The Light of Kerrindryr (The War of Memory Cycle Book 1)

by Davis, H. Anthe

  “And some of us decided that this was not how things should be.

  “We could still shape ourselves at will. And so, withdrawing from the herd, these first revolutionaries gave themselves claws and sharp teeth, and held the first hunt.

  “You might think of them now as wolves, but they did not look like it. They were a conglomeration of traits—long legs for chasing, sickle-claws for cutting and clinging, heavy jaws to tear flesh and snap bone. Ridged skulls and hardened hides to protect from the kicks and struggles of their prey. And yet they were the first pack-hunters, and did their self-assigned duty well.

  “Too well. For when they looked into the eyes of their prey, they still saw themselves—and when their prey looked into them, it was the same. A horror. From the very first kill, reverberations sped through the Great Spirit, shuddering down into every single creature in existence with the knowledge that somewhere, someone had broken the unspoken covenant.

  “And for a moment, the spirit clenched around those renegades like a hand on a pulsing heart. They were the anathema, the great traitors. Blood on their mouths, the wolves trembled beneath the weight of the spirit’s fury.

  “But then, one by one, small voices rose in defiance of the spirit. That green valley was not the only place the people had overrun. The seas teemed, the skies were dark with wings, and each season the growing things were being stripped back more and more by greedy mouths. The world had become overfull.

  “And the spirit stopped, and considered this.

  “For it had also seen its children's suffering. It knew that something must be done, but this new pain was terrible and deep; the gaze shared by predator and prey wounded both to their shared core.

  “And so, in an act that was as much self-preservation as accession, the Great Spirit tore itself in two. One side for the predators, one side for the prey.

  “With that division, we became two races. Those who had become predators left their former societies and, in groups or alone, began the culls. Some prey fought back, some adapted for defense, and some scattered to the winds and waters. Through it all, the one spirit that had become two regarded itself and questioned what it had done, for now starvation had been replaced by death and war.

  “Still, for a while the situation worked well. Where the prey had been overwhelming, the predators curbed them, and where the predators took too many, they starved or adapted to need less. Civilization began when the prey built the first walls to keep their predators out. In the sky, in the water, on land and underground, the battle for life and resources fostered invention and created tribes.

  “This broke the spirits apart further. Tribal folk began shaping themselves the same, behaving the same, and adhering to tribal rules so that they might easier identify predators in their midst—or, for the predators, so that they might work cooperatively to bring down their prey. Laws, traditions and taboos sprang up, and the two spirits found that they could not hold all these disparate systems within themselves.

  “And so the spirit of predators and the spirit of prey each broke away ‘child’ spirits and gave them to the tribes. Still connected in some ways to their great parents, these child-spirits became the essence of their tribes, and through them their tribes became races of their own. The plainsrunners became the Rretekhi, the river-waders the Oegar, the cooperative forest-hunters the Thiolain.

  “And as the spirits split, and as the tribes formed, it became more difficult for the tribesmen to shift to something that they were not. Wolves could no longer infiltrate Deer by taking on their shape; now they were almost always wolves. The Oegar shed any pretense of shapeshifting, preferring their great bulk and might over any clever tricks the old gift might have given them; likewise, the tribe of goblins chose not to change, and descended into the lightless depths to explore and conquer the underground. The birds adapted more and more to the air, the sea-tribes to the water.

  “And then the Outsiders came from beyond the sky.

  “You see, there are many things beyond the sky. The true essences of the Dark and the Light; other worlds, other realms both lesser and greater; other enemies, far crueler than any that walk this earth. But these Outsiders were the first to find us, and as they descended in their crystalline spires, people of all tribes looked up in amazement and felt themselves drawn to the places of impact.

  “And when the spires opened and the Outsiders saw us, we learned that we had more to fear than the battles of predator and prey. For the Outsiders brought two things that had not yet been seen in these lands:

  “Magic, and genocide.

  “We looked upon them and saw cold, heartless beauty. They looked upon us and saw monsters. And from the very first, they were determined to destroy us.

  “They descended upon the nearest tribeholds and eradicated them. Prey fled, predators tried to fight, but we were no match for the power directed against us.

  “You should know that well. You’re wearing one of their arrowheads.”

  Cob blinked and touched the shard of silvered crystal that hung from the cord around his neck.

  “The elements rose up to aid us, but one by one the walkers of earth and wood and ice were struck down. And as the Outsiders hunted us, we learned that our spirits could die too. Prey-tribes scattered, their terror driving them into full animal forms, their traumatized spirits fading into nothing. Predator-tribes fought and found their spirits captured by the Outsiders’ magic, then executed. Their bodies froze in their war-forms, unable to change, and many were driven mad by their spirit’s death-throes.

  “And the two greater spirits, the ones to whom all the native peoples belonged, knew something must be done.

  “The spirit of prey was infuriated by the war. Its gentle children were being decimated anywhere they were found, and few knew how to fight back. Though it could no longer control all prey-creatures—the creation of the tribe-spirits had distanced it too far—it found a way to slip into the skin of one of its mortal children.

  “In that skin, it still had all its influence over the earth, the water, the trees. It could crush the life from Outsiders and drag them underground, rally the prey-people to its will, and—most surprisingly—destroy any magic the Outsiders flung at it.

  “And it named itself the Guardian.

  “Its counterpart, the spirit of predators, was delighted by this new opportunity. But instead of leaping into the skin of one of its mortal children, it sent them to capture Outsiders. Through experiments it learned that just as the Outsiders could destroy the native spirits, so could it destroy an Outsider’s essence and slip inside its form.

  “And it named itself the Ravager, and moved among the Outsiders as one of their own, to learn their magic and use it against them.

  “Slowly the tide turned. We began to hold our ground and fight them with their own weapons. Clever skinchangers learned to infiltrate them by taking on their forms—or crude versions of them—and enacting assassinations. You and I wear those forms now. Slowly, slowly, we split their forces and drove them into the cages we had made for them.

  “Because though we were raging, though we were full of hate, we would not do what they had done. We would not exterminate them.

  “And the Guardian and the Ravager moved among the generations as the upheavals of war and spirit-death and infiltration slowly subsided. The children of dead spirits were adopted into new tribes. The features we stole from the Outsiders remained, first as badges of honor and then as habit, as anonymity, as sort of a…common tribal currency. A way to speak to each other not as predator and prey but as equals, as allies against the Outside. No fangs, no claws, no antlers or hooves, nothing to remind the other side that sometimes we killed and were killed by each other.

  “Masks.

  “And because of these masks, sometimes passion bloomed where it should not. The spirits, still in pain from the loss of so many of their mortal children, allowed such passions to be consummated, but the progeny of these unions belonged to neither spirit. They h
ad souls of their own. They were what we call ‘humans’ now—mixed bloods, unshifting, wearing the faces of the Outsiders.

  “And now the two halves of the Great Spirit, the Guardian and Ravager, have come to reside in us.”

  For a long moment there was silence but for the rumble of wheels and the slow, distant murmur of the thunder beyond. The bundle lay forgotten in Cob’s lap, the words whirling in his head. Somehow he could almost glimpse it: the battlefields, the shining spires, the native creatures in all their strange and brutal iterations. He swallowed thickly, not sure if he could believe it. It changed so much.

  “So you know wraith-magic because you’re this Ravager?” he said finally.

  “Mm. A short history of magic: Wraiths taught it to humans. Humans used it to overthrow the ogres then blow each other up. The Silent Circle rose to regulate magic in the north, stomping on many people in the process. Other arcane organizations operate elsewhere, practicing other styles of magic. The end.”

  “Ogres? What ogres? And where were the so-called gods in all this?”

  The sorcerer’s cloak tugged between Cob’s back and the cart-wall, so he knew that Morshoc had shrugged. “Hard to say. They didn’t emerge until humankind became more a race than a collection of half-breeds. They're the humans' gods, after all. Even Death.”

  “How could Death not have been there before?”

  "If she was, she didn't show herself during the Age of Wilds. She couldn't—can't—take skinchanger souls because they don't have any, just pieces of their tribal spirit. So if she existed, it was without purpose.

  "However, the hybrids—half-bloods, humans, whatever you call us--have souls and no spirit to claim us. So Death came for us. Later so did the other awakened gods; their followers go to them when they die, instead of to Death's netherworld. A bit like the connection between the spirits and their tribes--though less benign, in my opinion--but by choice rather than by blood."

  “What do you mean, awakened gods?”

  “Well, we don’t know what they were doing before humans came around to worship them. Sleeping, perhaps. Some gods used to be mortal, but the others—like Death and the Nemesis and the God of Law—just showed up.”

  “Not the Light, though?”

  “No, it was always there. Along with the Shadow Lord. The Moon came later, but before the awakened ones woke up. Moon-Shadow, Shade Mother they call her sometimes. The southerners worship her.”

  "That still sounds like ‘everyone except the Light is Dark’ to me.”

  Morshoc made a noise of annoyance. "Look, this is the story as I've always heard it. Maybe it's not the absolute truth, but at least it's better than Jasper's stupid lion."

  "What lion?"

  "Wait, he actually didn't tell you?"

  "No, and yet you keep complainin’ about it. So what is it?"

  A long pause, then Morshoc exhaled an exasperated breath. "...Now I'm telling his stories for him. I suppose that's what I get. Fine.

  "Once, a very long time ago, there was a boy named Gwydren who lived in a tower in the woods with his parents and his little sister. His father, a forester, and his mother, a sorceress, were tasked to watch over the dark forest in which they made their home, for it was a time when great and terrible forces walked the wilderness and sometimes threatened the shining cities beyond.

  "The tower and—"

  "Wait," said Cob, puzzled. "I know this story. But it's Gidrin, and they didn't live in the forest, they lived outside it."

  "Is this your story or mine?"

  "You said it was Jasper's."

  "Well, I'm the one he told it to, so--"

  "But you're tellin' it wrong."

  Morshoc spat a stream of curses, then said, "Fine. You tell it."

  Cob pondered for a moment. It had been a long time since he had heard the story, and just the name Gidrin made him remember his home in the mountains and the sound of thunder outside, the rain dripping around the cave-mouth. The atmosphere here was unsettlingly similar, so much so that he could almost feel his mother's arms around him in the dark, her scent and her warm breath in his hair. For a moment his heart ached so badly he could barely breathe.

  "It... It was about a boy named Gidrin," he mumbled, trying to get past the lump in his throat. "Lived with his folks and sister, yeah, but it was near this Dark sorcerer's forest which no one was supposed to enter."

  His words rang clumsily in his ears, with none of the grace or cadence he remembered, but when he tried to piece together the real words, he heard his mother's voice, and he could not bear that. Taking another breath, he went on, "His sister. Uh. His sister was shy and Gidrin was bold, so he was always off near the woods while she stayed home. So one day Gidrin came back and she was gone.

  "Their parents were workin' elsewhere, so the sister'd been all alone. And there were cat-prints everywhere—she loved cats—and then the sister's little footprints goin' toward the woods. So Gidrin followed 'em. They went right up to the forest and he went in because he was kinda stupid--they don't say it like that in the story but he was. So he called for her and called for her and heard someone cryin', so went to find 'em.

  "But it was jus' a cat stuck in a hedge--a normal cat with a ribbon 'round its neck like his sister's. So Gidrin freed the cat and followed it when it ran off, but it was too fast, so he got lost. He came to a lake next and there was this wildcat thrashin' in the water with a ribbon around its neck, but he wasn't entirely stupid, so he didn't go wadin' in to help it. He rolled a log in the water instead and it scrambled up and ran off, so he chased it. It was fast but he was pretty determined.

  "He chased it for a long time, then suddenly the forest ended in a huge hedge. The wildcat went right over, and Gidrin tried to follow but the hedge was all thorns. He walked all the way around but there was no break in it, so he sat down and cried.

  "Then this ragged old lion came out of the forest and walked right up to him, not growlin' or anythin', and lay down in front of him. He saw a ribbon in its mane, so he climbed on its back, because I guess he was that stupid after all.

  "So the lion jumped right over the hedge, and Gidrin saw that behind it was this tall black tower. The lion went up to the big black door and then said to Gidrin, 'I am an old weak lion. If you give me your youth, I will be strong again and can take you to the top of the tower.' And so Gidrin, who I guess was used to things like talkin' animals and crazy suggestions, agreed.

  "The lion broke the door in one pounce, and behind it were big spiral stairs goin' all the way to the top. The lion ran up 'em, and as it did, Gidrin grew. At the bottom he'd been jus' a kid, but as they went up he got bigger and stronger and the lion grew younger and sleeker. And Gidrin thought he'd become a man and could rescue his sister on his own.

  "But the stairs went on and on, and the lion ran faster and faster, and Gidrin got older. His hair started goin' white. 'Stop!' he said, but the lion was jus' a blur and he couldn't let go of its mane. Up and up they went until he was brittle and weak and the lion was young and strong. Then finally they reached the top of the tower, where they found a landing with one open door. They went in.

  "The only thing in the room was a big tangled bed. Gidrin slid off the lion and went and pulled away the blankets, but there were only bones there. Bones and ribbons."

  Cob paused, only now realizing some of the implications of the story. He had not heard it since he was a child, when dark forests and black towers and talking lions had been more interesting than the blankets and the bed. It sent a shudder down his spine.

  "But...so, anyway," he continued, wanting it over now, "the lion came closer and changed into a man with a lion's head—the Dark sorcerer. And he stretched his mouth wide and ate old Gidrin up. The end."

  He heard a snort from above, then a throttled laugh, and then a full-force bend-over guffaw--he could tell because of the way the cloak tugged. He glanced back but saw only vague movement in the darkness, Morshoc's laughter ringing off the enclosing walls. "What?" he said, i
rritated.

  "It's—" Another choking laugh. "It's not you. That was brilliant storytelling. Oh Athalarr, oh Drixi, how priceless."

  "Kerrindrixi!"

  "Yes, don't spoil it. This is too good."

  "And who the pike is Athalarr?"

  "Jernizan's lion-god. You don't even know that?" And the man dissolved into further peals of laughter.

  In the cart, Cob sulked. He vaguely remembered talk of lions in regards to Jernizan—probably why the Crimson Army was so paranoid about cats, beside the fact that they were Dark servants. Jernizan was the enemy of both the Empire and Kerrindryr, and Kerrindryr had allied itself with the Empire for protection against Jernizan's depredations. That a tale implying that the Jernizen's lion-god was a sorcerous, child-eating monster would be popular among his people made sense.

  Not just eating—

  "Oh gods," said Morshoc, voice still brimming with amusement. "I wish Jasper had told you his version now, just so you could tell him yours. Imagine the look on his face..."

  "Yeah? Well what's his like, then?"

  "Will you let me tell it this time?"

  "I'm askin', aren't I?"

  "Yes, yes, let me see. Black tower, dark forest, parents and a sister... Right. Now, the tower and its walled grounds were enchanted with the strongest spells the sorceress could muster, to make them safe within the threatening forest, and thus the children never felt afraid though their parents were often called away to hunt the wicked denizens of the woods. They had each other and the family cat, and would roam the vast labyrinthine gardens where their mother's enchanted flowers grew.

  "One day, while they were playing hide-and-seek among the hedges, Gwydren—"

  "Gidrin."

  "Did I interrupt your story to correct you? It's 'Gwydren'. It's not my fault the Drixi talk like they can’t unclench their teeth."