by A J Dalton
Since sealing the town gates, Captain Hamir had doubled the guards on them, for there’d been more than one attempt by the apparently healthy to escape. He’d had no choice but to order these deserting cowards cut down, to discourage any others from trying. Yet he knew it was only a matter of time before others did try. The longer the plague went on, the harder it would be to keep them under control. Certainly, some would give up, lie down and wait to die, but increasing desperation would eventually see the rest organise themselves. His main fear was that he would not have enough Heroes left to hold the gates, and then the wider Empire would be under threat. Therefore, he’d decided – with the agreement of the last surviving town councillor – to execute every last inhabitant of Godsend, children included, once he had only two hundred Heroes remaining on their feet. By his reckoning, the end would be just two days from now.
‘Strange to know when you will die,’ he observed to himself in his small hand mirror, as he combed his thinning hair. Clumps of it came out in the comb’s teeth and he swallowed hard. ‘Too old to be vain about it. You only need to stay upright and presentable for another two days and then your duty will be done. Sacrifice and duty safeguard the People against the Chaos. You have been lucky to serve so long. Yes, lucky.’
He didn’t feel lucky even so. The Saint would know of his sinful thoughts, but the Captain could do nothing to stop them. He knew the Chaos had found its way into his mind. He knew he was infected. It was right that he died. He was resolved. The Chaos sought to plant niggling doubts in his mind; told him that he’d always been a faithful servant to the Empire and therefore deserved better; self-righteously claimed the Saint should be there with his People to save them or offer them comfort in their hour of need.
‘No, Samnir was my fault. I always knew he was a wrong’un. I should have done something about it long ago. It was a disgrace that the holy one had to deal with it himself. A disgrace, Hamir, you hear? After that, why should the holy one feel any compunction to save us? We failed and betrayed him. We have probably broken his sacred heart. He probably cries at night for our lost souls … not that that monster ever shed a tear for those in New Sanctuary! Be quiet, you fool, or cut your tongue out. Traitorous tongue! Silence!’
Tears came to his eyes and he dashed them away with a hand. He caught a glimpse of his fingernails in the mirror and looked down. The bases of the nails were a deep purple, almost black. He knew they would soon crack and bleed. Not long after, he would be just one more dead body waiting to be thrown into the wagon heading for the pyres and mass graves next to the middens beyond the south gate, the same gate through which that damned boy had escaped and doomed them all. The Captain hadn’t even known the boy. Fancy dying because of someone you’d never known. It was wrong really, just wrong. In many ways, though, much about his life had always felt wrong. Beneath the duty to the Empire and the sacrifice there had always been something that hadn’t felt quite right. It had to be the Chaos, he told himself over and over. It would be good to be finally free of it. Free at last.
‘Captain!’ came an excited call from one of his men outside the door.
Crossing the small room in one long stride, Captain Hamir pulled the door open. ‘What is it?’
‘Someone at the gate.’
‘Well, send them on their way.’
‘But Captain, it’s the Minister returned to us!’ Eyes shining with hope.
Could it be, at this eleventh hour, they were now to be saved? Praise be! The Captain regretted his earlier sinful thoughts. He pushed his way out of his billet and went after the guard. He hurried to the top of the wall, careful of the patches of ice on the steps, and looked out over the north gates.
There stood the Minister, looking none the worse for wear, although perhaps a little thinner. A dozen paces behind him were a mule and a strange little fellow with a shaved head wearing a loincloth. Captain Hamir couldn’t imagine how the fellow could stand the cold. Perhaps the savage was too simple to know any different.
‘Captain Hamir, good day! What welcome is this? Will you leave me standing in the cold when my feet are sore from travel and I still need to offer up a prayer of thanks at the temple for having completed the holy mission allotted me by the Saint, and having safely returned to my flock by the good grace of the blessed Saviours?’
‘Forgive me, Minister! The town has been sealed, as the plague is still among us and knows no mercy. If you enter in, then you may never leave.’
‘Be of good faith, Captain.’ The Minister nodded and smiled. ‘Only if I enter in can I administer the blessing of the Saviours. Only if I enter in can the People be saved.’
‘Minister, we rejoice that you have returned to us,’ the Captain hiccuped, wiping bloody tears from his cheeks. His men could barely contain their celebration. ‘What of yonder manikin?’
The Minister gave a brief glance over his shoulder. ‘Be not afraid. This goblin is proof I have walked among the pagans. The power of the blessed Saviours protected me and the pagans fell at my feet, begging for Salvation. I took their holy man as my manservant so that he could lead them in their new service to the Empire. So, give praise, good People of Godsend, for I have converted the pagans and defeated the Chaos and its temptations, just as the holy one commanded.’
‘O Minister, it is a miracle!’ the Captain sang for joy. His men cheered, saluting the Minister with their shining weapons. ‘We are saved, we are saved. I will be down this instant to open the gates myself, so that you may then pass among us. Praise be!’
Captain Hamir sprang down the stairs. How could he have ever doubted the blessed Saviours? He felt humble, he felt born anew. He couldn’t help smiling. Single-handed, he threw up the heavy bar on the gates, where it would normally have taken two men. He pulled on one of the gates and the counterweight began to drop. One of his men pulled on the other and Godsend opened itself to Minister Praxis.
There was a blur and Captain Hamir found himself moving back through the air as if his feet had grown wings and lifted him up. Praise be, this must be how it was to be an angel! He hit the wall hard, smacking his head, and slumped to the ground. He looked down in confusion at the wooden shaft and feathers that sprouted from his chest. How had they got there?
The Minister came and crouched next to him. ‘Apologies, good Captain,’ he whispered, ‘but rest assured you sacrifice your life in duty to the blessed Saviours. It is all part of the holy one’s plan to lure the pagans out and into a trap, so that they may be destroyed once and for all. Through me, he knows all that happens. At the same time the People of Godsend will suffer for their sins and for causing me to be expelled in the first place. Now I am returned and bring divine retribution in my wake. Accept my blessing, good Captain, for I am soon to be a Saint. Is the holy one already waiting within the town to welcome me?’
‘N-no. There is only death here,’ the Captain groaned as he watched the savages come pouring out from among the trees, their arrows picking off his men along the walls with disturbing and wind-favoured accuracy.
‘No matter,’ the Minister replied. ‘I am sure he will come with the power of the blessed Saviours when he adjudges the time is right. Good day, Captain.’
Captain Hamir put his head back against the gate. Fancy dying like this. Still, it was as good as any other way, and probably better than some. It was better to die in battle than suffer a lingering death through illness, wasn’t it? He no longer worried for the People of Godsend or the Empire, for they weren’t his problem any more. He closed his eyes. Free at last.
‘Freda, could you hear anything of what Wayfar was saying?’ Jillan asked in the dark, more so that he would have a voice to hold on to, rather than because he had any real interest in the contents of the answer.
The rock woman slowed in her progress through the rock. ‘It wasn’t very nice to listen to, so I tried to shut my ears to it. There were a lot of bad words. Anger … and sadness. Some of it didn’t make sense, as if his mind was broken like his body. Broken words.
Then he begged for people to listen to him and answer him – anybody, anyone. So then I felt bad about not listening.’
Jillan knew something of how the god felt, or thought he did, crouched here in the dark, not knowing up from down. He couldn’t see his hands. He was disembodied and lost. Actually, perhaps he could feel his hands, but hadn’t one of the woodmen in Godsend lost a leg when it got trapped under a tree and sworn for the rest of his life that he could still feel it?
‘So you did listen, then?’ Jillan pressed.
‘Yes, friend Jillan. It was like he wanted me to do something for him, but he didn’t say what. Help him, I suppose. But I don’t know how. Friend Jillan, we are under the city now. How should we find your parents? I sense many, many people.’
‘I guess that they are keeping them in the punishment chambers, which are usually the lowest place in every town or city. Can you tell where they are?’
‘Over here,’ she chewed.
Where the hell are we? asked a faint voice. You haven’t got yourself killed and buried already, have you?
Taint! Jillan shouted in mental relief.
Honestly, boy, you need to pay more attention. I’ve been shouting at you for ages.
Sorry. I couldn’t hear you. Where did you go?
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, what with Miserath’s presence reducing me to a whisper and then Wayfar making such a din. He can be such a baby sometimes. Thank goodness he can’t get down here into the rock with us. But this is the Saint’s city, so you may lose me again soon. You didn’t make any agreement with him, did you?
With who? The Saint?
No, you idiot. With Miserath.
I … had to. There was no other choice.
What? There’s always a choice. Surely you’ve been through enough to know that by now. Having freedom to choose is the whole point. Jillan, what did you agree to?
Er … as part of the agreement, I can’t tell anyone.
What! Oh, he’s cunning. Look, telling me is just like talking to yourself. I’m in your head after all.
I can’t. It’s to help my parents.
There was a sigh. No agreement with the Great Deceiver can turn out well. I leave you alone for five minutes and off you go dooming the entire world, your parents included.
Don’t say that! Jillan trembled.
What else do you want me to say, Jillan? That it’ll all be all right? That you’ll rescue your parents, you’ll save Godsend and you’ll all live happily ever after? I wish I could, I wish I could.
There has to be a way!
Does there really? the taint replied quietly.
Jedadiah had never liked small spaces. His body always felt squeezed and he couldn’t breathe. It was even worse here because he was chained as well. They’d put manacles on him after he’d begun to panic as they put him in the cell and he’d lashed out and broken the heads of two of the guards. In the end it had taken six of them to wrestle him to the ground and get him in here. He’d cried and pleaded with them, but they’d ignored him. Even when they’d gone, he’d continued to beg until his voice had given out. He’d strained against the manacles for hours, all but cutting his wrists open, until his strength had also failed him.
He wanted to give up. He wanted to die. But there was some reason why that wasn’t allowed. What was it? He’d been chosen somehow, and had promised never to give up. Yes, she’d chosen him. He saw her face before him and his breathing eased for a few blessed moments. His beloved Maria. And their blessed son, Jillan, whose eyes sparkled with such mischief but also such life, whose brow only creased in laughter with the joy he shared with everyone, whose smile was all the brighter for the unhappiness he showed when he saw misery around him, who never faltered when his will to help others caused him pain; Jillan, who made Jedadiah feel so humble, privileged and undeserving. Surely it was only what every parent felt for their child, but surely no child made their parent feel it more than Jillan. He was just a normal boy really, but was everything to Jedadiah, absolutely everything. He saw Jillan before him now and felt strength return to his heart and mind.
‘You shouldn’t be here.’
‘I came to rescue you, Father.’
Jedadiah blinked. ‘Jillan? How …? You should be somewhere safe!’
Quite right. You should listen to your father.
‘Nowhere’s safe that I can tell, Father.’ He pulled out his blade, lighting up the cell and causing Freda to step back into the shadows.
‘That’s sun-metal, Jillan!’
‘Samnir’s sword.’ He smiled, effortlessly cutting away the manacles from his father’s ankles. ‘Freda, I can’t reach the wrists. Can you do it?’
The rock woman slowly came forward and reluctantly took the sword, holding it at arm’s length from her. She kept her eyes turned away, but managed to free Jedadiah without cutting him. The big man fell to the floor and groaned. Jillan looked down in shock, never having seen his father on his knees like this. He had always been the tallest and strongest man in the world, hadn’t he? Jillan had always felt safe with him around. He couldn’t bear to see him like this. His confidence suddenly fled and now he was scared.
Freda passed the blade back to Jillan and helped Jedadiah up, supporting most of his weight. ‘Friend Jillan, should I take your father out of the city through the rock now?’
‘I-I don’t know. If my father can’t stand, then maybe. It’ll take a long time though, so they might discover he’s gone before I can find mother. She isn’t down here with you, is she, Father?’
Jedadiah shook his head. ‘I’ll be all right once the blood is back in my limbs. Just give me a moment. They took Maria somewhere else. It feels like she’s not too far away. I can lead us there if we’re lucky.’
Jillan shifted his weight from foot to foot impatiently.
You really haven’t thought this through very well, have you?
Be quiet! It’ll be all right.
‘Okay,’ Jedadiah said, in obvious pain. ‘Let’s go, since I assume you’re not going to listen to me telling you just to leave us here and get away while you can.’
‘I’m sorry, Father, I can’t do that.’
‘Stubborn. Just like your mother,’ Jedadiah said with affection. ‘Come on.’
Freda helped them out through the wall of the cell and they moved slowly along a low dank tunnel. They passed other cells, most of them empty but a few with unmoving occupants. Jillan was grateful for the dark so that he did not have to see too much.
They came to the foot of some worn stairs, at the top of which daylight showed. Jillan motioned the others to stay where they were and tiptoed up. A minute later he came back down.
‘Two guards,’ he whispered. ‘Freda, can you go through the rock and hit them on the head?’
The rock woman looked unhappy at that. ‘Do I have to, friend Jillan? I might hurt them so bad that they can’t be mended again. Can’t I just take each of you past the guards through the rock? I can find a quiet place where we can come out of the rock without anyone knowing.’
Less exciting, but eminently more sensible, eh?
‘That’s a better idea. You are clever! Can you take both of us at once?’
She shook her head. ‘Your father is too big, friend Jillan. One at a time.’
Long minutes later the three of them were crouched in a natural blind alley that went up over thirty feet between rock faces. Hyvan’s Cross was a maze of sandstone buttes and pillars, a place of narrow defiles, corkscrew paths and scalloped steps up and down. Nothing was quite flat or straight. The city had been created by the wind carving the rock, hollowing it out and engraving it with its will. It had been the home Wayfar gifted to his followers, a home where they might wonder at his divine artistry and lift their worshipful voices in harmony with the transcendent music of his breath. Yet his followers had not been able to match his divinity and had constructed stone buildings in the more open areas, hollowed out extra homes from the rock face, hung rope ladders from higher
rooms and created aerial walkways with rope-and-plank bridges – all of which had made the notes of the air discordant and caused the wind to batter the crag, its voice becoming one of fury. The discordance between Wayfar and his followers had only grown, until the inevitable cataclysm of the Saviours’ coming. The followers had fallen and were now mere shadows dancing and flitting chaotically through the city. The sound of Hyvan’s Cross was an eternal lament to the fall of its god. The city had been gouged, tunnelled, mined and fortified as it had been bent to the will of its new ruler and the Empire.
Freda wept as she heard all this on the wind. It called to her, begging her to go to the temple higher up in the city. Yet she could not leave her friends.
‘I sense Maria is that way. We should just try and walk like normal inhabitants,’ Jedadiah whispered.
‘Freda, it’s probably best if you follow us through the rock,’ Jillan suggested.
Freda nodded and sank from view.
Jedadiah and Jillan came out of their hiding place and made their way round wide columns, across small plazas and past cleverly terraced gardens. They passed a good number of women out browsing the goods of traders, squads of Heroes marching in files and children playing chase, but only received cursory glances in this place of so many.
‘How are we ever to find our way out of here?’ Jedadiah worried out loud.
Jillan knew his father had never liked crowds or the confined spaces of towns. ‘Don’t worry. Once we have Mother, all we need to do is follow the slope down. Thomas and my friends will be waiting near the gates into the city. I will pretend to be one of Thomas’s apprentices and leave on his wagon. Freda can take you and mother through the wall one by one.’
