by M. M. Perry
Cass let go of her grip on Gunnarr’s hand once the strangeness of the world became a little less shocking. She looked around the clearing and found that the elves seemed unaffected by everything growing duller around them. Their menace was still clear and fiercely focused on their little group. Cass turned back toward the seer and noticed he seemed as uneasy with the change as she was. She stepped forward to approach him, realizing that if the ravenous little beasts had intended to kill her, they would have done so by now. They were clearly there to keep them in the area for some reason.
“What do you know of this?” Cass demanded, gesturing to the sky. Any thoughts of being courteous had fled with the sudden change.
“It’s your fault. I know that much,” the man said angrily.
He was rather unremarkable looking: brown hair and eyes and fair skin. Cass thought he was the kind of person who could stand in a crowd and go completely unnoticed by everyone. He was a seer, however, and that made him more remarkable than almost anyone.
Cass closed the gap between them, the rest of the group following more to move away from the menacing wall of teeth and jagged, dirty nails than to hear the conversation, since the forest around them, including the elves, was silent as the grave at that moment.
“Why have we been driven here,” Cass asked more precisely. She had been raised by a seer and was familiar with the bouts of hysteria they were prone to when gripped in the occurrence of a vision they saw long ago. Vague questions were usually answered with impenetrable statements that made sense only to them against the totality of their vision, but a more narrowly tailored question could sometimes elicit a coherent response. “The elves clearly drove us here, and now they are keeping us here. Why?”
“Oshia,” he said laughing maniacally, “Oshia!”
He shook his fists in the air at the sky but no one responded.
“He wants to kill you himself. He can’t do that until Timta is dead. He wants to kill you more than anything else right now. It wasn’t you at first, no. First it was this one,” the seer pointed a dirty finger at Gunnarr.
“He wanted to kill him to hurt you. He had you in his clutches, but couldn’t break you,” the seer babbled so quickly Cass had trouble making out individual words. “He thought killing that one would. Making you watch as he was ripped to shreds by the elves here. He forced me to this wretched land. First to Sanctum, where I had to pretend to be clear. Had to pretend to fit in. For more than a year I had to live there, forced by that beast. Then, suddenly, some days ago, I was compelled to come here. The elves, the elves came in the night and took me here, on a great wave of repulsiveness. I’ve been here for days, living on nothing but what I could scrape up and what the elves brought me. Always with the seers he said, always with the seers the warriors go. And I was the biggest, brightest seer he could find. So he drove me to sanctum, told me I’d be safe from my visions there. Lied and tricked me. Then he trapped me here. I saw you every night for a hundred nights before I came here, before Oshia found me. I thought I was safe from you in Sanctum. I should have known he would lie about that. But even I thought you couldn’t finish this out. But somehow, you found a way.”
Cass tried to filter out the nonsense from the important words.
“How is he planning to kill me?”
“He told them,” the seer said sweeping his arm out indicating the elves. “Or commanded them. I never actually saw it, to keep you here. I was the bait. The most powerful seer currently alive. He drew it from me forcefully. I didn’t want to tell him. He told me what he’d do to me, but I didn’t tell him. He said he’d kill me. Said he’d do that. He drove me here, of all places. Slaughtered the guardians and commanded the elves somehow to keep me here, and to wait. But I knew,” the seer tapped his head, “I knew it was going to be you. It was always you. The god couldn’t see it, but I could. It was never him, it was you. You are the one who will kill me. It’s always you. Then, when the war is over, he will come for you.”
“I think maybe he’s been here a little too long,” Nat said, understating the obvious.
Cass nodded and tried to get the seer’s attention again.
“Oshia will come here?”
“Yes. I’ve seen it.”
“Well then, that’s a simple enough problem to solve. We just need to not be here,” Cass said without a hint of humor.
“I’ve seen it.”
“Yes, as you say. What is your name?”
The seer calmed somewhat at the mundane question.
“Jameson.”
“Jameson. I take it you’ve seen me a lot over the years, despite never meeting me?”
“Yes,” he said hesitantly, confused as to where this conversation was going.
“My adoptive mother is a seer. It’s my understanding that when you see things about people you’ve never met, it’s considered a higher sight. A kind of portent, if you will. Only very gifted seers can see these portents.”
Jameson was silent. He was unsure how to respond to the strange woman.
“Tell me, Jameson,” Cass continued, “What have you seen me doing. Besides dying at the hands of Oshia, of course. We don’t need to go over that bit again.”
“I…I’ve seen you ride griffins.”
“Yes, I’ve done that, go on.”
“You found the djinn. Got drunk with them really, but you did find them. You rode a dragon. And carried the sun stone. You started the war with the gods by helping to re-awaken the old gods from their slumber. You went to the wet desert to find the god slaying sword. You came here to me. You were killed by…”
“No wait, go back. I went to the wet desert? To find a sword?”
“Yes. You found the ancient cave where it was hidden. A sword made by Toren, the great explorer.”
“Well, that hasn’t happened yet. So that means…” Cass waited for this to sink into the seer’s head.
“Well that can’t be. You’re here. That can’t be,” Jameson muttered over and over.
“Alright, so how do we get out of here?” Cass said, deciding to let Jameson work out the solution on his own.
“We mustn’t,” Droog said firmly.
Cass furrowed her brow.
“We have to go to the wet desert. You heard the man.”
Droog dropped his spiked gloves and pulled out a formidable sword.
“No,” the Cartan said.
“What is this?” Gunnarr asked angrily, pulling his own blade.
“The gods have said you stay here. We will do as the gods demand. That is the law.”
“Droog,” Lasha said, knowing something terrible was about to transpire if she did not intervene, “this is not the time…”
“No,” Droog shouted Lasha down. “You are not to lecture me. You have brought a human into your bed. I can smell it all over you. You cannot hide it from me. I,” Droog stopped to emphasize his point by pounding his chest, “I left my lands to become a warrior. It is not coincidence that it is we who are caught up in this trap, on the holy lands given us directly by the gods themselves. Lands we swore to protect from the humans. Lands no human has ever laid foot on until now. This is a test. They do not deny it is a god who places us here. That is not in question. Nor do they deny that the god wishes to kill them. If they try to escape, I will kill them. Perhaps then our holy lands will be cleansed of the humans and the elves.”
Lasha’s fur began to rise along her neck. A low growl rumbled from deep within her.
“I will not let you make this decision for me, Droog.”
“Lasha,” Korick called out, but his cry failed to stop her from lunging at Droog. The other Cartan responded in kind, rushing at her. The two dropped their weapons before they leapt together, bared claws seeking to rend flesh instead. They slammed together in mid-air, several feet above the ground, falling to the earth as teeth bit into flesh. As soon as they hit the ground, they began tumbling over each other. Fur was ripped from skin. Gunnarr began to move forward to intervene but Cass held him bac
k.
“This is their way. We cannot interrupt them now. I know enough about Cartan to know if we intervene on Lasha’s behalf, she will not thank us for it.”
The elves in the forest watched passively as the fight played out before them. Cass peered out at them to see if there was any reaction from them, and she could find none.
Then it may be, she thought, they are compelled to do one thing: keep everyone out of Foundation except the seer, me, and apparently those I travel with. She turned her attention back to the fight.
Droog was the larger warrior. He seemed in control at the moment, tossing Lasha around with ease. But Lasha was lithe and never fell to the ground after being thrown. Instead she kept managing to turn herself in midair and land on her feet. Even so, it seemed to the group Lasha was doomed to lose. She was bleeding heavily from a wound in her side. At least one blow from Droog’s claws had raked her through to the bone.
Cass was saddened by the whole affair. Droog had been helpful, if sullen about it. She wondered if the change in the air was what put him over the edge. The temple had looked magical when they had first arrived. The stones it was made of had appeared almost freshly hewn, with intricate patterns worked into their surface. Now they looked as if the stone was days away from crumbling to dust, the shapes carved into them worn smooth. Cass began to wonder how this would affect the people of Tanavia, if it was, as she feared, not a local effect but something related to the gods’ war. She would not be surprised if there was panic. Droog was only one of the many devout followers of the gods. As a warrior, Cass knew she had a very different perspective on the gods, seeing them as just as petty, crass and flawed as any person might be. But most people never actually encountered the beings they worshiped. They simply saw the signs of their power in the beautiful temples that never needed tending and the rich fertile lands around them that always seemed to be in blossom. Cass worried that now that those things were gone, along with that the extra bit of color and life in every mundane thing that must have been enhanced by the gods, that the devout might think they had been abandoned. Cass shuddered when she thought on the types of atrocities a devout person might commit in the name of winning back the favor of his gods.
The furious pace of the battle before Cass began to slow, and it looked inevitable that Lasha would lose. She was panting heavily, leaning on a tree to keep herself upright. Droog wasn’t unscathed, though. His muzzle was bleeding freely, as were cuts all along his arms and torso, but he was less winded than Lasha.
“You can submit. I will not kill you if you aid me in keeping them here,” he grunted.
“Droog,” Lasha said through labored breaths. Her eyes flicked toward an ashen-faced Korick. “I have not lost. You have. Your ways are old. If ever there was evidence of that, this is it. These lands are not sacred. Not anymore. The temple crumbles even as I speak. The gods will not return. Not in the way we remember. Our gods may indeed die on a battlefield today. See that. Understand that. If you do, then I will not kill you.”
“You have been driven mad by this human. I will kill him next for defiling your mind,” Droog said through clenched teeth.
He launched himself at Lasha with all the speed he could muster. Cass saw a glint of light flash in the air between them the moment before he struck her. Droog suddenly stumbled back, looking down at the dagger that had sprouted from his chest. Cass was almost as shocked as Droog was to see it there. Fights among Cartan were always hand to hand, all weapons being forbidden.
“The old ways have killed you Droog. I denounce them,” Lasha said as blood welled up around the dagger.
Droog looked at her, his face contorting between disbelief and anger at the betrayal. Lasha felt little pity for him. As Droog fell to his knees, his hands grasping at the dagger, ineffectually attempting to staunch the flow of blood, Lasha limped to Korick. For her, in turning from the old ways and breaking faith with the gods, in dishonoring herself in the eyes of all Cartans by wielding a weapon in personal combat, in taking Droog’s life, she had bought Korick’s, and she knew she would never regret that choice.
Chapter 11
The silence was painfully awkward as Nat, who Cass was pleased to discover had become quite the accomplished field medic while Cass had been held by Oshia, worked on Lasha’s wounds. Cass didn’t know how to respond to what Lasha had done. She had broken with one of the oldest traditions of her people to, at least in part, save them. Cass had no illusions that what had pushed Lasha over the edge was Droog’s threat to Korick’s life.
Korick paced restlessly while they waited on Nat’s ministrations. He couldn’t believe what had just transpired. Gone were all his hopes of peacefully co-existing with Lasha among her people. His visions of being anointed an equal, shattered. Part of him ached to go to Lasha’s side, to embrace her, comfort her. But he knew whatever he felt about her betrayal to her people, her own thoughts would be far more tumultuous. She might not appreciate his closeness just now, when it was because of him that she had to give up all she had ever known.
“I’ve done the best I can,” Nat said as he finished stitching Lasha up, “but don’t think you’ll be able to get around very well regardless, let alone fight through that.” Nat gestured to the elves covering every inch of forest around them.
One of the temple’s columns suddenly cracked behind them, startling everyone. They watched as a large upper section slid slowly along a diagonal fissure before tumbling ponderously to the ground, breaking into a dozen pieces as it thudded to the ground with a resounding impact.
“It really is crumbling as we sit here,” Nat said quietly.
“Does anyone know how long a war between gods lasts? I’m worried it might impact some of my travel plans,” Cass quipped, trying to lighten the mood.
“Don’t worry about me,” Lasha interrupted wearily. “Cartan heal quickly. I’ll be ready to move by night fall.”
Nat exchanged a look with Cass that said that was highly unlikely. Cass leaned forward to see around Gunnarr and get a look at Jameson. The seer seemed not to have paid any heed to the Cartans’ fight, and was still sitting on the ground, rocking gently and mumbling to himself.
“I don’t imagine we have even that long. Oshia is not going to want to leave me waiting here for long, war or not. He’s considerate like that,” Cass said, hoping her bravado masked the real fear she was barely keeping in check. She would never give voice to her concern, but their current situation seemed unresolvable.
“We’ll figure something out,” Gunnarr said, trying to reassure Cass.
Viola paced on the deck, waiting for someone to get back to her. She had requested the warriors organize a group to go ashore and retrieve her friends. It was clear to her that the time had come to go back to Centria and help however they could. The gods were warring now, which meant they had run out of time for investigating the scrolls. She stopped pacing and looked out across the sea to the land her friends were trekking through. The waves did not glitter as brilliantly blue in the sunlight as they had the day before. Viola rubbed her arms, hoping it was just her imagination run amok that made her feel as if even the sun did not warm her skin as much as it had the day before.
A bearded warrior approached her, his face grim.
“I’m sorry Viola, we can’t go ashore.”
His voice was genuinely regretful.
“There aren’t enough willing to try?” Viola asked, shocked that even with the recent changes warriors would ever shy from their duty.
“No, that ain’t it. The whole of the ship is clambering to be included. But the Cartan’s aren’t having it. No one is allowed to come ashore. The change has got them spooked. They’ve even kicked out all the humans what were currently in Tendo and they’re threatening to attack any vessel that approaches. They think the gods are punishing them for something. From the way that Cartan chief told me, I got the strong impression it had to do with our little landing party.”
“Gods be damned,” Viola yelled in frustration.<
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“We’re all with ya, and we’d go anyway if we thought we could do it, but we just don’t have the numbers for a daylight assault. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to get ourselves killed and our ship destroyed, especially if Cass and them are already on their way back. They’ll need to get back to Centria, and they’ll need us to do it. But if they ain’t back by tomorrow night, we’ll consider other options.”
“Other options?” Viola asked.
“Well, it ain’t optimal, but putting ashore at night a ways off from the city, and then cutting our way through the Cartans we run into is on the table, far as our gang is concerned. I’m hoping once we’ve all calmed down a bit, less bloody-handed plans might get put forth. It ain’t just the Cartans spooked by the change.”
“Thank you,” Viola said. She left the warrior to get back to his planning and preparations, returning to the captain’s cabin. She sat down heavily in a chair near a porthole. She looked out gloomily once again across the dull sea. On some level, she knew that, logically, she had no reason to fear yet. It was very likely that even had Cass and the others turned around as soon as the change happened, they wouldn’t have been able to return to the ship this quickly. But something inside her insisted that her friends were in danger and that the longer they waited, the worse that danger was. She began to hatch her own plan for how she could leave the ship that night unnoticed. She was so frantic that she wasn’t even thinking ahead to what she would do after she left the ship, beyond the vague notion of rescuing her friends, even though she knew that would be the next important step.
“One thing at a time, Viola,” she said to herself as she took stock of what tools she had available.
Anya huddled up in her thick cold weather hides but could not seem to get any warmer. Snow had begun to fall in the valley. The plants that lined the valley were all wilting, the water within them freezing up and killing them. Anya looked up at the Ambassador while her teeth chattered. The dragon had not gone back to sleep since the change. He was alert and staring at the temple as if looking into a scrying glass.
