Ebudae

by Carroll, John H.

  “I’m not sick. I’m telling you, something is protecting him.” He crossed his arms and leaned against a different wall, away from Gorman. “A few nights later, I tried following him again.”

  “Wait, what about the murder?” Gilron asked.

  The agent rolled his eyes. “I had to kill two of them and the other two ran away. I reported it to my contact in the Guard. No idea what they did with the information.” He said it without boasting, leading Pelya to realize that the man was dangerous.

  “I see. Go on.” Gilron waved for him to continue.

  “I was able to follow him quite a ways the next time. I moved quickly, but I’ve never been so focused on everything as I was that night. I sidestepped gutters and dark corners, making certain my foot was on solid ground each time.” He bent his knees and got low, reenacting the events. “I stayed away from any mysterious shapes. I dodged web that had a spider sitting on it. Its poison could have killed me within a day if I didn’t have the right antitoxin.”

  “The Guard has antitoxins for just about everything.” Bava tapped her chin with a finger. “Interesting that your life was being put in danger, but always with a way to survive.”

  “I thought the same thing until I turned a corner and ran into one of the Deformed.” Those words got a reaction out of everyone, including the two others in the room who had gathered close to listen. “I never heard, saw, smelled, or sensed it in anyway. It was just there. It bit my shoulder and would have infected me if I hadn’t had on my leathers.” He tugged at the leather jacket he wore which acted as thick armor. “This is a new jacket. I destroyed the other one.”

  “That’s very disturbing,” Gilron said.

  “I agree.” The agent looked at Gorman. “That’s when I told you that I knew where he went. I didn’t think you’d ever ask me to tell you and didn’t care at that point. I believe I would have died if I tried again.”

  “I think you made a wise decision,” Bava said. “Frath is God-Touched and nobody knows what that means. Perhaps that has something to do with it.”

  Awareness dawned in Gorman’s face and he snapped his finger. “That’s right. I didn’t even think about that.”

  “Great,” the agent replied sarcastically. “I had a God trying to kill me.”

  “I think you were being sent warnings,” Gilron suggested. “If a God wanted to kill you, then you would have died rather quickly.”

  Pelya caught a dim flash out of the side of her eye. A shield leaning against the wall had been jostled and was catching sunlight from the one window high in the room. She ignored it.

  “So you have no idea where Frath goes. None at all?” Gorman asked the man.

  “None.” He shrugged. “I’m not getting myself killed by the Gods.” The agent adjusted his clothing to make certain everything was exact. “Now, I have other things to do. Good day.” He ignored the bemused expressions that followed him out the door.

  The shield flashed in the side of her eye again. Pelya looked at it and noticed the shadows behind it. “Have you checked the Shining Shield Inn?” she asked the others.

  “Not yet,” Gorman admitted. “It was going to be our next place to check. Why don’t you and Bava do that, and you if you wish, Commander? I have an alert out for squads to report if they see him otherwise.”

  “It’s my day off and I’m enjoying the company,” Gilron said, smiling at Pelya. “We’ll go now.” He turned to Sir Imbra. “Will you continue with us?”

  “I will. The fate of Frath Jornin concerns me.”

  The shield flashed in Pelya’s eye again. “Last one to the carriage is old.” She dashed out the door before they could react.

  Chapter 12

  A breeze caressed Frath’s cheek. He groaned and brought up a hand to scratch his stubbled jaw. Pain shot through his arm. He rolled over to grab it with the other arm and pain shot through his ribs. Frath knew numerous words to describe how he felt and he said most loudly.

  He forced himself to his feet despite the pain. Every ragged breath he took sent pins through his ribs. After stumbling and swaying for a minute, he held onto a corner of a pew with his right hand while holding the left close to his body. Looking down, he saw that his arm was straight even though it still felt broken.

  The breeze rustled, causing the purple flames on candles lining the sides to flicker. Distra’s voice whispered through the church and danced through his skull. “Healing is not my strength, but you must go now. They are searching for you.”

  He turned and saw the statue’s glowing purple eyes staring at him, through him. Distra looked at his thoughts. “The man will be fine. Follow the shadows. Your daughter searches for you.” The eyes darkened and the statue bowed its head in sorrow once more.

  “Wonderful,” Frath croaked. He made his way along the main aisle past the black stone pews. The shadows danced sadly, as they always did. In addition to the pain in his bones, his muscles ached.

  He reached the arched double doors, which were grey with black carvings of crows surrounded by curving rose stems. The petals on the roses were purple, as were the eyes of the crows. It was the only color on them. Shadows opened the door on the right.

  He walked past the brown tufts of grass and macabre skeletons of trees that seemed as though they had never known leaves. A rusted iron gate lay ineffectively on the ground next to a low stone wall that surrounded the building. Frath looked back at the ancient two-story church with a tall steeple at one end. Dark stones formed the walls and it had a red, iron shingled, A-frame roof that was rusting. Past rains falling on the roof had left red trails down the stone, making it appear as though the church was bleeding.

  Crows stared at him from the eaves and tree branches as he half walked, half stumbled onto the street. His legs just didn’t want to work. He was tired and in pain. But Pelya was looking for him and he would never let her down.

  Nobody living walked the streets in the Forlorn District. A few centuries ago, the High Council had it walled off to keep people out because it had become so haunted that even a consortium of priests couldn’t exorcise the ghosts and whatever else was there. Nameless creatures roamed the streets and alleys. Ghosts peeked out from dirty windows. The sun was out that morning, but it didn’t shine as brightly in the Forlorn District. At least it wasn’t night when ghosts floated through the sky.

  When healthy, he could move faster than anything that dared the district’s streets. At the moment, he was far from healthy, but the shadows protected him. They would rise up against any shambling creatures and scare the ghosts away.

  By the time Frath reached the tunnel to the Orphan District, his muscles had loosened and he was walking mostly upright. He kept his arm cradled into his belly, hoping it wouldn’t be necessary to fight. Surprisingly, nobody bothered him even though quite a few people gave him sidelong glances. From there, it took an hour to reach the Noble District and the Shining Shield Inn.

  A huge, scar-faced man named Damen, who had a wooden leg and wielded a wicked double-bladed scythe, stood by the large kitchen door as Frath approached. In Dralin, every door had to be guarded against rogues. “Judging by the way you’re walking, you’ve either been mugged by rabid rats, or you made the mistake of sparring with your daughter.”

  “I’m not stupid enough to take her on. It was the rats. They’re getting mean these days.” Frath liked the man and swapped jokes with him on occasion. He had been one of Sheela’s favorite people and the man had been inconsolable the day she died.

  “Ha! I wouldn’t challenge her either.” Damen smacked Frath on the back as the guardsman headed to the door.

  The sound of a crack and a flash of pain blinded him for a second. When it faded, he was on his hands and knees on the three short steps up to the door. The breath he drew was long and ragged. It felt as if it vibrated every rib in his chest.

  “Frath! By the Gods, I’m sorry.” Damen was on his knees next to Frath, distressed at having hurt him. “It sounded like a rib, but I didn’t th
ink . . . I’m sorry.”

  Frath exhaled and tried another breath, not liking it any better. There wasn’t anything extra in his lungs to formulate the words to tell the man it was okay. He had been feeling better, but was ready to just lie down and take a long nap at that point.

  “I’ll go get Mistress Purla. She’ll know what to do.” Damen rushed to the door and threw it open. “I need Mistress Purla now! Frath is hurt bad.” He disappeared inside to search for the innmaster’s wife.

  Two of the kitchen staff rushed out, wiping hands on their aprons. “Frath, what happened?” a young woman named Terry asked as she bent to touch the side of his head in concern.

  Frath responded with another ragged breath.

  “He’s been hurt, but I don’t see any blood,” one of the junior cooks said while kneeling next to Frath. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” His hands were gentle as he helped the guardsman to stand.

  “What’s happened?” Purla asked as she held the door open for them. The matron’s rich voice filled the air. A life of smiling was beginning to add pleasant wrinkles on her face. Life and vigor filled her even though her formerly brown hair had become mostly grey.

  “He’s having a hard time breathing,” Terry said. “He’s also cradling his left arm and he looks like he’s in pain.” She was holding Frath’s right hand and kept a delicate hand up to his cheek. “I hate it when he’s miserable.”

  “That’ll be enough Terry,” Purla told the young woman who was always solicitous of Frath’s health. “You come sit down at this table, my friend,” she said to Frath. “Do I need to get the healer?” Purla studied Frath as he sat down. “If you can’t answer me, then I’m taking that as a yes.”

  “No.” Frath got the word out. He wasn’t willing to deal with a healer until he could think clearly. The last thing he wanted to do was answer the inevitable questions. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of having to dodge them either.

  “I don’t believe you, but I’ll let it go for now. Ahh, here’s some chilled cider to help.” She took the cup from Terry and set it down in front of Frath. Terry looked disappointed at having the drink intercepted, but went back to work chopping up vegetables at a table nearby.

  A thick, meaty voice boomed through the kitchen. “What’s this about Frath being hurt?” Albert was a burly man built like a tree. He was a former knight who lost his sword arm in battle and then later bought the inn with his wife. Frath had saved the man’s life once and they had become true friends from that point on.

  “He has difficulty breathing and is cradling his arm. I’m worried about him.” Purla put a hand on her husband’s shoulder as he walked up to look at his friend. “I’ve got to keep an eye on those new girls before they clean Lady Sheraza’s shoes with her feet in them.”

  Albert kissed her and patted her bottom with his lone hand. “You go on. The inn is quiet today. I’ll take care of him.” He sat down on a stool at the end of the table next to Frath. “Hello, old friend. Tell me what’s happened to you.”

  It was painful to breathe, but if he did so slowly, Frath could talk. “I fell down some stairs and broke some ribs and my left arm.” It was a similar phrase Frath had heard uttered by many a battered wife or child. “I crawled into a corner and passed out, but I don’t know how long.” He took a sip of the cider, which had a touch of cinnamon in it. Aromas of cooking food wafted under his nose and his stomach growled in response.

  “I don’t believe a word of that, friend, but I’ll not press you on the matter.” Albert frowned as though there was a lot more he wanted to say. “You know you can trust me? . . .”

  Frath was ashamed at misleading his friend, but he had never told anyone about Distra. Except Sheela. He had taken her there after they met and often in their brief time together. “I know,” Frath said, looking the innkeeper in the eyes. “I trust you.”

  Albert was somewhat mollified by the answer. “Alright. You have your reasons. If you have broken bones, we need to get you a healer. Damen, the kitchen door will be fine for a short while. Go get the healer.”

  “No. I’ll go to the Guard District Healer Hall.” Frath waved for Damen to stay. “I’ll be made to in order to explain my absence from duty.”

  “And what will you tell them?” Albert asked, clearly not pleased.

  “That I fell down the stairs.” Frath took another sip of the cider and looked innocently at the ceiling.

  “Uh huh.” The innmaster was dubious, but Pelya and her companions came in before he could say anything else.

  “Daddy!” Frath saw his daughter rush toward him and cringed in anticipation of the impact.

  Albert stood between them. “Oof!” The innmaster was knocked into the table. Pelya ran into him and bounced back in surprise. She liked to run into Frath at full hug as she called it. She was getting big enough to knock him off balance occasionally, but he enjoyed it . . . when he didn’t have broken ribs. Albert reached forward and steadied the girl. “Careful, lass. Your father has broken ribs and you’ll do him damage like that.”

  “Daddy!” Her voice filled with alarm as she knelt by his side and took a hand. “What happened? Are you alright? Who hurt you, Daddy? Nobody’s allowed to hurt you. I need you, Daddy. Please don’t die.” Pelya burst into tears and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He stared at Gilron and Bava in complete confusion. They were frowning, but didn’t say anything to enlighten him. Behind them was a Knight of Reanna, the one that had blessed Sheela’s ashes by the fountain on Lady Pallon’s estate. The knight’s arms were crossed and he appeared concerned. “Here now, it’s not my time to die,” Frath reassured Pelya. “What’s this all about?”

  Pelya released his neck and stood back a step. “I’m sorry I killed mommy. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

  The words made no sense to Frath. What did make sense was that his daughter was suffering and miserable. He stood and wrapped his arms around her, raising her off her knees and holding her close. “I don’t hate you. I’m not going to die and you didn’t kill your mother.”

  She turned her head to the side so she could speak. In between sobbing breaths, she said, “Mommy died b . . . because of m . . . me. I should have d . . . died inst . . . stead of her so you could be happy.”

  “Here now. That’s not so. Don’t you dare say such a thing,” were some of the statements made not just by the group, but by the kitchen staff that had gathered around too. Frath picked her up off her feet and held on tighter, much to the dismay of his ribs.

  “There needs to be some talking done here,” Albert said. “Let’s go to a private dining room.” He raised his voice to a booming level in order to be heard by all. “The rest of you get back to work. We have customers to feed.”

  A few of the kitchen staff groaned, disappointed at losing excitement to break the long workday routine. Frath and Pelya followed the innmaster to a private dining room off the main common room. Once everyone was inside, he told one of the servers to fetch food and drink and then he closed the door.

  When everyone had taken a seat, with Pelya sitting on a bench with her father’s arm around her shoulder, Albert spoke. “The first thing we need to straighten out is this misconception that your father hates you, Pelya.” He leaned over her and pointed a finger in her face. “Your father loves you with all his heart and has never hated you for any reason. I know that for a fact.”

  “That’s right,” Frath agreed fervently.

  Albert sat down on a cushioned dining chair at the end of the table. “Your father was miserable when your mother passed on. However, he was proud to have you as a daughter and vowed to raise you and protect you no matter what. Every time I talk to him, he tells me how proud he is of what a fine young lady you are.” The innmaster grasped Pelya’s hand. “Your father has never hated you and never will. I give you my word on that. You know my word is good, lass.”

  Pelya nodded solemnly. The weaponmaster was the next to speak. “You know that your father was raised in
an orphanage, yes?” he asked Pelya. When she nodded, he continued. “When you were born, he vowed that he would never let you end up in one.”

  Bava joined in. “I think I know why you think he hates you, Pelya. He glares at you and seems mad sometimes, right?” Fresh tears burst from Pelya’s eyes and she nodded, unable to speak coherently. Bava smiled tenderly. “He’s scared for you and he’s told me so. When he glares, it’s not at you, it’s at everything he’s afraid will happen to you. This city and all the bad things that happen to people upset him more than most know.”

  “I’m sorry,” Frath told his daughter regretfully. She was shaking in his arms. “I promise that I don’t hate you and I’m not mad at you at all. I’d just die if anything bad ever happened to you. I have nightmares . . .”

  “I know, Daddy,” Pelya said, flinging her arms around his chest. It caused him to gasp in fresh pain. She let go and brushed the tears off on a sleeve. “What happened to you, Daddy? Why are you hurt and why didn’t you return for duty?” Pelya crossed her arms and glared suspiciously.

  “I fell down some stairs.” He knew she wouldn’t believe him, but it was the story he was going to stick to.

  Pelya didn’t respond for a moment. Nobody else did either, figuring his daughter had the best chance of getting the truth. “I don’t believe you, but I know when you’re not going to tell and this is one of those times.”

  The easy concession worried Frath, so he studied her face. He looked her over a little closer and noticed dried blood, not all of it human, on her clothes. He jerked upright in alarm. The simple motion sent agony through his ribs yet again, eliciting a groan.

  “Daddy! You need to be careful.”

  He took in a wheezing breath before speaking. “Where have you been and what happened?” Frath took her by the arms and looked her over. “Are you hurt?”