by Sam Bowring
‘I know,’ he said, his face crinkling in sorrow. He went to the window and set his roll down on the sill. ‘I do not know what I can do, Elessa.’
‘Release me from this torment,’ she begged. ‘Let me return to the Well, gone from the world!’
‘Please, my girl –’ he said, but she cut him off.
‘Do not call me that. I am no longer a girl. I am not anything!’
‘You are our best hope for defeating the shadow,’ said Fahren. ‘You know how important that is.’
‘If you won’t,’ she said, ‘then let me end it myself.’
Tears fell from Fahren’s eyes. ‘I cannot. And I forbid you from doing so.’
She felt the command sink in – as the one who had raised her, his words were binding. She fell to her knees, wanting to sob, uncaring of what effect the fall would have on her flesh. She reached out to grasp the floor as great, soundless upheavals shook her. Fahren knelt beside her, put a hand on her shoulder.
‘You see?’ she said. ‘You seek to comfort with touch, but your actions have the opposite effect. You might as well prod a side of beef. Everything reminds me of what I am.’
Shamefacedly, he withdrew his hand.
‘It is not just me who asks this of you,’ he said. ‘It is the will of Arkus, your very god. Do you not wish to protect the Well?’
Elessa could not answer, her former resolve shattered. All she knew was what she wanted – she wanted Kessum, she wanted to be normal again, she wanted to be dead again …anything but this.
‘It’s only for a few more days,’ said Fahren. ‘I will release you as soon as it’s done, I promise. I’m so s …it’s unfortunate indeed that we encountered Kessum. You were not doing so badly for a bit there, were you? It will be better again once we’re away from here. He will never beat us to the battlefield, and you will have completed your task before he arrives there. You will remember again that what you do is good and worthwhile. You can get through this.’
She pulled herself up. She was not drained, as she once would have been from such a racking fit, for her strength was constant. Looking at Fahren, she vaguely recalled the way they had been once – she the student, he the kindly teacher. She tried to believe that he was right. Really, what choice did she have?
She retreated to her room, and stayed there all night while the others supped and drank. The noise was boisterous at times, but she did not hear the voices of her companions. As the night grew old the noise died down, and finally she heard the downstairs door close, and a bolt slide into place.
Goodbye, Kessum , she thought.
She would see him again, in a way, she supposed – but in the Well love was not the same.
That’s right , she thought. Until a week ago I had no concern with earthly love. That will be the case again soon.
In the quiet of early morning, she found a modicum of calm.
Then came a knock at the door, signalling time to move on. One last stretch to the army, then a task to perform, and she would know harmony once more.
I can do it , she thought, rising from the bed. I will help my people win.
Peace
There they were, hiding in a small wood not far from the river. Raiders who had ransacked his supply carts and left his servants dead, their bodies stiff amongst the woodchips, the sun they’d dared not look upon in life reflecting full in their empty eyes. There were three lightfists with the troop, and although Losara tried to keep himself small, one of them sat bolt upright and turned in his direction. He knew he had been sensed. A moment later all three were on their feet, light suffusing their bodies as the wards came up.
Losara withdrew, perhaps too readily. He was not fleeing, he told himself, merely gathering himself together. He had wanted a moment or two to think …but really, what would thinking accomplish, or change? He did not intend to do anything to these Kainordans that they had not already done to his own. Yet he was tired. He had walked through Jeddies after their ‘victory’ there, seen the ruin he had inflicted. Tyrellan had urged him to continue in pursuit of the fleeing Kainordans – what was the purpose of the ruse with the illusionary mander if not to strike a grievous blow? But had they not done that already, Losara had asked, by taking the camp, and the town that had kept the enemy so easily supplied? More , Tyrellan had wanted – another charge, another try at unleashing the mander through their lines unhindered – and Losara had said no. He had given his excuses: with the light already at some distance, Tyrellan would have had to ride free of the main army to catch up to them, which would put him at risk even with Losara and mages to protect him. Also, if Bel returned to discover his army being savaged by the mander, he would think nothing of riding straight in amongst it all, as he had proved on their journey that morning.
Tyrellan had seemed unconvinced by these reasons, and Losara tried to tell himself they were the real ones. After all, what would be the point of delaying? There was no avoiding the violence, no miracle on the way to end all of this peacefully. He had come this far, hadn’t he? He had murdered the mages of Holdwith, made a mockery of the defences at the Shining Mines, let loose the mander on a retreating army and toppled Jeddies …he even counted that single scout watching the river in his tally. So why stop right when a push could have ended things for good?
You don’t know that , an interior voice countered. Maybe you were right. Running headlong after the light could have been a terrible mistake.
Even now something inside him wanted to slip away, to forget he’d ever seen the Kainordan troop hiding in the trees, even as they waited to do more harm to him and his people. But he knew he could not.
They deserve it.
The words felt hollow in his head. There was nothing ‘deserving’ about any of this.
Where is my calm? I want it back. How many times must I make up my mind? Always I arrive back at the same point – that if I do not act, Fenvarrow will fall. The answer is always the same. The answer is always the same!
He flowed back to the trees, and appeared in the midst of the Varenkai. The lightfists, who were still wary, saw him first. Glowing bolts flew towards him, but their small magic was nothing against his, and he barely felt the impact against his ward. He reached out, pushing through the lightfists’ defences, and shadowy snake heads darted in to slam against chests, flinging bodies backwards with trailing limbs. One, two, three, and the lightfists were down.
‘Faster than a sword blow,’ he told the stunned soldiers. ‘For that you can be thankful.’
He waved his hands, and shadows twisted through the soldiers. They barely had time to cry out.
‘And on and on,’ he said sadly, as they fell.
•
That night, Losara dreamed. He drifted above the armies, watching them as they really were. Several days after the attack on Jeddies, the Kainordans had managed to reinstate something of a proper camp, though rations were strict and resources stretched thin. Bel had a new campsite at the front, looking much like the old one – in fact, despite the ground Losara had taken, it was as if nothing had changed. He circled in closer, and set down.
‘It’s not that far away,’ Jaya was saying, drying her hair with a cloth.
‘All I said was be careful,’ said Bel. ‘Just because you don’t like bathing with soldiers is no reason to take risks.’
‘Risks?’ she laughed. ‘A quick dip in a stream within shout of this many? What do you expect me to do? A lady has some modesty.’
‘And you are this alleged lady ? Who is in possession of modesty , she claims?’
‘You can’t blame me,’ said Jaya. ‘After all, it was you who lost our bathtub!’
‘I’m sorry Brahl did not realise that rescuing it was such a priority. I will tell him next time to abandon the food and instead make sure my lady is well watered. She cannot run from shadowmanders if she isn’t feeling fresh, I will say.’
Jaya thumped him on the arm, and he smirked.
So , thought Losara, my cunning plan has resulted
only in friendly jocularity.
Still, a part of him had to admire Bel’s ability not to think about things too much. Would that I had it too.
The dream swirled. Losara found himself seated in a stark room without a door, looking across a table at Bel. Bel clasped his hands together, while behind him light streamed in from a window, through which Losara could see rolling fields. He turned to find a window behind himself too, but this one showed dark plains, with a fine rain falling from the great Cloud.
‘You said you wanted to talk of peace?’ said Bel.
Losara frowned. Was that why he was here?
‘I’ve only thought about it a little,’ he said. ‘In truth I did not imagine that you, or the light in general, would be open to such an idea.’
‘While your own people are such martyrs,’ said Bel, raising an eyebrow. ‘Forced against their will to invade our lands, when all they really want is peace.’
Losara nodded. Bel was right – things were too far gone for peace. A shared one, anyway.
‘It would be, as you say, difficult to convince them,’ he said. ‘But I have wondered, once or twice …what is to stop each of us simply retiring to our own realms, and leaving the other alone forever? We could build a wall, very high, along the border. We could make a mutual law that no one crosses it.’
‘Bel and Losara, the wall-builders? Not quite what I had in mind for history’s pages.’
‘Just an idea.’ Losara shrugged. ‘Greatness is not always measured by what it replaces. Are you not yet tired of this war, Bel?’
‘Tired?’ said Bel, amused. ‘We’ve only just begun!’
‘I suppose. But would it not also be worthwhile to convince the world not to rip itself apart? History’s pages would remember that, if indeed you care about such things.’
Was that what he really believed? Somehow he did not feel in control. He was watching from within himself, unsure of where the words he spoke came from.
‘Have you forgotten?’ said Bel. ‘It is not just the people you must convince, but the very gods they follow.’ He pushed back from the table, rose and went to the window. For a while he looked out upon his sunny lands, then a smile tweaked the edge of his mouth. ‘Just say,’ he began, ‘that I decide your idea has some merit. Say that you and I are able to work out some kind of accord, allowing us to end this conflict. Our armies disperse, returning to their homes as if nothing ever happened. We even manage to convince the gods that their age-old hatred is just a little misunderstanding, and could they please stop our people despising each other for their different looks, their different ways, and all the harm already done.’
‘Say.’
Bel turned. ‘How long do you think it would last?’
Losara stared at him.
‘How long,’ said Bel, ‘until some disagreement, some dispute, some ruler with zeal in his eye and hunger in his belly …how long until tolerance gives way, until the old divides again seem insurmountable?’ He came forward, planted his fists on the table. ‘Until the end of time, Losara? Are you so naive?’
Inside Losara a great pressure built. He should be feeling something, and he could guess what it was.
Rage.
It was not caused by Bel, for he was no more sitting at this table than Losara was. They were puppets in a dream, a dream he felt certain he was being shown for a purpose. By whom? Fate, the Dark Gods?
Perhaps he could not truly feel the rage, but it was trying to exist nonetheless, an empty shape filling him up. It came because he was doubted, because his hesitance to kill had been noted, and because someone, somewhere, had decided to put him in this place. Mentally he asserted himself, took control of the dream and tore it apart, revealing only void beneath. As he floated free, he thundered.
I AM NOT TRYING TO MAKE PEACE , NOR EVER WAS. DO NOT TREAT ME AS A CHILD WITH THESE TRANSPARENT FIGMENTS.
He thought, for a moment, that he heard water lapping, and a splash …and then he woke. As his mind left the dream, the feelings it had planted crossed over. A great blankness consumed him. He fought to stay abreast of it, to retain sentience. He was doubted despite all he had done, despite the cost to himself and to others …and yet the rage that should have come did not. There was nothing in its place, and that nothing threatened to take over.
They seek to strengthen my resolve , he thought, yet all they achieve is to distract and disturb.
How well did they know his mind, his actions, to think such a vision necessary? They would not see as clearly here in Arkus’s domain, but maybe some skerrick, some moment of dithering, had reached them without the surrounding context. It was hard to know.
He rose from his bedroll – for some reason just then he did not feel like travelling in shadowform – and left the tent. He walked through the camp without really seeing the curious looks he was inspiring.
I do not desire to fight, yet I do. Surely when someone does something in spite of their personal qualms, that should be less reason to question their conviction, not more.
‘No wonder I did not swear to serve you first and only, Assedrynn,’ he muttered. ‘You have shown a lack of judgement with this sending. You should have more faith.’
He found that he had unconsciously wandered to Tyrellan’s camp. There sat the goblin as he usually was, cross-legged on a log watching the enemy. With a sigh, Losara sank down beside him.
‘How goes it, lord?’
‘Uncertain.’
Tyrellan considered him, unblinking.
‘Perhaps,’ said Losara, ‘we should have pushed a little harder, after we took Jeddies.’
‘Perhaps. But my lord had many factors to consider. The enemy retreated faster than expected, and we underestimated their willingness to burn their camp. Perhaps after that it would have been foolhardy to ride within their range, so far ahead of our own troops, even with the shadowmander. My lord would have had to accompany me to withstand their might, and though I would willingly lose my life to such endeavour, yours is not so lightly given.’
‘Sound justifications,’ said Losara, relieved to find that they actually were. He grew a little calmer. ‘Though you should value your life too, First Slave.’
‘I did not say otherwise.’
Losara smiled. ‘Good. May it be a long one, then – though I admit I have no small trouble picturing you after this war, if we should win.’
Tyrellan glanced at him uneasily. ‘Pardon?’
‘What will you do, if there is no light left to fight?’
Tyrellan ran his tongue over a fang. ‘I have not given it much thought, lord. I imagine I’d continue to serve the shadow.’
‘No desire to settle down?’ said Losara. ‘Maybe raise a family?’
Tyrellan shot him a look of undisguised disgust. ‘You speak as if it will be a clean sweep, lord. No doubt there will be pockets of resistance for years to come.’
Losara chuckled. ‘Already talking yourself out of retirement, Tyrellan?’
Tyrellan grunted. ‘Retirement is for those who find no value in their work.’
‘Or those who know when a job is done.’
Presently, Losara returned to his tent. This time he did travel in shadowform, and appeared in bed to find Lalenda missing – strange, for she had been here when he’d left, and it was still an hour or two until dawn.
As his head found the pillow, proper restfulness finally came. Drifting off easily, he did not notice Grimra’s amulet under the sheets on Lalenda’s side of the bedding.
A Bit of Privacy
She climbed and climbed, higher than she had ever flown. She sought to avoid patrols of Graka or Zyvanix, and well coloured she was for such clandestine enterprise – brown skin in the dark night, and wearing the blackest dress she had. The moon was low and dim on the horizon, making for less chance of any glimmer showing along her crystalline wings. She was nervous but angry and determined too, all mixing to form a churning cocktail in her stomach. What she attempted seemed unreal, and yet here she was attempting
it.
She reached an empty space in the sky with no patrols nearby, and turned east. Zyvanix were her main concern, for if she could fly this high, so could they. They lacked her night vision, however, and she was sure she would see them coming. She felt naked without Grimra, but she could not trust even him to keep quiet about what she intended. While Losara might have tolerated her independent actions in burning down Whisperwood, she doubted very much that he would approve of her current course.
Well , she thought, he should not toy with certain dangerous notions so frequently.
It was easier to navigate than she had feared, for the enemy’s army was twinkling with light, giving her a clear indication of its edges. As she moved widely around them, her heart pounded so hard she thought it might knock her off course. Searching, she found the spot she looked for, and positioned herself directly over it – a stream, part of which ran cloistered between trees, some three hundred paces off the eastern side of the army. For days she had watched Bel’s camp, and every morning his Jaya went off to bathe, not to the river, but to this secluded little spot.
‘Precious,’ muttered Lalenda.
Did she really mean to follow through? It was not too late to turn back and pretend this had never happened. Then she pictured the prophecy, saw herself and Jaya each pulling on the hands of a blue-haired man – and she drew in her wings to fall. No one below should see such a dark spot plummeting, and although she noted a Zyvanix patrol, it was only a vague shape far away. She held her wings tightly to her, trying to fall faster. As the ground rushed up towards her, and the enemy grew rapidly larger in her field of vision, her misgivings quadrupled. She had slightly misjudged the stream’s location – understandable given the distance from which she had started this fall – and eased her wings out gradually. To spread full length at this rate would probably rip them from her back, so she found herself necessarily slowing at exactly the point at which she was most likely to be spotted. The trees came at her and she veered between them, thinking for a dreadful moment she was going to crash – but a split-second decision led her to bring herself down in the stream with a great splash.
