The Ossard Series (Books 1-3): The Fall of Ossard, Ossard's Hope, and Ossard's Shadow.

by Colin Taber

  His words stuck in my mind. Could the cults use whole bloodlines to sanctify such a building, some kind of dark temple? And would that blood be Maria's and Pedro's, or did they need the bloodlines for something else?

  I began to feel anxious. I had to get started on my search and go to see the ruined warehouse. “I’m sorry, Father, but I must go. Have the Guild stay open, our people will need it.”

  He nodded, but was reluctant to see me leave. “Where?”

  “To look for Maria and Pedro.”

  “It’s too dangerous. There are people out there who blame you for all this.”

  “Sorry, but I must.”

  He stood and took a step towards me. “I still can’t believe you went to Market Square by yourself.” And his gaze moved to Sef, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. “You were lucky not to be arrested!”

  “Father, I appreciate your concern, but don’t blame Sef. I insisted on going alone. No one touched me. In fact they went out of their way to avoid me. They’re scared of me.”

  He reached out to put his hands on my shoulders, looking me lovingly in the eyes. “Juvela, frightened people can do terrible things. Remember our history; during Def Turtung the Lae Velsanans nearly destroyed our people, and in turn they brought down their own dominion. They didn’t do it because of hate, but because of fear. Don’t tempt the masses of Ossard, they’re more scared of you right now than the Lae Velsanans ever were of us.”

  He had a point.

  While I might feel born anew and could sense my soul stirring with rising power, I was still untested. “You’re right, I promise to take greater care, but I do need to search for my family. I can’t just sit at home and wait for news of their...” my voice broke, “...slaughter.”

  He nodded as his strong hands rubbed my shoulders.

  I loved him; the care in his eyes and his deep passion for my mother.

  He said, “Take Sef with you, we all know he can help.”

  “I will, and I’ll be careful.”

  “Juvela, to lose you would be to lose half my world. Please take care, for I think the city has already lost its way.”

  I shook my head, refusing to accept such a thing.

  “It’s true, just look at it! As you said, Ossard is split three ways, and two will align against the other, and those alliances will shift. We will all suffer. There’ll be mobs and riots, and lynchings and lootings. The only thing missing will be justice.” He shook his head as he pictured the tragedy to come. “I can live with the city falling into chaos if I have to, but I can’t live if it takes you and your mother.”

  I hugged him, my voice muffled by his shirt, “I’ll be careful.”

  He opened the embrace, taking a step back to look at me. Pride filled his eyes as he smiled, and with that brightening his worries faded.

  I nodded and turned to leave.

  Sef thanked my father and moved to follow.

  “Juvela, please wait!” It was my mother. She was standing at the door to the house from where she tried to bravely smile – but faltered.

  My poor mother...

  My heart ached to see her try and support me, but at the same time be so crippled by her fears. I offered, “It’s alright, I’m learning so much and so quickly, and the more I know the safer I’ll be.”

  Her eyes sparkled with gathering tears. “Your grandmother knew a lot more, but she wasn’t safe. They still came for her...”

  I hurried to her, throwing my arms about her. “Mother, please...”

  “No, you have to hear it!” she insisted, choking back her tears. “They came for her in the middle of the night, beating her senseless in her own bed. They drugged her to stop her from casting, and then dragged her away.” She looked at me with wide eyes. “Despite all her power they still got her. Do you hear me? She didn’t even get a chance to scratch them!” She was digging her fingers into me.

  “They tortured her for days until they finally judged her. Once damned by the Inquisitor they tied her unconscious and naked to a stake in Market Square, and she wasn’t alone.” My mother relaxed her grip. “Oh Juvela, forty eight others joined her, them all roused with smelling salts just in time for their burning.”

  I rocked her in my arms. “It’s alright.”

  She pulled back from me as she wiped at her tears. “They made me watch! They held me at the front of the crowd and made me watch as they burnt her alive, and I still have nightmares about it!”

  I couldn’t help but shiver.

  She went on, “I’ve learnt to live with them, but I couldn’t live with having to watch you suffer the same fate. You have to be careful. Don’t put all your faith in your power, put some in Schoperde as well!”

  I nodded.

  She said, “He sought her out, he can smell witches.”

  “Anton?”

  She gave a nod, and then paused to take a deep breath as my father stepped up beside her. With a calmer voice, she said, “It was the worst day of my life, but also the best; it was where I met your father. Without him and his family I’d have been destitute,” and worry and love rode in her words together.

  Standing there, I realised this was a day she'd long feared would come, and now that it was here she was drawing upon all her reserves to push through.

  She smiled. “Juvela, you’re revealed now, yet I imagine you’ve much to learn. Please, just be careful.”

  She was right. The book had done little for me in the ways of using my power, yet I still felt confident I’d master it.

  My mother’s smile broadened, but it came tinged with sadness.

  Thinking that she was still burdened with her worry, I said, “I’ll be careful, I mean it. I won’t go anywhere without Sef.”

  She nodded and said, “You look so much like your grandmother.” I smiled, but she went on, “It’s almost like she’s back from the grave.”

  And laughter rang out from the celestial.

  12

  -

  Rising Smoke

  -

  The afternoon warmed, and with it came a slow but determined breeze. It arrived carrying Ossard’s usual stink, but today its blustering breath also delivered a new and bitter aroma; of burning.

  Half a dozen columns of smoke rose from the heart of the city, climbing to feed a growing haze. They seemed anchored around Market Square. Not long after some of the Flets living in the wider city began crossing the river to seek the safety of Newbank.

  Behind them came a chorus of distant cries and yells. The arrivals spoke of riots at the heart of the city, all saying the same thing; the Heletians were fighting amongst themselves.

  Some of the followers of the new saints had forced their way into the Cathedral taking armfuls of oleander and relics with which to build a shrine. They were challenged by Vassini’s priests and told to leave. They’d refused and argued, and then been forcibly expelled. Dragged from the Cathedral and hurled down its front steps, scuffles broke out as a mob gathered. Some died in the fighting that followed, failing to establish a shrine, but giving their fellow believers something as powerful; martyrs.

  Worse would come, I was sure of it.

  -

  Sef and I left my parents’ home, passing through streets abuzz with news and rumours from across the river. We headed to my own household barely a few hundred paces from where I’d grown up. Both homes were in the good part of Newbank, a small elevated area without the chronic overcrowding that marked the rest of the low-lying district.

  I noticed, as we walked, that even here some people kept their distance or stared at me. The city might be divided three ways, but it seemed it could still breakup further. The realisation left me wary.

  If they thought I was forsaken, then they were most likely followers of the new saints or somehow aligned.

  Flet followers of the new saints?

  My pace quickened as I waved Sef up to my side.

  “Yes?”

  “I need you to be honest with me.”

  “Of course,”
he said, but his tone was guarded.

  “You’ve been to Fletland and survived its battles.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve also seen its many faiths.”

  “Yes?” and his voice grew tight.

  “I need you to tell me about them.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “It’s the cults that I need to know more of.”

  He merely grumbled, “Hmmm?”

  I whispered my question, “The cults of the Horned God; I’ve heard that they come in many different forms, but all follow the same power?”

  Sounding relieved, he said, “Yes, but you need to understand that while they follow the same power, they’re aligned to different aspects. That’s what I’ve heard and on occasion even seen.” And his eyes clouded over to be darkened by grim memories.

  “So in my understanding, it’s not unusual to find followers of the same form or aspect that are knowingly worshipping the same god, but also using different names?”

  He nodded. “Yes, despite how confusing it sounds. Generally the larger cults have gained some uniformity in their rituals and terminology, but there are always splinter groups. For example, some may follow Rabisto the god of bandits, while another group may owe allegiance to Tabiro the god of thieves, and yet another to Ranndolf of the footpads. In the end they’re all following the same god and similar aspects despite their differences.”

  I asked, “And their dark lord doesn’t get angry about such a thing?”

  “About them getting his name wrong?” He smiled and shrugged. “Apparently not. In the end only one thing matters; their souls and his true name.”

  “His true name?”

  “His true name is the only name that holds any real power over him.”

  I smiled, realising my next question was unlikely to get an answer, but asked it anyway, “And that is?”

  He grinned, “A well guarded secret!”

  We both laughed, relieving some of the afternoon’s tension.

  When we’d settled down, I asked, “So, do you think it’s possible that these two new saints, Santana and Malsano, might just be different names for different faces of the Horned God?”

  “It’s possible. You know Santana is similar to the Southern Heletian word for blood.”

  I stopped and met his eyes. “What, Sanjo?”

  “No, the word from the southern cities, in Vangre and the like.”

  “What word?”

  “Sanjana.”

  “I suppose it is.” To have my theory supported sent a chill down my spine, but it wasn’t solid proof. “Alright, but what of Malsano?”

  “Malsano, well, I don’t know...”

  I shrugged. “Well, I guess that would have been too easy.”

  “Well, maybe it is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Malsano is obviously a Heletian name, it rolls and is soft, coming with long and rich sounds.”

  “So?”

  “Well, you’re never going to find a Flet word that sounds the same. Our words are short and sharp, some might even say harsh.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a Flet word.”

  “I know, but there’s an aspect of the Horned God in Fletland known as Malssarcht.”

  “Malssarcht? I’ve not heard of him?”

  “A bringer of disease, one you might invite to visit your enemies.”

  Such a horrid thought had never occurred to me.

  He went on, “I’d have thought that you’d know him in Ossard; Malssarcht, the night angel?”

  “Why?”

  “Because of Maro fever.”

  “You mean the dark angel, Tykarcht.”

  “Yes, well, there you have it.”

  “This is only making me feel worse about things.”

  He laughed, but his face was grim. “So, Santana might be some kind of blood power and Malsano just another name for Tykarcht –perhaps.” He frowned. “You might be right, and the Inquisition must be aware of it too.”

  “I’m sure they’d know.”

  By now we stood only steps away from home.

  “Juvela, do you still want to go to the warehouse?”

  I nodded. “I have to. I need to look into anything that might give me an idea of where Pedro and Maria might be. I can’t stay home and wait.”

  He turned for the door as he pulled out his key. “I’ll see to Kurt and the coach. It won’t be safe for us to do this, but if we must, let’s do it now while we still have light. I don’t want to get caught on the other side of the river after dark, not tonight.”

  -

  I didn't have a good plan, I'm not even sure that you'd say I had a plan at all, but I knew I had to go and check the ruined warehouse. I reasoned, if a chapel was going to be built there, then perhaps my family was being kept nearby.

  In truth, my only real hope was that I'd be able to hear Maria's mind voice. If I couldn’t, I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  We set out in the coach. Sef was watching me, but I ignored him as I lost myself in the rolling drum of the coach's wheels. There was peace in that repetitive rumble. After a while I couldn’t help but notice something else, and it was wondrous, a subtle but almost overwhelming power. It radiated like heat from a failing bonfire as if made of a million glowing embers. Individually they could barely be sensed, but together they combined to give off something incredible: It was the gathered life force of the city-state’s people.

  A million souls from the city and surrounding valleys!

  It was a revelation.

  I shook my head to stop myself as I tried to settle my thoughts. I had to focus on Maria and Pedro, if I kept losing myself to these distracting discoveries I’d never find them.

  I forced my attention back to the window and the real world outside.

  We’d reached the Cassaro Bridge and were crossing out of Newbank. It ran full of traffic, most of it Flets leaving the Heletian districts of the city.

  Sef broke the silence. “Are you alright?”

  I turned to him as my vision slipped between two worlds, both in the real and the celestial. “I'm well, but you...”

  His eyebrows raised as my words trailed off.

  He asked, “Yes?”

  “You have your own loyalties?”

  He leaned forward. “Only to our own people's gods, nothing more.” Then he sighed and straightened his back. “At the moment, with the Inquisition taking over the city, the less we know about each other's business the better.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Juvela, you can trust me. I’ll make any vow before all the gods, that’s if all my years of service aren’t enough.”

  I nodded, feeling bad that I’d pushed him on his loyalty, and so clumsily. “I trust you, Sef. I’m sorry.”

  -

  We passed through streets filled with confusion and a growing haze of smoke. The sound of trouble rumbled in the distance, coming from the direction of Market Square at the city’s heart. Behind us in Newbank, the Guild raised a red flag atop the Guildhall – the flag of assembly.

  I hoped Kurgar wouldn't announce the Guild's closure. If the Guild went underground, it would only leave our people lost. Right now we needed leadership, not to be left directionless.

  Outnumbered, we wouldn't stand a chance if forced to fight. And in such bloody times, it wouldn’t take the Inquisition long to discover easier ways to get rid of us than shipping us back to Fletland. To survive we had to stand together, and the Guild had always provided our leadership.

  Such thoughts led me back to Kurgar; I hoped he knew what he was doing. Only days ago, Lord Liberigo had thought he controlled the city, but now he was kidnapped and perhaps even dead.

  I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer, “Please Schoperde, let us get through this.”

  As always, she didn’t answer.

  -

  Our ride to the charred ruins of the warehouse took a long and winding path. The streets on the way lay almost a
bandoned, until we reached the southern district where they spread thick with crowds. Many were taking part in open-air services dedicated to the new saints. Oleander hung from doors, wreathed windows, and sat in braziers where it smouldered to free smoke in wisps of grey. The area, home to much of Ossard's Heletian poor, seemed to be a stronghold for the new saints.

  The streets about us seemed peaceful enough, if full, but the people we passed in our unflagged coach held the energy of those who'd found new faith. None of them subscribed to Inquisitor Anton's pious empire, they looked to have another answer in mind.

  Taking in the sight, I could only doubt the Church's chances of controlling the city. Without the port, south, east, and Newbank, they held only a fraction of what they needed. Eventually, one way or another, the city would again be united, but I doubted it would be under the black, navy, and gold of the Inquisition.

  I hid my face as best I could in the carriage, keeping back to the shadows. I hoped we’d be able to look for Pedro and Maria, and then get out without commotion. Watching the crowd, so many with the sparkle of newly devoted eyes, I began to wonder at our chances. “Sef, look at this place, at these people, have you ever seen such a thing?”

  He turned from the window, his gaze cold and hard. “Yes,” he hissed, his neck corded and his fists bunched. “I've seen it before. It haunts the battle-scarred plains of Fletland where packs of those who follow the gods of thieves, murderers, and whores roam that wasted land.” He took a deep breath and shivered, battling memories that threatened to overwhelm him.

  “Sef, are you alright?”

  He nodded, but it was a lie. “They’ve been given something, something divine, and they’ll find euphoria in it, but before long its buzz will fade, leaving them hungering again for its high. The longer they have to wait for it, the more desperate they’ll become. Eventually, they won’t be able to stand that deep hunger, so they’ll do anything to sate it. Once dependent on it, the blessings, the dark power that bestows them will start to make demands. In time, it will not only enslave them, but drive them mad.” He shook his head, something that freed tears. “Yes Juvela, I’ve seen it before.”