Chapter Six
“Martyr”
Desiree was the first to see Merik return home. She was perched on a large boulder in the front lawn allowing him to work his way closer before catching his attention. She licked her lips eager to greet him.
“You didn’t come home last night.” She broke the silence. “I was worried.”
Merik detoured slightly off the flagstone walkway to speak with her. A cold fall wind gusted making the dry leaves of the mighty oak above them shiver. He watched a few stray from the branches and land around them.
“You shouldn’t worry about me. You have better things to do,” he argued a weary point. “Besides I’m fine, see? One piece. Just a little knock on the head.”
“Must have been some bump to keep you out all day.”
“It happened on my way home. It just wasn’t a good idea to push my luck.” Merik left Kat out of his story as conveniently as Desiree left spying out of hers.
Desiree flipped, going into an acrobatic handspring off the boulder. She landed gracefully on her feet barely disturbing the leaves on the lawn. Part of her wanted to know how far he would go to lie—the jealous part.
“So, what caused it? How’d this horrible injury of yours occur?”
“I fell.” Merik answered a fraction of a second too quickly.
“You fell?” She repeated with thick sarcasm. Of course she knew the truth. She had witnessed it for herself from beyond the glass subway doors. Even if she hadn’t, she would never have believed him. She felt insulted that he didn’t feel a warrant for a better excuse. Her pride refused her to accept such a condescending alibi. “You, a third degree black belt, fell?”
Merik’s stomach gave a guilty squirm. Desiree was his friend. He shouldn’t feel the need to hide anything from her. Even if he did, he should have had something more believable to offer. Maybe it was just an after effect of the concussion.
“And just what did you fall off of, the Eiffel Tower?” She mocked his answer.
“Very funny.”
What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he tell her about where he was or what had really happened? Despite the feelings he knew Desiree had for him, she was still his friend. She was his best friend.
Kat, on the other hand, was just Kat. A fast growing friendship? Sure. Did he kiss her? Yes. This had to be an aftershock of the concussion. That kiss didn’t mean anything; besides Desiree would never know anything about it. It was just one slip. One little mistake. A primitive masculine reaction to seeing her upset. There was nothing more than that behind it. How could there be, after Joyce?
“So how you healing up?” Desiree pressed forward with conversation. “I’m surprised to see you’re as well as you are, after such a significant head wound.” She tossed in another note of disbelief for added effect.
“I also fractured my arm, not that you’re in a sympathetic mood,” Merik retorted, but Desiree’s silent wait for a real answer couldn’t be ignored. He grumbled reliving the unpleasant reason he was in such a healthy condition. “I had to eat raw meat.”
Desiree made a face that concluded this was more information than she had wished for. “Shame you didn’t have anyone with you willing to bleed a little.”
Merik stopped cold.
“That isn’t funny. You know I have never tasted human flesh and never will.”
“Yes Merik. I’m well aware of your high ideals, and strict morals. The entire clan is aware of them,” Desiree stated with fatigue. “Are you honestly saying though, that if you were on the brink of death, and only human blood was available, you still would deny it?”
“I wouldn’t touch one drop.” Merik marched past her.
As honorable as Merik’s words seemed, Desiree couldn’t help but feel that he was being thoroughly naïve. In reality she couldn’t see him pass up the opportunity to save his own life. After all, he may not approve of drinking human blood himself but she never knew him to speak outright against the small stocks of medical blood the clan kept on reserve.
She let it go. There were too few opportunities that she had to openly share time with Merik anymore and preferred to take advantage of every minute presented tonight.
“So, no sign of Gunder’s clan yet?” she asked. “I know you’ve been working on that orb still. He wasn’t the cause of your ‘fall’ was he?”
Even she was proud of how well she was covering her own tracks.
Merik blew out a long huff of air. He sounded disappointed when he knew it should be relief instead. “No. No sign of Gunder, or any of his lackeys.”
A scattering of fine snow began to drift around them. Desiree distractedly caught a few icy flakes on her fingertips. “Don’t sound too eager for war, Merik.”
“I’m not eager for war. Just eager to see Gunder take his last breath.”
“You really think that’s possible without war?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll be prepared either way.” He firmly declared. “Besides, this already is a war, isn’t it? It’s just the next battle I’m waiting for.”
Desiree grinned shaking her head. She admired Merik’s determination. His confidence was stupid, but becoming of his character. “Then may I suggest a little more practice in the training forum?”
Merik stopped on the first step of the estates front door at her playful banter. He gave a mock, semi insulted response. “Are you implying something about my technique?”
“No.” Desiree denied before allowing her grin to grow into a full blown smile. “But the bump on your head is.”
“Ouch.” Merik remarked after her added feminine chuckle. “I don’t know if I want to train with you now. If your weapons are half as sharp as your tongue is tonight, I think the risk is a bit much for my tastes.”
“Oh come on. When was the last time we sparred?” Desiree begged. “We’re way over due.”
“Fine.” Merik beamed back at her. “I’ll meet you after I’m done speaking with Santeego.”
Desiree’s smile faltered. “You’re going to see the grand sire?”
“I think I should don’t you?”
Desiree knew the answer. Of course he should. That didn’t remove the problem that she knew Santeego was with Azriel at present discussing the information she herself had divulged to them about Merik. She had to stall for time.
“Why don’t you eat first? I think it would be a good idea to have a full stomach before speaking with them.”
“Them?”
So much for her pride on how well she was covering her tracks. She had to think fast. How did she know they were together?
“Azriel hasn’t left the grand sire’s side since you didn’t come home last night. I think they’re in the temple.” Desiree hoped she sounded convincing. It was partially true. “I don’t think he’s pleased, so take my advice, and eat first. I wouldn’t go in without a warm chalice in my stomach if I were you.”
Merik nodded in agreement as he climbed the last few steps and pushed open the heavy front door. It was no less than he was expecting. He knew Santeego would not be pleased with him, but it didn’t keep him from hoping he would simply not notice his absence.
“I’ll see you in a while then?” Desire confirmed.
“Yeah, in a while.”
Desiree let Merik disappear down the hall before rushing forward to the temple doors. It was lucky the temple was so close to the front of the estate. If not for the grand size of the foyer, the front doors would lead directly into the temple itself. She knew she hadn’t much time before Merik would finish his simple meal. It was her duty to alert the Grand sire to his presence.
She humbly rapped on the door, carefully checking that no one was around before doing so.
“Forgive my intrusion, Grand Sire.” She cracked open the door. “I’ve come to inform you of Merik’s safe return.”
The contrast of light from the hall to the inside of the candle lit temple was too great for even a vampire to adjust to quickly enough to make out either of their expressions.
With the sound of Santeego’s voice expressing thanks she made her exit knowing better than to linger about. She snapped the door shut sealing Santeego and Azriel inside once more.
“What do you mean you can not decipher the witch’s role?” Santeego continued a heated argument as if Desiree had never interrupted.
“It is just as I say! I can’t!” Azriel snapped back somehow maintaining her whispery vocals. “It will take time. I am seeing many possibilities ahead. Not all of them pleasant mind you. I think it is time you heed my advice and forbid Merik’s continued actions.”
“I’ll consider it.” Santeego sneered, resentful for being told what to do.
“Do not pardon such disquiet,” Azriel warned. “You know as well as I, what Gunder’s wishes with Merik. You know as well as I, that Merik indeed has something to attribute in rejoining the clans.”
Santeego eyed Azriel. Something in her voice caught his interest. Something trembling. “Do I? Or is there something more that you have discovered?”
“I have,” Azriel admitted, “and I regret to say I believe Willa may have beaten us to this information.”
“Impossible. Willa’s skills in witchcraft are mediocre to your own.”
“Skills aside, I was not the one seeking answers, she was.” Azriel voice seemed to shrink with her. “I have a firm understanding of what Merik’s appeal is to Gunder’s clan.”
“Speak out then,” Santeego ordered.
“Gunder was more than accurate in predicting Merik’s involvement in reuniting the clans. Merik’s role is not only key, but he will one day rule over them as Grand High Sire.”
“What?” Santeego breathed in disbelief.
“Merik will be Grand High Sire, out of line. He will lead in youth where others have only lead in seniority.”
“Absurd.”
Azriel shot an affronted gaze at him in protest. “I don’t dare believe you doubt my abilities.”
“Out of lineage?” Santeego repeated never acknowledging her accusation.
“As for Gunder and his involvement in rejoining the clans, his part is played out. His involvement ended with finding and siring Merik.”
“Then we needn’t be concerned with the orb?”
“The orb is top priority.” Azriel countered. “Destiny is a flighty friend. It can be changed. Every witch knows this, including Willa.
“The prophecies suggest that two will accomplish the reunion. Merik cannot do it alone. Gunder will see that everything in his power can be done to assure him a place at Merik’s side. It is Merik’s choice, and his choice alone, who will rule with him.”
Santeego massaged the bridge of his nose meditating on the presented facts before him. “For years we have fought against the concept of rejoining the clans. Each clan has the right to live as they would, in peace. No one should be forced to join one order. Are you now telling me that Merik is to one day become our enemy?”
“No.” Azriel blinked unsure how Santeego could ever consider such a possibility. “Goddess! Never!” She took her time finding the proper words to convey the grand gestures she saw in their young friend’s future.
“Consider this, Santeego.” She began. “Merik has strong ideals. He has fine character and though he holds himself to certain strict ethics, he has never imposed his ways on others in this clan. He has never tasted human for one example, yet he does not intimidate others to resist as well. Our clan has already grown to admire, and respect him like no other. Even now, many of us that outrank him in years, seem to look to him for leadership. I strongly believe that the clans will join him of free will.”
Santeego smiled for the first time in days. A true smile. One that radiated a warmth from within his soul. “Imagine… My young Merik… Returning our peaceful philosophy to the other clans of the world.”
Azriel agreed. “For centuries our clan has held one purpose. We seek out those with talents that can better society. We seek those that quest for a higher quality of life. Inventors, musicians, writers, artists, athletes.” She listed them off. “Those that would accomplish so much in an average life time, yet so much more if not bound by mortal law.”
Santeego sighed allowing the hopeful curl of his lips to fall again. “It will not be an easy path. Many clans will resist. Some have grand sires that have been in a position of power for more than a thousand years. They will not take lightly to the clans wishing to put their faith in a vampire so young in comparison.”
“He’s sure to make enemies,” Azriel agreed.
“Yes, and I don’t wish that for him. He’s spent enough time battling Gunder. I wish him the happiness he deserves with Gunder’s end.”
“Merik has never backed down from a challenge. He is not a musician or inventor; he is a warrior, a crusader.”
“A fact that could kill him.” Santeego had second thoughts about the good that would come of Merik’s future actions.
Azriel’s hazel eyes lowered. “I know you feel a protective nature for him, Santeego. You took him in as your personal ward and have watched over him for nearly a century. But you can not blame yourself for his wild, and yes, at times, reckless spirit. We must allow destiny to play itself out, without interference.”
“You don’t think we should tell him what we know?” Santeego questioned.
“No. At least, not yet,” Azriel refused. “No one should be too aware of what fate dictates their future to hold. It would only confuse him.”
“It’s confused the hell out of me,” Santeego admitted.
“Knowing too much too soon could have a negative impact on what’s meant to be. If you need example, I offer up Gunder as one.”
Santeego sighed in defeat.
Knock, knock.
“It’s him,” Azriel gently alerted as she made her way to the door. “Remember what I said, and if you must tell him, make it only what you feel absolutely necessary. We don’t even have all of the information ourselves yet.”
She pulled the door forward. “I’ll be going now.” And without so much as a glance at Merik she exited past him.
Merik felt a primal sense of danger, stepping in past Azriel’s cold shoulder.
“Is… everything alright, Sire?”
“What happened last night, Merik?” Santeego asked already knowing Desiree’s explanation.
“I lost track of time, and was injured in my haste to get home.”
A frown line grew between Santeego’s eyes. “There’s nothing more you’d like to share?”
Merik’s mind instantly leapt to Kat. Surely the Grand Sire had no way of knowing how he was injured. More importantly, he had no knowledge that he had a momentary lapse of judgment and kissed her.
Merik didn’t know what to say. The best course of action would be to admit fault and take responsibility. “I was careless, Sire. It won’t happen again.”
“You weren’t careless, you were unfocussed.” Santeego stringently reprimanded. “There’s a difference. You allowed yourself to be distracted from your primary objective.”
Merik had never been spoken to this way by the grand sire. His feelings upon entering the room were confirmed. Something was horribly wrong.
Santeego scowled walking to the edge of the room where he rested his weight over one of the stands of flickering candles. “Would you care to enlighten me as to what caused your lacking interest in the approaching dawn?”
Merik didn’t want to answer. Not because he felt it would cause him punishment, but because he didn’t want to share such a happy memory with someone who was so angry with him. He enjoyed walking the museum with Kat and wanted to keep it that way. He resentfully divulged his actions.
“Kat took me on a tour of the exhibits.”
“Kat?”
“Katherine.” Merik corrected himself unsure how responsive Santeego would be to his use of a friendly nickname.
“And you say she led you on a leisure tour?”
“She led me on a path to knowledge,” Merik defended.
“Explain.”
“In most of the texts involving the orb, two other artifacts are given mention. The Epsim Medallion, and the Staff of Nykron. I didn’t realize it at first, but Kat—Katherine,” he corrected immediately, “pointed out the significance of the medallion. The medallion is on display at the museum. I kept an open eye for the staff and the orb after that, but only the staff was present. The location of the orb is still unknown. Katherine isn’t even aware that the staff is there.”
“Why have I never heard of these objects before now?” Santeego demanded. “Can you even be so certain they are of an authentic nature?”
“It is true, they have a great deal of forgeries,” Merik said. “But I have no doubts in these artifacts. As for knowledge of their relation, we have only Kat-therine to thank. I never would have seen the association.”
Santeego dipped the tip of his finger into the hot wax of a candle. He watched it cool into a fragile shell as he thought. Azriel’s words nagged at him. There were many obvious reasons to request Merik to no longer participate in the quest for the orb, but his work accomplished still could not be ignored. The greater good must be considered, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to determine which side of the scales were tipping now.
“You are very important to this clan, Merik.” Santeego grimly sighed considering Azriel’s new information. “More important than you would realize I’ve come to understand. I do not feel it is appropriate for you to continue—”
“BUT SIRE!”
Santeego raised a swift hand cutting Merik into sharp silence.
Merik bit his lower lip restraining himself still seething inside. He couldn’t be taken off the mission. He must be allowed to join Kat in the library after hours.
Santeego continued once certain Merik would not make another outburst. “Things happen for a reason. In my years I’ve found this abundantly clear. Therefore I must come to the conclusion, that if you were not meant to take part you would have not been so successful thus far.”
Merik released his lip.
“I will grant your continuation, on a probationary basis only!” Santeego made clear. “In the future you will not allow yourself to be so carelessly distracted again. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sire.” Merik hastily answered regretful that he had not made more of a thoughtful pause. It was a give away to seem so grateful for such a small favor, and he pondered whether or not Santeego was beginning to suspect his growing affections for Kat.
“We must have a talk, you and I.” Santeego began but halted noticing a growing commotion beyond the temple doors.
They burst open flooding Merik and Santeego in light. A panic of noise and shouting reverberated into the circular room. Merik watched two of his clanmates pull a very injured looking vampire to the center of the already blood stained marble. A great crowd of onlookers continued to grow beyond the doorway. None seemed very determined to enter any farther. A bobbing of blond hair could be seen standing on tip toe at the back.
“SILENCE!” Santeego commanded.
Everyone immediately heeded the order.
The energy that emulated from Santeego’s towering figure was enough to freeze the very air they breathed. It justified his deserving position as Grand Sire outright.
Merik recognized the two that carried the injured vampire in as elders of the clan. Immune to Santeego’s influence as only elders could be, they diligently tended to the wounds of the victim that Merik could not place a name with.
His face was swollen, bruised, and bloody beyond all recognition. Merik stared, immobilized by the torturous cries of pain coming from the battered man.
One of the elders carefully restrained him to the floor. “We found him like this on the grounds, Grand Sire. I don’t know how he made it this far back.”
Santeego gazed downward at the pooling blood. His voice was hoarse, and barely audible. “It’s a message.”
The crowd parted briefly allowing Azriel through. She carried a small kit with her as she whisked to the aid of the victim.
“Peter…” she breathed, somehow identifying him in an instant.
“Gunder,” Peter strained. His words were broken and erratic. “He wants- clan will- Merik-”
Santeego seemed to realize for the first time that Merik was still present and the crowd was still watching. “Merik, leave us please, and care for the doors as well.”
“Merik?” Peter writhed trying to see him. “Merik?”
He froze mid-step at the sound of his name.
Azriel was pouring some odd smelling liquids onto cloths. She reached forward searching for a hold on Peter. Santeego held Peter down amidst his increasingly violent thrashing.
“Merik?” he continued to wail.
“I said depart!” Santeego snapped finding Merik failed to obey the first request.
Azriel lunged forth gripping Peter’s wrist and made a shuddering gasp as if she had been infected by something.
“Azriel?” Santeego’s anxious eyes beseeched her.
“Merik, stay!” She found her breath again, now contradicting Santeego’s original order. “Somebody get some human blood!”
Merik looked to Santeego unsure who to listen to.
“You!” Santeego pointed to a random member of the crowd. “Go to the stores. Make haste!” He turned back to Merik studying him carefully. “Close the doors.”
Merik did as he was told locking himself in with the dying vampire. He watched Desiree’s startled face disappear through the narrowing slit. He wished he had listened when he had the opportunity to flee. Witnessing a vampire perish was not a pleasant experience, and he doubted there was much Azriel could do to help Peter now. It was true that even if a vampire was an inch from deaths door, human blood could save them. However, there was little chance it would be retrieved in time. The estate was too large, and the kitchen stores too far.
Azriel worked quickly administering her many potions and medicines. The blood continued to flow despite her noble efforts. A horrible sign, as most wounds heal quickly under normal circumstances. These were too deep, and as more precious blood was spilled, the longer it would take for recovery. The continued crimson flow served as a fatal warning.
Finally, Azriel did something that Merik could only assume was to alleviate Peter’s suffering.
His body ceased its retching and it was no longer necessary for three men to hold him. He looked about through the remaining slit off the lesser puffy eye, speaking much more coherently.
“Where’s Merik?”
“He’s here.” Azriel soothingly answered. “Can you see him?”
“No—”
Azriel beckoned Merik closer asking again as she pressured him to Peter’s side. “Right here. Can you see him now?”
A wide lopsided grin spread across his purpled cheeks. “Gunder told me something you must know… Something for you alone…”
A million electrified needles seemed to be stabbing into Merik’s brain. He had the sickening notion that this vampire’s blood was now on his hands.
Peter gave a stifling choke attempting to continue. “He wants you to join him… He says it’s your last chance. If you join, by will… Join him or…”
He didn’t want to hear anymore. Why didn’t he run when he could? He didn’t have to stop at the sound of his name.
“Where is that blood?” Merik muttered impatiently.
“Listen to me,” Peter begged. “He said… he will force you, even if he must… if he must travel to the… end of time itself.”
“End of time?” Merik’s brain numbly went into overload as it envisioned countless drawings and diagrams of the orb. His heart hit the inside of his ribs as if it were trying to pass too much blood at once. “What else? What else did he say!?”
“Merik!” Santeego reprimanded.
“Tell me!” Merik demanded losing all self control. He was mere inches from Peters face.
Peter shook his head with what little strength he had left. “He said… only a name… I didn’t under— understand… Joyce.”
The color seemed to fade so rapidly from Peter’s form it was hard to tell if he was ever anything but grey. Even the bright scarlet that flowed, not a fraction of a second ago, lost its luster. The swelling seemed merely to be receding at first making Peter recognizable once again. But Merik watched it recede past its proper stopping place until his cheeks became very hollow and his skin seemed to be melting from the bone.
It was a horrid sight to watch a vampire meet their mortality. Merik had only witnessed it once and since the experience made a point to turn away when the opportunity arose until he could be certain the process was finished. This time was different. He could not bring himself to part his eyes from the scene. He would witness every heart wrenching moment of his clanmates shriveling and rapidly decomposing body.
He watched Peter’s hair fall out, his arm pop out of socket, and his fingers break away.
He watched.
Soon there was nothing more than a scattering of very brittle bones among a flakey looking pile of debris.
The magic bonds that had kept this vampire alive the past two decades had fled. Without them death had caught up to Peter, leaving him to appear as nothing more than he would if he were a corpse that had managed to walk about on its own. Every second of wear and tear his body would have endured without that magic life force was now visible. Merik sank knowing his biggest lead in stopping Gunder was gone.
Azriel hung her head; an unspoken pain seemed to be etched in every delicate line of her face. She placed both hands out over the remnants of bones palm side down.
Merik thought at first she was offering some form of prayer. He flinched back as she spread her fingers apart in a reflexive flash. The bones beneath them had been firmly crushed by some invisible force into a fine powder.
She drew her palms back and turned resolutely to the two elders that had carried Peter in.
“Please discretely inform those it concerns that we no longer require the need of human blood, and fetch an urn as well.”
No sooner than the two elders left did the three remaining members of the council reach the temple. Frantic from the news that had reached them they rushed in finding it was too late.
“Ohh...” the only other female elder breathed in shock at the sight that still covered the floor.
Even the candles seemed to pulse in mourning as the light dimmed from shrinking flames.
“This is an unfortunate development. This means our entire clan is now in jeopardy.” the ginger haired female stated the obvious.
“It would certainly seem that way,” another elder agreed.
“What are we to tell the others? Not all of us are warriors,” a third claimed.
“You have a remarkable gift for understatements!”
“You say not all of us, as if most of us are. Majority of our clan are here with a dedication to the fine arts!”
Merik could no longer distinguish who was arguing what, or when.
“We can’t expect them to fight.”
“We don’t know how, to begin with.”
“That’s not true!”
“They’ll panic!”
“THEY’LL NOT!” Santeego put an end to all bickering.
They recoiled under his fierce gaze.
“You are Elders,” Santeego hissed at their disgraceful behavior. “Act it!”
Azriel placed a gentle hand on Merik’s arm to guide him to his feet. “Merik, please gather everyone to the dining hall.”
Merik was startled by the suggestion. Surely she meant for him to find one of the elders that went to fetch an urn. Surely he was supposed to ask one of them to gather everyone on her behalf. It wasn’t proper for him to take on the responsibility himself.
“Everyone will respect your wishes,” she stated as if knowing his thoughts.
Merik was in a whirl but agreed to the task. He moved from room to room, up and down corridors alerting everyone to join him in the dining hall. He thought about what he would say when asked why they were to do this, but no one questioned him.
When finished he found himself sitting among the hundred or so clan members questioning the purpose of the gathering himself.
Santeego paced to the center of the room followed in by the six elders who stayed off to the side. All eyes remained in intent focus on their Grand Sire. He had a regal disposition and showed as little emotion as possible. He intended every syllable to be delivered without waiver, as he diplomatically enlightened the innocent of his clan.
“Peter was cut down this eve, by our formidable enemy. The mourning ceremony, as well as our traditional retelling of the legendary race wars, will commence tomorrow evening to honor his memory.”
It was only right. It was only expected. Merik had heard the retelling of the race wars too many times now. The most important legend known to vampires it explained how it all began. It was the history behind the creation of the first vampires to walk the planet. It was tradition to pass down the story of the beginning, with each vampires end.
Santeego appraised the alarmed faces of his clan. He knew they had come to the same conclusion the elders had with this information. No one was safe any longer. Merik also took a passing glance to see what most reactions were. He felt a horrifying guilt and needed assurance that those closest to Peter did not think less of him. It was not Peter’s friends that gave Merik an unnerving stare however, but the council of elders. With the exception of Azriel and Santeego, they looked on him as if seeing him plainly for the first time.
Merik gave a miniscule involuntary shudder trying to ignore them. He forced himself to listen to Santeego’s words, all the while secretly wondering what had been discussed after he had left the temple, and why they refused to turn their eyes from his direction.
“Peter was young,” Santeego said. “A mere twenty vampyric years. If he had not been blessed with our gift, he may very well still have been living another half century as a mere human even. We will never know.
“It is easy to think the vampyric gift grants us immortality. It is comforting to delude ourselves to a notion that we can not perish. Do not take sanctuary in such foolish lies. They will consume you as they have our enemies. Gunder’s clan has been seduced by the corrupt promise of immortality.
“We must take another path, and recognize the truth for what it is. For even the strongest of us will one day die of old age. Even I, who have lived four hundred vampyric years and only appear to have aged four, know my time will one day come. For some, death comes sooner than others. We are at war. It is inevitable.
“For those that wish to take precautions, training will be offered every evening until the threat has passed. I call upon those of you who earned your right with us by way of the warrior to assist the others. I will also be offering my personal services in the dojo when possible.”
A weight seemed to lift from the room. Many found the idea of training with Santeego to be an honor above all others. Merik looked on the newly lit faces. They had hope in their eyes; everyone but the elders, who still seemed to gaze at Merik as if he had been contaminated by some unidentifiable disease.
Why wouldn’t they stop looking at him? Azriel and Santeego weren’t eying him like that. In fact they weren’t looking at him at all.
“Even a painter can appreciate the fluid dance of a sword. It is not much different from the stroke of a brush. A dancer can learn the evasive art of defense. Your natural skills will serve you, whatever they be. You all can fight, and will when given the chance. Not because you wish to, but because you desire to. To honor those we’ve lost, like Peter.”
