NaNoWriMo-vel Chapter 10

Chapter Ten - On A High

Blank’s stare jumped from Surge to Kairhn to Surge and back to Kairhn again in confusion at the former and suspicion at the latter. How was it that Kairhn knew that declaring Surge the winner and threatening disqualification would bring him back to his senses? It didn’t seem plausible to Blank that Sharel would have shared her knowledge with her older cousin. Then again, he wasn’t really certain of how closely knit the four were at that present, but that did little to silence his fears about the Edelberton with the honey-colored skin. It disturbed Blank so much he decided to deal with Kairhn’s issues last.

The young man did not stay for the awarding and thankfully his employer did not protest. He would later find out what Surge had gotten as a prize once Blank spoke to him about whatever secrets Raoul wished to know.

It was to be expected that winning the competition would leave Surge in high spirits. With his friends he sang all sorts of songs, albeit off-key and in a squeaky voice as they made their way from the infirmary to the wing of the manor where the guest bedrooms were located.

They reached a hallway that split to the left and the right. Soft footsteps caught their attention and from the right passage emerged Rid. The thrill of victory gave Surge enough courage to approach the woman, though it had to be said that for all of Surge’s focus and vigilance, he was rather dense when it came to Rid.

Much to the amusement of his companions as all Rid need do was bat her lashes at Surge to tie his tongue into knots. He became infinately more awkward and crimsoned beet red each time their eyes met. The two had a sporadic conversation until the angel of mercy came, in the guise of Rid’s entourage and ushered her away as the evening drew to a close. Surge waved, smiling from ear to ear as she departed.

“I reckon’ you’d lose in a fight ‘gainst a woman li’ tha’.” Lenny grinned toothily.

“Miss Rid will never put herself in any unnecessary danger by taking part in a battle.” Surge frowned reproachfully his friend. “In any case, if she was going to go fight, I’d volunteer to take her place.”

“What do you see in her? She’s a real tart.” Narche shook his head.

“You take that back about Miss Rid!” Surge snarled, grabbing the azure-haired man by the collar in the same fashion his friend had grabbed Kairhn earlier.

“Love is blind and dumb I suppose.” Aggre laughed, separating the two men before they caused a bigger fuss than they already started.

Another pair of footsteps caught their notice and who should it be but Blank. The scribe looked exhausted and more importantly as lost as ever.

“The next time I decide to wander off on my own in this place, I’m bringing a cartographer.” He vowed, leaning against the wall.

“Hey it’s Blank!” Surge beamed, “Narche told me you wrote down some of the fights. Mind if I take a look at them some time?”

Blank looked hesitant, wondering if his recent works fell under the secrecy policy. “I’ll have to consult your Uncle Raoul but so long as he doesn’t object I don’t see why not.”

“So why ain’t yu askin’ ‘im now?” Lenny quirked a brow.

“I would if I could.” Blank began finding himself liking Surge’s friends more and more if only for the mere fact they actually acknowledge his presence.

“Yeah, Uncle Raoul had this thing about him being able to reach you but not the other way around. Says it makes him feel powerful and safe. I don’t really understand and don’t really care.” Surge shrugged.

They continued to loiter the halls as the other guests shuffled past them to head to their respective rooms. Blank, despite genuinely enjoying the group’s company, found himself stifling a yawn more frequently.

“It’s getting late, isn’t it?” Narche observed with tact.

“We should all head to bed,” Aggre nodded.

The friends bade each other goodnight before parting ways. Blank followed after Surge, explaining to the Edelberton that he was lost and couldn’t find the room he had been given. Surge was still up in the clouds after having won and having a conversation with Rid. He had the energy to spare to show Blank where his room was while maintaining a very animated monologue.

Finally, they arrived at Blank’s room as just as the scribe entered, the envelope began to thump against his chest. Insistently. With an aggravated sigh, Blank took out the jumping packet, somehow already knowing that he wasn’t about to get the rest he sought.

Now is the perfect opportunity to ask Surge!

Rubbing his temples to ward off the impending headache, Blank turned to the lanky young man to request for his time and words.

“What?” Surge blinked.

“Your Uncle wants to ask you some questions.” He explained.

Surge didn’t so much as hesitate before walking right into the room and declaring “Sure.”

Inside, Blank started to unpack the materials for recording while Surge settled himself in one of the plush seats. “So, what does Uncle Raoul want to ask me?”

The parchment printed its answer, I want to know about the time you first killed someone.

The statement stunned both Blank and Surge and the former grabbed the floating piece of paper before he excused himself to the hallway. “Isn’t that a rather, um, dangerous question to ask?” the scribe hissed to the parchment, “I mean, you may be dead, but I’m still of the mortal realm and I intend to remain in it for as long as I can. You promised me safety while I hold this envelope but afterwards when I’ve gotten all the issues written and are no longer in your employ, what assurance will I have that none of your kin or beneficiaries will come after my head?”

You needn’t be so frightened of Surge, despite what you may have witnessed in the arena. He’s the least likely to worry himself about matters such as secrets. So long as you prove to the lad that you don’t have the slightest inclination to reveal things, he won’t lay a finger on you.

“You can say that because you’re already in the afterlife.” Blank muttered, shoving the parchment roughly into his pocket and stepping back inside his room. “My apologies for running out so suddenly,” Blank bowed in respect.

“Don’t sweat it,” Came Surge’s good natured reply, “But Uncle Raoul’s gonna be disappointed when I tell him that I don’t really remember what happened with the first person I killed. People just told me I slipped into berserk mode and I never really remember what happens after that.” He shrugged.

The parchment flew out from Blank’s pocket, indignantly fluttering. You were in your right state of mind when you killed that man.

With a purse of his lips, Surge stared back at the piece of paper, “You’re going to have to be more specific. I’ve killed a fair amount of people in tournaments but you can’t really blame me for doing so. That’s what happens when you tap into the berserker’s rage. And you can’t really expect me to feel sorry for them either. They knew the risks just like all the other combatants.”

If parchment could snort, it would have at Surge. Oh I’m not talking about your bouts with the berserker’s rage, Surge. It was before you became a berserker. Maybe you simply chose to forget or you’re pretending you don’t remember.

“And I’m telling you you’re crazy and senile and making up things to amuse yourself. Just like the stupid stipulations you’ve put in your will.” Surge snapped.

Fine, allow me then to change the issue to something you’ll be less likely able to deny. I wish to know about when you had your conscience removed.

Surge paled, “How did-?”

See? I told you! You do remember what I’m talking about, don’t you? The parchment ruffled itself triumphantly. Blank was thoroughly confused since he was not privy to the conversation between Surge and his deceased uncle, apart from what the lanky Edelberton was saying of course. He watched silently as Surge dejectedly leaned back in his seat.

“Alright, alright, I’ll talk about that. You ready, Blank?” Surge eyed the scribe.

Blank had positioned himself at the writing table, tome open, inkwell uncovered and quill dipped. For the third time that day he slipped himself into the state of transcribing and wordlessly he nodded.

“I never really...”

* * * * *

I never really expected anyone to know I had my conscience removed. Just so you know I still have some traces of it, small of course but it’s still there. I wouldn’t want people to think I’m completely cruel, though Narche has told me often enough that I am. I don’t mean to be cruel to anyone. Then again I don’t believe I’m cruel in the least. It is possible that people think that I’m bloodthirsty and violent. Especially when it’s the first time they’ve seen me go on a rampage. But that’s the price you must pay to be able to tap into the berserker’s rage without completely losing your humanity.

There are only a couple of berserkers who haven’t been put to sleep by the guilds. See, the guilds have two lists. They are secret lists, and only the really high ranking guild officers and members can see them. The first one has the names of Silarians who are far too dangerous to be allowed to live and most of them have already been crossed out. The second one has the names of people who are dangerous but not enough to require being killed off for the sake of all living creatures.

I was told I had the potential to be on either list. I laughed back then, I still do. I mean just look at me. More bones than meat, clothes look on me the way they do on a hanger. And yet they keep telling me I will become dangerous in time. I don’t think I’ll ever hear a funnier joke than that. Unless it’s one where Marlene manages to keep her mouth shut, but she’s not really what I’m supposed to talking about, yeah?

So anyway, you’re probably wondering why I know about this list if it’s supposed to be a secret. Seems the guilds have been keeping an eye on me and one of them thought “Hey, why not nip the problem in the bud!” That didn’t mean they were going to kill me right away, that wouldn’t be fair since doing that won’t give me the chance to choose my future for myself. Free will and all that junk.

I was at a tourney in Firenal, the same one where I met the gang. I had just come out of the infirmary ‘cuz I sorta passed out when I my opponent used a cheap shot shrieker skill right at my face. I didn’t’ really pass out right that instant since I was still able to win by half-choking the guy. Anyway, so I was coming out of the infirmary when a guy, Narche to be exact, came up to me and told me about the dangers of my name ending up on the first list. You can pretty much guess what my reaction was.

“Riiiiiiiight,” I laughed, “And I suppose you’re here to tell me that I have to drop out of the tournament in order to stop that from happening.”

“No, nothing like that.” Narche answered, shaking his head. If he didn’t look so damn serious I would have probably just turned my back on him and left. Anyway, Narche explained to me about the two lists and that he needed to confirm my way of thinking and my sense of honor and ethics and other crap like that.

Don’t take it like I’m all evil and don’t have any conscience or anything. Technically I don’t have one but at the same time I still do, if that makes sense. No? You look at me like I’m going in circles. I probably am. Yeah, stream of consciousness is more of my thing than a detailed account of my life. What can you do about it, Uncle Raoul?

Where was I? Oh yeah, so Narche tells me that he wants to judge my character and stuff.

“How exactly are you gonna do that?” I asked him. Hey you can’t really blame me for being curious, not when you were just told you could end up being offed just because you’re really strong.

“We have a way of determining it but you’ll have to come with me,” He told me mysteriously. Though you could also tell he was a little nervous about the whole thing. Since my match just finished and my next one won’t be until tomorrow morning, we went to out to the jungle surrounding the tournament complex. It was there we encountered this old man. He was completely hairless, as in not even his eyebrows had hair, and he was all covered in paint and tattoos. He was skinny, like skinner than me. And with so little clothes on you could see his ribs sticking out over the length of tanned hide that was supposed to be a loincloth or something. He held in his hand a bright emerald rod with odd scratches and markings carved all over it.

I should have noticed this sooner but I got distracted that I finally saw someone who had less meat on their bones than I did! The bald guy was blind, or had something wrong with his eyes ‘cuz there was a weird filmy white color where the iris and pupils are supposed to be.

“I see him firmly standing in the crossroads.” The man whispered gravely.

“He’s not leaning towards anything?” Narche asked, brow raised.

“No, he is steadfast on his path.”

“So what does that mean?” I blinked, it was weird listening to people talk about you as if you weren’t there. That ever happen to you, Blank? Probably with non-warriors, since most fighters don’t allow themselves to overlook anyone, no matter how boring a person is.

“It means, your future will depend on your choices and actions. At least it’s certain that you’re not weak willed.” The blind man chuckled, “However that may make you tread the path of destruction more easily than the path of order.”

“I don’t get it, if my character’s strong, I’m gonna turn evil? Shouldn’t it be the otherway around?”

“No,” Narche shook his head, “It just means your conscience possesses a different hold over you.”

I snorted, my conscience was fine, what were they talking about? I haven’t killed anyone, at least as far as I knew. I kept myself under control and have not yet found an opponent to use my berserker abilities against. I just didn’t know that it was all going to change in my next match.

When Narche and me got back to the complex, I just took off. I have to be honest, what the blind guy said bothered me. I mean, I was just told that my conscience or whatever it is you call that thing that keeps you from just killing people for no reason wasn’t up to snuff. I mean, how would you like it if someone you’ve never met, never known before that moment said “You’ve got lousy judgement.”

It damn pissed me off! I couldn’t get a good night sleep and because of that I woke up with a really bad headache. I’m guessing that’s what they meant by my conscience had a different hold over me. Because when I stepped into the ring, I didn’t even think twice about venting my anger on my opponent.

I remember telling myself it was alright to hit him harder than I had to. I told myself he was ready for a beat down and would be able to take my blows and the deep stabs from my blades. It scares me a bit now that I think about how I could barely tell where his face was from all that blood. I remember clearly the angle each bone was broken at, the discoloration of his bruises, and the moment the life just drained from what little I could see of his eyes.

When I realized he was dead, I didn’t stop hitting him. I didn’t think I had to, didn’t see the need to. He was dead after all. He wouldn’t feel any more pain, wouldn’t suffer any agony, so why stop? I wasn’t finished. I wasn’t ready to stop. I didn’t want to stop. It was only when the referee was yelling at me that I was going to be disqualified if I kept it up did I stop.

Funny, isn’t it? My conscience didn’t make me so much as flinch when I killed that man (I don’t even remember his name but I do remember his face all bloodied and unrecognizable from when the match first started), but it woke me up when I heard I was going to lose. On a disqualification, no less!

Maybe the blind guy and Narche did have a point. If I were ever to participate in a war, there would be no rules, no disqualifications. Just me and the enemy and I won’t stop fighting, hitting, maiming, killing until I was satisfied. And even now saying that should normally make a man feel ashamed but I don’t. I don’t feel like I’ve done anything bad or wrong. I feel justified, even. But I do have to say that I feel a slight twinge of regret for all those lives I’ve snuffed. Though in fairness I don’t remember most of them since, you know, berserker rage and all.

After the match I cleaned myself up and went and found Narche. I told him that I might end up on the first list unless I did something and at that point I thought the only way I could keep off the list was to stop fighting altogether.

“No, that would be an incredible waste.” He frowned. “The old man can help you stay on the path of order.”

“What do I have to do?” I asked.

“Oh you’ll see. You’ll see.”

* * * * *

Blank found his hand had stilled long enough to wake him from his writing. He gazed towards Surge who was staring absently at the floor.

“What followed after that?” the scribe prodded.

Surge seemed to stir before noticing he had ceased talking. “Oh, that I don’t really remember. There was a fire and it happened on a night when the moon had hidden itself from the world. There was lots of chanting and dancing on the blind guy’s part. After that I fell asleep. Or he put me to sleep. I’m not all too sure. So, is that enough for you, Uncle Raoul?”

The parchment had settled on the bed, lying flat on the surface where the printed words usually appeared. It did not move nor did it make any other motion to acknowledge the thin Edelberton.

“Silence means yes and I’m bushed. I’m off to bed. Night Blank. Oh and I’m not really worried about my rep so you don’t gotta worry about me offing you if I hear you talked about me.” Surge smiled as he exited the scribe’s room.

Even with that promise, Blank was still restless as he prepared his things for the night. He kept the envelope Raoul had given him tucked securely under his shirt, just to be on the safe side. And yet he still had trouble falling asleep despite his exhaustion and fatigue.