Nathan found a steep stairway only a few feet wide ascending along the side of the sheer cliff face. The “Misty Cliffs” earned their name due to the spray from the ocean thrashing on the rocks far below sending clouds of water vapor blasting up the cliff-side to catch the ocean breezes to the sky. Each blast gently coated the steps of the path causing his foot to slide, sending him reeling breathless with his back press hard against the cliff wall.
The air felt brisk to his face and he inhaled deeply, feeling an odd invigoration with each breath. He remembered the stories of Father Brendan the Traveler, but never dreamed could actually be true. His stomach began to churn when the question came to mind – How did Father Brendan get back to his world from this one?
His captor moved to his side, prodding him to advance upward. Nathan marveled at the lucid azure sky blanketing a churning cerulean ocean that stretched as far as the eye could see to the West. Everything felt more vivid from the smell of the wind to the sun on his face. He thought to himself that he couldn’t be in Wales any longer, but his logic wouldn’t accept it completely. He focused more intently on the steps since any hesitation resulted in a sharp poke in his hindquarters with the business end of a knife which only made his weakened condition worse, causing him to move slower.
“What’s going on,” he asked.
“Shut up and keep moving,” she said and became more agitated with each passing moment. With increasing frequency, her hooded head tilted at the sky with searching, nervous motions that belied her confident bearing. The demons were close and she could feel it.
The area outside the tunnel was no more than a small landing allowing the bracken-red water of the stream to empty hundreds of feet below into the vast ocean that reached before them from the cliffs. She secured a cord around his waist and bound the other around her own. Yanking him along, she led him up the path into the mist of the cliff-side. Thoughts raced threw his head as he found himself staring at a large open sea on his right with crystal blue water. It wasn’t the Sea of home at all. The air blew cool and fresh like the first burst of winter so he took a deep breath and felt the sweet air fill his chest. Somehow, it took his weariness away. They mounted the stairway for what seemed like an hour when the clouds loomed closer becoming near enough to touch. Entering a cloudbank, navigation became a problem as she continually tugged at his cord to keep his pace up. As clouds rolled past his face, he began seeing scenes of people in the mists. Visions danced before his eyes as he saw people running, fire coming from a large gate and death, blackness, on every side. Faces appeared in the clouds off the side of the cliff, pleading him to listen, calling to him for help and showing him glimpses of horrific scenes. His side stabbed with pain as a voice echoed in his ears like the sound of the waves below.
“I have shown you, man, what is good and what I require of you,” said the voice.
He strained his eyes and could almost make out the images. Unconsciously, he moved forward a bit, stepping onto some loose rock but losing his balance and pitching over the edge of the trail into empty space.
“Are you crazy?” his captor yelled as she tried to stop his momentum.
He slid down the slide of the cliff several feet before the cord stopped on the edge. She pulled in the cord carefully across the protruding steps to avoid it breaking but it had wrapped around Nathan's neck and with each pull, tightened and chocked the life from him. His body twirled on the lead like a caught fish in the wind. She drew a blade and with careful aim, threw it in time to cut the bonds on his wrists. With one hand he relieved the tension on his neck, and with the other, reached the side of the stairway allowing her to heave him up.
She quickly cut the tightening cord around his neck as he collapsed on the steps gasping for breath. In the confusion, a brisk wind blew her dirty gray cloak back and away revealing her in full view for the first time. Her matted red hair curled over bare lithe shoulders, partially covered by a leather waistcoat that reached to her knees. The dust-covered coat pulled taunt across generous chest muscles decently concealing her bosom and making it apparent her primary goal is stealth, not fashion. Her graceful figure flowed from her hips separating into two athletic legs that rippled like a jungle cat as she tread. Her waist and legs sported tan leather pants that stuffed into knee high soft-sole boots smeared with dried mud at the top. Her animal-like tattooed face and pointed ears gave her the semblance of an escaped wild creature while the worn metal shackle encircling her fair neck enforced the thought, leaving a share of scarred and callused skin beneath it.
In spite of his gasping, Nathan couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d seen a few females during his life at St. David's, like the occasional villager or nun while on visits with Delgado, but this young woman both stunned and terrified him. Sensing his gaze, she quickly whisked her cloak about her and replaced her hood.
“Why did you save me?” He asked.
“You’re no use to me dead,” she said avoiding his gaze. “Do that again and I’ll throw you off this cliff myself.”
“Look, we have something in common, you and I,” said Nathan, pulling his curly hair back to show her his pointed ear.
“We have nothing in common,” she said under her breath. “I’m not a filthy Eldritch you witless idiot.”
“Can I at least know your name?” he sputtered.
“Isha,” she said. “Now, shut up and move.”
Nathan remained quiet for some time, partly due to his near death experience and partly due to his glimpse of the terrifying beauty with him. Snow began to fall on the trail making the going harder but they were finally leaving the clouded mist as the trail ascended. When they came to a landing of sorts and took some bandages out, Nathan saw blood dripping from deep cuts on her hands caused by the cord she pulled him up with. It was her reward for saving his life.
“Let me help,” he whispered slowly pointing to her swollen palms.
“Leave me alone, I heal quickly. As soon as you’ve had a breather, we continue,” she said. The landing walls were beautifully carved from the stone itself. Nathan marveled at the workmanship since it was clearly beyond anything that he had seen. Human faces were carved into the stone with writing around them.
“I know this writing,” said Nathan.
Abruptly, Isha motioned for him to be quiet. Nathan could see something ahead of them further up the stairway. They hide behind some boulders in a small hollow that was overgrown with vines and waited for several minutes but nothing appeared, a blast of cold wind whirled around the cliff-side yet no sound came to her sensitive ears. Isha shook her head in disapproval and slowly reached behind her, running her hand over the rock face and pressing a small circular stone in the wall. Slowly it gave way to a cave entrance as she pulled Nathan inside and shut the door behind them.
Five
“Round and Back…”
“This is Wayfare Outpost. We’ll stop here for the night,” she said with apprehension.
“What’s the matter?” asked Nathan.
“Nothing, go ahead,” she lied.
In truth, she hated these outposts but it was the only place that could give any shelter until they reached the plateau above. Her time in shackles had taught her a hate of small places and a love of freedom. These outposts were completely enclosed for security whether by dirt, stone, wood or ice and by their very nature, their confinement choked the spirit from her.
She pointed to a large secondary door at the end of the entry. Nathan was spent. The combination of the uphill hike and foul weather spent what was left of his energy. Isha went to the door, took out small bronze colored book from her pouch and held it to the door with her hand. A low rumble could be heard behind the door and it slowly moved inward. As it moved, torches flamed inside a large spacious room carved from the rock itself. It was warm and the air held the pungent scent of cedar and pine. The room was spacious yet cozy, rectangular in appearance and perfectly clean. There were two beds on either side of the room and on a table in the center of
the room sat baskets of fruit and bread next to a tray of butter and a container of red wine.
“Someone’s been here,” he said. Isha shook her head. “No. It has been many years since someone has been here.”
Nathan went to the table and took a piece of bread. It was still soft and warm.
“This bread is fresh,” he said.
She shook her head again, “That is the gift of an outpost. There is always fresh food and water here. When the traveler shuts the door, no one may enter unless bidden and the outside entrance is hidden.”
Nathan noticed a small, enclosed pool at the far end of the room fed by a stream of water that ran into a pool from a crack in the wall. He quickly went to it, pushed his face in the cold crystal depths and drank deeply. He had never tasted water so clear and clean in all his life. The pool seemed unusually deep for a room of this size. Isha sat beside him washing the blood from her cut hands. The shackle on her neck twisted and twirled as she moved, glinting in the shallow torchlight of the room.
“Why don’t you take that off,” he asked, pointing to her shackle. “I know you’re strong enough.”
“Mind your own business,” she said as she dried her hands on her cloak. She silently went to the table and poured some of the red wine.
“I’m sorry,” he said broodingly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s a sign of my position as a Grey Branch Blood Venger. I was just a little girl when they sent me to have a demon bound to me. I was violent so they chained me, had me beaten and…other things,” she paused for a moment, a look of pain glinted across her face and then subsided. “When they were sure I’d survived the bonding process, they sent back to my people to be made a Venger. I was the youngest ever joined to a Malakim demon.”
She remembered that horrible day when she was a little girl during – the ritual. It made her sick to think about it. She cried, begged, screamed and cursed but they gave her no mercy – not even her people. She was starved, whipped and chained face down in the mud until the hate flowed from her like a wellspring of destruction. That’s when it happened, when the demon came to claim her. The demon-hate took her, consumed her but made her strong. They told her she should be proud that such a high level demon had joined with her, but she knew better. Most children didn’t survive the process. It was heartless, barbaric and evil. The heat of her rage kept her warm and strong, or so she thought. But that was years ago, and now, she tasted freedom from the demon. For as long as she could remember, it used her and forced her to do its evil.
“So a Venger is the law-keeper?” Nathan asked.
“No, Vengers neither break nor enforce the law,” Isha said with a sly grin. “They are problem-solvers.”
Nathan remembered reading something like this in the Books of Moses. When someone took a life, whether by accident or on purpose, the law states they may run to a City of Refuge and throw themselves on the mercy of the elders of the city to be judged. There they are under the protection of the elders as long as they don’t leave the city.
“So you’re a hired killer,” he said with reluctance.
“The family of the victim wants vengeance – swift and effective. Most people in Akeldema are farmers, merchants and simple folk who rarely want to take the time to track down a guilt-runner and exact justice. So, they hire Vengers,” she said in an irritated tone.
“Do any of the runners ever make it to the Cities of Refuge?” asked Nathan.
“No,” she snapped, covering her knives with her cloak. “Now, shut up and eat.”
Her answer made his blood run cold for a moment. Demons love the dark, horrible end they put to the runners all in the name of justice. Deep in her heart, Isha came to hate what she had become, but could never gain enough control over her demon to stop. All she it allowed her to do was cry for the runner. That is why she cried so bitterly before each kill and why she was named – “The Weeping Death.”
Isha stopped eating for a moment and stared at her plate as the realization began to well up in her eyes. Her memories of the runners begging for mercy haunted her waking thoughts. She couldn’t keep her demon from killing them, but somehow, convinced it to make their end quick. This internal struggle cost her dearly since the demon wanted to see the runners suffer. It tormented her by allowing her control for brief moments, to see life and love around her, only to yank it away in sadistic glee like a phantom in the desert. Over time, she grew weary of fighting it all the time and allowed it to have its way. But what would she do now that it was gone?
“At least let me have a look at your hands, it was my fault you’re hurt in the first place,” he said.
“Why should you care?” she retorted with a deadly look in her eye.
“Please, I just want to help,” he begged.
“I don’t need your help, but if it’ll shut you up,” she said as she held out her hands.
In truth, fear crept into her from their first encounter making her cautious. She had been exorcised the first time he touched her and she had no idea what would happen if he touched her again. Nevertheless, she would not live in fear no matter what it cost, so, she faced her fear. Nathan took her hands in his, carefully examining the cuts. Her hands were powerful, incredibly strong yet smooth and graceful with nails that were long and sharp. The cuts were deep, angry and swollen yet she did not flinch as the cold water poured over her wounds.
As he worked, Nathan couldn’t help glancing at the iron shackle circling her neck. Her neck showed calluses and scars where the iron ring twisted and twirled as time wore it away. In places, the metal appeared thin enough for anyone to bend or break, let alone someone with her strength. In spite of his watchfulness, she noticed him staring at the shackle and pulled her hands away from him.
“It’s enough,” she said.
“Do you mind if I pray for you,” he asked.
“Pray? You’re calling a demon to help us?” she questioned.
“What are you talking about?” he said.
“That’s how the mancers summon their demons,” she said. “No one prays anymore except them.”
“This has nothing to do with demons,” he said as he closed his eyes, took her hands into his and began whispering an entreaty under his breath. Suddenly, something felt odd, so she pulled her hands away from him and stared at them in disbelief. Fresh new skin presented where the cuts had been, but more than that, she felt her neck underneath the iron shackle and the scars were nowhere to be found. Nathan looked down at her hands in amazement since he had no idea that it would actually work. At the monastery, he had prayed many times for many things; acceptance, punishment for tormentors and even that he might disappear somehow. But, none had ever been answered.
“You’re a mancer?” she asked.
“I’m a candlemaker,” he answered flatly as he took some food from the table and sat quietly.
Taking a booklet from her cloak, she placed her hand on the cover and whispered a few words under her breath. Laying the book on a flat stone in the corner, it slowly began to glow until blue flame encompassed it.
Nathan marveled at the amount of heat the book gave off and yet the book wasn’t consumed. As they ate, Nathan tried not to gawk at her, but his curiosity was too much for him. She had a sad, fierce look about her. But then, she noticed his eyes on her and turned herself toward the wall.
“I’m sorry, but there are very few girls where I live,” he said.
“No doubt you chased them away with your constant staring,” she said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean too,” he returned with embarrassment.
The room was comfortable enough with two sets of bunk beds in either corner of its rectangular expanse. Each wall was cut smooth and reached upward toward the tall vaulted ceiling. Murals covered each wall and as Nathan approached, it blurred and changed into another image as colors change in a prism depending on how the light hit it. The murals would have been shocking enough but some of the writing underneath them appeared familiar to
him somehow. He went to the first mural and began to study the writing.
“It’s an ancient script,” Isha said.
“Can you read it,” Nathan asked.
“Not much. It’s a silly tale told by old men and women around the fires at night. These outposts have been around for hundreds of years, but it was the past age that the Venger branches acquired them. According to fable, the tomewrights made these way stations so long ago,” she said. “The legends say there was time before the mancers, a time when The Emperor ruled in ancient Ariel, before the Mancers came. No one knew how, or why, they came. But supposedly, they knew the secret of ‘The Appearing’ when the first people came to Akeldema. It doesn’t matter now. No one cares.”
Nathan listened intensely, but something didn’t sound right. He looked carefully at the murals one-by-one, trying to decipher the language underneath. In many ways, it looked very similar Hebrew. But if it was, it proved far older than he had ever seen. Isha began laying her weapons on the table, cleaning them one-by-one with a rag and sharpening them with a whetstone she kept for that purpose. The sheer number of knives in her hidden arsenal made him nervous, but he took comfort in the fact that she didn’t want to kill him – at least, for the moment. He studied the paintings till night crept across the land and spread its black blanket across the trail outside the outpost. In time, combining the pictures and the text, Nathan began to understand more.
“There is more to the story according to these writings,” he said to himself. “The Mancers are pictured empty-handed in the earlier paintings but there is a demonic presence next to them causing great destruction. Yet, in the later pictures of the Battle of The Ariel Plains, they are each holding scrolls and causing great destruction, but the demon is nowhere to be seen.”
The imagery grew darker and more terrifying with each progressive mural depicting scenes of villages burning and people running in terror with demon-like creatures at their heels. However, one mural over the drinking pool didn’t appear menacing or foreboding. It showed a tunnel with red water pouring out much like the tunnel they just left. It could be a reference point on the murals, somewhat like the starting point on a map, but he couldn’t be sure. Nathan thought to ask Isha what she thought since she knew much more of their history behind the images. She didn’t sleep in the beds provided, but propped herself against the back wall sitting cross-legged, cloak wrapped around her and a blade in each hand. He needed her knowledge of their history so he walked to her and nudged her on the shoulder. Quick as a blink, both knives were at his throat and the hot flame of death was in her eyes.
The Last Refuge Page 5
