by Colin Taber
“Marco thought it a myth. In any case, we’ll soon know.”
Pedro nodded and then gave into his own need for sleep.
I was also tired, but didn’t want to surrender to my exhaustion. For now, I was content to watch over my family.
-
Before noon we reached Goldston, a market town built around an ancient bridge known by the same name. Much of the townsite was a place of old and abandoned stone buildings, many without their timber framed roofs that had long ago been sold as salvage. The town had come close to death with the ending of silver mining long ago, but now served as a farming hub. Well past its glory, it had settled into its new life, but its past still haunted it by way of the surrounding empty streets and tumbled stonewalls. Goldston was a glum place.
The townsite on the southern side of the river had been completely abandoned, with much of it – including its streets and ruins – turned over to small fields and livestock pens. What was left of the living Goldston was to be found on the northern shore. There, the ground was higher, and so escaped the mild flooding that came with the spring thaw, the same flooding that occasionally inundated the low-lying parts of Ossard and Newbank.
We crossed the Cassaro by way of the old stone bridge, one that despite its age was strong and wide, if weathered.
The people of the town, almost entirely Heletian, stopped to watch our arrival, stunned not just by our numbers, but also by our grave air. Silence fell, with only the sounds of rumbling wheels on the town’s paved road and the movement of so many horses, donkeys and feet, the latter both booted and bare.
From the townsfolk came not a word, even as more and more of them came to their windows or doors to see what the valley had delivered. Their own livestock lifted their heads from troughs and yards to also stare. Finally, a grim old man stepped onto the road to block our way.
Kurt brought our coach to a stop, stilling everything behind it.
The man asked, “What tidings do you bring, and we know you must have them, for we’ve seen the smoke and heard the crack of the most terrible thunder just after dawn?”
I opened my coach door, and after a pause, jumped to the ground. A shiver ran through me at my actions; how many times had Sef so helped me down?
But now was no time for melancholy.
In a loud voice, I said, “Ossard has fallen into chaos. More follow, all fleeing the doomed city.”
He shook his head at my news.
I went on, “We’ll not stop to burden Goldston, aside from looking over your market.” And my words brought something of a smile to him and some of his fellows, but didn’t dispel my previous words’ gloom.
Another voice answered, “Yet, the sky’s smoke clears, so the fires have been doused – and still you run?” A middle-aged priest stepped forward, his eyes full of suspicion. “Who rules Ossard now?”
I looked to him and answered, “Heinz Kurgar.”
“A Flet? Impossible!”
“He does it in league with heretics, both Flet and Heletian.”
“And what of the Benefice and this Inquisitor Anton we’ve heard so much about?”
“The Benefice is dead.”
“Dead?”
“His body hangs from the balcony of the Malnobla.”
Gasps and cries of dismay arose from the gathered town folk.
“What!”
“And our enemies also tried to murder the Inquisitor.”
“Tried?”
“We were separated, so I can’t be sure if he survived, but I did see him wounded. Many think him dead.”
I could see that this priest was no friend. He didn’t like Flets, and the news of a Flet like Kurgar coming to rule over Ossard only fed his bigotry. With a grim nod, he accepted the news and offered, “Why don’t you let those of your people who need to go to the market do so? The remainder can pass through town and wait beyond, but with you, Juvela Liberigo, I wish to speak some more.”
He knew my name, so wasn’t as ignorant of events in Ossard as I’d first supposed. “A good suggestion.” I looked up to Baruna, who still sat next to Kurt atop the coach. I asked, “Please, can you see to it?”
She nodded.
My people moved on under her direction, while a small delegation from the town was led along with me to the local church.
-
Like so many things in Goldston, the church stood as a grand old building that had seen better days. Yet, unlike most of its neighbours, it’d had some effort put into keeping it maintained. A soaring bell-tower gave it a reputation as the tallest building in all of the Cassaro Valley outside of Ossard, but after the city’s fall, perhaps it now stood above anything that remained of that sad place.
Standing outside of it, I could feel a rising tension, almost as if Krienta himself watched and waited to see what I might dare. I was spared any test: The priest directed us to the side of the building where we followed a path along its walls until we reached his adjoining residence.
He opened a solid door of oak and then led us into a room furnished with a wide fireplace and a long table sided by benches. “Please, take a seat.”
The four of us did amidst murmured thanks.
Settled, he looked straight at me and said, “I know who you are.”
His fellows fell into quiet confusion.
“Well, you have me at a disadvantage.”
He said, “I was warned that you might come my way.”
“I’m not the one to be warned of.”
“I’m supposed to stop you – and the danger you represent.”
Now, his townsfolk looked not just confused, but frightened.
“Anton asked this of you?”
“Inquisitor Anton, yes. Not in person, but by letter that arrived just yesterday.”
“I see.”
He nodded.
“Anton couldn’t stop me, and I won’t let you. I want nothing more but to lead my family and friends away.”
“You have a lot of friends.”
I gave him an honest smile, letting my words carry the threat, “Yes, enough to see us outnumber the people of Goldston. We’ll leave when ready, but that’ll be soon enough.”
He gave a slow nod. “I’m not in a position to hinder you.”
“Thank you, and in return I’ll share the truth of the Fall of Ossard – if you’ll have it.”
“Please.”
So I did, speaking of cults and kidnappers, a corrupt city split three ways, and how it all came to fall apart.
To my surprise, he listened, seeing me realise that this man might be a bigot, but he wasn’t a fool. He was of the Church, and I’m sure was faithful to its message, yet he wasn’t stupid enough to try and stop me.
Afterwards, I asked, “What of Goldston and the hamlets of the Cassaro?”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve already passed some razed by fire, others abandoned, but most just in a state of shock. You’ll need to be ready for what will come up the valley, be it refugees or perhaps cultists.”
He nodded, his face tight. “We will do what we can to keep ourselves safe.”
“It won’t be pretty. Don’t let the refugees live in town unless they’re known, perhaps let them settle on the southern side of the bridge in the ruins of Old Goldston. I’d also get your people to harvest what they can and bring in their livestock.”
“Not a bad idea.”
“If cultists come from the city, I’d suggest you hold them off and refuse them entry. You’ll need a militia for that, one you can captain from your own people, and fill with volunteers from amongst the refugees. Offer to pay them with food and shelter.”
He arched his eyebrows. “What does our welfare mean to you?”
“Haven’t you heard? I’m branded a witch of Life. In truth, I’m just trying to save it.”
-
Our people did what deals they could to secure supplies of feed, grain, livestock and carts. Not long before the arrival of the first Loyalists, we were agai
n on our way, now on the northern side of the valley and looking for the path that would take us up the steep ridgeside.
I hoped we’d have time to start the climb tonight, camping somewhere along the beginnings of the trek’s high trail. That would get us off the main road and out of the way of the Loyalists. Regardless, tomorrow would be a long day of ascent and descent, and the hardest part of our journey. We’d almost certainly lose some of our livestock, perhaps a cart or coach, and maybe even some people. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but following it would be a relatively easy day of walking along the shore of the next sound towards the ruin.
-
That night, despite my exhaustion and the fact that we’d only gotten a little way along the discovered trail that zigzagged up the ridgeside – barely far enough to get our people off the road – I still had work to do. With everyone settling down, I sought out Baruna. To my surprise, she was still atop my coach sitting next to Kurt, the two talking in soft tones.
“Baruna?”
She stood up in the last of dusk’s light, embarrassed, as if caught doing something wrong. “Yes?”
“Sorry, I was...”
What was I doing? She’d already done so much for me...
She blurted out, “No, I’m sorry. What do you need?”
I smiled, and even in the dim light I could tell that she blushed.
Kurt began to chuckle.
I said, “You don’t need to apologise for taking some time for yourself.” Kurt reached to take her hand.
Embarrassed, she batted it away, which only set Kurt to laugh.
I couldn’t help but join him.
Baruna gave in to her own laughter, something that came soft and bashful. “I’m sorry, I thought we’d finished for the night?”
“We’ve finished our march, but there’s still a little more to do.”
“Can I help?”
“Please, if you could just arrange one thing for me?”
“Anything.” She took Kurt’s hand. “For I’ve someone to help.”
I smiled. “I want you to rest and enjoy some of your own time, but before then, can you find some volunteers to sit as a watch?”
“Consider it done.”
“Thank you, and you can thank your helper, too.”
“What will you be doing? Is there anything you need help with?”
In the dim light of the young night, I lost my smile. “I’m going to put Maria with my parents before Pedro and I work to rouse his own. It’ll be a long night for us – and not easy.”
She nodded. “If you need anything, just ask.”
“Thank you, both of you. If you can just see to setting up a watch.” With that I turned my attention to my family in the coach.
I opened the door to find Pedro slumped in sleep with an arm protectively about Maria, who lay curled up against his side. By the dim light of the stars, the bruises and grazes of their captivity were lost. Instead, they looked to be so much at peace. The sight was heavenly.
How I wished I could just leave them.
I reached across to Pedro, putting one gentle hand to his shoulder and the other to his arm. He started awake. I tried to soothe him by not grabbing at him, but instead hushed, “Come, my husband, it’s time to see to your parents.”
For a moment he was lost, and in his confusion grew tense, but my voice brought him back. He turned to see Maria asleep beside him, and then smiled with relief. “We’ve stopped?”
“Yes, our people have set up camp. We’ll start off again at dawn.”
“So why now my parents? Are we to change their dressings?”
I shook my head as the shadows deepened. “No, it’s time to rouse them.”
He gave a lone nod. “And what of Maria?”
“We’ll put her with my parents.”
-
Pedro carried Maria’s sleeping form to my parents’ coach. There, we gave her into their care and that of their driver and maids. All five of them were quiet as they ate a meal of bread and cheese, but seemingly better for escaping the city. With that done, my husband and I went to deal with the task at hand.
It was time.
Pedro and I took a lamp into the covered cart that held their cleaned and wrapped forms. Still, they slept. Looking at them, their faces lax and pale, I hung the lantern above us under the canvas roof’s peak, and then knelt beside his mother. Pedro took up a similar position beside his father.
Pedro whispered, his voice weak, “How do we do this?”
I didn’t really know. I just knew I’d have to follow my instincts. “They’re asleep, but the slumber is very deep. We have to wake them slowly, together, and with a special kind of calm.”
“You’re frightened of something?”
I nodded, and then reached up to dim the light, to soften the world that they’d be woken into. “This needs to be done carefully, gently, so as not to give their minds and souls cause for fright.”
He looked down at them, nervous, staring at their pale faces as though they were dead. “I...” and then his words failed him.
“What is it?”
“I can’t do this.”
“Pedro, I can’t do it by myself.”
“You ask too much. I feel like I’m robbing their graves.”
I reached across, over his prone parents, gesturing for his hand.
He gave it.
I looked him in the eye. “Pedro, I know you’ve been through a lot. I also know that I haven’t had a chance to explain everything to you, but I will. Nonetheless, we need to do this now, to bring them back and have them heal naturally. They can’t stay where they are.”
He looked to me, his eyes wide. “Where are they?”
“Their souls?” I sighed. “I don’t really know, not exactly, but I know that nothing about them is balanced. I salvaged what had been unmade by the cultists, but now we have to plant it back in them as it was always meant to be. That’s the work of the gods – and that’s why I’m frightened.”
He nodded, but let go of my hand. “I’m also frightened.”
“Of what we’re to do?”
He took a moment to answer, but did, “No, of you.”
I was more surprised than I should have been. Finally, I said, “Pedro, I love you.”
He gave a nod, but didn’t answer my declaration.
“Pedro, do what I ask of you tonight, but do it for the love of your parents. Now we heal them, tomorrow we’ll talk and see if we can heal what lays between us.”
He gave another nod, but shied away from my gaze. “What do you need of me?”
“I need you to love them. Your parents were murdered and that was wrong. I’ve reversed their deaths and dragged them back from the next world. When they emerge they’ll have pain, sorrow and sadness, but also joy at having returned. You’ll need to be ready to meet all that emotion. We need to make them feel safe.”
Tears began to roll from his eyes. “I think I understand; they’ll be confused.”
“Pedro, my husband, let me put it this way; they’ll be far more confused and frightened than you or I are about all that’s gone on.”
“You brought them back for me, didn’t you?”
“I did, and through a hope that it might undo Kurgar’s ritual.”
“I thank you.”
“Thank me when we have them back. Their experiences after leaving this world may have changed them, and that’s not something we can be certain of for a good while. We’ll just have to watch them.”
He nodded and swallowed. “I’m ready.”
“Let’s get started then.”
We had water close at hand, light, some clean cloth and clothes, and also rope. Before we started, I’d arranged for half a dozen strong men to set up camp beside the cart in case we needed to call upon them. I didn’t think it likely, but haunting the shadows of my mind were images of both of the Liberigos sitting up with unnatural strength, and an even more unnatural taste for death after their strange celestial journey.
<
br /> It was nonsense, of course, something born of a childhood peppered with Sef’s creepy tales of what might be found in Fletland’s dark woods.
Poor Sef...
I stopped myself to refocus. “Let’s get started.”
I pulled back Lady Liberigo’s shroud, and for his father Pedro did the same. Their bruised bodies lay underneath, cleaned and bandaged, their olive skin pale, yet I was reassured by the calm rhythm of their breathing as their chests rose and fell.
When we’d cleaned and dressed their wounds earlier, we’d also put cloth wraps around their hips, something to save their dignity. Now, seeing them naked of so much, but bandages, bruises, and those wraps, I felt as though at this moment – this time of their rousing – they looked as well as could be expected.
How I hoped...
Closing my eyes, I let my perception drift between worlds – and there, in the celestial, I found their souls and softly called to them, “Angela, wake for me. Silva, it’s time to stir.” I caressed their souls, rousing them from the life I’d made them live when I’d put them to sleep, a slumber so deep that for them, time itself had all but ceased.
And their souls awoke!
Back in the real world, I looked to them, to their pallor, and watched as it deepened along with the timbre of their breath.
Pedro’s eyes opened in wonder.
My fears of lurking shades fell away as their physical forms roused along with their spirits.
Pedro said, “It’s working!”
His lone voice cut through the quiet to see his mother flinch.
I held up a hand, begging him for silence, and then whispered, “They’re very sensitive.”
Even at my own gentle words, his father began to rock his head.
Pedro looked to me in bewilderment, so much so that I worked to hurry them on. I called to Lady Liberigo, soft and smooth, but call I did. “Angela, can you hear me? Angela, wake for me.”
Pedro followed my lead to begin such calls to his father.
They didn’t flinch this time. They still reacted, but their movements were coming without the sudden or sharp motions of before. This time they were more relaxed, their actions slower and more fluid.
