Chapter 7—The Appearance of Kazara
Same Day (Unknown Era)
“My home is on the far side of the town square,” said Riktarin, motioning towards the large opening in the parallel rows of snow-covered buildings. “Not much, but Patrol doesn’t pay very—what the hell?”
Kain looked up in surprise. “What?” He took another look at the square. “What’re all those people doing--?”
“Hold on,” said Riktarin. “Looks like my work day isn’t over yet.”
Kain paused as Riktarin walked quickly towards the small group of people gathered in the middle of the town square. ‘In this weather, they must be out of it.’ He realized he was also in the weather. ‘Yeah, and I am more insane than any of them could possibly be,’ he thought, half-laughing, half-mournsome.
In the middle of the square, in the center of a raised platform, stood an incredibly tall man. He was speaking loudly to the mass of people, although Kain couldn’t understand what he was saying from the distance. His appearance was very strange; Purple-white hair flowed from the back of his head, over his small shoulders, down to his chest. His face was more pale than even the home-ridden, snowbound Arabel people around him. His ears were larger than usual, a little more pointed. His eyes were the strangest: Slanted and long, as if he were squinting, pupils a striking, exotic maroon. He was clothed in flowing black robes lined in blue. Kain got an uneasy feeling. The thing in his dream—tall and dark. The thing in his mind, the thing that killed. ‘I can’t judge him just yet. I don’t even know who he is.’
Kain walked up further to hear what was being said, and to see what Riktarin was trying to do.
“…and that means that we’re being discriminated against, for no reason other than our heritage. It must be stopped. We need to be treated fairly, no matter what our background--”
‘That voice! Could it…’
“Sir, what are you doing?!” interrupted Riktarin. “What’s your name?”
“I am Kazara Zeal, sir, and I was informing the people of the prejudice against half-mystics that plagues this—“
“Don’t want to hear it. Listen, this is public property—“
“Am I not part of the public?” said Kazara indignantly, offended that his argument was dismissed so. Kain watched with interest, trying to piece together what was happening.
“This is public property,” continued Riktarin, irritated, “And no one has permission to be up there preaching to the masses. Now I’d suggest that you leave—“
“I’m not leaving.”
“I daresay you are, little man.” Kazara towered over Riktarin, but was much more thin. “Listen, I just got back from a long day of
patrolling the icy wasteland. I am not
in a good mood. I would suggest taking
yourself out of my square before you end up sleeping in the city jail. I don’t see what’s so important to you
anyway, why you’re out in this cold—“
“Have you ever been stoned, kind sir?” asked the eccentric. It was a challenge.
Riktarin accepted. “What are you talking about, you loon?”
“Have you ever been taken to the middle of a town square, like this one, and publically stoned in front of all of the people you knew?”
“No…what is your point?”
“Would you like to be?” Kazara had him now, Kain knew. Riktarin obviously was not much for word games. Although it seemed that he knew how to settle a conflict, he hadn’t a chance in a discussion like this.
“Is that a threat?!”
“No, no. You see, you have not been subjected to that. You probably never will, because of who you are, what you do. But I, on the other hand—“ he stretched out his left arm and pulled the sleeve of his robes down with his right.
The vision Kain had was one of nightmares. Large, ugly black scars, tears in the skin, stretched from one end of the forearm to the other. The little that wasn’t scarred was a sick purple, as if his entire body had been bruised and beaten. Small red slashes ran up and down the sickening mass. Kain felt queasy, but could not look away.
The mass of people were similarly struck, gasping in horror. Riktarin shouted, “Cover that up, starry fool! We don’t wish to see such things.” Kazara did so, after pausing pointedly.
“Who did that to you?!” asked one of the group.
“My old friends in my hometown,” he said. He breathed, and began: “An invading people from across the seas, called the Netherfolk, came to my town. They were very powerful, had metals and such weapons that you could only dream of. They were bitter enemies of magic users in their own land. They commanded the villagers to stone every person with Mystic blood in them, and if the townspeople did not, they said, they would destroy the town and murder everyone in it. They had already taken our stores of food, our supplies; No one dared to fight back.”
The crowd was enthralled. Kazara had a way of making people listen to him. A born politician.
“I was not the first. The first was a friend of mine who took quite a while to die,” he said calmly, as if he were not ever really there. He seemed to relish the impact his story had on the audience. “No one wanted to be the first to throw the rock. Eventually, however, the prodding of the Netherfolk, throwing out more threats and promises of barbary, made them so fearful that they began. One after another. I could do nothing. If I used my magic, they would kill me too.”
He looked down at his feet in what appeared to be shame, loss. It would be very convincing if Kain wasn’t so cynical. And if the man didn’t look so much like his personal devil.
“They killed my friends one by one, and then my lover. I tried to save her. That’s how they found me. I killed a few soldiers. There were many more to replace them. I tried to cast more spells. They took one of the villagepeople by the neck and threatened to kill her if I tried to attack again. I did not want her life on my hands.
“They made that girl throw the first stone. It hit me here,” he said, pointing to his chest. “Ironic. It was painful to my body, but far more painful to my heart, my spirit.
“Eventually they all began. The stones were like a torrent that would not stop. I said to myself, ‘I have the magic! I can fight! I can kill them all!’
“’Help me!’” I cried, ‘We can stop them!’ But they would not help. The Netherfolk killed the girl, the girl of the first stone. I killed a good number of them, also, with my magic. But the stones kept flying.
“I could run away no longer. My anger grew to a height I had never known possible. ‘Damn you!’ I cried, and I charged up my most powerful spell. The Shadow Apocalypse.
“It obliterated the town. Only I, the one in the eye of the storm, was unaffected.
“The few that still survived, I hunted down. Not only the Netherfolk. But my haunted old friends. The ones who had turned on me and did not deserve to live. I killed my friends, my townspeople. I killed them all. And I enjoyed it.”
The words ringed in Kain’s head. ‘I killed them all. I killed them all. And I enjoyed it…my friends, my townspeople..did not deserve to live…’
‘Lacan…’
Kain fought to control himself, to stop from weeping in front of the square, while Kazara continued:
“And now I come to you with this grisly tale. There are others like me in this town, with the magic, Mystic blood. Already some sentiment has turned against me and my kind here. The Netherfolk approach. I wish to stop a tragedy before it starts. I wish to damn my enemies to hell for generations to come.”
Silence.
Suddenly, everything became clear to Kain.
‘That’s why I was sent here! It’s him! He’s put some kind of curse on me that descends back generations. This is the past, I know now. He used his…his shadow magic to take control of my mind…for his own sadistic purposes. I didn’t kill Lacan. This man did.’
‘This man!! The one who stole all happiness from me. I shall do the same for him!!’
Without warning, Kain yelled. A carnal scream from his tortured heart. He drew his sword from its sheath; It ringed. Hours, days, and weeks of training flew to his mind at once. He charged.
Kazara had no warning before Kain leaped into the air and slashed.
.