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Chapter 16 - On the Point of a Crossbow

14th Day of Sytarel

128 I.E.

Bart's stay in Albrand didn't last much longer after Hilfa left. He was eventually sent back out on various tours with his unit to patrol the republic and lands beyond. There was a period of several years where he spent time in Sanctuary, the neutral city state at the center of the continent. He visited towns along the Cana'mord, the canal that separated the continents Muriaj and Jha'zal, and smaller villages throughout Evergloom Province. All the running around and never seeing Olaraa almost made him forget about the monk.

For once in Bart's life, things were peaceful. Sure, he was marching to the beat of someone else's drum, and he was always busy with working for the military, but he was free of the abuses he had suffered in his youth. He even managed to forget about Hilfa without her around. Even Rejian seemed to have disappeared at some point, sent off to some other unit for Gods only knew what reason.

The ursar's peace lasted barely a decade before word came that an army was knocking on Olaraa's doors. Rumors of an invasion force conquering Xenaria, the ursar's homeland, spread like wildfire, and soon all forces were recalled from throughout the republic back to the capital. The Shadow Legion had arrived, and Bart was put to work in the capital.

Ursar refugees began pouring into the city only days after Xenaria was attacked. Olaraa was the closest nation to the island of Yasuragi, so most of the refugees headed there rather than other, far off lands.

Bart was placed on the ramparts over the southern gates to watch over the refugees as they came in. He wondered why anyone would put him there when someone of his strength was better suited somewhere else, like setting up siege weaponry. Bart hated being up on the ramparts during the summer season. It had its upsides, to be sure. He see far into the distance and could probably hit any target he saw with his crossbow. However, there was no shade to be had to shield him from the burning heat of the sun.

Bart leaned on the worked stone bricks that made up the walls crenulations and looked over the side to stare down his muzzle at the crowds pouring into the city. Refugees from Xenaria had landed at the port in Mithril Harbor only days ago and were making the trek inland to get as far away from the fighting as possible. People from all walks of life could be seen in the crowds, from wealthy ursar in panoplies of colored silken garments to the dirt caked beggars in cotton leggings. They were a sea of brown, white, and black furs that marched ahead at a steady yet weary pace. When they looked up to see Bart clad in military uniform and wielding a crossbow, they had looks of confusion and unease painted on their faces. Ursar never bore weapons. They were a peaceful race.

Seeing the contradiction looming over them made the already weary ursar nervous. Bart could smell their fear from where he stood. He shot one group a toothy grin and they quickly averted their eyes, shirking away from his gaze. Bart couldn't help but chuckle at it.

Is that how weak the ursar race really is?

"Why do you do that to our people, Bartholomew?"

Bart jumped at the sudden intrusion. He recognized the voice, and he hated hearing it. How could he forget something he so loathed, even after almost a decade? "They're yer people, monk," he said in the common tongue. He didn't even want to address Arion by his name. He couldn't stand hearing it.

Shrugging, Arion strolled over to the wall's edge so he could look down at the ursar refugees entering the city. Bart caught a full glimpse of him as he watched the refugees before he looked away. The ursar had toned up cojsiderabky in the time he'd been gone, and he moved with more confidence. Arion still wore the same brightly colored purple robe, and hadn't seemed to figure out how to use his sash to cinch the garment closed.

And yet beneath that, Bart could see the lingering hints of an unkempt scruff of fur on Arion's muzzle and sagging bags beneath his eyes. He had aged more than ten years, that much was certain.

Bart went back to watching the refugees and noticed something that amused him. A few in the crowd looked up at him and showed signs of recognition. Arion's appearance was met with hard looks and scowls.

"Seems I ain't the only one who can't stand ye," Bart chuckled, "I suppose they ain't all that bad."

"I'm an exile. They dislike me for reasons that are very different from yours." Arion looked to his side to stare at Bart. "Why do you resent the ursar so much? To the best of my recollection, I was the first one you'd ever met."

"Why do ye care?" Bart snapped. His grip on his crossbow tightened. Bart was used to how blunt Olaraans could be but to see the same behaviour from a foreigner like Arion caught him by surprise. The ursar couldn't have possibly caught on that quickly to his people's norms, could he?

"To be completely honest, I'm curious. If you'll forgive me for saying so, I find you to be enigmatic in terms of your behaviour and beliefs," Arion admitted. He showed no signs that he noticed Bart's increasing aggravation. The latter of the two didn't feel any deception from him, but he couldn't understand why. It aggravated him, further adding fuel to the flames that were being kindled by the monk's presence.

"Why don't ye read me thoughts an' find out fer yerself, ye damned mind-reader!"

Arion's brow furrowed with worry and he looked down at the stone he rested his hands on. "That was a one time thing..." he mumbled into his chest. The monk perked up a little and smiled weakly at him. "I don't like to do that to people, unless its absolutely necessary. Besides, I would much rather hear you tell me. I find talking to people to be relaxing."

What an annoying pest, Bart thought. Arion had caught him at the worst possible time, a time when he couldn't leave his post to avoid the monk. The other ursar stared at him as he thought about his response. And damn it, what are these feelings of worry I keep getting!? What the hell do I have to be worried about?

"Will ye leave me alone if I tell ye?" Bart said, not bothering to hide the bitter tone in his voice.

"If you'd like."

"Yea, I would." He paused for a moment to sort his thoughts and took in a deep breath before speaking. "I don't hate the ursar, not anymore than I hate anyone else. I jus' can't stand other people, whether they be dwarf or ursar or any other race."

"But you can stand the company of other men and women when you go to one of those burlesque houses at night, so how can you say you can't stand other people?"

"I answered your question."

"You did, but I think you're not telling me the whole truth," Arion said matter-of-factly.

Enraged, Bart let out a roar and leveled his crossbow on Arion. At this distance he couldn't possibly miss. A chorus of screams erupted from the ground below as onlookers watched the altercation unfolding. "Git out o' me head! I've heard o' yer kind before, always scheming and manipulating people ta suit yer own needs. I won't let ye do the same ta me!"

Arion remained calm as he stared at Bart, watching him breathe heavily with bits of drool hanging from his muzzle. "You're not like any other ursar I've met before, that's for sure." He let out a sigh before continuing. "I'm not in your head, Bartholomew. I haven't read your thoughts since the first day we met all those years ago. I've trained myself to have more restraint so I don't carelessly hear what others are thinking." Arion stood up straight and crossed his arms behind his back. "I knew you were lying, or at least, only telling me a half-truth because of a shift in your posture as you spoke and your inability to maintain eye contact."

Bart snarled. He knew the ursar was speaking the truth. But how? "I want ta believe yer lyin'. But I know better. Why th' fuck do I know that!?" He was yelling out loud, vocalizing his thoughts as he tried to make sense of things. His mind felt like it was on fire as thoughts and feelings raced through him. He couldn't discern his own thoughts from those that were forced upon him.

Arion looked at him, and Bart suddenly felt a wave of confusion wash over him. Were these feelings coming from the monk? Were they not his own?

"You really don't know anything about your heritage, do you?" Arion asked, though the question sounded rhetorical.

"What are ye talkin' about?"

"Tell me, what do you feel?"

"Why should I?"

"Humor me."

Bart clutched his forehead with his free hand as a headache began to set in behind his left eye. "Anger an' lots o' confusion. An' I can feel their fear," he said, referring to the refugees below.

"Xenarians are gifted, Bartholomew," Arion explained. "We're naturally empaths. We can feel the emotions and feelings of those around us. That's why you can feel other people's fear, or my confusion, or even the hatred that others direct at you."

"Make it stop!" Bart snapped, "I hate feelin' it!" His right eye twitched as his headache intensified, moving to the other hemisphere of his head.

Arion shook his head sadly. "You can't make it stop. All you can do is learn to cope with it, and to shut out the emotions of others. But they'll always be there, lingering on the periphery of your mind. Do you want me to help you? I can train you."

"Why does it hurt?" He snarled through gritted teeth. Arion tried to step closer to him, but Bart wouldn't allow it. "Get away from me!"

"Whatever you're feeling is feeding into itself. You're sensing your own confusion and its making you more confused."

Hurt. Confusion. Worry. Fear. Everything became a jumbled mess of sensory information that made Bart's heart race in his chest. He felt like he wanted to cry and lash out in anger and to run away all at the same time. As he drifted along, being torn apart by the waves of emotion, he began to feel a spark that could only be explained as a warmth radiating from his chest. Determination. Resolve. Confidence. They were coming from Arion. Bart wondered how he had managed to replace his worries and concerns so easily. Was it because he was a mind reader?

With a firm and commanding voice, Arion said, "Focus Bartholomew. Focus only on the sound of my voice. Block out everything except for my words." Bart found that whether he was trying to or not, everything began to slip away but Arion. In fact, his voice seemed to be getting louder. Was it another mentalist trick?

The other ursar continued, "Focus on the one feeling you WANT to feel. Filter out what doesn't belong to you and grab hold of it." Bart grimaced as he bore through the pain. He hated the monk's voice. Why was he trying to take charge? It was none of his business. He should just leave him alone. If he did, then this wouldn't be happening to him. If it weren't for Arion and his kind, then he never would have felt this way.

That anger became his life preserver in a torrent of emotions. Bart reached out, wrapping both meaty paws around it and hanging on for dear life as he felt his chest burn. Anger would be his salvation.

"Leave me alone!" Bart let out a primal roar that startled the refugees below and his fellow guardsmen. There was only one feeling and one thought left: pure unmitigated rage.

Arion's face wrinkled with worry. He regarded Bartholomew one last time and asked, "Are you okay?"

After a moment, Bart straightened himself out and spat on the ground. "Ye said ye'd leave me alone if I answered your questions." The headache had faded away, and he couldn't feel anything except his own rage. There was no fear, no concern, no thoughts of any kind but his own running through his head.

The monk looked hurt by the remark, and Bart tried to ignore those feelings coming from him. They weren't his and he didn't want his burdens. "That I did. Take care, Bartholomew." Arion walked away from Bart, away from the gate, then leaped down off the side and out of sight.

Bart turned back to watching over the refugees and the southern roads. Suddenly, he no longer felt compelled to frighten the ursar below.

Stupid monk. Who the hell does he think he is anyways?

A part of him thought to thank the ursar, but it was quickly silenced. He'd given him some clarity on his "condition" but he didn't need his help. Bart could figure out how to manage just fine now that he understood what was going on since he was a child. It was little wonder why he used to get sick as a cub when he was surrounded by the Stoutmantle's hostility.

As his mind cleared, Bart let out a sigh and returned to his post.