Noah blasted through the doorway taking half of it with him and tumbled along the ground covered in flames. The monster roared in frustration as he rolled about in the dirt. Once the flames were extinguished he turned to glare angrily after Ilgrin, but instead of pursuing, he fled into the night. Ilgrin took the opportunity to land and tear open the crate he’d been carrying in his toes. Inside, all he found was a large pile of daggers.
‘Damn it.’ Ilgrin hung his head.
‘If I may ask,’ Jakob tilted his head. ‘What was your plan?’
‘I wanted something to spread the fire east around the New World army,’ Ilgrin replied. ‘My people could fly to safety and their army would be trapped.’
‘I don’t think the fire needed any help.’ Jakob turned slowly to take in the devastation. ‘Hel has been destroyed . . . and the battle is over.’
‘You’re right.’ Ilgrin sighed as he watched silt homes crumbling through a haze of thick smoke. Here and there, small skirmishes broke out when soldiers leapt from their hiding places wielding swords, but there were so few humans remaining that their attacks were short-lived.
‘What now?’ Jakob shook his head at the senseless destruction surrounding them. ‘Hel is ruined.’
‘They’ve destroyed everything we have,’ Ilgrin said bitterly. ‘Now . . . I’m going to return the favour.’ He turned to face Jakob with a hateful sneer. ‘Spread the order. Resurrect everyone.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MOTHER
Kintor was a small city in the southernmost parts of Kilk. It had no true walls--not the type that would prevail in battle, anyway. To compensate for this lack of protection, the city lords had agreed to construct watchtowers where soldiers could be posted armed with bows, arrows--and, more recently, pistols. On that particular day, the watchmen knew that their arrows would do very little to protect them, so they simply clung to their bows and quivered in fear of the strange anomaly taking place before their eyes.
Kintor had always been a rather bright city, despite being so close to the borderlands. Occasionally a whisp might’ve drifted up from Old World, but for the most part, their little city was free of grief or suffering. It’d been that way since the dawn of time--until about a month or two earlier, when mysterious visitors had been seen entering from the south. It had been a slow transformation, but a transformation nonetheless. The previously joyous Kintor that its citizens had known and loved had since become a darker place. And it wasn’t just the steadily approaching whisp cloud in the south that brought with it a sense of foreboding. No, there was something happening to the city itself.
The watchmen were especially aware of the darkness within the city. Why wouldn’t they be? From such a vantage point, they were able to see everything within and without. It was for this reason that they squatted low and shook in fear as they eyed the woodlands in which their humble city was nestled. The trees had become strangely animated. Each of them struggled against their roots in an effort to lean away from the city, whether it be to the north, south, east, or west, dependant on their position. The birds had disappeared earlier that very day and chained dogs howled unapologetically. The wind was furious, leaving not a loose item to rest unmolested.
Of course, the watchmen were only human and could not have known about the woman screaming in pain on a bed in a house toward the centre of the city.
Seteal Eltari had suffered a great deal of pain in her life--both physical and emotional--but this pain was unlike anything that’d preceded it. She couldn’t remember much of her time at Mistress Daorey’s house. Most of it had passed by as some sort surreal haze. Seteal had spent the time in misery. For the remainder, she’d been in pain. But this pain was something that couldn’t be ignored, surreal haze or none. It was as though the child were fighting against her, refusing to leave. Blood spilt continuously from between Seteal’s legs and out of her nose and her mouth and her eyes and her ears. She coughed and sneezed a spray of blood. There’d been blood in her urine and in her vomit.
‘Come on, honey, you have to push.’ Mistress Daorey squeezed Seteal’s hand. ‘Push!’
Squeezing her eyes and clenching her teeth, Seteal pushed, but once again only felt the hot splash of blood. She was dizzy. She couldn’t stand to lose much more.
‘Push!’
‘I am pushing!’ Seteal screamed.
‘Push!’
An alien cry ripped into existence. At first, Seteal didn’t recognise the sound, but knew her baby had been born, as the nausea that had plagued her so long vanished. Seteal turned her head, both fearful and reluctant to meet the child. She reached out and took the boy into her arms. A sob broke free of her chest and Seteal burst into tears. There was nothing wrong with him. He was an ordinary little boy. He had four limbs and pink skin, the slightest bit of hair atop his head. She’d so feared a monster. Her soul had writhed at the prospect. Now she wept freely and gripped her son close, celebrating his normalcy.
‘Parrowun,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Mommy loves you.’
Parrowun opened his tiny eyes and stared into Seteal’s. Her stomach leapt to her throat as his eyes penetrated in her.
‘Familiar aren’t they?’ Master Fasil put his hand on Seteal’s shoulder before leaning down to kiss Parrowun on the cheek.
Seteal lay in the mud, beyond screaming. Her face was bloody and beaten. She squinted through swollen black eyes and looked into her attacker’s. Fasil pushed himself into her, tearing her, his eyes filled with pleasure and not the slightest bit of remorse. Those dark eyes, almost black.
‘Ye all right, Seteal?’ Fes removed her hand from Seteal’s shoulder.
‘Yes . . . I’m fine.’ She swallowed, unable to tear her eyes from Parrowun’s. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘I’ll take the baby,’ El-i-miir offered. ‘I’ll get him cleaned up while you rest.’
‘Thank you.’ Seteal closed her eyes.
‘Ye be restin’ for a few minutes, lovey,’ Fes said softly. ‘I’ll come back ta clean ye up in a bit.’
‘Okay,’ Seteal said almost inaudibly. Fes had already done a good preliminary job tiding her up, having wiped away most of the blood and cleaned up the afterbirth. As far as Seteal was concerned, the woman was amazing. As she drifted off to sleep she couldn’t help but worry. If Parrowun was perfectly healthy and Seteal could no longer feel the whisp within her, where exactly had it gone? Perhaps it’d simply dissipated, as some had been known to do.
*
El-i-miir rocked back and forth in the chair with Seteal’s son sleeping in a brown blanket in her arms. She squinted at him long and hard in the hopes of finding some vague glimmer of an aura, but there was nothing. She sighed, her heart in turmoil as to whether she should tell Seteal. Should she really say something that would only serve to upset the fragile woman? Other than his lack of a visible aura, the boy seemed quite normal.
‘Is like me.’ Seeol scrabbled across the room and peered up at El-i-miir through narrowed eyes. ‘Is is is.’
El-i-miir ignored the bird until he’d scurried off again. She smiled at the baby boy and kissed his cheek, before moving her hand to stroke his soft hair. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she whispered warmly as Fes waddled into the room. ‘How is she?’ El-i-miir asked.
‘I got her ta have a bath so she be more properly cleaned up.' Fes smiled. 'She be restin’ again now. How be the ben?’
‘He’s just perfect,’ El-i-miir lied, as the little boy’s eyes fluttered open and he stared into hers. His face scrunched up and became red. ‘What’s wrong?’ El-i-miir said in distress as the child became tearful.
‘Give him here.’ Fes took the baby and rocked him expertly until he’d settled down. ‘El-i-miir,’ she gasped. ‘Your nose.’
‘What?’ El-i-miir put a hand to her face and when she pulled it away found blood on her fingers. ‘Oh, my,’ she uttered, hurrying off to get a towel.
‘Ye be all right?’ Fes asked.
‘It’s just a nose bleed,’ El-i-miir m
umbled. ‘It’s probably stress. I think I’ll have a lie down.’
*
Far-a-mael pulled his horse to an abrupt stop to gaze up at the looming mountains of the Fourth Cleff. He tried to feel for the general destination of the fourth high elder, but the Ways were failing him increasingly with every passing day. He lifted his swollen green hands and counted a total of seven remaining fingers and four fingernails. There was a lump in his right hand which tended to move about, giving Far-a-mael the distinct impression that a critter of some kind had made itself at home beneath the surface. He shuddered in disgust and kicked his horse forward.
As Far-a-mael approached a cliff-face of pure ice that erupted almost vertically out of the ground and continued several miles into the sky, he slowed his horse in search of the main entrance. Two elaborately carved doors standing three times the height of a man seemed a fitting enough portal for entry. Sliding from his horse’s back, Far-a-mael made his way over to the an’hadoans guarding the entrance. They opened the doors for him without question and backed away.
‘Has Gez-reil come?’ Far-a-mael asked one of the young men.
‘I’m not certain.’ The an’hadoan’s lip quivered. ‘But I’m sure he has come if you summoned him, War Elder.’
Simply grunting in response, Far-a-mael made his way into the belly of the cliff that served as the Fourth Cleff’s most important structure and residence to the local high elder.
‘War Elder Far-a-mael.’ High Elder Til-im-ra approached, perhaps having felt Far-a-mael’s presence on the Ways. ‘As always, your company is an honour.’ Til-im-ra smiled behind his long white beard as he approached, grey robes swishing behind him. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I need your hadoan,’ Far-a-mael said plainly. ‘The hadoans of the Sixth and Seventh Cleffs were insufficient and I’ve come to gather reinforcements.’
‘Let us speak in private.’ Til-im-ra’s face became gloomy as he ushered Far-a-mael into a small side room. ‘Did you not gather the outlanders’ armies?’ the high elder asked once he’d sat at a large table and indicated Far-a-mael to do the same.
‘Of course I did,’ he grumbled, ‘but they were not enough. That’s why I need every an’hadoan that the other six cleffs have to offer. Maker knows the Brinnians, Abnatians and those fools from Egsean will be utterly useless in battle, but I may yet be able to gather assistance from Gordin, Shinteleran, and Gor Narvon, too.’
‘Tell me of your success thus far.’
‘I can taste the victory.’ Far-a-mael smiled proudly. ‘We’re almost there. The angels proved to be invaluable. Hel’s legion didn’t know what’d hit them. I ordered the armies of New World to take Hel and I have no doubt that by now they’ve done so. With Hel secured, the destruction of whatever other minor legions exist should be easily accomplished.’
‘I’m not so sure, Far-a-mael.’ Til-im-ra rubbed his chin. ‘Gez-reil will be here tomorrow. We should wait to discuss it with him.’
‘No.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘No,’ Far-a-mael repeated.
‘I am the high elder of the Fourth Cleff,’ Til-im-ra raised his voice and stood. ‘I will decide if and when to release my hadoan into your hands.’
‘I am the War Elder of the Unified Cleffs,’ Far-a-mael stated. ‘You and the others gave it your approval last Gis-el-yadorn. Now you must bear the consequences of your decision. In times of war, there is one authority. That authority is mine. I am giving the order that every hadoan from the First through to Fifth Cleff are to assemble north of Esp in Egsean. From there, we will make our way south, gathering as many New World allies as we’re able.’
‘Have you lost your mind?’ Til-im-ra gasped. ‘If you take everyone, you’ll be leaving the Frozen Lands utterly defenceless.’
‘That’s not true,’ Far-a-mael replied. ‘The Eighth Cleff has not yet been touched. I’ll order their hadoan to divide into equal parts to be split among the cleffs.
‘That’s not nearly enough,’ Til-im-ra cringed. ‘It’s an insult. I promise you now, Far-a-mael, if you haven’t utterly destroyed us by the time this war is done, I will personally condemn you to Vish’el’Tei.’
Far-a-mael smiled with smug conviction. ‘By the time this war is done, I promise you will have changed your mind.’
*
It’d been weeks since the attack on Hel, more than half of which was a charred ruin. The other half had become a glorified refugee camp, with far too many silts per tree. It’d taken a great deal of time to resurrect everyone who wasn’t too dead, and even longer to bury those who were Especialy as it was silt tradition to bury the body in a box filled with soil and seed so that they too may become a part of the forest that provided for them. Then parents and lost children had to be reunited. Troops had to be gathered. Food and shelter had to be found for the homeless and an army had to be reformed. But after many countless hours of work from Ilgrin’s most loyal associates, all these things had been accomplished.
Noah felt it was fitting to refer to him as Ilgrin, rather than Sa’Enoch. To think of him as Sa’anything was to assign an honour to him that he didn’t deserve. Noah peered out over Ilgrin’s gathering legion army from his home in the caves in the cliffs. He narrowed his eyes furiously and fantasized impaling Ilgrin on one of his horns.
The imposter had taken his legion. Noah was meant to be the true Devil. He could see that now more than ever. After all, why else would Maker have blessed him with horns so similar to those on Sa’Tan’s crown? Why would Maker have given him such a strong, powerful body? Noah saw it all so clearly now. He was Sa’Tan reincarnated. In these troubled times, Maker had resurrected the true Devil to lead his people out of the hands of the current rebellious demon king.
‘I will not let you down, Father,’ Noah’s deep voice rumbled up from the depths of his chest.
Glancing down at the torn rags that clothed him, Noah sneered in contempt. He shouldn’t have to live in a cave. He was Sa’Tan, for Maker’s sake. The beast shuddered in sorrow as he thought of his beautiful May. She, too, had been held prisoner in a dungeon much like his beneath the great tree. Noah looked over the charred legion, without confusion as to her fate. Did Ilgrin care about the loss of May’s life? No. He probably hadn’t even thought about her since he’d locked her up.
Noah roared furiously, slamming a grey fist into the cave wall so that chunks of rock rained down around him.
Hose-a
2-3. Rebuke your mother, rebuke her: for she is not my wife, neither am I her husband. Therefore put away her whoredoms out of sight, and her adulteries from her breasts lest I strip her naked and make her as bare as on the day she was born, and make her as a desert, and turn her into a parched land, and slay her with thirst.
4. And I will not have mercy on her child, for he is the child of whoredoms.
5. For his mother hath played the harlot.
Scriptures of the Holy Tome
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A FORMIDABLE FOE
Seteal closed the wooden door and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. She took a step away from Mistress Daorey’s house. Then she took another. It was the first time she’d been away from Parrowun since giving birth to him a week earlier. Her hesitation in leaving him was silly. Seteal knew that. Parrowun was in the very capable hands of Fes and Mistress Daorey, both having had children of their own. Especially Fes. She’d had heaps.
Once outside the gate, Seteal turned back to wave at Briel, who was working in the yard.
‘Go on Seteal,’ the Merry Islander encouraged. ‘Ye ought ta be gettin’ out for some fresh air.’
‘Well, I’ll see you in a bit,’ Seteal replied awkwardly.
The streets of Kintor were mostly empty. The same could not be said for the city centre, where people bustled about their daily affairs. The post office door was in constant motion. A young boy raced on his bicycle selling newspapers. An old man played the fiddle, all the while keeping a careful eye on the upturned hat at
his feet. Seteal smiled at the excitement. She’d have never come across such activity in humble little Elmsville. Still, she knew it was time to go home, and very much looked forward to seeing her friends and father.
Seteal handed over three coins to purchase some bread and cheese at a corner stall. She continued down the street and stumbled across a fruit stand where she bought three apples and two pears. She turned the corner and slammed face-first into a man’s chest.
‘No,’ she choked out, her heart racing. ‘Leave me alone!’ she cried, pushing against the man’s chest before seating herself on the ground where she leant against a building and kept her face hidden.
‘Are you all right, miss?’ Master Fasil offered his hand.
‘Get away.’ Seteal kicked out at him. ‘You’re a wicked man. You’re an evil, wicked man. Get away from me. I hate you. I hate you!’
‘Right.’ The stranger backed away with wide eyes. ‘You can sort yourself out, then.’
Sobbing and gagging for a lungful of air, Seteal remained in place for some time. Her heart began to slow and she was able to breathe. She gathered up her bags, got to her feet, and picked up the apples that’d rolled across the path. She dusted off her dress and leaned against the building. Seteal’s hands were shaking and she found it quite impossible to prevent them from doing so. She reached out to the Ways but felt only the heavy burden of Far-a-mael’s anchor, as strong as ever and fixed in place. Her only place of respite had been stolen by that treacherous old man.
Seteal took a step back toward the city and watched a small cloud of dust that was kicked up by her boot. ‘You can’t keep behaving this way, Seteal,’ she reprimanded herself. ‘They’ll have you locked up.’
Refusing to give in and seek refuge at Mistress Daorey’s house, Seteal spent several hours in a local park watching the ducks swimming. She fed them some of her bread and giggled at their willingness to approach. She must’ve seemed like a monster to them and yet they were willing to risk their lives for a commodity so modest as bread. Seteal watched the ducks scatter fearfully as she stood and couldn’t help but realise that they were somewhat like her. They pushed the boundaries and then ran in terror at the slightest sign of movement. It was time to go home.
The Inner Circle: Holy Spirit Page 24
