Heir of Autumn

by Giles Carwyn

  “Where is the horse?” Brophy asked.

  “After it carried her all this way, Copi set it free. The beast walked a hundred feet up the beach, lay down in the sand, and died.”

  Brophy nodded.

  “The Heartstone alerted Ohndarien’s council when the disaster occurred. Your father convinced the four Brothers to travel north and investigate. We discovered that barren hill where the child had awakened. That is where we fought the first of many battles against the corrupted. We followed the creatures here and have been protecting the baby ever since.

  “It’s a good thing we did. Anything tainted with the black emmeria is drawn to the child. Most of them crawl along the bottom of the ocean to reach this island. It can take them years, but they always emerge here eventually.

  “That is why we cannot bring the child to Ohndarien. Imagine the swath of destruction across the Vastness and Faradan as the corrupted traveled south.”

  “But these creatures can be killed?” Brophy asked.

  “Yes, with the heartswords. I’ve killed hundreds of them.”

  “If you have killed so many, how are there any left?”

  Celinor shook his head, his lips tight. “The slightest scratch from an infected creature can spread the infection. The worse the damage, the faster the transformation. Eventually, you become like one of them. My sons came north to help us. I had to kill both of them myself.”

  Celinor glanced at the statues of two young men on his altar.

  “Why does it have to be you?” Brophy asked. “Why does Ohndarien have to fight this evil?”

  “Because we are the only ones who can. Our bond with the Heartstone makes the Brothers the perfect protectors of this child. We cannot be corrupted by black emmeria and, to a limited extent, we can heal those who have been touched by it.” Celinor fell silent for a moment. “A Brother cannot be taken by the infection, but the fangs and claws of the infected will kill us just like any other man.”

  “You could not heal your sons?”

  “I stabbed each of them through the heart as black hair bristled out of their necks, as fangs grew out from their mouths, as they clawed for my throat. No, I could not heal them once they had gone that far.”

  “Isn’t there any way to destroy the emmeria completely?”

  Celinor shook his head. “That is what the Heartstone was supposed to be. Master Morgeon’s eldest daughter, mother to Ohndarien’s founder, Donovan Morgeon, used the last knowledge of Efften to create the only weapon against this evil. She crafted the Heartstone to repel black emmeria. It protects against the foul sorcery and its residue. But Donovan’s mother was not as great a mage as Darius. She tried to transfer the evil from her baby sister into the stone, but the Heartstone was not strong enough. It would have shattered long before it could contain all that was locked in that tiny girl’s dreams.”

  “The music box is the only thing that keeps the child asleep?”

  “It is.”

  “Don’t you think this burden would be better shared by more protectors?”

  “I would not bring that baby any closer to civilization than I had to. We would just put others in harm’s way and provide fertile ground for the spread of the infection.”

  “But we have other problems,” Brophy said. “Ohndarien is at war. She will soon fall to the Physendrians. Do you want that?”

  “My current task is barely within my ability,” Celinor said. “Ohndarien is beyond me now.”

  “Even if she will be destroyed?”

  “Better Ohndarien than the world.”

  “But what if we gave the child to the Ohohhim? If we could convince them to protect the baby as you have, then we could save both.”

  “I know why you came here, what you want me to do, but trusting the Ohohhim is a risk we cannot take. I see the child as an abomination, but there are others who would see her as a weapon. We cannot give these foreigners a power they do not understand and cannot control.”

  “Shara believes their leader, Father Lewlem, is a good man. Is it not worth the risk to save Ohndarien?”

  “Ah, Brophy…” Celinor sighed. “Fair Ohndarien seems a dream to me now. Her blue walls and rushing water, the Night Market with all her charms, a winter evening in the Hall of Windows…”

  “Then help me save her!” Brophy said.

  Celinor snapped out of his reverie. “I cannot.” He shook his head. “It’s just not possible.”

  “That’s absurd! You won’t even help me try?”

  Celinor paused a moment, then said, “There is something I want to show you. After you see it, I think you will agree with me.”

  The Brother of Winter crawled out of his lookout and headed up the rocky slope. His thin body moved gracefully over the rocks, leaping from one to the other.

  They crested the hill and saw a body crumpled on the ground. Celinor rushed forward, fell to his knees next to the young woman. Her eyes were closed, and she looked smooth and peaceful. Only when Brophy came to stand next to his uncle did he realize that she wasn’t breathing.

  “She fulfilled her obligation a thousand times over,” Celinor said sadly. “She was ready.”

  “Who was she?”

  “The keeper of the child.” He bowed his head, touching his fingers to her eyelids. “Sleep well, noble Copi. Sleep well and may the Seasons be beautiful where you have gone.”

  “If she is the keeper, then who is watching the child now?”

  Celinor’s bright green eyes looked up into Brophy’s, but he said nothing.

  Brophy followed Celinor’s gaze to the dark mouth of a small cave. He thought he could see a flicker of firelight deep inside.

  14

  A FAMILIAR nausea came over Brophy as he crawled into the cave. The Sword of Autumn began glowing, casting an eerie red light in the narrow tunnel. As the passage grew wider Brophy stood and ran toward the fire at the back of the chamber. He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat.

  Shara sat on the far side of the flames, calmly turning the music box. She glanced up at him, and he wanted to cry out, rip the box away, and take her into his arms.

  “What have you done?” he cried. “How could you take the box?”

  “How could I not?”

  Brophy swallowed. He drew closer and saw the child lying on the ground. “By the Seasons…” He gagged. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “More than you can possibly imagine,” Shara said, her voice distant and toneless.

  “She is right, Brophy,” Celinor said from behind him. The skinny man stood silhouetted by the faint glow from outside. “Someone must turn the handle.”

  Brophy let out a breath. “We can’t stay here,” he whispered to Shara. “We must return to Ohndarien.”

  Shara closed her eyes and bowed her head. Her hand cranked the music box’s handle over and over again.

  “There has to be a way,” Brophy insisted. “Can’t we at least talk to the Ohohhim?”

  Celinor placed his hands on Brophy’s shoulders. “Ohndarien is beyond our reach now. We must concentrate on the baby.”

  Brophy spun around, knocking the man’s hands away. “We have to try!”

  Celinor sighed and continued. “There are too many Ohohhim now. We have to get the child away. There are a few more islands to the north. We will take the baby there.”

  “How?” Shara asked.

  “Tonight we’ll swim out to one of the foreigners’ boats. With the soldiers ashore, the ships will be lightly guarded. We can take one by force and disappear into the mist.”

  “At least let me talk to the Ohohhim first,” Brophy said. “You know nothing about these people.”

  “They have been to the corrupted lands!” Celinor snapped. “They have seen what this child can do, and still they seek her!”

  Brophy grabbed the pommel of his sword.

  Celinor paused and took a moment to compose himself. “Brophy,” he said calmly, “I will do anything to protect this baby, even if it means killing you
. Do not force me to make that choice.”

  “What about me?” Shara said, standing up. She held the box awkwardly in one hand and continued to turn the handle. “Will you kill me if I choose Brophy’s plan over yours?”

  Celinor narrowed his eyes. “Shara, you never would have accepted the child if you planned on giving her up.”

  “I didn’t choose this burden, it was dropped at my feet!”

  Celinor lowered his eyes. “I know, I am sorry. I tried to take the baby from Copi many times, but she refused to pass her to a man. She said there was some pain only a woman could bear.”

  Shara nodded.

  “Please,” Celinor begged her, “don’t give the child to that foreign man, however noble he seems to be.”

  Brophy looked at Shara, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Wait!” Celinor cocked his head, listening. A hound bayed in the distance. He looked back at them, his heartstone shone in the darkness. “The time for words is done. The next battle is upon us.”

  He moved swiftly, snatching up a tattered sling from the side of the cave. With practiced ease he wrapped it around Shara’s neck, avoiding the silver box. The music continued to play. He scooped up the child. Her limbs moved slowly in any direction they were pushed, as if she were underwater. Celinor set her gently in the sling and turned to them.

  “Are you with me?”

  Brophy nodded. “For now.”

  “I will do what I can,” Shara said. “But my magic is lost to me. I have no power.”

  “Just keep turning the handle,” Celinor said. “Brophy and I will do the rest.”

  The Brother of Winter led them out of the cave and down the slope to his lookout. He held a finger to his lips and leaned over the edge of the cliff. Brophy followed, though Shara held back a distance, the music carrying eerily in the fog.

  A line of Ohohhim soldiers, each pinching the shirt of the man in front of him, crept along the edge of the boiling water. Several pairs of dogs with low, stocky bodies and powerful legs pulled at their leashes. The hounds snuffled the rocky ground, pulling their handlers forward.

  “They’re tracking our scent,” Brophy said. “We led them right to you.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. With that many men, it was only a matter of time,” Celinor said. “We can still avoid them. I know these canyons better than any man alive.”

  He led them back up the mountain and into the slot canyon. They descended a series of switchbacks that ended in the bottom of the fissure where they first met Celinor.

  “This way,” he said, clambering around the fallen rocks. “You should know. The volcano still erupts. We are headed into an area full of vents that spew poisonous fumes. Stay close to the baby if we must go through them. The magic that protects her will protect you as well.” He jogged ahead. Brophy peered behind them. He thought he could see movement, but it could have been a trick of the mist.

  They ran up the canyon. Celinor led, with Shara in the middle and Brophy trailing. She continued to wind the music box endlessly. They stopped when a foul-smelling hole blocked their path. The canyon continued on the far side. An uncomfortable heat and foul smell hit Brophy in the face as he peered into the steaming shaft. It reminded him eerily of the Wet Cells.

  Celinor turned an ear toward the volcanic vent. “She sounds quiet for now,” he announced. “We can get around over there.” He pointed to a jagged ledge to their right.

  “Quickly now. Brophy, you first. Climb with one hand, hold Shara up with the other. I will take her other side. Her hands must be free.”

  Together they inched along the narrow ledge, with Brophy keeping Shara upright as her feet navigated the crumbling stone. Celinor climbed easily, keeping a steady hand on Shara. A dog bayed behind them.

  “They’re close,” Brophy called back.

  “It doesn’t matter. When we get to the other side, the dogs won’t be able to follow.”

  The path was treacherous and took precious time. Brophy slipped once, almost dragging Shara down with him, but Celinor held her steady, supporting both of them until Brophy got his footing. They made it to the other side.

  “All right,” Celinor said. “This vent spouts regularly. If luck is with us, she will keep them from crossing.”

  They continued up the canyon when the stone on Celinor’s chest suddenly blazed.

  “The corrupted! Watch the sky,” he yelled.

  The man’s sword rang on its sheath as he drew and sliced in one motion. A hideous squawk made Brophy jump. A wing fell to the ground on either side of Celinor amidst a spray of black blood. A few greasy feathers floated down.

  The creature was twice the size of a normal hawk and as black as a crow. Its beak was almost as long as Brophy’s hand and it hooked in a jagged curve. Its wings flopped on the ground amidst a smear of black entrails.

  Brophy drew the Sword of Autumn. It sang in his mind.

  “Shara, protect the baby,” Celinor shouted. “Cover her with your own body if you must. And keep turning the handle!”

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the air filled with the screeches of the corrupted birds. They dove into the narrow canyon, falling from the sky like stones. Shara crouched over the baby as they came for her. Celinor struck two out of the sky just before their claws touched her. Brophy slashed a third, slicing its wing off. The bird squawked, hit the ground, then got up and hopped toward Shara. Brophy hacked it in two with his next stroke.

  The birds were everywhere, and Brophy swung all about, always staying close to Shara. They covered her, pecking and scratching as she curled herself around the baby. Brophy’s arms worked desperately, slicing away one bird after another, knowing that one missed stroke could kill her.

  Celinor fought by his side, hacking a bird with every stroke. His diamond burned like daylight. In moments, he had killed the last of them. Brophy had never seen anyone move so fast.

  Celinor instantly knelt next to Shara, who crouched over the baby on her knees. Her back was covered with little red marks that darkened slowly to black. Laying his hand on her, he closed his eyes. The stones on his chest and sword shone brighter. The wounds went from black to red. They still oozed blood, but they looked like natural, normal wounds.

  “Are there any more?” Celinor asked, turning her to face him, looking at her chest, her arms, her neck.

  “I-I think that is all,” Shara said.

  He nodded. “Good.” He turned to Brophy. “Are you cut? We must make sure that—”

  Celinor grunted and staggered backwards. An arrowhead protruded from his thigh, wet with blood. Brophy spun around. A squad of Ohohhim archers had reached the far side of the vent. Before anyone could speak, another volley of arrows flew toward them.

  Celinor leapt forward, batting two arrows out of the air with the flat of his sword. Brophy stepped in front of Shara. An arrow whistled past them. Another glanced off his scabbard and spun to the ground.

  A half dozen Ohohhim started across the ledge as the archers nocked another round of arrows.

  “Run,” Celinor said to Brophy. “Take the girl and run!”

  The hounds barked constantly, pulling at their leashes.

  Brophy hesitated.

  “Run, boy!” Celinor’s gaze bored into him. His heartstone flashed. Brophy grabbed Shara’s arm and sped over the loose rocks, their footfalls echoing off the canyon walls. They had gone a hundred yards before Brophy shook his head, clearing it. Celinor’s voice had set his feet moving before he’d decided to run.

  “He compelled us,” Shara said as they slowed to a stop. “He used a magic akin to Zelani.”

  “It’s his heartstone,” Brophy growled, heading back the other way. “I have never seen it used that way before.” His breath came fast and hard. “Come on.”

  “Brophy!” Shara cried. He spun around. She knelt, opening the sling farther to see the baby. “Oh no,” she said. “Oh no.” He rushed to her side.

  There was a tiny scrape on top of the baby’s do
wny head. Several tiny black tendrils radiated out from the wound, staining the pink flesh.

  “Come on!” Brophy roared, hauling her to her feet. “We have to get back!” They ran together through the twisting gorge.

  A distant rumble grew louder and louder until a thunderous crack split the air, and the ground shook. A wall of smoke rushed up the gorge toward them. Brophy scooped Shara and the baby into his arms in one quick motion. He knelt and pushed them against the wall as the smell and heat hit them like a searing wave. Brophy clenched his eyes and mouth shut as Shara kept winding the music box.

  They were buffeted by the searing wind; the hissing roar went on and on. Brophy kept his eyes shut tight, but his body rebelled against holding his breath for so long. His lungs felt as if they would burst, but he kept his mouth closed. He thought he would pass out, but the agony dragged on. He desperately wanted air, but he didn’t need it. The sensation sent chills through him.

  The swirling hot gases finally dissipated. Brophy stood up as the fickle breezes cleared the air. Shara rose to stand beside him. They shared a quick glance, then walked slowly back the way they had come.

  Celinor’s body lay in a swirling eddy of deadly gas. Three arrows stuck out of the Brother of Winter, and his gaunt face looked skeletal now that the life had left him.

  The Brother had made his last stand in a narrow stretch of canyon. Three Ohohhim had been hacked apart by Celinor’s deadly blade. Others sprawled where they fell, killed by the gas. On the far side of the gap, several hounds lay unmoving, their tongues hanging out of their mouths.

  Brophy dropped his sword and rolled Celinor over. The Brother’s heartstone slid from the hole in his chest and Brophy grabbed it before it hit the ground. The long, thin shard of diamond pulsed in his hand.

  The only sound to be heard was the deep rumble of the volcano.

  “Brophy, we have to go,” Shara said. “We can’t stay here.”

  “I know.” He placed his hand on the puckered pink scar over Celinor’s heart. “Sleep well, my kin. May the Seasons be bright and beautiful where you have gone.”

  Brophy slipped the heartstone into a pocket and picked up his sword. He froze when he saw a dark scratch on his wrist. Black tendrils had begun to snake away from the wound.