Six Heirs

by Pierre Grimbert

  Thirty yards away, a man in black lifted his bow. The two remaining killers immediately reacted and rushed for the bushes. One of them wasn’t fast enough and let out a gurgle as an arrow passed through his throat. He collapsed, drowning in his own blood.

  The two women hadn’t moved an inch. Léti felt incapable of moving. Her eyes went from the man in black to the two corpses, from the corpses to the man in black, and she couldn’t do anything but watch, transfixed by the battle that unfolded before her.

  The stranger grabbed his sword and stuck it in the ground. Calmly, deftly, he aimed his bow toward the bushes in front of him. The Zü charged with fury, running straight at him; the arrow flew two fingers above his head. The stranger dropped the now useless weapon and hurriedly seized his blade. The two men faced each other, the assassin ready to pounce, his knees bent and his hand clenching his dagger, the man in black holding him off with his sword extended. Then, it happened in an instant.

  The Zü launched himself so quickly that even though Léti was waiting for it, she was surprised. But the stranger reacted just as quickly, as if he had known what his adversary would try. His blade gleamed, and the Zü’s hand was sliced and his stomach opened in a swift dance of steel. Léti saw the man’s guts gush out onto his legs and the ground, despite his desperate efforts to hold them in with a bloody arm.

  Her will gave way and she fainted in a heap.

  Yan felt his hope dwindling by the moment. It had been dark for a while now, and cutting through the scrubland of Southern Kaul no longer seemed like a good idea.

  He had made a mistake. The light of the moon wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the way; it couldn’t break through the thick layer of foliage that hung above him most of the time. His legs, arms, and face were irritated, scratched, and even cut in areas by the brambles and the other plants that formed the dense maze of shrubbery, and he had fallen several times. He was only a few decidays into his trek, and he was already hurting all over, he was covered in mud, his clothes were torn to shreds, and his hair disheveled.

  The worst was that he was beginning to doubt his bearings. Was he still headed in the right direction? Or was he lost?

  On two separate occasions he had the feeling of passing the same spot twice. Navigate using the stars, sure. It was a lot easier when you could see them! In addition to the foliage, which was quite dense at times and reduced his field of vision, a haze had recently fallen, suggesting a heavy fog was on the way.

  His foot caught on a root and he nearly fell again, but he just barely caught himself on a low-hanging branch that his hand happened to meet. This time he was lucky: it wasn’t a thorny branch.

  A family of margolins scurried away a few steps ahead. That had to have been the sixth time. The critters really had to be deaf not to hear him approaching. And to think of all the trouble he normally had trapping one!

  Yan cursed himself for not thinking to bring the things necessary to build a fire. That should have been a priority during his rushed preparations, instead of the fruit or the fishing line. Everyone was right; he really was a good-for-nothing dreamer.

  It was just what he needed now, to find himself face-to-face with a bear or a stray wolf. He would look really fierce with his fishing knife and his rusty harpoon.

  He should have first gone to the neighboring village and got his hands on a horse. He should have found a weapon worthy of being called so. He should have taken the time to think, like he so often told others to do.

  Léti must be far away. Perhaps even dead.

  He delivered a furious blow with his harpoon to a wall of seda shrub that was blocking his way. A swarm of huge silvery flies took to the air, buzzing. A bat swooped in, gliding toward them, ready to make a dinner of them. Yan chased him off by waving his arms around like a madman. It was unfair, but the bat had frightened him.

  He allowed himself a short break. In spite of the situation, a funny thought ran through his head: maybe Léti had already gone back to the village, and she was now worrying about him. If it were true, he would really be the King of Fools. But this idea was pleasant, since it implied a return to normal life.

  Unfortunately, for now the only thing he could do was to carry on and try to find the trail.

  He found it two centidays later, on the other side of a thick grove of broad-leaved trees. Relieved, he immediately scanned the horizon in both directions, hoping to make out the shapes of riders in the misty twilight. But, of course, he didn’t see anything.

  He was now faced with a decision. Either head back toward the village, praying that they hadn’t yet made it this far, or continue east, hoping they had already stopped for the night. If they veered off the path before he caught up to them, it was likely he would never see them again.

  This idea made his blood run cold, and he quickly set off toward the Lorelien border. The exhaustion of the strenuous trek was beginning to take a merciless toll on him, but he forced himself to ignore it. Besides, covering ground without stumbling on roots or trudging through thorny bushes made it much more tolerable.

  The only challenge was to not lose the trail.

  Rarely traveled, the trail wasn’t always easy to make out. With the fog, Yan sometimes had a hard time telling the trail from the scrub. At one point, he convinced himself he had lost it again.

  He ended up focusing his attention just a few steps ahead, walking with his gaze practically stuck to his feet.

  He continued on that way for almost a league, when a detail, which he had nearly passed by, snapped him out of his daze.

  He was just about to step on a fresh print left by a horse’s hoof.

  The surprising part wasn’t the print itself, of course, on a road frequented by riders, but its direction.

  He soon found others, quite a few even, leaving no doubt: two horses, maybe three, had recently pulled off the road into the thick scrub.

  Taken by a wave of hope, Yan lunged down this new path, keeping his eye out for more clues hinting at a recent passage of animals. It was harder than he had thought, and several times he had to retrace his steps to correct his course, the darkness hardly helping matters.

  During one of these moments, he realized that he might have made a mistake.

  A low-hanging branch like any other, which he had brushed aside just as he had done so many times that night, didn’t straighten back into its place, but fell.

  A living plant that size doesn’t just break.

  When he examined it up close, he discovered a thin string tied to one end, more or less taut, which vanished into the bushes.

  Genius. The other end of the string must have activated some sort of alarm. Yan had made enough hunting traps himself that he didn’t need it spelled out.

  He ran a few paces and hid. Who could possibly have put such a setup in place besides thieves? Besides people who didn’t have good intentions? It wasn’t Léti, or Corenn, in any case. So who was it?

  Yan decided that he could live happily without knowing the answer, and began to cautiously make a wide loop back to the trail. He concentrated all his attention on being silent as he moved forward, frequently looking behind him.

  Suddenly, he felt a shiver race down his spine. What if they had been attacked? Kidnapped? By those with evil intentions?

  He needed reassurance. He had come this far for at least that.

  After taking his knife out, he hid his bag under a branch. He also left behind his harpoon, which was too cumbersome. Then he went back to the string and began following it to its other end, cautiously keeping a bit of distance from it.

  He continued for fifteen paces or so. The people at the other end had set themselves up rather far away; this did nothing but confirm his theory. As he moved forward, he heard more and more distinctly the characteristic crackling of a fire.

  He abandoned the string’s path and slipped away toward the camp. He covered the remaining distance practically at a crawl, with only one thing in mind: don’t make a sound, whatever you do, don’t m
ake a sound.

  The fire was burning at the bottom of a depression in the ground. It was surrounded so well by shrubs and seda bushes that it was impossible to see it even from twenty yards away. Three horses were tied up nearby, and two figures were lying on the ground, their backs facing Yan.

  His heart leaped in his chest. He wasn’t sure, but...yes, that body, there...It was Léti!

  Something cold pressed against his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out the dull gleam of a blade clenched in a man’s hand.

  “Drop your knife. Put your hands up. Slowly,” a calm voice whispered in his ear.

  Yan complied, cursing himself. How did he always manage to mess things up?

  The blade left his throat. For an instant he wondered if he should make a move. Not easy, in this position...

  Something hit him on the back of the head and everything went black.

  “Maz Lana? Are you well?”

  The priestess lifted her head. It was Rimon, the young novice, who had kindly come to comfort her. He had always been her best student as well as a loyal friend, and Lana knew she would pass on her title of Maz to him one day or another, if Eurydis allowed it.

  “Yes, yes. Thank you.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No, thank you. Not right now. I just need to be alone for a moment. To reflect.”

  “All right. I’ll be outside your door. Don’t hesitate to call for me if you need anything.”

  At the doorway, he added: “The Temple has sent a few officers. They’re placing a guard around the building. You are safe.”

  “Very well, you can go now.”

  Rimon obeyed her meekly, with one last pitying look at his teacher. Sometimes Lana asked herself if she saw more than respect, more than friendship in the eyes of the young novice. But they both knew things would never go any further.

  She stood and paced across the little cell that served as her home. Even though it was austere, modestly decorated, and only functionally furnished, her bedroom had always felt very comfortable. Its main appeal was the magnificent view from the window. The midday sun shimmered off the Alt’s flowing waters, glistening on the Holy City’s myriad domes and temples, warming the foothills before the high mountains of the Curtain range. It was such a beautiful city. Peaceful, pacifist, spared from the barbarism of the rest of the known world.

  Lana closed her eyes to say a silent prayer. Wise Eurydis, why this new hardship? Hadn’t she suffered enough from these recent struggles?

  The morning’s events invaded her memory despite her efforts to forget. She had just begun leading her disciples in a reflection on the vanity of wealth, a subject that she held particularly dear; such corruption is difficult to resist even for the wisest of the wise. They convened, as was their habit, in the gardens at the foot of Mount Fleuri, and peacefully debated the numerous references to vanity found in religious literature.

  This type of teaching was open to anyone; it wasn’t uncommon to see strangers sit in the circle with the order’s members, out of intellectual interest or mere curiosity. So no one made any objection when a young man without a mask and wearing the common robe of a novice joined them.

  The stranger kept silent, but avidly listened to each of the speakers, particularly the women. This hadn’t escaped Lana who, having merely been intrigued at the time, understood perfectly well now.

  When the stranger was sure he knew who was leading the class, he jumped to his feet like a cat and leaped, brandishing a dagger.

  Toward her.

  Lana didn’t make any movement to defend herself, and would never understand why. She saw the assassin approach her, very clearly, as if time had slowed down. And she simply told herself her earthly life was about to end.

  Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, some of her disciples reacted quickly enough to save her.

  Finally, she allowed the tears to come, feeling them run down her cheeks. No one, no one, deserved such a sacrifice.

  Four were killed, simply grazed by that horrible dagger. Four young people who had always condemned violence. Four children who only aspired to serve Eurydis their whole lives.

  Lopan, Vascal, Durenn.

  Orphaëlle...

  Lana let the pain overwhelm her. Poor Orphaëlle. So young, so innocent.

  Tragically, the assassin realized his failure an instant after stabbing the young novice who had jumped in his path.

  Halted, seized by several pairs of hands, he stabbed the terrifying weapon, which they were trying to wrest from him, straight into his own heart.

  Lana had woken up in her cell, Rimon at her side. She didn’t even remember fainting. He had told her the few things he knew: the Temple’s officers had dispersed the curious crowd and then escorted those involved in the affair to their homes. Each of them would be questioned and placed under protection for a while.

  They took justice very seriously in Ith.

  Three knocks sounded at her door, and Lana went to open it, forcing herself to recover a dignified bearing. Self-pity was far from being a valued virtue in the Eurydis cult.

  An old man looked at her compassionately. Short, thin, without a mask, dressed in a plain robe, and barefoot. Emaz Drékin.

  “Your Excellence,” she said, inviting him in.

  “Come now, Lana. This is no time for protocol,” he scolded gently, taking her in his delicate arms.

  She returned his embrace, sobbing, her dignity ceding to emotion.

  They released each other after a moment, and Lana closed the door behind them.

  “Do you want an infusion?” she offered, trying to sound natural again.

  “Another time, my child, another time. Before anything else, we must speak about important matters.”

  Lana agreed and went to sit at the small bench in front of her table, inviting the Emaz to do the same. She had a feeling that Drékin came not only as a friend, but also as a high-ranking leader of the Temple.

  He sighed for a moment, searching for words, then launched into a discussion that, despite his calm tone, was nothing short of an interrogation.

  “Lana, did you know this man?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  Lana was making an effort not to burst into tears.

  “Had you ever seen him before?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Not in my class, anyhow. Unless he was wearing a mask, of course.”

  The Emaz let the silence linger. He was still hesitant to speak about certain things.

  “Do you know what the Züu are?” he asked her, finally.

  Lana’s eyes widened in fright. Yes, of course she knew. A sect of murderers who committed their crimes in the name of a judiciary goddess, that’s who they were. In previous centuries, the Züu had systematically massacred all the Eurydians who disembarked on their island. How could she not know that, she who had studied the history of Ith?

  “You think that...?”

  She didn’t finish her sentence.

  “Sadly, yes. The officers found your name in a note on his body, and other details about you. It was written in Ramzü.”

  Lana let it sink in. She thought she had simply come across a demon. She understood now that the attempt was premeditated.

  And that she was far from out of danger.

  “Lana, what I ask of you now is very important. The Temple cannot allow for renewed opposition with the Züu, new martyrs, a new crusade. So, tell me why they are after you.”

  Lana thought for a moment, which seemed to be an eternity to the Emaz.

  “Unfortunately, I do not know. I have no idea.”

  The old man looked disappointed.

  “Ah, well. We couldn’t have changed their minds anyhow, but we might have known how to protect you.”

  “What you’re saying is awful! This means that they will try and try again until they succeed!”

  “Perhaps not, my child, perhaps not. This is the other thing I must speak with you about. The Temple can arrange
to shelter you, but at the price of a large sacrifice, one that you are not obliged to accept.”

  Lana prepared herself for the worst.

  “Go on.”

  “Except for the young Rimon, all of your disciples are still wondering whether you’ve survived. The Temple has kept this information secret up until now...”

  Lana was horrified.

  “You aren’t about to suggest that...”

  “It’s the best thing to do, my child. Consider it. Unfortunately, the young Orphaëlle perished in the attack. Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain by dying in the next dékade.”

  Lana wondered how the Emaz could think such a thing. To take advantage of the young girl’s misfortune.

  “The witnesses will be unable to say who was killed,” the Grand Priest continued. “For them, there was at least one masked woman among the victims. If we announce you are deceased, we won’t need anything else to trick the Züu.”

  “I understand perfectly well, Your Excellence. I just need some time to think. This strategy will force me to leave Ith, won’t it?”

  “Unfortunately, for some time. Your salvation depends on it.”

  “My salvation.”

  Lana stood up and admired the landscape from her window with new eyes. It seemed to her already that it was the last time she would enjoy it.

  “Because it is necessary, I will abandon everything I have. Everything that makes up my life. May Eurydis give me strength.”

  “Wise words,” concluded the relieved Emaz, standing up. “It would hurt me immeasurably to lose you. We will figure out the details later; until then, I will make the arrangements I must for...for what we have decided.”

  He took his leave, briefly embracing her again.

  Alone again, Lana argued with her conscience. She had lied to an Emaz. Blatantly. She knew why the Züu were looking for her. At least, she knew the basic cause.

  Her ancestor Maz Achem, and his mysterious voyage to a small Lorelien island. The Island of Ji.

  The Züu had only started her on a journey she had been planning for years.

  But the Grand Temple couldn’t know anything about that.