The Godseeker Duet

by David A Willson

  “Look for defects,” said the man in black robes. “Anything. Curved spines, extra fingers or toes, any defects at all. Separate the broken ones from the others.”

  Gilbert Bonny’s little sister, Ellin, had a clubbed foot, and they pulled her aside. She was screaming and crying out loud, so loud that it hurt Sammy’s ears.

  “It’ll be okay, Ellin,” Sammy tried to say, but she didn’t hear him. It wouldn’t be okay, though. It wouldn’t be okay at all.

  Sammy spent the night in the church with the other kids and a bunch of soldiers. It smelled bad, and there was lots of crying. The next morning, they got on the boats. The sails were raised, and the wind took Sammy away from home.

  8

  Dimmitt

  Even at a breakneck pace, it took Nara and Mykel three more days to arrive in Junn, fatigue held at bay by the health runes that were ever present in their thoughts. The journey left them haggard, dirty, thin, and, for Nara, barefoot. The endless miles had destroyed her shoes and was a curse at first, but aided by the health rune, her soles had developed a thick, leathery layer of protection in a very short time. Even so, she missed her shoes.

  Junn was just as busy as they remembered from their last visit, months before, and Nara was again fascinated with the wealth displayed in the third-largest city in the Great Land. Bells jangled on the doors of shops as customers came in and out, workers pushed carts of goods, and children played in the spring sunshine.

  “These people have no idea what is happening in the surrounding villages, do they?” Nara asked.

  “Probably not. Kayna is picking on the easy prey but she may come here, eventually.”

  Upon arrival at the docks, Mykel picked a small dingy with a short mast, low boom, and a sail. Nobody was near, so he tossed his pack and the staff inside, then untied the craft from its mooring. He motioned Nara to join him. She looked about, fearfully, then stepped down the center of the boat to keep it from tipping. Mykel pushed off, settling upon the aft seat even as Nara settled in the middle, grabbing the oars.

  “We return it when we come back,” Nara said.

  “Okay.” Mykel turned, eyes scanning the docks as they left the harbor. The boat was empty of everything but oars and a sail, and Nara wondered who owned it. She dismissed the curiosity and rowed for a while, fatigue from the long runs deadening the feeling in her arms as she powered them out of the port. They hadn’t eaten a meal for days, and she was weak from the toll on her body. She wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever, and neither would Mykel. She flared the health rune repeatedly as she rowed, knowing it would be magic alone that would get them to Dimmitt.

  Once they left the harbor, Mykel set the sail, and they tacked against the wind toward Dimmitt. Nara seemed to know the general direction and directed Mykel accordingly. The wind was light, but it might be enough. Darkness was growing, however, in more ways than one.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  She waited, hoping he would say more. He didn’t.

  “I’m worried about them too,” she said.

  Mykel gave a brief, almost painful smile in her direction and turned back to fiddle with the tiller.

  The sail occasionally went slack and Mykel adjusted, Nara ducking under the swinging boom as he tacked back and forth. She then rowed to realign the boat as it caught the breeze again. Long moments passed.

  “We had to do it,” Mykel finally said. “The children. Keetna. I don’t blame you.”

  Another silence.

  “Can you make this go faster?” he asked.

  “I’m terrible at summoning air. Maybe we just take turns rowing?”

  She grabbed the oars again, the strength in her arms threatening to leave her. Flaring health, she felt vigor return anew.

  The boat surged forward with her efforts, moving in good time. Despite the spiritual exhaustion, using the magic, along with the vigor it brought, felt good. At least she was in control of something, simple as it was. After what seemed like forever, exhaustion again came over her and she let Mykel take over, switching positions carefully in the unstable boat.

  As Nara sat at the stern, Mykel tied up the sail and grabbed the oars, the craft bolting forward as if in a race.

  “It’s still a long way,” she said. “Might want to pace yourself.”

  He continued with the vigorous rowing.

  She scanned the horizon, the faint outline of trees visible only to her in the now complete darkness. Mykel rowed and rowed, and she only occasionally needed to guide his efforts.

  “We’ll stop on one of the northern beaches,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  They could run faster than they could row and travel on foot would be far quicker than rowing around to the southern harbor. But with the fervor in Mykel’s efforts, she wondered if he would have anything left for such a run.

  What would have taken all night via sail ended up being only a few hours under Mykel’s oars when they pulled into a lagoon. They dragged the boat well above the high tide line, grabbed their gear, and ran.

  Nara led, but Mykel was holding the staff and found his way through the dark woods with its help. In less than an hour, they passed the trail to the mountain’s peak and entered the outskirts of the village. Nara slowed to a walk. The numbness in her feet and thighs made it difficult to control her gait and she almost stumbled on the uneven terrain of the forest path.

  The sun started to rise over the distant horizon, and a clearing opened up. The northwest side of town and a few cottages came into view. No, not cottages. Burned husks.

  Dei, no.

  A long moment passed. “We’re too late,” Mykel said.

  He burst into a sprint toward the east side of town. Nara followed. They passed the church, which was one of few buildings still standing, but Mykel ran ever faster and Nara couldn’t keep up. Little strength remained for flaring runes to sustain herself, but she knew where he was going.

  She fell several times as she followed after him, struggling to run in the half-darkness, through the fatigue and the tears that wouldn’t stop. She heard crying from some cottages that still stood, muffled crying that was soon accompanied by her own sobs. Her legs were almost numb, and her skin was cold. She slowed to a walk, afraid to reach her destination. Afraid of what she would find.

  When she came to the unburned cottage, Mykel said in a quiet, sterile tone, “One grave in the back. Pop. Not Sammy.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s not Sammy!”

  Even in the weak light of dawn, she could see that his eyes were hard, a wave of sudden anger his voice. It wasn’t Sammy. It couldn’t be. Like Mykel, she chose not to believe it. It must be Mykel’s pop. Sammy would have been taken, like so many other children.

  “Mykel,” she said, and he turned toward her. She wanted to say she was sorry about his father, or she was sorry they hadn’t gotten here sooner, but she found no words.

  He turned away and strode off, then stopped, whirling, anger and confusion on his face. “I don’t know what to do. Where do I look?”

  “If Lina is here, she might know.”

  Mykel bolted down the path toward the Tibbins’ house. Moments later, they approached the area above the docks in Dimmitt, near the church. They could see several adults going through the remains of the burned cottages, salvaging what they could. The Fedgewicks’ home next to the smithy was still standing, but Gilbert Bonny’s house was gone, and his mom was crying on the remains of her doorstep.

  When they got to Lina’s house, they found it burned as well. Her pop was using a straight bar to pry charred timbers apart. Mykel stepped up into the husk of the home.

  “Mykel Aragos.” Mr. Tibbins’ shoulders drooped, and his eyes were tired. “I never thought we would see you again.” He turned to Nara and scowled. “And you. The cause of all this. I’d welcome you home, but,” he turned, arms out, gesturing toward the destruction, “there’s not much left.”

/>   Mr. Tibbins’ scowl felt like a stab through the heart. This was her doing. She’d started it all, and now these people suffered.

  “It’s not her fault,” Mykel said.

  Mr. Tibbins returned to using the straight bar, having trouble with the timbers.

  “Is Lina here?” Mykel asked.

  “With her mother. Next door.” He pointed to a cottage on the same side of the street.

  So, they didn’t take all the kids. There was hope.

  Mykel walked the short distance to the cottage, then stopped on the front step and knocked. It was more like a storage shed, with the door half-falling off its hinges and many openings in the weathered wood where air would leak in. A makeshift home for a family with nothing else.

  The door creaked inward, and the face of a very sad woman met them.

  “Mrs. Tibbins,” Nara said, “we are looking for Sammy. Mr. Tibbins said Lina was here, and we were hoping—”

  A young face suddenly peered out at them from behind the woman’s legs. Lina. Recognition dawned in the girl’s eyes. “Mykel! Nara!” She darted out to grab Nara's hand, then gave her a hug. A moment later, still holding Nara’s hand, she turned to her mother.

  “Mom, can they come in?”

  Mrs. Tibbins said nothing, instead just opening the door further so they could enter. As they did, Nara saw three bedrolls on the floor. Lina had two brothers and a sister, so there should have been six. Lina sat on a bedroll, pulling Nara with her and directing her to do the same. Mykel remained standing.

  “Where is Sammy?” Mykel asked.

  “Um, they took most of the kids away,” she said, still holding Nara’s hand. “A few of us were hiding, and they didn’t find us.”

  “Who took them?”

  “Soldiers. With swords and armor. Some in robes.”

  “Did they take Sammy too?” Mykel asked.

  Lina averted her eyes from Mykel and let go of Nara. “I don’t think so.”

  Nara didn’t want to hear what came next.

  “Tell me,” Mykel said.

  Lina sighed, fidgeting with her fingers. “I was hiding under the porch of the old Carsten house. You know, the broken-down house on the hill above the church? Sam and I play there a lot, and you can see a lot of the town from there.”

  “Go on,” he said.

  “They gathered all the kids, and many grownups, in front of the stage. Down by the church. They said we were in trouble. They would make us pay.” She looked at Nara. “Pay for you. They were mad at you, Nara. They called you a demon. But I don’t think so. Really.”

  Lina swallowed, pausing, her eyes growing soft, reluctant to continue. She turned to Mrs. Tibbins, who said nothing but nodded, urging Lina on.

  “Sammy and Simon were up front,” Lina said, looking again at Mykel. “Standing near the stage. I couldn’t see well, but I know they were both there.”

  “What happened?” Mykel asked.

  “They took one of them—I’m not sure which—up onto the stage.” Lina choked up, tears flowing. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  Nara put a hand on Lina’s knee. “Keep going.”

  Lina wiped her eyes on her sleeves and tried to continue but couldn’t.

  Nara turned to Mrs. Tibbins. Her face was wet with tears.

  “They killed one of the boys,” she said. “Sucked the life right out of him. To fill the ceppit. Punishment, they told us. To break our hearts or something. Lina saw it all. Mr. Tibbins and I were foraging near the creek, so we missed it. Heard it all from Lina when we got back. They announced some adults and took the children. All they could find. Most of the kids are gone. And they killed many of the adults. The Tinnys. Abel and Meera Trinck. Bran Fedgewick.” Mrs. Tibbins sobbed. “Bran used to live just a few doors down. Helped with the house sometimes, when Mr. Tibbins was away on fishing trips. We would have them over for dinner.” She cried again and Nara found herself crying along with her.

  “Where are the bodies?” Mykel asked. “The ones they killed.”

  Mrs. Tibbins wiped her eyes. “Post office building.”

  Mykel left without another word and Nara was close behind. It was a short walk, filled with anticipation and dread. When they got there, Mykel dropped the staff and tore open the front doors of the half-burned building, sending them flying back so fast, Nara had to move to avoid being hit. He tossed aside burned timbers like toothpicks at first but slowed as he got closer to the buried pile of bodies.

  The familiar smell of charred corpses hung in the air, triggering dark images of the villages they’d seen in a similar state. But this was Dimmitt. Their home. A numbness started in Nara’s legs, then moved up to her torso, a dead blanket over her heart. She was not ready for what was coming next.

  It didn’t take long for Mykel to find a little boy in the pile. He held the body close as he carried it to the street before setting it down. Several people came by, but they kept their distance. With the way they abandoned these bodies in the post office, unburied and ignored, there didn’t seem to be much courage left in Dimmitt. Kayna had broken the spirit of this town.

  Mykel was on his knees, looking down at the dead child. It didn’t look like Sammy. Or like Simon. It almost didn’t look like a human being at all. Blackened, twisted. Part of the fabric on the pants was unburned. Perhaps a body had covered it, protecting the garment from fire. With hesitation, Mykel reached inside each of the front trouser pockets.

  He seemed to find something, and as he pulled it out, recognition turned Mykel’s face to horror. He collapsed on the body, sobs racking his large frame. “No, no, no, Sammy.” His voice was weak, broken, grieving beyond imagination. “I wasn’t here. I wasn’t here.”

  In Mykel’s hand was a piece of string, partially burned by fire. A snare. Attached to the string was a round trigger.

  Nara collapsed on Mykel, holding him as he cried, joining in the grief. Just a little boy. A darling boy. He was good, kind, and hardworking. Memories of his smile came back to her. His laugh. The way his long black bangs always got in his eyes. The way he scratched his chin when someone teased him.

  And now he was gone. It was too much to bear.

  Nara cried for both Sammy and Mykel—and for her own guilt in allowing this horror to come to pass. They should have run the whole way from Took. Saving the children, taking the detour to Keetna—it had taken too long, and the delay made all the difference. She should have heeded the vision, running nonstop from the moment she’d seen it. Sammy was dead because of her. Because she tried to help others and did not heed Mykel’s warnings.

  They cried for a long time, and when there were no more tears, Mykel gathered up his brother’s body and carried it home. He set it on the ground next to his father’s grave and retrieved a shovel from the shed.

  It didn’t take Mykel long to dig the grave and put the body inside. Nara tried to say something, anything, but her tongue was as heavy as her heart. She could barely bring herself to even look at Mykel. Eventually, Mykel covered Sammy’s corpse with dirt and sat still again.

  They sat on the ground next to the graves for hours, and nobody came by to offer condolences. The remaining villagers had their own suffering to occupy them.

  Mykel did nothing but sit near the graves, a faraway look in his eyes. Eventually, numb in both her body and her mind, Nara found her way into the cottage and lay down on a cot, begging for peace from this nightmare. As she lay there, something changed inside her heart. Or maybe something broke. Who she thought she was, or maybe how she saw the world around her. Her faith had been based on the idea that Dei guided things, operated the world in a way that was, in the end, fair. Just. She believed if she did the right things, followed the rules, and was kind to people, it would all work out. She was wrong. About everything. And the price for her foolishness was being paid by others.

  I tried to do the right thing, Dei, she prayed. Tried to be the help that you send to the Great Land. No matter what I do, I find nothing but destruction. Now this? Sammy? Yo
u break our hearts. You should heal, but instead, You hurt. You should save us but instead bring pain. You aren’t Dei. You aren’t a God of love and salvation. You are Kai. You allow death and pain. You allow evil.

  The anger and sorrow welled up inside her, bursting with fury and hopelessness. Images from the announcement ceremony flooded her mind, the ambush that almost killed Mykel, the battle on the plateau, the confrontation at Fairmont Castle, and now the murder of an innocent boy. It was too much.

  And I am done with you.

  9

  Last Looks

  Anne checked her pack one last time, fingers searching until they found the cool bone handle of her ceppit. She hoped that she wouldn’t need it.

  She filled a wooden bowl with imbued ink from a pool, then walked across the cavern and down the tunnel that led to the exit. Arriving at the door, she turned carefully, holding the bowl gingerly in one hand as she stepped to the water rune, tracing the design with an inked finger. Rushing water preceded a grinding sound as stone slid on stone.

  As the cavern sealed shut, she retrieved two vials from her pack and filled them with the remainder of the bowl’s ink. After replacing the stoppers, she dropped the vials into her pocket, hearing a clinking sound as one bumped the engraver she’d placed there earlier. She patted her pocket. Ready to go at last.

  As she tucked the bowl into her pack, she thought about Gwyn. Two weeks had passed since she’d sent the watcher west. “To find a certain boy,” Anne told her. “You’ll know him when you see him. He’ll get into some trouble. Save him, then I’ll find you.”

  Gwyn had not argued, nor asked for direction beyond that, knowing that none would be given. She was trusting, that one. Or obedient. There was little difference between the two.

  “How long before the babes come back?” she asked the sky.

  They were the first words she had spoken since Nara and Mykel left two days before. Intending to go only on a long run, they were now caught up in their story again, and Anne would not see them for a while. Her ability to see their next steps was clouded. An unusual thing.