Resurgence

by Alex Janaway

  ‘Good evening, Cardinal.’

  The head looked up, a wry smile on the grime-streaked face. He spotted the chain attached to her collar, followed it to a ring fixed into the wall.

  ‘I don’t think I retain that particular honorific any more,’ replied Cardinal Yarn.

  Father Michael shrugged, though he realised it would be lost on her.

  ‘It is a habit. You have always been a Cardinal to me.’

  ‘Well. Just call me Yarn, if you wish. I am in no position to argue the point.’

  Father Michael studied her. She wore a simple woollen shift, stained and dirty. He feet were bare and similarly covered in dark smudges. She had also lost some weight, much of her muscle wasting in her confinement. And of course, there was the smell …

  ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ she prompted him.

  ‘Oh. Apologies. I have come to say goodbye.’ It suddenly felt a little absurd, the notion that he’d been compelled to speak with her, that in some way she deserved to know. Why did he do this? Come to speak to her, the architect of such sorrow and loss.

  ‘Goodbye? Is this it, then? Am I finally to be executed?’

  ‘What? No. Not that.’

  ‘Pity.’

  ‘I mean to say. I am leaving.’

  ‘Ah. And that has what to do with me?’

  Father Michael opened his mouth but didn’t know how to respond. Yarn leaned forward, her chain making a gentle chinking noise, and studied him. A wry smile played on her lips.

  ‘Sorry, Father. That was rude of me. My manners are not what they used to be. Please, tell me, where are you going?’

  ‘I’m heading east. An advance party to Vyberg, to pave the way for the Emperor.’

  Yarn arced an eyebrow, once manicured and shaped, it was overgrown and bushy. ‘Really? He’s eager. I have little track of time, but it seems like only yesterday we were installed in these cells.’

  ‘He wants to head home. To make a statement. To prove to all that the Empire has returned.’

  ‘A bold move, I’ll give him that. Or stupid.’

  Father Michael bridled a little at the insinuation. But only a little. Had he not done the same?

  ‘That’s why I am going. To make sure it is safe.’

  ‘Your idea, I assume?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Very good. I always said you were smarter than you looked.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean much,’ he responded.

  She smiled again.

  ‘And you’ve developed a sense of humour. That is an improvement.’

  ‘Too much time with the marines.’

  ‘Time well spent, Father.’ She leaned back and closed her eyes. ‘Are my people well?’

  ‘As far as I know. They are employed as necessary, they are fed. They see the sunlight.’

  Yarn sighed.

  ‘And they are locked back in their cages at night.’

  Father Michael did not rise to that. It was ground they had covered before. He could not defend them or argue for better. They had, after all, rebelled.

  ‘And when are you off?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you taking any Gifted?’

  ‘The Nidhal travel with us. So perhaps Ellen will come.’ There were other interpreters now, a few other Gifted, and a couple of normal Tissans with an ear for languages. But Nutaaq preferred her, trusted her, and to keep good relations, the Emperor allowed Ellen to continue in her role.

  ‘She’s a good lass. Never had a bad bone in her body. Made for a terrible Gifted,’ Yarn snorted.

  ‘And she doesn’t deserve to share your punishment,’ he said, surprising himself with his own vehemence.

  Yarn raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s a good thing she’s got you, then.’

  Father Michael didn’t know how to respond at first. Ellen was not his responsibility but Yarn was right, he did what he could to look out for her.

  ‘She’s a good person,’ he mumbled.

  ‘And you are getting her away from here.’ Yarn, shifted, wincing. ‘Things are only going to get worse.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For us, the Gifted. Probably everyone.’

  Father Michael sighed. Yarn never stopped with this.

  ‘You know Llews came by?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘He did. He told me that I should atone for my sins. Abase myself before the Emperor and beg for his mercy.’

  Father Michael shook his head.

  ‘I think I know your answer.’

  ‘The Emperor’s mercy. There is no such thing,’ Yarn spat. ‘This is our life now. The best it is going to get.’

  ‘For you and your allies perhaps.’

  ‘Michael. You are not listening to me. This is about anyone who has a Gift. We are aberrations, flaws in the perfect design of the Imperial faith. Llews says we are to blame for what has happened, that the Empire would never have fallen if we had not meddled. And that …’ She raised a finger. ‘… is horseshit.’

  Father Michael had heard enough.

  ‘I have to go.’

  Yarn raised a hand. ‘Yes. Of course. I didn’t mean to burden you with my troubles. You are a loyal servant. The Emperor could wish for no more. Go. Go and good luck to you. Keep yourself safe.’

  Michael lowered his candle and turned to go, stepping away from the cell door.

  ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Michael?’

  He stopped and looked back into the cell. Yarn was nothing more than a lighter smudge in the darkness.

  ‘Thank you for coming to visit me. You remind me that human kindness can reside in the most unlikely of places.’

  He lingered for a moment than continued on his way, back along the corridor.

  ‘Think about Ellen, Michael,’ Yarn shouted after him. ‘If you get a chance on the road east, be kind to Ellen. Set her free.’

  Michael passed through into the guard chamber and climbed the stairs. He handed the candle back and exited the gaol, pleased to be in the night air. He pinched his eyes and rubbed his forehead, dimly aware of his fingers brushing over the scar tissue that criss-crossed his skin. Why did Yarn always get inside his head? Damn but the woman seemed to enjoy undermining his certainties.

  And why did it sound like truth?

  CHAPTER 4 – NUTAAQ

  Nutaaq cinched the straps of his vargr, Raak’s, saddle. In response there was a gentle growl, emanating from deep in his mount’s chest. It was a grudging acceptance of Nutaaq’s domination of him, yet also a warning that no matter what Nutaaq may think, the vargr was never truly broken. He clapped the beast’s side and grunted approval. Just as it should be. A Nidhal warrior must never forget that life itself is a battle. That one must always be ready to fight, no matter what, no matter against whom.

  Around him his warband prepared for the journey ahead; warriors going through the time-honoured ritual of prayer to the gods of the earth and the sky, placing their hands to the ground and then raising their palms to the sky. And was this not proof that their prayers had been answered? That the gods had listened and granted them this miracle? If so, they were, as Gantak would say, unpredictable. They never gave exactly what was asked for, never granted wishes without cost.

  He left Raak, walked up a grassy, sand-covered slope and stood at the top of the dune, gazing out across a beach that ran to the rolling surf and the sea beyond. Somewhere out there, many leagues, many days away, was his home. No, that was wrong. This was his home. Back there were the People. All the tribes and families that had lived generations hoping for a dream to be truth. A return to a land of plenty, their birthright. And he yearned for their arrival, just as he wished to strike out and explore this land. But he had to be patient, the great exodus would take a lifetime. He spied a shape out on the water, some distance away, a jagged silhouette stark against the sky. One of the warships left to guard the sea from enemies. And he wondered, not for the first time, how they could find each other in such a vast expans
e? Especially without a shaman to read the paths and guide the winds. He understood little of sailcraft, and the methods the Tissans used to find their way and build their great vessels. Immayuk had taken to it far more easily, had shown more of an interest in all the methods of the humans. All to the good, the People must learn the ways of the Tissans and make them their own. Even now, others like his younger brother were labouring to build more ships to carry the People home. He drew in a deep breath through his nose, taking in the scent of brine. After so many weeks at sea, to have to still contend with the smell on dry land made him feel strangely uncomfortable.

  ‘Changing your mind, brother?’

  Nutaaq turned to watch Arluuq stride up the slope, the camp framed behind him. It spread out among the dunes, a thousand Nidhal warriors having erected hide shelters against the wind and rain, the dark smudges of a hundred cookfires drifting lazily into the grey sky.

  ‘And face another sea journey? Kill me now.’

  Arluuq grunted. ‘And then who would lead us on this mad quest into the unknown?’

  ‘You are next in line, brother.’

  ‘And you can shove that up your arse. I like cracking heads and drinking. You are the first born and you are welcome to it. I follow you and I watch your back.’

  Nutaaq slapped his brother on the shoulder.

  ‘Then I am blessed by the gods to have such a stubborn-headed, oreq-necked, brute of a protector.’

  Arluuq growled. ‘Piss on you.’

  Nutaaq laughed and led them both back down the slope.

  ‘It’s time to go. Let us meet with our brother and the others.’

  ‘I’ll get this sorry lot moving,’ Arluuq responded, marching on into the camp and barking commands.

  Ten minutes later, Nutaaq led his column of a hundred vargr towards the eastern gate of Aberpool. His foot warriors had been busy, rebuilding the shattered defences. Hundreds of them were lining the platforms above and yet more gathered on the ground beneath. Lacking the knowledge of building stone fortifications, the walls, ramparts and gates were a disordered amalgamation of reclaimed blocks, rocks, timbers and felled trees. Spikes and spars jutted out at random angles adding to the chaotic structure. Here and there ragged pennants fluttered, and animal skulls adorned the spikes, representing the different tribes who had sent warriors on the journey. If the defences looked crude, Nutaaq did not doubt their effectiveness, the People knew how to fight.

  The Nidhal were a nomadic race, they did not believe in the permanence of human settlements, but he had thought on this a little. When the People returned in numbers it would be to this place. It was a necessary evil. Perhaps they could claim it as their own, turn it into the first city. After all, this was part of the change he had started, all part of their new destiny.

  ‘What do you think, Arluuq? Perhaps we should ask the Emperor for this place when he leaves.’

  Arluuq, riding to his left side, turned his head and launched a gobbet of something orange into the sky. ‘You are not making me live inside there. It is not natural.’

  Nutaaq smiled. Many things would never change. All he could do was set them on a path, others would shape their future when he lay dead, as food for the beasts of the world.

  Awaiting them were the rest of the party, mounted on horses or seated on wagons. Gantak perched on one and with him sat Ellen. A chain was passed through her iron collar and secured to a metal hoop fixed to the wagon. Nutaaq ground his teeth a little. It did not sit well with him. Michael, on a horse, was positioned next to her. He looked from Ellen to Nutaaq and frowned.

  ‘Brothers!’ announced Immayuk, striding forwards, his topknot bouncing.

  ‘Little one,’ said Arluuq gruffly.

  ‘Getting bigger every day,’ Immayuk shot back.

  ‘That’s the truth,’ said Arluuq, making a point of inspecting their younger sibling’s waistline.

  ‘Enough,’ Nutaaq chided them. ‘Immayuk, you lead in my stead. Almost a thousand warriors will look to you.’

  ‘I understand, brother. Have I not made good work here?’ he said, pointing at the walls.

  ‘You have. And I am pleased. You have shown skill. When we move on, I wish you to consider how we can build our own camps. With so many on foot, we cannot rely on our old ways.’

  ‘I have been speaking with the human shaman, Llews. He says he will advise me on such matters.’

  ‘What does that little bird understand of war?’ scoffed Arluuq.

  ‘He has wisdom, brother. He has talked to me about the wonders that the Emperors built. And he has influence, he can get me into the closest of gatherings.’

  ‘More importantly, how did you become so adept at speaking their tongue?’ asked Nutaaq.

  ‘I listened, brother. There was little else to do on that voyage. Ellen helped. But now Llews and I can talk with a little effort.’

  Nutaaq approved. It was no bad thing, to learn the words of their allies. They were at a disadvantage in the councils of war, always relying on others to share. It would set his mind at ease a little. ‘Very well. This is good. Continue on your course, Immayuk. Learn as much as you can from the shaman. Keep close and keep listening. Encourage others from our band, those who have the right ear, let our People gain as much knowledge as they are able. There is more to the Tissan Empire than just shipbuilding. I would have us gain understanding.’

  ‘I will, brother.’

  ‘And keep the borders patrolled, don’t let our warriors become lazy. Keep them working,’ advised Arluuq. Immayuk nodded tightly. Nutaaq could see the frustration in his eyes; still being told what to do by his older brother.

  ‘He is a warrior and has proven himself countless times. And he is of our blood. I have no doubts,’ said Arluuq, sternly.

  Nutaaq made a face but nodded.

  ‘Arluuq.’ He turned in his saddle and watched Michael urge his horse towards him. It was a difficult task as the horse had no desire to come any closer to their vargr.

  He raised a hand. ‘Michael.’

  The warrior priest smiled with what Arluuq understood to be embarrassment. Michael shrugged his shoulders and said something before pointing at the wagon.

  ‘He says he is not much of a rider at the best of times and would prefer to be in the wagon,’ said Immayuk.

  ‘That much I can see,’ said Arluuq. ‘Tell him we should gift him a vargr to ride. The animal will respect his strength and do his bidding far better than those wilful creatures the Tissans choose to ride.’

  ‘I just did.’ Ellen whispered in Nutaaq’s head.

  Michael started and raised his hands with a look of consternation.

  Nutaaq tilted his head. ‘No?’ he growled in Tissan.

  Michael answered and Nutaaq recognised the words ‘It. Kill. Me.’

  He laughed. ‘The fearless champion of Tissan knows better than to cross a vargr.’

  ‘He’s no fool, then,’ observed Arluuq. ‘He knows his strengths and weaknesses.’

  A quality Nutaaq admired about the big human. ‘We go?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Michael.

  Nutaaq turned to his riders.

  ‘East!’

  A cry erupted, echoing off the walls of the city as the riders and the crowded Nidhal warriors echoed his command.

  ‘East!’

  The vargr began to lope along the overgrown road that led into the Empire and away from the sea.

  Nutaaq watched them file past the Emperor who was gathered with a small entourage a little way along the road. Michael kicked his horse forwards then stopped and turned back towards Gantak’s wagon. He spoke to Ellen, who looked surprised but then in turn communicated to Gantak. Michael was already back on course, leading his Tissans.

  As they passed the Emperor, Nutaaq raised his fist in acknowledgement. The Emperor smiled and clapped his hand to his chest. Behind him stood Llews, and to one side Immayuk, hovering close to the slightly built human. Then Nutaaq was away and he sped up to catch Arluuq at the head of
the column.

  ‘Do we have scouts out?’

  ‘There are a dozen of our remaining vargr riders already three hours out. They will meet us where the road starts to climb, ten leagues from here.’

  ‘Very good.’

  He dropped back cantering along the line, taking pride in his warriors. They were ready for whatever awaited them in the east. Perhaps, if they were lucky, they might even encounter the old enemy. It would be good to begin claiming the long-awaited blood debt. He arrived back at the Tissans, behind them the walls of the city were starting to shrink. Overhead, one of their accompanying eagles swooped low. Michael had dropped back and was talking to one of the marines, Fenner, in the rearmost wagon. Arluuq got into step with Gantak’s wagon.

  ‘Gantak. What did Michael want of you?’

  The shaman dipped his head towards Ellen.

  ‘He said that when the walls could not be seen I was to take that chain off her neck.’

  Nutaaq grunted and looked at Ellen.

  She smiled sadly. ‘My friend risks the Emperor’s anger.’

  ‘Your friend has much honour. And you are my friend too. Your Emperor will never know from our lips. And …’ He looked at the Tissans further back. ‘I do not believe any one of them will say so either. Or they risk Michael’s anger.’

  Ellen laughed. ‘I can’t see Fenner or his marines wanting that!’

  He grinned and urged Raak on. It was an interesting thing, to see Michael defy his Emperor, even in this small way. The man had given almost everything for his god, had never questioned, only acted. But Nutaaq liked this change. The Emperor may be the Father of his tribe, but he was no god; they were unknowable, elsewhere. The way of the People was simpler, if Nutaaq’s warriors were to follow him it was because he earned their trust and respect. He held the Emperor in high regard, but blind devotion was not the way of the People. Perhaps this view was affecting Michael.