Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  Wyand stared down at the old prisoner’s hands as they trembled in front of him. One of the Stonebrothers moved in and seized the man’s wrists, presumably to ensure he didn’t try to attack Wyand or steal either of the relics. The prisoner didn’t resist, but the intense hatred in his eyes never wavered. Wyand retrieved the Stormheart first and carefully placed it into the man’s palm, then it was time for the Thoughtcaster. As soon as the prisoner held both items, a brilliant flash of blue illuminated his cell and the tunnel beyond.

  Several confused shouts followed from prisoners elsewhere in the Hollows, but the only sound Wyand cared about came from the old man directly in front of him. The man gasped, then immediately shook with quiet, long-forgotten laughter as tears of happiness and disbelief streamed down his face. Leomar retrieved the relics and passed them back to Wyand, then he reached through the bars and seized the sides of the old prisoner’s bearded head. The Council Guide’s eyes glowed with swirls of green and blue, then he released the man’s head and stepped back suddenly. “You can let go of his arms. His mind is cleansed, after all these turnings. Old Ones preserve me….”

  “It worked?” Wyand asked hopefully.

  “Better than I ever could have imagined,” Leomar said with an uncharacteristic grin.

  Wyand smiled back at him in amazement. “What will happen to him now?”

  “He will go to the Order of the Axe just as you did until it is time for his assessment. Then he will have the chance to join an Order.” Leomar stepped back, still shaking his head. He pointed suddenly to the Stonebrother holding the torch. “Pass that to me and go get this man an escort to the Order of the Axe. Hurry back and bring several more from your Order with you. This gives me hope that many of the captives will go free this day.” The Stonebrother vanished into the dim corridor without a word, his racing footsteps receding quickly into the distance.

  “Please, come closer, both of you,” the old prisoner rasped. Wyand looked to Leomar, who nodded confidently. The two of them approached the bars once again, and the man reached out to take hold of Wyand’s arm. “What is your name, boy?” he asked.

  “Wyand.”

  “Thank you, Wyand,” the man breathed gratefully, the tears of realization still coursing down his face. There was no trace of the hatred that had once burned within his eyes; it was gone, completely replaced by blissful understanding. His shaking hands then released Wyand’s arm. “Thank you.” This time, joyous laughter overtook the prisoner as soon as Wyand backed away. The sound was disorienting in such an eerie place, but it alleviated the feeling of pressure to hear something so unexpectedly happy echo throughout the Hollows.

  “Onward,” Leomar said, holding the torch high as he led the way deeper into the Hollows. One after another, captives came forward to undergo the same process of cleansing. Those who had been close enough to hear the old man’s laughter were hesitant at first, but curiosity pulled each of them to the Thoughtcaster eventually. The results were the same as they had been with the first prisoner, much to Wyand’s relief and Leomar’s amazement. Old and young, men and women, all rejoiced in the newfound truth offered by the Thoughtcaster.

  One captive was different, though. Wyand felt a chill as he approached the man’s cell, though he attributed the sudden feeling of discomfort to the environment more than the prisoner. When Wyand looked into the man’s eyes, though, a sensation of dread stabbed into his core. “He’s Guided,” Wyand whispered.

  “He would be, if he didn’t continually reject the Visions as lies,” Leomar countered. “This is Roinn.”

  When he heard his name spoken, Roinn spat at Leomar’s feet. “Get away from me, filth,” he sneered.

  “Always nice to see you, Roinn,” Leomar replied with a smile that instantly faded. “Step forward and present your hands.” The spindly man laughed darkly and approached the bars, but he kept his arms by his sides. “Very well,” Leomar said, and with a single gesture, two of the Stonebrothers reached into the cell and seized Roinn’s arms.

  “Venerates curse you!” Roinn shouted as he struggled to free himself.

  “Do you have him?” Leomar asked the Stone guards uncertainly.

  “He’s not going anywhere, Council Guide,” one of the Stonebrothers replied through gritted teeth, and Leomar motioned for Wyand to step forward. Wyand placed the Stormheart into Roinn’s hand and the man stared down at it as though it was on fire.

  “No!” Roinn shrieked. “I reject your heresy, just as I reject the images you have forced into my mind. The Venerates will protect me!” Wyand hurriedly placed the Thoughtcaster in Roinn’s other hand; mercifully, the crazed man at last fell silent. The blue flash followed as expected, but Roinn’s eyes continued to glow even as the Stormheart’s light diminished. His entire body spasmed and then he suddenly went limp, held upright only by the Stonebrothers’ firm grip.

  Leomar hurried to the cell and pushed Wyand aside so that he could take hold of the sides of Roinn’s head. Suddenly, the captive looked up and locked eyes with the Council Guide. “Thank you,” Roinn said in a calm, deep voice that came from his mouth but sounded nothing like his own. An unsettling smile crept onto his face as the swirls of light at last faded from his eyes.

  “Back away from him!” Leomar commanded as he recoiled from the strange display. The Stonebrothers were quick to comply, and Roinn fell to the floor of his cell in a heap.

  Still smiling, Roinn pulled himself upright and stared at the Stormheart hungrily. “Is that for me?” he asked in the same unnatural voice.

  Leomar took hold of Wyand’s arm and turned him away from the cell. “Do not answer him. Do not even look at him. His mind is too far gone; he can never be cleansed.” Without another word, they moved on towards the next cell.

  “What have you done to me?” Roinn demanded, his voice suddenly returning to normal. “Get back here, cowards!” His ranting followed them throughout the Hollows, but Leomar ignored it and motioned for Wyand to begin the cleansing process with the next captive. Wyand complied, but his thoughts drifted back to Roinn with horrified curiosity any time he heard the man shouting. No explanation had been offered, and Wyand knew better than to ask for one after a single glance at Leomar’s grim expression.

  Six more captives were cleansed without incident, and soon their laughter and shouts of celebration overpowered any remaining sounds of anger from Roinn’s cell. Then Wyand at last reached the group of captives that had just been secured that morning, and he found himself staring through the bars at a face he recognized. “Quite the paradise you’ve found here, rock breaker,” Silax said mockingly.

  “How do you know this man, Wyand?” Leomar asked.

  Wyand opened his mouth to explain, but Silax spoke up first. “That’s easy. I watched him kill a Venerate, then he blamed me for it. Isn’t that right, Wyand?”

  Wyand kept his head up proudly despite the desire to shrink away into the shadows. “These people already know the truth of how I got here, Silax, and they accept me as I am.”

  “Hearing you speak of truth is like hearing the night sky complain of the sun’s brightness. You can’t even grasp the concept of truth,” Silax laughed.

  “You will soon find that to be incorrect,” Leomar replied with a brief flash of color in his eyes.

  “Oh, will I? Please, prove me wrong,” Silax said defiantly. As he spoke, swirls of color appeared in his eyes just as they had in Leomar’s.

  “He’s Guided? Him?” Wyand choked.

  “So it would seem,” Leomar said quietly. “How did you find your way to Cynmere, Silax?”

  Silax thought for a moment, then grinned wickedly. “That was an impressive fire last night. Was anyone hurt?” A dark silence was Leomar’s only reply before he motioned sharply for Wyand to step forward. Stunned by Silax’ malice, Wyand lifted the Stormheart and the Thoughtcaster for him to see. The Feller’s expression shifted from smug disgust to shock in an instant. “You still have it,” Silax said as he unconsciously extended his hands throu
gh the cell bars towards the Stormheart. Just before he could touch it, though, the Stone guards leapt forward, took hold of his wrists, and pulled with their full strength. Silax’ face slammed against the bars with enough force to leave the metal humming.

  “No!” Leomar shouted before the Stonebrothers had a chance to continue the violence. The guards were still, but they maintained a grip that was tight enough to turn Silax’ hands dark red. Though the Stonebrothers said nothing, tears of outrage welled in their eyes. Wyand shared their anger, but he forced himself to remember that harming the misguided Feller would solve nothing. “Cleanse him before he says anything else foolish,” Leomar commanded with a threatening glance at Silax. “He may lose an arm, otherwise.”

  Both sides of Silax’ forehead were already beginning to swell and a steady trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. “Go ahead, heretic. I know how to suffer for my faith, unlike you,” he panted. Blood seeped between Silax’ teeth as he spoke, then he spat it onto the cell floor and smiled arrogantly once more. With slightly more force than was required, Wyand slammed the Stormheart and the Thoughtcaster into Silax’ swollen palms and stepped back.

  The Feller blinked in the fading blue glow and frowned in confusion. “Silax?” Wyand asked, hopeful that the madness had at last been cured.

  Silax’ eyes leapt to Wyand as though he was surprised to see anyone else nearby. “How long was I gone?” Silax breathed. He opened his hands and allowed the relics to return once again to Wyand, then the Feller did something truly unexpected before Wyand could respond. “Forgive me,” he whispered, staring at the two Stonebrothers with tears in his eyes. “I didn’t know….” The Stonebrothers were skeptical, but they slowly eased their grip until Silax’ hands were free.

  Bewildered, the Feller’s shoulders slumped from dismay and exhaustion. His eyes searched the distance within his own mind for answers, but he appeared to only be finding more questions. Leomar took hold of the sides of Silax’ head, taking care to avoid the bruised areas that were beginning to show. A moment later, Leomar released the Feller and stepped back with a satisfied nod. “It worked, thank the Kingdom. Now, Silax, let’s try this again. How did you find Cynmere?” As he spoke, a loud clang echoed throughout the Hollows. Everyone paused momentarily when they heard the strange noise; to Wyand, it sounded eerily similar to a single note of the Calling chimes from Aldhagen. Leomar shook his head. “Never mind that. Answer the question, Silax.”

  Silax nodded numbly and appeared to clear his thoughts. “We were sent into the Eastern Hills by the High Conduit to search for Cynmere.”

  “How many were with you?” Leomar demanded.

  “Mine started as a team of ten, but there were dozens of other teams.”

  “So, there are potentially hundreds of Penitent Faithful currently within the Eastern Hills. Why now? What drove the High Conduit to risk losing so many of you?”

  Silax stared at him with a confused frown. “The attack,” he replied simply. The clang echoed again, and then again several times in rapid succession a few seconds later.

  Leomar turned to one of the Stone guards. “Go see what that is,” he instructed with an annoyed grimace, and the man hurried away towards the entrance. Leomar faced Silax once more as the echoes of the strange sound faded. “We knew that a group from the Distant Watch attempted an assault on Dism Slyde itself, but I expected that would push the Penitent Faithful into a defensive posture while they rebuilt their forces.”

  “It inspired the opposite response,” Silax replied sadly. “The High Conduit ordered a Holy Purge—to find Cynmere and eliminate its inhabitants at any cost. Now that it has been found…you will all die if you stay here.”

  Leomar winced at the harsh truth of Silax’ words. “The storm draws closer,” he admitted quietly. He opened his mouth to address Wyand, but the sound of shouting and rapid footsteps stopped him.

  “Council Guide!” the Stonebrother called as he returned from investigating the noise. “Council Guide! This way! Please hurry!” Wyand was startled by the Stonebrother’s urgency, but what concerned him more was the look of horror that had overtaken the man’s normally-stoic face. The Stonebrother skidded to a halt ten strides away, then raced back the way he had come as soon as he saw that Leomar and the others were following.

  Wyand took a step, then hesitated and glanced at Silax. The Feller’s eyes swirled with color amid the darkness of his cell. “I’m glad I finally found you,” Silax said. “We’ll speak again soon.” His words seemed sincere, but after witnessing Silax’ hatred for so long, it was hard to believe anything he said that sounded even slightly kind. Before the torchlight vanished completely into shadows, Wyand raced after Leomar.

  The Council Guide and the small group of Stonebrothers stood in a tight cluster around one of the cells as Wyand approached. Amid the astonished mutters, Wyand heard the words “Roinn” and “impossible.” With stunned expressions, two of the Stonebrothers stepped aside to allow Wyand to see the source of their horror for himself. Roinn’s body knelt awkwardly against the front of his cell, held upright only by what remained of his head. It was wedged so tightly between the bars that it appeared to have burst from the pressure, leaving a nauseating mass of bone and tissue hanging beyond the cell above a pool of blood.

  From the attack and the fight with the infested scrid, Wyand knew the scenes of dread that accompanied death, but this was something else, something worse. “What…what happened to him?” Wyand stammered, struggling to keep from being sick.

  “He rejected the cleansing and took his own life,” Leomar replied with a mixture of revulsion and amazement. “That sound we heard was Roinn charging head-first into the cell bars, again, and again, and again until the force of the impact finally killed him. It must have been incredibly painful.” The Council Guide shook his head and then stared angrily at Wyand. “It’s past midday. Take that stone out of Cynmere.”

  “There are still so many down here who may never be set free—” Wyand argued feebly.

  “Better to live as they are than to die like that!” Leomar shouted, pointing to Roinn’s corpse. He regained his composure and continued in a quiet but stern tone. “There has been enough death in Cynmere for one day. Find Tilia; let her know it is time for us to move into the desert. The Smokedwellers are coming.”

  32

  “Is there anything else you need to do before we leave?” Eyrie asked.

  Ryna started to shake her head, but then she thought about Halwen again. “I haven’t told Halwen yet,” she admitted.

  “Why not? It’s not a secret that you’re coming with us.”

  “It’s not that. She was too busy tending the injured with the Handsisters. I didn’t want to distract her from that,” Ryna explained.

  “She will be far more distracted and upset whenever she finds out that you’re gone. Better to at least see her once more and speak to her honestly as a friend,” Eyrie advised. Ryna nodded, but she remained uncertain about whether she would tell Halwen or not. She knew Halwen’s reaction would be severe, and it pained her to think of her friend in tears. Still, she knew Eyrie was right—Halwen would be even more distraught if Ryna left without saying a word. Besides, Halwen didn’t even know about Ryna’s reweaving yet, and that was information she would be furious to learn from anyone but Ryna herself.

  Ryna sighed. “I’ll tell her after we’re done here,” she promised, nodding towards the Wargarden as it came into view. Eyrie smiled but said nothing more on the subject, which was fine with Ryna. As she neared the Wargarden’s entrance, Ryna became aware of just how many Bloodbrothers and Bloodsisters would be headed into the Eastern Hills with her. Hundreds of people clad in Sreathan plate were massed outside the ancient structure; their voices were calm, but their expressions reflected Ryna’s own anxiety. Many of these people had faced the Smokedwellers in battle, but the reason for this fight was different—Cynmere had never been threatened like this before.

  A surge of guilt tugged at Ryna�
��s core, but she forced herself to resist it. I didn’t cause this. Stora did, she reminded herself. Still, the quiet voice of shame pried its way into her thoughts once again. You could have stopped her, it whispered, and Ryna knew that was true. Though she had somehow escaped her punishment of being Unwoven, Ryna vowed to spend the rest of her life in penitent service to those she had sinned against.

  “Ryna,” a man’s voice called from behind her, and she turned to find Wyand striding towards her. “I need to speak with you before we leave,” he said, then he glanced awkwardly at Eyrie. “In private, if that’s all right,” he added.

  Eyrie smiled knowingly and nodded. “It seems you know how to listen after all,” she said, then she laughed and continued into the Wargarden without them. Wyand and Ryna glanced at each other hesitantly, neither certain what to say or where to begin.

  Wyand at last took a deep breath, then the words spilled out of him. “Forgive me for being angry with you earlier, Ryna. We’re all exhausted, and with the confusion of the attack and the escaped captives…it was too much for me to handle when you admitted that you had helped Stora. I see now—”

  “I forgive you, Wyand,” Ryna broke in, leaving Wyand with his mouth hanging open in mid-sentence. “There’s nothing to forgive, though, really. Your anger was justified. I betrayed your trust, and now I must live with that regret.”

  “I lied to you, too, though. About being Unwoven,” Wyand reminded her.