The crew set up a rough camp, lighting a small fire and cooking their dinner, well enough away from the ship so sparks wouldn't reach it. Segovac didn't join them. Instead he went to the stone, kneeling down before it and closing his eyes. He placed a hand on the spiral, fingers tracing the spiral from the center out, his eyes half closed as he entered a trance. Azaran remained apart, as did the others, leaving the Eburrean to whatever wisdom his gods chose to impart. When he finally rose and came down to join them, his face was troubled and he said little for the rest of the evening.
In the morning the wind shifted to the north. Once the crew pushed the ship free of the beach they pulled in the oars and raised the single sail. The sea foamed beneath the prow as they angled towards the northeast. The Giants Wall passed alongside, the cliffs eventually dropped down in height, replaced by a beachy shoreline, with hills and fields covered in deep summer green beyond. Segovac watched it all pass with eyes filled with a joy long forgotten. "Eburrea," he said.
A hour past noon, the captain called for the sail to be pulled in. Oars extended out and the ship turned to the shore. To Azaran the shore beyond looked much the same as the next patch a mile down, but Segovac must have seen something he did not. "We approach the lands of the Colamnac clan," he said. "Once they were my clan."
"Once?" Azaran asked.
"Rhennari abandon all old loyalties. We belong to all clans and to none. But I still hold a fondness for them in my heart."
"They will give us shelter?"
"Well..." And here Segovac's face turned troubled. "We will see. I have been away a long time. And the news has not been good the last few years."
The ship ran ashore. A rope ladder dropped over the side. Segovac made his farewells to the captain and crew and climbed down, stumbling a bit as he dropped onto the sand. Azaran climbed down after, watching his friend stumble up the beach to the green turf beyond, then drop to his knees. He bent down and killed the grass, then rose back up and hollered, "By Saerec and his servants, may the lightening strike me dead if I ever leave this green land again!"
The sailors tossed down two packs filled with rations, along with a healthy measure of gold and gifts from Tavarus. Azaran also had his sword strapped to the side, kept high to avoid tangling his feet. A decent weapon, plucked from the hoard left behind by the pirates. He waved good by to the captain and crew. They pushed off the beach, oars stroking leisurely along the water as they headed back out to sea.
Azaran joined Segovac, who still knelt on the grass, eyes closed and lips moving in prayer. A pair of tears trailed their way down his cheeks. He waited patiently until the man's eyes opened again.
"Feeling better?" Azaran asked.
"Better than I have in years." Segovac rose to his feet. He took his back and slipped it across his shoulders. "This land is in my blood and bones. A tree dies when it it taken away from the soil that holds its roots. Here I am alive again."
For a moment Azaran felt a twinge of jealously. He had no such place to call his own...at least as far as he knew. "So, where do go from here?" he asked, more to stave off the melancholy than to hear the answer.
"North." Segovac looked about, getting his bearings. A line of trees began not far from the beach.. To the west green fields could be see. "Through the forest. A friend of mine lives close by. He'll put us up for the night. And I can find out how things stand among my clan."
"North it is."
They found a trail headed away from the beach. The trees enveloped them, the late afternoon light turning dappled. Tall oaks and beech, a far cry from the small pines of Tereg. Squirrels with dark green tails and chittering voices scrambled among the branches. Azaran spotted signs of deer, stepping nearly around a pile of scat. Birds flashed through the leaves and branches.
He didn't see the first dead body until Segovac almost tripped over it. The man uttered a number of very unpriestly oaths, "Bloody tree roots...oh, never mind."
Not a tree root. An arm bone, reaching out from under a small bush. More bones could be seen beneath, including a grinning skull looking upwards. Moss clung to exposed surfaces, making the skeleton difficult to spot.
Segovac knelt down and pushed the bush aside. "Not right," he murmured, "leaving the dead like this."
"There's another one over there." Azaran pointed a pile of branches beside an oak that turned out to be another skeleton, curled into a ball and half-covered in dead leaves and dirt.
"There will be more." Segovac stood, holding a broken arrow pulled from the ribs. "Looks like an ambush."
"Were they your clan?" Azaran asked.
"Hard to say." Segovac tossed the arrowhead aside. "Makes no difference in the end. Dead is dead."
They continued on, leaving the site behind them. The trees thinned and they emerged from the forest into a wide field marked at the edge by rough stone wall. The space beyond was covered with bramble and weeds. On the far side were two houses, the roofs open to the sky, the walls scorched by flames. Crows perched on the top watched them pass by. Azaran peered through one of the broken doors and saw a shattered table, cracked in half from some terrific blow. From the amount of dirt and dead leaves piled up against the walls, this had happened a while ago.
They didn't linger. The wall running along the northern end of the farm was shattered, large gap torn in the center large enough for three men to ride through abreast. A pair of rabbits sat in the gap, nibbling on strands of grass. They fled as the two men approached. More abandoned farms lay on the other side, most no more than an acre or two in size. Weeds choked the fields. Bones of cattle and sheep lay open to the elements, weathered by wind and sun and long ago picked clean of any meat. Houses were scorched by fire, many pulled down until the stone walls were piles of rubble. No sign of the folk who lived here. Their homes were plundered, the broken walls filled only with dust and debris. War had come through this place, consuming all in its path like an ever-hungry fire.
"Who did this?" Azaran asked as they passed by yet another broken farm house.
"Ganascorec," was Segovac's reply.
"A warlord?"
"A king."
Azaran looked around. "I know nothing of farms or their tending," he said. "But it seems a strange thing, to leave good land like this empty. Wouldn't he replace the dead with new folk to work it?"
"Leaving it empty is the entire point. There was rebellion here. He put it down, cleared the land of its people and left it empty as a warning to others. And there is that."
Segovac pointed to a pile of stones heaped near the house. At first glance it looked like any other heap. But painted on the wall above it was a faded symbol, almost gone from the wind and rain. Azaran could still make out a triangle, with three open eyes placed before each point. In the center was the figure of a woman, arms out, one hand holding a knife, the other a severed head.
"The mark of the Ghelenai," said Segovac. "They likely did the killing, after the battle was over. Men, women and children....move those stones and you'll find a pit with their bones in it. Killed for a sacrifice. The land is cursed, no one will live here."
"Are they warriors?" Azaran asked.
"No." Segovac shook his head. "They are...it's hard to explain. And best not done here." He hurried on, leaving the site behind as fast as he feet would carry him.
Eventually they reached another patch of woodland. A wide trail went through the trees, ancient hoof marks still impressed into the dried mud. "Cetam lives in the trees," Segovac said. "He's a woodcutter. His wife gathers herbs. I've known both since we were children."
Unspoken in his voice was the question if his friend was alive. Azaran didn't have it in him to ask.
They followed the trail for about a mile. It was getting late, dusk wasn't far away. The trail narrowed until it was little more than a track. Tree stumps bearing ax marks appeared, mingled in with younger saplings. A rusty ax head was embedded in the trunk of a tree, the handle broken off half a foot below.
The land rise sightly to a lo
w hill. A long stonewalled house stood near the top, surrounded by smaller sheds. Segovac cupped his hands and placed them to his lips. "Cetam!" he called out. "Hello the house!"
No answer.
"Cetam!" Segovac called out again. He lowered his hands. The look on his face said enough. They would find no one here.
"Here too," he whispered.
"Maybe they fled," Azaran suggested. "You're friends might be waiting on the other side, talking of the day when Segovac returns in glory."
"Maybe the rain will turn to wine as well." Segovac replied. He stepped towards the house, headed up the hail. "Come on. Best get this over with."
They went up the hill. Vines clustered the sides of the house. The thatch roof was half-gone, wide holes open to the elements. The place was filled with an eerie quiet, with not even the birds chirping in the neighboring trees. Despite the warmth of late summer, a chill seemed to hang over the place, a cold as much of the spirit as the flesh. Azaran's hand drifted to his sword, the back of his neck prickling with each step. Something terrible had happened here and the land remembered. The trees remembered. The earth cried out with each step.
Cetam's home was clustered around an open area in the center, with the house on the southern side and sheds to the north and east. The doors to the house were broken, hanging off their hinges. A pen for livestock was trampled to splinters. In the center of the open area was a well around which five stakes were driven into the earth. Impaled on them were the heads of pigs and dogs, the flesh little more than leather strips dried by the sun, their eye sockets dark pits.
A large hole was dug in the ground some distance away from the well. Placed on the ground before it was a long flat stone, with the symbol of the Ghelenai carved into the top. Dried blood still cling inside the grooves and lives carved into the stone. The woman cut in the center stared out at the world with eyes lit by madness.
Segovac walked over, face pale with fear and sorrow. He glanced into the hole then look away, closing his eyes. "Cetam," he whispered. "And his family."
Azaran looked into the hole. It was full of bones. Human bones.
Chapter Two
"Cetam had a daughter," said Segovac. He sat down on the ground, head in his heads. "She would have been nine summers old now. I remember playing with her, the last time I visited. She was a blessing."
Azaran thought he saw a skull mixed in with the pile. Smaller than a man's...he didn't look any closer. "Maybe she got away," he said.
Segovac shook his head. "No. The Ghelenai are thorough when comes to killing."
"Why would they kill her?" asked Azaran. You are a weapon... "Or anyone?"
"May as well ask why the sun shines or water is wet. Murder is their reason for existence." Segovac closed his eyes for a moment. He calmed himself, pushing whatever sense of grief there was to the back of his mind. "It's going to rain," he said.
Azaran looked at the blue sky. "Doesn't seem so to my eyes."
"In an hour dark clouds will gather. In two we will be hearing thunder." Segovac opened his eyes. "Trust me on this matter. The air is thick with the promise of a storm. We shall have to spend the night."
An unaccustomed shiver ran through Azaran at the thought. "Here?"
"Do you object?"
"This place..." Azaran tried to find the words. Instinct warred with reason and reason was losing. "It is cursed."
"You don't seem the kind of man who believes in such things."
"I wasn't...until now."
Segovac stood. "Look around for something to dig with. The dead have been dishonored, and until this is made right we shall find no rest in this place."
Azaran found a shovel in one of the sheds. Segovac made a pick made out of a length of deer antler strapped firmly to a stick. He chose a spot on the eastern side of the slop, facing a gap in the tree, where the dawn light would shine clearly. They dug down, breaking the heavy earth. Two feet in, the pick snapped when it struck a tree root. Another foot and the handle of the shovel cracked.
"That's deep enough," said Segovac.
Azaran glanced at the sky. As promised, the sky was darkening with storm clouds. A damp wind blew, heavy with moisture. "How did you know?"
"Sensed it in my bones," came the reply. Segovac went back towards the altar. "Surprised you didn't feel it, the damn things been building for at least a day."
Segovac opened his pack and pulled out a cloak gifted to him from Tavarus. A finely woven length of thick linen, shot through with red and blue threads in a colorful plaid pattern. A fine thing to wear to a feast. He lay it on the ground and carefully removed the bones from the pit. Azaran moved to join him, but then held back, sensing this wasn't his task to perform. Four skulls, two adult sized, two decidedly smaller, and an assorted jumble of femurs, ribs and other bits of skeleton. Segovac made a halfhearted attempt to sort them apart, but then gave up. He placed the bones on the cloak, and when every last piece was removed, closed up the cloak and carried it away to the hole they recently dug.
"Bring that stone," he told Azaran, jutted his chin at the flat rock with the mark of the Ghelenai.
Azaran nodded. He knelt down by the stone, tipped it up on the side and got his fingers under the bottom. Beetles and other crawling things, disturbed when light revealed their dark resting place to the open air, scuttled away. He lifted the stone up, puffing at the weight. Runes flared on his chest and extra strength flowed into his arms and shoulders, yet his knees trembled slightly as he stood. Azaran waddled after Segovac, barely able to keep up.
He dropped the stone on the ground, shifted his arms back and forth at the sudden ache that followed release. Segovac place the cloak and bones in the hole. He picked up the broken shovel and heaped dirt over them. Azaran helped with his hands. When the hole was full, Segovac went to the stone. "Help me," he said.
They lifted the stone and carried it to the grave, lowering it down on the freshly shoveled earth. The stone sank down several inches.
Segovac knelt down before the stone. His right palm placed itself over the sigil of the Ghelenai. He closed his eyes, lips moving in a silent prayer. He rocked back and forth for a moment. Azaran felt his skin tingle. A faint whispering came to his ears, just beyond the edge of hearing.
Blue light flared below Segovac's palm. Blue twisting lines ran along the stone, growing brighter, flaring for a brief moment...then gone. Segovac opened his eyes and stood, looking weary. "Now we wait," he said.
Azaran looked at the stone with amazement. The symbol of the Ghelenai was gone, replaced by the spiral of Saerec.
Thunder rumbled in the sky. Both men hurried up the slope. The sky turned dark. By the time they reached the ruined house it was almost like night. They ducked through the door and found a spot where the roof was still intact. Moments after they sat down, the rain fell, a few heavy drops at first, turning into a torrent. Heavy drops drummed on the ground outside and fell through gaps in the broken room, quickly soaking the floor. Azaran found a knocked over stool and right it. He sat down, testing his weight, then settled back with a sigh. Segovac for his part squatted down, idly tracing a spiral on the floor.
The sense of oppression hanging over the place remained strong. The darkness and the rain made it feel even worse. Azaran found himself glancing at shadows, sensing more than seeing things moving in the darkness. The rough stones of the house took on new shapes in the darkness. Knobbly faces leered at him, their eyes dark pits that looked into places no human soul could stand, an invitation to madness. We see you, Azaran. We know you. Killer...murderer...we have a place made for you. There is no rest, no salvation. Join us, brother...join us and suffer....
"We shouldn't stay here," Azaran growled, sweat beading on his brow.
Segovac said nothing.
"I'm leaving." Azaran stood, knocking back the stool. "Find me in the forest...."
A massive thunderclap sounded, shaking the walls of the house. Azaran stood still eyes wide.
"Wait," said Segovac calmly. "It w
on't be long."
"For what?"
"It's...hard to explain."
Azaran set the stood back on its legs and sat down. He kept his hand close to his sword. The rain fell outside. Lightening lit up the sky. The shadows grew deeper, and Azaran thought he saw shapes moving in them, horrible shapes, full of teeth and misshapen limbs and eyes burning with an endless hate for all that was fleshly.
Just the imagination. He thought the words, repeated them over and over in his head. It didn't help, the shadows seemed to grow deeper.
Then Segovac looked up. "He's here."
"Who?" Azaran looked around. "What are you..."
A strong wind blew in through the broken door, cutting him off. Heavy rain drops flew it with it, striking both men hard. Azaran protected his face, wincing at the stinging sensation. He felt his skin prickle as the current wafted over him. There was a coldness to the wind that spoke of winter, of snow and ice, of deep mists rising over white-covered hills...
The wind stopped. A moment later so did the rain. And then both men heard a distant roar, faint yet clear, a sound full of strength and certainty, fading away into nothing.
Azaran looked up, and saw the skies clear, thick clouds turning wisps and drifting off to the south. Beyond them were the stars and the ever-present face of the Mansion. He looked to the shadows, and saw only the stony walls. There was a faint glow to everything now, for it was a full moon tonight.
"It's done," said Segovac. "The dead rest easy. The Ghost Bear guides them now."
"What is the Ghost Bear?" Azaran asked, the fear gone, replaced by embarrassment that he'd allowed himself to feel such things, to be so weak. Master your thoughts, and you will Master yourself...
Segovac sat down, crossing his legs. "He is a servant of Saerec...or a god in his own right, depending on who you ask. There is a world beyond this world, friend Azaran, home to spirits both hostile and benevolent. The souls of the dead must pass through this place to reach their final rest. Yet those who dwell beyond oft conspire to lead the dead astray and the paths through their lands are twisting and strange. The Ghost Bear is the guardian of the dead. He leads the souls through the spirit lands to Saerec. He defends them from those who might seize them on the shadowy paths, or torment them in this world of the living. Cetam and his family...a terrible crime was inflicted on them, one that went beyond murder. Those who took their lives laid a curse on their souls, binding them to their bones, preventing their souls from passing on and hiding them from the Ghost Bear so he could not guide them to the One. A terrible thing, that goes against the natural order. This place was sickened, you felt it coming here. All kinds of evil came because of it. I broke the curse and the Ghost Bear came to lead them away. They are at peace now and the corruption has been swept away from this place."
Shadow of the Ghost Bear (The Tale of Azaran Book 2) Page 2
