Chaosmage (Age of Darkness)

by Stephen Aryan

  “When does the ship leave?” he asked.

  “In two days.”

  “Then we still have some time to catch up.”

  Some of the weight that Eloise had been carrying on her shoulders eased a little. “I’d like that. Tell me, why does that look familiar?” she asked, pointing at his sword, and Balfruss began to laugh.

  CHAPTER 5

  Another long night of fighting the Forsaken ended in yet another stack of dismembered corpses littering the street outside their shelter.

  Alyssa and the others had done their best, mostly slowing them down with arrows and occasionally getting lucky and stopping one in its tracks. Once the invaders breached the defences, as they did most nights, she and the others hacked and chopped, shoved and tipped them over the wall. Anything to slow them down and stop them dragging people away.

  She and the other defenders had no weapons training and any fighting skill they did display was crude, learned through surviving over the last three years. Any attempt at formal training from Zannah had been instantly rejected, despite the fact that it could save their lives. Alyssa had tried to argue but it had been pointless. Their hatred, while understandable, blinded them to the obvious truth. Without the Morrin they would all have died months ago. Or worse. They might have been taken.

  Zannah was the deciding factor every night. It was her ferocity, her strength and her skill with a blade that turned the tide, over and over again.

  Everyone desperately wanted the Morrin to leave, but without her they would die. Equally her guilt, for what she and her people had done to Shael, kept her with them as if she were their prisoner. They were all trapped here together, marking time.

  Part of Alyssa was angry at the quarantine put around the city, but most of the time she understood the reason. The risk was just too great. If the Forsaken were to spread beyond Voechenka it would be impossible to contain them. There would be no way to know who had been taken and the madness and distrust would spread. Fear and terror worse than what had happened during the war would tear the world apart. Even so, part of her was furious at being abandoned, but she smothered it because it would not help the others. There was already enough bitterness and anger to go around.

  Alyssa watched as Zannah, the corded muscles jumping in her arms and shoulders, climbed down the rope into the street to perform her final grisly task of the night. Others turned their faces away, hiding indoors where they pretended not to hear the squelching sounds, but Alyssa always stayed on the wall. Someone had to offer a final prayer to the Blessed Mother for their souls in the hope of granting them eternal rest. Once, some of them had been good people, before they were taken, before they changed inside and out. Alyssa believed a tiny spark of humanity still existed within them and that it could be redeemed. After all, Jannek had come back in an attempt to save his sister. She knew Zannah had other ideas but kept them to herself.

  The rope creaked as Zannah started her climb back up the wall. A few people lurked in the courtyard, alternately staring up at Alyssa and then at the rope attached to the laden cart. She knew what they were thinking. They’d told her their plan to cut the rope on a number of occasions and each time she’d managed to dissuade them. Most had come to understand their new world and Zannah’s place in it. They didn’t fully accept it though, and every day many still had murderous thoughts towards the Morrin, causing them to stare at the rope and ponder.

  With a grunt Zannah slid over the top of the wall and slumped down on the other side. There was blood on her face and clothes, and a long red streak down her right arm.

  “Is that yours?” asked Alyssa.

  “I don’t know,” said Zannah, noticing it for the first time. Alyssa wiped off the blood and found a deep gash as long as her index finger. “It’s not too bad.”

  “It looks nasty.”

  “I heal very quickly. It will be gone by morning.”

  “Don’t move,” said Alyssa, going down the stairs and returning a minute later with a skin of water and a small sewing kit. She passed Zannah the water and quickly threaded a curved needle. They had little in the way of herbs or salves to prevent infection, but at least there was no shortage of needles and thread. Perhaps tomorrow she could take a walk into the hills and see if she could find any wild herbs. She’d found a patch of wild garlic a few days ago that had flavoured their food for a while.

  Once, the city had produced the finest silk carpets in the west. Some were masterpieces that took years to complete. Now all of the remaining carpets and looms in the city had been burned for fuel, the shops stripped bare of anything that could be resold or reused, and all the artisans were either dead or had escaped. Thread was cheap and useless to most so Alyssa found plenty of it lying around during her scavenger hunts.

  Using small neat stitches Alyssa pulled the wound closed as Zannah sipped the water. The Morrin didn’t even flinch as the puckered flesh was pulled tight. It wasn’t the first wound Alyssa had sewn up in the last few months and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. Zannah always did the most damage to the Forsaken, but by throwing herself into the densest pockets of fighting she also bore the brunt of the attacks. Alyssa knew why she did it, but in her mind Zannah had nothing to prove to them. The Morrin and everyone else thought different.

  Dawn had broken unannounced, the sun creeping across the buildings as silent as a shadow. With the approach of winter it offered little real warmth, but at least it took some of the chill from her skin. The Forsaken always vanished with the arrival of dawn. She didn’t know why but was determined to find out.

  “Time to get some sleep,” said Alyssa, offering Zannah a hand.

  The Morrin regarded her with slow blinking yellow eyes for a minute. Her impenetrable stare bothered some but it held no fear for Alyssa. The Morrin didn’t look like any other race. That scared many and made them think the Morrin were demons or evil spirits clothed in borrowed flesh. For Alyssa it was another example of the glorious variety found in nature created by the Blessed Mother. There were hundreds of varieties of flowers, and many that would look alien and unnatural to her. No one thought they were demon-spawn.

  Zannah grunted and allowed herself to be pulled upright. “Were you a dancer?” she asked.

  “No, but you already asked me that.”

  Zannah scrubbed a hand across her tired eyes and shook her head. “Sorry.”

  They walked into the main building, where Zannah collapsed on her bed fully clothed. Alyssa pulled a blanket over her and waited until the Morrin’s breathing was slow and even before she slipped out and gently closed the door.

  Monella sat on a low stool in the corridor outside, two wooden needles clacking together in an endless and soothing rhythm. She and a couple of others were turning out socks, scarves and gloves as fast as they could manage. Winter was not far away and the nights and early mornings were getting colder. One morning in the next few weeks they’d wake up to find frost on the ground. After that their wood supply and anything else flammable would become priceless.

  “Will you keep an eye on her?” asked Alyssa. Monella didn’t respond and her needles didn’t stop moving until Alyssa put a hand on them. “She’s not to blame.”

  “So you keep saying,” said Monella. “And yet I remember her standing by and doing nothing as our people were slaughtered and tortured for fun.”

  Alyssa sighed, knowing there was no way to win this argument. She’d had it so many times, with Monella and others. It hurt Alyssa most to hear such words coming from Monella, who was so different from the person she’d been before. As one of the Faithful, a priest of the Blessed Mother, it should have been Monella that sought to preserve all life, but her faith had been shattered by the last few years. All that remained was a bitter and hollow shell. There was no love and not even a sliver of forgiveness inside her.

  “Does your lack of faith allow you to stand idly by while someone else is murdered?” asked Alyssa.

  Monella hissed between her clenched teeth and her hands shook
, threatening to knock her knitting to the floor. Alyssa gripped her hands tightly, forcing the other woman to look her in the eye.

  “I’m sorry, that was callous. I’m tired, but it’s no excuse.”

  Slowly Monella regained control and Alyssa released her hands. “I’ll make sure she’s not disturbed,” said the older woman. “But I can promise nothing else.”

  “Thank you.”

  Monella returned to her knitting as Alyssa went out into the courtyard. A few children were playing a game against one of the walls, throwing a ball and taking turns to try and dodge it. Their innocence and high-pitched laughter made Alyssa smile, chasing away some of her fear. A couple of adults were keeping watch on the children from the wall above, but most of the others were inside trying to catch a few hours’ sleep.

  Alyssa joined the two women keeping watch on the wall, each armed with a sword and a bow within arm’s reach.

  “You shouldn’t go out there alone,” said one of the women, a newcomer whose name she hadn’t learned yet. The tall redhead had joined them when their last shelter had been overrun. She’d come from one of the other communities and claimed to be a former mercenary, although that was likely a story to make others keep their distance.

  “I’ll be fine,” said Alyssa, uncoiling the knotted rope and throwing it over the wall. The other sentry, a slight woman from Yerskania, scanned the street carefully.

  “It seems quiet. Even so, be careful.”

  “Always,” said Alyssa, making sure the bag on her back was secure before gripping the rope. The second her feet touched the ground Alyssa drew her dagger. Once a dog had rushed her before she’d taken half a dozen steps. It had kept biting even after being peppered with arrows and stabbed. Its hunger had been so great that it hadn’t felt its injuries until the very end. There were no dogs any more. They’d all run away or most likely been eaten. There were no pets anywhere in the city and no rats, although she thought the latter was because of the Forsaken.

  A gentle breeze from the east tugged at her clothes, bringing with it the smell of the lake. Other smells sought to dominate. Ash from the torches that burned throughout the night. Decay from the rotting corpses left behind. The Forsaken would not come for them until dark and Alyssa did her best not to stare at the faces in case she recognised them. She’d stopped counting the number of friends and acquaintances she’d lost over the last few years.

  Alyssa stepped out of the shadows and set off down the middle of the street, never straying too close to buildings on either side. Some were whole, apart from broken windows. Others were nothing more than shells where the roof and insides had been removed as if scooped out by a giant’s hand. A few were marked with soot where they’d been put to the torch. There were deep shadows in many of them and all sorts of nasty surprises could be lurking within.

  Alyssa stayed alert, kept moving forward and scanned both sides of the street for any movement as she went. Sticking to the widest roads she travelled west, away from the lake towards the craggy hills that sheltered the city from high winds. When she reached Debrussi square, where they used to have a weekly fruit market, Alyssa hesitated. She thought about taking a longer route out of the city, but was already tired from another difficult night, so instead opted for the most direct. It was no less dangerous than the other route, but it was more unpleasant in other ways.

  “There she is!” called one of the mercenaries from the roof of an old bank. The stocky building had been reinforced with boards across all of the ground-floor windows in addition to the metal bars. The bank had been built with security against theft in mind, not what lurked in the city. Now the money inside was worthless and the building housed a mix of mercenaries and criminals.

  Even in a city dominated by artists there was always a demand for somewhere to enjoy a quiet drink and maybe a hand of cards. And where there was gambling and money to be made, a variety of other criminals and time-wasters followed. Some were unlucky to have been caught here when the Forsaken had first appeared. Despite warnings about the quarantine, others had travelled here shortly after to exploit those left behind. Once the first person to be snatched had come back to life the mercenaries quickly realised their mistake. But it was too late by then and there was no way out. Mountains cradled the city on two sides, but they were impassable with no routes across. That had not stopped many people trying, but either they froze to death or starved. The sea offered a possible escape, but with tools only sufficient to make handmade rafts, every single person who attempted it had drowned. It didn’t help that huge waves had been plaguing the coast for a while now, as if the sea were angry.

  The only road in and out of the city was patrolled by soldiers from Shael and they shot anyone on sight. It was up to those left behind to sort out the problem and find a way to survive in the meantime.

  “Have you got a present for me today? Maybe you want to show me something?” shouted the gangly mercenary and his friends laughed. They’d had the same conversation many times and apparently it never stopped being amusing for them. Alyssa decided to try a different approach.

  “All right. I’ll show you something, maybe everything,” she said, running a hand over her stomach and across her chest. Once she had been curvy, now all of that had been lost, together with her luscious hair.

  “Oh really?” said the mercenary. A couple of the others whooped and whistled as she continued to touch herself.

  “Yes, but I’m shy. So why don’t you come down here?” asked Alyssa.

  The mercenary considered it. “No, ah, I’m fine up here,” he said, nervously glancing around the street.

  “You have a big mouth. In my experience that means you’re very small somewhere else,” commented Alyssa, pointing at her groin and wiggling her little finger. The mercenaries cackled at that, mocking their friend who was turning red.

  Alyssa moved on before he had time to think of a witty comeback. Once the bank and the mercenaries had faded behind her, the hollow silence of the city enveloped her like a thick blanket. Every street used to ring with sounds of creativity, from composing musicians to serenading poets to the clack, tap and rattle of artisans shaping cloth, metal and glass into objects taken directly from their imagination. This pregnant silence felt more out of place than anything. It hummed in Alyssa’s ears, making her heart beat faster as fresh sweat broke out across her brow.

  She kept walking, dagger held ready, eyes constantly moving. The streets curved one way and then the other around large homes, making it difficult to see what lay ahead. This was the most dangerous part, but the west gate lay just beyond what used to be the grand homes of rich patrons, often the most blessed citizens of Voechenka.

  The road straightened and the gate came into sight. Alyssa slowed her pace but never stopped. The tall buildings had many alcoves and peculiar-shaped walls, turrets and towers. Even now, just after dawn, inky black shadows clung to some walls like fungus, as if not even sunlight could burn them away.

  She heard something moving on her right. A faint scuffing sound. The patter of flesh against stone shuffling forward and then it was gone. Alyssa didn’t wait to see if anything emerged. She muttered a prayer and kept going.

  After passing through the open gates unmolested she didn’t relax until the city was just out of sight behind a low hill. Only then did she take a moment to rest and slow her frantic breathing.

  After twenty minutes of climbing up a dusty trail she came to the edge of an old wood. Beneath the gently swaying trees, surrounded by greenery on all sides, Alyssa could pretend the horrors behind her didn’t exist. Birds flittered above in the canopy, insects buzzed and small creatures shuffled about in the undergrowth. The area was teeming with life. It was a stark contrast to the unnatural stillness and silence of the city. If she didn’t look up at the mountains boxing her in, Alyssa could pretend that even this quiet space wasn’t a prison.

  After an hour of foraging she’d collected several handfuls of blackberries, some wild onions, a few clumps of
herbs to flavour their food and even some truffles. Sticky red juice clung to her hands and mouth from where she’d eaten a few berries, and she washed it off in a small stream that trickled down from the ice-capped peaks.

  Alyssa filled her water-skin and drank deeply before looking for fish in the deep pools. She’d visited them before and been lucky, but today all she saw were tiny slivers of silver in the water. Thankfully her traps weren’t empty and she picked up four fat rabbits. The area was riddled with warrens and what had once been an amusing and cute distraction was now an important source of food. Alyssa gave thanks to the Blessed Mother for the bounty, reset the traps and then headed back down the hill.

  As she passed through the city gate she felt as if she were being watched. A cold prickle ran across her neck and shoulders. Alyssa quickened her pace but so far all she had was an uneasy feeling. She refused to run, even though her instincts were telling her to flee. When she came abreast of the mercenaries’ bank the initial wave of catcalls and jeers died as the weighty presence of whatever pursued her fell over the mercenaries. They felt it almost immediately and began to scan the street for trouble.

  “Get out of here, girl,” one of them called down, all humour draining from his face. “It’s not safe.”

  Alyssa kept to a fast walk until she heard something scrabbling in the shell of a building on her right. Her instincts told her to move but instead of running she threw herself to the ground. A shadow passed across her as something flew overhead, sailing close enough for her to smell it. It crashed into the building on the opposite side of the street, going through the stone wall as if it were made of paper. She had a brief glimpse of dark purple skin, corded muscle and unnaturally long arms.

  “Run, girl! Run!” shouted the mercenaries, who started screaming and creating a racket to distract whatever was behind her.

  Alyssa scrambled to her feet and ran. The weight of the food dragged at her, slowing her down, but fear gave her a burst of speed. They needed it and she couldn’t afford to leave it behind. Their supplies were always dangerously low and few dared go outside to scavenge.