Grace of the Light

by Fergal F. Nally

  People had long memories and the thirty years war had left many deep wounds all along the frontier between the two nations. So what was this about a blockade? What did he know? Politics was for the highborn and the king, as was war and trade.

  “I’ll take him,” Ramin said to her men. They nodded and moved away through the city on horseback. Ramin turned, “Follow me, don’t try anything, you won’t escape, you’ll die if you run, understand?”

  Tuath looked into her eyes and nodded. “I’ve come to deliver a message to your Lords, I intend to do just that, lead on Lady Ramin.”

  She looked at him searching for any slight in his tone but finding none she shrugged and rode on through the cobbled streets. They entered a maze of low dwellings, the stench hit Tuath. How could people live in their own filth like this? It was not hard to keep streets clean. Why did cities always do this to the poor? Why did it have to be like this? He kept one hand over his nose and mouth to keep the worst of the smell at bay.

  Figures stirred in the houses, the streets were subdued with few people out. Then he saw signs on the doors and understood. The sign of the grave, of death.

  The sign of the plague.

  The Simulacrum city was in the midst of an epidemic, the plague had entered the city before him, before he had a chance to deliver his message. This could change things, this he had not considered. Usually the first to suffer were the poor, the highborn and the military would take the food and medicine, the rest would be left to survive as best as they could. The poison sellers would do a brisk trade, many would prefer to take their own life rather than have a painful, lingering death from the red plague.

  It bled the body and the mind and stole the spirit. He shivered, he had seen the red plague once before in the seaport at Drakeneish. The garrison had burned the town, killing everyone to prevent the spread of the disease. Their measures had succeeded, all those within the walls had perished, the plague had been defeated but at a terrible cost.

  Tuath looked round him at the low buildings, at the squalor, now he understood why the smell was so bad. Underlying the foul stench of human waste was the pungent smell of rotting corpses and fear.

  They approached a hall of moderate prosperity. Two masked men stood guard. They nodded at Ramin. One stepped forwards and held up his hand.

  “No entry to the scribes’ hall, the pestilence hasn’t crossed the threshold of this house, it won’t either, least not on my watch.”

  Ramin stared at the man and nodded.

  “Brother, I understand. If we’re not allowed to enter, bring the scribes to us. We will confer with them through the door, this man has a message they would hear. The Lords will be angry if you don’t allow this message to pass, you know what that would mean for you and your family. These are my words, think on them and choose wisely.”

  The guard’s eyes showed doubt, the rest of his face was hidden behind chainmail. A rumble of thunder came from above, a light drizzle fell. Finally, the man blinked and nodded at Ramin.

  “I’ll see if the day scribe will meet with you at the door.” He disappeared through the entrance, his colleague came forwards and stared ahead. Raine took a step back and waited. Tuath looked at Ramin’s cloak studying its fine detail. He followed the weave of the cloth with his eyes, tracing its stitching up to her shoulders and neck. He saw the sweep of skin there up to her ear and a wisp of hair moving in the wind. This woman had been a child like him once, the guards too, their paths had taken them in different directions, they were enemies. In another world they could have been friends, brothers, sisters. Tuath wondered at the absurdity of life, its twists and turns. The randomness of it chilled him.

  Movement came from the door, the guard reappeared and spoke to Ramin. “The day scribe has agreed to listen to your prisoner. She’s on the other side of the door, you may allow him forward, she will listen through the slot. One wrong move and he will die. Are these terms understood?”

  Ramin nodded in agreement and pushed Tuath forward. “Don’t worry, if he tries anything he’ll taste my steel before yours,” she drew her sword and held it at Tuath’s neck. “Speak messenger, you’ve come all that way for this moment. Now’s your time.”

  Tuath looked at her. “I’ll do as you say, even though my instructions were to deliver this message to your Lords themselves. I see this is as close as I’ll get, but I warn you, do they really need to hear too?” Tuath indicated the guards. “Your Lords will surely kill them if they hear this message?”

  Ramin pressed her blade hard into Tuath’s flesh, drawing blood. “Get on with it, I’m hungry and I’ve got to be somewhere else.”

  The guards looked at one another and backed away slightly.

  “Very well then,” Tuath replied. He leaned forwards and pressed his lips to the door slot. “Day scribe, I bear this message from the lips of Lady Bright Feather, Watcher of the Realm, of the Imperial City, Dej. This message is for the ears of the Simulacrum Lords alone. I will begin.

  “My Lords, the false gods Ashtoreth and Morrigan have risen, they are a threat to both our nations. I propose an alliance between your people and ours to meet and overcome this threat. With your magic and our armies we can defeat these death deifiers and their host, for undoubtedly they will find a way to open the doors to the underworld as they did before. If we leave it too late they will unleash the end of days upon us. If you agree, in principal, I can meet you two moons hence in the Field of Parly at the meeting of the Swift and Brightwater rivers. Use my messenger to respond to this proposal. What say you Lords?”

  Tuath finished, his voice had been soft but clear, he had looked inwards finding the words where he had left them, they came to his tongue with ease. He felt the pressure of Ramin’s steel lessen at his neck. His breathing was easier, he felt strangely calm, the die was cast.

  “You have said your piece, now go,” the guard declared stepping forwards. “The scribe will convey your words to the Lords, if they feel it worthy of reply no doubt you’ll be called on.”

  Ramin grabbed Tuath’s arm and led him to their horses. “It’s the inn for me and the cells for you messenger. At least you’ve accomplished your mission, you can die knowing that. I doubt you’ll see the light of day again. The Lords do not make deals. The Simulacrum are strong, all giving, all powerful.”

  Ramin brought Tuath to a stone building and left him in the custody of two gaolers. He was taken down a flight of steps to an underground cell and thrown into darkness.

  Darkness within darkness, Tuath mused. He would sit in his new womb, after all it was what he deserved, he was content. He stepped outside of the present and withdrew, searching for the demon he knew lay somewhere within.

  Where are you? Where are you friend? You said you’d be there for me when the need arose.

  Tuath tried the obvious; asking questions in his conscious thoughts. He tried the less obvious, willing a spark of communication, he even tried nothing; lying with a blank mind allowing random thoughts to enter his mind. Nothing happened. How was he supposed to contact his demon? He had delivered his message, he was no longer a messenger but an empty husk.

  He still had not had his audience with the Simulacrum Lords, the whole point of his journey. He had failed, he’d miscalculated, he’d been used. With this realisation Tuath passed through a new door, desperation flooded through him, he felt alone, ravaged, empty.

  Desperation.

  “Finally, you’ve found me human, I thought you’d never find the key. You are stupid indeed, you never even asked my name,” the demon’s voice exploded within Tuath’s skull.

  Tuath was both shocked and relieved to make contact with the beast within. “What is your name demon?”

  “I am desperation. You can call me Drath, shorter and more to the point. You can find me in despair or by using my name, either will suffice. So here you are, your fate is unravelling. What do you want me to do little man, I grow bored of this game, of your petty life.”

  Tuath thought furiously. “I
want to place the Simulacrum Lords in harm’s way, I want a horrible death to befall them. I need to do this before I die, before they kill me.”

  “You owe me six years of your life, I’ll not let them kill you fool. I’ll bring you to them, just be aware I need to push you into madness first. Suspend belief in all that lies around you for a time, you’ll recover once the illusion is over.” Drath’s words ceased. Tuath was left alone in the darkness.

  Then his reality began to change. The darkness at Tuath’s feet thickened, he stared where his feet should be and saw shapes, whether the shapes were real or not he did not know. He watched in fascination as the shapes became more defined. They drew themselves up becoming recognisable; four silver horses, skeletal, battle worn. He saw grievous, bloody wounds in their flesh. He was dreaming, he had to be, but then again Drath had threatened him with madness, he would endure.

  The four horses were agitated, they stamped on the stone floor, they screamed. The noise they made was like the roar of a hundred men. The horses turned their hind quarters to the cell door and as one they kicked back and shattered it. The wood splintered into pieces, the door was gone. Dust filled the air, shouts of alarm came from above.

  Men armed with shields and swords came running down the stairs and stared into the darkness. They held their blades out, hands shaking and watched as movement stirred in the now open cell. They heard the sound of hooves and the neighing of horses. How could this be? They only had one inmate, the new man, captured by Ramin’s patrol.

  Out of the murk a silver horse appeared followed by others, all skeletal, their ribs and skulls partially covered in rotting flesh, as if exhumed from some ancient battlefield. The men retreated instinctively up the stairs. The horses followed, their breath frosting the unnaturally chill air.

  Behind the horses Tuath rose and followed. He’d no idea how long he’d been in the cell but he noticed thick stubble on his face. The horses crested the stairs, the guards continued to back away until they were pressed up against the entrance. The horses screamed as one and the men turned and fled through the door out into the morning rain.

  Tuath stood bewildered in the guard room and watched as the horses left the building, he followed them, keeping close. Shouts came from the street and buildings on either side of the ghostly horses. They led the way, taking him down a maze of streets, the way becoming wider until they reached a main thoroughfare. They emerged onto a wide, tree lined avenue leading uphill to a fortified building.

  The horses did not hesitate, they turned and walked up the avenue flicking their tails and screaming loudly. Tuath felt numb, disconnected, he was a player, walking in his own dream. Drath was putting on a good show, he followed the horses waiting to see where they took him.

  They led him to the house at the top of the hill, to the stronghold of the Simulacrum Lords.

  The gates opened as the skeletal horses approached, there were no guards. The place had the reek of magic; a metallic taste in the air. In the courtyard stood four figures dressed in white robes. Their outline was slightly blurred to Tuath, they were watching him.

  “Dramatic entrance, young messenger. We see you carry magic in your blood, you’ve caught our attention. We’ve heard the message you bring from that den of vipers in the City of Spires. Bright Feather is not to be trusted, however we know this time she speaks the truth. We are aware Ashtoreth and Morrigan have returned, the Erthe will be taken from all peoples. We know these things, we see that an alliance is the only way to defeat this threat. We don’t like it, we don’t trust your mistress, but we will speak with her.”

  Tuath could not help himself, his words were out before he could stop them. “I hold you responsible for the murder of my family, my kin, the massacre of my village. I’ll not rest until I see you all dead and your power vanquished.” He stood stunned. How had his thoughts been voiced? He had not consciously done so. The smell of magic intensified, he knew his mind was the battlefield now. The Simulacrum were harvesting his thoughts, dragging them out as words through his throat.

  He felt the demon, Drath, stir within him.

  “We know you mean us harm, harm is present always, we breathe it in every day, it courses through our veins, we live on it. We deal in death and harm, that is the nature of power, this is nothing new. But know this, you and what little magic you possess cannot touch us, you are nothing. We are however interested in Bright Feather’s proposal and we agree to the meeting in the Parly Fields as she requested. You are free to leave. You will have safe passage from our city and will be provided with an escort to the border. Bring our decision to your mistress.”

  Tuath could not believe his ears. He had achieved something, although he was not sure what. He had met the Simulacrum Lords, had seen them, had spoken with them. They had seen right through him and his words. They had engaged with Bright Feather’s message, they had agreed to her terms.

  He also knew they were his enemies and they were, in turn, not to be trusted.

  They had to die.

  Chapter 13

  The Deepings

  Deep down something moved. It had not stirred for an age.

  It was old, ancient as the bones of the Erthe. It remembered… the beginning, the white heat, the ball of light and the forming. It had been there, it was part of the Erthe, part of her.

  Why was it stirring again? What had called it back to life?

  The huge worm turned and started to move through the deep clay of the plains. Its leathery hide transforming, becoming harder and stronger. An insistent call ran through its brain- Go to the stones on the plain, the place called Si an Bhru.

  The Erthe was in danger, she had summoned it. It would respond and fight all those who would defile Her sacred places. It had happened before and would happen again, this was the cycle of things, darkness followed light as sure as death followed life. It felt its power return and with it hunger for the kill, battle lust seeped through its vast carcass. It would be a good time to kill and a good time to die again, if it came to that.

  The sloth worm uncoiled and shifted its bulk, writhing upwards through the deepings that had entombed it for centuries.

  ~

  “Is that really it?” Raine said, she saw a distant hill on the plain. Using Jax’s spyglass she was able to make out the standing stones.

  “Yes, that’s Si an Bhru, and its Henge of Stones.” Jax replied.

  “It must be huge,” Raine whispered, not quite believing what she saw.

  “Built by the ancients, using great magic, but lying in ruins now.”

  “I wonder what it was for. Is it a tomb?”

  “It is a barrow but no graves were ever found, it’s a mystery why they went to so much effort to build the place, but not use it.”

  “Well I have to go there, find this Twist, then figure out how to defeat Ashtoreth and her sister.”

  “Aye, should be easy for a girl like you,” Jax said wryly.

  “Come on let’s get going, how long do you think it’ll take to…” Raine broke off. She froze. “Jax…”

  “Wolves! I see them, we’re surrounded. Quick, put your back against mine. We’ll have to fight them, they’re everywhere. Don’t let them separate us.”

  Raine pulled out her blades and widened her stance, she felt Jax’s spine pressing against hers. She waited for the wolves to make the first move. They had crested the Jacta Arx the evening before and were now a few hundred feet below the ridge on the far side, vast plains lay stretched out below them. She counted three wolves in the low brush around her, they looked hungry, gaunt, she knew they would attack.

  “How many?” Jax spoke.

  “Three that I can see,” Raine replied.

  “I’ve got two here,” Jax said. He held his staff in front of him and steadied his breathing. His staff had seen many fights, it was an extension of him, it carried its own scars, its own death stains.

  The standoff lasted a few seconds more, then, as if on some cue the wolves attacked. Raine slashed o
ut with her right blade catching the nearest wolf in the neck, she used her left blade to block the second wolf’s attack. Her world exploded in a world of fury and fear. She felt the proximity of death. Jax’s back pushed hard against her, she heard his efforts behind. Her feet dragged as if held in quicksand.

  The wolf on her right was down, arterial blood spurting from its neck. It was reckless and had paid the price. The other two pressed their advantage, the second wolf’s jaws were crushing her left arm. She could feel its teeth through her bracer. The third flanked her on the right and darted in snapping at her legs, trying to tear her hamstrings. Her leather greaves took a ravaging, it was only a matter of time before they would disintegrate under the onslaught.

  Raine focused, staring into the eyes of the wolf on her arm, something passed, an understanding. Raine raised her right sword bringing the pommel down hard on its skull. She heard bone crunch, life went out of the wolf’s eyes, it fell to the ground and did not move.

  The third wolf, at her feet, saw its companion drop, it loosened its grip on her leg. Raine overbalanced and staggered, tripping over the dead wolf. She knew this was the moment of her death, realisation hit her like a blow. So this was it, this was how it would end, on the ground in the Jacta Arx, defeated by a pack of starving wolves. She saw the third wolf release her leg and lunge at her neck. It would be over in a second.

  Raine closed her eyes. She felt the impact of her fall and was instantly winded. A sharp sound followed, a dead weight landed on her chest, the smell of decay and blood washed over her.

  She opened her eyes, her breath returned in an agonising rush. Jax stood over her breathing hard, bloodied staff in his hands. The third wolf lay dead on her chest its brains splattered over her breastplate. Jax had saved her, she looked up at her friend and blinked, her breathing laboured. She pushed the carcass away and rolled over onto her side. Her side hurt again, the same place as before, she cursed and a wave of nausea gripped her, she retched tasting bile in her throat. She allowed the sickness to pass and spat out its bitter residue.