Red Season Rising

by D. M. Murray

  There was nothing save for his own heaving panting. He looked back at the words with tear-filled eyes and sunk to his knees, laughing and weeping, edging towards madness and hell.

  *

  “Are we ready?” Thaskil asked, looking from the battlement over the makeshift defences by the breached section of Apula’s wall.

  “Aye, sir,” Sergeant Omree replied, exhausted from relentless activity preparing their defences. “With the right type of man on the walls, hard men, and no few good bows up here, we could hold out a while.”

  “Good.” Thaskil smiled, clapping Omree on his shoulder. “Go and get some rest. You’ve worked hard.”

  “Thank you, sir, but if it’s alright with you, I’ll just as soon as stay here with you. There’s a fight coming and I mean to be here when it arrives.”

  Thaskil smiled and looked behind the man to the massed troops, city guard, militia, bakers, stonemasons, husbands, and wives. They looked back, some with fear in their eyes and others with pride. Stubborn resistance flared in his guts.

  “Men and women of Apula,” he cried out, his voice carrying far over the crowds, “free people of the Free Provinces, we are threatened with the dawn of a dark day. We are threatened by one who would seek to change our way of life, to steal away our freedom, and put us all back into the yoke of slavery. What were we, the people of Apula, in the days before the Solansian grip was broken? What where we?” he challenged those below to answer, his eyes imploring.

  They were silent, but their eyes cried with pride.

  A lone voice cried from distance and echoed against the walls, “Our ancestors bled in the mines, they toiled in their fields, and they died for the Solansian’s salt!”

  Thaskil looked towards the High Command keep. The voice came from the basement. From the dungeon.

  “Aye,” an old citizen picked up the rally cry, “we were slaves for them and they want to put us back in bondage.”

  The crowd began to shout and cheer. Thaskil felt his guts untwist, straighten out and strengthen, like the crowd’s resolve.

  He raised his voice as he spoke, “Aye, Grunnxe wants to make us all slaves again and take back the old lands, but we will not yield! The city walls have been breached, but they’re but made of stone and mortar. We, the people, together, are stronger than any stone.”

  The people cheered.

  “Together, we are stronger than any steel,” Thaskil continued.

  They punched the air and waved what weapons or tools they held.

  “We are stronger than any invader. Stand with me and let us fight for Apula, for the Free Provinces, and for freedom!”

  The cheer rang up loud, causing the skin on Thaskil’s body to tingle and twitch, his hair stood as goose-pimples raised. Aye, we can hold out a while. A short while.

  “Good timing, Lieutenant.” Omree nudged his side, causing Thaskil to turn around. “Look!”

  The sergeant pointed across the Field of Storms. In the shimmer of the distance stretched a long black shadow.

  Thaskil stared long and hard at the dark mass, as it shifted and spread. “That can only be an army,” he whispered to Sergeant Omree.

  “Aye,” the sergeant replied, “and a fucking big one at that.”

  “Aye,” Thaskil replied, his guts twisted.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Kalfinar’s footsteps echoed up the hallway of the High Command into the wing where he had shared an apartment with his wife. He stopped and turned back, shaking his head. Don’t go back. There’s nothing there but pain.

  Despite his fear, he turned and stalked back in the direction he had been walking. He stopped in front of an ordinary wooden door. Their door.

  Kalfinar placed his hand on the wrought-iron handle, cold and familiar in his hand, and depressed it. I’m coming home, my love. As the door opened, something told him to stop.

  There was someone inside.

  He listened and heard someone weeping. This is my place! Anger flared and he stormed in. Who would dare—

  Evelyne sat hunched on the floor, behind the heavy oak table set against the wall, the only furniture in the room. She wept into arms crossed over her knees. Her long brown hair fell in waves, hiding her sorrow.

  “Evelyne, what’re you doing in here?” Kalfinar asked, hunkering down in front of her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  She lifted her head. Her cheeks were shiny wet from crying. She wiped her eyes of tears. “My father's dead.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I feel it. He’s gone.”

  Kalfinar’s eyes dropped to the floor and he clenched his jaw. “I’m sorry.” He just about managed to fumble out the words.

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” she said, her voice but a whisper. “I heard you here one night.”

  Kalfinar looked up at her.

  “It seemed like the right place to come. I can tell this place has seen many tears.”

  Kalfinar looked at her red-rimmed eyes, so full of hurt. “Aye.” His voice was soft, gentler than he had managed for a long time. “This is a fine place for the crying.” He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. “But it was a fine room for laughter, too.”

  “There’s been no sign of Anthony.” She blinked free two more tears that fell onto her sleeves. “No one’s seen or heard from him since before the urns were opened. He’s in terrible darkness. I can sense it.” She buried her head into her arms as a wave of sorrow washed over her again.

  Her hurt stung Kalfinar and he found he forgot his own pain. He placed his arms under her shoulders and stood up, pulling her to her feet, and held her tight in an embrace.

  Evelyne lifted her head from his chest, eyes pleading.

  He looked at her face, but he could not lie to her.

  “Kal.” Evelyne placed a hand on his cheek.

  It was warm and welcome. But this is wrong. Not here. Kalfinar broke away from their embrace, taking two steps backwards. “I can’t.”

  She wiped away the bead of a tear on her cheek. She stepped towards him, an earnest look on her face. Kalfinar’s heart quickened as she closed the space between them. With head bowed, she tangled the fingers of her right hand about his. Her left hand cupped the small of his back.

  What little pressure she applied seemed to carry the force of a storm, crashing open some door within him he had long since thought locked. He met her lips in a tempest of hot breath. Their hands fumbled together, a collision of awkward travellers. Hers to his face; his to her back.

  The hot urgency of their kiss grew and a small moan sounded. Hers, or his, or both of theirs. Her hands slid from his face, her fingertips gliding over the cotton of his shirt and settling on top of his belt. She pulled away and looked into his eyes.

  Kalfinar’s wife’s face flashed in his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut. There will always be us, my love. But this can’t be wrong. When he opened his eyes, Evelyne was there, those ice-blue eyes bright and beautiful. Her smile was gentle, reassuring.

  Kalfinar kissed her again as she worked at his belt. His heart thundered in his chest and the sound of his blood rushed about his ears like the angry sea on the shore.

  His trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt. One, two, and the curve of her breasts disappeared into the vest beneath. How long has it been? He unbuttoned the last and kissed at her neck. Her skin smelled of lavender oil.

  Evelyne opened his belt and broke away from him. “Take off your trousers.” She hopped on one foot as she pulled off the boot from her right foot, almost losing balance and stumbling over.

  Kalfinar made to grab her, lest she fall to the floor, but she righted herself. They laughed as she tossed the boot into the corner of the room and kicked off the left.

  Kalfinar pulled off his own boots as she unbuttoned and slid off her trousers. She stepped up and pushed him against the edge of the table. He sat against the surface as she unbuttoned his trousers, kissing him against the scarred edge of his jaw. He flipped their posit
ions, placing her on the surface of the table.

  She smiled and pulled him in close.

  *

  Kalfinar smelled her hair and kissed the top of her head. They had remained in an embrace for several silent minutes since they made love.

  “It’s strange how our hearts work,” Evelyne whispered as her head lay on his chest.

  “How do you mean?” he asked.

  “I was sure, as Tuannan, I’d never feel such closeness to anyone but Dajda.”

  Kalfinar leaned back and, with gentle strength, moved her head from his chest. He looked at those beautiful eyes as they searched his face. “You feel closeness to me?”

  “I’ve always felt a closeness to you. I can’t explain it. When you came to my father’s house, I recognised in you something that had always been out of reach to me.”

  Kalfinar smiled at her and kissed her smooth forehead. “I fought myself to think nothing of you.” For a brief moment, he feared he had injured her with his words, but then she smiled. “But I couldn’t pretend like I didn’t care. As much as I may have tried.”

  “Well, I’m glad you stopped trying.” She rested her head back onto his chest. “Where do we go from here?”

  “We fight.”

  “We fight?”

  “Aye. We fight for tonight, tomorrow, and the next day.”

  “Do you feel you have the strength?”

  He raised her head to face him once more. “You’ve given me your strength.”

  *

  “Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Kalfinar asked as he and Evelyne walked up the stairs towards Harruld’s study.

  “Thank you. I feel better,” Evelyne said with a smile, her eyes still betraying the grief that coiled within.

  “If you need to, we can go. We don’t need to.”

  “No. Something has happened, we need to know, and we must react.”

  Kalfinar nodded to her and opened the door to his father’s study.

  Evelyne entered and Kalfinar followed behind her.

  “Evelyne, Kalfinar.” Harruld stood up from his seat. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Kalfinar looked at the captain standing behind Harruld’s desk. The dark circles under the man’s eyes and the expression of fear spoke a hundred words; none happy.

  “What news, Father?”

  “Sit down, both of you.”

  They sat and Kalfinar placed his hand over Evelyne’s.

  “This is Captain Tyrnan,” Harruld said.

  The captain nodded in greeting to the two of them.

  “I sent him and a platoon with Sarbien to Shalima mines. They went to find the source of the energy sustaining the urns.”

  “I know,” Evelyne said. Her voice wavered as she spoke. “I have felt what you are to tell me.” Her chin began to crinkle and shake. “My father is gone, isn’t he?”

  “I fear so, child,” Harruld said. “I’m sorry, but there’s more.”

  “Anthony,” she said. She bowed her head and sniffed as tears fell from her eyes.

  Kalfinar squeezed her hand. She took a deep breath, composed herself, and nodded for Harruld to continue.

  “Sarbien’s report told us that Anthony’s spirit has been possessed by the enemy.

  Evelyne emitted a small moan. “My brother.”

  Harruld continued, “The enemy we face is not as first feared. What is being sustained in Shalima is not Bhalur.”

  “What do you mean? What is it?” Kalfinar asked.

  “One of Bhalur’s own, one of the demigods. Balzath is the name of the beast. It appears to have taken Bhalur’s place as the recipient of worship from the Ravenmayne. All this time, we thought we had control of the power, but Balzath has grown strong while we sat around, smug in our success.”

  “What does this mean?” Evelyne asked, a new resolve etched on her face as she wiped away her tears.

  “It means, child, that what we face is stronger than we first feared. Your father passed on a report to Captain Tyrnan to take with him to us.”

  Evelyne straightened in her seat, resolute.

  “The report tells us that Balzath is sending forth another attack through these urns that will raise those who have died from the plague and set them loose on our streets.”

  “Dajda!” Kalfinar exclaimed. “The bodies must be burnt before they rise.”

  “I fear we may be too late,” Captain Tyrnan said, breaking his silence from where he stood at ease by Harruld’s desk. “When I rode into the city, there was disruption on the streets. Folk were being attacked by others. I saw the city guard skewer a man who’d killed another. The kept on fighting, even on the end of two spears.” Tyrnan’s brows knit together tight as he spoke. “The thing’s eyes were white. I’ve seen that before, in Shalima. The Priest of this Balzath, your brother, I’m sorry to say, my lady, raised one of these white-eyed things from death in Shalima. It then set about some prayer. Sarbien reports it may have been a means to send the curse into the city. I fear he was right, and the dead now walk our streets with demons inside them.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “Lieutenant Thaskil. I was just looking for you, sir,” the private called out as Thaskil entered the dungeon in the basement of the High Command.

  “What is it?” Thaskil asked, looking the young man up and down. You can’t be any older than me. We could’ve played together in the street as children.

  “Sergeant Omree has all the troops and supplies within the walls, sir. He’s allocated archers to the walls, veteran bowmen also. We’ve pulled together another four hundred militia and veterans to add to the sixteen hundred already in the city. He awaits your orders for distributing.”

  “Two thousand defenders,” Thaskil grunted. That’s not enough.

  Thaskil stared past the private towards the wall.

  “Sir,” the private said, “have you any orders for the sergeant regarding distribution of the troops?”

  “What?” Thaskil lurched out of his musing. “Yes, of course.” He stumbled over his words, trying to remember his lessons in defensive siege work. “A fifth each, to the other three walls, half of which in reserve and ready to respond to the breach. The other two-fifths to the breach and the surrounding quarter.”

  “Aye, sir. Consider it done.” The private saluted and ran off.

  Thaskil stood still for a moment and breathed in deep. No doubt Bergnon had heard the exchange. He mopped the sweat from his brow and straightened the leather jerkin on top of his chainmail, not that it really mattered. He walked around the wide stone corridor, past the flickering oil lamps and empty cells and stopped before Bergnon’s cell.

  He was sat hunched against the wall, the setting sun over the Field of Storms stretching rays in through the barred window and across his bruised face. “So, have you come to finish me?”

  “Don’t honestly know if I’ve the mercy in me,” Thaskil responded, not even looking at Bergnon, instead pulling the chair out and dumping his weary body into it.

  “Pity that.”

  “Why?” Thaskil asked, sinking his face into his hands, his elbows perched on his dirty trousers. “I mean, I know why you did it, but how, how did it come to this? There were other choices you could’ve made, surely?”

  “Aye, lad.” Bergnon looked towards the small barred window.

  Thaskil regarded the dust motes as they danced along the stream of light, the breeze drawing the detritus through the bars to freedom. Bergnon spoke, drawing Thaskil’s attention.

  “Probably had a multitude of ways, I guess. Just didn’t seem at the time like I had anything. And now here I am. A ruin, a traitor, a murderer. And she’s dead.” Bergnon looked back, holding Thaskil’s gaze for a moment.

  “All for nothing, then,” Thaskil said.

  The moment hung heavy between them, their eyes exchanging accusations, questions, and fears.

  Bergnon broke and stared away. “Not for nothing; for her. She was worth much more. Love is madness.” He turned his head back, tears fal
ling from his swollen and bruised eyes. “I love her. Dajda, I love her so badly. I’d do anything for her, but do I wish I acted differently? Do I wish I stopped certain things? Aye, of course I do.”

  Thaskil gazed at the stone of the floor, nodding his head. “I don’t doubt it. I know you didn’t want Arrlun to die.”

  “No, lad, of course I didn’t.”

  “But he died all the same and you were to blame.” Thaskil looked up, eyes hard again, belly burning with fresh anger.

  “I can’t deny that, nor would I, but I regret it. Not that it matters much now.”

  “No, it doesn’t, I suppose,” Thaskil said, his eyes flicking up to the barred window as the strobe of sun slid away. “No, it matters little. We’re all probably going to die here tonight.”

  “But we can die with honour,” Bergnon said as he stood from his crouched position, moving closer to the bars. His bloodied and bruised fingers wrapped around the rust-splotched bars of the cell.

  Thaskil coughed a laugh. “I can maybe die with honour, if I don’t piss myself with fear. But you, you’ll die with nothing but shame.”

  Bergnon’s face didn’t shift at the barb. He gripped the bars and held Thaskil’s gaze. “I can help stop this, this that I caused. Let me help. Let me recover some honour. Let me have the chance to find some redemption.” His eyes pleaded. “I can help you.”

  Thaskil stood and stepped up to the bars, their faces almost touching. He tried to deny it, but a little bit of him felt like running to Bergnon. He felt like there was protection in him. “You’ve no honour. You’ve no word. The second I let you out of that cell, you’d flee and be gone. A traitor has no right to redemption.” Thaskil felt his blood rising. He turned around and lashed out at the seat with his heel, sending it crashing and splintering into the wall at the side of the cell. “No! No redemption for you. Fuck you.” He turned and stormed away.

  The sound of alert rang clear and the defenders of Apula roared.