Verda ran his thumb along the wicked edge of the dagger. "Where did you get something like this?" he asked, setting the blade down on the surface of the rough, wooden table. "This is a thief's blade, Iota, not something just anyone would carry around."
Iota nodded shakily. "I went out for a night stroll, and I found. . ." he cut off abruptly and swallowed his breath.
"What did you find?" Verda pressed, giving Iota an unreadable look.
"I shouldn't say," Iota replied nervously, his eyes darting around Verda's hunting lodge.
Verda snorted. "Whatever you say, won't leave the confines of my lodge. That I can promise you."
"Do you swear it?"
The mountain of a man arched a brow and leaned forward in his chair. "I swear it," he said solemnly. "Now hurry and tell me, Iota, what did you see in that forest."
"I saw Uncle Iman last night. But he seemed a lot colder, almost like he wasn't himself. He was talking a great deal with a stranger, a religious man, I think." Iota paused before continuing. "Then they saw me."
"I knew Iman was up to no good," Verda muttered. "But consorting with outsiders? That's a new low, even for him."
Despite the news of Iman's night activities, Verda didn't even appear the least bit agitated.
"The stranger chased after me with that dagger," Iota said, gesturing to it.
Verda chuckled. "Now that's a funny thing for a man of piety to be carrying," he said. Iota assumed it was a joke. "Do you know for sure he was religious?"
Iota shook his head. "He mentioned something about the Most Holy, and I'm not too sure about the rest. But since Iman called them bloody cultists, I did a little guesswork."
Verda rubbed his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. "Well, your inference was on point. The Sentinels are indeed cultists, and they've done their fair share of spilling blood."
Iota cocked his head. He had never heard of the Sentinels.
"The Most Holy is what the Sentinels call their leader," Verda said, "and if any are in the area, I can promise you they won't be good news for the clan. Did he see your face?"
"I think so, he got pretty close to me, but I killed him," Iota whispered. "Verda, I killed a man last night. I hit him between the eyes with my sling, and he fell on the dagger on the way down. I didn't want to kill him, Verda, I really didn't."
With an unusually soft expression, Verda picked up the dagger and handed it back to him. "You won the damn blade, so you keep it. But I wouldn't flash that around too often," he advised. "Don't want to be giving people the wrong idea. You did good, Iota. If you hadn't taken his life, surely he would've taken yours."
Nodding absent-mindedly, Iota took a closer study at the dagger. Long, thin quillions flanked the hilt at an angle, and the tip of the blade was slightly curved. Tearing eyes away from the blackened steel, Iota slipped the dagger in a sheath Verda had lent him.
"I don't think I've ever seen anything like this," Iota admitted. Daggers in the Ashvan region were heavy-bladed and plain, suited more for the rural lifestyle.
"I reckon it's from one of the Free Cities," Verda said. "I can't think of a single decent reason why any man would want to forge something like this. But blades like these are a copper a dozen down there."
The extent of what Iota knew about the free cities were only the stories told to him by his maids. Vile rumors meant to keep children in line. Behave, or they'd hauled you off to the Free Cities, warned many a hapless mother to her misbehaving child. It usually worked like a charm.
Despite the name, the Free Cities were hardly free in any way. There were no monarchs or even a form of government. Sevaskarr had occupied the marshy region until they handed it off to Dorgan. That only was decades ago. Now the entire marsh was under the thumb of a collective of criminal gangs and bandit crews. How the Free Cities maintained their existence, Iota had no clue. He couldn't even begin to imagine the number of bandits it would take to wrench an entire marsh away from Dorgan.
"Listen closely, Iota," Verda said, snapping for his attention. "It's best to stay away from your uncle for a while. Do you think he caught a glimpse of your face?"
Iota shook his head. "I don't know."
"Regardless, keep a clear path of him," Verda urged. "I doubt even Iman has the gall to make a move on you on estate grounds, but caution never hurt anyone. Go about your life like you normally would, and I'll work something out."
Slowly, Verda rose and gave Iota a reassuring clap on the shoulder. "Go to your lessons," he said. "They won't hesitate to start without you."
"What are you going to do? Iota asked, a little more impatiently than he intended.
Verda smiled the faintest of smiles. "Off to go bury a corpse." He walked over to the door. "If Iman has yet to bury him, then I suppose I better get to it before his compatriots find him."
Iota nodded, seeing him off with a half-hearted wave. A fine, bloody mess the last night was. He sighed heavily, and then with a groan, he pushed himself up off the chair. His body ached in a thousand different places, and while Verda had bandaged the gash above his brow, he still felt the occasional sting.
He glanced out the window and frowned. The events of last night had understandably put a damper on his enthusiasm for attending tutorial lessons. Thinking back on last night, Iota rubbed his nose. If he could learn to channel varya, then who did he have to fear? He wasn't always going to have a sling on hand, much less the shot for one. But varya didn't require any special tools or weapons, the power came from within, or so they said.
Iota made sure to shut the door behind him as he stepped out into the sunlight. Fortunately, Verda's lodge wasn't too far from Lower Ashvan. A short trek and half away was the requisitioned-barn-turned-schoolroom. He arrived just as kids began pouring out of the barn. Students of all ages came to attend the communal tutorial lessons, the teacher provided by the generosity of the Ashvans. The curriculum differed, however, depending on the status of the student. He knew that much at the very least. The clan head had his reservations about educating commoners.
"You look like a mess," a bright, cheery girl told Iota. It was Jen, and she was carrying an armful of books. "You fell out of your bed at night?"
"What?" asked Iota, cocking his head.
She pointed at the space above her brow. "You've got a cut."
Iota nodded dumbly. "Yes, I do."
She looked at him and shook her little head. "What are you doing here?" she asked, the toothy grin on her face unfaltering in intensity. "Don't you have hunting to do?"
"I'm here for lessons." Iota sighed. "I missed it, didn't I?"
Jen stared at him curiously. "Well, for one thing, all the young lord and ladies have their lessons elsewhere," she said slowly. "I know you haven't been going to lessons, Iota, but not knowing even that is a bit. . ." her sentence slowly trailed off. Iota had a dark look on his face. He brushed past her wordlessly and continued towards the barn.
She jogged up beside him, struggling to balance the stack of books in her arms. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing," he grumbled. "Just leave me alone."
Jen hesitated. "Is something wrong, Iota? Did some of your brain leak out of that cut?" she asked with a wry smile. Despite her joking words, Iota could see real concern lingering in her eyes.
Iota didn't answer right away. He could feel the dark thoughts within his mind stir again. The same feeling he had before lashing out at Fafir the night before. "Please," he whispered, just loud enough for Jen to hear. "Can you come and talk to me later. Now's a bad time."
Jen made a pouting face, but she still nodded. "I'll have chores to do later, unlike Mister Great Lord, but I'll try."
"A wretched, little brat," an unseen person whispered into his ear. Iota's head jerked up. There was no one beside him but Jen, and she was already turning to leave. "Did you say something, Jen?" he called out to her. She turned back around to him, a confused look on her face. She shook her head.
"It's nothing," he said, giving her a weary shake of his head.
So he hadn't imagined it last night. It sounded sharp and guttural. And not entirely human either. He shivered, pulling his coat closer around him. Is anyone there? Iota thought. Only silence answered him.
Iota cursed under his breath as he walked through the large, arched entrance of the barn. A large shelf lined the back wall of the barn, filled with books and tomes. Odd, Iota thought. Although it was hardly comparable to the clan library, it was still a sizeable collection for a commoner teacher.
"Is anyone here?" Iota asked, staring at the shelf with mild interest.
A silver-haired head poked up from the loft. "Do you need something, child?" he asked, climbing down a rickety old ladder that creaked at every step.
Iota's eyes narrowed. The teacher could be considered a handsome man, no doubt, with a warm face and welcoming grin. "Do you know where they hold the private lessons? For the children of the clan, I mean."
The teacher stuck out his hand for him to shake. Iota obliged the teacher warily.
"My name is Lindel," the teacher said, shaking Iota's hand firmly. "Your grandfather invited me from Sevaskarr. I arrived just a week ago, so, naturally, you haven't heard of me yet."
Well, that explains the silver hair, Iota thought. Silver hair and tanner skin were the norms in Sevaskarr. It wasn't too common to see a Sevaskarran so far west, but they were always known as rather adventurous people. It was odd, however, that Lindel was paler than even Iota himself.
"And to answer your question," Lindel continued, "I tutor the children of the clan every other day. Today, my young friend, and unfortunately enough, is not that day."
Iota nodded glumly. "I'll come back tomorrow."
Lindel raised a finger and wagged it. "But I suppose I can make an exception," he said, bopping Iota on his nose. "What do you want to learn?"
A scowl slowly spread over Iota's face. "I think I'm good, actually," he said coldly. "I can come back tomorrow."
"And miss out on the chance to overcome your block?" Lindel mused, not entirely focused on Iota. "I think you're smarter than that."
Iota regarded him as coolly as he could. "What block?"
The silver-haired teacher blinked and then chuckled, in an odd, effeminate sort of way. "Don't tell me you aren't even aware of it," he said, his pitch rising an octave. "I can see it as clear as day, a mass of darkness dwelling within your head and your heart."
Iota frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means my, young friend. I know the reason you cannot weave."
"I've never even tried to weave," Iota snapped. "I could do it if I wanted to."
Lindel arched a brow. "No, you cannot, and this not an argument you will win. I have seen plenty of cases among temperamental young men such as yourself. Symptoms include bouts of imagining voices and the like. It's not all that bad. The solution is quite simple."
"What do you mean, voices in your head?" Iota demanded, staring at him with wide, startled eyes. Could he know? Iota thought, cold dread looming over his shoulders. "How do I get rid of this block?"
Lifting his hand and placing it on Iota's shoulder, he flashed him a reassuring grin. "I can help. You merely need to trust me, young friend." Lindel put extra emphasis on the last phrase. Despite the grin, Iota had never felt colder. Even the man's hand felt cold through the layers of his clothing. But despite what Iota thought of the man, the thought of him having real solutions for the voice dwelling within his head was enough to ignore his instinctual revulsion.
"I do have a voice in my head," Iota confessed. "I thought I was going insane. He says the vilest things, and sometimes I'm not sure if it's even him saying it half the time-"
Lindel raised his finger and placed it in front of Iota's lips. "Let me correct you," he said slowly, "The voice is you, my young friend."
Iota shook his head resolutely. "You don't get it," he said, slapping away Lindel's finger. "What I'm saying is-" His jaw clamped shut.
"You aren't listening," Lindel said, nearly singing the sentence. "A heart demon is what's afflicting you right now. And those come from within your state of mind. While it's tough for me to say this, whatever you hear in your head are your pure, unadulterated thoughts."
"That can't be right," Iota muttered, his face turning to stone.
Impossible, he thought. A fraud, he must be a fraud. It couldn't have been me, sounding so joyful after killing a man.
"Denial is the first step of acceptance," Lindel said, clapping his hands together. "Oh, what fun we'll have clearing that nasty heart demon! I can set up preparations immediately. It's usually best if the operation is at night, but we can do whenever works better for you." A harsh guttural screech drowned out the silver-haired teacher's ramblings.
"Indeed, what fun we'll have." The unseen voice was back.