The Blighted City (The Fractured Tapestry)

by Scott Kaelen

  Krea bared her teeth. “I’m getting tired of your insolence, you little upstart. You stole my ancestor’s burial stone, you have the nerve to act as if it belongs to you, and now you seek to test us? How dare you enter our home and speak to us with disdain?”

  “Upstart? Little? Listen, missy—”

  Oriken wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up there, but, the next moment, he was on his back. His cheek smarted like it had been struck by a hammer.

  “What on shitting Verragos just happened?” he muttered to himself.

  A hand swam into view above him through the fading stars; it was Jalis, offering to help him up. He clasped her wrist and groaned his way to his feet, glancing around in confusion and wincing at the pain that blossomed over his face.

  “Next time,” Krea said, planting her hands on her hips, “I’ll have you over my knee.”

  Oriken’s jaw dropped. “You hit me?”

  She flashed him a black-gummed grin. “Did you enjoy it?”

  I should put you over my knee, he thought. Teach you some stars-be-damned manners. But then he remembered Gorven and the crossbow bolt. I’d never be knocked on my arse by a girl. Jalis, maybe, but not someone the size of Krea. He flinched as her hand swept up to flick at her hair, a glint of amusement in her blue, dark-lined eyes.

  Oriken snatched his hat from the rug and took a step backwards. Resting his palm upon the pommel of his sabre, he nodded knowingly at Krea.

  “You’re unnatural,” he said. “Both of you. Like those corpses. This city had more survivors, didn’t it? Not just those villagers out on the heath. Some of the infected didn’t die, did they? And you’re descended from them.” He fixed the hat onto his head and squinted beneath the brim at Krea. “You’re blighted.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “How astute, dear outlander. But you’re only half-right.”

  “Go on,” Jalis urged.

  Krea shrugged. “We are, as you say, blighted. That much is true.”

  “But,” Gorven added, “we are not descendants of the survivors from that bloody time.”

  Krea’s amusement slipped to an emotionless mask. “We are those survivors.”

  Oriken stared at her. “That’s not possible.”

  A roll of thunder resounded, followed by a flash of lightning. Dagra held a hand to his head and wandered to the nearest chair. As he sank onto it, the aged wood groaned in protest and he let out a shuddering sigh.

  Jalis moved towards him. “Dagra?”

  He waved her away with a feeble flap of his hand. “I’m all right, lass.”

  “Cowshit,” Oriken said.

  “Ahem.” Gorven moved to stand beside Dagra. “Why don’t we utilise this juncture to move the conversation elsewhere? The aesthetics in this room aren’t quite as hospitable as they once were.” He looked down at Dagra. “Besides, there is someone I’d like you to meet.”

  A louder crack of thunder punctuated Gorven’s words. Oriken glanced through the windows at the darkening cityscape, acutely aware that Krea had drifted closer to him.

  “Who?” Dagra asked. “Why?”

  “A dear friend of mine,” Gorven replied. “We believe he may better help you adjust than I or Krea are capable of.”

  Jalis frowned. “Help us to adjust?”

  “Not you.” Gorven’s gaze encompassed Jalis and Oriken. “Not yet, at least; and, I hope, never. No, only Dagra needs to hear what Sabrian has to say.”

  “Why only him?” Oriken demanded. “You said we were putting ourselves at risk by being here. If that’s true, then why did you bring Dagra here? You knew we’d follow. Your words and your actions don’t exactly support each other.”

  Gorven loosed a small sigh as he plucked at a button on his coat. “Yes, I had hoped you would bring the burial stone. But, either way, I couldn’t leave Dagra out there. That would have been entirely remiss of me.”

  “Really?” Oriken looked at him flatly. “Okay, so who’s this Sabrian character? Because if he’s going to prove as useful as either of you two jesters”—he glanced to Jalis—“then I say we cut our losses and get out of here, jewel or no jewel.”

  A shadow fell over Gorven’s features. “You are, of course, free to leave if you please. But I’m afraid my words and my actions make perfect sense. You see, for the two of you”—his gaze flicked from Oriken to Jalis—“there is indeed risk in remaining in Lachyla. For Dagra, sadly, the risk is passed.”

  “Why?” Oriken looked at Dagra, but his friend just stared forlornly at the floor.

  “Because,” Krea said, “Dagra is going nowhere. He’s one of us now.” She flashed Oriken a mischievous smile. “And if you continue to test my patience, dear outlander, I’m sure I could find a place in Lachyla for you, too.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  BURDEN OF DECISION

  Adri settled into her seat at the far end of the longhall’s table and waited with mild irritation and growing concern for her sister to arrive. Minutes later, Eriqwyn strode through the open door.

  “Why have you called a meeting of the council?” Adri asked, her voice travelling across the room. “You should have consulted me first.”

  “There was no time, sister,” Eriqwyn said as she paced the length of the hall towards Adri.

  “What is this about?”

  Stopping behind the chair adjacent to Adri, Eriqwyn slung the pack from her shoulder and placed it on the table with a soft thud. Her face was lined with tension. “I’ll show you before the others arrive. Adri, I apologise for calling a meeting without consulting you, but the urgency of the matter gave me no choice; what I’m about to show you warrants such a bypassing as decreed in the Founding Laws.”

  Adri pressed her lips together, but she felt the weight of her sister’s words as Eriqwyn unbuckled the pack to reveal a wrapped bundle. Folding back the cloth, Adri’s stomach clenched as she stared at the object within. In a tight voice, she said, “Is that what I think it is?”

  “I believe so. It certainly matches the descriptions from the family archives, don’t you think?”

  With a glance to the door, Adri saw the first of the council members approaching. “Put it away!” she hissed. “And not a word until all are present.”

  Eriqwyn took her seat and lay the pack on the floor at her feet as Kerysa and Fahrein, the senior woodworker and metalsmith, entered the longhall and paused at the foot of the table.

  “Lady.” Fahrein dipped his head in respect to Adri. “Why have we been summoned with such short notice?”

  Kerysa’s voice was terse as she said, “This is most untimely. I was busy making shafts for the hunters. It will—”

  “It will be handled quite capably by your workers, I don’t doubt,” Adri said. Behind the two, Caneli, the head physician, peered around the door and Adri motioned for her to enter. “Take your seats, please. And no questions until I and the First Warder have addressed the council.”

  Ten minutes passed. Adri sat in brooding silence, considering the implications of what she had seen in her sister’s pack, her voice tense as she bade each council member to take a seat as they arrived. All but two were now present, their hushed whispers circulating around the table. As the rotund Blachord arrived and eased himself into one of the few vacant chairs, Adri’s gaze swept across the gathered assemblage. Their expressions ranged from concern to annoyance on all except Amiryn and Shade; the Priestess Superior of Valsana sat across the table from Eriqwyn, a serene expression on her face, while the seamstress casually regarded her peers, her sensuality apparent even as she skilfully masked any other emotions.

  “Where is Onwin?” Adri asked of the assemblage.

  Kerysa snorted in derision. “I swear that hunter thinks he owns the village.”

  Adri silently agreed with the woodworker’s assessment, but swept it aside. “Has anyone seen him?” Blank expressions and shakes of heads were the only responses. The image of the object in Eriqwyn’s pack remained fixed in Adri’s mind. I need to get this underway, she thought. �
��Then we will have to begin without—”

  A shuffling of material and the scrunch of boots pulled her attention to the doorway to see Onwin sauntering into the room. Adri’s eyes followed him as he made his way to a seat and dropped himself into it with a grunt.

  “Lady,” he said with an abrupt nod as he caught her gaze.

  Adri’s irritation at the man’s indifferent attitude was overshadowed by the need to hear her sister’s news. Without responding to his token acknowledgement, she sat straight in her high-backed chair and cleared her throat. A hush fell across the room as all heads turned her way. In a clear voice, she said, “This meeting was called by our First Warder, and, it seems, for good reason. Those of you who are upset about being summoned will forget those concerns with what you – and I – are about to hear. Without any of the usual preamble, I give the table to Eriqwyn to give us the details.” Adri glanced sideways to her sister and gave a brief nod.

  Eriqwyn drew the bundle from her pack and rose from her chair, her hard gaze flicking among the attendants and landing on Adri as she said, “There are outlanders in the area.”

  Outlanders! Adri stopped herself from blurting the word out, even as several of the council members did so. There had been no sightings of outlanders in the area for generations. Gasps and murmurs washed along the table amid utterances of consternation.

  “Quiet!” she called. “Let the First Warder speak.”

  With the disturbance quelled, Eriqwyn continued. “They entered where only outlanders would have the heathen nerve to tread. They are inside Lachyla.”

  As another wave of disbelief issued from the assemblage, Onwin shot from his seat and planted his fists upon the table. “They must be dealt with! Let me take—”

  “I will let you take your seat,” Adri snapped. “And I will ask you to not interrupt while someone else addresses the table.”

  “My apologies, Lady.” Onwin’s tone was wholly unapologetic. With a growling sigh, he reluctantly returned to his seat.

  Adri’s eyes were back on Eriqwyn, and she didn’t miss the venom in her sister’s gaze as she pulled it away from the recalcitrant hunter.

  “How many?” Kerysa asked from the end of the table.

  Eriqwyn held her hand up to halt any further questions. “There are three. Yes, that is a number we of Minnow’s Beck know well when we look to the Founding Oak in the colder seasons. Three then and three now. But, this time, it is worse. Our ancestors never gave those three the chance to enter the Forbidden Place, but these have. I only learned of this after the fact, while they camped on Graegaredh Knot. I watched one of the outlanders leave his watch and walk away; this gave me the opening to enter their camp and take what they removed from the graveyard. Reluctantly, I brought it back to the village, but not before waiting to witness the remaining two wake and follow their companion back towards Lachyla, likely for more treasures. I believe they will still be in there now.” As Eriqwyn paused, the withheld reactions of the delegates erupted around the table.

  “Let ‘em rot in there, that’s what I say!” Blachord declared from his seat opposite Kerysa.

  “I’ll take hunters to the entrance,” Onwin growled. “Wait for them to leave and ambush them. We need to ensure that they don’t get the chance—”

  “You need to stop making decisions like a Lord of the Manor,” Eriqwyn said. “Unless you would like me to strongly suggest to the Lady of the Manor that we assign a new hunters delegate?” Onwin bristled but stayed quiet, and Eriqwyn flashed him a tight smile. “No? Good.” She turned to Adri. “You have heard all I know.”

  Adri’s thoughts were racing, but she kept her equilibrium. “How did you learn of their presence?” she asked.

  Eriqwyn stifled a mirthless laugh. “Demelza, of all things. I intercepted her on her night wanders and she told me she’d been in the outlanders’ camp.”

  Another babble of murmurs crossed the table as the council members frowned at the news.

  “Do you think she is in league with them?” Fahrein asked.

  “Of course she’s not!” Caneli exclaimed. “Why must everyone be so immediately untrusting around here?”

  Onwin scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to deal with threats to the village.”

  “That may be true,” Caneli spat back, her pale cheeks gaining a red glow. “I’m a physician, not a hunter; I’m the one who stitches up the fool who attacks a bear in its own den!”

  Onwin glowered but looked away from the physician, his hand absently touching his chest.

  “That’s enough,” Adri said. “It seems to me that time is of the essence, and while the council bickers among itself, we get nothing done.” She flicked a grim glance across all eight council members. “The First Warder has more to share with us, which you may consider graver than the news of the outlanders. Eriqwyn?”

  Eriqwyn placed the wrapped bundle upon the table and pulled the material aside. Stunned silence was the first reaction from the delegates as Adri kept her eyes on them, then jaws dropped as each began to realise what lay before them.

  Kerysa turned a fearful gaze to Eriqwyn. “Is that a…”

  “A deadstone,” Eriqwyn said drily. “Yes.”

  The senior woodworker’s face turned sickly. Loosing an involuntary gag, Kerysa rose from her chair and made her way unsteadily to the longhall’s entrance.

  Adri allowed her to step outside without request. I know how she feels. The sight of the thing makes me sick to the stomach, as well.

  “How…” Blachord rubbed at his stubbled cheek, unable to finish the thought.

  “This was foreseen in the stars,” Amiryn remarked calmly.

  Adri caught the priestess’s gaze, but before she could respond, Eriqwyn cut in. “Foreseen, was it?” She cast Amiryn a venomous look. “By whom?”

  “Why, by the mortal voice of the goddess, of course.”

  “You,” Eriqwyn stated flatly.

  Amiryn inclined her head. “Last time I checked, I was still the Priestess Superior.”

  “Yet you didn’t consider sharing the information with, oh, I don’t know, the rest of us?”

  Amiryn smiled. “My child, the goddess imparts her knowledge in cryptic ways, which are not always able to be understood until after the fact.”

  Eriqwyn bristled. “Then it is no use to me. Do you have a point about being gifted with this incredible insight? Anything that could actually assist us in what we will have to do?”

  The priestess closed her eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Valsana watches and listens, First Hunter. I advise you to be mindful of how you speak to her chosen.” Amiryn swept her gaze across the council members. “The goddess has spoken. She has issued Minnow’s Beck with a test.”

  As Eriqwyn took her seat and glowered at the deadstone, Blachord said to the priestess. “What is this test?”

  Amiryn’s smile returned. “Did we appease Valsana’s will when last the outlanders came this way, all those years ago? We did, and the Founding Oak is our reminder. Decades later, it was the goddess’s will to allow a deadstone into the village, and it is her will once more. We appeased her then by returning the stone from whence it came. Today, Valsana visits both tasks upon us at once, asking us again to prove our loyalty. And so we must.”

  A gasp of annoyance escaped Eriqwyn’s lips. “The unfortunate occurrence with the first deadstone was our ancestors’ foolhardiness; it was not meant to happen, and I don’t believe it was the will of Valsana, only the will of desperate and grieving parents.”

  “The goddess spoke through their actions,” Amiryn said. “It is not for us to question her intentions.”

  Kerysa wandered back into the room and meekly took her seat, glancing at Adri with a haggard expression. Adri nodded to her, and the woodworker gave a silent sigh of relief.

  Fahrein’s brow furrowed and he looked to Adri. “What say you, Lady? What are we to do about the outlanders and that accursed object?”

/>   “I want each of you to give their concise opinion before I make my own, as is the purpose of such a meeting.” Adri turned to regard the priestess.

  “The goddess has spoken,” Amiryn said. “We must do as our ancestors did before us.”

  Adri’s gaze drifted along to Onwin. “What say you for the hunters?”

  “Hm.” Onwin folded his arms. “I say the Priestess Superior has the right of it. The stone must be returned to its crypt, and the outlanders must be dealt with as it is written in the Founding Laws.”

  Adri nodded and shifted her eyes to the senior metalsmith.

  Fahrein looked troubled as he slowly said, “My conscience is reminding me that these are people we’re talking about. I’m not speaking against Valsana’s will, but casting a vote to murder them does not sit well with me. As for that deadstone”—his lips turned down in distaste—“of course we can’t keep it here. Not after what happened last time.”

  “What do you propose we do about the outlanders?” Adri asked.

  Fahrein considered the question, then sighed. “We can’t risk them leaving with the knowledge of our whereabouts. Perhaps we could, I don’t know, imprison them?”

  “Or make them live among us,” Kerysa offered from beside him with a shrug. The colour was coming back to her face. “Somehow make it so they can’t leave. Hobble them, maybe. I don’t like the taste of killing anyone either, and we should consider that our laws are not theirs; how would they know that they are committing a crime punishable by death? If the Lord of the village had been aware when the first stone was brought here by one of ours, that one would have been hanged under the boughs until dead if events had unfolded differently. But outlanders are not folk of Minnow’s Beck. And consider if the situation were reversed; what if we wandered into their domain? Would we expect to be shown leniency, or would we happily abide by their laws if such laws decreed our death? Somehow I doubt even the revered priestess would prefer to be hanged or have her severed head set into the boughs of a tree rather than her life be spared.”