Gorain heard a cry, and looking up, saw the last of his men run forward. The soldier’s face was filled with terror, the crimson blood on his uniform contrasting with Gorain’s colors: a pattern of checkered black and white squares. The soldier threw himself off the battlements, screaming as he fell, and then Gorain heard a distant splash.
Soon Gorain and his family would join the soldier in the sea, where the swift current would carry them away, and the dark arts of this unholy enemy could never touch them.
Gorain closed his eyes as he prepared to perform the most difficult task of his life. He brought the tip of the dagger in between his son’s shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry, Arsan. I love you,” Gorain murmured.
Gorain pushed the blade in, the sharp steel easily penetrating before Arsan knew what was happening. Tears welled at the corners of Gorain’s eyes as he pushed at an angle to find the heart. It was as painless a death as Gorain could give him.
Arsan died.
Gorain dropped the dagger and rocked his son in his arms, but he knew his task was far from finished. He lowered his son before looking at his hands, wet with the blood of his family. He knew he’d had no other choice. Better that they died unaware of the moment death came. Gorain would be the only member of his family forced to look death in the eye.
Standing, Gorain once more looked out at the sea. He had to ensure they made it to the water, where they would slumber in peace, their souls departed to safety in the afterlife.
As the pounding of the battering ram at the last set of inner gates continued, Gorain looked down at the bodies of his wife and son, drinking in their faces, thinking about how much he loved them.
Gorain wondered which of them to throw first.
The tears finally came as he bent down and picked up his son’s small body. At five years old, Arsan was surprisingly heavy. Gorain carried his son’s body to the battlements and once more looked down. He was confident the boy would reach the water.
Gorain drew in a breath and heaved. He watched to make sure of the splash. The small body sailed through the air.
Gorain’s eyes widened when he saw a man in black clothing standing on the rocky shore, looking up. The man’s eyes met Gorain’s, and then he did something incredible.
He rose into the air, and deftly caught Gorain’s son by one of his little legs.
Gorain gasped with horror. He watched as the man continued to rise, his path taking him ever higher as he held Gorain’s son. He reached the battlements and came to rest gently on his feet barely three paces from Gorain.
Gorain felt dread crawl up his spine as he looked at the man. He was slim and tall, with sculpted features and a sharp chin. He wore tailored black clothing, with diamonds set in chrome at his cuffs and a silver chain around his neck. His forehead showed cruel lines; his lips curled as if in perpetual displeasure. His hair was blood red, with streaks of black at his temples, and his eyes were the blue of a winter sky.
Gorain felt dread, but stronger still, he felt a sense of abject failure. He had no doubt that this was the man responsible for the terror. He was a demon, a wielder of powerful dark arts. The bodies of his wife and son were now in this man’s power.
“I gave my men instructions to take you alive, Gorain of Nexos,” the man in black said. The man’s voice was emotionless, but behind it Gorain could detect a faint tone of irritation. “Your dead son?” the man inquired, holding the body higher. “Unfortunate. I also gave instructions for your family to be taken alive.”
“Why?” Gorain said.
Gorain couldn’t take his eyes off the body of his son, held casually in his enemy’s grip. Seeing the direction of Gorain’s gaze, the man in black threw the small body on top of Sedah’s motionless form. Gorain’s family now lay in a crumpled heap.
Gorain tensed. On the ground, near the bodies, he could see the dagger.
“I wouldn’t,” the man said. He muttered some strange words and shifted his hands. As symbols on the backs of the man’s hands began to glow, Gorain felt the very air around him grow solid, pinning his arms to his sides.
“I have a proposition for you,” the man said.
“A proposition?” Gorain said. “Kill me now.” He fought to hold back the tears as he looked at the bodies. “I have nothing to live for.”
“I agree,” the man said in a flat voice.
He stepped forward until he stood close to Gorain, fixing the pirate king in place with an icy stare. His hand shot forward, and he clutched Gorain’s throat. Gorain heard himself gasp as his lungs stretched for air. He made a rasping sound like the croak of a frog.
It was the last sound Gorain heard before he died.
“You are special,” a voice spoke. “There are only two others like you, in all the world.”
Gorain felt strange. Something was missing. He could remember his life, just as he could remember dying. Was this the afterlife?
“Open your eyes,” the voice commanded.
Gorain’s eyes opened. He had no choice in the matter; his body wasn’t under his own control.