(THOB) Chapter 115: Nurnal Isht Afik (Patreon)

Ezril looked up from his Sunders, shaken from his surprise.

She was old. Very old. Her weathered skin, leathery from age, drooped on both sides of her face where her cheeks hid beneath it all. It fell so low that it dangled with each facial movement. And she walked with a cane. Her hand trembled as she moved the cane, and when she walked towards his bed he was reminded of Cyrinth. He wondered if she was dying, too.

Young Antari, she had called him.

He frowned.

“You know Urden Antari?” he asked, unhappy with how cowed his voice sounded.

The woman’s nod was sluggish, and she took her time executing it. “Yes,” she said, her voice as sluggish as her nod, “I know your father.”

Ezril took a step deeper into the tent, stretching himself to his full height. Standing easy, he was already significantly taller than the short woman made shorter by her hunch. Still, he couldn’t shake the need to seem more domineering. Not because of any need to intimidate the old lady, but more from a need for the confidence that came with it.

“Stop that nonsense,” she scolded, face twitching in frustration. “All the confidence in the world is of no service to anyone here. You sit and listen to me. And maybe, just maybe, you will learn something useful.”

“Is that what my father does?” he retorted. “Sit and listen and learn great things from an old lady?” The moment the words left his mouth he bit down on his tongue. She’d done nothing to deserve his tone but he didn’t like to be treated like a child by a woman simply because she looked ancient.

The lady scoffed in disgust. “Just like the annoying priest.” She spat.

She doesn’t like him, he realized.

“Your father is a very proud man. But he has every right to be,” she continued in mild annoyance. However, her next words were wrapped in disgust and anger. “You, however, are an arrogant brat with no right to speak to me in that manner. Not only am I too old to tolerate such tomfoolery, I’m also the one who made certain you can stand there and spew the nonsense you spew. Now, you will speak to me with the respect deserving of both the former and the latter or I will finish what you started, and leave you to rot in the forest. Maybe your father will find you before your realm.” Now she calmed. “In all his knowledge I never told him anything he didn’t already know. I could always see it in his eyes. And yet, he always listened.”

Ezril looked at the woman who now sat on his bed, stunned. She had spoken so eloquently and so quickly that for a moment he’d thought perhaps another spoke in her stead. But there was no mistaking all the words had come from her, and he expelled a breath he hadn’t known he’d held. Relaxing, he spoke, instilling in his voice all the respect he could muster.

“What did you teach my father?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. As annoying as it is to admit, that man is not a man I can teach anything.”

“Then how do you know him?”

“He came to us years ago. Helped us when we were in a certain amount of trouble, one we did not think we would survive. After that, he came once more.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The kind that is none of your business, boy,” she snapped, and he winced at the sound her voice made.

“My apologies.”

“To your realm with your apologies.” She stroked her cane absently, still annoyed bur said nothing more.

“Can I know why he came the second time?” Ezril dared to ask.

“That… I guess that is something you can know.” She mused. “He came to call in a favor.”

“A favor?”

The woman shrugged. “We are a grateful tribe,” she said, “for everything done for us we carry a debt. A debt of as great a value as that which has been done for us. Your father saved the entire tribe at the risk of his own life. It is only fair that we return a favor at the risk of our way of life. But by Chance, this could be the end of us.”

“What did my father ask of you?”

“That we save a life.” She sighed. And Ezril wondered if she was regretting her decision.

“My life,” he expanded for her. When she nodded, he prodded further. “And how did you know I was the owner of the life he requested?”

This time, when she scoffed it carried a weight of condescension. “He asked to save the unHallowed priest. The one whose only skill is in the use of the bow.”

Ezril frowned at the description. “UnHallowed.”

“Yes, the unHallowed,” she repeated, challenging him to object to it. When he didn’t rise to the challenge she continued. “There were five of you. One, a true monster. Another, a madman too stupid for the battlefield. Another fights too nobly for a battlefield but is without a doubt a Hallowed. The one easily noticed as your leader fights as if he reads a priest’s book of combat every time he steps on the battlefield; so much decorum and control, maybe even too much. Just by watching enough times it was quite easy to tell you were unHallowed each time you lifted those accursed falchions of yours. Had you stuck to only the bow it would have been more difficult to notice.”

Ezril frown deepened and he had a difficult time believing the woman had watched their battles. She looked as if she couldn’t walk the entire tribe’s land without help. You wouldn’t think Cyrinth capable of crossing the distances he crossed too, he reminded himself.

The old woman studied him. “It is true that you are unHallowed,” she continued with a frown, “however, your father didn’t tell me everything.”

Shaken from his thoughts Ezril looked up. “What do you mean?” he asked, perplexed.

“Of all the people who walk upon Vayla, there are those that are special,” she began, her tone heralding a tale and, reminded of how Unkuti sounded whenever he told his tales in the seminary, Ezril couldn’t help but give her all of his attention.

“There are people that are made special,” the woman continued. “Like your priests who are special because they are Hallowed. Those that you burn and prosecute because they are Tainted. Your king who is only king because once upon a time in history, one of his ancestors was chosen to lead a people. Each person, special. The Hallowed because Vayla Hallowed them. The Tainted because something has Tainted them. Your king because…” she paused. “Well, I have already told you what makes him special. You, however, are different. While we are special because we are Hallowed, you are Hallowed because you are special.”

“But you said I was unHallowed,” Ezril interrupted, as a child would when he didn’t understand a part of a story being told.

“Let me finish, boy!” she snapped. “There is a story amongst our people,” she continued, “a story of a man who was thought to have been born without the special blessing of Vayla. He raged, and fought, and strived for survival in the midst of those who were Hallowed. People thought him desperate. People thought him mad. But in time they began to marvel at the feats he accomplished. And one day, he did the impossible. He did something only one who was Hallowed should have been able to. However, his action came at a price. Blood flowed, spilled from wounds not inflicted, injuries that did not exist, and he would lose consciousness. From their strength to their speed, even their healing. Each attribute coming at the price of blood.

“In time, what happened to him came to be referred to as a blood sacrifice, because he was a man who seemed to always sacrifice his blood for the gifts of the Hallowed. Eventually he stood at the pinnacle of everything. And people referred to him as ‘The one Hallowed by blood’. One of many titles he came to garner. Years went by and he led his people as their king for a very long time, longer than most kings ever get to during times of war, and at a time they were the strongest people to reign upon Vayla.

“There are rumors scattered through history about him. Some say the same way he Hallowed himself by blood, he one day became Tainted, which was why he came to rule for so long. Another rumor that exists comes from one of the titles garnered, that of ‘The immortal’. There are those who believe this man truly immortal, incapable of death, and that even after the fall of his people he still walks upon Vayla, meeting people and performing great deeds. Influencing their lives and leaving his marks upon Vayla. Often finding those who are unique, even amongst those that are special, and teaching them arts so old that only one who has lived through time can claim to remember.”

“And which do you believe?” Ezril questioned, knowing her tale to have reached its conclusion.

“I believe that despite what I believe, there is some truth in this story,” she answered. “It is the only way it could have survived through the centuries without fading away, despite human bias and need to make tales more entertaining than truthful.”

“Nurnal Isht Afik,” Ezril muttered to himself.

“I see you hear them.” The elderly woman actually smiled. “Many here know of you. They have heard the story of what you have done during the war. People talk.” The last part she added when he cocked a confused brow. “An unHallowed priest who fights alongside Hallowed priests, and was brought here bleeding without injuries. You cannot blame them for wondering.”

Ezril understood this. After all, he knew the strength of rumors. “What does it mean?”

“Nurnal Isht Afik?”

“Yes.”

“It was the first of the immortal’s titles,” she answered. “It is my people’s words for the one Hallowed by blood.”

“And your people?”

“What about them?”

“You said you are risking your way of life by saving me,” he reminded her. “What did you mean by that?”

The woman sighed. “Your realm knows nothing of where we are. And there is a reason for that. We are cautious. Bringing you here… you and your priestess, we risk exposure.”

A new worry washed over Ezril and he rose from where he sat not knowing when he had even sat. “Your people have lived for centuries. Don’t you think this might have been too great a risk.”

To his surprise, she laughed.

“Yes,” she agreed, “we are an ancient people. But you’d be wrong to think this is all that’s left of us. We are everywhere, boy. Scattered all over Vayla in tribes. Constantly existing. Constantly migrating when the need arises. You have nothing to worry about. But it’s good to know that you care.”

A brief silence followed while he mused on the weight of her words and the tale she told. And regardless of the impossibility of the rumors of the story, Ezril couldn’t help but think there was some truth to them.

Finally, the old woman rose to leave, pausing to observe the bowl of rice at the bedside. “And I know we don’t seem to lack anything, but we do not waste the things we have.” Her gaze swiveled back to him. “Do not waste anymore of our food, young Antari.”

Before she left, Ezril, remembering he didn’t know her name, asked her for it. The only response he received was without ceremony, one that spoke of the insignificance of his question.

“Ask around,” she scoffed, “everyone knows it.”