Remnants of Atonement (True paths Book 1)

by G. P McKenna

  “Thank you for doing this,” I wheezed once we were hidden from prying eyes, “I don’t know why you were behind that tent but thank the Deities you were. My arms are jelly.”

  Mercy grunted and shifted Ilya higher in her arms. For somebody who apparently disliked him, she certainly moved with urgency. I hoped it was for Ilya’s sake and not mine. It didn’t bear well for my future if her rush was just to get me alone to attack with no witnesses.

  “It was because of you.”

  I stumbled slightly and blinked. Did she…? No, not possible, “what was?”

  “Why I was behind the tent,” Mercy slowed her pace, and my lungs heaved in gratitude, “you entered the throne room while I was on guard duty and I recognized you as the girl from the infirmary. You were supposed to be in isolation with Ilya, not there in the command tent. Ilya wasn’t with you, and he hadn’t returned to camp. So, I followed you.”

  “I didn’t see you,” I said, “neither following me or in the throne room.”

  Mercy snorted, “You wouldn’t. It sort of ruins the all-powerful and courageous image of the Royal family if everybody knows that the only reason they can move so confidently through the world is that Ilvarjo protect them from the shadows at all times. We are seen only when intended to be. I simply moved into your shadow and followed. Not even Her Highness will have noticed that I’m absent, so let us hope for no assassination attempts.”

  “In my shadow,” I muttered. Sedna had moved in my shadow too. The fact that people could hide and watch without me being none the wiser felt almost violating. My hand tightened around Ilya’s arm. How could we have lived so closely without ever realizing how different we were?

  “I apologize,” Mercy’s voice broke me from my thoughts, “we’re not supposed to shadow jump without consent, but our elders have been behaving abnormally for days now. Lots of quiet fighting and odd arrangements. I knew something was happening, but never suspected this.”

  “They wanted to locate Lady Ilana first before announcing anything.”

  Mercy muttered something indistinguishable and shook her head, “they know where to find her. Even I know where to find her. Trust me, she was informed straight away. They were strategizing, that’s what they were doing. You see, Ilya’s the final one of us with an Il name. That’s never happened before. They believed with Aunt Ilana preoccupied, and both Ilya and…” her brows furrowed. She glanced at me before shifting Ilya higher, “it’s disrespectful they didn’t wait until his body was cold before beginning to make arrangements is all.”

  That clearly wasn’t all, but I didn’t know what else to say, or if I even dared dive deeper into Ilvarjo politics than that, so instead I coughed weakly, “won’t you get into trouble for abandoning your post like this?”

  Mercy laughed, her accent lighter as she spoke, “Only if caught. Even then, the worst Her Highness will do is slap me into next week while the elders have me kneel on beads to ask the paths for direction. I’m used to both. Only Mother and Aunty have the authority to punish me further, and since they’re both preoccup-”

  Pain shot through the right side of my body as Ilya’s weight almost crushed me. Cursing, I straightened and looked at Mercy, intending to give her a piece of my mind, but my words died at formation. With her eyes glazed over and her chest barely rising, Mercy appeared almost as dead as her cousin. I clicked my fingers, “you alive over there?”

  She blinked, turning to look at me, though it was more like through me as she nodded, “I’ve got to leave now.”

  “But we’re almost there.”

  “I’m sorry,” she gently lowered Ilya to the ground and knelt to place her forehead against his, muttering something to him that I couldn’t understand, before straightening up. Her eyes bore into mine, red fire burning my soul, “keep him safe.”

  “Safe from what?” I asked, but Mercy was already gone. For the longest moment, I stared at the hedge where she had stood one second and disappeared the next. I spun around, but there was no sign of her any where, like she’d never been there at all. Frowning, I grabbed Ilya’s arm and lifted him up to stare into his unflinching face, “keep you safe from what?”

  Twenty Five

  Taphephobia

  Fear of being burned alive

  “No, don’t help me or anything, I’m fine.”

  I wasn’t fine. Somehow it had taken longer to drag Ilya’s corpse the final three turns to the tiny thatched maintenance hut then it had for Mercy to carry him that far from the tent. Every few steps something would catch on something -a branch, a stick, possibly my own foot once or twice- until I’d been forced to admit defeat and hook my arms under Ilya’s armpits to drag him, worrying all the way that I was inflicting undue damage that would push the body to the point of no return. Looking at the condition of the hut, I could have saved myself the stress.

  A rusty nail could’ve contracted tetanus in that place. Years of dirt and grime had accumulated, coating every surface in dust and oil. Grimy buckets and mouldy brooms sat against the walls, but exactly what they’d been used to clean was a mystery, for a thick oily substance stuck to my feet. Eyeing it in distaste, I shifted Ilya higher and toed the three steps before me. The neat freak would come back and haunt me if I dragged him down those. But neither of the bumbling idiots so much as looked up to help.

  “Hello,” I tried again, “do you both realize that I’ve just single-handedly smuggled a dead body through a crowded camp?” Okay, it was a lie, but the hut wasn’t large enough to contain the Warlock’s ego had he learned the truth. He didn’t look up. Seemingly glued to the window, Pierous muttered non-coherently under his breath and rifled loudly through what appeared to be some kind of leather-bound book. Frowning, I looked to Pogue.

  The Shield leaned against a heavy workbench in the centre of the hut, staring unblinkingly at my face through unfocused eyes. With his mouth agape and legs swaying, he looked unnervingly like the walking dead. Any reaction was delayed with painful slowness as he tipped his head forward and blinked, lids visibly heavy as they opened, and recognition flooded in. Jumping from the bench, Pogue rushed over to relieve my arms of Ilya’s weight. They dropped in throbbing gratitude as Pogue placed Ilya upon his abandoned bench and timidly peeled back the neck of his shirt to peer at the gory horror hidden beneath

  “Deities, I miss you,” he leaned his forehead against Ilya’s and whispered, “you’ve only been gone a few days, but still. Please come back. It’s silly to even say that, of course you’ll come back. Why wouldn’t you?” he exhaled heavily and looked up to me, “thank you.”

  “It was easy,” I lied.

  “AH HA!” We both watched Pierous almost appear to shimmy on the spot as he turned to face us and shouted, “Shield, come here a moment.”

  Pogue groaned, but squeezed Ilya’s cold hand one final time before complying, “what?”

  Pierous chuckled as if it was normal for anybody who spent time alone with him to be snappy and visibly on their last nerves within moments. He slapped Pogue’s shoulder and grasped it tightly, “You look ready to pass out. We should do something about that.”

  The hut filled with the scent of cotton and frangipani as Pierous’ face screwed up tightly, leaving him looking like a man suffering from severe constipation. Seconds later Pogue pushed the Warlock away, his face burning a bright red, “What did you just do?” he demanded.

  “Oh, calm yourself,” Pierous said, “I gave you a little energy boost is all. Can’t have my assistants falling asleep in the middle of the ritual, can I?”

  “Why didn’t you do that straight away?” I asked, my arms throbbing in annoyance. If he had then perhaps I wouldn’t have been in so much pain.

  Pierous shrugged and looked at Pogue, “I didn’t dare piss daddy off further. The Sword cares for you deeply and obviously doesn’t approve that you’re mingling with the likes of me. I didn’t want to make a bad situation worse by having him think I was poisoning you.”

  “Right,” Pogue jumped on
the spot and windmilled his arms around, “thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Pierous said. He clapped his hands together and moved to the bench, leaning down to poke at Ilya, “the deceased you want reanimated I presume?”

  Not only was the Warlock annoying, he was also an idiot. I shook my head and crossed my arms, “that’s just the first body I found laying around at camp. It will work, won’t it?”

  “Ah, sarcasm: the choice wit of the young and the dumb,” Pierous smiled at me, “you know, it never hurts to double-check in situations such as these.” Without pausing to observe my reaction, he moved back over the window and took the book from the seal to flip through the pages. A whole-body shiver rocked me at the sight of it. The worn cover was bound in an unusual leather cover that hadn’t been tanned probably, hair and markings still evident on the beige spine, contrasting vividly against the sigil of lines and triangles tattooed upon the cover. With every flip of parchment, the oxygen in the hut became thinner, sucked away by an ever growing buzzing, until the orchestra of life outside could no longer be heard.

  “Where did you get that?” I forced myself to ask.

  “Hmm,” Pierous glanced up. I pointed to the book and he smiled, tenderly stroking a thumb across the hairy spine, “this is my personal grimoire. It contains notes and secret goodies from each of my worldly adventures.”

  “That’s great, but it doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Yeah,” Pogue piped in, “you didn’t have that in the cage, and Orden didn’t give it to you.”

  “You’re wrong. I’ve always had this with me, you just don’t want to know where,” Pierous tipped his head to the side and closed one eye, “unless you do, in which case I will show you-”

  Possible human equivalents of Ratatoskr’s nature pocket flooded my mind. I shook my head rapidly, “Ew. I think we imagine for ourselves, thank you.”

  “The mind’s eye is mother nature’s most devious creation,” Pierous said, his eyes sparkling as he continued flipping through the pages, “you both must understand that the ritual you are asking of me is extraordinarily taxing. It has been over a century since my final attempt. I first must scrutinize my notes to ensure there is no chance of a mishap.”

  “Of course. Take all the time you need,” I said.

  “Is there nothing you want us to do?” Pogue added.

  “Not particularly. Although,” Pierous glanced at me, “you’re a physician, correct?”

  “More or less.”

  Pierous nodded lazily and pointed towards Ilya, “examine the deceased for injury. There is little point in reviving somebody who will only then die of the same wounds that killed them. I will have to heal him with magic first.”

  That made sense. I turned back to Ilya, only for my arm to almost be pulled from its socket as Pogue snatched it, his entire face darkened by a deep frown, “but you can’t,” he said, “you’ll turn his lungs to bone.”

  “He’s dead, Shield. There’s no opposing energy left to calcify,” Pierous said without looking up from the grimoire. Pogue opened his mouth, apparently ready to argue, but swiftly closed it as his eyes fell upon Ilya. He released my arm and then surprised me by moving with me, tenderly holding Ilya up so I could remove his clothing.

  What lurked beneath wasn’t pretty. Without the fear of future scar tissue restricting his breathing, Doctor Kira hadn’t bothered making the stitching’s holding Ilya’s chest cavity together presentable, and I regretted not stealing a scalpel as my dagger cut through the wire. Pouge audibly drew breath as I wiggled my hand inside. With no heart to pump it, the blood sat thick and stagnant, cold and black against my pale flesh. It was no wonder the healing tonics had done little to help. The internal damage was so severe it was incredible that Ilya had survived as long as he did. I withdrew my hand and wiped it clean on my already ruined tights, “his injuries are complex.”

  The grimoire slammed shut, and Pierous marched to the bench, pushing Pogue and me aside to peer down at Ilya. His hazel eyes lingered momentarily on the Ilvarjo sigil carved into Ilya’s left shoulder before he grunted and straightened up, “complex but repairable. Stand back,” we did as instructed, and Pierous held his hand out flat over Ilya’s chest, before closing his eyes.

  Quiet murmurings in an unknown tongue filled the room, and my skin started to itch as they increased in volume, sounding more like demands than simple spell craft. A golden glow caressed Pierous’ hand, dancing there like a twinkling star for a moment before pouring down to bathe Ilya’s chest. The itching increased, but my mind went soft, the gentle crashing of waves almost lulling me to dreams until silenced as Pierous stumbled away from the bench, swaying side-to-side as he struggled to remain on his feet. I immediately went to his side, looking him over as he weakly swatted my hands away.

  “It worked.”

  My attention was diverted so suddenly that I gave myself mental whiplash. Pogue was right. Where Ilya’s chest had been a grotesque hole sat pale skin, smooth as if never touched. I rushed to his side, looking down in awe. There was a scar there, thin and so light as if almost translucent. A small price to pay for the gift of life. Deities, I would’ve taken that scar for a fancy meal right then. All I could do was stare in amazement and pray that the internal damage was as pristine as the external healing appeared to be. Pogue seemed to have no such concern for in the next moment his arms wrapped tightly around me, pulling me off my feet and spinning around before planting a kiss on the top of my head. My pulse increased at his excitement, but I pulled away, returning to Ilya to push hair from his face, “can you heal his eye?”

  “Sorry?” Pierous slurred.

  “His right eye,” I expanded, “it isn’t functional.”

  Pierous groaned and exhaled before looking up, his left pupil larger than his right, “Give me a hand and I’ll take a gander,” Pogue took his outstretched hand and led him to the bench, assisting him to slump against it. Pierous leaned over, doing an excellent intimation of the breathing techniques we taught to expectant mothers, before gently parting Ilya’s eyelid. His face went green, “damn.”

  The sound of unusually loud retching filled the room as Pierous pushed himself away from the bench. Pogue went green too, and I was afraid he was going to join the Warlock in spilling his guts, but he simply cupped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes while remaining by Ilya’s side. Forcing an expression Kira would’ve been proud of, I turned to the corner Pierous had retreated to with my hands on my hips, “you done?”

  Pierous made one final gurgling sound before dabbing at his mouth with a silken handkerchief embroidered with the letters BD, “I believe so,” he shoved the handkerchief into his sleeve, “You can turn around now Shield.”

  Pogue did as he was told, cringing at the technicoloured mess on the floor. It didn’t bother me though, and I glared at the slumped warlock. “Wasn’t that slightly dramatic?” I asked, “I know it isn’t the prettiest thing, but it’s hardly the worst scarring in the world.”

  “Silly girl, it wasn’t the scarring that nauseated me,” Pierous stumbled back to the bench and parted Ilya’s eyelid once more, “this wound is tainted by shadow magic. It is a closed art form, and my knowledge of it is limited. There is nothing I can do to cleanse its hold here.”

  “Oh,” Pogue muttered.

  Pierous reached out and grasped his shoulder, giving it a gentle shake, “I’m sorry, Shield. On the bright side, it’s about time to begin the ritual,” Pierous picked up his grimoire and flipped to a dog-eared page, “I suppose you’ll want to know what to expect?” we nodded and he flipped the book around, tracing his finger along the sigils and foreign script that were inscribed in crimson ink around a diagram of a figure shrouded in black mist, “the ritual is divided into two stages. The first consists of entering the after in order to locate the soul of the deceased and entice it back to the body. This will take some time.”

  I squinted at the diagram as his finger circled around it, making it appear to almost move, b
ut that must’ve been a trick of the light. Pictures didn’t move, “how will you find him?”

  “Morphic resonance,” Pogue and I looked at Pierous, who sighed, “don’t you know anything? Every living being has their own distinct energy scent that connects the soul to the body. If one knows how to follow this scent, they can uncover the precise location of the deceased in the after. Simply put, the plan is to find your friend’s soul and persuade him back to the land of reality, but as I said, this process takes time. In my experience, the dead tend to congregate in places they frequented in life, so it may help to know where he took solace.”

  Ilya had never mentioned any such places to me, and so I looked to Pogue. After all, he knew Ilya longer than I had, but his face remained blank, “Goonawarra or Caer Spiel?”

  “The Ilvarjo village and the Ilvarjo catacomb for the Ilvarjo child? How insightful,” Pierous raised his eyebrows, “you don’t know this boy at all, do you?”

  Pogue blushed and looked at his hands, “I’m sorry.”

  The Warlock’s face softened slightly, and he patted Pogue’s shoulder, “It matters little, I’ll just need to ensure I follow his scent meticulously, but I always did enjoy a challenge, so don’t fret. Rarely have I encountered a soul who has left their homeland after death, and seeing as the Ilvarjo rarely leave Ascot even in life, I’m certain he’ll be close by.” He flipped the page over, displaying a diagram that would’ve been identical to the first if not for the mist flowing into the figure’s chest, “Now the second stage is the viral one. As soon as the soul has been lured, it must be bound. This can be dangerous, for if the dead does not wish to return to life they will resist with force. If this occurs, all that can be done is to first bind a second soul to the body in hopes it will encapsulate the first during the process. It is a solution that can backfire horribly, even without the struggle that accompanies the willing sacrifice of a soul.”