by R. S. Ford
Other than Ctenka and Ermund, there were five others who had paid for the innkeeper’s ‘hospitality’. Five women, their dull grey robes and the braided girds around their waists marking them as priestesses of some denomination Ctenka didn’t recognise.
‘You are pilgrims?’ Ermund asked, making polite conversation as they sat about the fire.
The oldest of them nodded. ‘We are,’ she replied. ‘Travelling south from the shores of Devil Sound, taking the Penitent Path to its source in the Suderfeld. I am Le’Shan.’
Under her hood, Ctenka could see a lean and scarred face, her hair cut short in tight dark curls.
‘You are the leader of this group?’ Ermund continued.
The woman shook her head. ‘We have no leader among us. But I am the oldest, so it often falls upon me to speak for the rest.’ She looked nervous, but that was hardly surprising. Women unaccompanied on the road, even priestesses, would be vulnerable to attack from all kinds of miscreants.
‘You come from the Ramadi?’ Ctenka asked, his curiosity piqued. He had heard hellish tales of the northern desert lands and was keen to hear more.
‘We come from many places,’ said Le’Shan, gesturing to her fellows.
In the firelight Ctenka could see all five of them looked very different. One bore the dark skin of a Scorchlander, another the olive tint of the western Cordral, the rest Ctenka had no idea. There was a wariness to them, as though they might be attacked at any moment.
‘And… which gods do you serve?’ Ctenka asked, fearsome stories of sacrifice playing at the back of his mind.
The woman glanced for a moment at her sister priestesses, who all averted their gaze to the ground. ‘We respect all the gods,’ she answered.
‘That’s a good policy,’ Ctenka said. ‘Hedge your bets. I’ve never seen the point myself. All that praying takes up a lot of free time. Although I guess you haven’t got much else to do.’
‘You’re right,’ she replied. ‘We don’t.’
Ctenka began to get the impression the woman was merely humouring him. Served him right for trying to hold a conversation with a bunch of priestesses. He’d always found religious people to be the most tedious – why would this bunch of women be any different?
Ermund leaned forward. ‘Perhaps we will accompany you on the road tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Increased numbers may serve us both.’
Le’Shan shook her head. ‘That won’t be necessary. The road holds no trepidation for us.’
‘It should,’ said Ermund. ‘This is dangerous country.’
She fixed him with a steely gaze. ‘It’s all dangerous country.’
Ermund couldn’t argue with that.
The pair got little conversation out of the priestess for the remainder of the evening, so they returned to the stable with their horses. Ctenka was thankful for the roof, and managed to sleep well enough considering the chill air. In the morning he awoke to the fresh smell of horseshit, and as usual Ermund had already risen and was saddling up.
Ctenka was quick to stamp some life into his chilled limbs before leading his horse to the road. He noticed those priestesses had already left, but the innkeeper was still there, watching as they began their journey.
‘Your hospitality is much appreciated,’ Ctenka commented to him. ‘I’ll be sure to recommend your establishment to all my acquaintances.’
Again, the innkeeper didn’t appreciate the mirth.
A few miles down the road and Ctenka was starting to feel the boredom of the journey setting in once again. He was sure it would have been alleviated slightly by a wineskin or two, but it was clear Ermund was almost as pious as those priestesses. The chance of him enjoying a wineskin was about the same as him belly laughing at a joke.
When they eventually spotted the priestesses ahead of them on the road he knew the company was hardly likely to improve.
‘Just keep riding past and they might not notice us,’ Ctenka joked, remembering the stilted conversation he’d had the night before.
‘Nonsense,’ Ermund replied. ‘We can’t just let them travel unaccompanied. This is bandit country.’
Ctenka glanced around him at the thick woodland. ‘It’s what? You never told me that.’
Ermund ignored him, kicking his mount forward to catch up with the five women.
‘My ladies,’ he said, sounding all formal. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again.’ The priestesses nodded at him politely. ‘I’m afraid I must insist you allow my companion and I to join you on the road. As you’re strangers in this land I feel obliged to make sure you reach your destination safely.’
Le’Shan tried to argue, but Ermund had already climbed down from his horse and started walking beside her.
Reluctantly, Ctenka climbed down from his own nag, grasping the reins and pulling it along behind him. The priestesses carried on walking, heads bowed, hoods up. Clearly the chances of a decent conversation hadn’t improved.
They walked for a couple more miles, the silence beginning to grate as much as the birdsong, until Ctenka noticed one of the priestesses surreptitiously glancing at him. She looked younger than the rest, and prettier. Ctenka immediately expelled any sinful thoughts from his mind – these were priestesses after all. Then again, they were priestesses from another country. Perhaps in the north they weren’t so strict about the whole celibacy thing.
‘I am Ctenka,’ he eventually said to her.
She looked up and smiled. Her tousled blonde hair poked out from beneath her hood and Ctenka noted she had a nasty scar from her left eye that ran down her cheek.
‘I am Sicabel,’ she replied, nervously.
‘You’re a long way from home,’ he replied. ‘As am I. Though I think there’s a rural charm to this place. Not so keen on the weather though.’
Sicabel nodded and smiled. ‘I’m not so keen on the wet, either,’ she said.
‘How long have you been on the road?’
Sicabel looked up, as though the answer might be in the treetops. ‘Sixty-seven days,’ she replied.
‘That’s a long time to be away from home,’ Ctenka said, hoping he wouldn’t be away for half that.
‘It is,’ Sicabel replied. ‘But Mandrithar willing, we’ll be heading back soon.’
‘That’s enough,’ said the priestess in front of her. The woman looked at Ctenka and forced a smile. ‘My apologies, but Sicabel often forgets the vow of silence she made before we began our journey.’
The priestess gave Sicabel a withering glance and the girl fixed her eyes on the ground once more.
Served Ctenka right for trying to be friendly to priestesses. But the more he thought about what she had said, the more it bothered him. Mandrithar was a name he was familiar with but he couldn’t quite place it. It bounced around in his head until eventually it came to him like an arrow from the dark. Wasn’t Mandrithar the name of a Ramadi death cult?
He was about to walk forward and tell Ermund it might be best to take their leave, when a rustle from the nearby undergrowth made his right hand stray for his sword.
Before he could draw, he heard the sound of ringing metal. Ermund already had sword in hand, but it mattered little as a dozen men erupted from the surrounding scrub. Ctenka looked to his friend for a sign of what to do, and Ermund duly raised his hand, palm down, to signal Ctenka be still.
A grim-looking bandit stepped forward, his face a mass of scars. ‘What do we have here?’ he said as he eyed the militiamen and the five priestesses.
‘They’ve got coin,’ said another voice Ctenka recognised, as the innkeeper from a few miles back stepped out of the bush. ‘And horses. And that one…’ He pointed at Ctenka. ‘He’s got a fucking smart mouth.’
Ctenka glanced back at Ermund, who had already dropped his sword to the ground. ‘Oh shit,’ he said.
As usual, Ermund had little to add.
13
THE hag walked the forest until the sunlight that encroached through the canopy turned to dark. Only the moon and stars lit her
way now, and they were little use as a beacon. As she followed the only light she could see, the thick roots threatened to turn her ankle, the twisting branches reaching out for her hair, face and arms, as though they sought to enmesh her and keep her in this forest forever.
A spider’s web, thick and viscous, caught about her face and she heard the skittering of something near her ear. In a panic she ripped it from her cheeks and mouth, crying out as she stumbled forward in the dark.
When would this nightmare end? When would she be released from this purgatory?
She stopped, crouching beneath the boughs of a mighty oak, eyes wide as she searched in vain for comfort in the dark surrounding her. Still she could not remember her name or where she had come from. But then she had so far not given it much thought. This place had plagued her with images of war and death and pestilence since she’d arrived, and given no respite since her first moments. She had to gather herself. To remember.
Closing her eyes she tried to think back to the beginning. To before she had found herself on the empty plain. It was difficult, like trying to break through a barrier she couldn’t see, but there was no doubt the barrier was there. It stood tall and wide and stopped her from remembering. With eyes shut tight she willed it away, desperate to see what lay beyond. Her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms, the pain focusing her on tearing down the wall that blocked her memories. Teeth ground as every muscle tensed, but still she could not break it down.
‘Relax,’ she whispered to herself as she let go. There was no point in forcing this.
Instead of battering the wall with her anger and frustration, she instead moved towards it with care. And in return it spoke, breathing whispers, teasing her with a past that was just beyond her reach.
Hot wind whipped about her, a desert dryness in the air. Men being slaughtered by the score. A seed in her gut growing out of control. Eating her from within. Consuming. The weight of its power overwhelming. Victory and helplessness tearing her apart. Ripping her from the world.
She opened her eyes.
It was still dark. Still silent but for the chirruping of some night creature. She listened to its lilting voice in the distance before she realised that it was the sound of no animal. There were words tangled within the tune. Somewhere in the forest a voice was singing.
She stood once more, stumbling on through the dark, trying to home in on the song. Despite the disorienting environment she worked her way closer, discerning words in a language she couldn’t understand. Up ahead a weak light permeated the trees, and her breathing came faster the closer she got.
Slowly she crept up on a clearing in which a fire glowed and crackled. Three creatures sat around it, their hairless heads reflecting the firelight. Each had pointed ears, eyes huge and dark, despite the fire’s light. One of them continued to sing his strange verse as the other two looked on with gleeful smiles. All three seemed like cheerful little imps, dressed as they were in trews and waistcoats, their bare feet tapping in time to the dainty tune.
She knew she had to reveal herself. These were the first friendly faces she had encountered, despite their outlandish nature.
As she walked into the clearing the singer stopped and looked at her. The other two turned fearfully.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Can you help me?’
It was all she could think to say. It was clear she needed help, though what these three creatures could offer she had no idea.
The one who had been singing jumped to his feet. Unnaturally large smiles crossed all their faces.
‘Yes, yes,’ he said, his voice high-pitched and tuneful. ‘Sit. Sit by the fire.’
He gestured eagerly and she walked forward, feeling it warm her. She crouched down, rubbing some feeling back into her limbs. She hadn’t realised how cold she’d been wandering in the forest.
‘I am Mahata,’ said the singer. He gestured to his companions. ‘These are my brothers, Rahata and Kahata.’
She nodded at them in turn, and after several moments of silence, Rahata said, ‘And who are you?’
She looked at the three creatures in turn, hoping to put off having to explain that she had no idea who or where she was.
‘I don’t know,’ she said finally. ‘I have only been in this place for…’ She couldn’t even tell him that much. In truth she had no idea how long she had been here.
‘Ah!’ Rahata’s smile grew even wider. ‘Then you are a newcomer.’
‘A newcomer?’ she replied. ‘What do you mean?’
Rahata looked at his brothers. ‘A new arrival. Fledgling. Just ripe.’
Looking down at her wrinkled hands, and the white brittle hair that hung about her shoulders, she thought she was anything but ‘ripe’. Nevertheless, one of the brothers, Mahata or Kahata or whatever he was called, sniffed at her like she was some fragrant flower. She leaned away from him, only to find the other brother had also moved in on the other side, his grin malevolent in the firelight.
‘Yes, I suppose I’m new here,’ she answered, discomfort growing as the two creatures stared at her longingly. ‘But I don’t know where I came from. Can you help me?’
The three looked at one another, then shook their heads frantically.
‘No,’ said Rahata. ‘We can’t help you.’
‘So you have no idea where I’m from?’ She could hear the yearning in her own voice and it embarrassed her to sound so pitiful.
‘That’s not what I said.’ Rahata’s brothers began to giggle. ‘We know exactly where you’re from. We’re just not going to tell you.’
She stood, gripping her fists to her sides. The brothers stood too, their faces twisted in mock fear.
‘What is wrong with you?’ she asked. ‘Why won’t you help me?’
‘Oh, we’ll help you,’ said Rahata. ‘We must put you out of your misery.’
‘Consume you,’ said one of the brothers.
‘Take your soul and suck it dry,’ said the other.
Their eyes took on a darker hue and one of them blinked, a translucent film flashing across his eyes like some forest lizard.
She had made a mistake and yet again, fear gripped her in an icy embrace. These were not the benevolent imps she had thought.
As she tried to back away Rahata grasped her arms from behind.
‘Wait,’ she pleaded. ‘Why are you doing this?’
The creatures ignored her, their faces becoming twisted and evermore bestial.
‘Can you smell it?’ said one of them.
‘Can you taste it?’ said another, his forked tongue flicking forward in anticipation.
‘She is so ripe,’ said Rahata, burying his head in her white hair and breathing deep. ‘So, so ripe.’
‘Let go of me,’ she said, struggling in the creature’s grip, but she was held tight. She issued an animal scream fuelled by panic and thrashed wildly. There was nothing she could do to loosen Rahata’s hold.
‘Don’t worry,’ said one of the brothers. ‘It won’t hurt… for long.’
As he moved towards her she felt as though something inside was squirming for release, as though her innards were being pulled every which way. She tried to hold onto it, but it seemed as though her very soul were being drawn out of her body.
The darkness of the forest grew more oppressive, looming in with tenebrous fingers. She was going to die in this unholy place, her soul consumed with no idea of who she was or even why this was to be her fate.
As the last of her strength ebbed, she could resist no longer.
Someone ran from the shadow of the trees and into the fire-lit clearing. Through fading vision, the hag could just make out a woman, eyes wide with fury, sword in hand. The creatures screeched, turning to face the intruder, faces contorting in rage as they hissed at this warrior woman.
Rahata loosed his vile grip and the hag slumped to the ground as the warrior attacked. She cried in rage as she swung the sword, taking the head of one creature from its shoulders. The other brother attacked, dark cl
aws raking an armoured shoulder. The warrior span, sword flashing again, cutting a furrow across its chest. Rahata issued a final hiss of rage at the death of his kin before turning tail and fleeing into the dark forest.
The warrior stood panting for a moment, then glanced down.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
Was she all right? The hag could not tell. It was as though the creatures had been tearing at her essence, eating her from the inside out.
‘Who…? Who are you?’ was all she could ask.
‘I am Hera,’ said the warrior, offering a hand.
The hag took it, allowing the woman to pull her to her feet. The bodies of the two foul creatures lay still beside the fire. One was headless, the other had a gash across its chest, but neither of them was bleeding, as though they were old man-shaped sacks of meat.
‘I am grateful to you, Hera,’ she said. ‘It was lucky you happened upon me when you did or those creatures would have…’
What would they have done? She still had little comprehension of exactly what they would have done to her.
‘Happened upon you?’ said Hera. ‘It is not luck that caused our paths to cross. I have hunted you for days.’
‘Hunted me?’ For a moment her panic returned.
‘I had to find you.’ Hera sheathed her sword. ‘Before you succumbed to the dangers of this land.’
‘You know me?’ the hag asked, her fear abating slightly. ‘Then you know how I got here?’
Hera shook her head. ‘No. I do not know who you are. All I can tell you is that we’re drawn together. Whatever force brought us both to this place compels us towards one another.’
‘But I cannot remember anything. Nothing from my past beyond arriving in this accursed place.’
‘Memory will come, in time,’ said Hera. ‘And perhaps you will regret it when it does. As your link to the land of the living weakens, so your memory of it grows stronger.’
‘The land of the living? What do you mean? What is this place? Where am I?’
‘You haven’t worked that much out yet?’ said Hera, glancing around at the brooding environment. ‘You are in Hell, girl. Of that there is no doubt.’
