by R. S. Ford
‘Why don’t you come in and get her?’ Josten shouted back.
There was no reply.
‘What now?’ Mullen asked.
Josten glared at the morning mist. The longer they stayed the more chance Randal had of sending for more men. Maybe they were already coming. Maybe they were already here, waiting out there in the mist ready to strike. Either way, he and Mullen were dead if they stayed here much longer.
‘We make a run for it,’ Josten said.
Mullen nodded, his eyes going wide as he wound himself up for the fight.
‘So much for your old friend Clancy,’ Mullen breathed through clenched teeth.
‘I don’t think this is Clancy’s fault,’ Josten replied, remembering the waxy face staring up at him from within the casket.
‘On three?’ Mullen said.
Josten tightened his grip on his sword. ‘On three.’
‘One,’ said Mullen, fingers clenching on his crossbow.
‘Two,’ said Josten, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he prepared to leap through the breach in the fort.
Before they could get to three there was a cry of rage. Three tallymen burst through the mist with swords raised. An arrow flew past them both, narrowly missing Josten’s head and clattering off nearby masonry.
Mullen aimed his crossbow, trying to track one of the charging tallymen in his sights. He wasn’t quick enough, blurting a curse as he stumbled back from a sweeping sword, his quarrel flying off into the misty morning.
Josten braced himself behind the crooked masonry as the first swordsman came running. The man growled as he jumped over the wall, and Josten ducked his sword, dipping his shoulder and tipping the tallyman over his back. The second attacker came in from the side and Josten struggled to parry his incoming blow.
More arrows came flying, missing friend and foe alike. Josten parried two more blows before planting his fist in the tallyman’s face, knocking him back over the wall of the fort. He turned in time to see the other one rising to his feet. The tallyman looked up, eyes widening, before Josten hacked down, splitting the man’s skull and sending blood spurting down his face.
Mullen had grappled his opponent up against the wall of the fort and was headbutting him despite the man already being unconscious.
‘Let’s get the fuck out of here,’ Josten barked, grabbing Mullen’s coat at the shoulder and pulling him away. Mullen let the tallyman drop, his face a bloody mess, and they both vaulted over the broken wall of the fort as more arrows rained down.
Josten staggered through the mist, trying to find where the arrows were coming from. Suddenly he spied another tallyman on horseback, bow in hand. An arrow whistled past them as they ran and Josten made straight for him as the bowman desperately pawed at the quiver on his saddle. Before he could nock, Josten had a hold of his leg, dragging him from the horse. Mullen was at his side, axe drawn. Josten didn’t look as he mounted the horse, but he heard the dull crack of the axe against the bowman’s skull.
Mullen jumped up behind as Josten pulled on the reins, showing the beast who was in charge before it could become skittish and bolt. With a last look around for more enemies he dug his heels in and the horse galloped off, hooves making slick divots in the soft earth.
They galloped as far as they could, following the river, the horse snorting plumes and struggling under the strain of two riders. At any moment Josten expected that bastard Randal to come tearing at them through the mist, sword held high, but no one appeared. When he was satisfied they weren’t being pursued he slowed to a trot.
They were a mile away from the fort now, not far from the small copse where they’d left Livia. The men dismounted and walked the horse to within the tree line. Livia was still there, tied to the trunk of an oak.
Josten stopped them some yards away, letting go of the horse’s reins and letting it breathe deep as it whickered in the shadows.
‘What now?’ said Mullen.
Josten turned on him. ‘I wish you’d stop fucking saying that. Like I’ve got all the answers. What do you think we should do now?’
Mullen took Josten’s anger with a blank expression. Then looked over to where the girl was. ‘Maybe we should be rid of her and then get the fuck out of here.’
He placed a hand on his axe, stained with blood.
Josten glanced over to Livia. He could just see her through the trees, filthy and bedraggled, her hair hanging in dark strands, face a bruised mess. His thumb flicked up the cross-guard of his sword. Then he let it fall back into the sheath.
‘Go on then,’ he said.
Mullen pulled his axe free. Josten felt something tighten in his gut. A hundred memories of what he’d seen, of what he’d done, came flooding back. For a moment he almost reached out and grabbed Mullen’s arm, but he didn’t need to. The big man just looked over to where the girl was tied. Then shook his head.
‘Do your own shitty work,’ he said, putting the axe away and turning back to where the horse was grazing.
Josten left him, moving through the trees to the clearing where Livia waited. He pulled the knife at the small of his back, considering the keen edge of the blade for just a moment before he cut her free.
She looked at him as though she were about to ask why they weren’t laden down with silver. Instead she stayed silent.
‘Let’s go,’ Josten said, as Mullen led the horse into the clearing.
With that the two men started to walk off northwards. Josten stopped before they’d made it ten yards and turned. Livia was staring at them.
‘You coming?’ Josten asked.
A smile crossed her dirty face. ‘What the bloody hell else am I going to do?’ she said, before following them through the trees.
* * *
The nomads of the Cordral Desert began worshipping the constellations millennia ago, relying on them to navigate the oceans of sand. This tradition endured, even after the Fall, and though the introduction of agriculture has meant the Cordral is no longer the perilous wasteland it once was, their observance is still maintained.
Each constellation represents one of the ancient gods of the desert, making up an ancient pantheon that circles the world, locked in an eternal struggle for dominance over the heavens. The constellations themselves are grouped into Cardinals containing three celestial bodies that exist coterminously.
The gods of the Northern Cardinal are Sol, Lilith and the Unnamed. Sol shines brighter than any other star, a yellow beacon perpetually pointing north. Lilith is a tiny blue star and the Unnamed a distant red, constantly circling her. Legend tells that Lilith was the most beautiful being in the heavens, admired by all men, but jealous Sol forced her to wear a mask so that no other could covet her splendour. Despite her hidden beauty, the Unnamed took her as a lover, until Sol stole her away. Still, the Unnamed pursues Lilith across the heavens in an endless, but ultimately vain, quest to claim her heart.
In the Eastern Cardinal sit the Scorpion Vermitrix and her sister Essena the Serpent. They are a constant plague on Halbor, the wise old wanderer shining yellow and bright in the eastern sky. It is said the sisters infect Halbor with their venom each night, stopping him from showering his wisdom on the earth, keeping the lands of men in constant ignorance.
The Western Cardinal is home to the Fool and the Fallen King, their names lost in the annals of time. These twin stars are often mistaken for each other, so closely do they sit amongst the heavens, often appearing as a single star. In legend, the Fallen King allowed the Fool to sit atop his throne but so alike were they that the court mistook the Fool for their liege, and now the King must forever watch his usurper make a mockery of his celestial kingdom. Around them both revolves Anural the Cup Bearer, serving both Fool and King with equal reverence.
Finally, the Southern Cardinal consists of the white stars Vane the Hunter and Karnak the Reaver, separated by the All-Mother. As Vane and Karnak fight in their eternal battle, so does the All-Mother try and bring peace. But distracted by her squabbling sons’ f
ight, the All-Mother’s task to bring harmony throughout the lands is a futile one.
– A History of the Cordral Extent, Sebastius Hoight
* * *
22
The Cordral Extent, 105 years after the Fall
SHE had slept for too long. The bed was empty, the sheets crumpled and sweat-moistened. Silver ran her hand over the mattress where Garvin had left an indent of his broad back. She should have smiled at the memory of him, of how they had become entwined in each other the night before, their breath coming in heightened gasps. But that memory was overshadowed by the nightmare, as always.
It still fluttered on the periphery of her mind, teasing her like a fly she couldn’t quite catch, although this morning it was more vivid than the previous. Every day Silver had realised she remembered more – the violence and blood, the screaming in rage, the ecstasy…
It should have horrified her. Should have brought her to tears but it didn’t.
It thrilled her.
To Silver’s shame she knew that thrill was more intense than anything Garvin could give her, their bodies as one, him inside her, her legs wrapped about his hips, pulling him deeper. A nightmare she could barely remember stirred her more than being in her lover’s arms, and for that she could never forgive herself. Not that she would ever have told him. She shared her bed and her body with Garvin, but the passion of her nightmares was hers and hers alone.
Silver took a breath before rising from the bed, stretching the sleep from her limbs, feeling the strength in them. She clenched her fists, tensing the muscles of her arms and shoulders, delighting in how healthy she felt. Her first memories had been of weakness and pain before Garvin and the boys had found her. That weakness was now distant, ephemeral. It was as if she had always been powerful, always as strong as she was in her dreams.
She dressed quickly and walked into the kitchen, smiling at the eggs Garvin had left for her on the skillet. Despite how strong she had become he always cared for her as though she was some kind of timid maiden. It was why he had allowed her to sleep. He knew her nights were troubled and he let her lie in long after she should have been awake and helping in the field. She could only love him all the more for that.
As she ate the eggs and washed them down with a drink from the pail, more memories of her dreams came back: a field of carnage, angels and demons battling before a great cerulean tower. Silver had cut a swathe through them, fighting her way towards the massive edifice. There was a yearning within her to reach that tower, but whatever its origin she had no idea. Even now, in the quiet of the kitchen she still felt that need.
She was suddenly glad of the banality of the day, of the ordinary house and the tedious work she did. It served to ground her from the elation of her dream state; a remedy for her nightly communion.
Somewhere she could hear the boys laughing. It made her smile; usually they only bickered. As much as she would have liked to join them Silver knew she couldn’t leave Garvin to the field on his own. He would never have complained had she decided to spend a day with his sons, but there was something about the field, and working it by his side, that she looked forward to. More of that banality perhaps? Knowing that the violence of her dreams was make-believe, that this was reality and she should embrace it. This was her life now, whatever her dreams showed her – whether visions of a stark future or distant memory.
Silver left the house. A basket sat on the porch and she placed it over her shoulder, picking up the sickle that lay beside it.
Garvin waved as she approached the field. She waved back, watching as he held the sickle loosely in his hand and stretched out his back, flexing his broad shoulders.
‘Hello,’ he said when she came closer, his white teeth seeming to glint in the sunlight.
‘Hello back,’ she replied.
They looked at one another for a moment. Mutual appreciation. Neither seeming embarrassed of their attraction to the other. They were past that now. The previous night she had felt closer to him than ever, and she knew he felt the same.
‘You let me sleep too long again,’ she said.
‘I know,’ Garvin replied. ‘But you seemed to be so settled this morning. It wasn’t right to disturb you.’
Silver knew that was only a half-truth. Lately her dreams had become so intense that they took something from her. Stripped her of vigour if she rose early with him. It was sweet that he would allow her the extra hours in bed.
‘Did I wake you in the night again?’ she asked.
‘Only once. You spoke but I couldn’t understand you. I’d love to know what makes you so animated.’ He raised an eyebrow suggestively.
‘I don’t know,’ she lied. ‘I never remember my dreams.’
‘Shame. It would be nice if you could share them with me.’
Nice? Silver thought that was the last thing they would be. Best if Garvin was ignorant of what she dreamed. He might think her insane if he ever found out.
‘Anyway,’ he said, hefting the sickle. ‘This field won’t tend itself.’
‘Indeed not,’ she replied, moving alongside him.
For the rest of the morning they worked the field side by side, making a deep furrow in the lush flora. Each time they filled a basket they would tie it into a sheaf, leaving it standing on the shorn ground. It didn’t take long for Silver’s row of sheaves to be almost twice as long as Garvin’s, her energy seeming to know no end. It was always the same, but if this ever dented his pride he never showed it.
They worked long into the afternoon until their bodies were slick with moisture. Something about the sweat on his body and the smell of his labours made Silver want Garvin all the more. She could have taken him right then and there in the field, but she knew Fenn and Darrick might not be far away.
When they had finished they collected the sheaves into bails, strapping them to their backs and carrying them to the farmhouse where they were stored in the shed. Inside the house the boys were waiting, Darrick busying himself with his chores while Fenn greeted Silver with a wide smile.
‘Hello, Ma,’ he said.
‘Hello, Fenn,’ she said, returning his smile and ruffling his hair as she went to wash.
It had not taken long for Fenn to start calling her ‘Ma’. At first she had felt awkward with it, the naming seeming even more unfamiliar than ‘Silver’. But Garvin had not seemed to mind and she had grown fond of Fenn – a fondness that left an ache in her chest. If it brought a smile to the boy’s face she was happy for him to say it.
For his part, Darrick gave her a nod as she passed by. Garvin’s eldest son had been somewhat less ready to accept Silver as his mother. He made no complaint, showed her no disrespect, but it was clear he was not ready to open up to her. He was a guarded child, never showing any feelings other than when he snapped at his younger brother.
When she had washed the dirt of the field from her body, Silver set about making them all a stew from goat and dried fruit they had purchased from a farmer at the trading post. The smell filled the small kitchen and made her stomach grumble in anticipation. She had become quite the cook in the past weeks, or at least she thought. Garvin and the boys had made no complaint. In fact Garvin had commented several times on how they ate better now than they ever had. Silver could only doubt the truth of that.
When the boys had eaten and taken to their beds, Silver cleared their dishes as Garvin slumbered in a chair. Afterwards she opened the door to the farmhouse and stepped outside into the balmy night, feeling restless.
The stars shone brightly, a million lights in the sky, fires burning in the distance. Garvin put little store by religion but he had told her they were the souls of the gods; twelve beings set in the sky to watch over the world, but who were so preoccupied with their own squabbles they ignored the lands of men, for the most part. He had laughed when he told her that story. They both knew it was nonsense. Whatever those stars were they were not gods. Silver knew the gods still lived, she saw them every night in her dreams.
/> ‘You must be tired.’
Silver turned to see Garvin watching from the doorway.
‘A little,’ she replied. She wasn’t tired at all.
He walked forward, standing close behind her and wrapping his arms around her. She held his forearms, feeling the muscle there, knowing his embrace was a gesture of love, to reassure her. To keep her safe. Silver knew there was nothing for her to fear out here. The only danger this night, in this desert, was her.
‘Your dreams have become… more intense,’ said Garvin.
That took her by surprise. He had never made a point of discussing her nightmares beyond the odd casual comment.
‘How so?’ she asked.
‘I had to rise early – you were thrashing in your sleep. I thought you were going to attack me at one point.’ He grinned, an attempt to laugh off the comment but she could tell he was concerned.
‘I’m sorry, you should have woken me,’ she replied. ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’
Garvin shrugged, gazing up at the stars with her. Perhaps he was thinking about an old legend regarding the All-Mother or the Fallen King or some other dead god. Perhaps he was wondering what he had allowed into his home. Into his bed.
‘We’ve never talked about where you came from,’ he said. ‘I’ve been avoiding it. Maybe your dreams are the key to finding that out.’
Silver grew uncomfortable in his arms. It felt as though he was judging her for the first time. She felt guilty; he had every right to question her origins, but she couldn’t help but feel anger well up within her.
‘I thought the past didn’t matter. I thought this was our life now and that was all that mattered.’ She turned to him and could see his brow furrowed in the light of the moon and stars.
‘It is all that matters,’ he said. ‘But I want to help you.’ He was staring into her eyes now, an intense look she had never seen before.
‘I don’t need help,’ she said, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him away. Too hard. Garvin stumbled back, looking shocked at her strength.
He stared at her, fear and hurt playing across his strong features before he shook his head and turned back towards the door.
