Vati and Gmork
“Pleasant day, is it not, Arturo?”
The Arena Master sighed, sipped his wine, then cast his eyes toward the Colosseum below. It was early morning, only an hour remained before the gates would open and the silence broken by throngs of patrons. Arturo was ever a man of routine. He came to his booth each morning before the Colosseum opened to sit in quiet contemplation.
Shaboh rubbed his bare arms against the cool morning air. “Not talking today?”
“The point of meditation, Sorceire, is that it requires one to be alone to his thoughts.”
“Ah, so true, Arena Master. But these days it seems quiet is ellusive. The city is a buzz of chatter about the young monk.”
“Yes, quite interesting, I think,” Arturo commented. “I barely had to say a word about our latest attraction. It’s almost as if someone else had a hand in that.”
“Then perhaps that someone is owed a favor in the not so distant future?”
“Such favors for that someone are often troublesome. Especially with their connections.”
“Possibly,” Shaboh replied. “But one will never know until it is asked of them.”
“What did you come here to trouble me with, Sorceire?” Arturo asked.
“Merely checking on my investment.”
“Investment. Is that what the boy is to you, elf?” Arturo commented. “How typical. It still baffles me. How did you manage to get a member of the Denovic Order to fight as a gladiator?”
Shaboh grinned. “You humans are so… predictable. It only takes a simple incentive to corner you.”
“His brother,” the Arena Master mused. “You really are a cold sac of scrag.”
“Now, now, be nice Arturo, I’m lining your pockets after all.”
Arturo’s expression grew grim. “You will find I am not the greedy sod, my predecessor was. I run the Colosseum like a business, nothing more. I however am not so cold as to manipulate others the way you have.”
“Everyone wants something, Arena Master. I simply gave for survival. Something your people offer little of.”
“Your people,” Arturo mused. “Interesting choice of words, Shaboh. You’re Absonian by blood, even if you don’t look the part.”
“I am Shaylin, my mother was Shaylin. That is who I am.”
Arturo grinned. “Hit a nerve, have I Sorceire?” Shaboh remained silent. “As amusing this banter is, collect your earning as Vahti’s sponsor and get out. If not for your protection, I would have shackled him weeks ago. The boy is ruining my prized fighter.”
“Oh, do tell. What is the young lad up to?”
“He’s teaching Gmork some of those silly monk meditations. The orc’s lack of ferocity is disappointing the crowd.”
“Gmork?” Shaboh laughed. “Lacking ferocity, now isn’t this interesting.”
“I said leave, or I will have Garron, escort you out.”
Shaboh cast a glance at the Inquisitor lurking in the doorway behind him. Garron’s repeating crossbow was leveled at the Sorceire’s back. “Must be nice to be your own law within these walls. Pray the Ignum doesn’t turn their eye toward you,” he said.
“Pray, that your own immunity doesn’t wane, Shaboh,” Garron warned. “I will have no qualms with Hollowing you.”
“Should it ever, Inquisitor, I doubt you’ll be alive to do it. You’re well past your prime, little mayfly.”
“Good day, Shaboh, may the sun ever shine on your face,” Arturo said.
Shaboh bowed, but as he stepped through the doorway of the Arena Master’s booth, he kept a keen eye on Garron. The man was sweating, which meant the Eternal Flame within him was screaming. The Sorceire felt a chill. One touch was all Garron needed in that state, and the Inquisitor could burn his soul to ash.
Wretched Sin Seekers, he thought. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact you always know when someone’s lying or you can tell when someone’s murdered another.
*****
“Garron, how bad is it?”
“It’s worse each time I go near him,” the old Inquisitor commented. “If he wasn’t part of the Ignum, I would have Purged him on the spot.”
“Your restraint is admirable.” Arturo leaned forward, eyeing the empty stands. “Do me a favor. Protect the young monk. I want to know exactly what scheme that elf is playing. Use your contacts in the Inquisition, if you have any left.”
“I will do as you command, Arena Master,” Garron replied. “What of Gmork?”
“What of him? He fights. That is his place as one of the Cursed.”
“I have heard rumor Vahti intends to buy him.”
Arturo laughed, his sides feeling as if they were splitting open. “Preposterous, he can’t possibly afford the cost. None one can.”
“He’s entered the Lottery…”
Arturo froze. “Then it’s only a matter of time. Eventually he’ll fight Her or Gmork. Regardless, the lottery fights are to the death. His vows he touts so highly about will not save him. He will have to kill or forfeit his status as Libertas.”
“How shall I protect him, then?”
“If he dies in the arena, then that’s no fault of ours. But when he doesn’t fight, that’s when my order stands.”
“As you wish,” Garron replied. “What if he draws Her?”
“Then he draws Her. Xanthir hates everyone. Not even a Denovic Monk will find mercy from her.”
*****
“You’re lucky,” Gmork commented. “The guards are whispering. Arturo knows you’ve been teaching me.”
Vahti opened his eyes, breaking his focus. “Then we have Hoyim to thank for protecting us from him.”
Gmork sneered. “So you say.”
“Gmork, why is this so hard?”
“Because, Senkal often spoke of the Creator’s plan. Of the purpose contained within our lives. But looking back at these past few years, I find no purpose in this.”
“We met, didn’t we?”
His steely gaze softened. “We did, but couldn’t there have been another way? Why lose so much to get here?”
“I found myself asking that question often growing up. Why were Cairn and I abandoned at the monastery gates? Why do we have no memory of our parents or past? How did we even know we were brothers?”
“What conclusion did you come to?” Gmork asked.
“Arridus explained it to me once. At least, in a simple way. He said to imagine a river, that branches out infinitely in front of me. The divergent paths are too numerous to count and stretch on forever. The river is life, and the branching waters, the individual lives of all who live.”
“Some intersect, then break off again. Now imagine The Creator navigating these paths, diverting some, to mitigate as much harm as possible to each individual life. Sometimes river becomes like raging rapids, because people make choices and these choices collide with the decisions others make.”
“So you’re saying, he has to choose which river will bring about the best for everyone, but sometimes, because we have free will, that strife is inevitable?”
Vahti nodded. “Life is hard, Gmork. You know that more than anyone. But it doesn’t mean He isn’t working on our behalf. We just have to look for where He is, and follow that river. There may be rapids, but they are far more manageable than the other alternatives we cannot foresee that He does.”
The orc grinned, appearing nostalgic. His eyes were watering as he shifted his gaze toward a darkened corner of his cell. “You remind me of Senkal, boy. He would have liked you.”
“I feel like I could have learned a lot from him.”
Gmork nodded. “How about a trade for all you are teaching me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me teach you the language of my people. It could be useful one day. Senkal taught me.”
Vahti smiled. “I would like that,” he said. Gmork cast another glance at the corner of his cell. “Has it been bothering you?”
“It, doesn’t like you,” he replied.
“Just remember, that dark part of you is the aftereffects of being Spiritouched. It isn’t who you are, but it is part of you. Eventually we will deal with that, for now you must meditate.”
“Do you regret being here or breaking your vows?” Gmork asked.
“I chose this path and yes, I have regrets. Regardless of consequence, I still must move forward. I know I have much to atone for, but I feel that the rapids I’m navigating won’t be so rough forever. I just pray I can forgive myself when this is over.”
“A word of caution, Vahti. The darkness can easily swallow up the most well-intentioned person. Be wary that you don’t step blindly or you will find yourself surrounded.”
“If you fall, at least I have a friend who will pick me up.”
Gmork smirked. “No, you have a friend who will beat some sense into you if that happens.”