A Dyad in Time Read online

“You look awful.” K'Chool sounded genuinely concerned with a part mocking frown on her face. Her speech had returned to normal, following the lilting, powerful pattern of an African-esque delivery, punctuating and accenting words to sound incredulous and warming at the same time. “I heard your screaming from down the corridor and came to see what was troubling you.” She absently waved a hand towards her own room. From very early at the Monastery, K'Chool had taken a liking to Khar. She couldn’t explain where it came from, but she felt extremely protective of the small man in front of her. The kinship that had drawn them together and kept them close since Khar’s arrival was strong and she found herself in his company more often than not.

  “Why do you want The Master?” she continued in a hushed voice. Sensing what she thought to be danger was over, she became aware that it was the middle of the night and they may be disturbing their brethren. Since being elevated to the Sojela status she found herself at, her desire to break rules became even less incorrigible than usual, much to Khar’s annoyance. Then again, her steadfast morals and loyalty had been one of the many reasons he was in love with her.

  “I had a dream.” Khar said, staring intensely at the woman in front of him. Every time he saw her it made him sad that he couldn’t say how he felt because she saw him as a younger brother. She saw him as someone that needed her protection and he was grateful for it. The six-foot athletic frame in front of him was the best Sojela that The Balance had in its ranks and she had been his closest friend for a long time.

  “Another one?” She answered incredulously, that mocking, disbelieving frown appearing again.

  “I know I know” He placated K'Chool with both hands raised and shaking his head slightly. “This one was different.” He paused to think about how best to describe what he’d been through. “The previous ones felt distant. Like I was watching a dream through murky waters. What just happened…” He trailed off, dropping his eyes towards his feet. A dark-skinned hand reached out towards Khar’s chin and gently raised his head and eyes back up to hers.

  “Tell me.” The words were gentle and encouraging, giving him the strength to talk.

  “I was there, K'Chool.” He met her sky-blue eyes with his green ones and tried to look into her soul. He needed her to understand that he couldn’t tell her everything now, but that they needed to act. “I saw something terrible. An ungrateful, sick, and twisted being coming into this world.” His eyes started filling with tears and K'Chool understood.

  “Okay then.” She grabbed his hand, squeezed it gently and tugged him towards the end of the corridor. “Let us wake The Master.” She said with a sigh, resolved to her plan of action. “But just so we are clear. Any consequences are yours to bear. You have bothered him enough with your ramblings and his patience is not infinite.”

  The irony of what she was saying tickled Khar for the briefest moment, warming his heart and slowing his brain. The Master had zero tolerance for time wasting, publicly chastising those he deemed to do so. He was old, bringing with it, bitterness and irrationality. He had been known to verbally obliterate people in open council when he judged their words and actions to be of no value. If you needed to speak to him, anxiety with a healthy dose of fear swelled within you so you’d often chose to approach his closest advisors first. It was best to seek advice from these high-ranking clerics to determine whether The Master should be bothered or not, as where The Master was impatient and churlish, those that surrounded him were prone to offering wisdom, calm directions and seasoned, rational thinking. K'Chool knew the urgency of the situation, especially as Khar had asked to speak to Obed Rumaliza himself, rather than anyone else, so she led him down winding corridors at pace. With such a confident, guiding hand leading him through their home he let his mind wonder and take in the building as they flew past door after door.

  Everything about where they lived was ornate, decadent even. Rich woodwork framed beautiful stone walls and parapets, all laden with jewels of every colour and adorned with gold inlays carved with such delicacy you felt that if you were to touch them, they would crumble in your hands. Every scene of The Balance history was carved into the buildings essence, serving as reminders of their heritage. He remembered what it was like when he arrived as a Fledgling apprentice and was taught the route to walk if you wanted to follow the order of events according to when they happened. He was so impressionable and clueless at the time, taken aback by how the walls looked to be moving and shimmering with the changing light. What he knew now was incredible in comparison. The secrets. The histories. The nuanced alliances and organisations that existed to maintain the delicate balance of the Naïve’s world and theirs. A pang in his stomach struck as many-a-night he would lay awake and think about going back to being a Naïve, regarding ignorance as a gift. But he couldn’t do it. He loved the world he was a part of now and he loved the woman dragging him through the deceptive corridors in the dead of night.

  “What are you mumbling back there, Weyaal?”

  He smiled at the affectation towards him. It meant young one, or child in the old tongue, and she only used it with him. He was actually slightly older than her, but he was definitely the more juvenile half of the pair, so the nickname stuck, ever since that first meeting where K'Chool saved his skin.

  “I was mumbling?” He said nonchalantly, trying to cover his surprise at being caught, not for the first time. Some of the senior clerics had commented on how his mumblings had been getting worse recently, which didn’t help his prospects at becoming a Sojela. There was flexibility, acceptance and a contentedness to The Balance, where they prioritised the individual’s needs over blind progression but to become a Sojela, you needed to be immutable, reliable and clear of purpose. Unfortunately for Khar, he demonstrated these qualities inconsistently, so combined with his quirky past, sometimes unruly attitude and mishaps under tutelage the council were hesitant to grant him full Sojela status. He thanked Surelikai daily for finding this place and for finding K’Chool, but it was tempered with the struggles of his own past and how it held him back within the monastery. He believed in helping bring balance to the world's, as his Sojela brethren did, but realising that dream was hampered by his own self, haunted by his own misgivings.

  He’d watched many of his friend’s progress beyond him, but he never lost sight of how fortunate he was. That fateful night walking home from a late night at the office changed everything for the better. Feeling unfulfilled, lonely and lost, he was incredibly grateful that K’Chool found him. When he thinks about the thugs who tried to mug him that night, it’s not anger that he feels. He is thankful. Replaying those scenes in his head he remembers looking through tears and blood, lying helpless on rain-soaked concrete and watching as a beautiful woman came from nowhere to rescue him. Striding confidently towards his attackers, she moved with such grace and fluidity that the six men - who made depressingly easy work of him - were left in varying states of brokenness in the blink of an eye. He was ashamed at being unable to protect himself, feeling weak and pointless, but after seeing none of the men manage to lay a single hand on his rescuer, he felt pride. He coughed up some blood and spat, pretending to be stronger than he was, as she casually walked over to him. Embarrassingly, what he’d tried to spit out stuck to his face, deepening his shame and exposing his weakness. In complete contrast to his clumsiness and the powerful display he’d just seen, his saviour carefully, slowly and purposefully, lowered herself onto her heels so she could rest her chin on her knees. Almost innocent and childlike, she softly spoke to him with a smile.

  “Are you okay, Weyaal?”

  Living in that moment was one of Khar’s favourite past times and as the warmth of the memory flowed through him, he realised they had stopped in front of The Master’s door. It was of such an otherworldly beauty that Fledglings were commonly found just staring at it, caught there when passing it by accident or seeking it out in order to calm their spirits. It looked so alien every time you saw it, oozing a hypnotic and complex light that chang
ed based on the persons favourite colour, or how they were feeling in that specific moment. K'Chool smiled at the door, enjoying the colour it showed her, letting Khar also soak in the light it showed him, both preparing for the confrontation. After a few minutes passed, his unrequited love turned to him. Years and years of spending time with each other had taught him many things about how her mind worked and the expression she wore now was a familiar one. Here it comes, he thought. Another chastising.

  “Are you sure about this Khar?” Using his actual name meant she was being serious.

  “As serious as the Kaitomé.” He said with a grin to which he received a punch on the arm.

  “Do not joke about her teachings. Surelikai has saved all of us and that book is sacred.” Exaggerated rubbing of his arm softened the look on her face as she realised she may have put more behind the punch that she meant to. She knew he meant nothing of it, her admiration and respect for The Maker was deep and resolute.

  “Was just trying to lighten the mood.” He mumbled sulkily, still rubbing his arm.

  “You know you will most likely be kicked out for waking him at this hour? Your Sojeladhan has warned me enough times now that you curry little favour with the senior clerics.”

  “I don’t care what that skell-sucker thinks. Just because Jhordair is the youngest person to become a Sojela instructor doesn’t mean he can lord it over me like he does.” He wasn’t proud of how or what came out of his mouth.

  “Despite what you may think, Jhordair only wants what is best for you.” She said curtly, before continuing in a more concerned manner, “Why do you think he tells me how of you are doing?”

  Khar let out a scoffing noise, causing K’Chool to turn and face him. He momentarily forgot where he was and why he was there, favouring childish thoughts of how he could embarrass Jhordair if he ever got the chance. Living in these fictional moments was another one of Khar’s favourite past times even if the stories in his head never played out in real life. He realised K’Chool was waiting for him to focus, not realising that she had placed both her hands on his shoulders and had bent down to meet his eyes.

  “You do not have to do this, Weyaal. Maybe it waits until the morning? Or we talk to Cleric Mo? He has always wanted you to succeed, and The Master trusts him.” She said in a loving, protective tone.

  “No.” Khar whispered, the seriousness returning to his eyes again.

  “Then let us get it over with.” K'Chool replied cheerily and turned to face the door. They both stood there for a while, imagining what they would see and how The Master would react, each of them thinking of progressively worse outcomes as the time passed. K’Chool worried that the other Sojela would lose respect for her, constantly racked with poor self-confidence despite being the most talented warrior monk in the order. Khar worried about being shouted at so wanting a distraction, he turned his mind to thoughts of some infantile revenge plot he could exact upon ‘Jhordair The Arrogant’. Depressed that he wouldn’t be able to carry out any of his ingenious plans, he thought about K’Chool rescuing him again, although this only deepened his sadness at realising he couldn’t tell her how he really felt. Finally, he let his mind wander towards food, often a safe space for him, before both of them slowly turned their heads towards each other.

  “Well I’m not knocking.” Khar admitted first.

  “Are you serious?” Was retorted with some venom.

  “Fine.” Khar yielded, before gingerly raising his hand, clenching his fist and preparing to knock.

  “I feel sick.” He admitted.

  “I thought this was important?”. No effort was made to hide her contempt at his cowardice.

  “Okay okaaaaaay. I’m doing it… I’m going to knock on The Master’s door… Then he’s going to open it and disassemble me with words that I won’t even understand… Before kicking me out of here... Onto the streets… To fend for myself amongst the Naïve’s… Shunning me forever… Alone. For-e-ver.” He deliberately left a long pause before each statement and with his hand still raised he turned his head to face K'Chool, poking out his bottom lip ever so slightly. She rolled her eyes so far back at this that Khar thought she may pass out. But his rouse worked. She slumped her head forward, almost below her shoulders and raised her hand to connect three crisp knocks with the door.

  “Looked easy to me. Don’t know why you were fussing so much.” Khar remarked offhandedly as a smile appeared on his face.

  “Surelikai give me strength.” She rasped.

  In the time it took for these words to be exchanged a stillness descended, sucking all sound away to nothingness. Then, like an echo, the three knocks were played back to them with an almost subterranean feel to them. Muffled, rumbling and then extremely loud. They began to panic, shooting looks back and forth between each other. Brains calculating and considering their fates. What will The Master do? Was this a good idea? Why are we here? What the skell were we thinking?

  Before they could regret anything and run to safer places, the mysterious light emanating from the door coalesced like water being sucked through a plug hole and disappeared with a whooshing noise. As the final leftover pieces of dusty light followed the rest of the flow, the double doors slowly creeped open to reveal The Master. Standing nearly seven feet tall, his shadow cast over what he considered to be intruders, swallowing them in darkness. Khar couldn’t tell if the man was angry as his face was partially shaded from them, but it didn’t matter, his dark, ebony skin never revealed anything more than distaste for others at the best of times. The man stepped forward out of his chambers to reveal the rest of his frame. It was broad, strong and covered by a long cassock coloured with multiple shades of oranges and greens, ornately dappled with gold, and baggy at the arms. His hands were clasped in front of him but covered by the sleeves of his decadent gown, with the edges of them almost touching the ground.

  The Master took in a small breath before punishing Khar and K'Chool with a tirade that would have toppled Surelikai from her throne. He managed to mix his words with a physical magik that strangled the pair of them, forcing them to drop to their knees. Both of them felt their hearts and minds being crushed, wondering if they would even have a chance to contemplate their punishment before it was dealt, feeling like the punishment had already arrived. When they thought they could take no more, eyes bulging and red, throats dry and scratching the pressure eased. It appeared their punishment was done so the two of them collapsed onto their backs and gasped painful air into their lungs, almost throwing up from the experience.

  After a time, they both managed to pull themselves together and adopted submissive positions of respect at The Master’s feet. Heads bowed and on one knee, they waited to be addressed. Khar had never felt anything like that before and he didn’t know The Master possessed magik beyond being a Nahgwal. He thought that shape shifters couldn’t control power beyond what they were born with, yet here one stood, as clear as morning light, displaying his hidden strength.

  “What, do you want?” The Master spat at them. His voice was a deep baritone, carrying hundreds of years of experience and intensity. Khar took a moment to collect himself and then looked into the other man’s eyes. The Master looked even more furious at this blatant example of disrespect, threatening to give Khar another taste of his fury.

  “We’re sorry to disturb you at this late hour Surelikhan, but I’ve had another vision.” Khar laced what he said with as much awe and respect as he could whilst locking eyes with the most powerful man in The Balance.

  “I do not want to hear it, boy.” The Master provided even more force with his spat words this time, pushing Khar and K'Chool back a few inches, their muscles straining to keep them steady.

  “I understand Surelikhan, but I saw her.” The Master betrayed a slight look of intrigue but kept quiet.

  Khar mirrored the silence with a pause of his own before delivering a name, struggling to think it, before forcing it out. “I saw The Last Word.”

  CHAPTER FIVE - OLD FRIENDS


  She found herself standing there, staring at her hands. She let the feelings of her new reality swim through her, trying to feel out where she was. What she was. Looking at her hands she let time flow around her, trying to figure out why they were translucent and formless. The air currents going through them, lent substance, colour and shape before stealing it away as they passed by. Her fingers looked as though they were constantly changing in front of her, the dark flesh of her palms metamorphosing into something different. Useless. She wasn’t even sure if she was standing when she thought about it. Her essence, her entire being was ill-formed. Partial. How had it come to this she wondered? A pathetic, insignificant creature unable to affect anything around it. What she would give to have her original body back.

  Remembering the last time she felt ground underfoot, she tried to rekindle those feelings in where she thought her feet were now. Last time, she felt grass and mud in between her toes. This time, she saw concrete and water, but felt nothing, bringing an unrivalled mania to bear that threatened to tear her apart. She’d felt this before, being torn in every different direction and parts of her consciousness began blending with the voices from the street, thinking they were her own experiences and mixing with feelings from lifetimes unlived. Being trapped in that filthy wytch’s body was a living hell. An unbearable torment she wished she had herself, inflicted upon her captor rather than the other way around.

  Cursing herself she felt a small amount of admiration at the deception she suffered all those years ago. They did what they had to do in order to bind her to another's body and be locked in a living prison. The rational parts of her could justify their actions, knowing her actions at the time were destructive and warranted a response. Having trained to ‘balance’ people like her, she herself knew she couldn’t go unchecked and what was done to her was clever. It required duplicity of levels only she, thought she possessed. She mentally applauded the woman who did this to her, swallowing some of her own pride to do so. Unfortunately, this led to the emotional parts of her swallowing up the rationality. She couldn’t sanction what was done to her. She wouldn’t let this go unpunished. Curses and promises of revenge cascaded over her as she lost herself in her own scheming, imagining terrible things upon her female captor and her kin.