Red Season Rising

by D. M. Murray

  “Yes, my lord,” they answered.

  “I want you both in attendance. From what I can judge, I believe you both to have the making of fine officers. I’ll be giving you command of your own men, under Major Bergnon. You’ll assist him in leading the battalion he’ll be assigned. Ironically, the paperwork was sent to Johnstane’s offices last night.” He looked down as he stroked one of the hounds. “In fact, both of you go and chase this matter up with the administrative department.” Harruld scribbled a note and stamped it with his seal of office before handing it to Arrlun. “Give this to the duty clerk and make sure they assemble your sergeants. Ensure they see to it that the companies are mustered. I want this battalion ready in the morning. That’s all for now. Go and get some rest.”

  *

  “How did Sarbien come to adopt him?” Kalfinar looked beyond Olmat to the head of the long mess-table where the Ravenmayne, Chentuck, ate with Evelyne and Brother Anthony. Kalfinar sat at the other end of the table with Broden and Olmat.

  “He kidnapped him,” Olmat said as he heaped another mouthful of lamb into his mouth. Kalfinar and Broden both stared at the old man.

  “He kidnapped the monster?” Kalfinar asked. “From where?”

  Olmat chewed his mouthful, swallowed, and then answered, waggling his fork in front of him, “Chentuck’s not a monster, as you would say it. That’s the last time I want to have to tell you that. He’s a human, like you and I. The differences are few. They are a result of environment wherein the Ravenmayne people evolved. I suppose that is the ‘where’ in your question.”

  “You’ve lost me already, Olmat,” Broden admitted.

  “The Ravenmayne people are from the Hagra Peninsula. This ragged landmass is virtually inaccessible, by land or by sea.”

  “I’ve read it’s entirely impossible,” Kalfinar said. “A thin isthmus at the far north of Solansia, surrounded by treacherous seas and rocks. I’ve not read of anyone having explored the area.”

  “You’re ill-informed, but that is no slight on you, for few know the truth about Hagra. It’s remote and virtually impossible to reach, that’s a certainty. Hagra is dominated by ice and snow, great mountains and deep trenches in the earth. Although there are no reports of a successful expedition on record, Sarbien has been there. He was more vigorous in his youth, and was a very hardy traveller.” Olmat shoved another forkful of lamb into his mouth and chewed intently. He continued, “Sarbien was capable of feats of great endurance and fortitude. He travelled to Hagra to verify the Ravenmayne existence. It has been long his course to uncover the truths and consolidate our understanding.”

  “So he was chasing a myth in Hagra?” Broden asked.

  “We Tuannan have been privy to archives and records that would make your head spin. We’ve come across many records of races, creatures, spirits and Gods. We’ve investigated many, and yes, on that particular occasion, Sarbien mounted an expedition to uncover the truth of Hagra. This undertaking almost cost him everything. Next time he walks, watch him; the limp. It’s caused by the loss of several toes, taken from him by the cold.”

  “But him?” Kalfinar said, again indicating towards Chentuck. “How did he come to take him?”

  “Opportunity. Impulse. Sarbien was able to observe the activity in a Ravenmayne village. He reported that they lived a normal, hunter-gatherer existence. However, one night, not long after sunset, the mood in the village shifted and aggression spread amongst the Ravenmayne. Sarbien reported that there was a savage fight between families over their huts. It appeared most unusual, for none of the other villagers would offer up refuge in their huts to their neighbours. It soon became apparent that to be left last outside at sunset was a horrible fate. The last family that Sarbien saw without a shelter that night was made up of a father and mother, with an infant. He reported to me that the mother hid her young towards the outer edge of the village amongst the snow and rocks, before running back to the side of her mate, just in time for a glowing beast to stalk into the village. He reported that it seemed to interrogate the pair, speaking some guttural tongue, before it ripped the twosome to shreds, consuming them and leaving only the hidden infant.”

  “For whatever purpose?” Broden exclaimed.

  “It’s a mystery. Sarbien did not choose to stay around too long to observe, for he feared the presence of the hounds he trekked in with would alert the villagers to his presence. For some reason, they had been growing agitated that day. Perhaps a sense of what was about to come. Subduing them was becoming a difficult task. Sarbien waited for some time and when he realised no villagers were leaving their shelters and that the creature had gone away, he sneaked towards the forest edge and retrieved the infant. So, he gathered him up and retreated, being careful to cover his tracks in the snow. Lucky for Sarbien, one of the bitches in his sled pack had given birth along the journey, with all the pups having frozen near instantly. The bitch let the infant feed and so he was sustained.”

  “Incredible,” Kalfinar exclaimed. “So he was raised by Sarbien?”

  “Yes, almost entirely in secret, for obvious reasons. We’ve learned a huge amount about the Ravenmayne people and their ways from Chentuck. It appears that they are born with an innate understanding of what it is to be Ravenmayne. They are aware of their customs, their ancestors, and, most frighteningly for us, their God and Undergods.”

  Kalfinar slammed a fist into the table. “If he was born with devotion to Bhalur, then how can we trust him?”

  “This man has been given a choice, Kalfinar. Chentuck was not driven only by instinct, like many of his unfortunate ancestors. He has never had a bond with Bhalur. Evelyne is correct. You would do well to count them dear amongst your allies, so my advice to you is that you set aside your own animosity, and forget your own instincts.”

  Kalfinar held the old man’s gaze, unconvinced still. Nothing but a rotten treachery sat amongst us.

  “We can’t claim to understand their ways, for we have only been able to learn from this limited first-hand experience, and what small studies Sarbien was able to record of them in their natural setting. When we first became aware that there could be something to the writings of Teporan Mane, we didn’t think the Ravenmaynes people were those spoken of. It was felt they were too limited in numbers, and too impotent.”

  “And you think now that your original theories were wrong,” Kalfinar asked.

  “It seems that way, yes, perhaps,” Olmat replied. “We may have misjudged them. We knew they had been gifted the use of energies by their God and his Undergods, such as it was, but we had never believed that it could be used in force against us. We never felt it was sophisticated enough. We didn’t think their God had the strength.”

  Kalfinar heaved a heavy breath. “It seems they may well have been underestimated.”

  “Indeed,” Olmat agreed. “Sarbien reported an impressive degree of stealth, pace and agility when hunting. Now, we can only presume such skill is influenced by the energies gifted by their God to ensure what limited game is available in the extreme north was successfully caught. This set of skills seemingly lends the Ravenmayne the ability to make excellent assassins, as demonstrated so tragically.”

  Kalfinar’s cold stare locked on Chentuck.

  “So, how has it come to be that these people look as they do?” Broden asked, interrupting Kalfinar’s thoughts. “You said that they are a product of their environment. What does that mean?”

  “Well,” Olmat answered, “the environmental conditions in Hagra appear to be the cause of the people’s appearance. Their skin colour, eyes, and hair, for example.”

  “How does the land they live in affect this?” Broden asked.

  “We’ve studied Chentuk as he’s grown in a bid to unravel what the Ravenmayne are and how they’ve come to be. It seems to be that the surface of their skin receives less blood than the core of their bodies, likely to keep the main organs warm and functioning, and so the grey-blue tinge. Now, their hair is very interesting. You’ll see i
t is thick, each strand twice the thickness of our own. The paleness of it draws the sun all the way down to the surface of the skin, providing more warmth. Amazing, isn’t it?” Olmat called out to Chentuck at the end of the table, who simply shrugged his shoulders.

  “If you say so,” he said with a modest expression.

  “No need to be so humble, lad,” Olmat laughed. “Now, their eyes are also a product of their environment. They especially are fantastic. When Sarbien travelled in Hagra, he suffered terribly from snow blindness. It’s a reaction caused by ice and snow reflecting the glare from the sun, and is a terribly painful and troublesome condition. To manage in the glare, Sarbien cut a flap of leather from his coat to cover his eyes, slicing the thinnest of slits to see through. That seemed to minimise the extent and frequency of the bouts he suffered. Admittedly, to us, the Ravenmayne eyes look rather sinister, like burning coals, but it seems as though they have small metallic deposits, likely iron and copper, within the irises. This appears to reflect the majority of the glare and enables them to thrive in the environment.”

  “What about their teeth?” Broden asked. “Chentuck doesn’t have the same pointed teeth as the ones we killed.”

  “It may be a social trait. Perhaps of warriors or adults; we don’t know. But, on the whole, it’s fascinating, isn’t it?” Olmat asked.

  “Truly,” Kalfinar muttered, glancing once again towards Chentuck. “A man like you or I.”

  “Like you or I.”

  *

  “Keep digging, damn you.” The foreman sat astride his horse and shouted orders to his workers as they tried desperately to recover the turnip harvest before winter fell on the Free Provinces.

  The foreman’s skin prickled as anxiety mounted. The crop yield was poor for the second year in a row, and he was failing to return his quota, as were most others throughout Ilsinuer and Noehmia.

  He shifted in his saddle and reached into his saddle bag, pulling out an apple. “Here we are, the bread basket of the Free Provinces fumbling in the cold dirt for a harvest of neeps. How has it come to this?” he muttered solemnly to himself. He took a bite from his apple, grateful at least for the imported food. “Can’t keep shipping in from the bloody Cannan’s,” he mumbled through the mouthful of apple.

  “Boss,” a labourer shouted from the field. “It’s no use. The crop is spoiled again.” The man bent and scooped up a handful of putrid neeps. They were black and ruined.

  The foreman dismounted from his horse and trudged through the mud towards the workers. “Move! Out of my way!” he shouted at the labourers crowding around the digging party.

  As he lumbered towards his man, one of the more distant labourers cried out, “Boss, I’ve found something.” The labourer waved towards the foreman as a crowd of fellow workers fell in and surrounded her. “Boss!”

  The foreman made his way towards the agitated worker. “This had better be good.”

  The labourers parted as he approached, revealing the discovery.

  “What is it?” The foreman asked to no one in particular as he stared down on a mucky urn fixed within the earth.

  “It appears to glow,” the labourer whispered. He pointed to the urn as a white and purple light faintly pulsed within its centre, forcing its light through the dirt caked around its exterior.

  “Wipe that off and let us have a look at it then,” the foreman ordered to the labourer who uncovered the urn.

  As mud was wiped clear, the power of the pulsing light was revealed, reflecting on each of their faces.

  The foreman knelt down towards the jar. “It’s beautiful,” he exclaimed, mystified by the colours before him.

  “Boss,” the labourer said. “Boss!”

  “What is it? Damn it!” the foreman snapped, tearing his gaze away from the nimbus.

  “Your apple.”

  “Dajda!” the foreman exclaimed, stumbling backwards away from the urn and dropping the apple to the ground. The apple had withered to a putrid black mass of slime. “Dajda, help us,” the foreman mumbled. “What is this witchery?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Kalfinar sat on the edge of his cot and rubbed his bleary eyes. He pulled on his boots and, stretching out a long leg towards Broden, shoved his snoring cousin in the arse.

  “Get up, you lump.” He shoved Broden a second time. “Get up. We have to meet with the others. I don’t know how you can sleep at times like this.”

  “I wasn’t just sleeping. I was having a nice dream,” Broden grumbled sullenly.

  “Oh really? Which old conquest was she?” Kalfinar replied as he stood up and pulled on his deep-green buckskin breeches.

  Broden stood up, his joints protesting noisily. “I was dreaming of Evelyne. Dajda knows, I’m getting too old for these cots.”

  Kalfinar looked up at his cousin. “Evelyne?”

  “Aye.” Broden pulled on his undershirt.

  Kalfinar eyed him with raised brows.

  “What? No! It wasn’t like that!” Broden blurted defensively.

  “I believe you!” Kalfinar raised his palms in surrender. “So, you like her?”

  “She’s nice to look at, isn’t she?”

  Kalfinar tucked in his undershirt and buckled his belt. “I suppose so,” he said absently.

  “It’s her eyes. Never seen eyes quite like it,” the larger man said as he fastened his jerkin.

  Kalfinar grunted as he fastened his sword belt around his jerkin. “I’m going on. I’ll meet you in my father’s chambers,” Kalfinar mumbled as he made for the door, swinging his arms into his long-coat as he went.

  *

  Harruld and the three old brothers had assembled by the time Kalfinar arrived in his father’s chambers. He was shortly followed by Evelyne and Chentuck, and the two newly promoted lieutenants, Thaskil and Arrlun. Broden entered a short while later, and was grateful to see the fresh bread, jams, fruits and coffee on the large table. After helping themselves to a warming breakfast and attempting some light-hearted small talk, the conversation turned to more pressing matters.

  Harruld commenced, “I must inform you all of some news which arrived from central Ilsinuer late last night. A fast rider arrived with the news as quickly as possible, and he brought with him something which I must show you. Have you all had your fill of the food this morning?”

  Everyone nodded in contentment.

  “Very well.” Harruld signalled to one of the guardsmen who exited the room for a few moments before returning with a large sack. “Please remove the urn and place it over on the table. Observe the food,” Harruld said.

  They watched as the guardsman pulled the faintly glowing urn from the sack and placed it in the table’s centre, by the breakfast platters.

  “Dajda!” Broden exclaimed, pointing as the food putrefied into rotting slime.

  “It turns black before us! What is this?” Kalfinar asked.

  “It was found buried in a field in central Ilsinuer,” Governor Harruld said. “I’ve sent dispatches via fast riders to all of the main agricultural regions where we’ve had reports of crop failure and blight. I fear we may find more of whatever these things are.” He looked to the three old brothers peering towards the urn and asked, “Have any of you any idea what this is?”

  The three men looked at each other before each shook his head.

  Olmat spoke for them, “I fear, despite all our learnings, none of us have seen the like of this before.” He scratched at his head absently as he thought. “It has to be some form of energy, but this is manipulative. Destructive. Not like the energies we Tuannan have harnessed or seen utilised by our own. This is something altogether more treacherous.” Olmat paused in thought, all eyes observing the old man as he assessed the situation before him. “I fear we find ourselves at the centre of an established and coordinated threat. There have been failures for two years, so if this is the cause, and there are more of them, then surely they must have been implanted within the earth before that time. It seems now it is all coming tog
ether.”

  “Olmat’s right,” Kalfinar followed on. “I think it’s clear that we’re now entering into a dangerous phase of whatever plot this is. Look at all that has come to light recently: coordinated strikes on our High Command, a rising in Solansia, two years of crop failures, our treasury bled dry, and widespread food shortages. This is a grave circumstance.”

  “Grave indeed,” Sarbien agreed. “Whatever it is, whoever’s behind it, to sustain such widespread destruction, and for so long, would take an immense amount of power.” Sarbien stared intently at the glowing urn. “Whatever the source of this energy is, we need to locate and destroy it.”

  “Sarbien is right,” Harruld said. “We must act decisively. I fear the endgame of this terrible design is upon us. Our response must be set in motion. Gentlemen,” Harruld addressed the brothers, “can you guide us in our actions?”

  Olmat and his two brothers rose from their seats and gave instructions to the guardsman by the door. The man disappeared and returned after several silent minutes, followed by two servants carrying two large jugs of water and three washing bowls. They laid the items out before the three brothers, who poured water in each bowl before shifting things about until they were content with the arrangement. They stood, holding hands while facing Kalfinar and Broden, with the water-filled bowls between them. The three older men repeated in unison a long musical incantation, a harmonised throaty humming noise.

  “What are they doing?” Broden asked as he leaned towards Kalfinar.

  “Shush!” Kalfinar responded, raising his hand to his cousin, his gaze never shifting from the scene before him. “Look at the water,” he directed.

  The water started to steam and bubble, its temperature rising as the incantation proceeded.

  “It’s starting to boil,” Broden said. “Another vision?”

  The steam became thicker and transformed into a sheet of vapour. The incantation broke off and the vapour fixed in the air, boiled water frozen in time, mid-evaporation. An image, hazy at first, became visible before them.