by Colin Taber
“And how do such messages arrive?”
“By a courier; a Flet who comes twice a year.”
“And he gains passage into Lae Wair-Rae?”
“Through a House Jenn port on the north-east coast, one of the old Praagerdam fishing towns.”
“So, this Flet has been to see the lands of the Praagerdam and survived to return home?”
“I’m sorry, you’ve misunderstood me: This Flet is of what he calls the New Praagerdam, so when he goes there, it is to return home. He enjoys visiting Fletland, but always longs to head back into the west.”
“A New Praagerdam! It’s true then, House Jenn are our friends?”
“So it seems.”
Sef looked to the floor, his mind running with thoughts as he digested the news. “I’d heard Fel say that they’d worked to restore the borders, but to actually call it a New Praagerdam! Can we believe it?”
“The Seers have talked to the courier and say his words ring true.”
“So, what’s he say of his home?”
The Countess smiled and went on to talk of a series of isolated valleys with tended fields, orchards and vineyards that produced the finest of wines. She spoke of Flet villages and even towns, mostly left to themselves, but hidden away, protected from the heart of the Lae Velsanan’s Fifth Dominion by a wide buffer of House Jenn’s estates.
“House Jenn asks nothing of them, but for them to not leave their hidden vales. They buy their produce, adding such stocks into the ledgers of their estates, and promise greater freedom in the future.”
Sef asked, “How’s this possible?”
Anton added, “And why should it be?”
“Because House Jenn is a protector of justice, and for that, they seem prepared to risk everything.”
“And risk they do, for the Flets will never be a popular cause in Lae Wair-Rae.”
“I believe you’re right. Perhaps House Jenn will fall, but this courier believes there’s change on the way.”
“But what if he’s wrong; another Def Turtung?”
“I have wondered myself, but the courier says it’s not to be. He says that the future has already been read by some, and is being written by others who have the power to craft it.”
Sef shook his head in wonder.
-
After the audience, staff showed Anton and Sef to their rooms. They advised that in the morning two horses would be made ready, steeds that could be left with the Countess’ agent in the last lakelands town of Haagestrich. The two travellers then dropped off their packs and were led to an adjacent garden courtyard where lunch was served. For the rest of the day they were given the freedom of Adonis and the Countess’ home. They used the first part of it to sit in the courtyard and talk over all that had happened.
Sef was in a wistful mood, almost overwhelmed by all he’d heard. “A New Praagerdam, another land of the Flets! Who’d have thought it possible? And for it to be growing out of the former’s ashes!”
“A miracle – or too good to be true?” Anton cautioned.
“You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t get carried away. But one thing we do know for certain is that there are Flets left at the heart of Lae Wair-Rae, and that’s something to celebrate. At least after the fall of Ossard there’s still more left of my people than Fletland.”
Anton gave a smile. He could understand Sef’s wonder, for had he not spent almost half his life amongst the Flets. “It’s amazing, it’s true. I remember growing up, when we’d be invited to a Flet home for dinner – and such things did happen. On grand occasions the toast to open the meal would always be to the Praagerdam.”
Sef also remembered such a thing from Kaumhurst, repeating the traditional toast in full, “May we meet again in the Praagerdam!” His eyes teared up.
Anton put a hand to his shoulder. “Dear friend, I hope it’s true.”
Chapter 31
-
Decisions Grave
-
After Pedro and Silva had gone with their volunteer troop I climbed down from the heights of the old hall’s tower and sought out Grenda. I wasn’t ready to face the people of Marco’s Ruin.
Yesterday, she’d promised to call for me when she had some answers, but that hadn’t happened, and now I was slipping into despair.
How could I have let them leave without a blessing?
Was I truly unable to help?
It was hopeless!
I came into the canyons, the space warm and green. A mist hung in the air, some of it from waterfalls, most of it from the hot brooks’ steam. For a moment my vision swam, leaving me dizzy and staggering towards the rock of the cliff-wall seeking support. Then my view changed, drifting from today to some point in the future.
About me sang the canyons’ waters, their song rising in mournful tones. Nearby the trees and herbal brush stood silent, as if mired in smothering shadows. All of it left me feeling small and sombre.
I pushed off from the cliff-wall, heading to where the paths began. Before long I discovered why things felt so different: Spread before me were my people.
They lay nursed by the soil to fill every space between pools, shrubs and trees. All of them fallen. They sported a sickly pallor to stain their deathly cold skins.
My legs buckled, seeing me collapse and join them.
I must have blacked out, for I’d indeed fallen, only to start awake and find myself slumped against the cliff’s stone.
I needed to find Grenda!
With a deep breath, I got up and headed for the paths. I made straight for the mother tree, for that, of course, was where I’d find her.
-
She was there, and to my surprise, so was the Prince. Better still, I’d found the walk to be calming, giving me a chance to refocus.
As I headed into the clearing, moving through the ring of silver elms, they both turned to look at me. For once the Prince smiled, but Grenda looked pale, perhaps even shaken.
I walked to where they stood on a stone slab beside the rosetree. “Good morning.”
They both nodded, but it was the Prince who spoke, “Grenda has told me of your questions and fears.”
“It – along with all else – just adds to my burden.”
He lifted one of his giant hands, putting it coolly to my shoulder. “Fear is one of the greatest burdens, something that cripples and ultimately kills. Fear afflicts not just the body, but spirit. It’s a cruel sickness.”
“My burden is hard to bear by myself, perhaps too hard.”
“That is why we help as we can.”
The air chilled as others of his kind joined us, them chorusing, “Grae ru.” Their voices whispered the affirmation like a chant, the sound coming long and slow.
Grenda forced a smile, if it but sad. “Ask him your questions.”
I looked to him. “Today, I let almost two thousand of my people march to their doom, including my husband, without even a goodbye or the blessing they wished. Was it right to let them go, or am I already lost to my fear?”
“Juvela, you have a hard road to walk, one that you are growing into along the way. What do you think they really wanted from you?”
“Me to go with them and offer what support I can. To give them hope and a blessing.”
Something in his eyes twinkled at my words, something built of sorrow – but also relief. “If you go to Ossard your resolve against your hunger will falter as you leave the influence of our given aid.”
“Grae ru,” his people chorused.
“But they’re doomed without me!”
“And doomed if you go and try to bless them, as you will lose control of your hunger.”
“Grae ru.”
How deep his words cut!
“I’d be overwhelmed by my addiction?”
“As soon as you touched the celestial away from our soothing aid.”
“Grae ru.”
My tears began to flow as I choked on my words, “What kind of symbol of hope am I if I’m free to do n
othing?”
“For now, you are a symbol, nothing more. You are a rallying point for their hopes and dreams, a place fallow for them to be planted in.”
“Grae ru.”
I snapped, “More like a field of freshly dug graves awaiting the sowing of corpses!”
Grenda then spoke, “Juvela, you’re to show them the way, like the light of a lamp in the night. You’re not here to do everything for them, not even fight.”
“You’re asking me to stand by and watch, to let them die! And what of my visions of this place? All I see coming is death and decay, and these canyons carpeted with bodies!”
Chillingly, the Prince’s fellows whispered, “Grae ru.”
They knew!
Through my tears, I said, “Where’s the hope in that?”
The Prince answered, his voice thrumming deep and with care, “Night comes before day, just as winter comes before spring. A garden must be prepared, planted and watered before it shoots to bloom.”
“Grae ru.”
I shook my head at his words, not daring to consider what they meant. “I want to see my people, to be there for them when they most dearly need hope. I don’t want them to die outside Ossard’s walls feeling betrayed or alone!”
“You do?”
“Yes!”
His ghostly eyes glanced to Grenda before settling back on mine. She looked shaken and deathly pale, but it was the Prince who spoke, “There is something else we need to tell you.”
I paused, warned by his ominous tone. “What?”
“Your grandmother has left this place, her presence moving with the marching of the volunteers. She is hidden amongst them.”
I stared at him as my heart stilled.
He asked, “Why would she go with them?”
There was only one answer. “She wants revenge on the Inquisition. If she’s gone it’s to foil the attack, perhaps to give it away by spoiling surprise. The Inquisition will be slaughtered – and our volunteers.”
Pedro was doomed!
He paused before answering, “They should be warned.”
I nodded. “Yes, I can send a rider!”
With a weak voice, Grenda asked, “Will they heed a rider?”
I looked down, my voice broken, “No.”
Not one lacking authority; they’d be full of adrenalin and Pedro too proud!
The ring of ghosts about us took a step forward to tighten the circle. As they did they whispered, “Grae ru.”
Silence fell, something somber and complete.
The Prince gave a considered nod. “Despite the risks, do you really want to be with them, with Pedro and his volunteers?”
“Yes, I do,” I whispered.
“Juvela, only you carry the authority that will see them listen. I wish it was otherwise, but if they are to be warned then you must go. In this we will do what we can to aid you, but it will test our limits.”
And again the spectral circle about us closed. “Grae ru.”
Along my shoulders, arms and back, I felt the fall of over a dozen dead hands. Chill at the touch, they tingled, the sensation oddly soothing. Their voices sounded in unison, led by the Prince, “Grae ru.”
Feelings of fear left me, as though washed away. Instead, a sense of certainty settled within me, anchored solidly in place.
At the same time, some of the ghostly figures about me seemed to dim. One faded away, breaking up as wisps of mist. The Prince’s fellows tried to ignore it, but many of them looked pained.
The Prince spoke, “You may go to warn them, but if you don’t catch them or can’t stop them joining battle, you must stay out of the fray. We have strengthened the shield previously planted about your soul, something to ease the worst of your deep hunger, but don’t test it by touching the celestial or it will fail. You are still mortally vulnerable, and thus should keep back from any fighting, but may stand tall as a symbol of hope. Tell your people of your love and best wishes, but don’t offer them any divine aid.”
“Thank you.”
“If you arrive too late and the battle has already begun, your presence will still lift their spirits. Perhaps that will be enough.” He looked to me gravely. “Don’t be tempted to do anything more. If you break the celestial shield, all the anger of your deep hunger will be unleashed. You will fail.”
Beside him, with tears on her cheeks, Grenda turned away.
-
I spent the afternoon with Baruna and Angela, checking over the ruin, making sure that all was in good hands. With that done, as dusk neared, I quietly announced my intention to follow Pedro’s volunteers with the coming sunrise – not to join the fight, but to deliver an important message.
The notion of leaving the soothing aid of the Prince worried me, but I took him at his word that if I followed his instructions I’d be safe. I was also concerned that the timing would be tight, but figured I’d still be able to catch them at Goldston where they would meet with the Inquisition’s land forces. To ensure I didn’t miss them, I arranged for a lone rider with a spare horse to leave at sunrise. He was to race ahead of us at speed and find Pedro, letting him know that I was coming with vital news.
While I’d also aimed to leave at dawn, when it came, only the messenger rode out despite the fact that I’d worked through the night. My own plans had bogged down: I should have realised that no one was going to just let me go and leave the ruins. I wasn’t to travel alone.
Angela had embraced my announcement as an excuse to follow Silva, as she was worried about him and his sudden enthusiasm for war. An escort of volunteer guards was hurriedly prepared, but with Angela now included, it meant that such a thing doubled. Baruna, who was to remain behind to oversee the ruin, insisted upon it.
With drivers for coaches and others to help with cooking, the horses, and yet more guards, the escort again grew. Before I knew it we numbered a hundred. But, finally, we were ready to go.
We departed mid-morning. Despite the lateness it was a relief to be on our way. I left Maria behind in the care of my parents – and under the protection of the Prince.
Ossard had eaten enough children.
Unlike the previous dispatch from our walls of foot soldiers and carts, ours was of coaches and mounted guards. It came much smaller, though strangely, we seemed to ride with as many banners. We left to a cheer from our people who remained; even Grenda and the Prince came to watch us go. It was at that parting that Grenda passed a small pouch to me and said in a sullen voice, “Don’t depend on it, but it might still have a use – if not for what you’d originally hoped.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Ground moonroot.”
So, under a weak sun we rode out and travelled along the beach on one of winter’s last days. We passed the Loyalist camp and then made our way along the trail that followed the southern arm of the sound. As we did, I prayed our messenger could make Pedro listen and wait.
-
We travelled at a good rate as the weather held. After leaving the ruins and Loyalist camp behind, we mostly sped along the worn trail that ran along the base of the ridge to spread as the sound’s narrow shoreline.
At first I was excited to be on my way, empowered by a feeling that my important news would be heard and acted upon in time. But, eventually, the truth of the world intruded.
The first hint of the gloom ahead came when I noticed a half tumbled shelter made up of oleander canes, canvas and brush leaning against some large rocks. A sickly woman sat beside it by a small cooking fire. She watched us pass, but also looked ahead to something over the trail, something in the water. I turned to see a couple of dirty children knee deep, working at gathering mussels and other seafood. And that was just the beginning, for soon other crude shelters came into view.
The miserable hovels were huddled about a few small overhangs at the base of the rising ridgeside. Between them was nothing but rock, mud and the odd smouldering cooking fire, all of it sparsely peopled by the Northcountry’s destitute.
&nb
sp; Next to me, Angela said, “I had no idea that they were here.”
I looked to them as I answered her, “Me neither, but it just shows the spread of Death’s corruption in the North.”
Looking at those people, wrapped in their rags – they were miserable, but indifferent to our passing – only intent on the basics of survival, which meant shelter, water and food. “If we offered them anything to eat they’d gladly part with everything they have.”
Angela looked to me with surprise. “Juvela, they don’t have anything. That’s half their problem!”
“In the way of gold or livestock and pots and pans, that’s true, but they’ve still got some of the North’s most valuable currency.”
“What?” she asked.
“Their souls.” I then called through to Kurt, “Stop the coach!”
One of our mounted guards came forward to my door, “My lady, we should continue on. It’s not safe to stop.”
In truth, I hadn’t considered such a thing, but realised that my guards saw these poor people as a threat. Regardless, I only needed a moment. I opened my door and jumped down, asking him, “We must have something we can spare. Do we have some bread?”
My actions had been noted – if not my words – seeing a stirring amongst the bleak inhabitants. Some got to their feet. One old lady pulled a sour face from where she sat by a small fire, herself wrapped in soiled blankets.
The guard left me for the next coach to consult with the woman overseeing our stores. She gave him a small sack of something, which he lifted up to show me. “Half a dozen loaves. It’s all we can spare?”
I nodded. “Can you try and share it amongst them, please.” There were at least a dozen shelters and two score people we could see.
“Of course, my lady.” He moved to do so.
At his mounted approach, some stepped forward, eager to get their share. Behind them, the old lady with the sour face hissed, “It’s demon food from the larder of a witch. I’ll not be touching it!”
