Rythe Awakes (The Rythe Trilogy)

by Craig Saunders

  Tun replied that he was.

  “Then I accept. And I dissolve the division.”

  There was uproar. “You cannot dissolve an entire division! When the time comes for war who will lead before the Tenthers!?”

  Klan smiled inwardly. “The Tenthers require no leading. March division is obsolete anyway – we do not march. Nor do we need to. I will create a division from the old. It will be a division for the present from the past and we will cover all eventualities. I will gift my soldiers to all those who would grant me a small boon.” At this he smiled and inclined his head as widely round the assembly as he could manage without shifting his feet. “Unless Speculate Yrie has other wishes – I defer to you,” He bowed to Jek, then Tun. Jek waved him on, amusement on his face at the power Klan was granting himself, pleased he was proving a fast study. And glad that his thoughts had gotten through. “Then, with no other objections, the warriors under March division will be split among the remaining divisions – for my price – I will work alone but for those I need for my office, and my division will be for me, the Protectorate, and the good of the Speculate.” At this last he bowed again.

  Jek laughed to himself at this last and nodded his appreciation to Klan. With none but a small cadre of inner servants, no more than necessary, Klan had immediately removed the threat of subversion of those under his command by the plotting of jealous rivals and established himself with no mandate, leaving himself second only to Jek.

  “Then what will your title be?” inquired Tun, also looking suitably impressed.

  “I will be Anamnesor Mard. My division will serve the present.” He surveyed the circle. “The present cannot forget. It will exist in all times.”

  Jek put a stop to the growing murmur and any argument by booming out, “It is decided.” He then cracked his cane into stone three times.

  Speculate business was thorny at best. Jek was pleased Klan had grasped it with only minor prompting from himself. He waited for all eyes to return to him and continued. Klan had taken his place at his right hand. Tun stood to his left. The circle was unbalanced but balance would grow, this time from the top.

  Tun continued.

  “Lord Fridel was killed by the dissenter, Lady Tirielle A’m Dralorn, Council Seat and daughter of Dran A’m Dralorn.”

  “Haha! I knew that girl would be trouble – did you think she would just go away, or that we could have her murdered, too!?” Mermi Fros, the one female member of the Speculate, laughed at the men, “You thought because she was a girl…I told you all then.”

  “Yes, Mermi, you were right. Your premonition that she would return and cause us concern was true. But I fear you were not quite accurate…while we allowed her to live then, there was reason - now there is no choice. She might have been protected once, but even she knows now what she has got into. We are quite certain she knows something of our plans for Sturma, and I would prefer to ask her what she knows before her death…” Shocked questions interrupted him. He continued, lowering his voice and ignoring the questions. “How much more she knows we cannot tell…but we cannot take any chances…she must be taken. I would also like to know just how much about us she has found out. Armed escorts, around forty, I believe, will take her from her home tonight. A routine collection of dissidents.”

  “The Ordanals said she was the First!”

  “Yes, yes, Mermi, he has already conceded the point.” Jek cut her off impatiently. “As foreseen the time of the Sacrifice, the Saviour and the Watcher is at hand. The return draws near. Our ascension is the sign we have been waiting for. You all understand the importance of the tasks laid out before us. If we are ever to ascend we must triumph here.” Jek nodded to Tun. “Soon the Protectorate power will outweigh the Hierarchy and the humans. The Kuh’taenium cannot withstand us. Soon the threat from the three will be averted. There will be no obstacle to the return.”

  No one else dared interrupt. Jek signalled the end on the meeting. “Before your ascension, Klan, I have duties for you. In the morning you will go to Lianthre. The Prognosticators will track your plan to fruition overnight. I suggest you get some rest before tomorrow – we have more work to do.”

  To everyone else, he said, “I hope before the night is through we will have both the Saviour and the Sacrifice in their place…outside the lock forever. The Watcher – the binding – will have no one left to join. Remember what rests on our success. Goodnight.”

  He left without another word, walking straight past the other members, leaving them to talk amongst themselves. None, it seemed, had the inclination. Klan left next, feeling it the wise thing to do. The rest of the Speculate followed.

  The magical roof above broke down slowly and fell in sparkling pieces to the barren ground below.

  *

  Chapter Eleven

  Shorn stood still on a thin tear of stone stretching across a great ravine. Below, he could hear the distant tumbling water as it hit the jagged, protruding rocks.

  There would be no sun when the morning came, and a fine mist of snow obscured the vision already. The dark had made it easier to see. Now he would have to wait for the beasts to leap out from the grey. Icicles formed in the permanent winter trees, their roots always hunched as if shivering where they could be seen, breaking the ground.

  Snow was turning Shorn’s drab brown hair white. His breathing slowed to match his heartbeat and he strained his ear for the exception. His teacher Wen had told him once – when you pay attention, it is the difference you can hear – the one discordant note. Do not be distracted by cold, or wind, or pain. Listen well and long and if you find it…well, then you prepare to fight.

  Not long after that they had parted ways.

  He still regretted not doing things differently. He remembered the day well. Coming into Pulhuth, not long on dry land. He had not been back to sea since. Nearly twenty years ago. He had only been nineteen. Wen had not stayed for long enough.

  He heard the snow falling onto the leaves. The leaves swaying. He found he could make out the dripping of water where the snow was melting in the night. He thought he could hear a bird chirp in the distance, but wasn’t sure. Then…there…the difference. But how had they got around him? They couldn’t have, he reasoned. This must be something else. He swivelled from the hips slowly, so as not to move his feet and make a sound in the snow underfoot. Not that it would seem to make any difference, he thought, as he relaxed. This was just a traveller. Strange, someone travelling alone on a day like this. The telltale crisp crunch of fresh snow being compacted under boot was coming nearer now. That, the difference.

  Shorn shifted his feet to meet the stranger.

  Renir came into view and looked up at the man blocking his path over a huge ravine. The trees looked out from under their cover of snow, peeking. No wonder. Look at this man, dressed in rags standing in the snow. He looks like a madman. Perhaps I should go around him? Still, maybe that is him. Who else would be up here in the snow this early? Then next he thought, well, a bandit, for one. A desperate one.

  Shorn saw the man’s indecision. He looked down at himself. Bedraggled, with a ruined face, on a lonely path. He spoke. “Go back stranger. There are beasts abroad in the snow.”

  Strangely, Shorn noted relief on the stranger’s approaching face.

  “Are you Shorn?”

  This was unexpected. “How do you know my name?” He reached behind him for the sword that wasn’t there.

  “I’m so glad I found you. I was beginning to think I was mad! I walked all the way up here. Took me three hours in this wretched snow. I hope you’ll notice the blanket I’m wearing.”

  “How do you know me, stranger? Speak quickly, I have no time to play today.” There was a distinct air of danger that carried in his tone.

  “I was visited by a ghost, twice, who told me that a man named Shorn was in grave danger and that I had to come up this bloody hill to find him. He didn’t seem to care that I have a wife who’ll tear my ears off for disappearing for so long – he
was very forceful.” The snow dragged Renir’s words down. Shorn had to strain to hear him. Perhaps the man was to be feared after all. His ramblings did not seem that of a sane man.

  “Find me?”

  “Yes, these beasts that are hounding you…” as Renir came close enough he saw Shorn’s face for the first time. Unaccustomed to tact, all he could manage was an “Ug!”

  Shorn wasn’t there anymore. Renir heard a disconnected, sharp ‘Crack!’, and thought the weight of snow must have broken a branch. Then he saw snow falling down through stars. And Shorn. Standing over him.

  “What happened?” he asked, taking an elbow.

  “You were rude.” Shorn held out a hand to the stranger. “Now, did you have something to say about my appearance?”

  Renir looked up at the stranger and felt around his mouth, now waking up to the pain, and tasted a little blood. Some loose teeth, too. He sat up. “What did you hit me for?”

  “You said ‘ug’.”

  Renir took the proffered hand and stood up, nursing his jaw. “You

  knocked me out because I said ‘ug’?” Shorn just looked bemusedly at the odd man before him, average height and build and looks. He takes a punch fairly well though, he thought.

  “I walked all this way up here. In the snow. To save your life. And you hit me because I said ‘ug’?” Renir’s voice rose with each sentence. “You idiot!”

  He threw his best punch at Shorn, hitting nothing but air and spinning himself round as Shorn leaned back. “I didn’t think you’d take it so personally. I’m sorry?” Renir was flailing on the edge of the rocky bridge. Shorn shrugged. “It’s a sore point,” he said, and grabbed the front of Renir’s shirt, pulling him to safety.

  Renir stood with his shoulders slumped and eyes wide looking into the crevass. He raised his eyebrows at Shorn. “I didn’t ask for this. I came all the way here to give you message. I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from punching me in the face.”

  “Of course. I apologise for hitting you.” What a strange man, he thought. “Now…your message and then you must leave. It is not safe here.”

  “Dour mud, you’re right it’s not…” was all Renir had time to say.

  He gawped in startled horror instead as a snarling black beast threw itself out of the woods, hitting Shorn squarely in the back. The force of the weightless beast, unlike anything Renir had ever seen, drove Shorn across the slippery pass toward the edge. Covered in spines, the beast seemed somehow transparent, as if made of shadow. The shadow spat where it touched the snow.

  Shorn growled like an animal himself and the deep bass of it knocked Renir from his initial shock. He leapt forward, (thinking what a place to die. I’m going to slip off, I’m going to slip off) and launched himself blindly at the sharp black dog. Afterward, he supposed he was hoping to knock it over the side. But his foot slipped as soon as he moved and he fell face first, cracking his chin on the rock and seeing stars again.

  The beast leapt at Shorn a second time. His cloak swirled up and over his head, blinding him as he ducked underneath. The monster passed overhead but not without injury to Shorn; as the beast sailed – toward Renir, still dazed on the ground – one of the vicious spikes caught Shorn’s shoulder. Blood came slowly thanks to the cold but still it seeped from the gash, right through his threadbare shirt.

  The monster landed behind Renir, sizzling where the snowfall met its back and feet. He turned his head, dripping blood himself from a gash on his chin, pulling himself to his feet. Renir and the beast stood shakily at first but they stood. They eyed each other warily. He turned his back on it to look were he heard growling, coming from the south.

  Two more hounds stared malevolently at Renir.

  Shorn spoke as he moved to Renir’s side, not taking his eyes off the beast in front of him, “Now, friend, this might be a good time to give me your message.”

  “I think I may have wet myself.”

  Shorn elbowed Renir in the back of the head, keeping his eyes on the black creature.

  “The message!?”

  “He said purity! Only purity will kill them.”

  Purity, purity…he saw the snow steaming off the evil creature’s razored back…purity… “I was right!”

  “What?” Renir asked.

  “Nevermind!” The beasts were crouching low now, ready to tear the men apart.

  “What nevermind? I’m going to die up here because of you. I don’t even know you!”

  “Shorn. Pleased to meet you.” He held out a hand.

  “Renir Esyn…stop that! Do something!”

  “Alright. When they come try to get them over the edge.”

  “Great plan. That’s obvious.”

  “No need for sarcasm, Renir. After all, I did apologise.”

  All Renir could manage was a sullen “humpf.” Then all the beasts threw themselves forward at once, ignoring Renir totally.

  “They come!”

  The black hound that had attacked first (they were identical as far as Renir could tell) ran forward and sank its teeth into Shorn’s left calf before either man could move. Shorn seemed impervious to the pain as he turned just in time to catch more teeth aimed at his left arm. Before Renir could blink Shorn was trying to fend off the third with the creature that was now stuck on his forearm – swinging it, using it like a club to keep the third at bay. While he didn’t cry out Renir could see that his face was already ashen. The things teeth were grinding on his bones. Renir could hear it even through the soft torn meat. He moved.

  He aimed a kicked at the fey animal gnawing Shorn’s leg. Between the thing’s rear legs. There was no sound from the thing when his foot connected, but its rear end raised satisfyingly from the ground. Renir, confident that the things would not turn on him until Shorn was dead, stamped on its head. The impact tore its head away from Shorn’s bloody calf, together with some of Shorn’s skin and trouser. He could see clumps of flesh hanging on its teeth.

  Wasting no time he stamped down again and the things teeth cracked as its jaw hit the stone below. Then he kicked it as hard as it could, bloodying his shin on the spikes. It sailed over the side. He didn’t watch it go down, but turned, slipped again and kicked the second beast over into the void with wildly scissoring legs as he struggled to find some purchase, fingers clawing at the ice underneath the snow as he tried to slow himself down.

  The mercernary threw himself down and tried to hold the last beast, but the ground underfoot was awash with blood and the thing (held against the ground with his good leg) was still gnawing at his arm, snapping and pumping its legs as though it was trying to fit Shorn in its maw.

  Renir, forgetting his own safety entirely scrambled across to the beast and put both hands into its mouth. He tried to prise its jaw apart but just cut his fingers in the process. It was like pulling at thorns. His hands dripped more blood on the snow, where it instantly began to congeal.

  Shorn, straining with effort and pain, said, “It’s no use. I can’t get it off.”

  He was surprisingly lucid considering the pain. His breath misted the night as it came through his erratic septum, one stream floating up, one down.

  “Wait.” Renir picked up handfuls of snow. Shorn gritted his teeth and strained against the struggling monstrosity held now with his left arm and leg against the snow, punching it in the face with his right. The beast’s snout was slick with blood and both hound and blood steamed the air. Crazy translucent eyes stared unblinking at Shorn as it pushed at him, gnashing and gnawing the arm.

  Renir was gathering up clean white snow with his hands, raw already from the cold but all pain gone, adrenaline pushing both men past the normal threshold – both would die soon if they didn’t get somewhere warm. Renir knew this even as he started to shiver involuntarily.

  Shorn knew what he was doing. “Hurry. I can’t hold it like this forever.”

  “I’m coming.” Renir walked on his knees, his hands piled high with snow.

  “Do it then.” Shorn’s f
ace was whitening already from blood loss and shock. “Don’t worry, I’ve had worse…” Shorn barked a tired laugh.

  Renir nodded and looked into the man’s eyes. “Right then.” He shoved the snow as far as he could into the beast’s maw. At first it tried to gag, cough it out without letting go of Shorn’s arm, but then it started to whistle, like it was punctured. Finally, its gaze moved away from its mark. It looked at Renir for the first time, bestial fury behind them.

  It gave a great howl as it opened its jaws to snap at Renir. As it did he immediately pushed it as hard as he could over the side, wincing as its spiked hide tore him again. It disappeared over the edge.

  He leaned over, watching it tumble though the air, black standing out again the white water rapids running through the ravine below.

  He rolled over onto his back and looked at Shorn, eyes shut, laying in his congealing blood with the snow (starting to get heavy) covering his ragtag clothes and hair. The whistling from below stopped. The beasts were dead.

  And now, he thought, we’re in trouble.

  *

  Chapter Twelve

  Carious and Dow, in the common tongue, the large and small suns of Rythe, spawned stories. Massive and ever present, they were always on Lianthrian’s minds.

  Legend on Lianthre told of the city of Urlain, where the suns’ first children had grown and learned from the land. The children had built a grand city, one that spread for a thousand miles in all directions. The first children had thrived and basked in the glory of the suns, becoming people, until one day the suns had hidden. In their youth the children thought the sky sleeping. They forgot they watched.

  When the suns slept, the first children thought dark thoughts, encouraged by the dark. The blackness inside grew, the children failed and shrank, wizened and hairless like the Naum of the underland. The city raised temples to evil gods, rewards came and they forgot how to live life in sun.

  When the suns awoke again, they saw what their children had built on Rythe and wept burning fire. They had no wrath, but wept from shame because they had not been watching. The city burned. When their grief had passed, and they saw what they had done, they could not bear to look upon it ever again.