Revenant

by Fergal F. Nally

  More bodies followed; a boy, a man and two little girls, all with their throats cut. Their livestock gone.

  Reavers, it had to be.

  Levant pressed on, his mind hardened. He was immune to the sight and smell of death. He was an observer, he would move through and leave this place. After twenty minutes he found himself in the village. He saw the inn he had stayed at two nights before; a fire-scorched ruin, as was much of the village. Bodies of men, women and children lay scattered in the mud. A whole community put to fire and steel.

  He walked through the destruction, his senses alert. The attack must have come soon after he had left the village. Most of the buildings had burned out, a few were smouldering. He ignored the devastation and kept walking, keeping to the shadows. Whoever had passed this way was gone. He would stop and rest once he had left the valley.

  “The Tanglemen are looking for the Blood Eagle,” a woman’s voice came from behind.

  Levant turned. The woman from the inn stood behind him, a slingshot in her hand.

  Chapter 2: Stained Violence

  Sabine reached out.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her body was concealed by the statue’s wings. She held her breath, her muscles screamed. She had been cooped up all day in this confined space. Her hand shook as she pulled on the nearby pillar. Her body emerged from behind the statue. She vowed never to be so foolish again.

  She had almost been discovered by the library guards. Their dogs had picked up her scent during the night. Luckily, they found a prowling cat which distracted them at the last minute. Her good fortune, the cat’s she wasn’t so sure. Her stiff legs exploded in pain as she lowered herself to the marble floor. They gave way and she collapsed, almost passing out.

  She’d give Raven a piece of her mind; this had been her idea. No problem, she’d said, a piece of cake. In and out like Stac, the Snake God, she’d said. Blind Raven, her sister, bright and cunning. Blind because of the bastards who had taken her sight at birth for the Temple Sisters of the Holy See’er. Bastard church, bastard faith, she swore.

  Her blood boiled every time she thought of her sister’s fate. One day she would visit the See’er inner circle and rip out the Holy Mother’s throat. Her breathing settled, the sweat cooling on her skin. Sabine’s eyes focussed, she lay on the floor in the dark. The imperial library felt like a crypt.

  The library’s stained glass was dark. She knew it was at least three in the morning. She had two hours to find the scroll and get the hell out. Sabine rubbed the circulation back into her legs and looked around. Her eyes saw shapes in the darkness.

  Using her elven sight, she turned in the direction of the grand circle, the heart of the library. Silence. She rose quietly, her skin relishing the coolness of the night air. She closed her eyes and reached out with inner sight.

  Her moccasin-clad feet took her to the grand circle, she felt the presence of great knowledge. She thirsted for the learning held within these walls. Knowledge was power, it was hope. So much held within the books and papers of the ancient ones, now long gone. Much of their writings incomprehensible to the priests, except the odd book and scroll.

  Her mind snapped back to the task in hand; to find the Dema Cry scroll, it better be worth it. Her life was on the line, Raven had spent an age getting the contract for this job. Twelve gold would keep them going a long time. She smiled at the thought.

  A draught passed over her. Sabine froze, her heart pounding. Could it be them? The dogs were not due for another two hours. She opened her eyes and listened. Nothing. Then in the distance, footpads. Dogs. It was only a matter of time, the library was vast, but these beasts could move with alarming speed. She went to the centre of the grand circle and held out her hands, fear rising in the pit of her stomach. She sent her senses into the darkness. She would not die in this place. It was not her time.

  All but one of her senses returned; her feet did not lie. She cowered close to the floor and read the marble surface with desperate fingers. She felt the cold metal of a grate, her concentration doubled. Her fingertips explored the metal, it was the width of a man. She would climb down if she could move the grate. Her nails grew as she whispered the prayer her mother had taught her. She grabbed the grate and twisted. It moved letting out a scraping sound. Her heart fluttered… no sound, please no sound.

  The grate was heavy but it moved. She lowered herself into the space below, her feet finding the rungs of a ladder. Cold and damp embraced her and something else; a smell. She could not place it, it was not unpleasant, just unknown. She pulled the grate back over her head. She felt vulnerable, trapped. At least the dogs could not reach her.

  She lowered herself into the waiting darkness. She closed her eyes and felt the way down. The air grew damp and chill, a shiver passed through her. Minutes passed, the grate became a memory. After what seemed an age her feet left the ladder and touched solid ground.

  Sabine had heard stories of the labyrinth beneath the library… and the spirits that lived there; banshee spirits. The city elders had built their seat of learning on top of the ruins of the old temple. Some things should be left undisturbed, she mused. Darkness was absolute, she was in her element. She kept her eyes closed and reached out with inner sight. Her fingertips brushed against the wall, she felt her way along the passage.

  If she could find a way to the bottom of the labyrinth it should take her to the River Styr. The river would lead her from the labyrinth, out into the country beyond the city… provided she did not run into the labyrinth’s spirits. She suppressed her fear and pressed on. The Dema Cry scroll would have to wait for another day.

  She shuffled along the passageway and noticed it descending. That was good. Her fingertips read the walls on either side. Then, without warning, her feet were in space and she was falling down a shoot. She cried out, bracing herself for the worst. The shoot narrowed to embrace and propel her onwards at a controlled rate. She started to slow and after a few minutes came to a halt. She lay breathless, on her back staring at darkness.

  There was no going back, she was committed. Her hand strayed to the left, solid rock. To the right, emptiness. She tried to sit up but only succeeded in banging her forehead against the entombing rock above. She wriggled and twisted her body to the right, out of the shoot and onto a damp floor. She felt the joins in the slabs and followed them with her fingers. She tried to stand but the ceiling was too low. Crawling on all fours she followed the slabs onwards, downwards.

  After some minutes she came to an opening and entered, keeping to the wall. Her fingers read the wall and her feet the floor. Something was different about this space, a presence, echoes of age. Her mind stumbled through fables, childhood stories. The banshees had dealings with the Reaper, a deal had been struck that would eventually lead to their downfall.

  She stopped and listened, a low moan came from somewhere ahead. She stepped out into the chamber to listen, her foot brushed against a step. She hesitated then made a decision, she left the comfort of the wall, took a step and kept going. She discovered a raised section and explored the area with her hands and found a low dais. Her fingers explored the dais and came across a metallic box. She could feel intricate carvings along its surface. She lifted the box and put it into her backpack, her breathing quickened.

  Time eluded her. How long had she been down here? Minutes? Hours? She kept going and left the chamber. The passageway continued down, she felt other branches and turnings but kept to the main passage. A breeze caressed her face, the moaning returned. She heard water. The river? Her heart raced.

  Her feet splashed in water, relief flooded through her; she had found the river. She waded into the water and its current pulled at her. A noise came from the tunnel behind, a low pitched scream followed her from its depths. Her blood froze. The strange object she had picked up was in her pack. Maybe she should have left well alone… too late now.

  The river held her in its embrace bearing her on. Its waters were deep at the centre, the current slow. She en
countered no obstacles and after a while she noticed light filtering down from above. She was in a cave system, the river split into channels, Sabine kept to the main body of water.

  The light increased, then ahead she saw sky and heard a loud thundering. Alarm washed through her; the falls of Cyn! She had passed under the whole city and was now many miles to the south, outside the walls.

  Sabine broke away from the centre of the river and swam off to the side, where she saw an embankment. She felt the current strengthen, pulling her legs but she fought and broke free. A few minutes later she pulled herself up on the mud bank and lay panting. Her head was giddy with the exertion, a wave of fatigue passed over her and she closed her eyes.

  A dog’s wet nose woke her. Big eyes, bad breath, a shaggy coat. She recoiled from the hound. It stood and watched her, its tongue lolling. It was a large beast, muscle and power, but its eyes were kind. She sat up, the dog’s tail wagged. She looked around for its owner but no one was there.

  She had not seen a dog this close in years, not since the great hunger had passed through the city. Dog meat had been used as food, there were almost none left in the city; except for the king’s hunting pack. Cats had been spared, they were the life force of the child-god Levicus.

  “Hello dog, I’m Sabine. It’s good to have your company. I don’t suppose you can show me the way out of here?”

  To her surprise the dog licked her hand, turned and trotted away. She blinked, stood up and went after him. She was shivering and needed to move. The light was fading, she guessed night was falling outside. She followed the dog’s shape in and around rocks and boulders. The sound of the river dimmed behind her.

  The dog disappeared around a corner, Sabine ran to catch up. She rounded the spot and found herself on a rocky ledge under a starry sky. She had made it, she was free. Relief flooded through her, her heart raced with excitement. She would find her way back to the city and her sister, Raven. Everything would work out.

  Right now she needed a fire to warm up and dry her clothes. She was thirsty and hungry. The ledge led down through a series of crags to a gully below. Fanning out from the gully lay scrubland and trees. She began her descent along the ledge and realised the dog was no longer in sight. Perhaps he had gone on ahead. No matter, he had got her this far, she was grateful.

  The ledge dropped away losing itself in the crags. The light was gone, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She was aware of her body temperature falling, she started shivering. She finally reached the bottom of the crags and stumbled in amongst the trees. She could feel the cold worming its way into her core and her skull.

  She felt herself fading, the trees started to move around her. She knew she was hallucinating. She felt something brush her legs and looked down, the dog had found her. He was barking and looking behind him but it was too late, she was beyond caring and felt her consciousness slip.

  Sabine blacked out and knew no more.

  Chapter 3: Forcan

  Where was Whisper? That damned dog would be the death of him, always going off and leaving him.

  Why do I bother? The big mutt can look after itself, see if I care.

  The heavy set trapper stalked through the forest, then heard barking and knew trouble lay ahead.

  “Blood and thunder! I knew it, trouble. T-R-O-U-B-L-E… here I am again walking into trouble. Bastard gods have it in for me.” He angrily stumbled through the trees, not caring if he made noise, not caring that anyone could hear him. Let them hear, he was furious and rightly so. The Tuath had swindled him for the last time. He would defy them and their trickster gods. He would get his reward, he just had to figure a way.

  Forcan burst out of the trees and almost stood on the girl. His hound was barking, tail wagging furiously, any faster and he would lift off the ground. He looked down and saw an elven girl, sixteen or seventeen. Her hair was long and tied in braids, she was dressed in black leather… he saw the snake tattoo on her neck.

  A follower of Stac?

  No, he reconsidered, she was likely a blighted one from the slums, forced to thieve and keep to the shadows by the city watch. One set of rules for us and another set of rules for everyone else, he thought. He bent down to see if she was breathing. She was… a dilemma. The gods had tossed the dice for him. They were playing with him, bastards. He was cursed whatever decision he made.

  “I can’t wait for this journey to be over. I’ve tried, I even sacrificed the best blade I had in the Fennan pools. The Lady took it to the otherside, to the ancestors. Look what I get in return,” he felt his blood boil, his voice grew louder, “a mangy hound and more trouble.”

  Forcan bent down and scooped Sabine up in his arms. He turned, ignoring the dog and stomped through the forest back the way he had come. His monologue continued; he spoke to himself most of the time, it gave the illusion of company. Truth was he was unhinged and he knew it. Ever since Serena’s passing he had been like this. He knew she would wait for him on the otherside, she was never far from his thoughts.

  Here was someone else he would have to look after. He grumbled and kicked the door of his shack open. He put Sabine onto the bear fur and threw a blanket on top of her. He turned to the hearth and began building a fire, he would have the place warm in no time.

  The shack was soon lit with flickering light from the fire. Forcan put the girl in front of the hearth and watched as steam rose from her clothes. She would either make it or not, the night would tell. He put vegetables and rabbit meat into a pot and hung it over the flames. He sat back in his chair, his hand dangling over the armrest, stroking Whisper. Whisper was a good dog he conceded, but Whisper could not square things for him with the gods.

  Forcan knew he had fallen out of favour with the divine ones. He needed to do something spectacular to earn his way back into their good graces. He muttered the ancestors’ prayer to himself, the words brought him comfort, reminding him of his mother. She was the only one who… his thoughts broke off. The girl stirred.

  Sabine felt warmth, she heard the crackling of the hearth, its smoke filled her senses. She was alive. Her eyelids fluttered, she opened her eyes. A great bear of a man sat opposite, a dog by his side. She was on the floor, lying on a fur. Her head hurt, thirst burned her throat. She tried to rise but her strength failed and she collapsed back on the floor. Her head spun, she teetered on the verge of unconsciousness.

  The dog came over and licked her face, its breath stank and nearly pushed her over the edge. She looked back, the man was gone. Then her head was lifted and a beaker of water was pressed to her lips. She hesitated then drank greedily. She almost choked but managed to get most of the water down her throat. She slumped back exhausted, panting. Minutes passed, she felt the water work its magic, her body responding gratefully. Her senses returned, her eyes focused. The man had his back to her and was stirring a large pot in the hearth.

  “Where you from then?” he asked gruffly.

  Sabine’s mind raced. She was on guard, her eyes searched the room for her pack and weapons. She spotted them in the corner; steaming in the warmth of the cabin. “I’m… from the city…where am I?”

  The man spat into the fire. “New Haven? Is that bastard lieutenant gone from the north gate?”

  Sabine was taken aback. The north gate, everyone who knew, kept away from that area. The guardsmen there had a fearful reputation, the Spider Watch, a group of disciplined mercenaries from the true north. The king had brought them in to man the cursed north gate; the curse had not been lifted in a hundred years. The only men immune were the northerners; she had to agree, evil bastards every last one of them.

  “Durant? Aye, he’s still there. Robbing and extorting those that are new to the city. The king tolerates his behaviour as he holds the north wall from the undead beyond. Fight darkness with darkness. It seems to be working, at least for now. The hordes have not attacked the city for some months now.”

  Forcan kept his back to her. “Unfinished business, for me. What about you, what’s your st
ory?” He put the spoon to his lips and slurped, nodding his head approvingly.

  Sabine sat up and took in her surroundings. A trapper’s cabin. She drew her knees up to her chin and basked in the fire’s heat. Her clothes were almost dry, her plaits were still wet; she pulled them from her eyes and tightened their cords. She reached out with second sight but felt no threat. The dog was curled up beside her, eyes closed, snoring.

  The smell of the stew made her stomach rumble; she realised she was hungry. She licked her lips. “I, ah, work independently. I get things for people. I procure by order. Small things, difficult to get at. I’m small and know ways in the city not open to most. I was on a job which… got compromised and had to make an exit. I ended up under the city, in the dark, found my way to the River Styr, then made it to where your dog found me.”

  Forcan was silent, he stopped stirring the stew. “You made it through the labyrinth?” He let out a low whistle. “You sure the banshees didn’t suck on your blood?” She could see the tension in his muscles, his hand moved towards the knife on his belt but then stopped. He relaxed. “Whisper would’ve torn you apart if you’d been turned.”

  He scooped stew into a bowl and gave it to her. “There’s rumours coming out of the east, the roads are alive with fear. The king’s army’s been beat. Not a single soldier returned from Kreshe. It’s a race now to see who can raise another army. This war’s been going on too long now, it’s drained the land. The dead are growing stronger in the north and them Sworn bastards are behind it. It’s just a matter of time; the city walls will crumble in short order, you mark my words.”

  Sabine took the stew and spent the next few minutes shovelling the food into her mouth. She tasted the meat and juices with the heightened appreciation that only true hunger can bring. She lay back on the bear rug, her stomach full, a smile on her face. She had survived the labyrinth. She remembered the box, her eyes turned towards her pack.