by A J Dalton
The consideration of her Saint aside, however, the challenges in Godsend caused her some disquiet. Instinct told her that these were not isolated events; rather, they were part of a subtle pattern and set of influences. To her frustration, she could not yet see that pattern properly, but she suspected the Geas had finally begun to manifest itself after countless ages in hiding. At least that was what she had suspected until D’Selle had presumed to seek her out.
It was with consternation that she had become aware of his presence in the gallery. Why had he come here? What scheme motivated him? Any why would he so overtly identify himself to her as a potential enemy? Surely he was robbing himself of his advantage, or was he looking to provoke a particular reaction that would then work against her? Of course, given the predatory nature of her kind, every Saviour was a potential enemy to her, but it was worrying that one would choose to signal so obviously that she had his attention. Maybe his intention was to demonstrate that he was fearless of her, so that her confidence would be undermined and her behaviour would change. Maybe he wanted her on the defensive rather than the offensive. Whatever the explanation, she could not help being a bit frightened – so perhaps he was already winning! Her equilibrium threatened, she decided to open her eyes and engage him so that she might glean some information she could use in turn against him.
‘D’Selle,’ she croaked drily. ‘What is it you want from me?’
The older Saviour seemed smug as he bowed and said smoothly, ‘I merely come to enquire whether all is well in your region.’
The insult was so great that the elders would not have hesitated to sanction him, but she would be considered weak for taking something like this to them. As an organising intelligence, she should be able to anticipate and pre-empt such an outrageous insult before it was even spoken. So D’Selle was cunning as well as fearless then. Her own fear only increased, although she kept her expression schooled so that she would not betray her weakness.
‘How dare you ask such a thing!’ she replied severely. ‘Again, D’Selle, what is it you want of me?’
He shrugged slightly. ‘I merely wish to offer my help should there be anything amiss in your region. The western region is ever ready to serve the wider Empire.’
Unbelievably, he’d followed up the first insult with an even greater one. His boldness and aggression were truly shocking. ‘How could there be anything amiss when I always anticipate and pre-empt any problems? If there were anything genuinely amiss and beyond my ability to correct it, for the good of the Empire would I not have brought it to the elders long before it had occurred to anyone to enquire as to the state of my region? How dare you! Again, what is it you want of me?’
‘I thought you should know that information can spread more quickly than might be useful when one region seeks to trade too much with others. Traders from the eastern region have come into my western region talking of a plague in the south. I only mention it out of concern for the wider Empire.’
He has spies in the southern region is probably more like it, D’Shaa thought to herself, and he wishes to discourage the successful trade between south and east too. Yet nothing so simple could be D’Selle’s reason for initiating this confrontation between them. ‘You think I would not know this?’ she asked incredulously. ‘How dare you!’
‘If I have caused offence then I apologise.’ Her enemy smiled at her. ‘I will leave you now.’
She watched him drift out of the gallery and closed her eyes to think. What did he seek to initiate? D’Shaa knew that, usually, the safest course of action in such a situation was for her to do nothing for a long while, so that she could plan for different contingencies and then intervene when circumstances became more apparent. Yet would this approach work when there was a plague spreading? If she left things too late, the results could be disastrous and she would be held to account by the elders. All it needed was for the plague to spread to one other region and the affected Saviour could rightfully make a request that she be undone. She wouldn’t have put it past D’Selle to encourage the plague to spread himself, were it not for the fact that the ever-watchful Elder Thraal would know of his thoughts and actions, and if such thoughts and actions were not deemed to be in the best interests of the Empire, then D’Selle’s existence would be forfeit.
She considered taking immediate steps to halt the plague, but D’Selle’s visit to her had seemed designed to provoke precisely this, and thus she resisted. If he had not visited her at all, then she would have been inclined to wait to see if the plague was indeed the Geas trying to exert some influence in a last desperate attempt to save itself and its world. She would have let it expose itself even further so that it would have no escape when the Empire moved to capture it once and for all. The glory that would come to her if she played a significant part in the capture of the Geas would see her elevated to the rank of elder at least.
And so she understood the dangerous dilemma D’Selle had created for her: she could move quickly to halt the plague but lose the rare chance of capturing the Geas, for which she would be rightly condemned; or she could wait, seek to lure the Geas out and capture it, all the while running the risk that if the plague were something else it might spread and cause her existence to become forfeit. Whether the plague fully represented the Geas or not, D’Selle had built it into his own subtle scheme of causes and events, a scheme that he must have started a good while before, for it had now progressed so far that it could not be undone simply. With horror, she realised he already had her trapped. This gamble was definitely not one she wanted to take, for she was an inexperienced player and the stakes were far too rich for her blood, but there was no escaping it now. The plague was in her region whether she liked it or not. The unleashing of pagan magicks had already occurred, not once but twice.
How had she not seen any of this coming? The elders would have no sympathy for one who could not anticipate and pre-empt such significant events. D’Selle might even be congratulated for his orchestration of the situation, for there was no doubt that he had forced the Geas to become involved in at least some part. Was it D’Selle then who had helped create the conditions in Godsend to focus the influence of the Geas? Was it he who had made sure particular malcontents had all ended up in the same community? Now that she looked more closely at the minds of the Minister called Praxis and the stubborn Hero called Samnir, she saw that they had both lived in the western region in their earlier days! It could be no coincidence. And the forebears of the boy’s parents had originally come from the western region to help settle the south. They must have brought specific lore and rituals with them all that time ago and passed them down through the generations, causing disasters like New Sanctuary along the way.
D’Shaa trembled, knowing she was existing on borrowed time, and that it might already be too late to save herself.
Jillan plodded towards Saviours’ Paradise, in the woods more often than not in an attempt to avoid the squalls of rain that would batter the road every now and then. There was no real protection to be had, however, because he’d left the evergreens of Godsend far behind: the trees here were iron grey and largely stripped bare. Blades of wind cut and thrust at him constantly. This was an unforgiving place of cold metallic hues.
The sky was heavy and low. It pressed on Jillan’s brow just as his pack bowed his tired shoulders. It drove him into the ground and he had to stop, even though there was no decent shelter to be had. He had no appetite to speak of but decided to force himself to eat something in the hope that it would provide some energy. He chewed on a tough heel of bread, but it was tasteless and left him feeling more exhausted than when he had started. You’d have had more joy eating the soles of your boots. He found a few old beech nuts on the ground and chewed them for a bit, but they tasted of mouldy wood and mud, so he spat them out.
He dragged himself further away from the road, pulled his blanket out of his pack and curled up under it on a fairly dry area of ground litter. He didn’t care what time of day it w
as. He was desperate for sleep.
‘You are a murderer and a thief then, boy,’ the corpse of the chieftain accused him, exhaling mulch and decay to fill Jillan’s mouth and nose.
Jillan spluttered and looked up at the desiccated body standing over him. The remains of a shock of white hair and the warrior’s protruding jaw were still evident. ‘Y-you’re dead!’
The chieftain chuckled. ‘Pretty much. Yet you’re still a murderer and a thief. Comfortable in that armour, is it? I suffered much for it.’
‘I … will return it!’
The chieftain snorted, detritus spilling from his nasal cavity. ‘It’s of little use to me now. Perhaps you’ll have more luck of it than I did.’
‘I-I saw what the Saint did to the village. Did they all die?’
The pagan’s head lolled as he nodded, and Jillan feared it would become detached entirely and end up in his lap. ‘Of course, boy! What did you think? That my people would run like cowards? You insult us!’
‘No!’ Jillan protested as he retreated from the apparition. ‘I just wondered if some had escaped to the mountains and if there was some hope for them.’
The chieftain spat beetles from his mouth and Jillan noticed that things crawled throughout the undead remains, although he tried not to look too closely. ‘Hope? Ha! While there’s life there’s hope perhaps, but I doubt it when that life is an ignorant child who likes to murder and steal. What can you do to help the people of the mountains, boy? You do not even have the good sense to find somewhere properly warm before lying down to dream.’
Jillan’s mouth hung open for a moment. What could he do on his own? ‘I-I do not know.’
‘Precisely. You are ignorant. Worse, you either wilfully ignore or are deaf and blind to the world around you. You grub around and cram your mouth with anything and as much as you can find, not caring if something else has to die so that you can live. Truly, you are a child of the others, looking to consume this world for your own continued existence! You bully others without hesitation, and when they resist do not hesitate to commit murder or steal from them.’
‘No!’ Jillan cried. He wasn’t a bully like Haal. He didn’t try and take things by force like Valor. He’d only killed in order to defend himself … hadn’t he? ‘I’m not like them! Don’t say that! It’s all been a mistake!’
‘Was drawing on the Geas for power a mistake, boy? You took that power without any understanding and without any right to it, but that didn’t stop you. And you killed with it! You have perverted it, and in so doing have upset the order of life and death that it maintained to keep this world whole. Look at me! I should not be here like this!’
‘I-I did not know!’ Jillan pleaded.
‘The end will come now. You have undone us all, wretched child!’ the chieftain moaned.
‘No, there must be something that can be done.’
‘The Saint is coming for you, boy. He has your scent now. You do not have the strength to resist him, especially now that your parents are his to do with as he wishes. You can only flee now, just as others once fled to the mountains, for you are not one who can stand against this Empire.’
The chieftain’s body gave up its last breath and began to break apart. Black ichor ran from its empty eye sockets, the chest cavity collapsed, and its tendons and sinews separated. Bones clattered to the ground and then crumbled. Soon it was indistinguishable from the other rotting matter on the ground.
Jillan started awake, tore the suffocating blanket off his face and scrambled to his feet. Despite the cold, he was soaked in sweat and feeling feverish. Maybe the beech nuts had been mildly poisonous. He pulled a flask of water from his pack and all but drained it in one long drink. His head felt clearer and he threw off the last of the nightmare. He’d had dreams like this before when overly tired.
Stop pretending. You’re worried it could have been real. The Chaos has found you, hasn’t it? Or is the taint within you taking over your unconscious mind?
‘Shut up!’ Jillan growled.
You’re talking to yourself like the town idiot now.
There was no refuge to be found in sleep. There was only this harsh waking world in which he was constantly hunted. The Saint had his scent and was coming for him. Jillan heaved his pack back onto his shoulders and slogged back towards the road.
The clouds were so dark that Jillan had no idea what time of the day it was, or whether night had actually begun to fall. At least the rain had stopped for a bit, although the sky promised it wouldn’t be long before it started again.
As tired as he was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop. If he did he might fall asleep again, and then the pagans and Chaos would come to tempt and threaten him in his dreams. If you don’t stop soon, you’ll probably collapse and never move again.
He rubbed at his eyes, which felt gritty and sore, and when he looked up glimpsed something glowing deep in the woods. What was it? Some new ghost or enemy to terrorise him? He knew there would be no avoiding it but was not about to be caught unprepared as he had been by Valor. He retrieved his bowstring and then hid his pack in the hollow of a tree. He slipped the loop at one end of the string around one end of the bow. Then he braced that against the foot of a tree and slowly brought his weight to bear until the bow had flexed enough to allow him to secure the string to the other end. He nocked an arrow to the taut string and then began to move as quietly as he could through the woods.
He went slowly, periodically stopping to listen and check all around him. The glowing light did not seem to be moving, which relieved and reassured him that he was not being led astray by some will-o’-the-wisp seeking to trap him in a bog and steal his soul. The oldest man in Godsend, Samuel, used to sit on his porch with a pipe of an evening and tell all the children scary stories about the dangerous cunning of such Chaos creatures. What Jillan wouldn’t have given to be back sitting with the other children listening to the old man now.
The trees looked to be thinning ahead. He smelt woodsmoke. He moved behind a bush and peeped out. A straggle-haired man was busy hammering wedges into a felled tree trunk so that the wood would split lengthways and posts and planks could be separated off. A brazier burned nearby, giving the man a certain amount of light by which to work. Extra light also came from the windows and doorway of a small but solidly built cabin set towards the rear of the clearing.
His back to Jillan, the man paused for a breath and wiped his brow. Jillan, you’re either going to wait until you have a chance to slip away and carry on some good distance down the road or you’re going to raise your weapon before this woodsman senses your presence. Jillan stepped out from his hiding place and drew back his bow. The man immediately spun to face him, raising his hammer as he did so, but there were at least thirty paces between them.
The man, who was slightly breathless from his exertions, hawked and spat. ‘If you’re going to draw a bow on someone, then you’d best be prepared to use it. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll put it down. I won’t give you another chance.’
Jillan did not let his aim waver. ‘I am simply travelling through, on my way to Saviours’ Paradise. Who are you?’
‘And who are you to enter my woods and threaten me?’ the man shouted and broke into a run straight for Jillan. He hurled his hammer.
Jillan did not blink as the hammer fell short. He stilled his breath. His father had told him never to hesitate. He released his arrow and it flew straight for the oncoming man’s heart. Murderer, whispered the voice within him.
Yet, with perfect timing, the man twisted just as the arrow was about to hit him and was again running at Jillan, only now he was much closer. As the woodsman sprinted across the clearing, he stooped, freed a longaxe from a log with a powerful flick of his wrist and screamed as he prepared to cleave the intruder in two.
Even as Jillan had released the first arrow, he’d begun to reach for another. He saw his first arrow miss and wondered how that was possible, but he did not let it distract him. As the man rushed
towards him, Jillan calmly nocked the second arrow to his bowstring and reached within himself to limn the arrow with power. This one would not miss; it would fly unerringly, no matter what tricks the man attempted.
The woodsman had the axe raised above his head and was seconds away from bringing it down on its target. He saw the youth ready a second arrow. It shone with red warning as it reflected the light from the brazier. Like the arrow, the youth’s eyes were red and unflinching. Damn! I am too slow. How can that be? His senses screaming at him, the woodsman suddenly stopped, his breath caught in his chest.
At the moment Jillan was about to release, the man came to a precise halt. Perfect timing again. They watched each other in unmoving silence. The spell was finally broken by the golden patterns of Jillan’s armour writhing at the periphery of his vision. Jillan blinked.
‘You’ll be expecting me to make you tea or some such now, I suppose,’ the woodsman grouched.
From where he sat on a low stool, Jillan watched the rangy woodsman as he set water over the fire in his one-room cabin. The man had a dark stubbled chin and an ugly scar on one cheek. His age was indeterminate, anywhere between thirty and fifty, but he moved with an easy strength. He had a heavy brow that often cast shadows across his face, but his eyes glittered fiercely no matter how much light there was.
He caught Jillan watching him and smiled crookedly at him. ‘No one’s ever managed to sneak up on me before, especially not one so young.’
‘My father’s a hunter,’ Jillan said proudly, only then remembering he shouldn’t be giving away such information about himself.
‘That so?’ the woodsman answered with a raise of his eyebrows, encouraging Jillan to say more.
Jillan became more guarded. ‘I am Irkarl from Heroes’ Brook, travelling to Saviours’ Paradise. Thank you for inviting me to share your fire. Sorry about the manner of my arrival, but I am wary of pagans and so on.’
