Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  The four of them made their way down into Tinska, and the smell of the sea reminded Knot of Pranna. Pranna was as close to a hometown as he’d known. It was a village, a tiny place compared to Tinska, but they shared the smell of the sea and the ocean wind, the dock jutting out into the harbor. Those smells reminded Knot of other things, too. Things that were not his own, and yet were in his head, anyway. They reminded him of an attempt to sail the entire circumference of the Sfaera, where he’d almost died off the coast of Andrinar. They reminded him of pirating in the warm waters near Alizia, taking gold, ships, and lives as he pleased. They reminded him of the great city of Triah, located at the mouth of the world, and the dark purposes he’d once served there.

  To say his memories were becoming more clear since he’d learned who, and what, he was in Izet wouldn’t be right. They were muddier than ever. But there were more ingredients, now, more bits and pieces thrown into the mix. The feeling of having been at a certain place before, having said a certain thing, returned more frequently. Knot didn’t like it. Once already the memories had taken him too far, had buried who he was. Jane had been there to help him, but he didn’t want that to happen again.

  He had to remember what was real. The memories of others, while they may have happened, were not real to him. Not in the way that Pranna was. Not in the way that Winter had looked at him on her father’s fishing boat.

  As they walked through Tinska, however, the nostalgia passed. Where Pranna was hardly more than a dirt road surrounded by a cluster of houses and shops, Tinska was home to thousands of people. Pranna was surrounded by windswept plains and tundra, with occasional pockets of red pine forests. Tinska, on the other hand, was surrounded by green trees and sat on a shelf of sorts above the water, with sandy beaches below, dark after a recent rain.

  “Where’s your uncle’s place?” Astrid asked.

  “The Harmoth estate is just over that hill,” Jane said, nodding at the rising land ahead of them.

  “Canta rising,” he heard Cinzia whisper when they reached the top of the hill.

  A massive manor house rose before them, sited on a large grassy ledge above the rocky beach. Tents, lean-tos, wagons, and small campfires dotted the large fields surrounding the house. A few large trees rose above the tents here and there, and horses, oxen, and other beasts of burden milled about amongst dozens of people who had made the estate their home.

  “What in Oblivion…” Astrid did not seem to have the words to finish.

  A young woman of sixteen or seventeen ran up to them, a great smile on her face. She walked immediately up to Jane. “You’re her, aren’t you?” the girl asked.

  Knot looked at Jane, who seemed taken aback. “I… I don’t know…”

  “You’re Jane,” the girl said, more confident now. “You’re Jane. You’re the Prophetess.”

  Knot raised an eyebrow.

  “I… I suppose I am,” Jane said, hesitantly.

  The girl laughed in delight. “Blessed be Canta’s name. You’re finally here.” She turned and ran down the hill towards the crowds of people. “She’s here,” the girl shouted. “The Prophetess has arrived!”

  4

  Harmoth estate, Tinska, western Khale

  CINZIA FROWNED. THIS COULD not be good. “Prophetess?” she asked, glaring at her sister.

  Jane shrugged. “I never asked for such a title.”

  Heads began to turn at the young woman’s shouting. Many were staring up the hill at Cinzia, Jane, Knot, and Astrid.

  “I doubt you’re hating it, either,” Cinzia muttered.

  Astrid nudged her. “Nice,” she said, winking up at Cinzia.

  Cinzia rolled her eyes. “Come on,” she said. “We’d best find our family.”

  “Go on ahead,” Knot said. “Me and Astrid will take our time.”

  “Are you sure?” Cinzia said.

  Knot nodded. “You haven’t seen your family in months. Take some time with them.”

  Cinzia glanced at Astrid, who was looking out at the crowd, her hood shrouding her face. Cinzia did not think her family was aware of what Astrid really was. By the time Astrid had been revealed in Navone’s city center, the place was already in chaos. If her family was aware of Astrid, there might be problems, but they would have to be told sooner or later anyway.

  “Very well,” Cinzia said. “But we will find you two soon afterwards.”

  Knot nodded. “We’ll be close.”

  Cinzia was comforted by his words. Kovac’s death had left a void in her heart. She had loved him like an older brother. Knot, despite his darkness, made her feel safe in the same way Kovac had.

  As Cinzia and Jane approached the milling people, hands reached towards them, eyes bright with anticipation. They seemed to be waiting for Cinzia and Jane with a kind of charged patience. They are not waiting for both of us, Cinzia reminded herself. They are here for Jane, not me. She heard cries of “Prophetess!” and “Jane the Chosen!”

  “They won’t let us pass, sister,” Cinzia whispered. “You’re going to have to address them.”

  Jane raised an arm, and almost immediately the crowd quieted. Cinzia felt a chill run up her spine. This kind of power was dangerous.

  “My name is Jane Oden,” Jane said, loudly but without shouting. “This is my sister, Cinzia. Some of you may know, she is a priestess in the Cantic Denomination.”

  Murmurs rippled through the gathering. Most of them had not known this, apparently. Cinzia was immediately on guard. She looked around for Astrid and Knot, but she could no longer see them.

  “You say I have been chosen. You say I am a prophetess.”

  Here we go, Cinzia thought. This was it, her sister’s moment of glory.

  “You’re wrong,” Jane said. Cinzia looked at her sister in surprise.

  “I’m only a servant,” Jane continued, “and that is all. I had a question, and I chose to bring it to Canta. The Goddess, by her grace, responded. And now something has begun that will change the Sfaera. In these times, as we prepare for the darkest days the world has ever seen, Canta has chosen to reveal herself. But I am only her servant. I am not a leader; I am not a revolutionary. I’m only a woman who wishes to do the will of her goddess.” Jane turned to Cinzia. “My sister, Cinzia, has served Canta faithfully her whole life. She has studied Canta’s word at the great seminary in Triah, and taught Canta’s children of Her nature and doctrine. And now she travels with me, still serving Canta’s will.”

  Jane hesitated for a moment before continuing. “You’re all here, each and every one of you, for a purpose. Some of you will be teachers. Some of you will build Canta’s kingdom on the Sfaera. Some of you will raise children, teaching them the way of the Goddess. And, among you, there are those who, like me, will be able to communicate directly with Canta Herself. You each have a purpose, my brothers and sisters. You are all Canta’s servants.”

  Cinzia could feel the energy radiating from the crowd. No, not from them, Cinzia realized. The energy came from Jane.

  Jane paused again, as if to let that feeling of crackling energy sink into her audience. “My sister and I have traveled a great distance,” she said. “We have seen great darkness. We have seen what threatens our world. So now we need to be reunited with our family but soon we will return. Canta has great things planned for her children.”

  Though the energy had faded, the residual effect was still there. Jane’s audience stared at her in perfect silence. Even the children seemed captivated.

  “May Canta be with each of you,” Jane said. Then, she walked forward. Cinzia hesitated a moment before falling in behind her sister. The small crowd parted easily in front of them, staring at Jane as she passed, faces eager, but somehow changed.

  Cinzia was surprised to see tiellans among the predominately human crowd. Their shorter, slighter frames and pointed ears made them stand out. Tiellans had never been excluded from Cantic ceremonies and doctrine within the Denomination exactly, but their services were separate, and slightly differen
t, to cater to tiellan tradition. Or so Cinzia had been told.

  Cinzia knew why tiellans would be drawn to an alternative to the Denomination. The Denomination had not treated them well. The Denomination claimed to accept them, but in reality only heaped more persecution upon them.

  Cinzia sighed. She saw one tiellan girl, a few years younger than herself, and was immediately reminded of two tiellans lost in Roden. Winter, Knot’s wife, and Lian, their friend.

  Cinzia and Jane made their way across the grounds of the Harmoth estate—named after her mother’s family—the mass of people parting a few paces in front of them the whole way. The effect was eerie. Jane seemed to have a bubble of force around her that repelled the crowd as she walked. Cinzia glanced back, and, sure enough, the people fell into place a few paces behind them. Finally they reached the large double-doors of the manor house. Jane turned and waved to the crowd, a large smile on her face. “We know many of you have traveled great distances to see us,” she said, her voice carrying across the throng. “Canta knows, we are grateful. We will be among you soon.”

  * * *

  “I don’t appreciate your constant use of the word ‘we,’ sister,” Cinzia said as she closed the doors behind them. “I have no intention of walking among them any time soon.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Cinzia,” Jane said with her maddeningly calm demeanor.

  Cinzia’s jaw clenched. How could Jane be so serene when she felt such rage? “Why are they even here? How did they hear about us? How did they find our family?”

  “I don’t know,” Jane said.

  “If people like this can find us—simple people, tiellans, villagers—then who else will arrive at our doorstep?”

  “Canta will direct us,” Jane said. “As long as we are doing what she asks, we needn’t worry.”

  Cinzia shook her head in disbelief. Could Jane really not see cause to worry? And yet she wondered why she was reacting so strongly. Since she had arrived in Navone last year to confront her sister, she had felt as if she had no control over her life. This aggravated older resentments, and since Kovac’s death in Roden, those emotions had been amplified.

  “There must be almost one hundred people out there,” Cinzia seethed, “and we don’t know what drew them here. The Denomination is surely taking steps to eliminate you—and your movement—and you can rest assured they will not be peaceful. And I lost my Goddessguard—” Cinzia stopped, choked up. “I lost my Goddessguard to a force neither of us know or understand. The Sfaera is in danger, Jane. You can’t tell me I have nothing to worry about.”

  “Hello, girls.”

  Cinzia whirled to see her father, Ehram, standing in the entryway. “Father!” she cried.

  “Hello, Father,” Jane said.

  Ehram smiled. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said. He opened his arms, and both Cinzia and Jane sank into his embrace. “I have missed you both,” Ehram said.

  “We’ve missed you, Father,” Jane said.

  Cinzia said nothing, not trusting herself, and just buried her face in the soft leather of her father’s jacket.

  “Where is your Goddessguard, Cinzia? Kovac, was that his name? And where are the others that accompanied you?”

  Cinzia’s face fell at the mention of her Goddessguard. Of course it would be the first thing to come up. “Kovac was killed,” she explained. “In Roden.”

  Her father’s face whitened, but he nodded slowly. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I could tell that he was someone special to you.”

  Cinzia did not know what else to say. That night in Izet carried so many different feelings for her. Just before Kovac’s death, Cinzia had been alone on a rooftop, watching the snow fall around her. She had felt love. She had felt meaning. She had felt Canta’s presence, felt that she, Cinzia, mattered to the Goddess.

  And then, moments later, something terrible had possessed Kovac, and Cinzia had been forced to kill him with her own hands.

  “But you’re both safe? Healthy?”

  Jane nodded. “Yes. We have traveled a long way. And outside…”

  Ehram nodded vigorously. “Of course, of course. You’ll be wondering about that.” He beckoned them to follow as he moved down the corridor. “Come, come,” he said. “The others will be anxious to see you. Especially your mother, bless her soul. She has had trouble sleeping. Not that that’s your fault, but she worries—you know how she is.”

  “Well now we are home, Father,” Jane said. “And we have work to do.”

  Her father laughed. “Of course, of course. Come, then. Let’s get something warm in your bellies.”

  He led them into the dining hall, where Cinzia saw that her family sat around a large table, chatting loudly. They were all there, Cinzia saw with surprise—including Uncle Ronn, although with more gray in his hair and a bit thinner than she remembered him.

  Ehram stepped forward as if to announce Cinzia and Jane, but Cinzia put a hand on his shoulder. He looked back at her, an eyebrow raised.

  Cinzia shook her head. “Give us a moment,” she whispered. “I want to watch them.”

  Her uncle Ronn sat at the head of the table, looking around in dismay. Cinzia smiled. The chaos of dealing with six Oden children was surely wearing down the man’s formality.

  Cinzia’s mother, Pascia, bustled about the table, her blond hair in a loose bun. She was herding the two youngest children—Sammel and Ader, boys of twelve and eleven—to their chairs, where two steaming bowls of oatmeal waited for them. Directly across the table from Sammel and Ader sat Wina, Lana and Soffrena, the triplets, each fifteen. Lana was dumping spoonful after spoonful of what Cinzia could only imagine was sugar into her oatmeal.

  “Lana!” Pascia said sharply, one hand on Ader’s shoulder keeping him in his chair, the other reaching out to swat Lana’s hand. “Not so much sugar, darling. Your blood will turn solid.”

  “I can’t bear another morning of oatmeal, Mother,” Lana said, pouting. “I need the sugar. I won’t be able to eat it otherwise.”

  “We only have so much of it, Lana.” Cinzia’s other sibling, Eward, reached over Lana’s shoulder to grab the small jar. “Save some for the rest of us.” Eward, tall and powerfully built, was much closer to Cinzia and Jane in age. He was coming up on his twentieth summer, now, four years Cinzia’s junior and just two years younger than Jane.

  At that moment Eward looked up and locked eyes with Cinzia. Cinzia saw the grin spread across his face immediately. She put a finger to her lips and Eward nodded.

  “Give me that!” Lana shouted. “Mother! Eward took the sugar!”

  “Good thing he did,” Pascia said, still struggling with Ader. The boy did not seem to want to sit in his seat.

  “I don’t see how you eat so much of it,” said Soffrena. Wina sat eating quietly. While the triplets looked identical, with red-brown hair, hazel eyes, and freckle-studded faces, their demeanors could not be any more different. Wina was shy and quiet—much like Sammel, Soffrena had always been even-tempered, while Lana had hardly had a serious moment in her entire life.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t. You’re far too boring,” Lana said.

  “The fact that you think sugar consumption is an indication of vigor tells us all we need to know about you.”

  Cinzia glanced at Jane. They both smiled. While they were much more similar in demeanor to one another than Lana and Soffrena, they had experienced many similar exchanges. We practically just had one, Cinzia reminded herself. Although their arguments did not much seem like arguments anymore. Not with Jane refusing to shout back at her.

  Lana turned back to her oatmeal, arms folded, pouting once more. Then she glanced towards the entrance of the dining hall. Her pout transformed into a grin.

  “They’re home!” Lana ran towards Cinzia and Jane, wrapping her arms around both at once.

  After they had all said their hellos, after tearful hugs and the excited chatter of the younger children, things calmed down. Even Uncle Ronn seemed happy to see them, givin
g each of them warm, if somewhat stiff, embraces. Cinzia and her family moved back to the dining-room table, where they all sat down.

  At that moment, Gorman, Uncle Ronn’s head servant appeared at the door to the kitchen. He looked over the shoulders of the younger children disdainfully.

  “I see your breakfast has gotten cold,” he said. “I suppose I’ll have Shal make more.”

  “No,” Pascia said, quickly. “The children will eat their oatmeal, cold or not. Isn’t that right, children?” Soffrena, Lana, Wina, Sammel, and Ader nodded unenthusiastically.

  Gorman did not seem happy either, but he nodded nonetheless, and began to clear dirty dishes. Then he noticed Cinzia, Jane, and Ehram at the table. He bowed. “Miss Cinzia. Miss Jane. I’m happy to see you both arrived safely.”

  “He hasn’t changed much,” Jane whispered, as Gorman walked back into the kitchen.

  Cinzia nodded. “Although he never would have stooped to carrying dishes before. Something is different.”

  “Please, girls,” Pascia said. “We want to hear all about your adventures.”

  Cinzia paled. Just mentioning Kovac to her father had been too much.

  “Perhaps we can tell you of our… adventures another time,” Jane said smoothly.

  “Sooner rather than later, I hope,” said Ronn. “I have heard much about you two.”

  “We have told Ronn everything,” Pascia explained.

  “I’m not a believer,” Ronn said, his graying mustache drooping over his frown. “But what your parents have told me… intrigues me, to say the least.”

  Cinzia was surprised at her relief. It might be good to have someone who was a bit more skeptical around.

  “But at least tell us of the translation,” Eward said, his eyes wide. “What have you learned? How much have you translated?”

  Cinzia looked from Eward to Jane. She was not aware the rest of their family knew of Jane’s intention to translate the Nine Scriptures—the Codex of Elwene—while traveling to Roden. Cinzia herself had not been aware of the plan until their journey began.