by Colin Taber
I felt for him. I’d grown up on his tales, some of them terrible indeed, but I’d never stopped to consider that he’d lived through them. Leaning forward, I put a hand over one of his fists. “I’m sorry to stir such memories, but I need to know what I must. Please, tell me?”
With an awkward move, he raised a fist to wipe clumsily at his eyes. “They've been seduced by the cults. Having seen this, I’m convinced that all this is nothing but a front for the Horned God. As they always do, they’ll be working to conduct a soul harvest, for they’re after only one thing; power.”
I turned back to look at the crowds. Some offered prayers at makeshift shrines, while others paraded in packs waving oleander and banners.
I asked, “Is it that definite a path? Is it that certain an end?”
He nodded. “It always is. Look, Juvela, I’ve many enemies here, just as you do. We’ll work together, and we’ll stand together, because it’s the only way we'll get through this.”
I swallowed nervously. “How do you know?”
“I’ve seen it before, but never on this scale. I've seen hamlets and villages fall to the coming madness, and even once a whole town. The city can't avoid it. No one ever has.” He paused, turning back to the chanting crowds. “By the time you can see the sickness it’s already too late. And it is a sickness, like a plague, but not of the mind or body, but of the spirit.”
I trusted Sef, I’d always trusted him. To see him grow so tense and upset sobered me. What could I hope to do about what grew outside? I still remained a user of magic who'd never cast a spell.
It seemed hopeless.
-
We reached the ruins of the warehouse to find a large crowd listening to a Heletite missionary. The robed man spoke from a small stage, talking of corruption and politics in a church rotten with greed. He spoke of the righteous power of true-faith, and how that bypassed fat benefices and their hypocritical entourages. He urged the crowd to never doubt the new saints, naming three; Santana, Malsano, and Rabisto.
Rabisto!
What was wrong with these people? Rabisto was well known amongst the Flets as a god of bandits, a forbidden Heletian god. The crowd seemed oblivious.
As if in answer to my thoughts, the Heletite emphasised that this new saint was not of crime or trouble, but a jolly-maker and the keeper of comfort. He explained that the politics of the Church had seen the truth hidden by vested interests directing the Calbaro’s scholars.
The Heletite called, “Embrace Rabisto and he will embrace you! He offers comfort to those who need it, and who could need it more than the parents of stolen children!”
A woman cried out in answer, “I'm in need of comfort!” With greying hair and a tired frame, she stumbled forward as though life had thrown her too many challenges.
The crowd parted.
“My child’s been taken by the kidnappers, and only a season after the sea left me widowed! Look at me and my years, I'm dry and barren, and nothing any man would wed. Without my husband and son I’m destitute, but still I’m in need of comfort.”
The Heletite urged her forward.
She stepped up onto the makeshift stage.
He asked, “And why have you come here seeking comfort, my lady?”
“Because there’s none to be found elsewhere. I’ve looked across the city, and even begged at the foot of the Cathedral, yet the only attention the Church has given me is to push me off their steps.”
The Heletite said, “Are you coming forward to ask for the help of Saint Rabisto?”
“I’ve asked everywhere else, so I see no harm in it...” her voice broke with grief, “if it’s not to be granted, I’ll only go to The Graves and cast my bones into the sea.”
The Heletite pulled an amulet from his pocket, it crafted as a small arrow hanging on a slender leather thong. “Kneel and put this around your neck, kiss it, and pray for his intervention in your sad and sorry life. If you open your heart to him, he will hear you.”
She took the amulet, knelt, and hung it about her neck. She then lifted the golden arrow to her lips and kissed it with the resignation of one all but spent.
The crowd fell silent.
The hag let the amulet drop to rest against her worn tunic, it sitting in the valley between her sagging breasts. Her head bent forward, her eyes closed, and then she clasped her hands together in prayer. She mumbled through something of her own making, the words unclear, but the intent deep.
Silence took the moment, only disturbed when the Heletite called, “Aid this poor woman, aid her good people, aid her please!”
And many in the crowd also bowed their heads.
It was working...
I could sense the energy building, the rise in power as Rabisto stirred. She’d kissed his amulet and he'd chosen to kiss her in return.
Sef and I swapped glances – he could feel it too.
In the celestial, the eye above the city watched, and as it did a single tear formed within it to drop free. It glowed like a lit crystal, but in the real world remained unseen. It came towards us falling faster and faster.
The seed of a miracle...
It landed in the street behind the gathering.
At the same instant, the sky erupted with the chorus of a sea gull flock, they’d come from nowhere to break the silence, and then as quickly moved on.
Nervous laughter peppered the crowd.
And then, above it all, a weak voice cried, “Help!”
The crowd turned towards the sound.
The Heletite smiled.
The old woman clutched the amulet tightly as she got to her feet, her eyes sparkling with hope.
Where the divine tear had landed lay an iron grate.
None in the crowd moved.
And then the manhole cap, a grill of bars, rose up and slid free.
A dirt-stained boy struggled weakly to lift himself out of the sewer as he gasped, “Help me! Help me please!”
Some of the crowd rushed forward and grabbed for him before he could slip back down.
His mother’s eyes flooded with tears as she croaked, “Stefan?”
The boy's head jerked up. “Mama!”
She called out with joy, “Stefan! Oh sweet Rabisto, thank you!” And she hurried from the stage towards him.
Stefan lurched forward on unsteady legs, until they came together in a tear-filled embrace.
The crowd cheered, while above it all the Heletite cried, “Witness the compassion of Saint Rabisto, the bringer of comfort!”
I looked to Sef.
He asked, “Was that staged?”
I shrugged. “Not by the woman.”
He shook his head in disbelief, yet still managed to balance his surprise with a practical suggestion. “This’ll be a good time for us to look around, while they’re distracted.” He reached over and passed me a plain robe. “Put this on with its hood up to hide your blonde hair. Hopefully they won't recognise you, but if they do let’s be ready to get back to the coach and out of here.”
“Yes.”
Sef opened the door and jumped down to the cobbles, using the coach to hide us from the crowd. He helped me down and said to Kurt, “Wait for a while. When we’re well on our way, I want you to go over by those buildings and keep an eye on us. Watch me for signals, and the crowd for trouble, otherwise meet us when we reach the other side.”
Kurt nodded, but looked nervous. He’d only served my household for a season, and by the look of him I wondered if he’d still be in my pay by dusk.
I turned to face the warehouse’s ruin, a black and grey wasted mess. Taking a deep breath, I took my first step.
Sef whispered, “We must be quick, the crowd will grow with news of the boy's return.”
He was right.
Not long after, as we made our way into the charred ruin, Kurt moved the coach to where Sef had instructed. While I concentrated on the search, I could see Sef glancing back. He whispered, “Already some watch us.”
I wasn’t sure if
I’d be recognised, but as the Forsaken Lady I seemed as well known as the Benefice or poor Lord Liberigo. Still, there was nothing for it, but to try and do what we’d come here to do.
Step after step, nothing much remained. What had once been a sprawling warehouse, and the site of powerful ritual magic, now lay as a field of charred posts, charcoal, and ash.
Up ahead, a cluster of shoulder-high lumps rose blackened and lopsided – the remains of the ritual’s victims.
Approaching them chilled me even though they’d lost all their features. Now they loomed like a set of fire-scorched monoliths.
The wind picked up, the gust lifting the ash as a fine dark haze. Amidst its bluster, I could hear the moans of the dead coming from the celestial to haunt this terrible place.
My steps became slower and my breathing deeper, but I continued on as I neared the mounds. On reaching the nearest, I saw that just past it opened the great hole that sank down into the blackened ground. It lay between the three monoliths, yawning wide and now plugged with rubble and ruin.
Sef followed, but slowed. He had no wish to come any closer.
I took a few more steps, absorbing the bleak and soot-covered scene.
What a waste...
Coming to a stop, I braced myself, and then let my vision drift into the celestial.
The bright sparks of energy that had flared here two nights before as the ritual’s residue were now gone. I looked closer to find that something subtler remained.
Shadows hung about me in that other world. Dark and insubstantial, they seemed lost and incomplete. They didn’t react to me, or each other, instead they just moved about senselessly.
They were something left over from the victims, perhaps their last gasps or thoughts. Sadly there was so little left that these Shades had no sense, no knowing, and certainly no chance at rebirth.
They were chilling, so much so that I had to pull away. With relief I returned my perception to the real world.
What power had been unleashed here?
Back in the real world, most of their bodies were also gone, taken by the ravages of the fire. The macabre towers in front of me were barely distinguishable from the slumped piles of charred timber that had been packed about their ruined forms. It was sickening.
I tried to sense if anything of interest lay nearby. It seemed like a good idea, but my mind became stabbed in a thousand places by the feelings, thoughts, and other sensations emanating from the crowd. The overwhelming force of it saw me stumble.
Sef asked, “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I said as I gathered myself.
He nodded and turned back to check on the crowd.
Shaken as I was, I noticed sweat on his face and that he’d paled. “Sef, are you well?”
He turned to me and said, “I’ll manage, but it’s so uncomfortable.” After a moment, he added, “Can’t you feel it?”
“Yes,” I said, but answered too quickly. I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant – there was just so much to take in.
He realised. “Look at the ground, at the focus!”
My gaze fell down to the ash at our feet.
Dust rose from the charred soil, black and grey, it drifting across my boots to pass by. I followed a particular wisp of it as it climbed and tumbled, and after a moment realised that it wasn’t following a straight line. It travelled slowly along the edge of a circle, a wide circle, and that circle centred on the heart of the ritual.
I asked, “What is it?”
Sef was checking on the crowd. “I was hoping you’d know.”
Me?
He went on, “My guess is that it’s the seed of something, the seed of the ritual, perhaps the seed of power for all their rituals to come.”
I hated this, it all being such a mystery. Everybody else seemed to know so much more about what was going on.
I tried to settle down and focus myself. More than anything I’d come here looking for something that might indicate where Maria and Pedro were being held. That’s what I needed to worry about, nothing else.
Again I opened up to the celestial, but this time I listened specifically for Maria. I couldn’t be sure, but seeing as I hadn’t heard from her since her kidnapping, I assumed that my talent for it was quite limited. If she was close, maybe I’d hear something. For long moments I stood there, my perception half in the celestial world and half in the real.
Nothing...
I kept trying, listening, and sensing.
Nothing...
Searching and seeking, desperately straining.
Nothing...
Sef's voice made me jump, “We should go.”
I followed his gaze; a growing number of the crowd were watching us. I nodded. Sef signalled to Kurt, and he in turn started to take the coach around to the far side of the ruin.
Sef said, “Don't look back. Let’s just get moving and keep at a steady pace. If we don't look nervous and don’t rush, perhaps we can get away before any of them think to stop us.”
I said, “Last time I looked, they seemed to be ignoring us.”
“That was a long time ago. The birds have stirred them since then.”
Birds?
I looked to the west where the sun had noticeably dropped. “What birds, what do you mean?”
Sef took hold of my arm and steered me forward. “Keep walking, I'll watch your footing, but look up.”
I did.
A huge flock of gulls circled above. From their numbers, an endless stream of lone birds dove down towards us as if pointing. They’d pull up suddenly as they neared us, and then head back to rejoin the flock.
We were being marked.
Taking in the sight, I tilted my head further back, the movement freeing my robe’s hood to fall away.
Behind us, voices hissed, “The Forsaken Lady!”
The call was repeated as we neared the coach, Sef forcing me forward faster and faster.
He whispered, “You get in, I’ll ride with Kurt in case they try and climb aboard.”
I nodded while my mind raced; could I do something, some kind of witchery that might help stop the pursuit?
Footfalls sounded only strides away.
Sef’s other hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. “They'll try and stop us,” he whispered.
Our coach was close, only a dozen paces ahead. I watched as Kurt slowly reached for his own weapon.
I wanted to run, but Sef hissed. He knew any sudden move would bring them onto us.
Kurt sat with his eyes on us, his look indifferent. He refused to look at the mob, but it was clear there were many of them, and the growing murmur of their voices only confirmed it.
With a few paces left, Sef whispered, “I'm going to push you forward, don't stumble, just get in the coach and out of my sword's way.”
“Yes,” I answered with a dry throat as I cursed my own mind's emptiness. Surely there was something I could do to help? Where was my damn witchery?
The push came and I literally flew, landing hard against the coach door. Behind me, I heard Sef's sword ring as it slid free of its scabbard.
I jumped onto the step, got inside, and then turned about to check on Sef. He stood there with his sword out, the blade held high and ready.
In front of him, a crowd spread several deep, with more crossing the charred ruin. Someone yelled, “Forsaken whore, you'll damn us all!”
I growled, “Leave or I will damn you!”
The noise of the mob died.
I held my face firm and tried to look dangerous.
The mob glared back, but none of them moved.
Sef reached behind him with his free hand to grab at the coach's railing. All the while he swung his sword back and forth, and then yelled, “Kurt, go man, go!”
Our driver didn’t need encouragement.
Sef jumped up for the coach’s step while holding onto the rail.
We lurched forward and sped up to leave the crowd behind. They yelled their curses, some of them picking up h
alf-burnt timber from amidst the ruin to hurl after us.
Sef slid inside and then closed the door. He opened the front port and said to Kurt, “Take us back to Newbank, but keep away from crowds.”
He didn’t need to be told.
The ride home should have been fast and uneventful – it wasn't. Kurt planned on skirting the heart of the city by heading for the docks and using lesser streets, that way he would follow the river and get us back to Newbank.
The port’s streets were strangely quiet, and the docks almost abandoned. It became clear why when we looked back over the city.
In several places towards Market Square, great columns of oily black smoke arose. As we studied the soot-dusting plumes, we noticed more of them further back, and about those twisting pillars many lesser but similar trails off to their western side.
Sef said, “The riots are getting worse.”
Kurt brought the coach to a stop and then slid open the front port. “There’s a second group of fires further back,” he paused before adding, “I think it’s Newbank.”
I had a terrible feeling he was right.
Did the Guild still stand?
I'd never felt myself to be a person ruled by overly strong feelings for my people, but at that point, with my mind filling with memories of our dark past, of a history of murders, massacres, and genocide, a sense of duty stirred in my breast. Its depth surprised me. If my people were in trouble, I needed to help them. On top of that, I still had to try and find my family. Could I do both?
Damn it, I’d try!
And in that moment, the power within me began to stir. Spirits gathered around my soul, I could feel them, and amongst them was my haunting grandmother.
In my mind, I screamed at her with frustration, “Show me what to do!”
She didn't answer.
My perception slid into the next world, and for the first time I saw her: She appeared stark against that dark void, all painted in the bright hues of celestial blue. In some ways her pale face was like my mother’s, but her eyes were nothing but deep pools of sorrow. Long hair blew wildly about her, it moving quickly as if caught in a rugged gale; that lively action was matched by her billowing dress, the motion, on one so dead, gave her a strange sense of the vital.
