The Godseeker Duet

by David A Willson

  Instead of taking her seat, as they had advised would be normal for such matters, she remained standing. “I am not the sort of monarch you have known in the past and am beholden to no traditions,” she said. “I will remain standing for today’s proceedings, while you will not.”

  The attendees looked at one another with confused expressions on their faces before finally deciding to take their seats.

  “You see before you a fine example of consequence,” Kayna said, walking down to the main level of the chamber. She ran her fingers along the iron bars, looking at the prisoner who sat, his eyes wide with fear. “This man, once Chancellor, did not protect my father from our enemy. In my mercy, I did not execute him but appointed him as the Minister of War and Justice. Placed into a position of trust, retaining wealth and station, he was given a second chance, yet betrayed me again. And committed a crime.”

  A hushed murmur moved through the crowd.

  “A crime!” she yelled. Her raised voice did not reverberate about the chamber as much as she would have liked. Still, it was loud enough. It would be nice to have a deep, booming tone for these occasions, but she had searched and could find no magic for such things. Yelling was an interesting thing, an act born of passion, capable of producing a great emotional effect when used properly. She folded her hands across her robes, trying to display a harmless image for a moment.

  “I am a victim of this man. And so are you. I gave him a responsibility. A charge. To protect our nation. He had armies, he had gifted, and yet he failed. A pretender has come. She challenges me. She destroys our outposts. Robs our treasury. Captures our faithful soldiers. She even burns villages. Kidnaps children. Murders their parents!”

  The murmurs grew, and one in the back said, “Hear, hear!”

  “I am only one woman,” Kayna said. She had prepared the speech yesterday and was quite proud of it. Pride. An interesting feeling and it only came with sincere effort and sacrifice, it seemed. One couldn’t get pride in any other way.

  “I am blessed by Dei,” she continued, “but I cannot act alone. When I appoint someone to a task, they must complete it, with honor and diligence. They must play their part and protect this land. Neither Dei nor I will not tolerate the incompetence of faithless, honorless men, who swear oaths of loyalty one day, then allow treachery the next. We will cut them from the body of this beautiful nation as if they were a cancer. A malignancy that will be burned away if we are to achieve a productive society. A prosperous citizenry. A necessary peace.”

  She turned to the prisoner, who seemed to avoid her eyes, still sitting cross-legged in his cell. Kayna’s stomach turned at his stench. His disgusting appearance provided a beautiful deterrent for the gathered, but they didn’t have to be so close. Tomorrow’s prisoner would have to be cleaner, or she’d have to rethink the choreography of these sentences.

  “Archibald Holland, you are former Chancellor and former Minister of War and Justice. You are now a traitor, accused of betraying your nation, your Queen, and Dei. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Her voice was tender, hopefully appearing compassionate to the crowd. “Anything I must consider before delivering your sentence? Excuses, regrets, or perhaps an apology? I yearn to give mercy but must hear a plea from you first. Please. Defend yourself.”

  He said nothing, but that wasn’t his fault. To the audience, he would appear unremorseful, or so she hoped. They could not know that he was drugged, with his tongue having been removed three days before.

  “He’s not even sorry,” a man shouted from off to Kayna’s right.

  “Traitor!” cried another.

  “Enemy of Dei!”

  “Demon. He comes straight from Kai!”

  Whistles and jeers filled the room as the crowd called for judgment.

  Kayna held a hand high, her head bowed in feigned sorrow. The crowd hushed.

  “I have no choice,” she said. “Holy Dei, have mercy on this man, a sinner. May a cleansing of your holy fire burn away his transgressions.”

  Then Kayna’s eyes flared hot, and her hands extended toward the cage. Fire engulfed Archibald Holland, the screams began, and stench and smoke filled the chamber.

  Kayna wandered through the ministry’s private garden. She’d have to appoint a new minister and did not know whom to choose. Austere displays of power and justice were fun but assessing who would serve well in leadership roles was something else. Perhaps she should just leave it to a designee to find candidates. Let them all jockey for power and position, bribe one another, make a list of names, and she would pick the richest one. Or the most obedient. That’s what good monarchs did.

  She rounded a corner hedge, and a strange odor intruded on the floral scents that filled the area. Musty. It was Ennis. She whirled to find him behind her.

  “Don’t sneak up on me, Ennis. That’s rude.”

  “So sorry, Highness,” he said, clicking his tongue and pausing oddly. “You seemed lost in thought. Didn’t want to interrupt.” He was shaking and clenched his teeth between phrases.

  “What’s wrong? You look to be in a terrible state.”

  “Um. The compound.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “We suffered an attack of sorts.”

  “An attack? I thought you posted guards there.”

  “We did. Two dozen. Round the clock. Eight men in three shifts.”

  “Nara?”

  “We don’t think so. Arrows. Stealth. Snuck in and out, killed some guards, and, uh, the Roska boy.”

  “They killed one of our projects?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I misspoke. They stole the boy.”

  Stole him? How could they have known what was going on in the compound? And to get in and out, sneaking—that didn’t seem to be Nara’s style. She had been overt. Straight on. She had plenty of enthusiasm but no creativity whatsoever. This was someone else—one of Nara’s allies or perhaps a new enemy altogether.

  “Well, drat, Ennis. That’s a shame. But the others are safe?”

  “Yes, and we’ve augmented the guard on the project buildings. Three men at all times, on each building, with an additional dozen about the compound.”

  “Double it on the Dimmitt boy. We won’t have our favorite be stolen. Things are going too well with him.”

  “Of course, Majesty.”

  His clicking had stopped, thank Dei. So annoying.

  “Did you think I would punish you, Ennis?”

  His head drooped, and he averted his eyes like a scolded pet. “Yes, Majesty.”

  Seeing Holland’s execution had produced an effect. And this cur should worry; his security had failed. Losing a new cursed was a big blow to their plans and she hoped that the Roska boy wouldn’t now become an enemy. He had received little conditioning, so a hatred for Nara would not have been developed, yet. Such a shame. As for Ennis, he was brilliant. She needed him for the time being, but maybe she’d kill him later.

  “Don’t worry, Ennis. Not a whit. I need you and wouldn’t hurt a hair on your hideous little head. I didn’t care for the Roska boy, anyway.”

  28

  Recruits

  After a nap in the barracks, Nara was refreshed enough to work. With the outpost walls and buildings so badly damaged, the men had set up a tent between two columns that served as a field hospital. Inside, she found Ferron, his head immobilized by a crude brace of wood and cloth. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow, and she dreaded waking him. Sleep was rare to find after injuries like his, and a precious respite from the pain.

  She knelt and put gentle pressure on his shoulder. “Ferron, please wake. Shhh. Slowly.”

  His eyes opened and he moved to rise, but she held him firmly down. “Don’t move. Not yet. I’m here to finish the knit.”

  Without removing the bandages or his brace, she reached under his neck, fingers touching the cloth above the wound. She closed her eyes and flared the sight rune to visualize the trauma. The vertebra was still broken, but the shards had not moved far from th
e injury. Flaring the knitting rune, the fragments came together, but the flesh was being damaged in the process and she sensed Ferron’s pain. “Hang in there,” she said. “Almost done.”

  As the last of the fragments fused, allowing plenty of room for the cord and leaving no jagged edges that would tear his flesh, Nara healed the surrounding tissue, then opened her eyes.

  “It’s done. You can take off the brace.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. It will be swollen and stiff. Not sure how long that will take to finish healing, but the injury is repaired.”

  Ferron sobbed. “I thought I was dead. The blood. And—”

  “Not dead. Not today. You’ll soon be drinking ale and squealing out more bad songs.”

  “Hey,” he said, wiping one eye. “I’m a great singer!”

  Nara chuckled. “Yes, you are, my friend. Now rest.”

  She rose, intending to locate Jahmai, but found him standing a few feet away.

  “That’s handy,” he said. “When this is over, open a hospital. Show other knitters how you do that.”

  “It’s more complicated than that, Ander.”

  “How so?”

  “It takes years for a knitter to visualize injuries well. And lots of training. Anatomy, mostly. I cheat. It’s hard to explain.”

  He shrugged.

  “Tell me about the other outposts,” she said.

  “Mykel led fifty against the southern post, and they gave up right away. The outpost at the port was abandoned by the time they arrived. They must have expected him. Our forces have just returned.”

  “That’s quick. How long was I out?”

  “A few hours.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not at all. Your reputation preceded you. Nobody wanted to fight, as I expected. Not after this.”

  “Good. Then we have time to do something.”

  Jahmai raised an eyebrow.

  “Tomorrow, early, take half our war chest. Spread it among the men—not as wages, but with a mission. To buy food and supplies, give them to the people. The poorest ones first. Tell them that there is a change coming. We’re fighting against Fairmont and we need help, but when we have extra, we share. We’re not like her.”

  “You want to spend thousands of crowns on food?”

  “Yes. And we won’t buy just food. Also bedding. Shoes for kids. We’ll hire builders to fix roofs or anything that is needed. This isn’t just about the people; I want our soldiers to be part of something positive. To heal. We tell them to fight and they obey, but killing exacts a toll on the victorious. Men can’t wade through blood and horror, then walk away unscathed. It has to weigh on them for long after.”

  “It does. Not that any of us are eager to admit it.”

  “And we never know if we will win a battle, but this is a guaranteed win. Our men will be heroes to little kids with hungry bellies. Saviors to the mothers who struggle every day to survive. Role models for men who may join us.”

  He scratched the side of his head. “Interesting. Not my style, but I think I like it. Might bring new recruits. But it will bring problems, too. Soldiers get into trouble when they have money and the bars are open. This might not go as easy as you hope.”

  “Put them in groups of two or three for accountability. Set a curfew so they aren’t out beyond dark. Let them know that Mykel and I will be watching. If we hold our expectations high, they will meet them. They need this, Ander. To be the good guys for a while. One day of charity, then we march north.”

  “Understood.”

  She moved about the outpost, greeting the men. Each time she found an injured soldier, she removed his bandage and knitted the wound, however minor, remaining a while to speak with him. There were young men and old, family men, boys, and many gruff veterans, but all were grateful for her attention.

  Afterward, she went looking for Mykel, wandering out the north gate, broken as it was, and into the clearing beyond. Or what used to be a clearing. It was cluttered now, with so much damage to the earth. She yearned to fix what she had broken but paused before acting. As she surveyed the area, she realized how little control she’d had. And how the fight against Kayna would be a different struggle than the Great Land had seen before. She was no lord fighting over territory or for money. This was bigger than that, and she must fight it differently. She would need to be disciplined, not haphazard with her magic. This broken earth would serve as a reminder of her need for restraint. Maybe she would come back and fix it, someday.

  She circled the outpost and found Mykel training with a large group to the south among boulders, pits, and columns. They drilled with swords and spears, some even carrying shields. The ranks were swelling fast, more than doubling since the morning. She watched them form lines, then upon command from Martel, retreat into a semicircle, shield-bearers facing out. A choppy transition, with civilians trying to learn what the veterans had known for years.

  She wandered to the edge of the field near some trees, still keeping in sight of the outpost but far enough away that nobody would notice her. The solitude was a rare treat, and there was much to think on. They would feed the people in Ankar, but should still have enough for the push north.

  She thought about how small her army still was. Even if they doubled in size before arriving in Fairmont, this was a fool’s errand, unless Nara could come up with something to even the odds against Kayna.

  Yet, the battle this morning was a victory and was encouraging for the men. And she would pretend to be encouraged as well, but no matter how much confidence she feigned for the benefit of others, she didn’t feel it herself. Kayna could control air currents so perfectly that she floated on them, showing a mastery of magic far exceeding Nara’s. Kayna would not be foolish with her energies, and if she got tired, she could just suck the life out of someone–maybe even her own soldiers.

  Mykel worried about Nara’s level of control and said as much whenever he got the chance. If she didn’t care so much, if she could quell her passion somehow, she’d be able to restrain herself, but when the battle began and people fell, she didn’t know how to calm her spirit. How could she force herself to not care?

  A fallen tree blocked her path, and she climbed over it, then kneeled and grabbed a handful of dirt and pebbles. That’s all it was to most people. Dirt. Good for growing crops. Others didn’t see it the way she did, yet they depended on it. Every step, they trusted it to hold them. Earth was the foundation of all life and often taken for granted.

  She sat, leaning her back against the fallen tree, and put both hands into the soil. Flaring earth and sight at the same time, she reached down with her awareness. She was looking, but not for something in particular. Just looking.

  Through the soil, the sight rune gave a different feeling. A different experience. She wasn’t Nara anymore; she was the earth. Rock. Mountains. Sand and bedrock. She felt the footfalls of citizens in Ankar going about their daily chores as they walked upon her. Vibrations from wagons rolled along her back, and she sensed the gentle roll of waves crashing on her beach rocks near Ankar’s port. Farther north, she sensed travelers camped on her hills, moose walking, and a fox digging a den under a fallen log. She sensed the movement of rocks in her belly, grinding against one another. And heat inside her mountains, alive and churning, hidden from the knowings of men.

  Wow, that was incredible. She’d never flared sight and earth at the same time before. This wasn’t a combat premonition, knowing enemy actions before they struck. Nor was it a vision, like the one of Dimmitt’s fall. It was more like Mykel’s staff rune, seeing what mattered to the staff. Using sight this way showed what mattered to the earth. And it brought peace. So big. So powerful. And it made her feel so small.

  She let the runes drop and opened her eyes, the worries about Kayna and the upcoming struggle much diminished. As she stood, her balance faltered. Returning to her own perspective was a rough transition, and a bout of dizziness had her leaning against the log for a moment. Eart
h magic was an odd thing, and there was much to learn.

  It was early the next day when they headed out to the streets of Ankar, money in hand. Nara stood on the roof of a tavern at the edge of the market, watching as a dirty-faced toddler clung to her mother’s leg. The mother couldn’t have been older than Nara, By her garb, it was easy to see that she was poor—her hair was matted and she wore ratty shoes and a dress that had seen better days. Two older rough-looking soldiers were offering a basket of bread to the mother, and she tentatively reached out, then took a single loaf.

  “No, take it all, woman,” the soldier said, pushing the basket into her chest, almost knocking her back. “And some of these,” he said, dropping half a dozen copper bits in the basket.

  Geez, they should be more gentle. She’s afraid.

  The woman put the loaf back in the basket and clasped the handle. “Thank you,” she said, looking around defensively.

  “You’re welcome,” said the other soldier, who wore a big grin on his face. “Tell everyone we are marching on Fairmont. We need able bodies, if they’re willing.” They walked away, fishing through pockets for coins, probably to buy more bread.

  Nara watched as two other soldiers filled a handcart with fruit and vegetables, then dropped coins into the vendor’s palm. They wheeled the cart down the street, calling out. “Hungry? Come get free food.” A boy stood on the opposite side of the street and the soldiers stopped. “Catch,” one called to the lad, then threw an apple.

  The boy leaped to catch it in his left hand, then immediately put it to his mouth and took a bite. “Thanks,” he said through a mouthful.

  Nara smiled as the men kept rolling the cart. This was a good thing.

  At first, Mykel scoffed at spending so much money on the people of Ankar. After a couple of hours watching, however, Nara saw him join in the distribution, buying dozens of children’s shoes and ferrying them along the street in a wagon, inviting little ones to hop up and try them on.