Eliscius had never sat in judgement upon him like so many of the other councillors who had ruled the city during his previous time here. He had always pushed Wist to achieve more, but he had also accepted his limitations.
The training he had undergone thanks to Eliscius and his advisers returned to him in a sudden rush.
He had learned to fight. With all manner of weapons from daggers to pole-arms, and bows to hammers. Even without weapons, he had been taught to fight. He had been pushed to the limits of his endurance during those sessions.
As his mind reeled at this revelation, a new horror unfolded, playing out in his memory. Tilden had brought an army to Mashesh.
It had been no army in the ordinary sense of the word. All manner of corrupted and tortured beasts had been driven down upon the city; fear and hatred pushing them on. Men and women had been slaughtered as they futilely attempted to stop the horde reaching their home. He had fought alongside them until he and his comrades were routed. He had blood on his hands from those battles.
Finally, they had fallen back behind the city walls and the siege had begun. The people of the city had nowhere to go. Before them lay a force greater in number than they could have conceived of; behind them lay only the barren desert. The siege had ground on for days. Without supplies from the trade routes that the Corb brought, Mashesh would quickly starve. The city lived on the edge of panic as they waited and prayed for a miracle.
As the city reached breaking point, a lone rider had been sent from the army encamped outside the city’s boundaries to the city gates. The armoured man had requested an audience with Eliscius, and the council had granted the request.
He had been present at the meeting when the message had been delivered. Wist was to be handed over. The city would be spared if he was surrendered.
He had been astonished. Why had he been so important?
Eliscius had refused the request out of hand, but there were many amongst the council who had questioned the logic of this decision. There were some that demanded he be turned over immediately, that it was the only chance any of them had to save the city. Eliscius had merely smiled and told them all that once he was gone, the city would be sacked anyway.
Wist had burned with righteous fury; he would go and face his fate. There was nothing that could be done to him that he feared, Wist had claimed. He would go and put an end to the siege. Of course, Eliscius had implored him not to go. Throwing his life away to satisfy his childish notions of heroism, he had called it. Wist had called him an old fool, and then he stormed away to meet his destiny.
Things had not gone the way he had envisioned them. He had walked brazenly up to the massed army’s encampment and then he had demanded to see Tilden. They had laughed at him, then he was beaten and dragged away to a stinking cage.
Tilden came to look at him, but the thin man never bothered speaking to him before the torture began. He asked no questions and made no demands. Silently, excruciatingly, Tilden began breaking him.
He had never imagined that such pain was possible. All concept of time and being had fled from him during the unending barrage of physical and mental torment. Every nerve was aflame as his body was stretched, cut, broken and burned. He begged Tilden to tell him what he wanted, pleaded for release when he could find the strength to talk. Tilden remained silent throughout.
Then the torture stopped and he was left for days in the baking heat of the sun. The stench from the surrounding army left him permanently nauseous; the pain in his body increased with each passing day.
When Tilden finally returned, Wist had grovelled at his feet for release. He would have done anything to escape the pain.
Tilden had smiled then. He asked him how he had done it: how had he come here?
Wist jerked awake as he toppled sideways from the horse. Only Faric’s quick reflex actions stopped him from landing on the ground, catching him by the collar and hauling him up.
‘You should not sleep while you ride,’ chided Faric. Wist was glad for the cover of darkness to hide his shame.
His embarrassment was soon forgotten as his mind was flooded with memories stirred by his dreams. Exhilaration filled him: he hadn’t imagined it all. The doubts that had hung over him had lifted, albeit partially, and even this small measure of confirmation was a massive relief. He had feared for his sanity in the past weeks, caught between his waking doubts and the ghoulish apparitions that had haunted his dreams.
The elation was tempered with guilt though. His failure to protect Aviti cut deeper now that he knew he could have fought; not the dark Waren, as Tyla had christened it, but he could have stood beside the Lyrat as they fought the Krowen. The thought of their corpses repulsed him. The mere idea of having to raise a blade again brought on feelings of nausea. He cursed himself for his weakness.
Wist’s thoughts turned back to his mentor. He had been devastated when N’tini had told him of Eliscius’ excommunication and execution at the hands of the people of Mashesh. Everything he had done had been for the good of the people. He had always placed them first, even at the expense of his own comfort and happiness. To hear that Wist’s own apparent demise, at the hands of Tilden, had been used as a lever to force Eliscius out dismayed him. But now they travelled across the open desert to see him once more.
Apprehension mixed with excitement in his racing mind. He had been childish when he had parted with Eliscius for the last time. He had run off to be the hero, to save the day.
Eliscius had filled the role of father figure to the city; carefully guiding its path and overseeing the burgeoning cities growth and development. But his wrath had been legendary in the council. It was rarely seen and held in reserve for the people who deserved it, but he knew that he could soon feel its rough edge.
The guidance the old man had given to him had been invaluable. He had filled a need in Wist for someone to confide in. He had also kept him busy and given him a goal. The training sessions that Eliscius had arranged with the most skilful warriors and battle matrons had tested his physical and mental limits. When he had marched out to face the horde for the first time, he had been blinded by pride and determination.
The realities of war had come crashing home though. The bullish enthusiasm for battle had been swept away when he had seen the sheer scale of the enemy forces. The array of terrifying beasts and humanoid creatures had been described to all of the soldiers before they had departed Mashesh, but they had been unprepared for their first glimpse. There were creatures that looked as if they had been stitched together.
Oversized Gorgoth had waited behind the main body of the army, whipping the monstrosities before them into a frenzy. How that horde had bayed for their blood. Wist shuddered as he remembered the chaotic start to the battle. The defending force had picked their ground carefully and had let the enemy come to them, forcing the fight to be confined in a small village that had been abandoned some time before the battle. The council had underestimated the threat that this army had posed. No-one had thought that the entire army would move en masse down on top of the village, and the carnage that had followed had shocked him to his core. The smaller, expendable creatures with which they initially engaged had been torn apart by the larger beasts that had followed, so desperate were they to get at their prey.
Then the Gorgoths, some of them half as big again as the largest man he had ever seen, unleashed a devastating barrage of rocks. Indiscriminately, the missiles had landed amongst the opposing forces. Wist had narrowly missed being hit, only to be covered with the innards of his comrades and foes that had battled alongside him. Panic spread in the ranks of the soldiers and soon they were in full flight, the laughter of the Gorgoths’ rumbling in their ears.
After that initial disastrous rout, Eliscius had become distant. He shouldered the blame and took full responsibility for those losses. Wist had attempted to convince Eliscius that the fault was not his. Others on the council had been responsible for planning the strategy of the battle, providing information an
d scouting reports. Eliscius had simply waved him away, unwilling to listen to his protestations.
The rivals for control of the council started to move against Eliscius. A whispering campaign had begun, seeking to undermine his position by stealth rather than directly calling for him to be replaced. Wist had been incensed by the attack on his mentor, but Eliscius did not seem to care. It was as if the deaths of those soldiers had removed his self-belief and drive.
The council had called for the tactics of the war to be altered; direct confrontation was hopeless, it was argued. They should now rely on striking at the oncoming forces and then retreating to the safety of the city. Wist knew that the force was too large to defeat this way. The council were asking them to delay the inevitable, crushing end, where they would be over-run in their own homes, or starve to death within them.
Wist had found little support for his own views. When he had called on the council to mass their army, to call out to their friends for support, he was ignored and then he was excluded from discussions which were deemed to be above his station as a mere soldier. How he had burned with the anger of humiliation at this treatment, but what had angered him more was the capitulation of his friend. Resentful at the lack of support from his mentor, he had told Eliscius that he was a weak old man.
He regretted those rash words now. How could he understand the pressure Eliscius must have been under, with so many lives depending on his decisions? His childish outburst could only have added to the pain he had felt at making such a grave error over the battle.
Wist glanced up to the sky, trying to shake his thoughts. They had been riding for a long time as the moon had passed its zenith and was now heading for the horizon.
‘What troubles you?’ asked Faric.
Wist brought his attention back to the Lyrat, his hands hurting from gripping on to him for so long.
‘Just thinking of Eliscius,’ he admitted. ‘I made a lot of mistakes the last time I saw him. I hope he can forgive me.’
‘Tell me of him,’ requested Faric. ‘We travel a long way to meet someone I have seen only in dreams. I would like to hear of the man.’
He paused while he thought of an answer.
‘I don’t know how much I can tell you,’ he replied. ‘I’ve been having problems remembering anything about my previous – time here. My memories have holes. That the harder I try to recall something, the harder it becomes to fill in the gaps.’
‘Perhaps it is like riding,’ remarked Faric.
He thought about the Lyrat’s comment for a moment.
‘I don’t understand what you mean.’
‘When you ride a horse as powerful as these,’ replied Faric ‘you cannot simply force it to your will. You must develop a partnership, one that you must take the lead in.
‘Guide the movements, but do not strive for complete control. Overcoming your fear is the first step.’ Wist nodded, without being sure of Faric’s meaning.
The horse strode on through the desert night-time landscape. Tyla and Aviti rode in front of them in silence. She either had fallen asleep, or was pretending, to avoid conversation.
‘He was a great man,’ began Wist at last. ‘He ruled the city of Mashesh, not as a tyrant or king, but as an overseer. Much as you describe your pact of co-operation with the horse, he would always seek to guide, never to force. But I don’t understand how he can possibly be alive. The years that have passed since I last saw him –’ his voice trailed off into the empty vista.
‘And yet here you are,’ noted Faric. ‘There are many things in life that I have no understanding of, but I do not question their existence.’
Wist adjusted his sitting position again. The stiffness in his legs and back were growing intolerable. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked. ‘I know we are going to Eliscius, but surely we will not reach there tonight?’
‘No,’ replied Faric. ‘The journey to Eliscius will take us many days, and we have still to cross the White Corb. Tonight, we head for a village, left empty for many years.’
‘A village in the middle of the Desert?’ The doubt in Wist’s voice must have been obvious to the Lyrat.
‘From time to time some of our people grow tired of our wandering life and seek to settle.’
‘How can they live where there is no water?’ He gestured to the arid plane.
‘There is water in the most surprising of places, Wist’ replied Faric. ‘Do you see the circles on the Desert floor?’ Faric pointed to a line of evenly spaced raised ridges.
He peered into the darkness and managed to make out the features.
‘Wells?’ he asked doubtfully.
‘No, at least not in the way you have wells in Mashesh,’ said Faric, qualifying his answer. ‘They connect to underground streams, a long way under the surface of the sands.’
Wist thought about this for a moment. Willing to concede the point, he nodded. He was sure the desert had contained more life the last time he had been here; more trees at least.
‘Why did they leave then, if they had an abundance of water?’
‘Perhaps the streams ran dry?’ answered Faric. ‘Who can know for sure? The Great Desert is an unpredictable and unforgiving land.’
‘We shall be there soon. Then we shall rest and eat.’
--*--
Aviti had overheard some of Wist and Faric’s conversation as she rode with her face resting against Tyla’s back. She kept her eyes closed, unable to talk.
The vision of her brother’s brutal slaying tormented her. The man whom had led the mob had been familiar, but she could not place him.
How could she go on without her brother? She had prepared herself for losing her father, he had been ill for so long. She had accepted that Cairn would step into the void left when her father passed on. The shock of losing her brother as well threatened to overwhelm her, so she pushed the painful thoughts away as far as she could manage and tried to focus instead on the early part of the dream, where she had seen her mother. It had unsettled her to look upon her mother in the prime of life. Mabon had stood as a young woman, fighting for her life, alongside her father.
Her only memories of her mother had been as a fragile invalid, too weak to get out of bed and play with her. She had spent many hours sitting on the edge of her mother’s bed while her mother braided her hair. They had talked endlessly of the things Aviti planned to do when she was older.
She had told her mother that she would never be a farmer, or worse still a farmer’s wife. How those words must have stung her mother, but she had never gotten angry. In her dream, Mabon had only smiled and told her that she has thought the same way once. When Aviti had asked what had happened to her, her mother had smiled warmly and told her that her father had come into her life. She never spoke of her life before. All her mother had said was that they met while N’tini had been travelling, and that she had returned home with him to be wed.
The illness that crippled Mabon grew worse as Aviti grew up, as if her life had been granted at the price of her mother’s. Every winter N’tini would move his wife into the kitchen and keep her seated beside a permanently blazing fire. When Aviti asked her father what was wrong with her mother, he would simply reply that she was tired and needed rest. Pressing the issue would result either in N’tini changing the subject or, when other matters lent upon him, he would grow angry.
His anger had always passed quickly and he would apologise to her for his loss of control, but he would still refuse to answer her queries. He would say that she was too young to worry about such things.
Thoughts of her parents forced Aviti to face the painful reality that she was alone now. Somehow, she would need to decide what to do next; but not just yet. For now, it was taking all her energy just to remain on Tyla’s horse.
She thought of her mother again. It had not been a dream. At least it had not been just a dream. This must have been what her father described as his “visions”. But how could her dream have been a true glimpse of the past? Violent flame
s had erupted from her mother. Aviti had watched as her mother had vaporised an enormous globular mass. Her father had stood alongside her; a sword in one hand, a small axe in the other.
Aviti opened her eyes to see where they were. Without moving her head from where it lay, she could see only vast oceans of darkness. She was not ready yet to face the future.
Perhaps then, these were her parents’ parting gifts to her; from her father, the ability to watch but not act, and from her mother, the power to act without control.
7 - Empty Vision
The two horses moved towards the abandoned buildings, deep within the Great Desert. The solid darkness of the night had passed, and now the pre-dawn light let Wist see the ramshackle structures. He could make out four separate buildings, two of which had collapsed back to the sand, the effort of standing surpassing their endurance. Using straw and mud to build a home betrayed a lack of conviction, or perhaps the people who had built them never got the chance to make their dwellings more permanent.
As they moved past the first of the collapsed houses, Wist looked at Aviti. She had lain almost motionless against Tyla’s back for that night’s entire journey. Whilst he had been caught up in reverie, he had been able to detach himself from her suffering. He turned his thoughts to the present.
‘How long ago was this place abandoned?’ he asked.
Faric shrugged. ‘Many generations must have passed certainly. It has lain fallow for as long as anyone could recall.’ Then he took a breath and glanced from one desolate structure to another. ‘Places of refuge from the sun are valued by our people, and so knowledge is passed from tribe to tribe. It is essential that important events are not forgotten. We have few places where such things may be stored. Spreading tales and stories is the best way to keep our people alive. It worries me that this should have been forgotten. ‘Our traditions are not the only thing to have been eroded,’ the Lyrat concluded.
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