6 — Echo

On the table in front of him, Raziel had laid out a strange selection of items. His father’s fruit knife, a silver blade with a ruby embedded in the pommel. After that, he noticed an embroidered chair cushion that smelled of smoke. And lastly, the butt end of a wooden shaft, the other end was broken off. 

Hetark sat opposite of Cassian with Raziel standing by his side. Their faces were dark, but something glinted in both of their gazes when they looked at Cassian. Hetark more than Raziel. No one else was present in Raziel’s chamber. Just the three of them, the assorted items, and the pitch black around them that consumed the duke’s chamber. 

With his only hand, Raziel slowly pushed the fruit knife towards Cassian’s end of the table. “What did it last cut?” He asked flatly.

Cassian exhaled slowly out his nose. He placed his fingers on the blade and his mind went silent. 

He felt wet. But not by water. After it had dried for a moment, a sweet stickiness clung to his lips. A crunch echoed in his ears, then a soft tear. It broke apart easily in his mouth. The smell of grass, green grass, like in the pinnacle of summer, seeped into his nose. 

Cassian broke free. “Apple.”

Hetark and Raziel exchanged glances, and then back to Cassian. The duke let out a grunt of approval, a hint of curiosity in it.

Raziel presented the cushion.

An uncontrolled jerk shot through Cassian’s body when his skin touched the fabric. 

Deafening chatter of a hundred voices blared in his ears. Laughter, the screech of a chair leg on stone, lutes playing. The damp smell of bodies and pipe smoke hung heavy in the air he breathed. His tongue dried and stung as he swallowed a bitter-sweet beverage. He felt himself chuckling but at the same time incredibly sleepy, but not tired. 

Cassian gasped for air when he cut his connection. “The Flock Inn,” he said between breaths, “Fetherton… Two days have passed… A heavy man sat on it, sipping a Cordelaux red…”

Raziel’s eyes squinted slightly and he questioned, “who was the heavy man?”

Cassian’s eyes fell with a sigh, not one out of annoyance, but a weight began pressing on his skull. He tried again.

A faint candle light appeared, its flame growing. Until it lit up an entire hall, blurred shadows swept past him, however one thing was clear. A woman, of black hair and tan skin. Markings etched down her left arm. Her eyes gleamed blue, staring into his eyes. No. Not his.

He felt the excitement warm his stomach and fill his chest with pride. Wine and food stuffed his belly and the coin on his hip hung heavy, calling out to him to use more of them. And he did. He bought the most expensive bottles and shared them with the blue eyed lady. However, as he indulged, he felt her pulling away. 

She didn’t care?

Why?

So much coin spent, and she has the audacity to leave me here? Like a pitiful commoner?

Who the hell does she think she is?

Cassian felt himself stand, it took much more effort than he was used to. The blue eyed lady’s wrist felt like a twig in his grip. She yelled at him in a language he did not recognize. Cassian struck her with the back of a ringed hand. The large gold jewel imprinted on her cheekbone. She lay in front of him, one hand supporting the other on where she was struck. 

“You are a vile little wench! I feed you, quench your thirst with the most expensive wine in all the four duchies, and if I didn’t buy you, you would still be an Asari slave bitch! It is time you learn some fucking manners, whore—”

Hetark’s eyes were wide under his furrowed brows. 

Raziel’s, however, composed.

Cassian had stopped himself mid sentence, but what he was saying was not from him. But it had gone through him. His eyes darted around the room, then he clutched at his chest, his belly, his hip. His coin was gone. His silk clothing. His ring. No longer there.

“I told you Hetark,” Raziel began.

Hetark's eyes remained puzzled and fixed on Cassian as he leaned an ear toward Raziel. “Yes…Yes you did.”

“Who was it, crow?” Raziel asked.

Cassian slightly shook his head, trying to break out of the body he entered. Remnants of the echo still clung to his mind. “A wealthy man from the Southlands,” he started, his voice becoming his own again. He felt a chill in his spine. “His heart is so foul… filled with vile greed. The woman—“

”Cassian!” Raziel barked, “Control yourself. If you let the echo in, it will stay forever, become a part of you. Then it will destroy you. Just find the information you need then pull away. Rip yourself out of the man you entered.”

Cassian nodded, familiarity in Raziel’s lecture.

”Do you see the cost of it, Hetark? Your son could lose himself if he echoes too much,” Raziel stated.

”You will make sure he doesn’t.”

Raziel’s eyes darkened at the response. Cassian could tell there was conflict within him. “As you wish.”

“We are not done yet. Raziel, the last item.”

Cassian watched his father with low eyes. His body tensed as Raziel placed the broken shaft in front of him. He let out a concealed shaky breath when he reached out to it. Raziel’s eyes watched him closely.

Red flashed. 

Screams consumed the air. It was hot, very hot. His toes burned in hot sand. Piles of rubble engulfed in fire surrounded him. Soldiers dressed in long red garbs herded groups of yelping families with spears. They looked different. Like the blue eyed lady. All of them had the same markings down their arms, starting by the shoulder then slithered down to their wrists like a river. 

A sharp pain shot through Cassian’s leg as he fell to his knee. He turned to see a soldier screaming at him in a foreign language, a spear deep inside his thigh. The soldier pulled it out with no regard and forced him to his feet. Cassian screamed, blood gushing out as he hopped on his good leg. 

A woman screamed to him, her hand reaching out for help. 

The blue eyed lady. 

Cassian reached out his own. 

“No…” he said hoarsely, then screamed, “No! You fucking, dogs!”

A white pain exploded on the back of his head. He fell hard, sand burned at his wound as he scrambled. 

The blue eyed lady begged for his help when a group of soldiers hauled her away into a carriage. When she tried to fight they struck her with the shaft of their spear. So hard it broke off after crashing into her head. She fell unconscious into another soldier’s arms and got dragged in. 

Cassian watched helplessly as they left him there alone, bleeding. He dragged himself to where his wife was just a moment ago. Then a large man, dressed in Southlands attire knelt down before him. He spoke to Cassian, though he did not connect the words, but he recognized the manner the Southlander spoke. 

It was the same man from The Flock Inn. 

Through the fog that consumed Cassian’s ears, some words slithered through.

”Thank you…the eyes of the Asari sees all…the duchies will kneel to the truth…”

Cassian does not remember seeing the man disappear. But he found himself alone, bleeding, water swelled in his eyes. His throat hurt from screaming. Her footprints were still fresh in the sand. Cassian ran a finger along where she was, a hot tear running down his cheek. And in front of him, the butt end of the spear. 

“Temara…”

”Don’t let them take me!”

”No…”

”You promised!”

”I will never let them take you.”

”No! No!”

”Temara!”

”Boy!” 

Cassian jerked, his mouth tasted of iron. His teeth had dug into his tongue without realizing. 

“Boy! Wake up! Raziel what the hell was that! Get him back! Who’s voices are coming out of his mouth? Who the fuck was that?”

Hetark shook Cassian by the shoulders. His vision slowly cleared to see his father over him and the ceiling looming behind. 

A cold shock washed over him. Cassian grunted, finally in his own body again. His eyes cleared to see Raziel with an empty bucket, the last drops dripping out.  

“By the gods,” Hetark exclaimed, “this is… this is beyond this world. Imagine the possibilities, Raziel! He can become anyone, take their memories! Their fucking voices!”

”No!” Raziel shouted.

It was the first time Cassian ever saw Raziel speak up against his father. 

“You do not understand the consequences of delving too deep into this, Hetark. You will lose your son. He will become no one and everyone at the same time. Cassian will stop being human, he will become an entity beyond our comprehension. It would destroy him. It would destroy us and the whole fucking kingdom if it goes too far!”

“And I told you to fucking control it! Imagine the leverage we could have… Even the crown can’t oppose us if we harness this power correctly…”

Raziel moved past Hetark, almost shoving him. But Hetark was too lost in his own mind to care. Raziel helped Cassian to sit up gently. He shoved the boy’s hair out of his eyes and looked deeply into them. 

“Cassian,” he spoke softly, “are you still in there? Are you okay, boy?” 

Cassian nodded blankly, staring back into Raziel’s black eyes. 

”Train him further, Raziel. Make him control it. I have a task for him.”

Raziel’s piercing eyes glared at Hetark who left the room, muttering plans to himself. 

“Did I do good, Raziel?” Cassian mumbled hoarsely after his father left. “Is he proud?” 

Raziel sighed. “You did good, crow. Exactly what your father wanted. Now we have some clues on our enemies intentions. Seems like Ingram wasn’t the only one who conspired with the Red Cloaks. We have a lot of work to do.”

With an arm over Raziel’s shoulder, they left Hetark’s chamber. And outside Cassian met Ricard’s gaze. His expression lightened as he saw his older brother. Ricard regarded him coldly, then turned and walked away. 

“…brother?”

”Don’t worry about him now, crow. Tend to yourself first,” Raziel said, leading Cassian toward his chambers. “Who knows what plans Hetark will lay next. But whatever they are, I am sure you are the centerpiece of it.”

The air in Cassian’s chamber was cold and refreshing. Once his head met with his chilled pillow, his exhaustion washed over him like a wave. A numbness took over his legs and his head throbbed so hard he felt like his brain would break out of his skull. 

Raziel had let the window open for him, letting the coastal wind freshen Cassian’s lungs. 

He felt himself sinking further and further into his bed, his breathing calmed into a soft rhythm. The slumber was a black one, quiet and long. Silhouettes of his father entered for brief moments before vanishing into the darkness. 

“He can become anyone, take their memories! Their fucking voices!”

”…are you still in there?”

”…this is beyond this world!”

”Cassian! … Cassian no!”

”…who are you?”

Cassian awoke the next morning to something trickling from his nose. He ran a finger under his nose and looked to see blood smeared on it. But there was no pain or discomfort, only a hollow feeling in his mind. Like something inside him was ripped out, then placed back, but not in the right order. 

He frowned. 

“Ca—Cassian…” he reminded himself. “Cassian,” he said more confidently. His eyes wandered out his window, an anchored fisherman’s skiff rocked softly in the distance. “Son of Hetark Vaelthorne. Ricard Vaelthorne is my brother. I am a crow. I am the blade that carves.” 

Practiced words. A ritual.. 

“Cassian Vaelthorne.”