Mark of the Condemned

Chapter One or Preface



The High Priest rambled on making symbolic gestures, shaking his stinking incense burner in Jovahn’s face. Jovahn glowered at him. There was no need to hide his contempt now. The crowd fell silent, watching, waiting, trying to catch a word or two to gossip about later.

The High Priest was enjoying every moment of his performance. The crowd greedily devoured every word he spoke, and that was exactly the way he liked to have them. He concluded his mutterings with a grand gesture to the heavens.

He looked at the condemned man with an over-exaggerated expression of pity. “When you meet the great and terrible Almighty, my son, I hope he finds it in his heart to grant you a modicum of mercy.”

Jovahn would have spat in the High Priest’s face if his mouth wasn’t so dry.

The High Priest took the key dangling from his sash and unlocked the neck shackle that was holding the condemned against the centre pole. “Go in peace.”

More like ‘go in pieces’, Jovahn thought. He was still chained to the pole by ankle shackles so he couldn’t escape, but it was good not to have the weight of the metal collar around his throat. Now, at least, he could stand and meet his end face on.

He watched the High Priest walk from the centre of the arena. It was because of religious freaks like that he was being executed. They’d come early one morning to his land to collect their tithings. It hadn’t mattered to them that this was the third year of a drought and that there was nothing to give. Rhani, his sweet Rahni, had offered them what little they had in their larder, but the bastards wouldn’t take it. He and Rahni were seized and held while the High Priest’s henchmen threw burning brands on the roof of their house in punishment for withholding their tithe.

Rahni had struggled. She’d screamed that the baby was still inside, but they ignored her. She bit the arm of the noviciate who held her and broke away. Jovahn struggled to free himself from the three men who’d been holding him down, but with a knife at his throat, all he could do was watch in horror as the scene unfolded before him. He saw the head priest lift his cross bow and take aim. He screamed out a warning – too late. The bolt had flown straight into his wife’s heart. She’d fallen through the doorway, her arms still outstretched toward their baby.

Strength born of madness had overcome him and Jovahn had fought his way out of the grasp of the three young priests. One of the novitiates tackled him and managed to get the knife to his throat again. Still hoping to reach his infant son before the house burnt down, Jovahn fought with all the strength he had left. In desperation, he’d slashed the man’s throat, but the weight of numbers was against him and he’d been overpowered and knocked unconscious.

Later, he was told that the novitiate had died of the wound, and that was why he’d been condemned to death instead of just being shipped to the mines. He didn’t know if that was true or not. He didn’t care. Death would be better than a life underground anyway.

Tears stung his eyes at the memory of his wife and son. He swiped them away with the back of his hand. It didn’t matter that he was being executed. He had nothing left to lose except his life. And what was that worth without Rhani and Darrik?

The High Priest disappeared through the door with the serpent and the cross embossed on it. He’d have a good seat for the fun that would follow. He reappeared on the balcony and climbed up onto the dais where he sat looking piously regal.

Jovahn looked down at himself. He was skinny, tattered and filthy from weeks in the dungeon and the brand on his left forearm that marked him as one of those who were condemned to death, had festered due to lack of sanitation. The striking serpent was barely recognisable beneath the weeping scabs. No matter. He wouldn’t live long enough to die of an infection. He took deep breath and let it out slowly. Wasn’t he supposed to think profound thoughts now that he was at the moment of death? Where was his faith? Jovahn stared up at the High Priest. He straightened his back and struck a defiant pose even though he was powerless to stop the shaking of his body. He didn’t want to be afraid, but he was. He wanted to die with dignity. He’d even fasted these past two days so he wouldn’t disgrace himself at the last moment, and he’d made sure his bladder was empty before he was led out into the centre of the arena. He looked up at the sky. A perfect, hot sunny day without a cloud to mar the deep blue overhead. A perfect day to die.

The crowd roared. Jovahn pressed his back to the pole and closed his eyes. He heard the grates spring open, and quiet descended over the arena. He couldn’t hear the footfalls of the garrun. They stalked their prey silently, so he’d been told. He knew it was there, though. A gasp from the crowd told him it was very close. It would be over soon. He would be with Rhani and Darrik in the afterlife. At least his death would be quick. The beast would have been starved for a week to make it fierce and hungry, and it would have been teased to provoke its anger. He felt sorry for it. It too was a prisoner here, starved and beaten, then forced to eat something that wasn’t its natural prey. While garruns in the wild had been known to kill men, they didn’t usually eat them. It probably had something to do with the disagreeable taste.

Jovahn would have liked to have seen a High Priest tethered to this pole. How would one of them meet their maker? With quiet dignity? Or like most men, screaming, shitting and pissing in terror? A huff of breath on his face made Jovahn open his eyes. He wished he hadn’t.

A huge black nose was inches away from his own. Whiskers as long as his arms stood out from the broad, black face. It was a male garrun easily three hands taller than a horse and twice as long. Gold eyes were staring into his. Jovahn was struck by the feline’s beauty, its sleek lines, the sheen on its ebony fur, and the intelligence in those beautiful eyes. It was no dishonour to be at the mercy of a creature of such majesty.

“Make it quick,” he whispered. “Please make it quick.”

The garrun’s ears pricked forward at the sound of his voice. It sat down, watching him with an almost readable expression on its face. The tip of it’s long tail rose and fell like the tapping of an impatient foot.

Jovahn closed his eyes again. If it didn’t kill him in a moment, he would surely die of fright. “Go on, get it over with.” He turned his head and waited.

Suddenly, it felt like a rasp had been drawn up his body from his thigh to his shoulder. The crowd began to laugh; nervously at first, then, as the true magnitude of the ridiculous overtook them, unrestrained guffaws and shrieks rang out. Jovahn opened his eyes. The creature had licked him. Was he too dirty to eat? Was it tasting him to see if he was ripe? He almost laughed – more out of hysteria than from any sense of humour. Then one huge paw batted against his ankle and the feline lowered its head to lick around the shackle.

He’s going to eat me from the feet up, thought Jovahn. I’m going to live long enough to see myself eaten alive. Terror like liquid ice coursed through his veins. Sweat trickled down the centre of his back. He didn’t care if the crowd saw that he was shaking and sweating, nor that his supposedly empty bladder had added an extra depth to his humiliation. The large ebony feline of death was licking at his feet.

There was a plink and the corroded old shackle sprang open. Jovahn looked into the face of the garrun. His panic was such that he couldn’t even see straight. Was the beast smiling? The garrun lowered his head and began to gnaw at the other shackle. It too fell in half. Jovahn was free. Free to run. But he was frozen in horror. The beast wanted him to run. It wanted to chase him down and tear him apart like an animal. It was sitting there watching him expectantly.

“No.” Jovahn looked into the garrun’s eyes, pleading with him. “Thank you for letting me die a free man, but I won’t run.” He shuffled forward on legs that wouldn’t obey. He opened his arms and lifted his chin to expose his throat. “All I ask is that you kill me quickly.”

*Kill you? Do you not know what you are?*

It took a moment for Jovahn to understand that the voice inside his head was the garrun’s. He stared at it. It stared back.

*The br’hahn will not harm you, Sh’vahn.* The garrun leaned forward and touched his nose against Jovahn’s. *We, the br’hahn, call your kind the Sh’vahni – kindred spirits.*

Jovahn looked around wildly. The crowd had hushed and the High Priest was leaning over the rail of his balcony. His face was red and his knuckles were white where they gripped his staff. Shock and anger warred to take control of his features. Clearly, he had not expected this.

*Move Sh’vahn. Get on my back.*

Jovahn walked as though his legs had turned to rubber. He climbed onto the feline’s back and clung to the longer, thicker fur of its ruff. The beast rose with swift grace and prowled around the arena giving the crowd a good, long look. He stopped before the High Priest and roared in defiance.

The High Priest glanced around at his coevals. Those dolts weren’t going to be any help. They were sitting there with their mouths open like half-wits. The crowd was beginning to mumble. Soon, mob mentality would take over and he would have a riot on his hands. He had to take control of the situation, turn it to his advantage. He glared down at the condemned sitting on the beast. How dare that creature defy him. The beastmaster had sent a pet out instead of a wild animal. He would pay with his life for this insult. The High Priest saw only one way out of this. To save face, he would be forced to free that cursed priest murderer.

He held his staff over his head until all attention was centred on him. “Be still, my people. There is no need to fear.” He struck the heel of the staff on the stone floor of the balcony three times. “You have all been called to bear witness to this miracle. I have had a vision. The Great and Mighty One has spoken to me. He has decided to show mercy to this man as proof of His greatness. Let it be known that we allowed this man his freedom.”

The crowd roared in approval.

The High Priest pointed to the arena’s main entrance. “Raise the portcullis. In the name of the Almighty, let this man and his beast go free.” But not for long, he thought. No-one made a fool of the High Priest and got away with it. He would make it his personal quest to have this condemned man and his damnable beast hunted down and killed.

Jovahn watched the iron gates to his left slowly grind upward. He felt the feline’s muscles bunch beneath him and only just had time to entwine his fingers in its ruff before it sprang through the opening and raced out onto the main carriage way.

Horses and pedestrians screamed and scattered as they loped past. Jovahn couldn’t believe the strength and agility of the garrun as he twisted and turned to avoid them all. He clung to the animal with his legs and arms hoping he had the strength to stay on until he was well away from the city.

They left the road and headed deep into the forest. It was a part of Magenon that Jovahn wasn’t familiar with. He was from the cultivated farmlands to the south of the city. He’d never been this far north.

When the garrun stopped to drink at a river, Jovahn slid to the ground. He waded into the water and scrubbed at his ragged clothing and body in an attempt to rid himself of weeks of dungeon grime. The brand on his arm still burned and itched, but the rest of him felt much better for the wash.

The garrun was sitting on the river bank watching him. *Do you want to eat?*

“I’m starved.”

*Wait here.*

Jovahn watched the feline leap away into the undergrowth with a grace and strength he envied. He gazed at his surroundings. Everything seemed so bright after the darkness of the dungeon. There’d been a forest near his farm, but it had looked nothing like this. Here, the trees were tall and close together, and the undergrowth lush. If he strayed from this spot, Jovahn knew he’d never find his way back. He had no choice but to do as the garrun told him. He felt so small here, so lost and alone. Even if he could find his way out of this jungle, he had nowhere to go, nobody to go to. He sat and stared into the water, fascinated by its movements and by the play of the fading light over its crystalline surface. Just as he was beginning to fear he’d been abandoned, the garrun returned carrying a young antelope. He tore one of the animal’s back legs off with one mighty bite and dropped the haunch at Jovahn’s feet before retreating a short distance to eat the rest.

Jovahn thought his hunger would kill him as he searched the river bank to find a couple of stones that looked like they might give off a spark. He gathered dry grass and twigs to set the fire with then sat down to play with the stones. It took several strikes before he managed to light the dry grass, but eventually he managed to get a fire going. It would have been so much more convenient if he could eat the meat raw like the garrun, but even as starved as he was, that thought didn’t appeal to him.

The meat smelled so good as it cooked, Jovahn could hardly wait to sink his teeth into it. To his disappointment, he found he could eat very little. Weeks of surviving on the bare minimum had shrunken his stomach. He found a flat, sharp stone and cut the remaining meat into sections. At least he’d be able to take some of it with him.

He looked over at the sleek black form of the feline. Gold eyes turned to watch him. “My name is Jovahn.” He felt foolish talking like this, but the animal had heard and understood him before. “Thank you for saving my life, garrun. I owe you more than I can repay.”

The feline approached and settled himself on the opposite side of the fire. As he watched Jovahn, the flames reflected like sparks in his eyes. *I am Zorrrahn. I need no repayment. Br’hahn such as I search our whole lives to find one of the Sh’vahni. Most of us never find one. The Sh’vahni have become very rare since the beginning to the reign of the High Priesthood.*

Jovahn wasn’t sure if it was a good thing to be rare or not. “What happens now, Zorrrahn? Where do we go from here?”

The feline lowered his head onto his paws, half closing his eyes. *We go to the l’hahrim to train and learn to be Wardens.”

Jovahn stared at Zorrrahn. “But the Order of the Wardens was outlawed by the High Priesthood after the old king died. They said they had the great Almighty to protect them and they didn’t need pagan magic or ward riders.”

*Trust me, Jovahn, there is much you don’t know. The values of the old king did not die with him. The Order of Wardens is still alive. Unmated br’hahn are sent forth to seek out Sh’vahni and bring them back to the l’hahrim for training. I found you. We have a long road before us, Jovahn, and there is so much I have to tell you, but for now, rest. When your stomach is full and some of your strength regained, we’ll continue. I suspect the High Priest will have his men out looking for us. We have made a powerful enemy.*

Little of what Zorrrahn said made sense to Jovahn. The old ways of life had died along with their king. The High Priests had made sure of that. When they’d taken control, laws were changed, worship of the great Almighty was made compulsory, and the structure of the king’s court had been disbanded. Most of the ward riders had been killed, and the few who’d survived scattered. Jovahn’s head, which had only been full of thoughts of survival since his incarceration, now was full of too many foreign thoughts – most of them, if not treasonous then definitely blasphemous. He rolled onto his back and, for the first time in many weeks, watched the stars make sparkling patterns across the night sky.

Brittany Kingston © 2006