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

by Colin Taber

  With reluctance, he nodded.

  “Pedro, listen to me; I’m unwell, but hope it’s just a passing thing. For now though, I wish to have you here as your touch soothes. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I’ll do whatever you ask.” And with that, in a gentle move, he leaned in and kissed me on my cheek.

  My pain faded at his touch, and instead of wincing or crying out, a soft sigh escaped my lips.

  He smiled, drawing something similar from me.

  His hands strayed, moving from my back to my shoulders, and then along my neck. The caress was slow and soothing.

  And how it calmed my aches...

  He then leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips.

  ...driving the pain only further away...

  His hands again slid down my back, strong and certain.

  ...melting the stiffness of my cramps.

  I sighed afresh, only to be silenced by him coming in for a deeper kiss.

  We kissed as we never had before, long, wet and with heat. He then pulled back and asked, “How do you feel?”

  I smiled with honest relief, “Better, your attention is like an elixir.”

  “Then let me give you more of it.”

  I brought his hands around to my front and reclined, offering up my breasts. He didn’t hesitate as he accepted the invitation.

  I sighed as the aches continued to melt away.

  He whispered, “How’s that?”

  “Good.”

  His hands found my laces and began to loosen my clothes. Between such movements, we kissed with a growing passion. Lost in his attention, I barely noticed the motion of the coach as we again took to the road.

  Soon, we were both naked, or mostly, and lost in each other and our joy. We kissed and stroked, urging each other on, before I finally lay back to offer myself up to him.

  Despite the tight space and mess of our clothes, he moved to mount me as I spread my legs.

  We worked at it, slow at first, but with a gathering speed. He was losing himself to it, to his passion and lust – but it was mutual. I knew I was fertile, and also knew in a strange but certain way that something special was about to be forged.

  When he planted his seed in me...

  I would be a mother again, Pedro a father, and Maria a sister for her first time. Our new babe would be a salve for all of our suffering.

  Finally, he came, crying out as he leaned back. Sweat ran from his brow and down his chest, and all I could do was savour his warmth and the realisation that for a moment, a brief moment, my deep aches and pains had been overwhelmed.

  Overwhelmed, not just mostly, but completely!

  -

  We lay entangled in each other and our discarded clothes, as the morning lazily passed. From that place, that dazed but lavish space, I let my perception drift into the celestial.

  The void was much calmer than it had been at the height of Ossard’s chaotic fall, yet in the distance, a vortex of gathered power loomed. That focus pulsed, marking a celestial border; the city now sanctified. Any force that might try to come and take the city would also need to overwhelm that strong divine blessing.

  Seeing it stirred something within me; something hungry and raw. I knew the feeling, the hunger reminding me of my urge to sup on Marco’s soul at his passing.

  It was my dark appetite.

  With my divine addiction’s arousal, an echo of the aches and cramps I’d borne at dawn also returned.

  And that was just my first taste of my coming battle!

  While in the void, I also noticed that Grandmother was nowhere to be seen. To my surprise, I couldn’t even sense her – not clearly. She seemed nearby, but hidden. I wondered; what was the two-faced fiend up to?

  With my dark hunger stirring, I thought it best to withdraw.

  After a while, Pedro awoke beside me. We both made to sit up and begin the task of untangling ourselves, yet it was something we couldn’t do, not without kissing and murmuring of our love for each other.

  We talked quietly while picking up our clothes, and then dressed each other, slow and comfortably, as if it was one of our day’s usual tasks. Eventually, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

  I smiled at him, trying to hide some of the truth. “Better for your company.” He leaned forward and kissed me full on the mouth.

  I broke away, pleased with him, but still tender. “I just need time to heal.”

  He nodded.

  With that, after checking that I was dressed, he opened the door and stood out on the coach’s step, grabbing onto the railing that lined the side. The cab rocked gently back and forth on the trail as the wheels rumbled across gravel. I heard him ask, “How are we going?”

  Baruna answered, “Not far to go!” The excitement in her voice saw me draw back the curtains and look for myself.

  We’d reached the beach!

  I opened the door on my side of the coach and mirrored my husband’s pose.

  Baruna squawked at my sudden and unladylike appearance.

  Kurt and Pedro laughed.

  Looking ahead, I could see that we’d entered the valley and were now riding along the pebble beach. The deep waters of the sound were to our western side, and the low pastures of the valley floor started only a score of paces to the east.

  The valley slowly began to rise as it ran away, a steep ridge on its southern side, but with a series of stepped rolling hills rising to the north ahead. The hills more gradually gathered the same kind of height as the opposing ridge, but over a greater distance. Further back, I could see mist and shadow in those hills, lurking there like a half-remembered dream.

  The pastures looked rich, though they’d already faded to an autumnal gold. Dotting all of it were the occasional juts of rock, and as I took it all in, I realised that some of those stone outcrops were actually the remains of more ruins.

  Marco had been right; this was a place of mystery!

  I turned to look behind us.

  Our people stretched all the way back to the valley mouth, the tail-end still coming along the side of the sound. Amongst them I spied a handful of banners raised to catch the breeze. They were predominantly on green or blue backgrounds, but all marked by the same thing; a single white rose-bloom.

  I didn’t have to ask; they were for us, the people of hope. Some of them would want to correct me, saying that they were the followers of Ossard’s Rose.

  So be it.

  Pedro took back my attention. “Juvela, it’s huge!”

  I turned to look ahead, to study the ruin as we drew near.

  A great wall of light grey stone, almost white under the midday sun, reared up to cut off the northern part of the beach. It was huge, cutting down in front of us, and continuing straight into the waters of the sound. Looming fifteen paces high, its sense of presence wasn’t so much built on height, but of sheer bulk.

  It looked so solid!

  Beyond that wall, marked by high dark windows, were two terraces as the complex climbed the rising hillside behind it and back into a small gorge. All of it was dotted with a handful of smaller structures, the most notable being two towers that rose at the very back of the stepped ruin above twin neighbouring halls.

  Marco had been right; we’d be able to shelter thousands here.

  In places, streams of water snaked down from the hills above, bubbling between tumbled walls, marking yet another promising sign: With shelter, water, fish from the sound, and plenty of pasture for livestock and space for crops, it seemed ideal. For a moment, caught up in my excitement, I could picture the walls shining, with farmed fields in front, fishing boats on the beach, and flags and banners snapping in a rising breeze.

  Our home, our haven, our sanctuary!

  I then noticed something new, something I’d missed while in the coach lost in my husband: A narrow tower rose, isolated, climbing from out of the dark waters of the sound a good sixty or so paces from where the land-side walls turned about twenty paces after leaving the beach. The tower st
ood like an enigma, solid, but tapering. Seemingly ageless, it was a symbol of all that lay before us.

  Strong, beautiful – and so very mysterious...

  As we neared the ruin, the breeze picked up in a sudden gust, blustering to draw a series of wails as the wind played off the ancient stones. The chorus was chilling.

  Marco had warned us, saying that this was why the locals shunned the place, the call of the ruin birthing a legend of haunting spirits.

  Looking at it, I hoped it was just the wind on jagged rock and broken wall, for it was an eerie sound.

  We continued our advance, slowing as the wail rang out ahead, but at the same time the rear of our long column rushed to join us.

  And then the wind died, and with it the ruin’s unsettling song.

  My apprehension faded. Again we looked upon something sturdy and fine, somewhere we could make our home.

  For a moment, my perception drifted off, as if it was crossing into the celestial, yet it didn’t go there. Instead, my vision travelled somewhere through time, to show me this place as it once had been.

  Marco’s Ruin, part of a prosperous and living land, and no longer tumbled, but alive and whole.

  The sea was gone, its level lower, seeing its nearest shore somewhere off well into the west. And with the sea’s removal, I bore witness to the city that now lay drowned under the sound’s dark waters.

  Towers of white and silver arose from the old valley floor, a place of long flags and banners, roads and trade, with rich fields. Great circles of trees hosted inner circles of polished white stone, and to the east climbed the distant mountains, no longer naked to show their bones, but robed in woodlands.

  And people, so many people!

  Once a great centre, but not of Heletian or middling men, nor even Lae Velsanans, though they were here treating with those who’d once called this place home.

  A fourth race of man, taller than the High Men that the Lae Velsanans liked to call themselves, was here. I was looking upon the memory of a race moving from history into legend; the Ogres.

  They were bigger, but not just tall. They stood broad and beautiful, yet at the same time earthy and strong. The Lae Velsanans came up to their shoulders, just as the common men of the middling races did to the Lae Velsanans.

  The vision faded.

  A sombre feeling came over me; the Ogres would have made such good friends. For a moment, I felt overwhelmed by such a loss, as if everything right in the world had been taken away, everything that should have been.

  I could sense something about them; that they were also of Schoperde, a kind of spiritual kin. I then realised that like this place, they’d been amongst the first casualties of the divine war between Life and Death.

  Amidst my contemplations, the last of the road was travelled. I called to Kurt, “Slow down and stop here. We should send a party in to search the ruin first.”

  “We’re already in bow range.”

  He was right. I’d been distracted and now it was too late. “We might be, but not all of those behind us are. Let’s send in a group so they can check things out, but they’ll need to be quick. Now that we’re here, I doubt we’ll be able to keep the others back for long.”

  Kurt brought the coach to a stop. I jumped down and walked back to a group of men on horseback not far behind. I waved them over and asked, “Can you ride ahead and check it out? It’s supposed to be deserted. You’ll need to be quick, though, for we won’t be able to hold everyone back.”

  They agreed and charged off.

  I turned to Kurt and Baruna. “Ask any who want to pass to wait.”

  They nodded.

  “Pedro, we’ll fetch Maria and pass word down the column. A pause here’ll not harm anyone, besides it’ll give us a chance to think how we might best occupy the place.”

  Pedro gave me a nod before jumping down from the coach.

  I added, “I want us settled in by nightfall.” Looking past him, I could see that the riders I’d sent forward had already reached an arched entry in the ruin’s wall. In a breath, their number of six had all taken its dark mouth, seeing us given over to waiting.

  Pedro and I fetched Maria, and then went to see that the word to wait was passed down the line. Afterwards, we returned to the front and watched the ruin along with everyone else, waiting for some kind of sign. As we did, people about us chattered in hushed but excited tones, while others also gathered to the front. None passed as I’d asked, but that didn’t stop them crowding.

  Time crept on.

  About us people murmured and horses shifted.

  A wind picked up to bluster, and with it came fingers of long grey clouds that blew in from the west. Swift they were, as they raced across the sky, and under them the land fell into shadow.

  The sunlight broke through to again illuminate the ruin, followed by a lone rider appearing atop one of the higher walls. His horse reared as he raised something from his side, a banner; the standard of the rose.

  The other riders appeared beside him, together letting out a cheer.

  The people around me called out in return – and me with relief.

  I gave in to the moment and shared the joy, before calling out, “Let’s go and see our new home, but take care. We’ll need to plan where people stay, where our livestock go, and where our watch needs to stand.”

  Together, we moved forward, marching on Marco’s Ruin.

  Thank you, Marco!

  The main wall ran down in front of us towards the gravel of the beach, and then, without deviation, into the chill waters of the sound. After twenty paces it turned north, and by that time, I’d have thought that the water about its foundations would have stood at a good depth. The wall itself rose solid and worn, built of a light grey stone, with herbal brush crowded about its base. Moss had also made its mark, overrunning countless cracks, all of it accompanied by flaking gold, lime and orange lichen that graced much of the wall’s weathered face.

  Seeing it, I grew eager to discover what lay beyond; halls, courtyards, or nothing but the rubble of a long fallen roof?

  We approached the oversized entrance, an archway yawning six paces high and near as wide, up a ramp lost under turf. All of it loomed tired and in shadow, with a ceiling that remained thankfully intact. Daylight was visible further ahead at the entry tunnel’s end, where it looked to eventually open into a courtyard.

  Those about me quietened at the scale of the walls and such obvious signs of age. While that silence settled in, it did nothing to dampen our enthusiasm.

  Before long, we reached the courtyard to find that it wasn’t one at all, but certainly the source of light. We stood there at the edge of what seemed to be a large square room or void, but one sided by wide stone carved staircases. The stairs both ascended and descended the four walls, servicing several levels both up and down. There was no roof, and it looked as though there never had been. All the sidewalls held large windows, making me wonder if this strange place had served to carry light and air into the ruin’s heart.

  The light-well, as it later became known, was remarkable in its own way. The bottom proper looked to be two levels down, but that area was now flooded by seawater. The submerged stonework lay coated in marine growths like barnacles and ribbons of weed, while fish and crabs also seemed to have made the sheltered depths their home.

  For now, Pedro and I turned to the ascending stairs. The staircases themselves seemed robust, their wide and high treads built for men of greater height and breadth than that of our middling frames. Without hesitation, we joined the crowd who’d already started the climb.

  The stairs came to a landing at each corner of the light-well, off which opened corridors and rooms. Ruin waited beyond the tall and empty doorways amidst shadow and the accumulated dirt of a thousand years, adding to whatever mess had been left by birds and animals. Tumbled walls and rubble-blocked passages weren’t rare, and occasional slumped or collapsed ceiling, too, but on the whole the building remained sound.

 
; To see something so old, yet so solid, was remarkable.

  The wind stirred again, swirling about to call up a chorus of wails.

  I saw a few people shiver at the sound, while many looked about in concern. Even I felt a chill at the eerie din.

  There was a presence here, something ancient – but also familiar.

  The wind stilled as we reached the top of the stairs, and with it the ghostly song.

  About us, the way opened up to reveal a huge square terrace that spread back to the top of the valley wall we’d just entered through. The structure stood complete with a stone balustrade that might have been waist-high on the builders, but rose to my shoulders.

  And yet another wonder...

  On two sides the flagging ended, one overlooking the sound – and I supposed, that was where Felmaradis’ ship would dock when the time came – the other looked out over the valley and down the beach. But behind us, on the remaining two sides, rose the next level of the complex. That section seemed as big as what we’d already passed through, if not bigger, as it stepped back to sit into a small gorge that lay between the steep hills at the ruin’s back. I had no idea what lay behind those newly revealed walls, dotted with dark and beshadowed windows, but I’d already seen enough to know that we’d found our home.

  Thank you, Schoperde!

  And then my eyes were drawn back westward, to the lone tower rising out of the sound’s waters.

  What was it?

  About us, people kept coming, excited by all they saw.

  Give it some work, and it’d be more palace than ruin!

  Despite what else might come, at least our people would be safe; from Loyalists, cultists, and hopefully the winter’s cold.

  Pedro suggested, “We should leave the levels beneath us for whatever watch we set up and our livestock. It’d also be wise to keep our people’s living areas away from the entry.”

  I nodded. It was a good idea.

  His own excitement grew. “It’s a wonder!” He also turned to marvel at the lone tower rising out of the water. “What was this place, some port of last resort or a fortress for some forgotten power?”

  I kept my silence, for I felt I knew some of its truth, but not enough to declare it. Not yet.