Priest (Ratcatchers Book 1)

by Matthew Colville

  “Watch out!” Taethan called, pointing to the left.

  Most of the tree line behind them was in a similar state. Hammered by massive thorns and then pulled apart by vines, twenty trees were falling, mostly but not exclusively forward.

  “Black gods,” he said. The Yllindyr was going to destroy the forest in its attempt to kill Heden and Taethan. The trees were each hundreds of years old and toppling like the towers of a ruined castle. They hit the surface of the lake, each with a loud crack that forced Heden and Taethan to cover their ears.

  Heden thought madly. He could summon a Dominion…but what could it do? A Dominion was only roughly as powerful as a Celestial in any case, and this thing was built by the Celestials. Had survived in the forest for thousands of years. Heden had spent so many years thinking that if worse came to worse, he could always call upon a herald of Cavall and end all dispute, that he found himself unable to recall the dozens of prayers he knew that might have been a help.

  He looked at Taethan.

  “Come on,” Heden said, and threw his backpack to the ground. He opened it and began pulling his carpet out. “Help me with this. I’ll fly us out of here.

  Taethan saw the rolled up carpet being laboriously extruded from the pack. He pointed.

  “I am not getting on that thing!” he said. The Yllindyr was getting closer.

  “Yes you are,” Heden said. “Don’t worry it’s impossible to fall off it. We’ll get out of here and get the other knights.”

  “It would only follow us to the priory!” Taethan called out. The engine was now walking toward them again. Each footstep an earthquake. Heden yanked the carpet the rest of the way out of the bag. It flopped down on the ground, unrolling slightly.

  “Good!” Heden said. “Then it’ll be the order against that thing and maybe we’ll have a chance!”

  “A thousand Elementals could not stand against it!” Taethan yelled.

  This situation was all too familiar. Except usually Heden was arguing with five or six other people about the looming certain death. In a way, it was refreshing to be here with only one person to argue with.

  “Well, I don’t have any better ideas!” Heden called out. Heden started unrolling the carpet. Taethan was probably right, this thing could take down a whole army of Elementals and they had nothing to….

  Heden’s head shot up.

  “I have a better idea!” he said, and thrust his arm back into the pack.

  He ran forward, trying to put some distance between him and Taethan. Give the knight a chance to react if Heden failed.

  The engine was almost upon them. Heden pulled his hand out of his pack, removed and thrust Starkiller into the air.

  The sword burst into blinding almost-light. It hurt Heden’s eyes, the space behind his eyesockets exploded with pain. He kept his arm up and blinked furiously, trying to see how the engine was reacting.

  It had stopped, and reared up in what seemed like alarm. In this position, the same from which it launched its catapult-like volley of thorns, it seemed like a god of the forest. So large, Heden couldn’t even see its massive head from down here.

  But it had stopped, that’s what was important. The dwarf sword was made to kill elves and by extension anything they made, though it had a special taste for the star elves. The Yllindyr feared it. Seemed to fear what it could do. Heden didn’t know how long that could last.

  He tried to remember what the sword could do. It had been years since they found it, and he’d never been the one to wield it.

  Starfall was a powerful spell, Heden didn’t know the full range of spells the dwarves put in the thing, but he knew one that was more powerful than starfall.

  In the language of the dwaves, in Elemental, he spoke the word.

  “Cometstrike,” he said, and a hideous screaming sound was heard above him.

  The summoned comet was massive. It burned white, trailing a long tail behind it. It screamed out of the sky like a hot ingot of metal.

  It smashed into the rearing elven engine of destruction, tearing through it and falling into the lake with a huge explosion, sending a gout of water a hundred feet into the air. The Yllindyr’s legs buckled. It had no bones, no skin, just a web of branches and vines and the comet had destroyed much of it.

  Heden put Starkiller back in his pack and ran back to Taethan who gaped at what he’d just seen.

  “Was that a Dominion?” Taethan said.

  Heden was confused. He packed the sword back into the pack. Hurrying to get away just in case.

  “What, that? No, Dominions are like humans with huge wings and metal skin. That was a bloody great rock called down from the sky.”

  “Can you do it again?” Taethan was awed.

  “Not at the moment,” Heden said, getting on the carpet. He reached out for Taethan, tried to grab the awe-struck knight and get him on the carpet.

  “You were wise to bring such an artifact,” Taethan said, allowing himself to be guided by Heden.

  “Well, I get lucky every once in a while,” Heden said.

  “No,” Taethan said pointing up. “You don’t.”

  Heden turned around.

  The Yllindyr hadn’t stopped, hadn’t fallen to the ground or collapsed into the lake. It had just stumbled and lost its orientation. Though the comet had destroyed a significant part of its mass, and left a smoking empty column of burning vegetation from its back just behind its head down through its gullet, the Yllindyr seemed otherwise unfazed. It had no brain, no spine, no organs to attack. Heden wondered how much of it had to be destroyed before it stopped functioning. The Celestials designed it well.

  It righted itself and turned to bellow at the two tiny humans before it.

  “Shit,” Heden said.

  “It was a valiant effort,” Taethan said, impressed.

  “Yeah, and it’s about to be a valiant retreat, get on.” He pulled the knight onto the carpet, and spoke the command words.

  The carpet rose and when Taethan’s legs buckled on the unexpected and uneven surface, Heden pressed him down into a sitting position, then sat behind him.

  There were only a few yards off the ground, but climbing.

  “Hold on to the sides,” Heden said. “Flying two is tricky, your weight throws me off.”

  “I am sorry!” Taethan shouted, his brilliant green curls caught by the wind.

  Heden willed the carpet up and away. They climbed quickly and at a steep angle.

  “Don’t look over the sides!” Heden said.

  Taethan looked over the sides.

  “Aaahhh!” he shouted, and pulled back, clinging tighter to the edges of the tapestry.

  Heden took the carpet up as fast as he could, but he’d began his ascent right under the Yllindyr. He looked behind him.

  Having reared up again, the engine used one massive foreleg to swipe at or grasp the carpet. Heden couldn’t tell which, it had no proper foot, just a tangle of twisting vines and thorns that swung toward them.

  “Hang on!” Heden said, and rolled the carpet in a tight but elaborate circle, flying over, then under the rapidly moving thorny limb. The carpet would always right itself so its riders could not fall off, but Heden knew that could be pushed.

  At the height of the twisting circle the carpet inscribed, he looked up, which was down, and saw the Yllindyr’s massive leg below him.

  It was at that moment that Taethan threw up.

  Heden ignored it, and finished the carpet’s roll, then sped up and away, leaving the Yllindyr behind him.

  “It’s okay,” Heden said. “We’re away. We made it.” The wind made it difficult to talk. The forest stretched out below them, and infinite field of green leaves.

  “I do not know,” Taethan said, wiping vomit from his mouth with one hand, while grasping the edge of the carpet tightly with the other.

  “I do!” Heden shouted. “Trust me!”

  “Look!” Taethan said, pointing behind him and down.

  Heden turned the carpet to get a
better look.

  Far below them, but not far enough, the Yllindyr was still in its rearing position. It shuddered again, and another volley of thorns erupted from all over its body. Thousands of them, all speeding toward the carpet.

  “It’s just one damned thing after another,” Heden muttered.

  “What?”

  “Hang on to something!” Heden said, and lay as flat on the carpet as he could with another man on here.

  “On to what?!” Taethan asked.

  Like a thousand massive thrushes speeding past, the wave of thorns clouded the sky around them, thrumming the air. As soon as Heden saw how many and how thick was the volley, he knew there was no way the carpet could avoid getting hit.

  A thorn ruptured straight through the carpet between Heden and Taethan, and they began to drop.

  Then another tore the edge off behind Heden. They were now almost in free fall.

  Heden’s stomach rose, his whole body seized up in one massive convulsion of terror, and as though in a nightmare he dropped out of the sky. Wind whistling past, he thought of a prayer that would save him. Taethan too.

  Eyes blinded with tears from the biting air, he tried to find Taethan, but could not. He couldn’t see. He was still holding on to what was left the carpet. He couldn’t tell if it was one piece with a hole in it, or two pieces and he couldn’t see Taethan.

  He started to speak the prayer as he saw what he thought was the ground rushing up to meet him. There was no time. He was going to smash into the ground below and be killed.

  There was no danger of hitting the ground, however. The Yllindyr swung one massive foreleg and batted them both out of the sky like gnats.

  The light of consciousness went out of both of them, as their bodies sailed out inscribing a beautiful geometric arc over the forest.

  Chapter Forty Two

  Heden came to. The experience was very different from waking up. His eyes opened to a blurred landscape, he couldn’t focus. His head hurt, his chest hurt. His whole body tingled in that unique way that spoke of broken or shattered bones cured by a priest.

  His head swam, he couldn’t control it. He tried to sit up. He was slumped against a large tree. Like many in the forest, its trunk was maybe thirty feet across.

  He managed to sit up under his own power and twist around to unbuckle his breastplate. The buckles were unusually tight and pulling at them caused a sharp pain in his chest. He’d felt that pain before and knew what caused it. The indentation in the metal made by the Yllindyr when it smashed into him. It caved in his breastplate, so the metal was pressing into his chest.

  The buckles came undone, the second harder than the first, and he threw his breastplate away. He didn’t have much strength; it landed just out of arm’s reach. Blood flowed back to his bruised muscles.

  Breastplate off, half turned in his sitting position, he saw the tree behind him. He’d done a lot of damage to it when he hit it. He turned and slumped back against it. Looking up, he saw the path he’d taken as he’d fallen through the branches. A hole in the forest stretching up and away at a sharp angle. For some reason this made him laugh.

  “You’re delirious,” a voice said. Reacting to his laughter. He looked around, still having trouble seeing.

  Then he smelled something wonderful. Broth and bread and meat. Someone was cooking something? Out here in the forest?

  Head lolling, he finally narrowed in on the speaker.

  She was about forty feet away from him, near another tree. There was no real clearing here, just dead leaves and ferns. She was crouched on her haunches, cooking something over an open flame. She wore a heavy brown and green dress and had long brown hair. As he watched, a squirrel scampered up to her and held out a tiny nut. She plucked it from the small animal’s hands and said; “Thank you,” with a small bow. The squirrel dashed off.

  “Hello,” Heden said. He must be dreaming.

  “Give it a few minutes,” she said. “You’re not as young as you used to be. Once you’ve had one concussion” she seemed to be talking to herself now. “It gets easier and easier to rattle your braincase.”

  Heden lay back. “Dreaming,” he said. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  Sleep didn’t last long, he woke to deep hunger and the delicious smell from before. The woman was crouching in front of him now, waving a bowl under his nose.

  She looked about Heden’s age, and was beautiful. It was her eyes. They were golden brown and danced with wit and intelligence. She had dark red hair, almost brown.

  “You should know better,” she said, curling a lip. “Can’t sleep after a blow like that. Might never wake up.”

  He tried to take the bowl of soup. It took him a moment to coordinate his hands, but he managed it. He held the stone bowl and smelled it, taking a deep breath.

  “I smelled bread,” Heden said.

  “Yup.” She said, reaching behind her. She dropped a fresh loaf in his lap. It was still warm.

  “I made it,” she said.

  “How?” Heden asked frowning. His head ached. The bowl of soup reminded him that his hands were cold.

  “Wasn’t hard,” she said. She got up and walked back to her little camp. “You learned the prayer when you were fifteen. The soup I made the hard way. Comes out better.”

  Heden sipped the soup. He put the bowl in his lap and broke off some bread.

  “How long have I been out?” he asked, dipping the bread in the soup.

  “Few hours,” the woman said, crouching to tend the fire and stir the soup. “You were a mess,” she said. “You would have gotten through it on your own,” she sampled the soup, concluded it was good, and kept stirring. “But you wouldn’t have enjoyed it.”

  Heden breathed deeply. His body was recovering. His mind was centering. The woods around him seemed real enough now. He blinked a few times and his eyes seemed to be back to normal.

  Where was Taethan?

  What happened to the Yllindyr?

  Who was this woman?

  He took a sip of the soup and forwarded a hypothesis.

  “You’re a witch,” he said.

  She smiled widely to herself. “Good guess,” she said, her voice like a bell. “But no. I’m, ah, the cause of witchcraft in others.” She looked at him slyly from the corner of her eye

  He thought for a moment.

  “Fallara,” he guessed.

  The woman frowned and shook her head at his guess. “That crone? She couldn’t cook to save her life.”

  He put his head back against the tree. It hurt to think. Once he stopped trying, it came to him.

  “Halcyon,” he said.

  She didn’t react in any way Heden could see.

  “Before you ask,” she said, “Sir Taethan is fine. You’ll meet up with him once I’m through with you.”

  That sounded ominous.

  Before Heden could stop himself, he asked “What have I done?”

  He regretted asking it. It made him sound like a child, but it seemed to impress the woman. She nodded to herself.

  “Well for one thing, three of my knights have died while you stood by gawping.”

  “Three?” he asked.

  “I’m counting Kavalen,” she said, and there was low menace in her voice. But it was casual, it didn’t appear directed at Heden. “With Idris and Perren that’s three.”

  Heden didn’t say anything, he was reeling from the concussion and the fact that he was talking to a saint again. This one seemed bafflingly normal.

  She stood up and kicked dirt on the small fire quenching it.

  Looking down at the dying fire she put her hands on her hips and, obviously talking to herself said; “And I don’t hold out much hope for the other six.”

  “What happened to Aderyn?” Heden asked.

  She turned and looked at him lying against the tree. His body had been shattered before she repaired it.

  “You won’t see her again,” Halcyon said, crossing her arms. Heden couldn’t tell if this was good o
r bad. “None of the knights will. That’s a wager I’ve made with myself.” Heden didn’t know what she meant.

  “Perren and Kavalen weren’t my fault,” he tried to defend himself.

  She sighed and walked over to him. She made a gesture as she walked and a small toadstool near him grew enormously, allowing her to sit comfortably on it and talk to him.

  “We didn’t pick you for this because we wanted you to stand idly by and gasp while the knights…” she stopped, and then said something else. “…died.”

  “We?” he asked, frowning. The act made his head hurt again. “How did you pick me?”

  “Suggestions,” she said. “Nudges. Coincidences. I mean I could just appear before the hierarch and tell him what to do, but that’s not a good idea. No rules against it, but it sets a bad precedent. And that’s pretty much all we have.”

  “Why don’t you speak like them?” he asked. When it seemed like she didn’t understand he went on. “Like Isobel.”

  “The cant?” she asked. She lay back against the toadstool and crossed her legs. Nice legs, he thought. Heden wondered if there was any situation so bad that he wouldn’t notice a woman’s legs. Probably not.

  “The cant is their tradition, not mine. They created it.”

  “Created?”

  She nodded. “One of the knight-commanders came up with the idea a few hundred years ago. When the order was even smaller than it is now. She thought that’s how the original knights talked. Back when life was…I don’t know…simpler? She imagined the order was more respected then. ’Course these knights don’t know that. They think the cant is three thousand years old. Have no idea that no one spoke like that even then. Probably wouldn’t matter if they did know.”

  “It’s fake,” Heden said, reeling at the idea that the knights were acting out a kind of theater and didn’t even know it.

  She shrugged again, pleasingly. “Not if they’re serious about it. Which they are. Or were,” she said resignedly. Heden felt ashamed, though he didn’t know why. “Doesn’t matter either way. As long as they keep the pact, I don’t care what else they get up to.”