by D. M. Murray
“I understand.” Bergnon’s face caved ever so slightly.
“Jalsinum rid me of it. It was quick, complete. It made me forget. Made me forget everything. Who I hurt or what ill I caused in that time, I suppose I’ll never fully know.” He bowed his head and sighed again. With each word, he felt good. Better. “I know I hurt Harruld. I’ve been told that much. Don’t know what the old man will make of me when I drag my arse before him in Carte. As for the rest, who knows? I’ve heard rumour, whispers, and I’ve had dreams or clouded memories, all of which fill me with nothing but shame.” Kalfinar felt the wet heat rising in his eyes again. Through clenched teeth, he uttered just above silence, “But that weakness within me is as dead now as she is.” It’s easy to lie, when your life is nothing more than a ruined shit. Smoke and blood.
“Don’t worry about Carte. I know she’ll welcome you back as one of her finest sons. And don’t worry about Harruld, he loves you. He’s spoken of you warmly when I’ve been with him.”
“Aye?” Kalfinar asked.
“Aye. C’mere.” Bergnon grabbed him in a rough embrace.
“Bergnon.” Kalfinar grimaced.
“What?”
“My shoulder.”
“Ah! Sorry.” He released his friend and stepped back.
“So you truly believe Solansia is mobilising? We’re headed for another skirmish season?” Kalfinar asked.
“After what the Solansian you killed said, and with your report, I can only assume Solansia is behind this. Whether we can expect a full scale assault like in seasons past, I don’t know. I doubt it, but even if Grunnxe is alive, and his force is weaker than in past years, they’ve struck first, and they hurt us. Badly.”
A gruff voice called from the deck behind them, “Captain Kalfinar, sir. Major Bergnon, sir. There’s supper being served below deck, if it pleases you.” The accent betrayed the speaker.
“Thank you, Arrlun. We'll be down in a moment.” Kalfinar sent the formal young lieutenant back below, then pushed off the rail and made for the hatch himself. Bergnon followed. “Without our veterans, it's going to be young men like Arrlun that we'll depend on, regardless of who we face,” Kalfinar said.
Bergnon grunted, “I seem to have lost my appetite.”
*
The weather worsened, and wave after wave heaved against the body of the ship as it battled its way through the sea. They sat at the head of a huge upper storage hold. The hold, normally full of rich sheep-fleeces and beef harvested from southern Noehmia, lay empty. Their accommodation was sparsely furnished with a dining area and crude beds. Rough grained wood lined the floor, walls and ceiling. The lanterns at the head of the hold swung with reckless abandon. With no pattern to their vectors, the light and darkness hounded one another across the space ceaselessly. The five men sat around a central table that was bolted to the floor. They ate a meagre supper of watery stewed beef and hard bread on its way to a week past its best.
“I’ve had better food in the Solansian salt-marshes.” Bergnon tossed a fatty chunk of beef onto his plate where it wobbled offensively.
“What is Solansia like, Major Bergnon, sir?” Arrlun probed the captain about the country which spat forth many childhood horror stories for the badly behaved youth of the Free Provinces.
“This light is giving me a headache.” Kalfinar slid his plate into the centre of the table and drank the rest of his water. “I’m turning in for the night.” He moved towards one of the beds and, being careful not to aggravate his wound, slid under the thin, moth-bitten cover.
“I’ll second that!” Broden stood from his chair and stretched out his heavy arms. Both shoulders popped and joints cracked as he did so. “Looks like Bergnon will be up all night teaching the kids about our beloved Solansia.” Broden’s face appeared drawn and pale, even in the shifting light of the room. “Dampen that light down, would you? Or better still, turn the bastarding thing out!”
“You don’t look so good,” Kalfinar said as Broden shifted himself in the bed.
The light faded and went out. “Ah, blessed darkness.” Broden grumbled. “You know I hate the water. You should’ve let me ride. By Dajda, I’d sooner have walked over the Hardalen peaks with my pockets full of offal than be on this ship.” Broden slid himself under the sheet, the bed creaking under his weight as he turned his back to Kalfinar.
“Are you sulking?” Kalfinar asked his cousin, a faint smile shifting on his bearding face.
Broden said nothing.
“There, there. You’ll be fine.” Kalfinar smiled again and laid his head onto the straw-filled pillow.
Sleep was slow to come. The straw nagged at his ears and scratched at his neck. Broden’s riotous snoring and the faint whisper of Bergnon’s voice accompanied Kalfinar until he drifted off. He had not thought about the dreams at all.
*
The tranquil blackness of his sleep shattered. It exploded into rage and terror, fire and noise. Before him stood a church, wreathed in flames and smoke, filling Kalfinar’s mouth and burning his nose from its acrid stink. The smoke scratched his throat and tore at his lungs. Bodies littered the street, surrounded by rubble and blood. Fear gripped at him. He watched as unearthly beasts of claw and tooth ravaged the remains. The monstrous forms before Kalfinar were almost transparent, but for a shifting iridescence to their bodies. His heart pounded. Blood thundered in his ears.
Just a dream! Wake up! Wake up!
He turned from the burning church and from the savage scene before him. Kalfinar shifted his gaze, but again the horror remained, following where he looked, until at last time the vision faded to black. He rubbed at his eyes, they felt gritty and stung.
Fear tugged at Kalfinar’s bowels as a form appeared. Before him stood a shadow of smoky greens and blood reds. The colours shifted and blended. Kalfinar strained to make sense of it. It was no use. The being stepped aside and revealed a sight of horror. Before Kalfinar sat a cross-legged body. It was headless and its heart had been ripped from its chest, leaving a ragged hole which glowed bright, and then faded. It sat as Olmat had done when at prayer in Hardalen. Kalfinar’s breath was locked within his lungs and an oppressive weight drove into his head.
Olmat!
Kalfinar tried to scream but his voice made no sound.
The shadow settled into the vague shape of a man, tall and broad. A glowing halo burned red around its head. Within the shifting colours of its hand, it held a dripping heart, shooting beams of brilliant white light from between the long, clawed fingers. The figure turned from the headless body and looked directly towards Kalfinar with blazing eyes. Whatever it was, it could see him.
No!
Kalfinar’s skin prickled and burned with dread. He was exposed.
The eyes of fire burned, and its mouth was lined with uneven and ragged teeth. The beast roared with the same dreadful sound Kalfinar had heard in previous dreams, a disharmony of voices, chilling and vile. Its black mouth spewed forth a sensation of hatred. It reached out with clawed and shadowed arms as it pounded towards him. Its knees seemed to be inverted and it walked with an awkward, alien gait. Large wings unfolded from the being’s back, stretching out and flexing.
Breathless, struggling to escape, Kalfinar remained imprisoned in his dream.
Closer still, the beast bore down on him, and he felt the purest form of terror. Clawed fingers extended, almost touching him.
Dajda! Help me!
*
A blinding explosion of white burned in Kalfinar’s eyes and he bolted upright, awake. He was sweat soaked and breathing heavy.
“Kal?” Broden voice splintered the silence of the room.
“Fine. Just another dream.”
The ship was steady and quiet but for the odd creak and knock. It appeared the storm had passed.
“I need some air.” Kalfinar stepped out of the bed and reached for his fleece-lined oil coat. “Go back to sleep.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with his clammy palm, and headed up the stairs.
Reaching the deck, he walked towards the railing along the starboard side of the ship, avoiding the night-crew, and examined the night sky. Peaceful grey clouds rested above him. He released a long, heavy breath. It rasped and shuddered as it made its way free. The cool sea air chilled him as it met his sweat-soaked body.
“My love, help me. I think I’m losing my mind. What is happening to me?”
The night answered with a weighty silence.
A vision of light flashed just beyond his sight, causing him to spin, his hand reaching for his sword. It was not there. He remembered the sword was hanging over his chair below deck.
“Who’s there?” Kalfinar gave himself space for combat. “Show yourself,” he called out to the darkness, his eyes searching for the slightest betrayal of movement. “Who’s there?”
The vision of light flashed once more, almost out of sight behind him. Kalfinar spun around to face it. There was nothing, just the sea, and a couple of wide-eyed crewmen. Whatever it was had gone.
“Seek us, Kalfinar. Hear our song.”
A voice echoed all around him, causing his skin to prickle with warmth, despite the chill air.
“Kal, what’s the matter?” Broden called from the hatch leading below deck. “Who were you talking to?”
“You heard that voice, didn’t you?” Kalfinar’s words trembled as he spoke.
“I heard no voice, save for your own.”
“You,” Kalfinar called to one of the crew, “you heard that. Tell him you heard that.”
“Ain’t heard nothing, sorry.” The crewman said to Kalfinar, before shooting a worried look to Broden.
“You’d best come back downstairs.” Broden said. “You’ve been dreaming again. Come on, you know I can’t bear to be up here.”
Kalfinar carefully stepped towards the hatch, his eyes searching wildly. “Broden, I think I’m going mad,” he laughed as he headed down towards the cabin.
“Nonsense, it was just a dream.”
Kalfinar noticed a sorrowful frown upon Broden’s face.
You think I’m going crazy too. “Aye, you’re right. Just a dream,” Kalfinar muttered without conviction as he descended the stairs.
*
The morning came with a vicious squall, restricting their movements to the hold below.
“Captain, if I may ask, why is it you don’t like the sea?” Thaskil asked Broden as the big man sat pale and drawn on the bed.
“You’ll upset him.” Kalfinar leaned forward from the darkness, an uneasy smile on his face as he looked towards his cousin.
“Have you ever heard of Nyahds?” Broden asked Thaskil.
“Of course, but that’s just a scare-story that all parents tell to their children to stop them going near water.”
“They’re more real than you would care to know. I can assure you,” Broden replied.
Arrlun and Thaskil regarded the Captain with wry, disbelieving smiles.
“Lads, I tell you no lies here. One time, as boys, Kal and I set off onto a swamp glade to do some fishing. I fell in, as happens, and I saw shadows in the water. Didn’t think much of them and I swam up towards the surface. I’d just about made it to the surface when I felt myself being pulled down again, and that’s when I felt the biting. I looked down, and there was this thing biting into my leg, like a small, pale person. Another one bit me by my shoulder. I managed to get the one off my leg and push to the surface. Kal pulled me back onto our raft with the other one still on me, drinking my blood.”
“Horrible creatures,” grumbled Kalfinar.
Bergnon chuckled as he sat with his chair tilted and heels on the table. “Broden seems to attract the wrath of most animals he meets, lads. When we had our first post with the pathfinders at Hardalen we had a bear cub as a pet. It was a happy little thing, but it would turn savage at the sight of Broden. It was strange. As a teenager, he was the most bear-like human you’d ever see. You’d think the cub would take to him like one of its own!”
Kalfinar chuckled, enjoying the memory.
Broden looked sullen. “That’s it, laugh away. But I was lucky. Others weren’t. Nyahds used to be more common in freshwater ways.”
“Indeed, they did.” Bergnon pulled his boot heels from the table and swung his chair in closer as he spoke, “They’d mostly take animals that drank at water: deer, wolves, and livestock. Even people. They feed on the blood, on any blood they can get.”
“But Major Bergnon, sir. How’d they get there?” Arrlun asked.
“Just Bergnon. You lads from Ultima North are too formal. I know this is the command, but as we’re sat here cheek by jowl, just call me Bergnon. You lads ever heard of sorcery, or magic?”
The two men nodded.
“Good, it appears the advancement of our military curriculum has allowed the expansion of our young soldier’s minds.” Bergnon winked at Broden and Kalfinar. “There was no such insight in our day, believe me. I was sent for further schooling in addition to my learnings in the academy. Much good that it did me.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Kalfinar said. “What this man doesn’t know about the history of the Cullanain, war-craft and politics, is simply not worth the knowing.”
“You flatter me too much. Moving on, you should then know that there are both light and dark forms of magic.”
Slowly, revealing some uncertainty, the two young soldiers nodded again.
“It’s simple, really. Magic is energy. It is an energy force, and a living thing. It exists in the organic and mineral structures all around us. It’s the harnessing of this force which is the difficult part, but once harnessed, it can be used in such a way as to distort the world around it. That’s what spells are, distortions of the natural arrangements around us, manipulation of the fabric and structure of life.”
Kalfinar looked at the puzzled faces of the young lieutenants. “We ought to be teaching this in more detail in the academy.”
“How can we harness the energy?” Thaskil asked.
Bergnon continued, “Good question. Dajda, receives our devotion, and in return certain holy men and women, the Tuannan, have the ability to harness some small elements of this energy force. But like the use of any energy, it can be used for ill. In the past, some followed darker ways, and created the Nyahds, amongst other such abominations.”
“Sorry, Bergnon, we can’t just will these things into existence,” Thaskil said.
“Why not? If that which brokers the energy is powerful enough, it can be bent to whatever will or whim the user wishes.”
“Do you lads believe in Dajda?” Kalfinar interrupted.
“I attend devotions when I can, Captain Kalfinar, sir,” Arrlun replied.
“I’ve never questioned Dajda’s existence,” said Thaskil.
“Good, I’m glad our future commanders are so devout.” Kalfinar’s face bore no pleasure. “If you believe in the existence of Dajda, then you should probably accept the possibility that there were, and are, other Gods. Doesn’t necessarily mean they all have our best intentions in mind.” Kalfinar’s head began to pound. Hammer blows between his eyes and through his teeth. He clenched his fists.
“So they were created by a dark God?” Thaskil pressed the captains before him, “What was their name?”
“Enough talk of Gods!” Kalfinar’s temper snapped as he rubbed his head. “Never mind the name, it’s of no moment. Whoever used such power is long gone and should not live in the memory or tongues of any man.” Kalfinar sat with his elbows on his knees while rubbing his head.
His companions sat between shock and anger.
“That’s enough of a lesson for today,” Kalfinar continued. “Head up and see if the Skipper needs any help.”
“Kal,” Broden said firmly after the two soldiers had left the hold. “I accept your position on faith, but you’ve no right, none whatsoever, to lay insult to Dajda before those boys.”
“You’ll all be let down,” Kalfinar sighed wearily and sat back, sliding outside the light of the
cabin. “Dajda will abandon you all, at some point.”
“It is not Dajda that has abandoned you, cousin,” Broden said in a low tone. His eyes locked hard with Kalfinar’s. “Before your days are done, you’ll once again let Dajda into your heart.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The ship approached Carte as the sun began its slide towards the horizon. The crew busied themselves tying off the mizzen mast as the passengers, with the exception of Broden, stood at the forecastle. As the harbour of Carte came into clear view a chaotic scene unfolded before them. Ships of all shapes and sizes were bunched up beside one another at the mouth of the harbour. Crewmen could be heard hurling curses as the ships edged their way into yet another slow moving impression of disorder.
“What in the Dajda’s name is going on here?” Bergnon snapped with irritation.
“Booms in the water,” Kalfinar grumbled. “They’ve shut the harbour.”
They dropped anchor ahead of the boom, alongside another ship. The neighbouring vessel appeared to be a Cannan trader, judging by its long and decorated bowsprit. Alongside the trade ship sat a Port Command gig with a lone marine guardsman on board the craft. His face looked deathly pale before his body jerked and he retched violently over the side, prompting seagulls to swoop down and squabble for the floating remnants of the man’s lunch.
