The Wrack

by John Bierce

  “The sentries have reported a group of people coming up the pass,” Nalda said. “Around thirty or so. They’ll be here within the hour.”

  Benen swallowed enough bread so that he could speak.

  “Through this much snow? Are they insane?”

  His voice was rough and rasping. He doubted it would ever heal up to sound like it once had.

  Nalda shrugged. “We haven’t had any communication with the outside world in weeks, Benen. Who knows how bad it’s gotten on the plains? They might just really be that desperate.”

  “Last we’d heard, the Wrack had mostly burnt itself out, even in Seibarrow,” Benen said.

  “I wasn’t thinking of the Wrack,” Nalda replied. “How much of the harvest rotted in the fields this year, for want of laborers? The Wrack killed many of them, and scared most of the rest off. I’d wager you good money that starvation is rampant down there.”

  Benen shook his head. “I wouldn’t take that bet. I’m guessing we’ll find out soon enough, though.”

  Nalda nodded. “You should get changed into something cleaner so we can meet our new guests.”

  And, with that, Nalda left as unceremoniously as she’d arrived.

  Benen looked down at his grubby chamber-robes, and, with a sigh, he began the arduous process of changing his clothes with fingers that barely worked.

  Walking was a bit easier than using his hands, but Benen’s blackened toes still presented a challenge. Like his fingers, they had lost most of their strength and mobility, and his control over them was exceptionally poor. Like most Wrack survivors, Benen had adjusted his stride to compensate. He kept most of his weight on one heel that remained directly below him as he stepped forwards with his other leg, then shifted his weight to that heel. It was the same way he’d learned to walk on ice here in the pass. He’d seen a few other ways of walking, some faster than his, but he liked the extra stability his waddle provided.

  By the time he reached his seat in Castle Morinth’s great hall, their visitors were already being led inside by the guards. He carefully took his seat next to Captain Oson, Nalda sitting on the other side of him. The irony of a Moonsworn helping to run an Eidolon fortress wasn’t lost on Benen.

  The three of them had divided the duties of the Mist Warden between themselves. Captain Oson had long done much of the logistical work of running the castle, paperwork not being one of Prince Arnulf’s favorite activities. He’d couldn’t handle it all himself, but between the three of them, they’d largely kept the fortress running, and they’d somehow managed to move the remaining villagers in for the winter. A big part of that was the fact that Oson and Benen were having to learn to write by holding graphite sticks or quill pens in their mouths, rather than their hands, which made for slow, messy going. More importantly, though, was the sense of relief all three felt in having someone to share the weight of decisions, especially in these uncertain times.

  The final tally of deaths had been harsh, to say the least. One in six of the villagers had died, and that number was closer to one in five among the soldiers. That many again had survived, yet were crippled or injured by the disease, like Benen or Oson.

  Worse, the Wrack hadn’t vanished entirely. Every few days to a week, another screamer appeared. It was a trickle, compared to the flood at first, but it never stopped entirely.

  Moving the villagers into the castle had been a struggle like no other winter Benen could remember. They’d been badly shorthanded, and while their food stores should be enough to get them through the winter, it would be more of a stretch than recent years, even with fewer people wintered in the castle. Morale was also critically low, especially whenever a new victim of the Wrack began screaming.

  “We’ve escorted most of our visitors to guest quarters, if it pleases you,” one of the guards announced.

  Oson nodded at that, and the three visitors stepped forward— two women and one man.

  Benen couldn’t help but notice the symmetry between their two groups, as the women faced Oson and Benen, and the man faced Nalda. Almost certainly a coincidence, but he’d found himself noticing symmetry far more often since his recovery. A small number of other Wrack survivors reported the same. Unlike many of the other lingering symptoms, Benen considered this one harmless enough.

  It wasn’t a perfect inverse symmetry, though. The man should have had the blackened fingers of a Wrack survivor, but none of the three bore signs of the plague.

  “Welcome to Castle Morinth,” Oson said. His rasp was even worse than Benen’s. “It’s unusual to get visitors at this time of the year— it must have been hard making it up here through the snow.”

  The tall woman in the center facing Oson nodded. “It stretched above our heads in places, but the ancestors willed us to come, so we endured.”

  The woman didn’t say anything after that, and Benen noted with some discomfort that her gaze never seemed to vary or twitch. There was a strange, feverish look in her eyes.

  “Why, exactly, did you come here?” Oson asked.

  “Because the ancestors willed it,” the woman said, without any change in her expression.

  Oson paused, clearly at a loss for words.

  “What purpose do you believe the ancestors have for you here? Why Castle Morinth in particular?” Benen asked, stepping into the conversation.

  The gazes of all three shifted to Benen, and he noted uncomfortably that the other two had gazes nearly as zealous and strange as the first.

  “Our ancestor-given purpose isn’t here in specific,” the woman said, “but everywhere. Our holy purpose extends through all the Eidolon lands.”

  “And beyond, though the rest of Iopis,” the man broke in, harshly.

  “Perhaps,” the woman said, glaring at him. “The signs from the ancestors remain unclear.”

  “What signs?” Nalda said, leaning forward.

  “There is only one sign of import,” the woman said. “The Wrack. Those taken by it have angered the ancestors.”

  Benen gave her a skeptical look and held up his blackened fingers.

  The woman gave him a pitying look. “Those like you have received your punishments already. We bear no hate for you.”

  He forced himself not to snarl at her. He was no nobleman, and the Wrack was no punishment from the ancestors.

  “You still haven’t stated your purpose,” Benen said.

  “Our purpose is to ensure that the ancestors need not set the Wrack loose upon us again,” the shorter woman, who had been silent thus far, said. “Our purpose is to weed out the sins that brought this among us.”

  “The Wrack in every land has struck down the nobility first,” the taller woman said. “Then the wealthy after that. The ancestors have been clear about what they want. They want nobility and royalty ended.”

  Benen leaned back in shock at hearing that, and Oson started visibly at his side. Nalda merely continued staring intently.

  “We are the Fervent,” the tall woman continued. “We do the work of the ancestors.”

  There was silence from the six of them as they stared at one another from across the high table. The guards whispered amongst themselves in shock, but Benen ignored them.

  “Does that count their children, too? What about their servants? And after you slaughter all the nobles?” Oson asked, glaring. “What then?”

  “We should…” the Fervent man began, but the tall Fervent woman silenced him with a glare.

  “We do not kill the servants of the nobility,” she said. “As for their children, there have been some… regrettable incidents, but we believe that if raised by the faithful, they pose little threat of angering the ancestors again.”

  Benen could feel Oson quivering at his side, and he gently nudged him with his elbow. Captain Oson was the fifth son of a minor noble family.

  “What of the Moonsworn?” Nalda asked.

  The Fervent all turned to look at her. The man opened his mouth to speak, but the woman raised her hand to forestall him. “If you
had your way, we’d purge the world of everyone but the Lothaini commons. You take your zeal too far.”

  She turned to Nalda. “You are Moonsworn, I take it? Fear not for your kin down on the plains. They have never been servants of the nobles, and the nobility’s very hate of your people speak highly of you. Even if your healers didn’t work selflessly to aid the common folk, we still wouldn’t purge you, for our ancestors bear no hate for you, unlike your Sunsworn cousins. Your kin still live, and still do their good works among us.”

  Nalda nodded, her face showing only a hint of relief.

  “What exactly,” Benen asked, “do you propose take the place of the nobility? Some sort of government by the people?”

  The tall woman shook her head. “The people lack the wisdom of the ancestors, and are no better suited to rule than they were under the nobles. The ancestors have always made it clear that the commons are to be ruled, not to rule. The ancestors will make clear what form the government will take once we have finished purging the nobility. Until then, we work alongside the remnants of the Church Eidolon to administer what remains of Lothain and Geredain. Perhaps they shall put the Church Eidolon in charge, or perhaps they shall appoint new noble families.”

  A cynical part of Benen immediately wondered whether, if they were telling the truth about controlling the plains, they would ever give up their control, or if the ancestors would conveniently declare the interim government to have their blessing.

  “And what of the King Sigis’s heirs?” Oson said. His tone was level, but his anger was obvious to anyone who had known him as long as Benen had.

  “We don’t know,” the short woman spoke up. “We would like to have been able to take credit, but two of his sons seem to have died alongside the king during the Masquerade, and the others have been missing since then.”

  “So what do you want from us, exactly?” Benen said.

  “That you hand over control of the castle to us— and custody of all of those in it with noble blood,” the tall woman said.

  Before Captain Oson could explode, Benen again gently nudged him with an elbow. “Would you give us the room for a few minutes? This is something we should discuss privately.”

  The Fervent man looked ready to explode, but the tall Fervent woman spoke up. “That’s entirely reasonable, and we’d be quite happy to.”

  She didn’t look happy, just determined and fanatical, but Benen didn’t feel a need to mention that.

  After the three had been escorted out of the hall. Captain Oson pounded his hand against the table in rage while a high-pitched noise came from behind his visibly clenched jaw.

  Oson soon calmed himself and sighed, for he was a man who generally kept tight chains on his anger. “Punching something hard doesn’t help like it used to. Especially without being able to feel a damn thing in my fingers or even make a proper fist.”

  Benen just nodded. He definitely understood the feeling.

  “Captain,” Nalda said, “I know what you’re about to propose, and we simply don’t know enough about what’s happening down on the plains to risk taking action against the Fervent. If their ilk really has seized control of the plains and the capital, we can’t risk…”

  Oson held up his withered hand to forestall her. “You don’t, in fact, know what I was about to propose, because I agree with you about the risk. As much as it infuriates me, we can’t simply execute them or imprison them.”

  Nalda and Benen exchanged surprised glances.

  “We also, however, cannot hand over control over the castle to these… Fervent. Our mission cannot be left to chance, for without us, who knows how many beasts might be left to escape the mountains and roam the plains?”

  “So, what…” Benen began, then stopped, as a ripple of pain shot up his body, and a flash of memory hit him. He thankfully remembered little of the pain and delirium of the Wrack, save in his dreams, but a few times a day he was hit by these lingering surges of pain. Many of the survivors were.

  Oson gave him a sympathetic look, knowing what he was going through. Nalda’s look, he suspected, had more than a little pity to it.

  “So what do you propose?” Benen asked when he’d recovered.

  Benen quickly found himself nodding along as Captain Oson explained his plan. He wasn’t happy with it, but he could work with it.

  “Castle Morinth,” Oson said to the Fervent triumvirate, “has always remained neutral. When Lothain and Geredain split, it remained neutral. When all three nephews of King Sigis the Second claimed the throne, we stayed neutral in the resulting conflict. We will stay neutral now as well.”

  The Fervent man began to redden, but before he could speak, Captain Oson continued.

  “Do you know why we always remain neutral?”

  “Because you’re cowardly…” the Fervent man started, but the Fervent woman held up her hand to stop him and glared.

  Benen would hardly say the woman’s expression softened when she looked back at Captain Oson, but it was more distrustful than enraged.

  “Why?” the woman asked.

  Benen leaned forwards. “Because we too are on a mission from the Ancestors.”

  The Fervent man looked ready to explode at that, but he said nothing.

  “We guard the plains below from the beasts of the Mist Maze,” Benen continued. “We keep all Lothaini, common and noble alike, safe from their depredations. For generations, we’ve done so, and for generations we shall continue. We shall not give over our holy charge, nor shall we hand over any who aid us in it. You have your ancestor-given task, and we have ours, and it behooves neither of us to interfere with the other.”

  The tall woman simply stared at them, her expression inscrutable.

  The Fervent man, however, had clearly had enough. “The Fervent fear no mere beasts, heretic! You spit upon the face of the ancestors to falsely claim their blessing, and you’ll share the fates of all your vile…”

  The tall woman, before anyone could react, pulled a dagger from her sleeve and sunk it into the back of the man’s neck. He crumpled to the ground bonelessly.

  The guards in the room all drew their weapons, but the woman simply folded her arms behind her back expressionlessly. Captain Oson held up his hand to forestall the guards attacking the woman.

  “I had hoped Ruellen would learn to contain his zeal,” the woman said. “Alas, he’s been under warning for some time.”

  “Warning?” Nalda asked, clearly shaken.

  “Some will use any political upheaval as an excuse to exercise their bloodlust,” the short Fervent woman said. “The Fervent seek not to take a single life more than is necessary. We may be a movement of the commons, but do not mistake us for ignorant, superstitious peasants. We are no such thing. We’ve studied the history of the Sunsworn, and we know of the abuses that their fanatics have carried out. We will not dishonor our ancestors this way.”

  “I see,” Nalda said.

  An awkward silence filled the room for a moment.

  “I must confess, I am not entirely convinced of your claims that you do the ancestors’ work,” the tall woman said.

  “The nobility and the church long discouraged the idea,” Oson said, “but not a soldier here has ever doubted it, nor have the villagers. Spend a week here, and you’ll come to believe the truth of it as well.”

  The tall woman nodded. “If you speak the truth, this may serve us both. Many of the Fervent believe we need a range of punishments beyond simple execution— especially for some of the more minor nobles, who held no power or influence. Lifetime banishment to Castle Morinth to hunt these beasts of yours might serve. We had been debating conscription to guard the borders, but many of our members worried at the risk of defection to our enemies.”

  Benen tried not to look uncomfortably at the man’s corpse as she spoke.

  “That is all contingent upon you convincing us that you do the work of the ancestors, of course. I promise you, that won’t be an easy task.”

  She turned a
nd strode towards the door, the short woman following in her wake. Halfway out, however, she paused, and turned to them.

  “If you would, I would have Ruellen’s name inscribed on your obelisk. It would grieve me deeply were he to lose his chance to join the ancestors.”

  At Captain Oson’s nod, the woman turned and strode out without another word, leaving the corpse on the ground.

  Benen felt quite confident that the beasts of the pass would easily convince the Fervent of the worthiness of their cause, and they hadn’t been lying that the soldiers and the villagers in the pass considered themselves to be doing the work of the ancestors. He couldn’t help but feel, however, as though they’d made some dire mistake by bargaining with the Fervent.

  If he were to be honest, the tall woman had terrified him as much as any rampaging beast from the mists.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Rumors at the Choke

  Emiere stood guard in the morning sun, and he watched, and he listened as the rumors flew between the other soldiers.

  Bandits from the collapse of Lothain had flooded over the border like locusts.

  The Fractured Duchies were actually uniting, so many of their self-titled dukes and kings had died off.

  The Fractured Duchies were finally being absorbed by Galicanta, as they should have been years ago.

  Dannagrad and Roske, the two little eastern nations on the coast, had united.

  No, they were fighting over the ruins of Geredain.

  The Singers had invaded the lands south of the Krannenbergs in huge numbers with their fleets of bird-faced boats.

  The Singers had entirely closed off their lands to keep the Wrack out.

  The Wrack was pushing close to Ladreis.

  The Wrack had stalled in the great desert at the heart of Galicanta.

  The Wrack would descend among them soon, leaving the fortress filled only with corpses.

  But, more prevalent than all the other rumors combined were the rumors about the Sunsworn.