to walk towards his friend, confusion still gripping him as his mind raced to figure out what had happened.

“Holy shit Val! What the hell did you do to your shoulder?” Dayne immediately strode forward and grabbed his friend's arm to examine what he thought must be a wound. “What is this? Did you get some kind of weird tattoo?” His eyes shot up to Valsigian’s, his smile beginning to reappear. “Why wouldn’t you tell me you got inked?” His look became a little more accusatory, “I would have gone with you, maybe got a hot lass showing her ass on my shoulder.” He studied the pattern on Valsigian’s shoulder a little more closely, “This doesn’t look like anything. Just a bunch of lines and squiggles. Was the guy drunk when he did this?” He began to laugh at his joke as he reached out to touch the pattern.

“Dayne, don’t touch it!” Valsigian jerked his arm away, fearful that Dayne might be flung away from him just as hard as his father’s sword had been. “I’m not entirely sure what it is myself, or exactly how I got it.” He tried to give his friend a reassuring look. “It was here when I woke up.”

Dayne studied him for a moment, the look of shock slowly melting from his face. He burst out laughing, doubling over at the waist. “You son of a bitch!”, he exclaimed between peals of laughter. “You snuck out last night and got shit faced. Probably passed out near the wicked garden, and some jackass thought it would be funny to practice his tattoo skills on you.” Dayne tried to catch his breath between bouts of laughter. “Then they dumped your ass back in here,” his laughter became so overpowering he began to grab his ribs in pain. “Then you finally woke up from your drunken stupor, just in time for me to come knocking!” He began to catch his breath and calm his laughter, “Why the hell wouldn’t you come and find me you selfish shit heel?”

Valsigian didn’t know how to respond. He simply stared at his friend in disbelief, utterly shocked that he would believe Valsigian capable of such depravity. He could understand the reasoning behind what Dayne was saying, even though he knew it to be untrue. Then again, there were plenty of instances in their youth that would fuel such a flight of fancy. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?” was all he could think to say.

Dayne threw his hands in the air while he rolled his eyes. “What else am I supposed to believe, Val?” His eyes settled on the pattern once again. “Why would anyone waste their time on such an odd tattoo?”

Valsigian didn’t answer. He had no idea how to explain what had happened. He hadn’t even had time to figure out what he was going to say to Thorvald, let alone his best friend. After a moment, he said, “I promise, I will tell you everything. But this is not what you think it is.”

“Alright, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Valsigian one of his famous half-smiles. “But only because you look like death warmed over.” Leaning his shoulder back into the door frame, he crossed one leg in front of the other. “Seriously, Val, this story better be a good one.” He raked his hand back through his hair as he blew out an exasperated breath. “You can tell me all about it while you're getting dressed.” He nodded back over his shoulder to the ceremonial bathing room. “Don’t want to keep the king waiting too long.”

Nodding his agreement, he headed through the doors and into the room behind Dayne. He noticed that someone had delivered his ceremonial garments and had hung them from one of the small windows in the chamber. The uniform was constructed of pure white cloth. It consisted of a pair of linen pants with a drawstring at the waist, and a simple long-sleeve linen shirt that was collarless. There was also a pair of tan leather sandals on the floor below the outfit.

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It was meant to show his purity of soul, humility, and readiness after having completed his vigil. By wearing it, he was declaring to the King and all in attendance that he had forsworn all previous oaths and attachments. That he had made peace with his past, and that he was ready to forge his future in service to Zerathis and the Kingdom of Mountainfall. It was the only time anyone in Mountainfall wore all white. It was reserved for Knights and Dames on their Day of Investiture. Only on this day of honor was a Squire or Damsel allowed to approach the King wearing the white garments of purity.

Valsigian paused in front of the garments. He hesitated to reach for them, unsure if his actions, his vows, and his marking met the high standards for wearing them. He had been waiting his entire life for this very day, this very moment. Now he wondered if he was worthy of the white. His heart began to ache at the thought of having failed at his only mission in life. He thought of the disappointment that his king would have in him. Worse yet, how he had failed his father. How he had ruined everything that he had worked so hard for. He felt the sting of tears beginning to form in his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this, Dayne,” he said as his breath hitched in his throat. “I don’t deserve to wear the white.”

Dayne’s usual smug arrogance disappeared in a heartbeat. He stood away from the door as if it had bitten him. A look of disbelief shadowed his face. “What the hell are you talking about, Val?” His voice was laden with concern, a tone that rarely escaped his throat. “This isn’t like you. You have to tell me what happened last night.” The concern in his voice was palpable and real. He crossed the room and placed his hands on his best friend's shoulders. “I’ll listen… for real this time. Please, Val, you’re scaring me.”

As he recounted the events of last night, Dayne’s expression changed from actual concern to a horrified visage that Valsigian had never witnessed before. When he got to the part of awakening, feeling like a solid block of ice, and how incredibly torturous the pain of the thawing process was, Dayne wept for his friend. The only time he had ever seen Dayne cry was when he had found out that his mother had died. He was inconsolable then, finding his only comfort in the arms of his best friend. Boys were separated from their mothers at an early age to prevent them from becoming too soft-hearted. Especially boys who were born to men who were already in service to the King. After the age of two, boys were raised solely by their fathers and only allowed to visit with their mothers on special occasions and holidays.

Dayne was visibly shaken. Listening to Valsigian recount the experiences and absolute horror he had gone through last night left him feeling like he had failed his best friend. He had no idea that it was even possible for this to happen to anyone during their vigil, let alone the most courageous man he knew. To have Valsigian doubting his future, his life’s goals… he must have gone through absolute hell. He had never seen so much uncertainty written on his friend's face as he did right now. He didn’t know where to even begin trying to console him. But he knew he had to try. His throat was still a little tight as he tried to clear the last remaining tinge of emotion. “Val, you're the strongest man I know,” he said as he wiped the corners of his eyes with his shirt sleeve. “Your whole life, you have trained and prepared for this day.” He looked his friend in the eyes. “It would be a shame to end this journey here. We can talk to Thorvald, tell him what happened.” He clasped his hands together in front of him in a pleading fashion. “If you tell him everything you just told me. I’m sure he will know the answer.” He reached out and placed his hands on Valsigian’s shoulders again. Giving a reassuring squeeze to let him know he was being serious. “If there were any man more deserving of wearing the white more than you, I’ve never met him.” He dropped his hands from his shoulders and gave a reassuring smile as he looked to his friend for any sign that his words had worked.

Valsigian stood motionless for a moment, considering what Dayne had just said. It was rare to hear his friend speak with real concern in his voice. But he had heard it enough to know that he meant every word he had said. It gave him a semblance of reassurance, a little hope that maybe, just maybe, he would be able to keep his head attached to the rest of him. He knew for sure that right now, he had more questions than answers. He hoped the king would be understanding, and perhaps he might even have some answers. He remembered what Zerathis had told him about the mark on his shoulder and how the king would recognize it. Without saying a word for fear that his emotions would betray him, he nodded his gratitude and began to dress himself in the white. He saw Dayne’s expression change from hopeful to relieved as soon as he did.

By the time he had finished dressing and slipped on the sandals, he had regained control of his emotions enough to speak. “I never knew you thought so highly of me,” he said as some of the tightness returned to his throat. He quickly cleared his throat in an attempt to relieve it. “I’m very lucky to have a friend who sees me for what I am, and what I have the potential to be.” He gave Dayne a reassuring smile in return. His throat tightened again, his voice became a little shaky as he said, “Thank you for always being there for me, and for never letting me dwell in the dark places my mind likes to find sometimes.”

“I’m not always the scoundrel you take me for, Val,” he winked an eye as he nodded to his friend. “I can be serious when the need arises.” His usual half smile found its way back to his face. “Besides, I figured I owed you a little penance for forgetting to tell you who was waiting for you in here yesterday.” His smile grew a little wider. “Told you I’d get you back. You just had no idea how soon.”

A small smile began to bloom on Valsigian’s face. “I guess I deserved that,” he said as he looked down at his feet. He chuckled, thinking about their never-ending game. “I should have known you would never give up so easily without some sort of devious scheme to get back at me.”

Just as Dayne was about to say something clever, or for that matter, insulting, the bells began to toll the hour. Both men quickly looked at each other, a look of shock crossing both of their faces. “Oh shit! It’s later than I thought,” Dayne said as he looked to the sunlight streaming through the window. The angle of the sun on the floor confirmed his suspicion. “We’ve got to get you to the Citadel.”

Valsigian’s smile faded immediately, the uncertainty again invading his mind. He had already decided to go to the Citadel and speak with the king before the ceremony began. Now it may be too late, they would have to run to the grand hall in hopes that they could garner an audience with Thorvald before the members of the court arrived. “I need you to take this,” he said as he held out his father’s sword by the blade, offering the hilt, his arms and hands beginning to shake once again. His face had become gaunt, his voice only a whisper, “I’m not allowed to bear a weapon on the grounds or in the Citadel while I wear the white.”

Grasping the sword by the hilt, Dayne felt the weight of the blade. It was heavier than he thought it would be. As he retrieved the scabbard from the pile of clothing by the basin, he wondered if it was the actual weight of the thing or the heavy burden of knowing just how many great men had wielded it. As he slid the blade home, he knew Valsigian felt that weight every time he drew it from this scabbard. He could see the toll it had taken on him while they were growing up together. Over the years, he could see that the weight of this sword not only builds muscle but also builds character, valor, and honor. Then there was the weight of expectation, the strain for perfection, and the brutally heavy impact that was fear of failure. He was witnessing the effect of all of this, right now, ripped wide open, heart on display.

What he saw standing before him now, wearing the white, soul bared for the world to see, was not just any man preparing to be knighted. This man was his best friend, the only other person he knew as well as he knew himself. He understood in this moment, he was seeing the last of the friend he knew so well. Today would he would witness what Valsigian was destined to become, one way or another. This sudden understanding hit him like a kick to the gut. He lost the ability to speak in that moment, tears began to well in his eyes, as he took one last look at the boy he had grown up with. He now recognized the man that he had always known he would become. He simply nodded his understanding, unable to form words through the tightness in his throat.

He wasn’t the best at reading body language, but he could read Dayne plain as day. He understood the gravity of the situation, understood how his friend must be feeling watching him become what they had both once dreamed of. Or, at least he hoped that it would still be possible, someday. He wasn’t sure of how the events of today would play out once he revealed his mark to the king. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. His voice recovering some of its timbre, “Thank you, Dayne.” He reached out and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I wish we were doing this together, just like we always dreamed about.” He held his arms out to the side near his waist, palms up. “I’m grateful that you were the one sent for me. I don’t know if I would be willing to go through with this, had it been anyone else.”

The bells rang out again, signaling a call to court for those who would be attending today’s ceremony. “If we're going to do this, we have to go now, and we’ll need to hurry,” Valsigian said, his tone becoming a little more confident. “I don’t know how fast I can run in these sandals, but we're about to find out.”

Taking a deep breath of his own, Dayne tried to focus on what was most important in this moment. He knew he had to get Valsigian to the Citadel. He knew he had to support his best friend in his time of confusion and uncertainty. He wouldn’t let the events that had transpired during his vigil dictate the future. He blew out his breath, steadying his nerves. “Then let’s get you there as fast as those sandals will allow, my friend.” He gave him one last reassuring grin, “I’ll always have your back, but this time, I think you’ll be staring at mine the whole way to the Citadel,” he winked and, without warning, turned and ran out of the chapel.