Among the Fallen

by NS Dolkart

  Perhaps Narky was going to throw up after all. His stomach seemed to be plunging down further into his abdomen – it was only a matter of time before it came back up.

  “That’s what we’re preparing for?”

  “That is what we are preparing the world for,” the Graceful Servant replied, sounding almost giddy. “Our fearless deaths will inspire the people to entrust their souls to Ravennis. All the people of the world will pay Him tribute, in life as in death.”

  “But how about God Most High?” Narky asked desperately. “I’ve spoken to fairies, and to the dragon Salemis, and they both say that God Most High is supreme among the Gods. Ravennis owns me and I am His servant in all things, – “whether I like it or not” – but is this plan realistic? How could Ravennis or His new followers stand up to God Most High?”

  The Graceful Servant laughed again, a high carefree sound that was more terrifying for its levity than any more malevolent laugh could have been. “How many generations has it been since God Most High was active in the world? How many more before He withdraws His attentions again? There will come a time when the world has forgotten God Most High, but they shall never forget Ravennis, king of the world below. One day, when you and I are both long dead, the world may come to believe that Ravennis is God Most High.”

  Narky thought of Criton, his anger and his determination. “Not among the Dragon Touched,” he said. “They’re not completely gone – my friend is one, and he has a child already. They’ll never abandon their God.”

  “The Dragon Touched,” the Oracle scoffed. “How many of them will there be? Not enough to convince the world that we’re wrong. God Most High may reign supreme in the heavens, boy, but Ravennis will have the earth.”

  Why did Narky find this all so horrifying? Ravennis was his God, after all. Why shouldn’t his God cheat and manipulate His way into power, especially when power and survival were synonymous as far as the Gods were concerned? And yet… the implications bothered him. For all that he had come to terms with his own tendency to take advantage whenever possible, he wasn’t that way on purpose. He had been trying his hardest to leave that part of him behind. Was it really possible that the God who had rescued him from himself now wanted him to embrace that side of his personality?

  This woman was a zealot, there was no doubt about that. Even the thought of sacrificing herself to her God’s ambitions seemed to fill her with nothing less than delight. Had the destruction of Laarna driven her mad, perhaps? He didn’t want to believe that she was right about everything.

  For one thing, he didn’t want to die. Certainly not soon. He hoped that Ravennis would settle for just one holy martyr and leave Narky out of it. The fact was that at this point he had little choice but to do whatever Ravennis wanted of him, even if that meant dying painfully in the near future. It seemed so wrong that his God’s survival should make him feel worse off, but there it was. It had been bad enough when all Narky had to fear from disobedience was becoming crow food; that had been before Ravennis took charge of the underworld. Now Narky could be absolutely certain that sooner or later, his God would get him. If Ravennis did find cause to punish him for disobedience, Narky might spend eternity being torn apart by holy birds every day, or every hour. He was trapped.

  The door opened and a man’s silhouette became briefly visible before whoever it was stepped inside and the door shut again, plunging them back into darkness.

  “Teacher?” the man called. His voice cracked a bit. “Are you here?”

  “I am here,” the Oracle said.

  “The priests of Magor are asking for you. They want… a confrontation.”

  The Graceful Servant chuckled. “Let them wait. First with apprehension, then with anger. Then with desperation, and then with resignation. By the time I appear before them, they will have given up hope.”

  “But Teacher, they will call you a coward!”

  “Death does not come when you call it,” she replied calmly. “But it comes.”

  “Yes, Teacher.”

  The door opened again, and the man stepped out. When they were alone once more, the Graceful Servant opened a door on the other side of the room and ushered Narky through it into a dimly lit bedroom. There was a cot here, and a window that had been bricked shut and now served mostly as a shelf for candles. The bricks were not mortared, and were spaced far enough apart that some small amount of light slipped in through the cracks.

  “You can stay here for a time,” the Graceful Servant said. “We will bring you what food you need, and there is a chamber pot beneath the bed. The man who killed Bestillos must not be known to the masses, not yet. Rumors of your presence will spread as it is; the gate guards saw you, after all, even if they could not move. When you go with me to the meeting with Magor’s priests, they will quake at the sight of you.”

  “So I’m a monster for frightening crowds now,” Narky said, sitting heavily on the bed, “and until you’re ready to use me, you’re going to keep me locked up.”

  The woman looked at him curiously. “Do you prefer it that way? To be an imprisoned monster, to take no responsibility for the role Ravennis has given you? Our God has chosen you above all others, has placed His mark upon your chest! Will you take no pride in His favor? When you slew the champion of Magor, the man who brought fire and slaughter past the gates of Laarna, did you not glory in the task Ravennis set before you?”

  Narky stared at her in the dim light. “You amaze me!” the Oracle cried. “Have you not done these deeds by choice?”

  “I chose not to let my friends die,” Narky snapped. “I don’t know about you, but Ravennis hasn’t ever told me what He’s up to. He showed me mercy, and gave me a second chance. He saved me. But He’s never explained Himself. I’ve just been doing what seemed right to me, trying to stay alive and follow whatever signs Ravennis sends me, and be… better. Better than I am.”

  He lapsed into silence, surprised and ashamed at how quickly his defiance had turned to confession. When the Graceful Servant spoke, her tone was softer.

  “You may not deserve your redemption,” she said, “but Ravennis is more merciful than the Gods above. Nobody in this world is good enough to join Them in the heavens, but Ravennis became Lord Among the Fallen so that we could share His mercy in the world below. Only through His love can we find kindness in the afterlife.”

  Narky’s eyes widened as he began to understand. “That’s what Ravennis told you?”

  The Oracle nodded.

  “And what happens to those who don’t find favor in His eyes? What’s the afterlife like for them?”

  This time she only shrugged, a smile creeping across her lips.

  “Gods above,” Narky breathed. “Gods above and Ravennis below. It’s not for His sake that you’re trying to convince people to worship Him, is it? It’s for their own sakes.”

  Another nod. The Graceful Servant’s eyes shone with the power of her belief, and as he looked into them with his own single eye, he began to feel that same strength growing within him.

  “We have to succeed,” he said. “Life in this world is short, but the afterlife doesn’t end! People have to know that only Ravennis can reward them in a way that lasts. My friends who worship God Most High are making a mistake – they’re only thinking about this life and not the next! I have to tell them. We have to make them understand that the favor of other Gods is meaningless! We have to spread the word!”

  “Yes, we do,” said the Graceful Servant, and her eyes twinkled in the dim light. “Welcome to the brotherhood of Ravennis. We are truly glad to have you.”

  7

  Criton

  When Salemis had disappeared among the clouds, Criton and his companions began their climb down toward his people. It took some effort – a part of him wanted to crawl away and hide. What would be worse: for his kin to reject his leadership, or accept it? He didn’t feel at all prepared to lead the Dragon Touched, but he still wanted their respect. What would he do if they laughed at him, or gen
tly listened to his words without giving them any weight? If Salemis said he was ready for this, he thought the Dragon Touched ought to accept that. But would they? After all, he couldn’t quite accept it himself.

  They were in sight now, all climbing toward him. His chest tightened in panic, and his breathing became heavy. How could Salemis have done this to him? How could his God? He had been so hopeful that Salemis would tell him what to do when he got here. Now he’d been abandoned.

  Bandu was at his elbow. “I am here. They don’t hurt you.”

  Criton looked down at her. “You’ll protect me?” he asked, smiling weakly.

  Bandu nodded, still looking down the mountain at the approaching crowd. Her face remained serious. “I always protect you.”

  They faced the descendants of Salemis together, while Hunter and Phaedra stayed a short distance behind. The Dragon Touched arrived not long afterwards.

  “Are you Criton?” the first asked, a big solid man in his thirties, with long brown hair that reminded Criton of his Ma.

  Criton nodded.

  The man regarded him seriously. “My uncle was named Criton, and he had a daughter named Galanea, who fled her home as a girl before the purge. Can it be that you are my cousin?”

  Criton nodded, stunned. “This is my family,” he said, by way of hasty introduction. “My wife Bandu, our daughter, our friends Hunter and Phaedra and – and that’s all of us.”

  “Who are you?” Bandu asked defiantly, pulling the top of her dress down so she could nurse Goodweather. Criton could hear Phaedra wincing at Bandu’s immodesty, and hoped she wasn’t shocking them too badly. He desperately wanted to make a good impression.

  “I am Belkos,” the man said. “My daughter is engaged to Hessina’s grandson.”

  “Really?” Phaedra asked. “How old is she?” Hessina had said the Dragon Touched married their children to each other early, but Belkos still seemed a bit too young to have a daughter of marrying age.

  “Eleven,” Belkos answered. “Letting them wait longer is too dangerous. If even one of us intermarried…”

  He broke off, eyes widening as he realized what he had said. Obviously Criton’s mother had intermarried. She had been pale like Belkos, her hair brown and wavy. Criton… was different.

  His feelings about his mother’s choice were more complicated now than he had even realized, and far too complicated to talk about in front of this crowd. Only Bandu would understand. She had a way of cutting through all the subtleties of a thing and plucking out its beating core.

  But Bandu! Criton had intermarried as well; maybe that was why Belkos had broken off so awkwardly. Did the Dragon Touched already disapprove of his marriage?

  “I understand,” Criton said, hoping to reduce the tension. “Your community might have been discovered.”

  “Anyway,” a tall woman said, “there will be no more hiding now.”

  “Right,” Criton agreed. “Salemis says God Most High is with us. As long as He’s with us, we have nothing to fear.”

  They continued the descent together and were soon surrounded by Criton’s kin. Criton had to admit that it felt strange to suddenly be one among many, to have a whole community where his scales and claws and fire breath were the norm. And yet… he still didn’t fit in. The Dragon Touched clearly saw him as a foreigner: exotic and unreliable. His darker skin put a greater distance between him and them than his scales and claws had ever put between him and Bandu.

  Being named as their leader only made things worse. They would never have chosen him of their own volition. Even as a decree handed down straight from God Most High, it was pretty presumptuous. How could he possibly lead these people? He hadn’t suffered with them; hadn’t had to hide like them; had never lived among them. It took imagination and focus for him to relate to their struggles, and they surely understood him even less.

  Why had God Most High chosen him? Was it some kind of misguided reward for freeing Salemis? In Ma’s stories, the hero was often rewarded with the throne of a far-off kingdom. Sometimes he achieved this by marrying a princess; sometimes he turned out to be the long-lost heir to the throne. Would she have been proud to see Criton living one of these stories? Maybe. But it didn’t feel like a reward now that he had it.

  Hessina was at the center of those who had not climbed up to meet them, but people made room for Criton and his friends to get by. “So,” Hessina said when she saw them. “Here is the boy who is meant to lead us. Come, Criton. Let us confer about the fate of your people.”

  There was an edge to her voice, though Criton could tell that she was doing her best to be civil. Naturally. She had led her people thus far, and was now being relegated to high priestess when before she had been everything. Criton sighed.

  “We haven’t got much time,” he said. “I don’t know if the Ardismen heard or understood Salemis, but plenty of them will have seen him, and seen us. How long do you think it’ll take them to raise a new army?”

  “I’m no strategist, but surely a week or two at least,” Belkos said, “and longer if they want a big one. But they’re dangerous to us even in total disarray. We have, what, sixty, seventy men and boys old enough to fight? A mob tonight could come close to wiping us out.”

  “Do we have weapons?” Criton asked. “Can we defend ourselves?”

  Hessina shook her head. “We lost all these things in the purge. Our neighbors have spears and armor, those who came back from the south alive and those who never left. In this season they tend their fields in the day, and at dusk they set their fires and spear-dance until the light dies. It is a rite of Magor.”

  “Then we should take their weapons now, before they can prepare themselves.”

  “It cannot be done,” Hessina said. “If you would attack now, they would raise an alarm. We would lose half our number before we were armed. The Ardisian women fight as fiercely as the men, and can wield a spear as well. Attack one house and the spears of the whole village will be set against you.”

  Phaedra made a noise. The islanders knew better. “I didn’t say we should attack,” Criton said. “I said we should take their weapons. You know your neighbors well enough, don’t you? You know the way they look, the way they speak. What’s to stop you?”

  His new kin looked at him in confusion. He would have to show them. So he made his hair grow longer and straighter. He lightened it and his skin, reworked his face, shortened and broadened his body as well as he could without tearing his clothes, and, with a touch of Psander’s illusion, made those clothes look more like those he saw around him. When he was done, he could easily have been Belkos’ twin.

  He clapped his cousin on the shoulder and surveyed the awed faces that surrounded him. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done this?” he said. “You’ve been hiding your dragon blood for ages now, making yourselves look more like your neighbors, and you’ve never tried being your neighbors?”

  “We’ve been hiding,” Hessina snapped, “not practicing transformations or playing dangerous tricks on our oppressors.”

  Still, Criton could see that she was impressed – she and the rest of the community.

  “Cousin!” Belkos cried. “That’s ingenious. We can simply walk into our neighbors’ houses and take their weapons and armor while their families look on!”

  “But what will we say to them?” a younger man asked. “What excuse can we give for taking up their arms?”

  “We will say,” Criton answered, “that the Dragon Touched have returned.”

  8

  Phaedra

  “This isn’t our fight,” Hunter said. They were standing on the outskirts of the crowd while Criton discussed strategy with his cousin and the other Dragon Touched. “The Dragon Touched don’t even want us here, Phaedra. And I love Criton like a brother, but I won’t kill for him again. Not for him, not for anyone. The lives of the men I’ve killed are already too heavy for me to bear.”

  Phaedra nodded absently. There would be war, and soon. For all that she did not wa
nt to leave Criton and Bandu, she did not belong in a war either. They had already left Narky to his fate in Ardis – did Bandu and Criton matter more than he did, that she should abandon one and not the others?

  The trouble was that Bandu needed her. As hard as it was to be human among the Dragon Touched, it would be so much worse to be the only human among the Dragon Touched. Bandu was suspect for being black, suspect for being human, suspect for being Criton’s wife. Criton was more suspect for being married to her. It would be a very difficult time for her, and Phaedra felt wretched for wanting to leave.

  And yet… she had things she wanted to do, things to learn that she could never learn from the Dragon Touched. The elves and dragons, Psander had said, grew their magic like a muscle of the body that could be exercised or neglected, but would grow naturally without any effort. Wizardry was not like that – it was a form of knowledge. With enough discipline and instruction anyone could learn it, and Phaedra meant to.

  In the heyday of academic wizardry, Phaedra could have found any number of wizards to teach her the basics; now the only living wizard was trapped in another world. Phaedra’s hope was that there were still other sources from which to learn: lesser magicians, or books that Psander had failed to gather in her library. With their natural magic, the Dragon Touched would be of no use in that regard.

  “You want to leave Hagardis?” Phaedra asked.

  “Yes,” Hunter said. “This is no place for me now. It’s no place for anyone who refuses to fight.”

  “Where do you plan on going?”

  Hunter looked embarrassed. “I didn’t have any particular place in mind. I thought maybe I’d take a ship to one of the outer islands where I can actually blend in, and try to learn a trade. But I don’t know where exactly, or even what trade I ought to take up.” He hesitated. “Would you go with me?”