by Jeff Gunzel
“And why is that a problem?” the king asked. “If anything, doesn’t that make your job easier?”
“Well, normally yes,” the cleric squeaked, rocking back on his heels. It was beginning to feel as if every word he said was now a gamble on his own life. “But the circumstances surrounding his death are anything but normal. In fact, it is evidence that he was not killed in our physical realm.” He flinched when the king raised his hand and began rubbing his chin in thought.
“I see,” the king replied, his eyes wandering upward. Milo had already been well aware of that fact, but hadn’t realized it was relevant until now. The murder had indeed taken place on another plane of existence. That was where Liam was supposed to die, not his shaman.
“I’m afraid that fact alone changes things rather drastically, my king,” he went on. “We will only have one chance at this, and we must first make sure that all the proper pieces are in place. If we fail the first time—”
The king snatched him by his collar, hoisting the much smaller man up off the ground. “If you fail at all,” he snarled, pausing to let the threat hang in the air a moment longer, “then that goat woman will not be the only body on display.” He threw the little man down, sending him sprawling across the floor. When the king looked up, red-robed clerics looked away, pretending as if they had not been watching the whole time.
“And that goes for the rest of you as well,” the king warned, sweeping a finger across them. “Do not test me on this. Mark my words, I will have you nailed up one at a time and let the crows peck out your eyes in front of the townsfolk. And each time I nail up another, I will be sure to single out the next man. A few days later, that man will meet his fate and I shall single out another. I will do this until each of you are nothing but a memory, or until I get my shaman back. Do not fool yourselves into thinking there is any way out of this. The shaman lives, or you die.”
The king stepped forward and kneeled down beside the thrown cleric. Holding his side, the man was still wheezing for air after the jarring fall. “Just so you know that I am a man of my word,” the king whispered in his ear, “I choose you first. Bring him back, or say goodbye to your loved ones.”
Without waiting for a reply, the king turned away and went back up the steps. He wasn’t in the mood to hear any begging or excuses. There were other concerns that required his attention. Ignoring servants dropping to one knee each time he came around a corner, he headed back to his private chambers. Leaning on the windowsill, he looked down on the empty streets below. Save for a few homeless beggars who seemed to have no idea that anything was wrong, his city looked deserted.
Although he felt like punching through a stone wall, Milo nearly laughed at the irony. For weeks he had wished for the people to just go away and leave him alone. Day and night they had chanted against him, threatening to have him dragged from the keep and strung up like some kind of common criminal. But now that he was surrounded by a deafening silence, he began to realize that being hated was still a form of relevancy. Now that the city was on lockdown, it was like he didn’t even exist. Surrounded by thousands of people, and still I am alone, he thought.
He watched as a few men set to work on the town’s outer wall, patching the many holes that were made by the hunter’s great beast during the battle. It seemed to be a rather small price to pay, given that Owen and his friends singlehandedly saved the city. It felt odd to the king because he was rarely grateful for anything.
He shook his head, dismissing what he believed to be nothing more than a moment of weakness, and returned his attention to the men on the wall. They were the only ones doing any sort of work for miles around. This also concerned the king. Until they could rebuild and start again, all the local businesses had been shut down. Trade had stopped completely, and there was no revenue coming into the city. Since no one was working, he was also forced to put a freeze on all tax collection as well.
“What to do?” the king said out loud, rapping his knuckles on the windowsill. He nodded to himself, as if agreeing with some private thought. “We will rebuild. We will grow even stronger than before. If this is all the gods can throw at me, then I shall prevail as I always have.” He rapped his knuckles one more time as if to reinforce his own conclusion.
*
Jarlen sat on the cold stone with his back propped up against the wall, knees hugged to his chest. Others around the cave mirrored his less than confidant posture, several whispering among themselves in small groups. Their hushed whispers tugged at his insecurity, but what could he really do about it? He could not deny that he was shaken by the news. Of the lerwicks who went off with Orm’rak to aid in his attack, many had not returned. And those who did brought back a harrowing tale.
Their stories were so disjointed that Jarlen could hardly make sense of their panicked ramblings. Something about a creature that looked human but clearly wasn’t. His arm had turned into a vine-like weapon and he even managed to pull several of them down into the ground, effectively killing them below the surface. Many died at his hands before he escaped over the side of a cliff.
Jarlen didn’t know what to make of their panicked babbling, but a few things had become apparent. Many of them were not coming back, and Orm’rak was dead. Fool, he thought to himself. Obsessed by thoughts of revenge, that fool had committed all his resources to a single target with no second or third backup plan. His judgment had been impaired, and now the fool was dead. Jarlen didn’t care either way. Orm’rak had no one to blame but himself.
But looking out at the number of solemn faces around him, Jarlen couldn’t help but feel concern for the future of this group. One of the returning lerwicks sat near the opposite wall, continuously chewing on her fingernails as she rocked back and forth. She mumbled at her hand, as if having some sort of private conversation with her fingertips. Other lerwicks who had returned were not in much better shape. Their battle had been a one-sided bloodbath, and they were not ready to come to terms with the carnage they had seen.
His own troops had been dealt a similar blow. Due to his extended fight with that troublesome hunter, many of his followers thought he had abandoned the battle altogether. How long would it take to regain their trust? Morale was low, but that wasn’t the only thing bothering him about the situation.
Not all the lerwicks who hadn’t returned had been killed in battle. If the reports were true, several had stayed behind and joined with the enemy. They joined Viola! Why would they do that? She wasn’t as strong as he was. Her caring nature was a pitiful weakness, not a strength! What were they thinking? But another glance around the cold, dark cave was a stark reminder of where they stood. This cave was a suitable base for now, but it wouldn’t do long term. The humans lived in large cities and quaint little towns while the spiritists lived in a large tower built right here in the mountains. All the lerwicks had was an abandoned cave to call home.
He needed to do something. Deep down, he knew that Orm’rak was a more natural leader than he was. But Orm’rak was no longer here, and he needed to figure out some way to raise morale. Pushing up off the wall, he walked to the center of the cave. Eyes followed his movement, but no one said anything. “Gather around,” he said, trying to keep a light tone in his voice as he held out his arms. That was how Orm’rak would have spoken to them. He would take it slow and learn on the fly. After a few uneasy looks, Lerwicks stood and began filling in the space around him.
“Believe me when I say I know how all of you feel,” he began. “We have just been handed two separate defeats at the hands of the humans, as well as lost our brother and friend during the campaign. Orm’rak will be missed. I know this must feel like the world is collapsing down around you, but I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth.”
He reached up and put his hands on top of his head, then proceeded to walk through the group, smiling at any who found the courage to look him in the eye. “I use the word defeat because I know that that is how it felt to many of you. But I do not view it th
at way myself.” Some of the lerwicks began to stir uncomfortably. What was he talking about? Of course they had been defeated, and quite soundly at that. “What I witnessed was nothing more than a mere setback, a small piece to a much larger puzzle. Setbacks are what make us grow. Controversy is what makes us strong. This is all just another part of being free and not some pet to a human. What is sacrificed now will be gained back tenfold. This I promise you.”
Jarlen cast his hands out wide, gesturing around the cave. “We are still here. The humans are not going to attack us on our own territory. They wouldn’t dare! Even after their perceived victories, they still fear you. As well they should! Had we been defeated, they would have wiped us out, yes? Look to the man or woman next to you.” There came a shuffling of movement as lerwicks glanced left and right. “The person sitting next to you is a survivor, a warrior! He has gone through the same trials and tribulations as you. He is not dead. He has not been defeated, and neither have you!”
Feeling their stirring energy, he let them settle down a bit before continuing. His speech had struck a chord with the lerwicks, just as he hoped. It was just what they needed to hear, when they needed to hear it. “I am not Orm’rak,” he said in a much more solemn tone. “Nor will I ever pretend to be. Our brother can never be replaced, and we will remember him always.” Jarlen bowed his head and brought a fist to his chest. “But I will promise you this. I will do my very best to finish what he started. What we have started. I know you trusted him, believed in him, and now I ask that you give me a chance to earn your trust.
“No, friends, we have not been defeated. Not even close. Stay strong in the face of our enemies, don’t be afraid to fight for the man standing next to you, and together we will be victorious in the end.”
Chapter 3
A quick knock on the door raised Viola from her bed, but it creaked inward before she answered. At first she smiled at the sight of her friend peeking in, but her grin melted away at the serious look on Salina’s face. “You have been summoned,” Salina said, getting right to the point. There was a touch of worry in her voice.
“Summoned? Did anyone tell you why?” Viola asked.
Salina just shook her head. “The Moon Mistress simply sent me to come get you. She didn’t say why, but I suggest we hurry.”
“All right then,” Viola said, rising up off her bed. She hadn’t been sleeping, so she was already dressed. It was the middle of the day and she just wanted to take a little time for herself to sort through some things. A lot had happened recently, and she felt as though she had some decisions to make.
Together, they walked out into the hall. But despite Salina’s warning that they should hurry, she was clearly dragging her feet for some reason. Viola finally stopped and turned to look at her. “Salina?” she questioned, certain that something else must be bothering her friend. Salina stopped in her tracks and looked down at her feet. “Salina, talk to me,” Viola urged, taking a step towards her friend.
“Is it true?”
“Is what true?” Viola asked, although she suspected she already knew what Salina was talking about.
“Did you really ask Rishima to send out a call to all the lerwicks? Are you really asking them to come out of hiding to come serve under your command?” So this was what was on Salina’s mind. This was why she was acting so nervous, and not necessarily because of the summoning itself.
“It is,” Viola responded quickly. “I’ve made no secret of my intentions.” That was true enough. She hadn’t really spoken to anyone but Rishima and Bella about her plan, but that didn’t mean she was hiding her intent. It was unclear as to how Salina had found out. That was a difficult thing to know when dealing with a spiritist who may or may not have gotten information directly from a spirit. Lying to a spiritist was never a good idea, and Viola wasn’t going to start now.
“I see,” Salina said, head still down while looking rather uncomfortable. A long silence followed. Viola waited patiently, not wanting to push her friend into speaking further until she was ready.
“Does my plan bother you?” Viola finally asked, a little worried about the possible answer. She knew in her heart that she needed to do this. But at the same time, she didn’t want anything to come between herself and Salina. Now she was the one feeling nervous.
“It’s not that,” Salina was quick to point out. “Not exactly, anyway. I know you mean well, and in a way I’m really excited for you. I’m just worried about what this might mean.”
“As far as you and I go, it doesn’t mean anything,” Viola assured her. “This has nothing to do with you or any of the other spiritists. It is just something that I have to do.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Salina said, throwing her hands in the air. It was clear she was growing frustrated with her inability to express her concerns. “What if— What if you’re wrong?!”
“Wrong?”
“Wrong,” Salina repeated, hands planted on her hips. “Wrong about everything. How many lerwicks have you actually met besides your own brother?” Viola opened her mouth, but then just stood trying to think. Her hesitation proved Salina’s point. “And we know how wonderful he is, don’t we? Well, what if he is not the exception?” Her voice grew quiet, eyes falling back to the floor. “What if it’s you who are the exception?”
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say,” Viola lied, reading the message loud and clear. The thought had never even occurred to her.
“You are so sweet and kind,” Salina said, gently touching her friend on the cheek. “And trusting, I’m afraid. What if you are the only one who is like this? What if those like your brother are the norm, not the exception? It is possible that you have opened your arms to an evil race. Have you even thought about that possibility?”
Viola stepped away from Salina’s touch. Ignoring the concerned look on her friend’s face, she turned away. “I can’t accept that,” she said softly. “I don’t want to think about it that way.”
“But you must,” Salina said. “If they cannot be saved as you think they can,” Salina lay her forehead on the back of Viola’s neck, hands moving up to her shoulders, “then they are your enemy,” she finished in a whisper. “And must then be treated as such, no matter how much that hurts to hear.” Viola tensed. She knew Salina was only concerned about her. This couldn’t have been easy to say. But although she could appreciate Salina’s good intentions, she couldn’t afford to let it weaken her resolve.
Viola turned around. “I suppose we shall see soon enough, won’t we?” she said before continuing on down the hall, leaving her friend a few steps behind. “Besides, Rishima has yet to give me an answer on what she plans to do. It is still possible she will deny my request, and none of this will matter anyway.” After turning the next corner, Viola noticed Salina trying to hide her grin. With the change in demeanor, she was starting to look like herself again. “Now what are you thinking about?” Viola asked, relieved to see her friend finally relaxing a little.
“I can’t believe you killed him,” came the unexpected response. Caught off guard by the blunt comment, Viola tripped on nothing and stumbled a step or two. “Oh, I don’t mean to sound so morbid,” Salina was quick to add. “You had no choice, after all. One of us would have done it sooner or later, but who knew it would be you? Alone, no less! I still can’t get over it. I am quite proud of you.”
Viola didn’t respond at first. She hadn’t forgotten, of course. Who could ever forget committing a murder with your bare hands? No, not forgotten, but she really hadn’t thought much about it since that day. In the aftermath of it all, it was little more than a task that needed doing. And now that it was done, it had become mostly an afterthought. Fixing a fence was also a task that one might do, but once it was done it was out of mind.
The fact that she could make such a cold comparison bothered her on many levels. What if Salina was right? What if her kind really were natural killers, a species who cared nothing for life in general? She had killed yet another
man, and somehow it didn’t bother her much. Not like the first time anyway.
“What did they do with—” she began.
“Burned,” Salina said. “Even his ashes have been disposed of. We can all rest easy now thanks to you.”
After heading up two flights of stairs, they found themselves standing before a large gray door. Nodding to Viola, Salina pushed it open and led the way in. Viola had never seen this room before. Far larger than most in the tower, it was decorated with mounted stuffed animals and pictures of other wildlife everywhere she looked. At the far end of the room sat Bella and Rishima behind a large wooden table, their stony faces serious and cold. Split to either side of them sat four more spiritists, their eyes shadowed behind a white, hazy mist. Still as death, the four spiritists didn’t acknowledge that anyone had entered.
Flashing Viola an unsure look, Salina stepped forward and bowed her head. “I have done as you’ve asked, Mistress. I will now take my leave.”
“You claim to take your leave, and yet no one had dismissed you,” Rishima said, her stony glare still unchanged.
“Both of you, please be seated,” Bella said in a much gentler tone. She rose from her seat, arms spread wide in an inviting fashion. They approached the table but remained standing. Bella sat back down and turned to Rishima. Nervous and feeling the urge to say something in order to break the tense silence, Viola tried to introduce herself to the four spiritists who had yet to speak, or even breathe as far she could tell.
