by D Murray
“No.” Halpern’s voice cracked dry and weak from his lips.
Ruah saw Halpern had raised his head a few inches from the ground. His eyes stared right at her, and he smiled a thin, feeble thing her way.
“I can manage. I can go on.”
“Lad,” Harvind said as he placed a rolled-up blanket beneath Halpern’s head, “the cold’s in your blood down there, and it’s started to eat at your flesh. If we leave it as it is, it’ll only root itself in deeper. Its appetite will grow, and it will take more of you. It will kill you if we leave it.”
“No,” Halpern said again, his gaze remaining fixed on Ruah’s. “We need to finish this. We need to get them back. Anyway, I don’t have the strength to live a life on one leg.”
Ruah touched a tear away from her eye with a knuckle, and returned Halpern’s smile.
“We can’t leave you as you are, lad,” the big man Broden said, his red beard glistening as the frost that had coated it melted. “Harvind’s right, the cold has set a poison in your blood.”
“What’s the least you can do that would allow me to carry on?” Halpern asked.
Harvind looked up at Kalfinar and Broden. His head was turned away from Halpern, but Ruah could see the troubled look that passed between the men.
The tall woman with the short blond hair spoke up. “If you cut out the flesh that is dead, I can make a plea to Gighra for aid. She may be able to answer, and arrest the cold in his blood.” Her voice had a musical sound to it. Too soft and gentle a sound for a land like this, Ruah thought.
Kalfinar looked away from the woman and back to Harvind. “Can you cut free the worst of it?”
“Aye, I can.”
Ruah’s chest swelled with hope. Halpern could make it. She looked to Bergnon and smiled.
“No point waiting,” Harvind sighed. “Hold his arms and legs.” As those gathered pressed down on his limbs, Harvind drew a long strap of leather around the top of Halpern’s lower leg. “Boy, this is going to hurt.”
Halpern’s sweat-drenched head nodded once, and he looked at Ruah. His eyes glinted in the light of the candle and the small flickering fire.
“Bite down on this.” Harvind folded another length of leather into a thick wedge, and placed it between Halpern’s teeth. Harvind nodded to Kalfinar and the others holding Halpern’s limbs. The knife winked once in the candlelight, then cut into the blackened flesh around Halpern’s toes.
Ruah watched in terrified fascination as dark, congealed blood oozed from the cut. Halpern screamed – hells, how he screamed, the leather dropping from his mouth. He passed out, and Harvind cut on, severing at the lowest joint of the toe. He scraped away the darkened flesh and moved on to the next toe.
When Harvind was done cutting, only the three largest toes of Halpern’s right foot remained. Harvind washed the area free of any more of the darkened, poisoned flesh, and moved up the leg. Around the outer edge of Halpern’s right calf was a long vine-like tendril of darkened flesh, surrounded by mottled skin. Harvind sliced around the darkest areas, following the tendril, and scraped the dying flesh away until the blood ran bright red. Again, he washed the flesh clean, before taking a sealskin bag and slicing it into strips. He wound them around Halpern’s leg and foot, before tying them off tightly and loosening the strapping around his leg.
“Tidy work,” Broden said as Harvind sat back.
“Not sure it’s going to be enough,” Harvind replied as he wiped his blade clean.
The blond woman knelt beside Halpern, her lips moving as her hands hovered over his leg.
“You think it will work?” Ruah whispered to Bergnon. Her hand gripped Tusk’s neck, and she was grateful to stop the trembling at last.
“He’s strong, and we have to hope.”
Ruah looked at the sweat-drenched face of her friend as he rested. She looked at the makeshift bandages, and saw the blood seeping through them already.
Thirty-Three
Wingless Angel
“You’re holding something back. Come on, spill it.” Subath leaned his scarred knuckles on the end of the table and stared hard at the two most senior Tuannan not currently languishing in a cell. “You know there is something to what Dedicant Valus told us, and you know this tallies with what Major Ferah has said about the plot in Canna.” Subath stared at the two old men as they sat with their arms crossed, their hands tucked inside their sleeves. “I know you know something, because the pair of you puckered up as tight as a seal’s arsehole the moment I repeated her words to you. So, would you like to open your entitled pie-holes and tell us what we want to hear?”
The Tuannan just stared back at Subath with barely masked contempt.
“Well?”
“Forget them,” Merkham said, stepping away from where he leaned against the window in Subath’s study. “They’ll say little, I’m sure.”
“Maybe you should put them in irons like the others you spoke of?” Leilah said, her dark eyes peering under her black brows. “Or you could just bring in your friend.”
Subath couldn’t help but smile. “Bring her in.”
The contempt that had marked the faces of the Tuannan slid away as the door to the study groaned open, and a guardsman with a dented helm led in a middle-aged woman. She was short and slim, and wore a grey habit.
“Whatever is the–” the younger of the Tuannan elders spoke. “Sister Arantis. What are you–”
Subath slammed the table with the flat of his palm. The sound and shock of it rendered the Tuannan silent, and even caused Merkham and Leilah to startle. Subath’s lips peeled back from his teeth and he leaned low onto the table, his face right at the level of the wary Tuannan. “You had your chance to talk, remember? You didn’t want to speak to us, so we found another way.” He leaned up from the table and turned, smiling at the female Tuannan. “Sister Arantis,” he said in a softer tone. “You are one of the senior Tuannan archivists, aren’t you?”
Sister Arantis looked at Subath, and then to the Tuannan.
“Don’t you say a word!” the older of the Tuannan men growled up from his seat, his rheumy eyes flashing hard and angry at her.
“Guard.” Subath inclined his head to the Tuannan who had spoken.
The guard with the dented helm stepped forward, causing the Tuannan to shrink back, and then slapped him across the face with the back of his hand.
“You barbarian!” the second of the elders hissed at Subath, before placing an arm around the slapped man’s shoulders.
Subath chuckled and thumbed at his sword belt. “Oh, come now. That’s not barbarity. This is just teaching you manners. Now, guard, if you will.”
The guard with the dented helm stepped up and backhanded the other Tuannan across the face, sending him reeling into the shoulder of his colleague.
Merkham poured out two cups of water, and placed them before the two men as they rubbed at their cheeks, tears brimming in eyes furious with indignation. “I trust that is sufficient a lesson in manners for today?” Merkham asked politely. “Because if not, the chief marshal can have any number of his troops queue up to strike you.”
The two men hesitated, but then nodded.
“Tremendous.” Merkham smiled as he turned to face Subath. “Over to you, chief marshal.”
“Thank you, Governor.” Subath grinned. “Sister Arantis, you were confirming your position as a senior archivist of the Tuannan, were you not?”
“I am a senior archivist, yes,” the woman said.
“And you know these two men?” Subath pressed.
“I do. Brothers Haran, and Lowry.”
“They are in charge of the Tuannan archives, are they not?”
“They are, my lord.”
Subath waved a hand. “No need for the ‘lord’.” He smiled at her and offered her a seat. “There’s better breeding in your archive mice than there is in me.”
Arantis returned his smile and took the seat. “My thanks.”
“Tell me, Sister Arantis.” Subath sat do
wn beside her and poured her a cup of water. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and took her hand in his. “Did Brothers Haran or Lowry instruct you, at any point in these last few days, to hide or destroy any documents?”
Sister Arantis looked at the elders, her eyes narrowing, and then turned back to Subath and cleared her throat. “They told me to burn papers.”
“What were these papers?”
“Ancient texts, and copies of ancient texts. They were locked away in the restricted vaults of the archives.”
“And did you do as you were bid?”
“I did not.”
Subath furrowed his brows and studied the skin on her knuckles as he ran a thick thumb across them. “You have very soft skin, Sister. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“No.” Sister Arantis smiled and avoided Subath’s eyes.
“Why didn’t you do as your elders told you?”
“Because she’s a disobedient fool, and a disgrace to her–”
The cup of water Subath had poured the sister crashed off the elder’s face, spraying water and clanging on the ground. “You see how this is going for you, don’t you? Maybe you should keep quiet,” Subath said, taking the sister’s hand back in his. “Please carry on, Sister.”
“The documents troubled me. I’ve served Dajda faithfully in the Tuannan archives since I was sixteen. For the last thirty years I’ve done as I’ve been told, regardless of how I’ve felt of the words I’ve seen. But when I read these words, a disquiet grew in me. I couldn’t put them to the flame. These last weeks, I’ve seen words from the past have new life breathed into them. The words of Teporan Mane have rung true in these days, when before they were called the words of a madman and fantasist. We’ve seen those who worship long-forgotten gods come to us bearing aid, and speaking words of a corruption, a corruption of Dajda.”
“This is heresy!” shrieked the Tuannan who had been hit by the cup, his skin red with fury.
Subath smiled at Sister Arantis, and released her hand. He stood slowly, wincing as his knee pinched. He stepped around the table towards the Tuannan, holding the man’s gaze as he walked. The old man’s head seemed to shrink into the cowl of his habit as Subath reached out and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. “Up,” he growled, hauling the old man to his feet and away from the table. Subath half-lifted the old man onto his tiptoes and hurried him around the table. “Open that window, Governor.” Subath nodded to the window, and Merkham duly did as he was asked. “I’ve been very patient with you. But you have worn my patience to dust, and so I am done with you. Perhaps you can think of that as you make your way to the courtyard below?”
“Wait! Please! No!” the Tuannan pleaded. Subath stopped him right in front of the open window.
“Fine.” Subath released his grip, and shoved the elder forward, causing him to lean forward onto the window sill. “You stay here, and if you or your friend deem it necessary to interrupt again, I’ll push you out the window.” Subath patted the elder on the back and returned to his seat. “Now, Sister, please continue.” Her hand was trembling now as Subath reached out and held it.
“I read the words, and found there to be substance to the words of the Lihedan priestess, Dedicant Valus.”
“Explain what you mean,” Merkham pressed, stepping forward from where he stood by the wall.
“Yes, Sister,” Subath said, “please recount what you read. Remember, these words may shape all our futures.” Subath looked around and saw the elder’s whole body tremble where he stood by the window.
“The papers I read spoke of a unification of Dajda and Canna, to subjugate or destroy other gods, weaker gods. There are words of deception and entrapment. There was once a pantheon, of hundreds, and thousands. There was once an interwoven fabric of power that supported this world of gods. It maintained a balance, and gave strength to all the peoples of the world. Then Dajda and Canna joined forces and betrayed the others of the pantheon and sought dominion. Gods were destroyed, and their servants scattered. The few gods that relented and sought the mercy of Dajda and Canna yielded much of their worship, feeding it back to Dajda and Canna. They had achieved dominion, and made a pact to leave untouched each other’s children, and allow them to maintain an equal dominion.”
The elder by the window began to weep. “Forgive me, Mother.”
Subath turned around as he spoke. “I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut– No!”
The elder clawed himself onto the sill, avoiding Merkham’s reach, and threw himself out of the window.
“Brother!” Sister Arantis screamed, standing from where she sat.
“Hold him!” Subath pointed to the other elder, and the guard with the dented helmet stepped forward. The elder moved quick, snatching the guard’s knife from his belt and lunging at Arantis.
Arantis’ scream brought Subath spinning around. The blade point was driving towards the Sister, but Subath dropped his shoulder and shoved her to the ground before grabbing the wrist of the elder, twisting it around and up under his white-bearded chin. The man’s eyes widened, full of shock. His mouth sagged open and he coughed bright red blood up into Subath’s face. Subath let go of the elder’s wrist, and shoved him over onto his back on the floor. The man coughed once more, and then lay still as blood welled out around his head.
Leilah blew out her cheeks and shook her head. “Your Tuannan feel strongly about this, it seems.”
“The corruption does not stop with the gods,” Arantis said, taking Subath’s hand and coming to her feet. “It seems that some within the Tuannan have guarded these secrets.”
“We’ll need to secure the Tuannan Elder Council,” Merkham said in a hushed voice to Subath. “We can have them confined to the Tuannan Chapter House and guarded.”
Subath nodded. “There’s some paper and ink by my desk. You can write the order there. I’ll sign on to it.” Merkham headed over to the desk, selected a piece of paper, and began composing the order. “Sister,” Subath continued, “how far in to the Tuannan do you think this goes?”
“What I read suggested there has always been a protected sect within the Tuannan. A secret sect within a secret sect. There’s no telling how far, or how deep. But what is clear is that Dajda is not the benevolent deity she appears to be.”
“And the words of Major Ferah? The suggestion that there is a plot within the Cannan faith. Do you see a link there?”
“The words of Teporan Mane spoke of the great mother Dajda sleeping, and the risk brought to bear from that. I believe Canna seeks to take advantage of Dajda and break the pact between them to achieve complete dominion over the pantheon.”
Thirty-Four
Bound
Time moved in slow motion as Evelyne ran along the flag-stoned corridor. Yara ran before her, her dread-filled eyes searching over Evelyne’s shoulder each time she turned her head. They made it to the round landing and central staircase. “Wait.” Evelyne said as Yara took the first steps at a run.
“What?” Yara’s face twisted in panic. “We can’t wait. We need to run. Now!”
Missy came up from behind Evelyne and ran up the first few steps, only slowing as she realised Yara and Evelyne had both stopped.
“You saw him!” Yara hissed. “We need to run!”
I must get to the Horn, to Olmat. Evelyne looked back in the direction of the hallway she had run from, and then to the one which housed the room that held Olmat and The Horn. “Go,” she said to Yara, her eyes imploring her. “Get out of here. I need to do something.” Yara made to speak, but Evelyne shook her head and ran. She sprinted as fast as she could down the hallway. She slid to a stop, wincing at a sharp pain in her belly. She shoved at the tall black doors, ignoring the sickening sensation as she did so. The doors groaned open, and she saw the faint light from Olmat’s crystalline prison. She ran down the broad floor of the large room and stopped in front of her old friend. She looked over her shoulder to the Horn, then back to Olmat. What do I do? She heaved several deep breaths, and the
n stepped up to the crystal casing around Olmat. She lifted the bloody blade in her hand, only just realising she was still holding it. She struck once, and then twice, the blade rebounding off the crystal, leaving no more damage than a pair of bloody smears across the clear substance.
“Come on!” she screamed at the solid mass. She drove the point in, and the blade shattered, leaving a sharp shard of metal from the pommel.
“My beloved.” The voice from the entrance to the room sent a wave of cold panic across Evelyne’s skin. Her heart hammered and the sense of terror seemed to shrink within her, almost hiding. Dajda, don’t leave me now.
“Do not waste your strength on petty anger.” The voice was Grunnxe’s, but at the same time, it was something new. Powerful and resonant.
Evelyne turned to face him.
“There is nothing you can do for him. He will live forever, as my guest.” The body of Grunnxe walked towards her, bloodstained and pale. The dark eyes that held hers were, however, very much alive. He smiled to her. “As you are my guest also.”
“Stay away from me,” she snapped, lifting the knife up and placing its sharp edge over her wrist.
“My child.” The body of Grunnxe stood still, a red grin stretching the dead lips. “Why do you fight me so?”
“You are a demon.”
“I have been called that, yes. But I am so much more. I am a god!”
“You are nothing against Dajda.” Evelyne gritted her teeth, drove the sharpened edge of the knife into her left wrist and drew it up her arm with a scream. Dark blood welled up from the awful wound and spilled onto the flagstones and her feet.
A wet laughing noise sounded from Grunnxe’s body. “Do you really think I would allow you this end? Dajda cannot be freed from you by such an act.”
“You’re wrong.” Evelyne placed the knife into her left hand and gripped its pommel weakly. She drew in a shuddering breath and then drew the edge up her right arm. She dropped the knife and fell onto her knees, hands resting in the spreading pools of blood on the floor. She fought back the pain as her lifeblood poured from her body, and focused on the sense of light from within. A calm spread from her core, to her fingertips. Soon you will be free, Dajda. Take my child with you, bless it.
