The Lost Reavers

by Mike Truk

  She was staring at him, speechless.

  “People of Erro!” The Fate Maker’s voice was stern and loud, silencing the excited murmur of the crowd. A good voice, thought Hugh. Man would have made a decent sergeant. “It is good to see you all once more, to see familiar faces and new. Today is the Subrogation of the Fates, and it is my honor to perform this ritual and shrive you of your missteps. To bring you back to your burning paths, to ensure the wellbeing and vitality of this community, and of each and every soul of which it is composed.”

  The crowd settled, comforted and eager. Hugh saw Branka emerge from her tavern, shooing Wlad before her, and disappear into the masses.

  “There are yet many hours before tonight’s Subrogation, but let me warn you, as ever, to not bank on that cleansing. The knowledge that you shall soon be cleansed and brought in line with your purpose in the Fate Maker’s eyes can lead to temptation; why not err in full, now, knowing that you shall soon be cleansed?”

  Uneasy laughter rose from the crowd.

  Jarmoc raised an admonishing finger. “I can all but hear your thoughts, good people of Erro. What harm in a little misdeed? A small theft, a lie, or to indulge in thoughts or conversations that would be most unbecoming for a devout follower of the Fate Maker? Resist. Hold true. This is no game, but rather a question of your very soul. No matter that you shall soon be cleansed and set straight. The Maker watches you, both before and after the Subrogation, and shall annotate your page in his great book with your deeds and intentions. Earn not his wrath! Stay his pen! Inconsequential as a small misstep may seem, its consequences shall echo throughout eternity. Hold fast to the burning path.”

  Mutters and quiet conversations. Hugh watched with amusement. Might as well tell children to not covet candies.

  “Now, do not let my arrival stop you from your preparations. I shall visit with each of you over the course of the day, so as to be ready to begin the Subrogation before dusk. We are none of us unfamiliar with this day’s blessed events, so let us celebrate together, reaffirm our dedication to each other, our burning roads and the Fate Maker himself. I look forward to meeting with each of you, and until then, be well.”

  “Be well,” murmured the crowd in response, and the Jarmoc stepped down into their midst.

  “How about we skip Subrogation altogether and go for a picnic?” asked Hugh, turning to his companion.

  Who was frowning, eyelids fluttering as she stared down at her hands.

  “Anastasia?”

  “Did you mean it? Or were you jesting with me? If you feel guilty for yesterday, I’d infinitely prefer you not dangle such hopes before me as a means of apology.” She looked up at him, expression vulnerable and bleak. “You were jesting.”

  “I wasn’t.” Hugh reached out to touch her wrist. “I swear it by Fortuna, may she strap me to the side of her wheel and drown me in the river. When this is all said and done, I’ll ask my brother for your service, and free you from it the moment we’re outside Mendev.”

  Her face paled. Jaw clenched. She looked down at where he touched her wrist. He withdrew his fingers.

  “Despite your oath I still find myself unable to credit your intentions,” she said, voice husky with emotion. “You can’t mean that.”

  “Why not?”

  “To release a disciplus from their vows is treason to the emperor,” said Anastasia, voice dulled by wonder.

  “Mendev’s laws hold only within Mendev.”

  Her eyes filled with tears which she immediately blotted away on her gold-trimmed cuff. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It could be.”

  She sniffed, blinked rapidly once more, smiled as if to cover her true emotions to anyone watching from afar. “If word gets out, you’ll never be able to return home.”

  “Ask Elena. I hadn’t intended to.”

  “Hugh.” Had she ever addressed him directly, simply, in such manner before? “Please. I can’t bear to be toyed with.”

  “I’m not toying with you.” He reached out again, took her hand. Her fingers were cold and stiff as he interlaced his own with them. “I’ve already sworn by Fortuna. I’ll swear by whatever else you wish. Zarja said last night you were worthy of love. I don’t know you well enough to swear by such an emotion, but what I’ve seen and learned of you, well. I know you deserve better than this. All of this. And if it’s within my power to free you, then I will. I swear it.”

  Her fingers tightened on his own. “I’m sorry. This is - I never expected - excuse me.” She dabbed at her eyes again and strode away.

  Hugh watched her go, nonplussed. Well, damn. Was that a good reaction? Had he crossed a line?

  The day passed slowly. Hugh took possession of one of Branka’s tables that she set outside her tavern, and there watched the preparations finalize, turning the market square into a crucible for spiritual cleansing. The stage was to be the center, with concentric circles expanding out from it in which the villagers would stand. The most pious had already claimed the inner circle; slowly, over the course of the day, the rest would fill, with proximity to the Fate Maker indicating devoutness.

  Meanwhile, Jarmoc moved through the village, stepping into homes to consult with each family.

  Hugh knew what was involved. Recalled Fate Makers doing the same back home in Stasiek. Of course, in their family, the portraits of their deceased elders were massive canvases with golden frames, the depictions painted by the most talented artists, so that it seemed his grandparents and great grandparents and great, great grandparents were in the audience chamber with them, staring with their flat, critical gazes at the world of the living.

  But the heart of the ritual would be the same. Jarmoc would interrogate the family as to their past year and open a channel through which they could speak with their dead, though of course the conversation was one-sided. They’d either apologize for shaming them or recount with some pride how they’d held to the burning road, honoring their ancestors through righteous living.

  Jarmoc would lecture them, accept a symbolic gift, and take his leave.

  “Why so glum?” asked Elena, taking the seat across from him and blowing a lock of blonde hair out of her face. “Everyone else is near bursting with excitement.”

  Hugh had claimed one of Branka’s tables outside her tavern. “Not my favorite holiday.”

  “Oh? And which is?”

  Hugh considered. “None of them, really. I guess I’m not the festive type.”

  Elena smiled. “You grump. It’s so fun! Erro’s alive with energy and naughtiness. But nobody seems to really mind. The children are running amok, a surprising number of youths are already getting drunk in the tavern, and their elders are no better - they’re all gambling, drinking, or lying about in the sun doing nothing. Everyone seems perfectly content.”

  Hugh snorted. “Wait till tonight when the shadows grow long. Then you’ll really see what people get up to when they think there are no consequences. I don’t doubt there’ll be a couple of Subrogation babies born nine months from now.”

  Elena laughed. “You think this my first Subrogation? Hardly. But yes. I’ve always loved how free and impulsive people become. Even the dourest! Except you. Why is that? Fortuna forbid you from enjoying yourself?”

  Hugh sighed and leaned forward, rolling his cup of ale between both hands. “Not that. I don’t think she cares either way. It’s more that… you’re never so aware as having strayed from your fate as on Subrogation Day. Normally, I don’t care. But this constant celebrating… it grates on my nerves.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Elena, fingers rippling as she tapped the tabletop. “Everybody’s celebrating that which you’ve lost.”

  “I prefer ‘thrown away,’” said Hugh. “Still. I don’t plan to be here for the actual rite. Last thing I need is to draw the attention of the Fate Maker.”

  “Nor I,” said Elena. “Jarmoc may not know me for what I am, but I won’t tempt a human god. Shall we abscond, then, you and I? There’s a certain th
rill to the idea of fucking each other as hard as we possibly can while everyone else gets their souls cleansed.”

  Her eyes gleamed with a playful light, and she shifted subtly, drawing his attention to her full breasts beneath her tight smock.

  “Why wait till tonight?” asked Hugh. “If we started now, there’s a good chance we’d still be going by dawn.”

  Her laugh was low. “I swear by the Moon and Stars I’ll outlast you yet. How about it? A challenge. But one with consequences. Whomever cries mercy first shall owe the other a boon.”

  “What manner of boon?”

  She drew a circle upon the tabletop, watching him under heavy-lidded brows. “What would you have of me?”

  Hugh leaned back, heart thudding, wishing suddenly that he were an infinitely more creative man. “I’ll have to think on it.”

  “Well, I know what I want. If I break you tonight, you’ll agree to pleasure me five times when and where I wish it, without expecting anything in return. If I ask it, you must swear to do so, no matter what.”

  “No matter what?” He quirked an eyebrow. “What if you demand I do so in the market square?”

  “Then that’s what you’ll do, my lord.” Her smile was wicked. “You’ll bend me over a rain barrel, lift my skirt, and pleasure me while the whole square watches. On your oath.”

  “Very well.” Hugh felt himself half mad; to agree to such a thing! But then again, he’d not met the woman yet who could outlast him. “I’ll have to think of something of equal stakes.”

  “I’m sure you’re up to it, my lord.” Elena leaned back in her chair, reaching up to pull a lock of hair down over half her face, obscuring the scars on her cheeks. “I’ll warn you, though. There’s precious little I’ve not done after centuries of experimentation. You’ll have to think hard to surprise me.”

  Hugh took a sip of his ale, fighting to calm his racing pulse. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  “Don’t disappoint me, my lord. Or I’ll outlast you out of spite, and have you lick my slit whenever I feel like it.”

  He’d never been spoken to in such a manner outside the bedroom. People were walking past, others standing in knots in the square, exchanging tales, many more entering and leaving the tavern. Life, all around them, and a lisica across the table, in broad daylight, talking about her pussy as one might a flagon of ale.

  A shadow fell across their table. A servant pulled out a third chair into which Fate Maker Jarmoc lowered his lean self. “If I may join you?”

  “But of course,” said Hugh, taking his boots off the other chair and sitting up. Damn it. “How goes your day, your eminence?”

  “Well. The people of Erro are admirable stock. Pious to a fault. My work here is easy. And yourself, my lord? Can I expect you at tonight’s ritual?”

  “I think not.” Once Hugh would have never spoken so brazenly to a Fate Maker. Those days were long past. “You know, I am sure, of my beliefs.”

  “Yes.” Jarmoc steepled his fingers as he sat back. “Alas. That life should have dealt you so cruel a blow that it knocked you headlong off your path. I pray that you shall return to it, one day.”

  Hugh forced a smile. “One day, perhaps.”

  “I don’t speak idly. Stasiek and your brother need you, Lord Hugh. If I may be frank?”

  “Can I stop you?”

  This checked Jarmoc for but a fraction of a second; he gave a wry smile and continued. “Against all advice, your brother remains unmarried and without heirs. He is young yet, of course, but even the life of the righteous man can be unpredictable. Were he to die, the dukedom would pass to you.”

  Hugh narrowed his eyes. “My brother is in the best of health.”

  “As are all men before they take sick, or fall from a horse, or choke to death on a slice of apple. Please. Don’t mistake my words. I wish no ill will on the duke. May his burning path lead him to an honorable death brought on by age and nothing more. Instead, I wish merely to illustrate how easily you could find yourself in power. And were that to happen, would you entrust the whole realm to Fortuna?”

  Hugh’s voice was stony. “I’ve not given that matter thought.”

  “Oh, but my brothers and I have. Much thought. You are a loose sword, my lord, one but barely tethered by the love of your brother. We fear for the realm, we fear for your future, and with the death of Duke Fracz, now more than ever.”

  “Thank you for your solicitude,” began Hugh, but the Fate Maker cut him off.

  “I don’t expect to convince you. You nurse grudges too immense for mere words to assuage. Consider, rather, this a friendly notice. You remain important to the church. We pray for your future, and that you might find a way to return to your burning path. And if necessary, we would be overjoyed to assist you in finding it again. Such, after all, is your emperor-given duty.”

  Hugh sat very still. Held Jarmoc’s pale blue eyes. The man’s gaze didn’t hesitate or waver. It was as steadfast and piercing as that of a hawk.

  “Your words give me much comfort,” said Hugh at last. “I’ll keep them in mind. Meanwhile, I remain focused on Erro and what I am learning of its people. Their activities. Their economic fortune. You warn me against entrusting our realm to Fortuna, but I can only imagine it is her blessings that does wonders for this community. Makes them thrive, despite their isolation. It’s enough to make a man wonder. To dig a little deeper, and ask: how is this so? And who else might know about Erro’s surprising fortunes? To reveal any iniquity or breaking of the law is, after all, my duke-given duty. I won’t hesitate to see it carried out.”

  “Hmm,” said Jarmoc. “Yes. Admirable. These last few years you’ve cultivated quite the reputation for a fastidious concern for the law. But such matters are not my concern.”

  “One way to find out,” said Hugh.

  Again they held each other’s gaze.

  “Tread carefully, my lord,” said Jarmoc at last. “You are backed by your brother, but I am backed by the church of the Fate Maker, which is, in turn, backed by the emperor. I may seem but one man, but in truth I represent many.”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re implying,” said Hugh. “But never mind. We’re all friends here, are we not? On this blessed day? Let’s behave as friends do. You keep your nose out of my business, and I’ll keep mine out of yours.”

  “Friends,” said Jarmoc. “Yes. Quite.”

  He seemed about to rise but hesitated when Hugh raised a hand.

  “One more thing, your eminence. My brother tasked me with repairing the fortress high up in the mountains. I visited it this morning and believe I saw a ghost or specter of some kind. A vision of a dead woman who disappeared from the window quite suddenly. Do you know anything about this?”

  Jarmoc sank back into his chair. “A ghost?”

  “Or so I guess.” And Hugh proceeded to describe the encounter as best he could. Jarmoc asked a half dozen questions, then frowned, running his forefinger back and forth across his pursed lips.

  Finally, he spoke. “I’ll have to look into this myself. But not today, obviously.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow I depart for Schai. No, it will have to wait. I’ll return with help in… let’s see. I’m not due to swing back to Erro for another three months.”

  “I can’t wait three months,” said Hugh.

  “The fort has stood empty for nearly a century,” said Jarmoc. “Why the rush now?”

  “I have my orders.”

  “And I have mine. The ghost will keep. This matter is my provenance. In three month’s I shall return. Though in truth, it might be best if we wait a year.”

  “A year?” Hugh sat forward. “Impossible. Why?”

  “The Subrogation, of course. The Fate Maker’s influence is strongest tonight, when all are cleansed and called back to their burning paths. It would mean a ghost or specter would be at its weakest. Assuming, of course, it is derived of human origins, and not some monster or fae.”

  “I see,”
said Hugh, sitting back.

  “Ah,” said Jarmoc. “You’re getting ideas.”

  “Not at all,” said Hugh. “I’m just wondering if it’d be intemperate of me to order another ale.”

  “It would,” said Jarmoc. “But I also command you to not risk yourself on a venture so far outside your depth. I’ll write the duke if need be to explain the situation. The fortress will keep, my lord. The fortress will keep.”

  Elena snorted.

  Jarmoc glanced over at her, eyebrow raised.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Just the words you chose. Fortress, keep.”

  Jarmoc frowned. “And you are?”

  “My servant, Elena,” said Hugh. “She traveled here with me and the others.”

  Jarmoc studied her. Elena sat back and pulled a lock of blonde hair before her face, averting her eyes in sudden shyness.

  Hugh couldn’t breathe. Would Jarmoc sense her true nature? What would happen if he did? Had they been murderously foolish in tempting Fortuna?

  But then just as quickly Jarmoc looked back. “I would shrive you and connect you with your ancestors, my lord, if you would be willing.”

  “Thanks,” said Hugh. “I’ll pass.”

  “As I expected. Very well.” Jarmoc stood. “They shall have to content themselves with your brother’s faith. I’ll see you at tonight’s ceremony, then.”

  “I’ll be seeing you,” said Hugh.

  Jarmoc smoothed down his stole, inclined his head in a gesture of minimal respect, and strode away.

  Hugh exhaled loudly once the man was gone and sank back in his chair. “Fortuna wept, that was close.”

  Elena’s smile was tense. “Indeed. Though I’ve yet to meet a Fake Maker who can pierce my disguise.”

  “Fake Maker?”

  “Sorry, slip of the tongue.” Her eyes gleamed.