Remnants of Atonement (True paths Book 1)

by G. P McKenna

  “Deities calling!” Pogue exclaimed as he stumbled backwards, “what was that for?”

  Ilya didn’t respond as he turned on me. I closed my eyes, anticipating my own strike, but all that arrived was a hoarse voice in my ear, “I’m not going to hit you because my mother has taught me to never harm those unable to defend themselves, but know that in my mind I’ve punched you in your fat mouth. Twice.”

  Why twice? He’d only punched Pogue once! I hadn’t done anything more or less than he had, not unless he knew. Oh sweet Deities, please don’t let him know. I dared to open my eyes as Ilya leaned heavily against the trunk, covering his face with his hands and breathing deeply, “you both have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

  Pogue reached out to touch Ilya’s shoulder and gasped as if physically stricken when he was shrugged straight off, “W-we brought you back,”

  “We saved your life,” I said, and walked over to also grab his shoulder, digging my nails into his exposed flesh when he attempted to shake me off too, “most people would say thank you.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Ilya yelled. He grabbed my wrist and twisted, forcing me to let go before he snapped it. The moment I did, he raised his hands to forcibly tug on his bangs, “I’m supposed to be dead; it was my time to die. By forcing me back you’ve completely eradicated my paths. There will be grave consequences.”

  Pogue slapped Ilya’s hands away from his hair, growling as blonde strands came away with them, “that’s all you’re gonna talk about, your paths?”

  “What else is there?”

  Pogue moved his jaw with a bitter laugh, “Well, how about thank you, or I love you, or maybe just how are you? Anything besides your stupid paths.”

  Ilya stared for a moment before tipping his head back and wiping his eyes, “Pogue-”

  “What’s going on over here?” Amicia shouted as she dragged Mercy by the arm towards us. The tension in my chest expanded, and I sunk beside Ilya against the tree. A nosey Princess was the last addition that moment needed, but it would be pointless trying to tell her that if I intended to keep my head through the night, “what happened?”

  “Nothing,” Pogue crossed his arms over his chest, “everything’s good.”

  “Then why did Ilya strike you?”

  Although the question had been directed at Pogue, Amicia turned to stare expectantly at Ilya. He swallowed and straightened up, “I, um…,”

  “Perhaps I can offer some insight, Your majesty,” an insufferably average figure emerged from beyond the shadows of the tree line, and I sunk even lower. Great, perfect, superb. An irate Princess and an enemy Warlock in a moment of crisis. What could go wrong?

  “You,” Amicia shouted, pointing her finger in the Warlock hunting ways of old. Oh right. That. “How have you managed to escape the Armoury? What have you done with my spies?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea as to the whereabouts of your spies,” Pierous said and raised his hands, “as for my presence here, let’s begin with the Shield releasing me from my cage.”

  Amicia turned towards Pogue so quickly that her accusatory finger didn’t even have time to drop. I half expected her to begin chanting the ancient rhyme of witch, witch, you’re a witch, but all she did was gasp, “Pogue, tell me it isn’t true.”

  “I had to. That was the only way to get Ilya back,” Pogue looked towards Ilvarjo with tear-stained eyes as a unit of young foot troops sped past us down the hill, cartwheeling and whooping as they went. It was such a stark difference to the mood in our own little huddle, I almost wanted to peace out and join them. Rolling in the blood of your enemies was preferable to swimming in the tears of your friends anyhow. Pogue shook his head, “I see now that was a big mistake.”

  Pierous clapped Pogue’s shoulder with a sigh, a gentle smile spreading across his lips, “Look, I understand it’s been a stressful day for us all. Everybody is exhausted and emotions are running high, so I cordially suggest that we return to the big tent, have a nice cup of tea, and wait for this all to blow…bugger.”

  “Pardon?” Mercy asked.

  “I said bugger. Get down.”

  Though the Warlock agitated me beyond all recognition, I trusted him enough to drop at his word. Pogue went down beside me as Ilya and Mercy struggled to drag Amicia to the ground before covering her with their bodies. Nothing happened. The celebratory singing and cheering filled our silence, blocking out the pained noises of the injured, dying and grieving. Their exhilaration did nothing to cover the scent of death that tickled my nose, which mixed repulsively with the acidic scent of…raspberry drops? No sooner had the thought entered my head than my skin sweltered in an itchy sweat. Pierous dropped beside me, his face almost leathery as he stared intently into the field. A metallic zing cut through the air and everything went silent until the sounds of agony returned, accompanied with a nearby gurgling, as the troops started to wither. They clutched their middles, mouths opening in screams silenced by the streams of lifeblood that joined the crimson rivers that leaked through the joints of their armour as their tops separated from their bottoms, falling to the grass like sacks of meat.

  The howls were profound, all-consuming, yet among them a whistle was clear as crystal. A tiny figure, cloaked in a red woollen jacket, emerged from the massacre kicking something with the toe of their boot. I squinted and felt immediate regret. A battered human head, the silver helmet still sat proudly in place, used as a children’s ball. It was…messy. Bloody. Nothing that all the medical education in the world could ever have prepared me for. Pogue growled and shifted, only to be pushed down by Pierous.

  The Warlock stood with a sigh, cracking his knuckles one by one, “stay down. Stay hidden,” he said, voice already hoarse, “I’ll deal with this one,” his dull blue eyes remained trained on the figure as he stepped out from behind the tree and cleared his throat. The figure stopped in their tracks, head cocking to the side as they gave their grotesque toy one final kick before turning to face Pierous. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, “I wish that I could claim this an unexpected surprise, but in truth, I have been expecting your arrival since my imprisonment here. Since I learned of your survival,” the figure raised a gloved hand and clicked, a purple energy ball appearing in their grasp, and with all the effort of swatting a fly, they flicked it at Pierous. The Warlock sighed and waved his hand in front of his face, and with the light scent of cotton and frangipani, the orb flew off course into a tree, enlightening it in flames.

  “Come now. You know better than to use party tricks on me,” Pierous sighed, “look at you. To think my greatest wish was that you’d moved on and abandoned the admirable quest of ridding the world of my essence. I see how foolish that was. I’m disappointed in you, Attica.”

  The figure ripped off their hood with a growl. Somebody gasped, and I would’ve liked to join them, but my body was frozen in place at the familiar horror that red hood had hidden. A young girl, no older than fourteen. The fullness of her cheeks, the curve of her nose, the blue of her eyes. I knew that girl, better than I knew anybody. Her upper lip was slightly fuller, her brow a higher, and the black of her hair lit up like an oil spill whenever the light of the fire hit it, but right down to the freckles, that face stared back at me in the mirror each morning. Somebody shook my shoulder and whispered something, but I couldn’t comprehend anything other than how ugly my face looked as it twisted into a scowl.

  “You’re disappointed in me?” the girl with my face spat in a foul tone that didn’t match the youthfulness of our twin face, “you miserable fool. When I’d heard that you’d joined forces with King Deniliquin, I believed you rendered untouchable, yet here you are cowering in the forest. You never could face adversity head-on, that’s why you needed to kill me in Ballan.”

  With a sharp yell, another purple orb appeared in Attica’s hands. Pierous didn’t move an inch as the energy came hurtling towards him. He sighed once more, face drooping in a sad, exhausted expression, as it hit his chest, engulfi
ng him in flames that quickly died down. Pierous stood where he had always been, unsigned and unhurt as the smoke faded to nothing. He smiled softly, “Cowardly as I may be, it appears that you are still unable to harm me. Odd,” he took two steps forward, “I am severely dehydrated right now. You must be able to sense that, yet all you do is throw pretty fireballs. Why is that? Could it be that somewhere deep inside you still harbor love for me?”

  Attica barked an almost impish laugh and took three steps forward. Pogue moved to stand, only to fall back down with a whine as Ilya flicked the needle embedded in his leg. His red eyes glowed in the fire as he glowered at the Shield, “don’t be ridiculous. You cannot go out there, that girl will slaughter you.”

  “Shut up,” Pogue shoved him away, “I don’t care what you say.”

  “Quiet, both of you,” Amicia snapped, “something is happening.”

  Out in the field, Attica had parted her feet and tipped her head back, the impish laughter grated like unoiled gears, “love?” she shrieked, “your hope is adorable. I’ve nothing but disdain for you, old man. The only reason you still draw breath is that you’re the only one who knows the process. Once you share it with me, you shall die.”

  “I see you are still the same incorrigible little girl you’ve always been, Attica,” Pierous said and held out his palm. A flash of black lightning exploded into it, and he twisted upwards as his grimoire flashed into existence, “but that secret will die with me, whenever that happens to be. If it’s tonight, so be it, but where will that leave you?” he clenched his fist and the grimoire disappeared, “enough of this needless crusade. I am, as always, ready to forgive and forget.”

  “SHUT UP,” Attica held out her hand. The acidic scent of raspberry drops became nauseating. Pierous stumbled backwards, but never hit the ground as he was thrown several feet through the air, lifting and dropping over and over again like a sadistic carnival ride. Finally, he fell to the dirt with a thud, bleeding profusely from his nose as Attica stood over him. She leaned down and poked his head with an ugly grin. MY ugly grin, “last chance, old man. Tell me.”

  Pierous spat a mouthful of frothy blood on the ground with a cough, “never.”

  He flicked his hand upwards, and a flash of grey hit Attica in her chest, sending her sprawling backwards onto her butt. Attica blinked, her pale face going red, before throwing back her head in laughter, “that’s the best you have? You warned me that you were dehydrated, but even for you that’s pathetic,” she knelt up and clicked as the largest orb of energy I’d ever seen grew rapidly in her hands. My ears rang with the overwhelming static as both Ilya and Pogue clasped their own, sensitive organs not prepared for something so loud and sustained. Attica brought it to her face and licked her lips, “die.”

  Pierous blinked owlishly at the energy as it barrelled straight towards him before getting to his feet with an unexpectedly graceful somersault and opening his arms as if to embrace death itself. The energy ball stopped, suspended in thin air only inches from his heart. The buzzing was so overwhelming that it must’ve been shaking the roots of the Armoury itself. The orb started to shrink, and Pierous looked sadly at Attica until the energy ball was small enough that I could no longer see it even when squinting. Pierous shook his head.

  Attica yelped, her face losing all colour as she tumbled to the side. Immediately, she tried to scramble back to her feet. Only, she found trouble in doing so, dropping time and time again until all she could do was sit and stare at Pierous with wild eyes, “what did you do to me?”

  “I’ve attacked your inner ear,” Pierous groaned, “your balance may be off for a few days.”

  “Bastard,” Attica shrieked. She fumbled awkwardly to her side and pushed upwards, managing to rise to unsteady feet where she clicked her fingers. Yet another orb appeared, her eyes narrowing as she threw it, only to widen in a way that might’ve been comical under any other circumstance as the energy veered off course into an already burning tree. Attica threw back her head and released a high-pitched sound that could only be described as a squawk as Pierous fell back into the grass with a laugh. For a moment it all felt like a bad dream, and I would’ve giggled too had a loud horn not cut through the haze.

  “Draw, you bastards,” somebody called, “secure the fences and locate the Princess.”

  “Infantry, forward.”

  Attica’s head jerked to the right, almost causing her to tumble over. She managed to straighten herself at the final moment, but the twisted look on her face didn’t change as the war cries drew closer. For Princess Amicia, for Queen Anihita, and the roars of the Poota who didn’t call for anybody in particular, yet were the most formidable of all. Attica stared down the immobile Warlock, and against the laws of the universe, her face twisted even further, “damn it.”

  Pausing to kick Pierous in the ribs one final time, Attica held out her hand while mumbling something under her breath before clapping. The ground caved in, revealing a blinding white whirlpool of light, and with one final glance at Pierous, she stepped into it. The portal collapsed in on itself just as the first rain of arrows were released on the spread-eagled Pierous. Pogue and Amicia were on their feet in an instant, rushing out from behind the tree and waving their arms as the sound of wood against wood twanged. Mercy watched them go before saying something I couldn’t understand. Ilya unbuckled the belt from his thigh and handed it to her. She patted his knee and looked at me.

  “Thank you.”

  I blinked, watching as she went to join her Princess. There wasn’t much to be thankful for at that moment. Attica had taken the raspberry drops with her, leaving only the stench of blood, excrement, and other unmentionable substances lingering in the air. As the troops closed in around Pierous their feet slipped and stumbled over dead bodies and mud that had been churned from blood. The Warlock himself was lounging atop a dead Poota with an arrow protruding from its stomach and a mace lodged in its head. Tales of the heroic battles of the past had never mentioned those details before. It made my throat hurt. I didn’t want to go out there—who would? — but there wasn’t any choice, so ignoring the burning in my muscles and lungs I went to stand. Ilya didn’t move.

  “You alright?” I asked.

  “Fine,” his eyes remained on Pogue for a long moment until he brought a hand up to rub at his face. He blinked at me, eyes looking every bit as haunted as my insides felt as he gracefully got to his feet and brushed off his knees, “come on.”

  It appeared the cavalry had ridden out to join the infantry in surrounding Pierous by the time we got there, the flags of all eight provinces being circled around on armoured horseback as dozens of troops aimed their sharp and pointies at the Warlock. Bit of an overkill considering he could do nothing but lay helplessly on the ground, his head lulling side to side.

  “Thank you. Oh, sweet Deities, thank you,” Pierous repeatedly mumbled before raising his head once the field medic finished roughly shoving gauze up his nose, “Princess?”

  “Yes?” Amicia squeaked, pausing her scolding of one of her guards to cautiously face him with wide eyes.

  “Inappropriate though it may be to ask, I was hoping you would grant me an audience?”

  “I… suppose so.”

  “Superb. That’s just wonderful,” Pierous fell back with a satisfied sigh, “now if it pleases Her Ladyship, I think I shall pass out.” And just like that, he did.

  Twenty Nine

  Midenoraphobia

  Fear of midnight

  The battle was over, yet the night drew long as the atmosphere of fear and anxiety which had swamped the camp shifted into one of drunken celebration and tear-filled mourning. The higher up the hill we walked, the quieter the slurred folk songs became, drowned out by the rasped breaths of the dying and wails of the newly bereaved.

  We’d been lucky. The attack hadn’t appeared to be well planned; spur of the moment and small by all accounts, and the number of enemy dead reflected that, but still the cost of victory had been high. Those who walked b
eside us moved with timid steps, eyes sunken into ashy cheeks growing more haunted as they were forced to pitch in with the aftermath. The camp had to be cleaned, and it couldn’t wait until morning for bodies rot fast in humid forest climates, and already the howls and growls of the wilder Chicora Woods tenets were beginning to close in. Or maybe it was just Pogue.

  No sooner had Pierous been stretched away behind the guard-flanked Princess then the Shield had disappeared amongst the trees, ignoring all calls and pleads for him to return. Ilya had stared blankly at his retreating back until there was nobody left to stare after. He’d turned and resumed walking up the hill, only to be immediately descended upon as Miss Eteri and a group of several other older and very serious looking Ilvarjo. They’d descended from nowhere to poke and prod at him, all while speaking in hushed voices I couldn’t understand. That didn’t stop me from trying though, until one noticed my lingering presence and hissed something sharp at Mercy, who straightened her back and took my hand.

  “Come.”

  We didn’t get far before Mercy wordlessly pointed towards a young foot troop who was butt shuffling up the hill. Nodding, I approached and squatted down to look at the shrapnel wound in his groin only to be stopped by a boot in my face.

  “Nah Miss,” the troop said as he continued his shuffling, “I’m good.”

  “No,” I shoved his chest and he fell backwards with a moan, “you’re not good. That wound is deep. You could lose function in your leg if it isn’t cleaned out properly.”