Revenant

by Fergal F. Nally

The man who had appeared in her home, who had been sent to her, was dying. The forces pulling him down were stronger than her word-weaving. She had to do something more, she thought furiously.

  Then she remembered.

  She remembered being present at the child’s death. The family were poor but had managed to secure the services of a soul stealer. For a price the stealer would bring the child back from the otherside using soul theft magic. She had witnessed the act. She remembered the stealer’s words, though she did not understand them, they were ancient, cumbersome.

  Raven knew she could rely on her memory, it was sharp as her other senses, being blind sometimes had its advantages, although she would not have chosen this path. She shuddered as she remembered the stealer taking the grandmother’s soul in payment for the child’s life. The grandmother had willingly offered her soul in exchange but perhaps had not realised what was in store for her. Her screams were etched on Raven’s mind as clear as the night they were uttered.

  She prepared herself, there was no soul stealer present today. She would use his words. Now would be the test. Raven breathed deeply opening her inner world, she began walking through its familiar landscape. She felt her way and was soon drawn to the path that led to her dark memory; her Mnemosyne, her essence.

  The darkness began to show itself, the words she sought let their presence be known. She saw them as leaves on a tree, she looked up, the leaves began to fall on her, lightly brushing her hair, body and face. She absorbed the words, drinking their power.

  Embers glowed in the fireplace. A chill crept around the edge of the room, drafts whispered softly under the door. Raven’s eyelids fluttered open, her sightless eyes stared into the gloom over the man’s inert form on the floor. His pain had been too much, his soul had ceased caring, his spirit had flown from his body. He was dead.

  She could sense his spirit still in the room, looking down making its peace, not yet begun its journey to the otherside. Raven opened her mouth calling out to his departed spirit. The stealer’s words spilled out, weaving their magic around the still warm corpse and the small room. The embers in the fire flared an intense green. Raven’s form glowed and Jack Spence’s body jerked violently on the floor.

  “Coultha sevra cominus coum, ne lack’ahtha imersovus belaktha frisium perko’latha.

  Mord’umva spenthacula the’namvulate.

  Coultha sevra cominus coum.

  Me’tholiua rakim whendola sprintha.

  Mark whendula, soultha sevra cominus coum.”

  The embers died. The room was cold as a night river. Raven slumped forwards exhausted, breathing heavily. She felt Jack’s legs and crawled up his body pressing her ear to his chest. She listened and heard nothing but her own breathing but she no longer sensed his spirit in the room. She had failed, he had gone, as simple as that. She was numb, it just was; she had done her best.

  Then she heard it.

  A flicker, a flutter like a bird. Dust from the footsteps of life. A breeze on her face, the smell of lavender, of spring. Sharp and strong. So strong she almost passed out. A thump so loud it made her jump. She heard Jack Spence’s heartbeat. His life had returned. It was not, after all, his time.

  Jack Spence had work to do.

  Chapter 9: The Searching

  Levant cursed.

  Neesa had vanished. Again.

  Well, at least she was consistent. His knowledge of necromancy was limited, but he knew it held great power and peril. A man’s soul could be devoured by beasts summoned by a necromancer. He shivered. The eastern mystics had been dabbling in the dark art for years; they were becoming stronger, gaining the upper hand.

  The western provinces were fighting a war on two fronts, the Sworn army from the north and the steel of the necromancers’ armies in the east. Time was running out for the western peoples. Something had to give, they would be defeated unless an advantage could be found and soon.

  Levant walked on, keeping to the road, the village long gone. Now that his memory had returned his mind was full of a tapestry of faces, names and places. His beloved wife Liriana and two daughters, Kate and Eveline came to his heart. He was relieved to know they were safe behind Leerma’s walls, a good town. He knew the Laird there, his mind paused then delivered the name; Ameran, the Shield of the Coast, the man who had singlehandedly brought the rule of law to the coast.

  Peace and trade had followed Ameran’s rule; the pirate scourge and their ransoming banished these last ten years. The sea snakes had even withdrawn from the western shores, some said they had retreated as far as the Wintry Isles. No matter, he knew where his girls were, they were safe, at least he could thank Neesa for that knowledge. Life was nothing without family, the heart’s anchor. His family was his life, his harbour. He would win back his life and family, but not as a Draugr, not as a Revenant.

  Neesa’s words returned to him.

  “I know you Revenant, I was sent to find and guide you to the fight, to the edge; that’s where life is. If you fight on the edge, on the precipice, the line between life and death blurs. You might just get your life back.”

  What had she meant? He should have paid more attention, questioned her. He mulled over her words, thinking. Could there be a way back to real life, as a man not a Revenant? He would need to fight and slay the Sworn priests, but how could anyone kill him? He was already dead. His mind reeled at the questions, refusing to understand.

  He was so distracted he did not see the shadows moving in the trees to his right until it was too late.

  Six men on foot and four on horseback burst out of the forest and encircled him in a loose ring. Tanglemen; he recognised the marks on their faces, brothers of the road, answerable to no one but their own. Outlaws. Neesa had said something about a Blood Eagle.

  “Where are you going stranger? You’re on our road,” one of the mounted men demanded.

  “You need to pay a levy to use our roads,” another said.

  Levant felt calm return to his mind; this he understood. This was simple, there was no choice; he would kill these men. Because he had to, because they were in his way, they were preventing him from reaching the north, the Sworn. Levant spat on the earth and gazed at the men’s faces. They looked wary at his apparent unconcern. Levant held his tongue and waited.

  “Perhaps he’s got the Blood Eagle on him,” one of the men said.

  Levant drew himself up to his full height, tensing his shoulders. He decided to throw the men a lifeline. “I don’t have the Blood Eagle, but I know who does,” he lied.

  “Oh, and who might that be, friend?” the man on the horse sneered.

  Levant looked him in the eye. “What’s it worth?”

  The man laughed. “It might just be worth you not dying a slow, painful death. My blade could be merciful and give you a quick death instead.” He patted the blade at his side.

  “You should know better, there are no rules in this game. It’s your circus, it’s your death,” Levant whispered.

  Levant closed his eyes, reached within and unleashed hell.

  His hands became a blur, his two blades glinting in the sun. Time slowed, he heard birdsong and the velvety wisp of steel as it crushed a man’s skull. He was in control, he was the scythe, he took the Tanglemen one by one, measured not in their time, but his.

  The next victim lost his throat in a bloody mist, the third and fourth died, surprised looks on their faces, their hearts severed by cold steel. The fifth spun violently on the ground, first hamstrung, then decapitated. A pause, a rearing of horses, a macabre dance, shouts and confusion as Levant sidestepped, worked the angles and drew on his advantage, then the sixth man lost his sight and the bridge of his nose with a vicious head butt. The seventh and eighth slipped in their own guts and were trampled by the horses. The ninth fled on horseback but fell from his saddle, Levant’s blade protruding from his spine.

  The tenth lived and escaped, the sneer wiped from his face. Levant watched him flee, he knew word would spread. Levant would attract trou
ble, the road was about reputation, there would be someone else that would hear of his stand. They would want to take him down to build their reputation, their fortune. He retrieved his blade from the fallen Tangleman.

  Levant smiled, it did not matter if he was captured or not, either way he would infiltrate the Sworn’s ranks and slay the beast, he would reclaim his soul, his life. Then he would find his family and take back his name; Ser Thomas Ravenfist, Jarl of Elverium. Blood dripped from his blades, congealing on the road beneath his feet. A fine drizzle peppered the air, one of the riderless horses nickered to his left.

  Levant turned towards the horse, he cleaned his swords on a fallen Tangleman’s cloak and sheathed his weapons. He looked at the roan mare and held out his hand, the beast ducked her head, flicking her tail. He approached slowly, whispering words of succour. She calmed and succumbed to his advances.

  “You and me, girl. It’s just you and me now.”

  Chapter 10: Sabine’s Wish

  “Bastard gods! Evil, bastard gods, what have you ever done right? What have you ever done for me? Bastards, every last one of you!”

  Sabine woke to Forcan’s tirade. It was comical except Forcan meant every word, she could see it in his face; he was enraged. He was searching for something. Whisper was sensible and kept out of the way, curled up in front of the embers of the fire. Sabine was stiff, her muscles like cords. She stretched and let the tension release within her, she was refreshed and rested. Her plan came to her from the night before; it did not seem such a good idea in the cold light of day, but it was her only plan and would have to do.

  She got up and opened the door to the porch. A bright sunny morning greeted her. Her mood lifted and she sat down on the bench. A few minutes later Forcan appeared at the door and offered her a cup of rosehip tea. She took it gratefully.

  “I agree. The gods are tyrants,” she said. “They play with our lives every day, we’re like dice to them… a game. It’s shameful.”

  Forcan scowled. “They took my Serena away from me.”

  Sabine nodded. The gods took loved ones every day and people still bowed and scraped to their cruelty. She looked at Forcan and saw the pain etched across his face. There was great bitterness and hatred in his heart, she felt sorry for him.

  “Serena?” she said.

  “My wife, we were married two years, then she…” Forcan stopped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “They took my sister’s eyesight. They could’ve taken mine too, except I was at the market when they called. It might’ve been me.”

  “Seers?” Forcan asked.

  “Aye, bitch Seers and their cohort of useless gods. I wish my sister had her sight back, her life is so… diminished.”

  Forcan produced his pipe and lit it. They watched as the chill light grew stronger. Rays dappled through the trees as the forest came alive with birdsong.

  “I’m going back to the city today, Forcan. Thank you for your help, I couldn’t have made it without you. I’m in your debt,” Sabine declared.

  “Forget it, you did all the hard work,” Forcan replied. He blew a stream of smoke, puckered his lips at the last minute and it twisted, forming a bird shape before dissipating.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “What? Why?” Sabine asked, taken aback.

  “I’ve been meaning to return for years. I’ve unfinished business at the north gate.”

  “Lieutenant Durant?” Sabine asked.

  Forcan nodded, remaining silent.

  Sabine sighed. “Right, we’ll go back together. It’ll be a day’s walk from here.”

  “Two days,” Forcan corrected.

  Sabine was stunned. Two days walk! She had travelled further underground than she had thought. She took a deep breath and shrugged. “Two days it is then.”

  They had breakfast and prepared for the road. Forcan finally found the small pot he had been searching for.

  “What’s that?” Sabine asked.

  “Scraken paste,” Forcan answered matter-of-factly.

  Sabine shuddered, scraken venom was a rare and deadly poison. Some said its use was immoral; it had the ability to lock its victim paralysed for days or in some cases weeks, whilst dissolving their bones; a gruesome death. Sabine wondered where Forcan had found the poison, as the last scraken had been hunted down and killed in these parts over a score years earlier. She knew Forcan’s business was with Durant and tried to imagine what Forcan had in mind. But she had her own plans to focus on.

  They set off on foot at midday, the sun streaming down through the trees. Sabine followed Forcan, Whisper at his side. In places the terrain was rough, it was impassable for horses. Sabine knew next to nothing about Forcan, she doubted he could afford to keep a horse, he seemed to survive by subsisting on what the forest provided. He was a true independent spirit, wild and untamed and a little bit unhinged. She would not want to get on the wrong side of him; she detected a cruel streak in her companion.

  Forcan was an excellent guide, they made good progress through the forest and over the crags. They travelled in silence, the ground was uneven and they had to concentrate on their footing. Sabine knew they were roughly due south of New Haven, in an area loosely called the Nine Marches. She knew about the region but had never been there. It was home to bandits and robber knights. No doubt Forcan would keep them out of harm’s way.

  The hours passed, Sabine’s body took the long miles well, she perspired on the inclines and her skin cooled on the higher ridges above the treeline. Once Forcan raised his hand signalling her to stop, they waited for fifteen minutes as a bear and her cub passed warily a short distance away.

  Sabine’s mind returned to her plan to re-enter the imperial library, something still troubled her. She was always meticulous in her preparation for a job. She knew she had accounted for all the guard dogs that night. They should have been long gone by the time she had dropped from her hiding place.

  She could not see where she had gone wrong. The only people who knew she was on that job, were her and Raven. The merchant who had commissioned her to get the scroll had known of course, but he knew nothing of the timing and method she was to employ.

  So how had the dogs reappeared and picked up her scent? She had heard them, had heard their paws on the flagstones, but she had not seen them. This troubled her, she replayed the events of that night over and over in her mind most of the afternoon.

  Finally, they stopped beside a stream for a rest and food. They ate in silence for a few minutes. The sound of the stream was soothing, Sabine idly imagined cooling off in the shallow pools along its bank when she heard voices on the wind. Forcan held a finger to his lips. Whisper stood up, his hindquarters quivering and let out a low growl.

  “Shhhh, Whisper!” Forcan hissed, his face tense. His hand went to his sword, he motioned for Sabine to follow him into a low briar thicket. They melted into the undergrowth, Sabine was grateful for the leather gloves Forcan had given her. Her tunic and breeches kept most of the thorns at bay but she still managed to scratch her neck as she wriggled the last few feet into the heart of the thicket. Whisper followed them squirming on his belly.

  Sabine’s foot caught something, she shifted to one side to free herself and felt the earth give way beneath her. She stopped just in time and took a closer look. The briars had concealed a doorway, it looked ancient, its stone weathered and worn. Barely discernible carvings laced the entrance stone which had subsided and was listing badly. She turned to show Forcan but saw movement in the clearing through the thick blanket of briars. Forcan was to her left, still as the grave. Sabine held her breath and waited, watching.

  “Thought I heard a noise,” a man’s voice spoke.

  “Nothing here,” another’s voice. “Here’s as good a place as any to camp. I’ll water the horses.”

  “Aye, right then.”

  Sabine heard the unmistakable sound of heavy armour as the men dismounted their horses. She squinted through the thick briars, her fears were c
onfirmed; robber knights.

  We’re finished, she thought. Of all the rotten luck, these men were ruthless and would slit their throats without a second thought. She caught Forcan’s eye as he threw her a glance. The knights set about making their camp. Sabine turned back and examined the collapsed doorway, there was enough room to wriggle through the broken entrance. But where did it go?

  All went quiet in the clearing. One of the knights had gone to see to their horses, the other had wandered off, looking for firewood. This might be their only chance. Sabine reached across to Forcan and squeezed his shoulder, she held her finger to her lips and pointed to the concealed entrance.

  Forcan looked back, it took him a few seconds but then he saw what she had found. He nodded his head at her and pointed to the doorway. Sabine looked at the clearing and seeing no movement made her move. The briars were not as thick at her feet and she was able to manoeuvre quite well.

  She sidled over and onto the steps leading down to the doorway. The steps were covered in slippery moss. She slid in an undignified manner on her back but she reached the opening in the stone door without mishap. She looked back up the steps and was surprised to see Whisper following and behind the dog’s head she saw Forcan’s boots. Well, they were committed, it was all or nothing. She looked back into the mouth of the doorway hoping they had made the right decision.

  She went in feet first and found herself in darkness. She feared rats or worse, snakes, she consoled herself with the thought that the opening was not large enough for bears. She kept going, making enough room for Whisper and Forcan close behind. Sabine was pleased to find the tunnel continued on and there was standing room. Despite the collapsed entrance the tunnel itself appeared in good repair.

  The air was dank and smelt of earth. She heard Forcan rummaging in his pack and then a grunt. A dim light grew in his hands, he blew and the light strengthened. She had seen this form of magic before but only at the hands of monks, she wondered at Forcan’s skill and realised she knew nothing about the man.