All Things Begin - The Anmah Series Book 1

Two sennights later, the four riders sat their horses on the top of a rise overlooking a verdant valley in which was centered a medium-sized town nearly a hundred and fifty leagues northeast of Difeld. From their vantage point, they could see a hundred or so buildings positioned in concentric circles around a town square. The roofs of the buildings of Grama were all red slate tiles, and most of the buildings looked to be made of wood. A few were built with stone, but not many. About three quarters of the buildings were small enough to be personal homes, but the rest seemed to be businesses or official buildings. The homes were situated in the outermost circles with the larger buildings within a lane or two of the square. From their vantage point, Ga’briyel could only see one building that was more than a story tall, and it filled almost the entire east side of the square. Cobblestone streets ran between the circles with one broad road cutting them in two, running east and west. Around the town were watchtowers, each at least ten paces high. They were placed about twenty paces apart except for four towers in front of the west and east entrances, two pairs on each side of the town. Wagons, horses, and pedestrians flowed through the streets without restriction, but guards stood at both entrances to the town, and they were closely watching all who entered or exited.

The sun was high in the sky behind the four on the rise, but the forest that rimmed the valley kept their shadows from being visible to the people below.

“How is this going to work, Ga’briyel?” Dinton asked as he fingered the hilt of his sword. “It is not as if we can just barge in and start killing people.”

“No, we cannot.” Ga’briyel looked at Sophyra. “What can you tell me about the town?”

She shifted in her saddle and frowned. “You will not be able to get in by way of the road. No strangers are allowed inside without an Asabya escort, and no stranger is allowed in after full dark has fallen, escort or not.” She scoffed. “They are distrustful of strangers.”

“I wonder why?” Tero muttered. “It is not like anyone hates them or anything.”

Ga’briyel smiled at his friend before turning back to Sophyra. “What else?”

“As darkness falls, the watchtowers will light their torches. With the help of mirrors, the Asabya have designed it so that there are few shadows between them. You cannot get through.”

“Oh, I will get through,” Ga’briyel said darkly. “Do not worry about that. How many people live there?”

“I do not know for sure, but I would guess about four or five hundred.”

“How many are men?”

“Well, considering their rites of manhood take place at thirteen…”

“Not boys. Men.”

“They are men at thirteen, Ga’briyel,” she said sadly. “By then they have learned everything there is to being an Asabya man. Most have had their first woman, almost all own at least one slave, and they have all killed at least once.”

“What? Who?”

She shrugged. “Usually a slave. Sometimes just someone they do not like. In order to become a man, they have to have at least one kill during the year before their thirteenth naming-day. It is considered a great deed to have that kill be during a fight with another boy. They see it as culling the weak ones from their ranks. If they have not had that kill, they are given as a prize to whatever boy will kill them.”

Ga’briyel forced himself to stay calm and not let his eyes give them away in the growing darkness, but his hand clenched his sword hilt tightly, and he ground his teeth until they hurt.

“Is there any way to know who has killed and who has not?”

“Yes. They are branded on the back of their neck for each kill during that year. Some have five or six by the time the rites begin on their thirteenth naming-day.”

“Fine, then. How many men?”

“I would say at least one hundred. The rest are women and girls, young boys, and slaves.”

“When do the boys start training to be men?”

“Boys as young as five or six start learning to fight so that if they are challenged, they can protect themselves. A boy can only be challenged if he is at least ten years old, and no man can challenge a boy to a fight. Another man, yes, but not a boy. They call it Mirtya Yuddah—‘Fight to the Death.’”

Giving the town one last frown, Ga’briyel yanked Kumar’s reins around and entered the forest. The others looked at each other silently and followed him. Half an hour later, they stopped in a small clearing they had ridden through earlier without a single word having been spoken. Ga’briyel’s posture atop Kumar warned the others to stay away; his back was straight and tense, and his hands were fisted, one around the reins and the other around the hilt of his sword. Kumar snorted occasionally to express his displeasure with the stiffness of his rider, but Ga’briyel’s bearing did not soften in the least. After he slid from the saddle in the clearing, he walked to a large gacha tree and drove his right fist into the smooth, gray trunk without a sound.

“Ga’briyel!” Sophyra jumped down from Taraka and rushed to him, but not before his fist met the bark a second time, again with no noise but that of flesh and bone meeting immovable wood. “Stop it!” she said sternly, grabbing his wrist with both of her hands as he drew his arm back for a third strike. “You are hurting yourself!”

He glared at her as he wrenched his arm from her grasp and hurled his fist into the tree hard enough to dislodge several twigs and bright red leaves that fell down around them. She did not back down, however, and only grabbed him again.

“Please stop, my heart,” she pleaded, tears forming in her eyes.

Ga’briyel once again tore his arm free. “Leave me alone,” he snarled at her and stormed away from her into the forest, flexing his now-bleeding hand as he went. He only went a few paces before subjecting a second gacha to his merciless, silent assault, pounding the trunk over and over until the gray bark was streaked red with his blood.

Sophyra tried to go to him, but Dinton took hold of her arms and held her back. “Leave him be, Sophyra. Let him work it out alone.”

“Work what out? He is hurting himself!”

“And he will heal; you know that.” He turned her around and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “You of all people should understand his hatred for the Asabya, and what you just told him had to have increased it a hundredfold.” Dinton’s own anger showed clearly on his face. “Training boys to kill from such a young age. It is no wonder they are called barbarians.”

Sophyra nodded as she looked over her shoulder at the man she loved with everything in her.“They are,” she whispered, “but he should not take out his anger on himself. He should not hurt himself like this.” Her voice turned hard. “He should hurt them like they hurt our people; he should kill them.”

“I am sure that is his plan,” Tero said from behind Dinton, “but he needs to rid himself of some of this anger or he will not be able to think straight, and that is bad for all of us. Letting your emotions rule your military decisions is never a good idea.”

“How is breaking his hand going to get rid of his anger?” Sophyra said, sitting forlornly on the ground.

“Breaking his hand is simply an unfortunate result of hitting the tree,” Tero said as he started to tend to Klynn. “It is the act of hitting something that will help him release some of his tension.” He smiled down at her. “I am just glad it is a couple of trees and not me that he is hitting.”

“Would he do that?”

“If I tried to stop him right now, probably.”

“Definitely,” Dinton spoke up. He was taking his saddle off Shala, and after he laid it on the ground, he placed one hand on Sophyra’s shoulder. “He will be fine. Just give him a little time. You will see.”

She bent her knees and hugged them to her chest as she watched Ga’briyel. She shuddered each time his fist met the trunk, and she caught her breath when she heard something in his hand crack. He did not stop, however, for more than ten minutes, and when he finally did and dropped his hand to his side, blood streamed from it onto the ground. Sophyra kept her eyes on him the entire time, and when he turned around, she swallowed thickly when she saw the anguish and anger on his face. His eyes were on the ground, and when he dropped to his knees, she jumped up and ran to him. She slid to her knees in front of him but kept her hands in her lap.

“Ga’briyel, talk to me,” she said, staring at him and willing him to raise his gaze to her.

“What do you want me to say, Sophyra?” His voice was flat and cold, and she cringed. He looked up at her, and she gasped at the fire in his eyes. “That I hate them? Fine, I hate them. Every last one of them! I hate them for what they did at Desa! I hate them for what they do to their own wives and children! I hate them for what they did to you, and I hate them for what they continue to do! I hate the fact that even one Asabya still draws breath! I will not be content until every single Asabya who has killed another is dead!”

“Will you be content then, Ga’briyel?”

He sighed and ran his intact hand through his hair. When he looked at her again, his eyes had dimmed somewhat. “I do not know,” he said slowly. “Will that be enough? What about all those boys who are not yet thirteen? They have been training to kill for years. Do I kill every male over the age of five? Ten? What of the women and girls and slaves then? Who will take care of them? What will happen to them when their protectors are dead? Will others come and take their revenge on them? Will they starve? Can they fend for themselves? Will I condemn them to a life of Hell if I kill their men? Could I live with myself if I did that?”

Sophyra scooted closer to him and took his face in her hands. “They are in Hell now, Ga’briyel, believe me, and they can take care of themselves. The men do nothing as far as the home is concerned. They only fight and kill and hurt others. That is what they do from the time they are very young.”

“So how young is too old to let live? Can a ten-year-old boy who has been training all his life to kill others be brought back to the moral path? A twelve-year-old? Can years of brainwashing be wiped away?” He dropped his head once more. “I do not know what to do. I am so furious I can hardly think.” His fists clenched, and he winced at the pain in his right one. He opened it slowly and looked at it. The blood had stopped flowing already, but his knuckles were still split open, and he knew that at least one bone was broken, probably more. “And now I am doing stupid things like this.”

Sophyra moved and put her arms around him, drawing his head to her breast. He took a shuddering breath and wrapped his left arm around her, clinging to her as if she was the only thing keeping him together.

“I love you, Ga’briyel, and I know that you will do what is necessary and what is right. You will figure it out; just give yourself some time. You do not have to kill them tonight.”

He chuckled and kissed her neck. “No, but I truly want to.” Then he smiled at her. “Thank you, Sophyra, and I am sorry I talked to you like that.”

She shrugged with a smile of her own. “I have been talked to much worse than that.”

That brought a frown to his face. “But not by me. You should never hear that from me. I love you, my heart, and I promised to protect you.”

Cocking her head, she studied him closely. “Perhaps sometimes that means protecting me from yourself.”

His frown deepened. “Perhaps, but it should not ever come to that.”

Her hands cupped his face, and she kissed him softly. “You are too passionate for your emotions to always be under control, Ga’briyel. I know you would never hurt me, and that is enough. I know you were not mad at me, and I am fine. I was just worried about you.”

He covered her right hand with his left and stared into her eyes. “I will be all right. I just need some time to cool off a little.” He kissed her palm and stood up, pulling her up with him. “I am going to go for a walk,” he said. “Can you take care of Kumar for me?”

“Of course.”

He nodded once and then disappeared into the forest.

Sophyra sighed and walked back to the clearing, smiling softly when she saw all four horses unsaddled and grazing contentedly. Dinton and Tero were seated next to a small fire. Tero had his usual whittling out, and Dinton was carefully sewing one of Ga’briyel’s torn shirts.

“Thank you,” Sophyra said, sitting down next to Dinton.

“For what?” He glanced at her with a smile.

“The horses.” She gestured toward the shirt. “The sewing.”

“Ah, well, my mother always said a soldier needed to know how to fix his own clothing, and this is the perfect opportunity for practice. After all, it is not normal to have a helpful, beautiful lady traveling with a group of rough, nasty soldiers.”

Sophyra laughed. “You three are neither rough nor nasty. Believe me, I have been around plenty of men who are. You are kind and cultured…”

Tero snorted, interrupting her. “You make us sound like garden flowers.”

“I was going to add that you are also strong and deadly when necessary.”

Glancing up at her, he smiled. “That is better.” He went back to his whittling. “Where did Ga’briyel go?”

“For a walk. He said he needed to cool off.”

“That is quite the understatement,” Dinton huffed. “I have never seen him that angry before, and I have known him for fifteen years.”

Sophyra hugged her knees to her chest. “Tell me about his life.”

Dinton looked at her with surprise. “He has not said anything to you?”

“Not really. I know that he woke up after being killed in Desa and somehow made his way to Torkeln where General Mistri and his wife took him in as their son, but that is all he will say. What kind of life did he have growing up? Did his parents love him?”

“I will let him tell you about his trip to Torkeln if he wishes, but yes, he is loved. His mother cried when he left, and even the great General Mistri was emotional. I have never seen the man cry, but I know he did not want Ga’briyel to leave. And then, of course, there’s Ma’ikel.”

“The other Anmah?”

“Yes. He was Ga’briyel’s Siskaska.”

“What is that?”

“His teacher. He taught him what it meant to be an Anmah, told him what he knew about Sainika, and prepared him for eternal life.” Dinton glanced into the trees where Ga’briyel had disappeared. “I do not think he was able to prepare him for this, though.” He looked back at Sophyra. “We knew he hated the Asabya, but we did not know why until we crossed the Parbata Mountains. When he saw the grasslands, he lost it. That night he told us what the Asabya did at Desa.”

Sophyra sighed and rested her cheek on her knees. “I do not remember everything,” she said softly, “but I do remember the screams and the blood and the pain when Edel grabbed me and flung me over his shoulder. He grabbed me so hard that he broke my arm.” Another sigh escaped her. “That was nothing compared to what came later, though.”

Tero had stopped whittling, and both men watched her silently. Then Dinton placed his hand on her arm. “I am sorry you had to go through that, Sophyra. Know that the pledge I gave you that day we rescued you will stand until I die. I will let nothing happen to you, ever.”

“I know,” she said softly as she raised her head, “and I thank you for that, both of you. I feel safe here with you, and I never thought I would have that.”

Silence fell on the camp as the shadows shifted with the sun’s journey across the sky. The three got hungry before Ga’briyel appeared, and so they ate their midday meal as they waited for him to return.

The young Anmah slowly trudged through the forest, moving west away from Grama and his friends and the woman he loved. He kept his head down and his fists clenched. Every once in a while, he felt the unquestionable urge to hit something again, but his right hand still hurt, and he knew it would not be a wise decision. After almost an hour of walking, he came upon a small stream, perhaps two paces wide and half that deep, and he dropped to the ground on its bank. He held up his wounded hand and watched as it slowly finished knitting itself back together. After fifteen minutes of sitting there, it was as good as new, and he slowly rotated it in front of his face, flexing it and marveling still at what his body could do. He wondered if he would ever get used to being an Anmah. He supposed that after hundreds of years, his abilities would be taken for granted, but now, after only fifteen years, he was still astounded by what he was.

He was still sitting there, staring at the water as it flowed slowly by him, when he heard the wind picking up, but he felt nothing. He frowned and stood, the noise getting louder until it seemed as if trees should be uprooted or at least bent to the ground. He drew his sword and slowly turned, his eyes blazing as he scanned the dark woods around him.

“Debaduta! Show yourself!”

His eyes caught a glimpse of a shimmering in the air, and he spun to face it, his sword ready. The air coalesced into the form he remembered from his dream, and the tall spirit in white strode toward him quickly.

“Why are you here?” Ga’briyel asked. “I am not asleep.”

“Shush!” the Debaduta said, taking Ga’briyel’s arm and pulling him upstream. “Silence until I tell you otherwise.”

Ga’briyel yanked his arm free and set his feet. “Not until you tell me what is going on.”

“No time,” the Debaduta hissed. “Now be quiet! They might hear you!”

“Who might?”

The spirit whirled on him. “Can you not do what you are told, boy? Silence!” The words were barely audible, but Ga’briyel heard the anger in them, so he closed his mouth. “Good boy. Now, keep your sword ready. You are going to need it.” He took off through the trees, and Ga’briyel followed him, their feet soundless even through the twigs and leaves on the forest floor.

They walked for a quarter of a league, and then the Debaduta stopped and pointed.“There,” he said, pointing toward a shape huddled on the stream’s bank ten paces from them.

Ga’briyel looked and saw that the shape was a boy, perhaps twelve years old. He was curled into himself, and he was shaking violently, a whimper coming from him every so often.

“Who is he?” Ga’briyel whispered.

“An Asabya slave,” the Debaduta responded just as softly. “He managed to run away from the town, but he is being followed by four men, and they will be here shortly. They will kill him for running away. You must protect him! He is needed!”

The last three words were said emphatically, and Ga’briyel looked at the Debaduta, surprised to see the spirit’s eyes blazing almost as brightly as his own.

“Needed for what?”

“For…” the Debaduta said, and then his head snapped up as he gazed upstream. “They are coming.” He slipped behind a large gacha. “I cannot help you. You must protect him yourself.”

Ga’briyel sensed the evil in the men coming toward them, and he snarled as he covered the distance between himself and the boy in a few strides. The boy jumped to his feet at his approach, crouched to flee, but Ga’briyel held out an open hand.

“Do not be afraid,” he said quietly. “I will not let them hurt you. Get behind me and stay hidden.”

The boy’s eyes went wide, but he immediately did as Ga’briyel bid. He scurried behind a tree, and as soon as Ga’briyel felt he was safe, he faced the direction from which he knew the men were coming and brought his sword up, balancing lightly on his feet. The stream was to his back, but he was not worried about that. He did not intend to retreat even a single step.

Mere minutes passed before he heard noises that indicated that someone was trying to sneak through the forest. Whoever it was was not very good at it, though, and several twigs snapped. The noise was as loud as drums to Ga’briyel’s ears, and he waited. It was not long before he saw movement that was accompanied by more snapping and rustling, and he grinned hatefully as he thought of the death he would be dealing out to these foolish Asabya soon.

He soon got tired of waiting, however, and he called out, “Come and face me, cowards! I know you are there! Stop skulking and fight me! Or are you scared?”

A low, angry murmur came from the trees in front of him, and four men stepped out from behind trunks, two directly in front of him and the others from trees to his left and his right. Ga’briyel suppressed his surprise when he saw that they did not have the black and white painted faces he was used to. They did, however, all have their swords unsheathed and pointed at him.

“Trying to surround me, Asabya?” he scoffed. “It would not help. You will all die soon either way.”

The man in front of him laughed. He looked to be Ga’briyel’s age, and his dark eyes glittered. “I do not know if you can count, boy, but there are four of us and only one of you. You hold that sword like you know how to use it, but we have trained since we were small children. You have no chance.”

“Boy? You are no older than I, horeson, and it would not matter if there were twice as many of you. You would still all die.”

Ga’briyel was trying to anger the man into making a mistake, but it was not he who did so. The man to his left suddenly shouted and attacked left-handed, swinging his sword toward Ga’briyel’s head. Ga’briyel smoothly brought his sword up to block the strike and spun to his right, causing the man to pass him by. As the Asabya tried to turn around, Ga’briyel completed his spin, slicing his sword across the man’s back as he did so. The man dropped to the ground with a cry, and Ga’briyel stepped back from him as blood poured from the wound, twirled his sword nimbly, and faced the other three.

“One down, three to go,” he said with a grin.

The man in front of him frowned and signaled to the other two. Ga’briyel knew they were about to attack as one, but the first man snarled at him first.

“You will pay for that, stranger. He was my brother!”

“You should take better care of your family,” Ga’briyel said conversationally. “Or teach them to fight better.”

With loud shouts, the men sprang at him, and Ga’briyel busied himself with blocking their strikes and delivering his own. He was still furious from before, no matter that his banter had seemed to indicate otherwise, and he inflicted wound after wound on the three men, eyes shining brightly. He made sure not to fatally wound the leader, but he had no such qualms about the others.

Within five minutes, all four Asabya were on the ground, three dead and the fourth groaning in pain. Ga’briyel stepped up to him and placed the point of his sword at his throat.

“Answer my questions honestly, you son of a goat, and I will make your death quick. Lie to me, and I will make you suffer more than you thought possible.”

The man had his hand over his ribs where Ga’briyel had delivered a deep but not fatal cut, but he still had enough strength to spit at the Anmah.

“Wrong choice,” Ga’briyel growled, and he grabbed the man and yanked him to his feet. The Asabya moaned loudly, but Ga’briyel dragged him to a tree and shoved him up against it. “You will answer my questions, horeson, or you will regret it for the rest of your very short life.”

“Go to Hell,” the man spat.

“Not me,” Ga’briyel hissed, “but I will send you there soon.”

With his left hand, he held the man against the tree, and he sheathed his sword with his right. He hated doing so without cleaning it first, but at that moment, he had no choice. He drew his dagger and held it to the man’s shoulder.

“Tell me about the defenses of Grama,” he said, pressing the blade in just enough to draw blood. “How do I get past them?”

“I would never betray my people to you, maggot.”

“Again, wrong choice.” Ga’briyel slowly slid the dagger into the man’s flesh just underneath his collarbone. Another groan was wrenched from the man, but his eyes never lost their hatred.

Ten minutes later, Ga’briyel had learned nothing, and the man was fading fast. The Anmah thought about dragging out his questioning, but suddenly, his father’s voice filled his mind and caused him to freeze.

Be very careful not to cross the line between justice and cruelty, my son. Make your vengeance quick and painless.

Ga’briyel’s eyes flashed violet, and he roared out his rage and disappointment in himself as he nearly decapitated the Asabya with one swift slash of the dagger. The man’s heart was barely beating by that point, so the spray of blood that splashed Ga’briyel was not as strong as it might have been earlier, but he was still coated liberally with it. He dropped the body to the ground and slammed his dagger into the tree’s trunk with another roar. He sucked in a deep breath and paced back and forth, fisting his bloody hands in his hair.

This is what they meant. I am not cruel, I am not! But I tortured this man! And the man who took Sophyra.

“Fire and ashes! This is not who I am!” He screamed it to the sky and to the forest around him, as his hands rested on the tree.

“Not yet, Ga’briyel, but if you are not careful, it could become you.”

He whirled at the deep voice and glared at the Debaduta who was standing by a tree with his hand around the boy’s shoulder.

“Never!” he growled.

The Debaduta shrugged one shoulder. “You would not be the first human to succumb to the more primitive nature, Ga’briyel, nor would you be the last. Some who have done so have been much wiser and older than you.”

Ga’briyel shook his head, but he knew the spirit was right, and he dropped his hands to his sides, fists clenched. Then his eyes landed on the boy, and he forced himself to calm.

The child had his head down and was trembling, his hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed in much the same way Sophyra had been when they found her, except that he had on dirty linen breeches with a filthy shirt that came to mid-thigh. He was barefoot, as she had been, and his feet were torn and bloody. He also looked tiny beside the massive Debaduta. He reminded Ga’briyel of Dinton during the incident with Ricard, but this boy was much thinner. It looked as if he had not had enough to eat, ever.

Ga’briyel yanked his dagger from the tree and held it tightly. Then he closed the distance between them and dropped to one knee before the boy.

“What is your name?” he said as kindly as he could considering the circumstances.

“Mathi, master.”

Ga’briyel scowled at the title, but he kept his voice quiet.

“I am not your master, Mathi, and I would like to help you. Will you come with me to where my friends are?”

“As you wish, master.”

With a curled lip and gritted teeth, Ga’briyel stood up. “Stay here with this…man, Mathi, while I clean up, all right?”

“As you wish, master.”

Ga’briyel spun quickly so the boy would not see his disgust at the title, but as the child had not raised his eyes from the ground, he probably would not have noticed anyway. The Anmah marched to the stream and washed as much of the blood off him as he could, even dipping his head into the water and running his hands through his hair. Then he unsheathed his sword and cleaned it and the scabbard along with the dagger. When he was finished, he was also calmer, and he went back to the others who had not moved.

“Come on,” he said, looking the Debaduta in the eye before heading downstream. The others fell into step beside him. They were silent until they got to the place where the Debaduta had materialized, and then Ga’briyel led them east.

“Will you tell me why he is so important now?” he asked the Debaduta as the forest closed in around them.

The spirit had not released the boy’s shoulder, and he tightened his grip as they walked. “He must live, Anmah. He will play an important part in what is going to happen.”

“How old is he?”

“Fifteen.”

Ga’briyel turned to the Debaduta. “He looks like he is twelve. Or younger, even.”

The spirit shrugged. “The Asabya do not care much about feeding their slaves what they need to grow. You will find that most of them are smaller than you expect.”

"Sophyra’s not.”

“Ah, but she was trained for a very specific purpose. It would not do for her to die of starvation before she could serve that purpose.”

Ga’briyel snarled and looked down at the boy.

“He is brave, Ga’briyel, and he will be a strong warrior when he is older, but you must train him.” The spirit spoke without looking at either of them.

“Why me?”

“There is no one else, and it was destined to be,” the Debaduta said simply. “If you had not decided to leave your camp, you would not have been here to save him, and he would have died. That would have been tragic for the world, and it would have made your quest much harder to accomplish.”

Ga’briyel huffed out a laugh. “Destiny. So it was foretold that I would get mad enough to break my hand on a tree and storm off by myself?”

With a smile, the Debaduta shook his head. “No, that was your own hotheadedness. Yisu does not make things happen, but he does nudge people in the right direction. Whether or not they listen determines the fate of the world. This time, you did not need much nudging. Your anger took over, and you made it here all by yourself. I cannot say for sure, but He might have had some say in the direction you took.”

“I do not know about that. I was not really thinking about a direction. I just started walking.”

“Sometimes, that is exactly when Yisu is guiding you.”

At that moment, Mathi stumbled and fell to his knees. Ga’briyel stopped immediately and knelt before him.

“I am sorry, master,” the boy mumbled, and the Anmah realized he was about to faint. “Please do not beat me.”

At that, the boy’s body went limp, and Ga’briyel lifted him over his shoulder. He weighed next to nothing.

“Yisu! I am such an idiot!”

The Debaduta laughed but did not contradict him. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I should have realized he would not be able to walk this distance. I did not even think about how tired or hurt he must be.”

“Do not punish yourself, Ga’briyel.” The Debaduta was now serious. “You are very young, and you have a lot to learn, both about yourself and others.”

Nodding and glancing over at the spirit as they began to walk again, Ga’briyel asked, “Why are you still here? You have delivered your message.”

“Call it curiosity. Yisu has not called me back to Him yet, so I am taking advantage of the time to learn more about humans. You fascinate me.”

“Hmm. Does that mean I will see you again?”

The Debaduta shrugged again. “If Yisu wills it. There are many things happening that have never happened before, this visit for example. No Debaduta has ever made a waking visit before.”

“Never?”

“No, but the Creator does not tend to explain Himself. He speaks, and we obey. He told me to come to you immediately, and I did.”

They were silent for a while, and Ga’briyel lost himself in his mind. He thought about what he had done to the two Asabya, and he cringed. He had let his anger take over, and it had made him do things that he would have reviled another for doing.

“Never again,” he muttered.

“What?” the Debaduta asked softly.

Ga’briyel glanced up. “I will never again allow myself to be cruel. I will mete out justice as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Even the Asabya do not deserve to be tortured.” He shifted the still-unconscious boy in his arms and scowled. “I am Ga’briyel Mistri, son of Jarda and Elise Mistri and son of Adama and Julete. I was not raised to be a monster, and I refuse to turn into one.”

“I am very glad to hear you say that, Ga’briyel. You were created to be a force for good, and letting your emotions rule you will undermine that destiny.” The Debaduta paused and cocked his head as if listening to something that Ga’briyel could not hear.

“What is it?”

No response came from the spirit for several moments, and then his eyes went wide. He looked down at Ga’briyel as if seeing him for the first time. “I am to tell you to listen carefully tonight. You will receive another message.”

“Another Debaduta visit?”

“No, a message from Yisu Himself. Listen carefully, for what you hear will determine your path in the future.”

Ga’briyel scoffed. “You are joking, right? Yisu, the Creator of the world, is going to speak to me tonight?”

The Debaduta shook his head. “It has been a dozen millennia since it has happened, but yes. Tonight you will hear His voice.”

Ga’briyel was about to answer when Mathi groaned and stirred in his arms. They were only half a league or so from the camp now, and Ga’briyel looked at the boy. He had dark, curly hair that was cut short, and when he looked around in confusion, Ga’briyel saw that his eyes were a brilliant green. The combination would have been stunningly beautiful if it had not been for the terror in the eyes and the tension in his body. Those eyes landed on Ga’briyel’s violet ones and instantly dropped, but the tension remained.

“Do not be afraid,” Ga’briyel said softly as he stopped walking. “I promise not to hurt you.” He put the boy on the ground and knelt in front of him, placing his hands on the thin shoulders. “Look at me, please.”

Mathi slowly raised his head, but he started to tremble when their eyes met again. Ga’briyel smiled in an attempt to put the boy at ease.

“My name is Ga’briyel. I am not Asabya, and I do not believe in slavery. Therefore, you will not call me or any of my friends ’master.’ Do you understand?”

Mathi shook his head slowly, and Ga’briyel sighed. “I want you to call me by my name.”

The green eyes widened with fear, and the boy shook his head. “I cannot do that, sir! It would not be right!”

“He has been trained to see adults in a certain way, Ga’briyel. He knows no other way.” The Debaduta’s voice was soft.

“All right, then,” Ga’briyel said slowly, “you can call me Captain Mistri. Would that do?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy whispered.

“I will introduce you to the others when we reach the camp. Can you walk?”

A flash of longing crossed Mathi’s face, and then he dropped his eyes to the ground again. “I can walk, Captain Mistri,” he said softly.

“Mathi, keep your head up. Look at me.”

The dark head came up again, and the green eyes were wistful.

Ga’briyel brushed his hand over the boy’s curls and gently held the back of his neck. “When I ask you a question, I want you to always answer me honestly. I do not want you to tell me what you think I want to hear; I want a truthful answer. You will never be punished for what you answer. Do you understand?”

“No punishment?”

“Not for honesty, no.”

Mathi slowly nodded his head, but he looked skeptical. “Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Good. Now tell me, can you walk?”

The boy’s bottom lip trembled.

“Honesty, Mathi, remember?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy whispered. “I can walk, sir, but my feet hurt.” The words were barely audible, and when they were out, the boy flinched away from an expected blow.

Ga’briyel frowned at the action and then turned his back. “Get on my back, Mathi. I will carry you.” He heard a small gasp, but then the boy climbed on and wrapped his thin arms around the Anmah’s neck. Ga’briyel stood up and continued walking toward the camp as he looked at the Debaduta who had watched the exchange in silence. The spirit smiled.

“I do believe the world is in good hands,” he said, “but now I must go. Although it is not usual, I have a feeling we will be seeing each other again soon, Anmah.”He stepped away from Ga’briyel and slowly dissipated, the last thing to go being a soft glow that looked like the sun shining through the leaves.

“Captain Mistri?”

Mathi had his head up and was looking wide-eyed at the space where the spirit had disappeared, and his voice was hushed.

“Yes?”

“May I ask you a question, sir?”

“Of course. I will always answer your questions if I can.”

“What was he, sir?”

Ga’briyel chuckled and continued walking. “He is a Debaduta. Do you know what that is?”

The boy frowned thoughtfully. “I think I have heard the name before, sir, but I am not sure.”

“Do you know of Yisu?”

“The Creator? Of course, sir. My mama told me all about Him and how he formed our world of Duniya so that He would have people to love Him and worship Him.” Mathi’s eyes lit up, and he almost smiled. “That is who he was? A servant of Yisu?”

“Yes.”

“Why was he here, sir?”

“To speak to me.”

The boy’s eyes widened in awe. “You speak with Yisu’s servants, sir?”

“Just him,” Ga’briyel said, smiling. “Twice now.”

“Are you a servant of Yisu, too, sir?”

Ga’briyel thought about that. Was he? After a few moments, he answered slowly, “I suppose I am, although I am not a spirit like the Debaduta. I am human, but I am in the service of Yisu.” The concept hit him like a physical blow, and he swallowed thickly. If that is true, I definitely cannot allow myself to lose control ever again.

“Is something wrong, sir?”

“No, Mathi, nothing’s wrong except my own shame and guilt.”

“You, sir? What could you have to feel ashamed about?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. It is for me to bear, not you.”

Mathi nodded. “Thank you for saving me, sir,” he said softly.

“You are welcome, boy.”

Ten minutes later, they came upon the camp where Dinton, Tero, and Sophyra were seated around the fire, quietly talking. Three heads snapped up as Ga’briyel stepped out of the forest, and three sets of eyes went wide when they saw the boy and the blood on Ga’briyel’s clothing. Dinton leaped to his feet and strode toward his friend, ignoring the blood for now.

“Who is this, Ga’briyel?”

The Anmah had the boy get down and did not fail to notice that Mathi’s eyes were once again on the ground.

“Head up, Mathi,” he said, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, feeling the trembling. “No more looking at the ground. Not with us.”

“Yes, sir,” Mathi whispered, and he slowly raised his head.

“This is Mathi,” Ga’briyel said to the others who were now all standing. “He ran away from the Asabya, and I saved him from them. They were going to kill him.”

Sophyra nodded sadly and knelt down in front of the boy. “Mathi, you are very lucky. Captain Mistri also saved me from the Asabya, and he is a good man. So are his friends, Captain Sekara and Captain Rabina. They will keep you safe like they keep me safe.”

“Truly? They will not hurt me?”

“Never!” Tero said, stepping forward. “We would never hurt a boy.”

“I...I did not mean…” Mathi stammered, his eyes going wide.

Tero forced himself to calm. “I know you did not,” he answered. “I am sorry I snapped at you.” He looked down at the boy’s bare feet and frowned. “Come with me, Mathi. I have something that will make your feet feel better.” He held out his hand, and the boy shrank back against Ga’briyel’s legs. He looked up at Ga’briyel who nodded and gestured toward his friend. Timidly, Mathi put his hand in Tero’s, and a smile stretched across the man’s face as he led him to his saddlebags.

Ga’briyel held out his hand to Sophyra, who took it with a smile, and he pulled her to her feet. “Are you doing anything important right now, my heart?”

“No, why do you ask?”

He did not answer her. “Dinton, can you and Tero watch the boy for a while, please? I need to talk to Sophyra alone.”

“Of course, Ga’briyel,” Dinton said with a smirk. “Take your time.”

Ga’briyel’s eyes flashed with irritation at his friend’s expression as he led Sophyra into the trees. They walked for a good ten minutes before he stopped and turned to her. His eyes were still bright, but all irritation was gone. Her eyes went wide as he stepped close to her and pressed her up against a tree.

“Ga’briyel,” she breathed when he kissed her neck, “what are you doing?”

“I need you, Sophyra. This has been a really bad day, and I need you to help me forget it for a while.”

She grinned and grasped his shirt in her hands, seeing the dried blood but not commenting on it as she pulled it over his head and dropped it on the ground.

“Gladly.”