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

by Colin Taber

  “That’s not for you to judge!”

  Sef sat up, now wild with long-harboured pain. He’d take his punishment when deserved, but only then, he’d refuse it when he wasn’t to blame. He growled in a menacing tone, “What lies between Kave and myself is for ourselves to resolve – no one else. Kave broke our agreement first, before I turned from it!”

  Seig thundered, “Who’re you to question him?”

  “I’m Sef of Kaumhurst, a grieving widower to my beloved wife, and mourning father to a daughter too soon dead. I also had other family and friends that lived there as part of my former life. Kave saved them in return for my soul, that was the deal I offered, and to which we agreed. Yet, in the end, he crossed me. They were stolen away the following year. He broke our agreement!”

  Seig growled, “Fate can be a hard thing!”

  “He didn’t stand by and let them fall to destiny during that second attack; he willed it!”

  “It’s not for you to judge matters divine!”

  Sef reddened with his anger. “He unleashed this misery. I owe him nothing but hate!”

  Anton roused beside Sef.

  Seig answered, “You blame him unjustly; he didn’t kill your kin!”

  Sef went to yell, to spill out all the truth, but his voice died to a wheeze as his jaw hung open like a yawning cave. He couldn’t squeeze out anything, not a syllable.

  Anton, bloodied and battered, could feel Sef’s trembling rage. He looked from his friend’s quivering jaw, where the tendons corded in anger, and then to Seig who bore the heat of the big Flet’s glare. Finally, the Inquisitor said, “Not all is as it seems; Sef is being hushed by a divine hand. His throat is bound by a curse, something that holds back the truth.”

  Seig was gruff. “There’s nothing here but a coward being made to face his fate.”

  Anton gave a weak smile, one not touched by his blackened eye, split lip or bleeding nose. “You miss my point: Sef is being restrained, I can see a curse binding him.” After a moment of consideration, he lifted a hand to his own bloodied lip, running his fingertips over it until wet and red. In the quiet, he then reached across to place them gently on Sef’s swollen jaw, while whispering something under his breath.

  Blood magic.

  The Kavists, led by Seig, looked to each other and took a step back.

  Power flowed, not that divinely given, but of Anton’s very own essence by way of spent blood. Such a casting was costly though, seeing him collapse into the gravel.

  And his soul was reduced and him lessened.

  Sef could feel the air chill as it tingled about him, sparks of red flaring briefly about his mouth and throat. For a moment, his lips and tongue burnt, the feeling sliding downwards like a hotly brewed drink, then, after a heartbeat, the sensation was replaced by an icy flow.

  The heat of his anger melted, as he wondered; was he now free?

  Sef took a deep breath and said, “The brigands who assaulted Kaumhurst were followers of Kave. Unbeknownst to me, they were there following his desires, harvesting souls and proving the depths of their allegiance so that they could join a special order based out in the wilds of Kalraith.

  “Even as Kave took me up on my offer and saved my villagefolk during that first attack, he did so easily enough because it was he who’d chosen to see them damned. He changed his plans because there was something about my soul he wanted, and when I offered it up to any god in return for the saving of my people, he grabbed at the chance.”

  Sef marvelled as the words finally came out, springing from his lips after so many years. Like birds flying from a bell-tower at its tolling, he revelled as they flew, elated by their freedom.

  “He accepted my offer, and after I defeated his followers, I gave myself to him. At the same time, he got to feed on the souls of his fallen. Later, after he sent new followers back the next year to destroy innocent Kaumhurst, I realised what he’d done and stepped back from my service.”

  Seig looked appalled. “Kave is Fletland’s protector!”

  “His treachery is true! It’s why I’ve had little to do with the faith since I came to Ossard, but now, having seen the depth of his bloody involvement in dooming this city, I turn fully from him. I choose to follow Juvela!”

  “He’s a god, your god, you can’t deny him!”

  “I do deny him. He may’ve had my silence for a decade, but like my soul, he’ll have it no more.”

  “No, you’ve made your deal!”

  Sef spat a gobbet of blood at Seig, it landing at his feet. “My blood is my own to shed, as is my soul to offer. My divine deal is over.”

  Seig could only stare. He had nothing else to say, so he took a step back and shook his head. Finally, in a resigned voice, he said, “Give them Kave’s justice – we’ll see if they can survive it.” But he found no joy in the order.

  Chapter 9

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  A Call in the Night

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  The ruin was quiet, despite the fact that with the steady intake of wanderers nearly eighteen thousand now slumbered in our warren-like home. There were several families to each room, while others crowded into dormitories, the discovered caves, or overflowed into the ruined buildings that dotted the top of the second terrace or lay scattered across the vale. Unbelievably, we’d managed to build a kind of harmony.

  Of course, such a thing was aided by the knowledge that it was too late for anything else. Simply, with winter settled in, there was nowhere else to go.

  Such peace, as that which hung over the ruin in the middle of the night, gave me a chance to consider things: My desperate hunger, built on a foundation of fevers, aches and cramps, had been about to break me. That was something I couldn’t deny. Instead, my once rising dark appetite had now mysteriously all but vanished.

  On the previous night, I’d again been visited by our haunting hosts after I’d driven Pedro to leave. I remembered that I’d collapsed on their arrival, apparently to sleep through all of that night and the following day. But when I awoke, I found my hunger absent.

  I’d been liberated.

  Just as I was now bereft of my dark appetite, tonight I was also without the need for sleep. Instead, I sensed that slumber wouldn’t be coming. Not tonight, for fate had other plans for me.

  Our hosts were waiting, our hosts who had freed me...

  I slipped out of our bed, trying not to disturb Pedro who had only grudgingly returned. Deep down I knew he was wrestling with his frustration and anger, something caused by how difficult I’d been to live with. Those feelings sat uneasily on a foundation built of guilt.

  My Pedro; what a chaotic marriage we both had to deal with!

  I looked at him sleeping, as I stood there with my arms wrapped around my nakedness against the cold. He seemed so at peace, so comfortable, sprawled across the bed under heavy blankets. The sight was soothing.

  How I wished things could have been different.

  Shivering, I turned from him and grabbed a tunic and cloak to cover my bare flesh. I then passed Maria’s alcove as I left our room, heading into the corridor, wincing at the feel of the chilled flagstones.

  Walking those dark halls, something lured me on. I went after it, attracted like a fish to a baited hook – for I knew what I chased was what had worked to soothe my deep hunger.

  And that was reason enough!

  I travelled down corridors, them empty and lost to gloom. The air was still, if cool, and with that stillness came a calm to silence our halls. As I continued to follow the summons, my hopes rose: They wanted to talk, not send us away.

  Had we passed some kind of test?

  About me, I could sense my hidden company, urging me on unseen. I left the levels of the higher ruin, crossing the lower terrace, until I was at the top of the steps that lined the light-well.

  Perhaps freedom was here, freedom from my addiction? Oh, please!

  This descent would bring change and lift me up, but it was something I’d have to embrace. Like so many things it�
�d also come at a price. The thought saw me remember the warning from the Book of Truth: Today, I wasn’t going to be asked to pay for the power I’d used, not yet, but from today I knew a date had been set. Soon, payment would fall due.

  With dread, I realised that loss was coming for me, but I sensed it was coming to visit in any case. This was a chance for me to endure it while at least standing tall as a servant of Life.

  After all I’d been through, it was a chance I’d take!

  I followed the steps down into the light-well, my last view from the terrace being of the night’s fog that had rolled in from the sea to smother the sound. Out of that low lying mist, the lone tower arose from chill waters, glowing silver in the moonlight.

  Finally, as I reached the last of the light-well’s dry steps, I dropped my cloak and continued on. Spectral hands led me, luring me into the flooded depths. The icy waters rose about me, taking first my ankles, then my knees, and with a gasp of shock my thighs, waist, belly and then my breasts. Soon, my shoulders were submerged and finally the crown of my head. As if in a trance, I ventured deeper.

  Once, back in Ossard, I’d given myself over to the element of air, taking to it in flight, just as I’d brought fire into being through my flesh. Now, I gave myself to the realm of water. My feet no longer trod the slime-covered steps, crusted with barnacles and weed. Instead, I drifted to follow the direction of their descent, while I took in all of this new world’s strangeness.

  The water’s dense, cool, everywhere-touch embraced me as I glided through it like I’d once graced the sky. I’d closed my eyes on reflex, but now they opened to show me what I could see. Down here, in a world made slow and thick, I could hear the drifting of water, its invisible currents, and the passage of the realm’s curious inhabitants.

  I continued to follow the path upon which I was being led, amidst ribbons of weed, until at last my descent was complete.

  There, I drifted into the middle of the floor of the light-well, a space with two full levels of water sparkling clear above my head. I found myself in a garden of lush water plants, the heart of it highlighted by the moon’s silver-blue light and darting schools of fish.

  The insistent but unseen hands of the dead continued to urge me on. Having come this far, I continued, no longer worried at my strange surroundings, and realising that after long moments of being immersed, I could still, somehow, breathe.

  While I was numb to the water’s cold, I could still feel the hands of those who led me towards a dark doorway in one of the light-well’s walls, seeing me through it as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. In front of me, a new set of stairs descended into a passage that ran off into the distance. Without hesitation, I took it.

  Much further on, I could see the glimmer of light fighting back the dark; moonlight, a shaft of silver cutting straight down from the heavens to illuminate the end of my path. I drifted towards it, through the corridor, until I came into it where it dazzled and danced in the cool water.

  The silver-blue glow lit up a round room, one sided by stone carved stairs that curved to rise above. Gazing up, I could see I was looking at the inside of a tower, and the distant moon lay directly overhead.

  Our hosts’ hands encouraged me on.

  I rose to follow the path marked by those steps, to drift up and cut through the thick and cool sea. Soon, my head broke the surface, and without even being conscious of the change, I took in air to breathe. I continued to rise, the water running from my body until my feet landed on the first dry step.

  As I climbed those steps, the numbness that had embraced my body in the chill water renewed itself to protect me from the cool of the night. It felt familiar, akin to the soft emptiness that had stolen away my deep hunger.

  My invisible guides urged me on, their hands at my shoulders, back, and tugging at my arms. Soon enough, I came to the last of the steps, my view no longer hemmed in by worn and ancient stones, but free in the crisp night air.

  Atop the stairs lay a round platform, balustraded and solid, with brush growing where soil and time had seen chance gardens take their opportunity to sprout.

  Life was a tenacious thing – given the chance.

  I knew where I was; atop the lone tower that rose from the sound’s waters. I took my time examining it. Aside from the brush and stonework, there was nothing else to be seen, yet I knew that wasn’t wholly true, for I wasn’t alone.

  They’d show themselves when ready.

  I looked beyond the tower’s balustrade to see the nearby walls of the ruin and the hillside of the sound. All lay dark, but for where long drifts of mist ran towards the shore from its mothering fog. A few flickering lights dotted Marco’s Ruin, those from lone lanterns or the small fires kept fed by our watch.

  How I wished I could properly thank them, working not for a wage, but for a share of our prosperity and the chance of survival, as did all within our walls. Well, not all, for I’d done too little of late. I knew people excused me for it, but I found such a truth hard to stomach.

  Aside from those few lights, all ahead of me was lost to shadow and haze. The only thing that stood out to any degree were the walls of the ruin, aglow in the moonlight, drawing my gaze higher.

  There it was, directly above, in a night sky brilliant with stars; the moon. In places clouds stretched across its surface, like ribbons of lace, and all over a globe of blue, marked with occasional greens and browns.

  What beauty!

  And then I again felt the attention of those who’d brought me here – and of someone they’d brought me to see. There was something familiar in this new presence, something trusting and loved.

  I was sure; it was Marco!

  To the nothingness, I said, “Please, show yourselves.”

  A mist rose from the flagstones to take on forms silvered by the moon’s light. In a moment I was no longer alone, but surrounded by a crowd seemingly woven of the night’s elements.

  Like the spectral figure of my grandmother, they were sometimes hard to focus upon, but at the same time strangely clear. They towered above me, broad and so very tall, with strong jaw-lines, high brows, and robed in garments sporting repeating patterns. Some held banners or pikes that were six paces long, others wore sheathed swords, their blades looking to be taller than me. Armed as they were, they didn’t threaten, they were merely the defenders of this place garbed as they had been on the day of their mortal demise. In all, their presence was stark, yet reassuring.

  I’d thought the Lae Velsanans tall and beautiful – and they were – but these figures, this forgotten race, were so much more. They lacked the Lae Velsanans’ delicate sense of grace, but made up for it with a presence that sung of honest strength. These weren’t a people of subtle skills, but for building great walls and raising towers that would test the passing of the ages.

  I asked, “Who are you?”

  A figure stepped forward, him crowned with a silver circlet aglow as if smithed of the very stars. “I am a prince of an age long past. I have called you here on behalf of one of your own.”

  A soft chorus sounded from his fellows around us, “Grae ru.”

  Behind him, a ghostly banner stood, it sporting a wintering tree. Looking at it, I couldn’t help but think how similar it was to the standard of fallen Ossard.

  The rosetree.

  I bowed. “I am Juvela Liberigo.”

  He nodded. “Grae ru.”

  His manner was distant, his language accented but understandable in the trade tongue of Quorin – aside from that odd recurring phrase.

  After a brief silence, he said, “We have been here a long time.”

  His company of spectres chorussed again, “Grae ru.”

  I didn’t doubt it, but answered, “And we’ve just arrived.”

  “Grae ru.”

  A fresh silence followed.

  This wasn’t going to be easy. It was moments like these that I needed Sef, for he’d tell the Prince to just say what was on his mind.

  The Prince’s voic
e answered my thought like a chill breeze, “You miss him, he has been your stone of founding.”

  “Grae ru,” His people whispered.

  “He’s been my friend, a brother, a father, and so much more.”

  “And there have been others who have helped you, as you sought your path in a world succumbing to the end that is Death’s victory.”

  My voice was full of sadness, “Yes.”

  And sombre thoughts of Sef gave way to those of poor Marco, all of it shadowed by my hope that Felmaradis might return.

  “Grae ru,” they chorused again.

  I added, “There’s too much grief in the world.”

  The Prince nodded, his eyes sad and dark, as they seemed to search through my very soul. “Yet, I have one here, one who wishes to speak with you.” He stepped aside to reveal Marco’s ghost.

  “Marco!”

  He smiled, and there was such hope in it. “Juvela!”

  I laughed with joy. “What company you keep!”

  He joined my laughter, such an odd thing for a ghost, yet it held more warmth than some people hoard in their hearts through all their years.

  I looked about us at the surrounding figures, those who stood so tall and broad. They smiled at our joy.

  The Prince again spoke, “Marco arrived with your people, but needed our help to be able to speak with you. He is new to the ways of the dead.”

  I asked, “Marco, have you escaped my grandmother?”

  He considered his words before he spoke, strangely pairing the pause with the mannerism of taking a deep breath, “She grew strong as Ossard fell, so strong she had no need to remain near your sheltering soul. So, she left, abandoning those of us she’d bound and enslaved, but in that leaving I became free and followed.”

  “Became free, how?”

  “She’s a being of two halves, of good and ill, which have long been in dispute. As the city fell, amidst all that power and chaos, her two halves came to battle amongst themselves, and finally, somehow, parted. While the bitter side of her left the celestial, the good aided me in following, yet I couldn’t keep up with her.”