The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3)

by Michael Foster

  She was put in charge of their logistics, overseeing every aspect of their supplies. More than that, she was involved in everything that happened on the ship, from the wax that was applied to the hull, to the number of chickens that would be caged in the hutches below deck. The crew were more afraid of her than any Turian commander, and when she lost her temper they fled from her path, avoiding her demonic remonstrations. Anyone in her field of view received Koian fury. If she did not get her way, she had a word in Mister Chapman’s ear, who then dispensed his own flavour of wrath upon the crew.

  While many were busy on the Farstride, others picked over every inch of the city, in every attic and cellar and room that remained to find what they needed. Most of the remaining fleet was sent to scour the outlying islands and towns to the north and south for supplies, to gather the ingredients for black powder from distant mines.

  They brought back any who wished to take refuge in the city, and they came in their multitudes, straining the ability to feed them. Luckily, the Turians had anticipated that and supplies began arriving within days. Thankfully, no one starved in those first weeks, although many went hungry throughout the rationing.

  Several hundred of Rei’s Order returned to sanity after her demise—men and women both, including youngsters who must have been children when she rose to power. Mercifully, they had no memories of their time under her reign. They only wondered why they had aged so much in a single night. Most of her forces had remained demented and were slain by the Turian soldiers on that first eve, or had fled to the hills.

  Those who had escaped the attack at Seakeep were brought to live in the palace, for the island keep was rendered uninhabitable, abandoned in favour of repairing Cintar.

  Samuel was unseen, remaining in his cabin on the ship—they assumed—only emerging on occasion to foster his incomprehensibility. He stalked about, raging that they were delayed for too long and demanding they hasten the departure. Captain Orrell was inevitably called to calmly explain the importance of their preparation and the strains that were already upon his men, and then the magician would return brooding to his cabin.

  The third day after the city had been liberated, work commenced on the palace. Samuel appeared beside the labouring men, and with little warning he shattered the Mage Tower, bringing it down in a tumbling mess of stone and timberwork, sending the men fleeing in a panic; scattering bugs from beneath a lifted stone. When he was finished, he left without explanation. When Captain Orrell heard of it he could only shake his head in disbelief.

  The floodwaters around Cintar had evaporated quickly; however, it did not bring relief, exposing more rotting bodies that needed to be dealt with; gathered and burnt before they could fester. The large number of corpses ensured a difficult task.

  The air was choked by smoke all that week; a fleshy smell that permeated cloth and skin. The carcasses of the beasts were worse. Some had not vanished as expected. They shivered and popped when they burned, foul smelling liquid boiling out of their wounds. Air gushed from their throats, causing them to wail even when dead. Others curled like charred leaves, or shook violently as if preparing to spring back to life—thankfully none did. The men and women who saw to the task said their prayers and did not look once the fire was lit.

  Leopold and Jessicah assisted for many days—Jessicah because she wanted to help however she could, Leopold because the magician had commanded it. They covered their noses and mouths with tight bandages, as did everyone, and helped drag the bodies into mounds to be burnt.

  After the first few days of gathering corpses Leopold felt a changed man. There were so many maimed and bloated bodies he gradually saw them as logs or bundles of rubbish—certainly not the remains of human beings. It helped to convince himself of such, for many of the dead were merely youths, younger than he, and many were women.

  ‘Jessicah,’ Leopold said after they had dragged another cadaver into place. He untied the cloth around his face, shooed away flies, and looked at her, exhausted. ‘You can’t take much more of this, and I feel the same. We’ve been going all day.’

  Jessicah stepped away from the row of bodies; they stood in the ruined field beneath the shadow of the city wall. She was wet with perspiration and she wiped sweat from her brow as she spoke through the cloth of her mask. ‘I’m tired,’ she said, ‘and there is too much to do. It will take many days—weeks—to see to them all.’

  Leopold shook his head. ‘We have done enough. We could gather corpses forever. I know they need all the help they can get, but I think we could better apply our time. Let the soldiers and those who are familiar with death continue the work. We should return to the city and find another way to be useful, one not so heart rending.’

  ‘It is no easier for them, Leopold,’ she spoke, trudging back to her work.

  ‘No, you go,’ called a voice. Captain Orrell had heard them, helping one of his men lay yet another corpse into place from the back of their hand cart. He coughed, looking at them over his face mask. ‘Go on. I’ll catch up,’ he said briefly to the men with him, before approaching Leopold and Jessicah. ‘You have both seen and done enough here.’ He, too, had weary, reddened eyes from the dust and smoke. ‘I know Samuel wanted you out here, to see the results of war first hand, but this is enough. Neither of you need to see any more. There is much to be done in the palace, as well as here, as you say. This is no job for a lady and the Emperor should be in his city, not fossicking in the graves.’

  ‘We carry the dead as well as anyone,’ Jessicah replied stoutly, untying her mask to breath better.

  ‘And so you have, but you’ve done enough,’ Orrell stated. ‘You’ve seen the result of war. Some of us need hearts not filled with grief. Otherwise, Turia will be an empire of the miserable and the broken-hearted—like me. Go back to the palace. I promise, you will have plenty to do.’

  ‘Very well, Captain,’ Leopold said, eager to agree.

  Orrell measured them for a moment, regaining his strength, before he nodded and headed back into the fields, to his men and their cart, as they struggled over the uneven, boggy ground.

  ‘Such a valiant man,’ Jessicah said. ‘I wonder what he has seen to put such sorrow into his heart.’

  ‘Sorrow? He looks immune to it.’

  ‘Can you not see it? He has suffered, but he goes on. He refuses to falter.’ She watched the captain cross the fields between the scores of carts and barrows being filled with the dead.

  ‘Turians are stubborn,’ Leopold said. ‘I know from experience.’

  ‘True, but it is more than that. If every man were so gallant, the world would not need swords. He, too, should be in the palace, but he is here, carrying the dead enemy alongside his men.’

  ‘They are not the enemy,’ he told her. ‘Everybody here was once a citizen of Cintar.’ From Jessicah’s reaction he could tell he’d missed her point. ‘He told us to leave; let us do as he says.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, dragging her eyes from the captain to the city wall. ‘First, let us rest a moment in the shade.’

  After a short spell, they returned into the city, following the shadow of the wall towards the distant open gates, and voyaging through the long, echoing tunnel.

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ she said abruptly as they crossed the rubble-strewn streets towards the palace.

  ‘What isn’t?’ he asked.

  ‘All this,’ she said, gesturing to the destruction around them. ‘We can fix it. We can fix everything to the way it was before—if not better. It’s a city, mere bricks and mortar, easily mended.’

  ‘I wish I had your confidence,’ he said, harbouring doubt. Cintar was a forest of ruins, a desert of rubble, stretching in every direction.

  ‘We have to be confident. Anything else is to give up. I won’t give up. We can make it and Samuel will see us through.’

  ‘Do you really have so much confidence in him?’ Leopold asked.

  ‘I do.’

  She was a gorgeous woman. Dressed in functional work
clothes, hair tied back and face dirtied, she remained beautiful. Leopold recalled how she looked on that first night, possessed by Rei, when he could see the outline of her body. The way she moved had made him shiver, tingling his nerves. She was older than him by ten years at least, but she had been preserved in youth by Rei’s magic or some power he did not understand. He wished to be with her, to touch her, to kiss her; she shared none of those desires.

  Her eyes lingered on the captain whenever he was near. She peeked at him from beneath her long lashes, stealing glances, the want of a bashful maiden. Leopold knew he should not care about such things, yet his jealousy consumed him.

  ‘Leopold?’ Jessicah’s voice broke him from his thoughts.

  ‘What’s that?’ He had not heard anything she had been saying: a captive to his thoughts.

  ‘I said he has never let us down before. He saved me; he saved the city and the people of Seakeep.’

  Leopold grunted. ‘Oh—Samuel. Yes. But only because of you. If you were not there to fuel his guilt, he would not have considered it.’

  ‘Why do you have such little belief in him, Leopold?’

  ‘He killed my father. That is enough.’

  ‘I’m sorry. He mentioned it to me,’ she admitted. ‘He said he had no choice; your father was adamant it had to be done.’

  ‘So he keeps telling me. That does not mean I should forgive him.’

  ‘True. But there are many examples of his goodness. Look at Toby and Salu ... only a kind man would shelter two such unfortunate souls.’

  Again he scoffed. ‘Those two? Samuel needs the old man, and the two of them come packaged together. If not, he would have left them to fend for themselves long ago. He kicks them whenever he passes; I’ve seen him. There’s no chivalry in that. He’s the rudest person I’ve met—and that’s saying something considering some of the fishermen I’ve known.’

  ‘That’s just his way,’ she said. ‘He’s only trying to make you stronger, to prepare you for who you need to be.’

  ‘I don’t need to be anyone else. Who I am is enough. I could never trust him as you do. He’s using me for his own selfish purposes. He’s using all of us.’

  ‘Leopold,’ she said disappointedly, ‘what reason could he have to do that?’

  ‘You’ve heard him. He is obsessed with saving his devil son.’

  ‘That’s not all he speaks about. Leopold, if you don’t believe in Samuel, how can anyone? It’s your duty to give your people hope, and Samuel can make that hope into reality. That’s what magic is for, and he needs our support, our belief. Have faith in him, Leopold.’

  ‘Never!’ he replied, indignant.

  He scowled and looked away as they passed a crowd of children playing in the remains of Saint Veddum’s Cathedral—three walls around a slew of stones and smouldering timbers. Stained glass lay in shattered rainbows around the children’s feet.

  ‘Tell me,’ Leopold prompted, changing the topic. Despite their differences in opinion, he was reluctant to offend her. ‘Do you remember anything of the years since the Darkening?’

  ‘Samuel asked me the same. I remember sounds and images, little else. Dreams are difficult to remember once the dreamer awakes.’ She too gazed over the broken world around them. ‘I find it difficult to accept so much time has passed. I feel the same, I look the same ... everything else has changed, except for Samuel. He is my anchor—I hold to him to affirm my sanity.’

  ‘Have the years passed quickly for you?’ he asked her. Samuel had expressly forbidden him to talk about her past, but Leopold did not care if she learned the truth. So be it if he upset the magician.

  ‘Only flashes, moments,’ she said.

  ‘Do you remember anything of Rei?’

  She halted. ‘What is that?’

  ‘Hmm,’ Leopold stumbled, unsure of how much to say.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘No, never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up.’ ‘Samuel was right. You need more time,’ he added.

  ‘Please, tell me.’

  ‘You were a different person when we first met. You spoke with a different voice. Someone else was controlling you. It was Rei, the Witch Queen. You were her. You were the one that caused all this.’

  ‘No,’ Jessicah responded, shaking her head in denial.

  ‘You were the one directing the Order. You summoned the beasts.’

  She looked at him, aghast. ‘Can this be true?’

  ‘So Samuel says. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.’

  ‘How could it be so? I would never commit such atrocities.’

  ‘It was the witch inside of you. It was not your fault. The soldiers would be furious if they knew it. Only Samuel and I know. We will keep it our secret. Please ... forget I told you. I should have remained silent.’

  ‘No,’ Jessicah said assuredly, striding away. Leopold hurried in step. ‘You were right to tell me. If I was responsible for this, I should know. I ... I can’t believe it, and yet it makes sense.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Please, don’t tell Samuel. He needs no more reason to detest me.’

  ‘He doesn’t detest you, Leopold.’ Her long strides stopped abruptly. She was quiet, before speaking again, softly, with contemplation. She grasped Leopold’s hands and spoke into his eyes. ‘I remember a long dream from which I could not awake. I wandered aimlessly without avail through darkness. I could not see. I sensed a presence and found my way towards it. I came across a fire, white as snow. It kept me warm and I sheltered beside it. It smelled of fresh rain on grass. It hummed a deep and resounding tune that offered love and protection. I know something terrible was hovering out of sight, wanting me, but it could not near the light. I woke up to you and Samuel.’ She gave the young man who stood with her a questioning glance. ‘Do you know what it means?’

  Leopold shook his head.

  ‘Neither do I,’ she said, releasing his hands.

  They continued their journey to the palace, Jessicah remaining quiet and pensive.

  ****

  As soon as the dead had been cleared, work turned towards repairing the fields and pastures on the plain, scarred and furrowed with gullies from the runoff, caked in layers of salt.

  Captain Valiant, now in charge of the reparation, sent his men to fix the irrigation channels from the Bardlebrook River, flushing the salty crust away. The first batch of rains helped, and by the time the Farstride was ready to sail, the first crops were sprouting to the north of the city.

  The city remained in ruins. The debris from the towers had been removed and portions of the palace made liveable again—although far from its original state.

  Leopold and Jessicah spent many hours together during those preparatory weeks. They helped wherever they could, mending walls, sewing clothes and assisting in the kitchens. Leopold learnt new skills, and Jessicah just as many. She hauled bricks as ably as he, and Leopold wielded needle and thread, under her patient guidance, if only it meant remaining in her company. She was not frail, as Samuel often suggested. To Leopold she was the most capable woman he had met—frequently reminding him of his mother. Still, her eyes were for Captain Orrell, and although the two rarely spoke, her face shone every time the man entered her view.

  A cruel, festering jealousy crawled beneath Leopold’s skin, inching towards his heart, and he could not ignore it. Every time Jessicah’s face filled with delight, he scowled, and the captain became someone to detest. If he could, Leopold would have him left behind in Cintar while they went away on their adventure, but Leopold quickly realised he had little, if any, real power. The officers made the decisions, while he was a figurehead, saluting to the crowds as he walked, addressing the sorry survivors of Cintar.

  Leopold began to brood, resenting the city and its survivors, always pestering him, calling for his blessings. When he heard the Farstride would soon depart, he was thankful to leave the broken city behind.

  ****

  The new Emperor Leopold was folding his shirts, readying to return t
o the ship after several weeks, when he gained the uncomfortable feeling of someone standing behind him.

  He eyed the sword sitting in its sheath on the covers beside him, folding at the same time, his pace unfaltering. He counted down from five in his head, intent on surprising the intruder. Reaching zero, he grabbed the sword and pulled it free, spinning in the same movement to face the door and crying out ‘Aha!’ as was apt in such situations.

  No one was there. The space was empty and the door was shut. Shaking his head, a nervous fool, Leopold retrieved his scabbard and pressed his blade safely inside.

  ‘No, no, no,’ scolded a voice of disappointment and Leopold dropped his weapon in fright. ‘Why attack the poor, defenceless doorway? What has it ever done to you? I am over here!’

  It was Tulan Goodwin, perched on the window sill. He stepped down and smiled at Leopold warmly. Leopold needed a moment to recover from the surprise and recognise the figure with the tight, triangular beard and moustache, perching above.

  ‘It’s you again.’ Leopold was relieved it had not been Samuel swooping in to chastise him or set him back to work, as he frequently did.

  ‘Yes, I have returned to see how you are faring. I see Cintar has been retaken—for what it’s worth. There’s more broken than remains standing. Tell me, what of Samuel? What have you learned?’

  Leopold saw to the door and ensured it was bolted, before stepping closer to Tulan to reveal what he knew.

  ‘I have seen him use the box. He rests inside when he is spent. He said it is so his demons do not overcome him.’

  ‘Ah,’ Tulan mused. ‘That would explain it. I was right to assume as much. He has truly been subverted by the black arts.’ He shook his head. ‘The fool should have known, better than anyone. He is our enemy, Leopold—the enemy of the good and the righteous. Tell me, how often does he use his box?’