Garden of Madness - Chapter 2

Of Gods and Men

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“Is it a singular moment of fleeting lucidity? Or does it occur gradually, so that when it finally arrives, it takes us wholly unaware?”

The seas were restless but not roiling. Aevar found enjoyment in the journey; Dram did not. Was it Tritum’s Blessing that drove Aevar’s affinity for the sea? Or was it memories from childhood? Dram’s own upbringing in Sol Septis gave him a healthy appreciation for the ocean and its many treacheries. But from up so high, he never felt any kinship with the depths.

Aevar had hardly been below deck in the days since they had left. He trained, took meals, and even slept by the prow of the ship.

“We have some Alasce,” Dram offered. “You could jump in and swim beside us. Gods, you might even beat us there.”

“Don’t fill my heart with false dreams,” Aevar sighed off the prow.

Dram laughed, but he had been partially serious; they did have Alasce. There was a bit to spare in case they, in his father’s words, “ran into trouble along the way.” Whether he meant boredom, pirates, or something far more threatening, Dram wasn’t sure, but he wouldn’t have minded the chance to practice with Alasce again before they arrived. It was a rarity that they had enough to spare for their training.

“Do you think the others will be more experienced with Alasce?”

Aevar pursed his lips, but he didn’t move his eyes from the horizon. “I can’t be sure. Lucian and Asmilla, surely. Eylia begged Lord fel Astiri for Alasce to train with, but they had none to spare. I would guess most have at least some access to Alasce.”

“I keep forgetting we’re going to see them again,” Dram said. “I wonder if they’ve changed.”

“I know Asmilla hasn’t. I think once you’re one step from Madness, you never come fully back to this side of sanity.”

Dram scoffed. “She’s not Mad.”

Aevar turned a bemused look on Dram. “She talks to the dead.”

“But—”

“And they talk back!”

“None of us can claim to be normal,” Dram argued. “We’ve been Blessed.”

“The line between Blessing and Curse has yet to be proven.” Aevar turned back to the ocean, the evening sun threatening to dip beyond the mountains to their right, turning the waters dark. Dram worried his brother’s thoughts would turn similarly if left to his own devices. Thoughts of his parents. Thoughts of home.

“Why don’t we get some sparring in?”

Aevar shook his head, mouth now buried in the crook of his arm, face morphing into that of a petulant child.

“Well, let me know if you do decide to go for a swim so I can warn the captain.”

Aevar huffed in acknowledgment but did not move.

Dram stripped his shirt, the kiss of the dying light seeping beneath his skin. He centered himself amidst the deck as it rolled with the waves, gentle though they were. He grew his roots, closing his eyes and sinking down. His feet became tendrils that snaked into the deck and anchored him to the spot. When he knew he could not be moved but by his own volition, he worked through his stances. To the rest of the crew it was an odd sight, more dance than combat. But Dram ignored the few curious eyes that lingered. He was the tree at the center of the storm—as Madness swirled around him, he would stand resolute.

And when it arrived, he would be ready.

Muscles caught halfway between tensed and relaxed, Dram turned, arms sweeping in a slow arc in front of his chest. He sensed the movement a moment before it came, body reacting purely on instinct.

A sword.

Tracing his eyes up the length of it, he found Aevar smiling down at him. “I couldn’t sulk the whole journey, could I?”

***

Money changed hands as Dram helped Aevar up from the deck, their clasped hands slick with sweat. They were covered in stinging, red welts, and both grinned ear to ear.

Days passed in much the same way, and Dram wondered if any of the crew would truly do more than break even with how often they all bet on these matches. He supposed at the very least it was something to pass the time for them. It would be another few days to Aliotas, and even with the trials looming and Aevar to keep him company, Dram had been bored more often than not.

“You are getting used to the waves.” Captain Emil was a petite man, but what he lacked in stature he made up for with authority. He wore a light blue tunic that snapped gently in the breeze. Above his lip was a peppered mustache that was fashionable in his home of the Free Isles far to the east. It twitched as he spoke. “When you return to land you will be stumbling again.”

Nothing about the prospect of landing soon and having to face the Capital—and by extension the entire Empire—excited Dram, but he painted on an amiable smile for the captain. “So long as the seas stay calm, I’ll be fine.”

Emil nodded, then looked to Aevar. “I need to speak with both of you. Come see me after dinner.” Then his eyes skimmed over the ship. “And clean your mess off my deck.”

They nodded as he swept away again, his men parting like schools of fish around a predator of the deep. Some of the crew chuckled and whistled, happy to not have been on the receiving end of a lecture for once. They tossed rags at Dram and Aevar, who set themselves to scrubbing without protest.

“What do you think he wants to talk to us about?” Aevar asked, wiping away another bead of sweat that dripped from his forehead. It was an endless task, but one that allowed Dram to work through his thoughts. He carried the spark of rebellion into the heart of the Empire. His father was certain it was the time to light it, and into the Ten Hells with what might come.

Dram was not convinced. Surely there was another way…

Besides, after two centuries of dormancy, would anyone even believe his tidings? What if he was wrong? What if the Garden was not stirring? Could it have been nothing more than one final shudder, a death knell?

It was a chore to quiet his mind. “It could be anything,” Dram said noncommittally. “Maybe he wants us to stop distracting the crew.”

“Gods forbid we have fun while we sail off to become heroes!”

Dram raised an eyebrow. “That’s only if we pass.”

“Not that again.” Aevar put his hands on Dram’s shoulders. “Do you know what the trials will be?”

“No, but—”

“And if we don’t know, then is there any merit to spending our time and energy worrying about it?”

“Also no, however—”

“So, by your own admission, the best thing you could possibly be doing on this trip is relaxing, sparring, and trying to enjoy the sun and the sea before our lives are changed dramatically and quite permanently.”

Dram gave it a few beats, trying and failing to come up with a witty or valid rebuttal. “I hate when you’re right.”

“No, you just hate when you’re wrong,” Aevar said. “Come on, let’s wash and eat. I won’t be seeing the captain putrid and hungry.”

***

They felt oddly formal as they walked up to Captain Emil’s door, both of them tugging at the collars of the only fresh tunics that remained to them. It was like the time they had gotten in trouble for sneaking down to the valley below Sol Septis. Dram winced at the memory of what had followed. His father had chosen that day to explain the significance of being Hallowed—to explain why things were different for them. To explain the depths of the Hallowed War.

Dram glanced at Aevar, concerned his brother would hear his thoughts, but found only earnest reassurance and a nod of determination. Together, they knocked on the captain’s door.

“Good evening,” Emil said, looking between them before deciding they were passably clean. He stood back from the door, gesturing them in.

Generally, the ship was devoid of any comfortable surfaces, but clearly they had all been hoarded within Captain Emil’s chambers. A row of plush, cushioned seats was set into the wall, wide enough for the largest of the crew to sleep two across. Even the floor had a few cushions that could have made their meals on the deck far more tolerable.

Across from the seats was a desk strewn with maps and pens. Dram caught a glimpse of the one at the top, streaks and writing all feverishly bunched around the port of Aliotas. They seated themselves facing the desk, sinking too low in the cushions to hold much authority, but Dram did his best to keep his back straight while he waited for Emil to speak.

The older man took his time, resting his chin atop interlocked fingers and looking between them—appraising and unnerving.

“Do you know what it is you are to do in the Capital?”

It was an odd question. One that made Dram unsure of how much his father, or the Emperor, or whoever was in charge had told the man about why they were making this journey.

“We’re Hallowed,” Aevar ventured, as if searching for confirmation of that fact itself. “We are to be trained and go through trials to become part of the Garden Guard.”

Emil waved a hand, brushing the statement away. “Yes, I am aware. What I am asking is if you know why exactly it is that you go to the Capital to do this. Hallowed who pass the trials are sent all over the Empire to secure the border of the Garden, no? But that is not the only life for a Hallowed. Why is it you both want to do this?”

Whatever line of questioning Dram had been expecting, this was not it. He spoke uncertainly. “To protect each land against the Tainted. Without the Garden Guard they would raid into towns across the continent, killing, destroying.”

Again, Emil waved the answer away. “Yes, that would likely happen. Though not all lands have Hallowed protecting them, do they?” He pointed at the map on his desk. Aevar tensed as the captain’s finger hovered over his homeland.

“Training to be in the Garden Guard is an honor,” Aevar bristled, though he could not meet Emil’s eye.

“Is it?” Emil taunted, the first hint of a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth, his mustache twitching upward. “And who bestows that honor? The Gods have already Blessed you, no? Is that not enough?” Then before Aevar could answer, Emil raised a hand. “Is it prestigious to earn the hollow thanks of some Emperor you have never met and the people all across the world?”

Aevar sat back, crossing his arms in defense. “What do you want us to say?”

“I want you to ask yourselves these questions,” Emil said slowly. “Why do you take on this endeavor? Is there no other path in life for the Hallowed?”

Dram had been asking himself these very questions. With no answer to give for himself, he addressed the issue broadly. “Is being Hallowed truly a Blessing from the Gods? We all see the lives that those not deemed worthy enough for the Garden Guard live: little better than servants. Are the Gods so uncaring?”

“Is it the Gods that conscript so many Hallowed into lives of service?” Emil asked.

“Why does this matter?” Aevar countered. “Whatever why there is in the reasoning of Gods and men, we were chosen. The choice is done. We are the Hallowed who have an opportunity to be a part of the Garden Guard. We get to take part in the trials, and that will decide our fates. Is it that you want us to head out into the rural lands across the world and find Hallowed with less fortunate circumstances and insist they take our place?”

Emil sighed, looking to Dram as if his words might be better received there. “I want you to consider that the way the Empire has set up the opportunities for your future is not the only path that is open to you.” There was something in the captain’s eyes then: hurt, sadness, longing, loss? Severe, whatever it was.

“Someone has to defend against the Garden,” Dram tried, leaving his response halfway between question and rebuke.

“Yes,” Emil agreed. “The Garden is a threat and there is great honor in serving as the shield that keeps Madness from consuming us all. Dormant as it may be,” he added out of the side of his mouth. Dram stiffened. “But as you go through your training, remember to ask yourselves why you do this.” Emil’s eyes turned darker. Or perhaps it was just the last of the light finally abandoning them beyond the gentle hills to the west—Solis ending his watch. But the Light would shine again.

“Sure,” Aevar scoffed before standing and heading toward the door. “Will that be all?”

Emil nodded. Aevar left, pulling the air from the room with him. Eventually Emil spoke again. “Your friend is quick with his emotions.”

“Being Hallowed is… difficult for him,” Dram admitted. “It’s complicated.”

“Being imbued with power and responsibility by the Gods themselves? Where is the complication in that?”

They shared a smile then. Still, Dram was not sure he understood the captain. “Have you spoken to my father?” His voice was low, a secret escaping, testing the trust of the small room that felt suddenly stifling.

“I have,” Emil said slowly. “Many times, though he did not task me with lecturing you. That I do of my own volition.”

“Why?”

Emil stood and looked out the window where the cobalt of the sky was slowly merging with the inky depths that swayed below them. “Perhaps it is a burden of all old men to feel the world is changing faster than they can. Perhaps it is my own paranoia and regret that I feel the need to share with you. But perhaps this time, just this time, I will be the old fool who is correct.” He turned to Dram, eyes misty in the low light of his cabin. “And perhaps just this once, you might be the youth who heeds the warning.”

Dram’s skin prickled. It felt like a scene from one of Asmilla’s stories of the undead—the looming tension just before everything fell apart. Dust and Echoes. “I will try.” He was compelled to swear it, to promise to be better, strive for more. For Emil and Aevar and his father. For himself most of all.

Before the moment could get any stranger, Dram left, finding Aevar at his perch on the prow. Too tired for another conversation, Dram turned and went to bed.

***

The next few days passed without incident. Captain Emil was positively cheery whenever they passed him on the deck. Dram could not get the image of the man, pained and haunted, out of his head. Aevar kept whispering about the man being “Mad” whenever they saw him, and as much as Dram wanted to agree, he couldn’t dispel the feeling that there was something in the interaction he had missed.

Why? The question played over and again in his mind. Why did the captain care? Why lecture them?

His distracted state landed him flat on his back to the chagrin of half the crew. They groaned and let their daily bets change hands. The sun was blotted out by Aevar, silhouetted and offering a hand as he let his sparring sword fall to the deck.

“You should clean yourselves up,” Emil said, appearing from behind the mass of bodies once again. “We will be arriving shortly.”

Out beyond the prow, pale cliffs stretched far above the sea. They were smaller than the red behemoths of home, but they felt older, tempered by the unceasing tide of time. Dram remembered his first and only foray into the Capital when he was younger. Aliotas had been clearly visible from the road, the immaculate limestone city etched into the cliffside, its back to the sea. Protected on all sides.

Aliotas lay just through a narrow pass ahead, the looming shadow of the city awakening dormant fears within Dram. Fears about the trials, about the Empire, about the Garden. All of them compounded, threatening to turn his stomach.

He turned to follow Aevar below deck but ran straight into his back. Aevar had gone as rigid as the cliffs; his shoulders were tensed in a way that made the hairs on Dram’s arms stand on end. “Aevar?”

Without warning, Aevar whipped around and rushed to the prow. To Dram’s surprise, Emil was in step with him, both of them peering out away from the land—out at the open ocean.

Dram and the crew followed, unsure what to look at, but only for a moment. Far off—but not as far as Dram would have hoped—the calm sea was churning. Something insistent forced the water up into the wind, creating a line of salty sea spray.

“What is that?” one of the crewmen asked nervously.

Dram’s throat ran dry. Emil spoke for him.

“Leviathan.”