by Dan Brigman
Despite his lameness, the man shifted quickly enough to nearly surprise Melek through the bazen. Through the guard’s fear, he had not noticed the corpse in the mud directly behind him. As he turned, the guard tripped over the body. He fell forward into the blood and the rain-soaked mud. A simple whimper was all that came from his mouth before Melek jumped. He landed with his legs astride the guard. With one clean blow, he thrust the greatsword downward into the man’s neck. All Melek heard over the dripping rain was the sickening crunch as he twisted toward the next combatant.
Another shopkeeper, twenty paces away, had landed a wild blow on a villager Melek did not recognize. Melek felt anger rise in his throat as a bestial yell erupted from his mouth. The anger threatened to overwhelm the bazen shrouded within his being. Even Melek did not recognize the unhuman sound. The sound took the form of pure rage; redness and blackness that darkened his vision. At the edge of his consciousness, Melek noticed that all the people fighting on the street started at the sound. Some of the men lost their wits long enough to be cut down.
Melek seemed to take flight as he moved to the shopkeeper, who simply watched Melek sprint across the blood-soaked mud. The shopkeeper instinctively raised his shortsword to parry the blurring greatsword. Melek knocked aside the feeble parry and the man’s sword arm aside as easily as shooing away a fly in annoyance.
Before Melek’s sword connected to the shopkeeper’s body, fear overshadowed the man’s face. Melek had begun the swing with finesse to end the man’s life quickly, but the fear in the shopkeeper’s eyes unleashed the brutality which had nearly overcome Melek. The swing caught the shopkeeper across the right jaw and tore off the top of his head. The dead man spun back into the air and landed several feet away from Melek. Dead. He’s no longer a threat. The thought flickered through the bazen as Melek turned to find the next man to kill. His thoughts were consumed by three words. End this madness!
Even with the anger, layered fractionally beyond the bazen, Melek watched the remaining figures, now all men, running from the street. His mind knew he could not catch them. Even the battle-spurred adrenaline would not assist Melek catch them, as they ran on fear-fueled legs. Before they disappeared, a few of the men glanced over their shoulders in horror at the man in the middle of the street who stood covered in the blood of his people. The spattering rain already began washing the blood down his body in streaks, causing him to appear like some grim visage from the fleeing men’s worst nightmares.
Melek felt the bazen abruptly rip away like his own gore-soaked weapon severing off a piece of his mind. His actions came back to him in an onslaught that drove him to his knees. He had brutally killed several normally-peaceful men in a matter of moments. Killing had never come easy to him, even in the most dire of circumstances. Now he felt as if he would not be able to look in the face of anyone in the clan.
What clan? he wondered.
The sense of loss quaked his being. Tears flowed down his cheeks while Melek tried to consider what had happened. The clan is no more. Even those fleeing traitors are no longer part of the clan.
He had no need to look around to know all the people in the street lay dead. Years of conditioning through his bazen brought Melek’s instincts into sharp focus. On the edge of his consciousness his senses took in the scene. Through his despair, he could not detect the noise or movement of a single human being. He could hear only the drizzling rain rhythmically pattered on the thatched roofs and fallen bodies with water splashing into wooden gutters. A gentle stillness had fallen over the trading community. The stillness of death.
Melek could not seem to rise from the mud as the rain and death washed over him. His knees squished deeper into the muck. Then a sharp noise, like cracking ice or glass, tore through the street, startling Melek back to full awareness. Following the noise, another faint sound of glass pieces hitting the ground intermingled with the falling rain. The thought, What could possibly be going on now? flickered in Melek’s mind. Without moving his body, he turned to face to the direction of the noises. He did not, at first glance, discern what had made the noises. Within another breath the search ended when a second-story window exploded outward, showering the street directly below with shards of glass. Melek instantly knew the location of the window. Malkari! Gods protect him.
While just a moment before Melek could not have risen from the street, the apparent danger to his charge, the stranger, shocked his body into motion. As he leapt to his feet, he spun in the air to land on the balls of his feet. Almost as soon as he landed, his legs surged into a full sprint. Then, in three paces, he skidded to a stop—a keening cry of anguish, coming from out of the broken window, stopped his movement. The voice’s deep, soulful anguish struck at the center of Melek’s spirit. The voice brought a flash of the memory to the forefront of Melek’s consciousness. The final image of Loken’s face, before his death, filled Melek’s vision, and he felt the world lurch around him. The vision seemed to last an eternity as the voice persisted in its anguish. Time seemed to stop until a bright flash of light erupted outward from the broken window.
The street around Melek blackened to pitch as the light had flashed. Then it was gone just as quickly. Despite the blinding afterimage of the light, Melek stumbled forward, using only his vague memory of where the bodies lay upon the street to avoid tripping. When his right foot struck a wood board a few moments later, he took a moment to orient himself. The afterimage had somewhat disappeared in his erratic movement to the building, but the brilliance of the light persisted. despite how many times he blinked his eyes.
“Blighter’s tears,” Melek cursed. He shifted the greatsword into his left hand and felt the wooden planks of the clan leader’s home with his right hand. Moving to his right, Melek shut his eyes and blindly followed the wall several paces until his foot touched the wooden steps leading into the vestibule. With his hand he felt the empty space where the door still stood open; he reached his leg up onto the steps. The memory of the stairs’ exact location flashed in his mind and with a satisfied grunt, he leapt upward into the room. Landing softly, Melek opened his eyes to test his vision. It had cleared enough to see the dark stairway that lead up to the Alterator’s room. Bright slivers of light snaked along his sightline, blurring when he altered his gaze. At the lower edge of his vision, he caught sight of the fallen clan leader. Why’d you do this, old friend? Loken’s face flashed before Melek’s vision again. Through the bazen Melek pushed the image aside.
As the unanswered question echoed throughout Melek’s mind and around the bazen, he leapt over the body in one smooth motion to land close to the doorway. He waited for two breaths, listening for movement, and ran up the stairwell, heedless of his heavy footfalls thumping against the stout wood. Taking the steps three at a time, Melek stood at the Alterator’s door in a moment. The wide-open door offered a sight inside the room to snatch Melek’s breath away. Had it not been for the scene, the stench alone would have gagged him.
Malkari lay seemingly in an unconscious heap underneath a shattered window. Several pieces of glass swung precariously over his head in the window frame. Light from the afternoon sun, which had pierced through the clouds still dropping rain, glinted off the swinging pieces spotlighting the bloodshed. His clothing had several noticeable cuts and blood considerably stained those areas. Not good. Blood had pooled away from his legs and torso, and his eyes stared upward toward the ceiling. Not good, Melek’s mind stalled at the repetition.
Three featureless bodies lay sprawled throughout the room. All three of them had been burnt beyond recognition and still smoldered. Their clothing had burned away, leaving a pile of ash around each body. Small smoke trails escaped from the bodies to create a lingering haze. Melek rubbed his eyes at the caustic fumes irritating his pupils. The carefully organized table had been upended and broken into two pieces. The marble cabinet lay in large chunks on the wooden floor with black marks marring the once-polished surface.
Melek’s eyes followed the line of bodies from
Malkari’s. One body had fallen close to Malkari, and a longsword stretched out from underneath the body. Another one of the bodies lay in the middle of the floor with a plain shortsword close to his desiccated right hand. The third husk lay lengthwise from Melek’s feet. A vague head-like shape was closest to Melek, apparently facing the direction of the door. What was once a crossbow, small enough to be held in one hand, sat next to the collapsed beds. The sight of the beds caused Melek’s heart to miss a beat. The world seemed to wobble past the bazen. Nobody could survive such an attack by an Alterator. No one.
The thought nearly brought him to his knees again. Until another realization forced his legs to move.
17 — Absolution
From inside the Ohnerben Eosy and Kylia stood over Celex’s still form. He lay upon a bed, covered with blankets up to his chin. Despite the bed’s size, Ellia lay next to him under the numerous layers of woolen cotton quilts and patchwork blankets. They could see their mother’s arms rubbing Celex. The bed had been pulled close to the narrow stone fireplace inside the cramped bed chamber. Only one closed four-paned window would have offered any glimpse into the night, but Ellia had pulled the thin red curtains together.
Yabusan, the innkeeper, had led them all upstairs with Celex in Jaken’s arms. The whole time, Yabusan muttered. They caught only a few words: “Fools” seemed to his standard choice, though. Neither Jaken nor Yabusan had been seen in near a half hour according to the small sand clock upon the red-stained wooden mantle. Candles lie on several surfaces—a waist-high chest of drawers and a narrow wooden shelf—conjoined with the firelight to dispel most shadows lingering in the room. Celex’s blue lips, combined with his shining face, had kept both his sisters on their feet until, finally, Eosy pointed out, “His lips.” A hand went to her throat, a wide grin replacing the grim frown.
Kylia stared and nodded in agreement. “Some color is coming back,” she replied before collapsing onto a nearby stool. Eosy wringed her hands together, relief rushing in through feelings of the coldness still permeating their bodies. The initial panic of Celex’s condition had stifled their own fatigue and worries. Eosy rubbed her arms for a moment, then set three logs into the fire. She rubbed her palms together before holding them toward the fire, letting the warmed air do its work.
Within a few moments, Kylia stood and asked, “Do you need anything, mother?”
Ellia shook her head. She mouthed, “No, thank you.”
Kylia joined her sister at the fireplace and as she began to speak, the door opened. Jaken slid inside and closed the door behind him. The sisters turned; he peered down at the bed, then up to them, before he went further into the room.
He whispered, “Yabusan is getting us a physicar. Almost impossible in this weather. Almost.” Both Eosy and Kylia sighed, their shoulders slumping. “It may be a few hours, though. You’d both be better off getting some sleep while we wait. I’ll come wake you when the physicar arrives.”
Eosy replied, “Where will we sleep?”
“I’ve gotten us all rooms.” Jaken grinned. “We had plenty of choices considering the weather. And they’re cheap, too. The physicar won’t be, but what matters is your brother’s life.” For the first time both sisters noticed Jaken now wore black trousers and a brown-black long-sleeved shirt. Even his weapons had been removed. Without his gear on, they realized that he had sweated under his winter garb. They grinned sheepishly at one another before Jaken continued, “Come on. I’ll keep an eye on them.”
Jaken showed them the room and went back to Celex. The girls’ room had one large bed, big enough for two adults, and one smaller bed. Their bags lay on a large narrow table, and a hidden fire in the metal woodstove heated the room. Both removed their outer garments and put on their pajamas, uncaring of the wrinkles, and plopped into bed together. Three layers of blankets helped them to reach sleep, but not before Eosy asked, “Do you think he’ll really be fine?”
“Yes,” Kylia replied, sleep slurring the word.
“Kylia, we haven’t brushed our hair in days,” Eosy muttered though a sleepy yawn. “It’ll be a mess.”
“Go to sleep, Eosy. If you do, I’ll show you something I’ve learned. But, sleep.” Through Kylia’s barely open eyes, she noted sleep took hold of Eosy within seconds. Kylia’s sleep came a breath later.
Dreams fled from Kylia’s mind as fleeting sunlight crept over her eyelids. The sun gleamed off the falling snow through the half-closed white floor-length curtains. She groaned, first in protest to waking, and then in welcome relief from the room’s warmth. Someone had fed the fire while they had slept. Kylia yawned, mouthing her thanks to the unknown person. Eosy lay asleep, her mouth open and long hair in webs across the pillow. Kylia pushed the cover away before scooting off the bed to the floor. Even the floorboards are warm. She dressed quickly in her travel-worn clothing before slipping her stocking feet into the leather boots. She adjusted the quilts up to Eosy’s neck, then turned to the door and walked back down to Celex’s room. She paced slowly, her footfalls clicking on the worn wooden boards, giving herself time to remember Celek slept within.
Within a few steps Kylia remembered Celek’s door. A wave of nausea washed over her just as reached for the doorknob. What if he’s still freezing—or worse, dead? The last word hung in her mind as she swallowed, then gripped the knob. It turned and clicked open. Kylia pushed the plain wooden door in. Three sets of eyes watched her every movement as she entered. The first two were Celex and mother. The third person, perhaps a head shorter than Ellia, smiled as Kylia walked in. Her grin met her gray-green eyes and wrinkles lined her face. She had pulled her whitish-gray hair back into a tight bun. A dark red ribbon tied around its base hung to her waist. Her tight, but well-fitting woolen, maroon dress illustrated her close attention to the dictates of her profession. Only a strand of hair floating lazily above her head and sleeves rolled to her elbows tarnished the image of a proper physicar.
“Welcome, child. Please come in,” the older women offered in pleasant tones. One of her small hands beckoned her forward.
“Hi, sis,” Celex said as he lifted his hand for a slight wave. Kylia smiled and looked back at the older woman.
“I’m Kylia, ma’am.”
“Aye. I know. Your mother’s told me a great deal about you and your sister, who still slumbers, I presume?” Kylia paced closer to the bed, nodding in reply.
“My name is Pauna Ter Sa’un. I’ve been watching over your brother through this morning.”
Kylia’s eyes widened. “Physicar Ter Sa’un, it’s an honor to meet you.” She bowed slightly at the waist, as her mother had taught her before continuing. Pauna nodded, her gaze not shifting from Kylia’s face.
“I have the honor of meeting an Alterator’s daughter and his wife. Please call me Pauna while I am with you. Out there,” she motioned to the exterior wall, “my title would be appropriate. It would be best if you didn’t mention what your father does. Despite my respect, many villagers don’t harbor the same feelings.”
“I’ve told them all that, Pauna,” Ellia said. Her tiredness and worry infused the words. She caught the physicar’s attention and continued, “I request that you don’t mention any of what I’ve told you to anyone else in North Sacclon.”
“Of course, Ellia, with one caveat.” Ellia raised one eyebrow questioningly, prompting Pauna to continue. “If the Lord Mayor should request a notice of my work here, then I would be beholden to tell him. Whatever should be told between him and I would be kept under the strictest confidences. To the best of my abilities, of course.”
Ellia sighed, then turned to the children. They focused on the Ter Sa’un, patience blanketing their faces. Neither Celex nor Kylia seemed ready to say anything. Pauna’s face held the same patient focus on Celex. Ellia broke the silence. “That’ll have to do. Thank you. I’m sure we’ll be far away from here before any chance of our story reaches unsavory ears.”
Pauna frowned, her ever-present grin slipped. What beauty she had disappeared
leaving behind a sad, aged demeanor. The room’s meager light seemed to dim. “Unfortunately, I would agree with your assessment. There are always ears listening in this town.” Her grin returned. “But, for the safety of the citizens, of course, officials have a higher duty to report their goings-on to those elected to lead.”
Ellia glanced at Celex, confusion replaced his patience as he shifted his focus between the two women. He whispered, “When am I going to be able to get out of bed, mother?”
Ellia opened her mouth to reply, but not before Pauna broke in. “You’ve got at least a day of rest ahead of you.” At his deep sigh, she continued, the grin still in place, “But by this evening, you’ll be up on your feet. Besides, none of you will be able travel with the blizzard readying to hit the city. Death would be almost a certainty, if you chose to leave today.” She glanced through the small window for a moment before continuing, “The storm should finish its work tonight. With strong mounts you should be on your way by midday. Not my recommendation, of course, considering the state of the children.” The last part bore a tone of demand.
“I appreciate your candor,” Ellia replied, then turned to the boy. “Celex, you’ll be back on the horse soon. Thank you, Ter Sa’un.” Ellia bowed at the waist with her hands at her side with her eyes on Pauna.
“My pleasure. I will return in four hours to inspect young Celex’s progress.” Pauna smiled, then brushed Celex’s face with the back of her hand. “You will drink all of the tea I’ve left for you. There is enough for one cup per hour.” She turned to Kylia. “Are you capable of preparing the tea? There are clear instructions on a sheet of paper on the shelf with the tea packets.”
