Awake the Cullers (History of Ondar)

by Amanda Young

  The darkness cannot win.

  Those who were frightened moments before were now singing boisterously along with The Ballad of Valenkeeper. The song spoke of a group of farmers who fought a goblin attack in the small mountain settlement generations before. With limited weapons and fighting skills, the men held off the attacks for three days, until reinforcements could come to drive off the remaining goblins. It was a song of perseverance and hope that everyone learned as a child, and singing it had the desired effect of calming the fears of those in the tavern and encouraging them not to give up. Leaving them to continue singing, Marcy ran to the second floor and peaked out a window to see what they faced. It reminded her of the descriptions she heard of Suriax after the Night of Blue Fire. Homes burned. Bodies littered the streets. The source of the destruction, however, was quite different. Raiders were everywhere, hacking at anyone unlucky enough to be caught outside. They broke in doors and pulled screaming women from their homes. They took turns cutting off limbs until their victims stopped screaming. Some lasted longer than others.

  Marcy looked at the horrified, haunted expressions of the archers stationed at each window. The building shook again, and she looked down at the men running into the tavern door. The archers tried shooting at them, but none could get a good shot. Marcy raised her hands in front of her chest and called the fire. Concentrating on the flame, she grew it into a dense, tight ball. She felt the heat on her face and knew it was ready. Pushing out, she sent the fire down, focusing it on the men. They ignored it at first, but she kept the fire coming, forcing it to grow hotter.

  Their hair burned down to the scalp. Skin blistered, and still they did not scream. One man threw an axe at her window. Marcy ducked but did not stop. As skin melted off their faces and the fire’s heat reached their brains, at last the men fell. She thought to rest a moment, but others were quick to take their place, so she continued pumping a steady stream of fire. She maintained the fire for so long, at such intense heat that her own hands began to blister. She took in a deep breath and felt her vision blur. There was not enough air left around her to breath. The fire consumed everything. Her vision reduced to small pinpricks of light and fuzzy colors. Five more men fell to her flames. With the immediate threat reduced, Marcy let the fire extinguish, but not before her vision blackened entirely. She felt hands at her back. They kept her steady. Her air returned, and with it her vision.

  “Are you alright?” One of the archers asked. He was the same person who kept her standing when she would have fallen. She nodded, her throat too dry to speak.

  “Let me see that,” a woman ran up with salves and bandages, intent on tending to Marcy’s hands. They were worse than she thought. Clear fluid filled bubbles covered her fingers and palms. The pain as the woman cleaned and covered them was intense, but she did not flinch. She was raised in Suriax. Suriaxians often engaged in a battle of wills called proelignisium. The premise was simple. You cause your rival pain through fire. They do the same to you, and the first person to give up loses. Every Suriaxian participated in at least one or two proelignis matches in their lifetimes.

  “Hey, Marce, that was good thinking,” Thomas came in to the room. The smile died on his face. “You’re hurt!”

  “I’m fine. Just a few blisters is all.”

  “That has never happened before.”

  Marcy shrugged. “I never kept it going so long before.”

  A loud crash sounded at the back of the tavern. It was followed by screams and people shouting. Marcy and Thomas ran to the top of the stairs. Light streamed in from holes in the back wall. Others quickly joined it as someone used an axe to break through. Thomas ran down the stairs, calling out orders. “Get all the children upstairs. Pull those tables over here. Men with weapons go over there.” In less than thirty seconds they had any large furniture they could find stacked to the left of where the raider would burst through. It was all part of their effort to funnel the enemy away from the stairs and straight for their ambush. Marcy ushered all the children upstairs, biding them to be quiet. Candace was at the head of the group, grabbing on to Marcy’s arm and not letting go. She took her charges to the farthest room at the end of the hall. It had a window that overlooked the next building. The gap was narrow. If it became necessary, two adults could hand over the children from one building to the next. It wasn’t a great plan, for she had no idea what awaited them over there, but it was an option.

  Singing softly, she did her best to calm the frightened children. She sang a song of a jovial gnome who pulled pranks until he was fooled by his friends into swearing never to prank again. The rooms downstairs were quiet except for the sounds of the axe hacking through the wooden wall. The children gathered around her, soothed by her song.

  Downstairs, the axe hits stopped. Boards creaked and furniture shifted in the pile. Marcy continued to sing, careful to keep her voice low. The sound of metal hitting metal was followed by grunts and cries of pain. The intruders were at the ambush. “He rued the day he tried to play a prank on Sawson Murrey.” There was a roar followed by silence, then another crash of wood breaking and tables shifting. The fighting began again, and the children shook, clinging to her tightly. Marcy started a new song, a memory game that required their participation. Careful not to goad them into responding too loudly, she encouraged them to sing along, filling in the gaps of the song. Another crash, and there were more raised voices. She kept the children singing until several minutes went by with no sound of fighting. She nodded to one of the other women in the room, who took over leading the song. Marcy slowly disentangled herself from the group. Cautiously, she peaked past the wall near the stairs. She heard grunting and saw four raiders being dragged, one at a time, back through the hole to the street. Once they were all outside, the men propped furniture against the hole to offer some brief protection from the forces outside.

  A horn sounded in the distance. Marcy ran to a window and saw figures emerging from houses and alleys all over the village to walk back over the horizon. “They’re leaving!” an archer from one of the upstairs rooms cried, as he ran downstairs to the others. The room erupted into massive cheers. Marcy watched the retreating raiders and wondered at their departure. She looked at the men they killed. Between her fire, the four who broke inside and the ones the archers took out, there were over a dozen. Did the other raiders know so many of their own had died? Did they care? Would they return with reinforcements?

  She felt the elation from the survivors and wished she could share in it, but something still stuck in her chest and left her uneasy. They weren’t out of this, yet. This was only a temporary reprieve. The real battle was yet to come.

  Chapter 5

  “We appreciate you coming on such short notice,” the mayor said. He was a short, balding man of thin build and wore a dress coat buttoned to the silky white ascot tied at his throat. Large brass buttons adorned the flared, cuffed sleeves. A gold trim followed every seam. His shoes were freshly polished, and his coat was the deepest black, with no hint of fading or specks of lint.

  “We strive to answer all calls for our help with matters of legal concern,” Mirerien answered, allowing herself to be seated beside the mayor and judge presiding over this case. Her friend and trainer, Collin, sat at the back of the room to serve as a witness to the proceedings. Whenever dealing with other municipalities it was always wise to have a witness to head off potential political complications should disagreements arise. “Why don’t you explain the details behind your need for my mediation in this matter?”

  “The defendant is charged with attempting to leave town without paying the balance of fees due for various services,” the judge answered her question, clearly thinking that simplistic description was sufficient.

  Mirerien looked at the man in question. He was a bridge builder for Saar. According to the reports, he came to Mackenvay to help rebuild a bridge damaged by flooding earlier in the year. Both cities were independently operated with their own local governments and laws.
Now, the builder wanted to return to Saar, but Mackenvay insisted he stay to repay fines incurred during his stay. Saar demanded the return of their citizen. Threats of violence loomed large on everyone’s minds. A quick resolution of the matter was needed to maintain the peace.

  “What have you to say in your defense?” she asked the man.

  “Your Majesty,” he said with respect, “I came to Mackenvay with the promise of a thousand gold if I helped them rebuild their bridge. They told me ten percent of that would be held back for taxes, but the rest would be mine. Once I arrived here, everything changed. I was told I needed a license to work in the city. To purchase the license I needed to have insurance to cover my work. I was responsible for providing a meal a day for each of my workers, and if they worked past dusk I was charged a fine. If they didn’t work late and I missed a deadline, I was charged another fine. I had to purchase and pay taxes on all the materials for the build. I could not have my own materials and tools brought in to the city without first paying a high tariff. Any materials not used at the end of the job were assessed another fee and returned to the original vendor.

  The money I didn’t spend for these things was required to be kept in the city’s bank. If I did not put it in the bank I was told it would be taxed as part of my on hand assets. But to put it in the bank was a daily fee of three silver coins. At the end of the job, I was charged a fee to remove the money from the bank. Then when I tried to leave town, I was told there was an exit fee I needed to pay to remove money from their town. I complained I wasn’t a citizen and should not be subject to an exit fee, so they said they would charge me the tourist fees instead.

  With only a small amount of gold left, I said I would not pay any more fees or fines. I need what little gold I have left to pay for the journey home and to feed my family once I return. We were depending on the money from this job to get us through the winter months. I just want to go home to my family and forget I ever came here.”

  “Do you have any financial records I may look over?”

  The man gathered his papers and handed them to Mirerien. “Mayor,” she said, “please provide me with a copy of your tax code system and a list of all fines, fees and regulations on the books.”

  With the requested documents in front of her, Mirerien skimmed through their contents. It was mostly a formality. She knew the man told the truth about his experiences, but she needed concrete numbers and facts to back up that knowledge. It didn’t take long to see how easy it was to get in too far. Only a mind with a keen understanding of business could even hope to traverse the relative minefield of unexpected expenses and actually come away with any profit. Closing the books, she pushed them away disgustedly. “Tell me, how many times do you tax the same money?”

  “Your Highness, with all due respect,” stumbled the mayor, “our taxes are the lowest in the region.”

  “No, they claim to be only ten percent, but after fees and regulations your taxes are actually closer to seventy percent, possibly higher in certain circumstances. You mislead people to bring them here.”

  “These are our laws. It is our right to impose whatever fees we deem necessary for the operation of our city.”

  “The purpose of law is to maintain order. If you wish to tax your people seventy percent, tax them seventy percent, but be honest about it. What you have created here is a complex system designed to confuse and manipulate people to your advantage. It is deceitful and not in the true spirit of the law. You promised this gentleman only ten percent of his payment would be taxed. Only after he invested his time and money into coming here did you make him aware of these other ‘fees,’ he incurred just by being in possession of the money. It is disingenuous to claim ninety percent of the money is his when it is constantly being depleted whether he spends it or not. You hired this man, brought him far from his home to do a job for the good of the city, taxed him to the point he cannot afford to return home, and now you wish to imprison him until he can earn enough to pay back all of your fees. You have created a system of indentured servitude. This is not the purpose of the law. The bridge builder shall be released and returned five hundred gold to pay for his return to Saar.” She leveled her gaze at the smiling builder and spoke seriously. “Should you ever willingly choose to return here, knowing what you know now, you will be subject to all their fees and taxes, whatever they may be.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. Thank you.”

  She stood and looked back at the mayor and judge. “I strongly suggest a re-examining of your entire legal code. Should you request help in this endeavor, I can send one of Aleria’s legal scholars to consult with. Good day.”

  Not waiting for their reply, she took her exit. Collin took in the faces of the people in the room and followed. “That was impressive,” he said once they were a good distance from the courthouse. “The city officials fully expected you to rule in their favor. They were completely taken off guard by your verdict. Do you think they will change their laws as you suggested?”

  “I do not know. As things stand, their allegiance is not to the law but to what manipulations they can achieve through the law. It is possible, once word of the verdict spreads, the citizens here could put sufficient pressure on them to make those changes. Ultimately that decision remains theirs.”

  “It’s amazing how easily you read situations. No matter how hard people try to confuse you or manipulate the facts, you see right through them. You cut straight to the truth.”

  Mirerien shrugged uncomfortably. Collin had known her since they were very young, but as children he spent more time with her brothers. She was always around. They were triplets, always close to one another, even when they argued. But Mirerien was aloof, a loner for the most part. Never one to indulge in emotional displays, she preferred calm facts and reason.

  Her brother, Pielere, was the one to suggest she begin training with Collin. He was a weapons’ master and excellent teacher. Under his tutelage her skill with the bow and battle hammer had progressed to great heights. Undeterred by her coldness he worked with her, warming her heart and making her think of things like companionship and family for the first time. But there were things about her he did not know, things he was beginning to notice on his own, like her ability to always know the truth. Somehow she could sense if a person lied to her. It was a definitive, unquestionable knowledge she could not explain.

  Her brothers were gifted with their own unique powers. Pielere could hear the thoughts of their citizens who were in need of justice. Eirae had an ability to evoke a hallucinatory response in criminals to draw out their remorse for wrong done. Their abilities grew stronger with each passing month and seemed to be tied to their roles within the kingdom. Completely dedicated to the law and known as the Three Lawgivers by the people, they were called The Protector, the Punisher and the Keeper of Order. All of them felt a power behind those names and felt a pull toward their specific calling. It was something they accepted without question, but they struggled with how much to reveal to those close to them.

  Mirerien came to a stop at the top of a small hill at the edge of the city and turned to Collin, taking his hands in her own. “About the proposal,” she began.

  “I know how great your responsibilities are,” he interrupted. “I know how many people depend on you and would never do anything to interfere with your duty to them.

  “There are things about me you do not know, things I don’t even understand,” she tried to explain.

  “Then let us figure them out together. Whatever may happen, I know my feelings for you. That isn’t going to change.”

  “Collin.”

  “Oh, Seer of Truth,” he said with a smile, not realizing the importance or accuracy of the nickname, “tell me if I lie.”

  She looked at his smiling face full of love for her and knew he meant those words with his entire being. He beamed with an aura of truth that warmed her with its intensity. And she knew her answer. “I will marry you,” she answered. His eyes sparked with excitemen
t, and he spun her in a circle, kissing her deeply.

  Staying on the hill, reluctant to rejoin the rest of the world, they watched the sun set and counted stars long into the night until at last one of her attendants called up the hill after them. Sharing one last moment alone, Mirerien bid the woman to approach them.

  “Your Majesty, I am sorry to interrupt, but King Pielere sent a message for you.”

  “Go on,” she prompted, listening distractedly.

  “He said you were needed back in Aleria right away. He sent a mage to teleport you home. He also said to tell you ‘Congratulations.’” The woman looked slightly confused but passed on the message non-the-less.

  Mirerien grinned and dismissed the woman. Leave it to Pielere to already know about her engagement. “Well, time to go.”

  “You don’t think that message was about us, do you?” Collin asked.

  Mirerien actually laughed, feeling happier than she had in years. “My dear Collin,” she said, placing a hand on his cheek. “There are many things you need to know, but that must wait. Let us go home.”

  * * *

  Kern looked at the expectant faces around him and took a breath. They all sat quietly while he spoke to Thomas through their shared communication rings. Now, they wanted a report. “There has been another raid, north of the border this time.”

  “In Tynerock?” Lynnalin asked. Kern nodded. “Marcy?”

  “Is unharmed,” he assured her. “She and Thomas held off the raiders with some of the villagers at the tavern. The rest of the village was not so lucky. They are leading the survivors to the Eastern Ridge.”

  “That may not be such a bad idea,” Zanden said. The main topic of discussion the past few hours had been what to do with the survivors. None of them wanted to drop off a group of women and children somewhere dangerous. Not knowing where the raiders were, where they were going or their numbers, it was impossible to say where may be safe. And travelling any distance with such a group would be slow and difficult. They did not have supplies enough for an extended journey.