by Erik A Otto
The sight of her, and the depth of her treachery, made Timothur wary of whom he was dealing with. This was no mere apprentice girl. This feat of infiltration could only be accomplished by someone with a tenacious will and a fiendish mind.
Lying with his back to the wall was another man he didn’t recognize, wearing nobleman’s clothes. The man had his hand on his gut, and his eyes were closed.
Timothur knew first hand how difficult it would be to gain entry to the gatehouse. His men had been able to hold the gatehouse for a long time because of the strength of the very doors that now impeded him. Nevertheless, he signaled to his men to try to break through.
As his men thrust themselves into the doors and pried at them with swords, he watched from one of the arrow slits. He projected his voice into the chamber, “Perenna, this is Timothur. Stop what you’re doing at once if you want to live.” He saw her glance his way and pause for a moment. Then she kept prying at the gate assembly, oblivious to his threat.
“This is futile, Perenna. You must stop!” he repeated.
She didn’t stop, and his men at the doors weren’t having any impact. He addressed one of his men. “Gather bows and arrows. We could also use some kind of battering ram.”
Two men split off and the others continued to slam into the door to no avail. Timothur peered in again to see Perenna pull away a few misshapen pieces from the interlocking hinge assembly. He could do nothing but look on helplessly through the arrow slit.
She moved over to the crank and started turning it, lifting the outer gate.
Timothur yelled into the slit again. “Perenna, why are you doing this? You were one of the most promising apprentices, one of the most faithful. If you think Matteo will embrace you after this, you’re mistaken.”
Finally she addressed him. Her face was flushed and defiant. “It’s you who are mistaken. You Belidorans have such pretentiously bloated Canons, and such profoundly misguided Sandalier interpretations. Matteo sees through that. Cena scripture is as divine as it is simple. Only the Cenarans have the fortitude to see to the proper treatment of the Shepherd’s prophecies. Only we have the strength of will to purify the land.”
She finished raising the outer gate. Sweat dripped from her forehead. Wetness also marked her armpits and the collar of her robe. She moved on to the inner-gate crank without pause. Timothur looked about restlessly. Where were his men with the bows and the ram?
Timothur knew he couldn’t debate Perenna on theology, but he tried to reason with her anyway. It might at least distract her from her task. “But Perenna, what about your family in Esienne? What will become of them? Why would you volunteer to aid in the genocide of your own people?”
“Family? Ha. They are Belidoran, and they are heathen, and therefore must be cleansed. I learned this long ago, when they sent me to the Cena school. The Cenarans knew I was chosen as a divine instrument of the Internecion. They gave me the stamina to endure my association with you and your misguided ilk.”
Timothur realized then, that among all the supposed infidels and traitors in the keep, he’d finally encountered someone who was truly mad. There was no negotiating with Perenna, no reconciling with her. As a willing participant to her cause, and her cause so much a part of who she was, she wouldn’t deviate. The only way to stop her would be to kill her.
Finally the bows and ram arrived. The ram was only two large planks tied together—not a proper battering ram, but they would have to make do.
Timothur’s men started pummeling the door. They also used the arrow slits to fire at her.
Both tactics had little effect. From the outside the arrow slits allowed limited flexibility on which way to aim. The arrows would bounce off the Matar-bone trays on the inside and coast over Perenna’s head, or alternatively the feather of the arrow would connect with some part of the arrow-slit opening, and the arrow would end up ricocheting randomly throughout the chamber. Similarly, the battering ram didn’t have any appreciable effect, other than to kick up a great deal of dust around the door.
Perenna moved quickly. As soon as the second gate was raised, she began dispensing canisters of burning fats all about her. She poured them on the gate, on the supports, and on the hinge mechanisms. Then she kicked at them and smashed them with her pry bar. Some of the more delicate supports warped and dented from the force of the blows. Timothur was no engineer or smith, but he was sure the gate system was beyond repair.
Arrows continued to skitter around Perenna pointlessly.
Finally the ram made progress. As the stiff timbers splintered, a large bulge was forming in the door farthest from Timothur. Timothur’s men had also found an arrow slit that allowed for a lower trajectory, and one of the arrows found its way to impale Perenna’s leg.
She was so focused, so intent on her task, that she didn’t even make a sound. Her face only lost color for a moment as she broke the end of the arrow off and continued about her business. She opened the trap door that led to the entryway between the two gates and dropped a rope ladder. Was she going to try to escape? They would take her down with their arrows in an instant.
Timothur soon realized that wasn’t her intention.
She climbed down the ladder, but only partially. Then she took out a flint and lit the burning fats. The whole room went up in a few seconds. Timothur was forced to remove his eye from the arrow slit as the blaze pushed him back.
He maneuvered to the front of the battlements, trying to see where Perenna would exit. He called out to his men on duty below, “The traitor is under the gatehouse. Stop her!”
Staggering out of the keep came Perenna, her body aflame, lighting up the gate area in the night. A weak, whimpering scream came from her, and she crumpled onto the gravel path of the promontory. As she hit the ground, the impact smothered most of the flames covering her, but a few still licked up from her clothing.
“Douse the flame, and get her back in here!” Timothur yelled. “We need a water brigade up here as well!”
The damage had been done. The gatehouse was lit up like a beacon, under which a screaming figure had run out of the open gates. All of this must have been visible out on the northern plain. There were twenty thousand pairs of eyes in the Great Defender’s camp, and many of them must have seen this.
Their gates were open, the drawbridge was down, and the Great Defender knew it.
Chapter 20
The Purveyor
General Granth was having another tantrum. He flung an ashen chair into the wall of the burned-out gatehouse, then punched the same wall with his fist. Paulo watched calmly from the corner while men cleared the debris between Timothur’s spats of frustration. Sebastian sat in another corner, looking annoyed.
“But we need to fix the gate right away!” Timothur repeated. “They are mobilizing for an attack as we speak. I’m sure of it.”
Paulo said, “I’m sorry, General, but this woman knew what she was doing. The gate is inoperable—it would take many days to rebuild. Our only hope is to barricade the entrance.”
Timothur wasn’t pleased. His jaw muscles flexed as he spoke. “Fine, have your men work on that right away. And what about the drawbridge?”
Paulo said, “The damage isn’t as bad, but it would also take at least a day to replace the gear system. We can go about removing the bridge entirely, but I don’t know how long that would take. We would have to do it outside the keep, of course, and it will be evident to the Great Defender what we’re doing. This may be a moot point, though. Looking at the work going on in the Great Defender’s camp, the drawbridge matters little, because the Great Defender looks to be building spans that can cross the moat even if the bridge is removed.”
“Do it anyway,” Timothur said. “Get your men out there to remove the bridge immediately. We need every possible advantage and any possibility to delay the Great Defender.”
Paulo nodded.
Timothur kept pacing. “It won’t be enough. We won’t survive another attack, which I’m sure comes th
is morning. Damnit! I should have known something was up with Perenna. It was strange to me that she wanted you expelled, Sebastian. Her and Barbitan were always whispering to each other. I should have realized this was a possibility after we knew Barbitan was a traitor.”
Sebastian seemed to perk up. “Did you say Perenna? What of her?”
Timothur waltzed over to Sebastian. “Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying? Perenna and two noblemen are the ones who did this. She was a traitor.”
Evidently Sebastian hadn’t been listening. His mouth opened in awe. “But…what was this about wanting me expelled. I thought—”
“Yes, I know what you thought. You thought I was the one who had you expelled. I could tell you had no love for me—or any of the nobles for that matter, but as you can see, your priestly ilk are just as corruptible.”
Something changed in Sebastian’s eyes; a flicker of understanding, or a shift in sentiment. He frowned and said, “Of course, she must have remembered that I’d seen her scars. I could have made the connection...”
“She told me you were speaking to others about the ruin,” Timothur said. “I told her to mind her own business, but she and Barbitan convinced the Conductor to expel you.”
Sebastian shook his head, then looked up at Timothur as if seeing him for the first time.
Timothur waved his hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. We’re all doomed. Spend your time with Nala, Truthseeker. You only have a few hours left.”
Sebastian’s eyes darted back and forth. Paulo could tell Timothur’s words were having a profound effect on him, awakening him out of the coma he’d been in since he’d returned from the Snail Mountains. This might be the opportunity Paulo was looking for. Paulo ventured, “There may be another way we can defend the keep, if Sebastian will help us.”
Sebastian cringed at Paulo’s words. He held his head with both hands as his brow once again furrowed in contemplation.
He looked to at least be considering it.
Timothur seized on Paulo’s words. “What? What is it? What else can we do?” His azure eyes bulged as spittle escaped his lips.
Sebastian ignored him and looked at Paulo. “You know this is witchcraft. This is…perversion.”
Paulo nodded sternly. “We have no choice, Sebastian.”
Finally Sebastian nodded and said to Timothur, “I will do it…for Nala.”
Timothur rolled his eyes. “For the love of Matteo! What? Do what?”
“I’m sorry, where do you want the…dead men, sir?” the Fringe guard asked.
“Here, right in front of the door. And it’s preferable that they be barely alive, or if not, newly dead. Hopefully there should be a few outside the gates.” Paulo looked to Sebastian for confirmation of the instructions, and he nodded.
The man was perplexed, but there was no use trying to explain. He would do what was asked of him. He nodded, about-faced, and left down the hallway that would return him to the main library.
The bone mouth door loomed in front of them. Paulo’s men cleared away shelves of books and artifacts, pushing them into the main library. Sebastian took apart one of the eyeglass-encased artifacts in the room. In it was an odd collection of orbs that held together like a hardened clump of oranges.
“We won’t need a fat-burning torch?” Paulo asked.
“No, this is the key,” Sebastian explained, gesturing to the artifact. “The torch would open the doors permanently, and I think it best we retain the ability to close the doors in case things get out of hand.”
One of the librarians came barging through the entryway. He was old, with a milky cataract in one eye and a slight stoop. The librarians had been accommodating thus far, but when they entered the ancient texts hallway they had begun voicing their discontent. Now that their most precious sanctuary was being disturbed, Paulo expected more of the same.
“How dare you desecrate these artifacts!” the librarian said with a spiteful expression. “This is a holy sanctuary. I will not stand by while it is being sullied by a Fringe heathen and the infidel Truthseeker, of all people. I intend to have words with the general.”
Paulo was about to respond, but Sebastian gestured with his hand that he could handle it. He had an amused look on his face. “I think you need to relax and blow off some steam, Saintjoie.” Sebastian said. He addressed one of the Fringe men. “Take this librarian and put him on the air pump for an hour.” The librarian opened his mouth, aghast, while Sebastian showed a rare look of satisfaction.
The librarian was removed before he could overcome his stupefied look.
Sebastian had the artifact in his hand. Clearing of the room had been completed. They were almost ready.
Paulo said, “It will take some time to retrieve the bodies. Maybe if you could explain again what our plan is?”
Sebastian sighed. “If this is like most of the bone mouth chambers, a mosquero will come out in defense, and we need to provide it the two men, or maybe three, to satisfy it’s appetite. Then we will be able to tame it. I will show you how.”
“And you think there will be other beasts in here?”
“Yes, a ramolon is key for the defense of the keep. Hopefully there are some here. If there are, they could be dead, mind you. These are unnatural things, as I’ve told you. They often die for arbitrary reasons. Sometimes their patchwork bodies aren’t perfect and the systems fail. In any case, we can animate these ramolons and any others once we gain access. It’s only the first mosquero we need to worry about.”
Paulo nodded. He had no reason to doubt what Sebastian was saying, but he still had a hard time believing it.
There was dead time while they waited. It seemed Sebastian might be more open to talking. Perhaps this was a chance for Paulo to continue his line of inquiry. He asked, “In our last discussion about the Snail Mountains, we were interrupted before we could finish. You didn’t tell me what will happen when the unnatural systems of our world fail, like the bone mounds, or when all the gargoyles are killed.”
Sebastian soon regained the sour look that had preoccupied him for the last few days. But he was contemplating the question, at least. He frowned at Paulo, then stood up and left the room.
That didn’t go as Paulo had hoped.
But Sebastian did return, and when he did, he had something in his hand. It was an hourglass.
He sat down and stared at the sands of the hourglass. “I didn’t answer because there are many questions you haven’t asked me, Purveyor. You didn’t ask me about the impassable mountains, the Rim of Fire, or the hearthstones. These things are also unnatural and serve their purposes, but in a different way than the bone chuckers and gargoyles. And then there are the prophecies. Why do people fall into the sky on the Day of Ascendency? I marvel that none of the scholars really examine this question in detail. It’s just a given, like the rain, like Matteo’s moon. Even that, even Matteo’s moon is…” Sebastian trailed off, pondering some unknown.
Paulo answered truthfully, “I have often wondered, but I thought it as you say. All of those things you mentioned, they are just there, implicit as part of our world. But the gargoyles and the bone chuckers, there is something…grotesque about them. Something repulsive, as if they don’t fit here with us, which is perhaps why I’ve dwelt on them.”
Sebastian nodded as if he understood, then began twirling the hourglass. “Do you see this hourglass? Do you see how the sand stays at the bottom if you twirl it fast enough? Now look what happens when I stop here.” He stopped twirling, and the sand that had adhered to the bottom of the glass fell toward the funnel and started draining.
Paulo tried to make sense of this. What did sand have to do with their world? “I’m sorry, Sebastian. Your point eludes me.”
“Pretend the grains of sand are people. See how they adhere to the bottom of the glass when it twirls. Then when I stop—” He stopped twirling again, and the sand fell into the funnel again.
It was an abstract notion, but he must have been
referring to the Day of Ascendency. If the funnel was the sky, then the sand at the base was the ground. “Are you…are you saying that our world is turning, which keeps us on the ground, and that during the Day of Ascendency, it stops and we…fall into the sky? But why does it turn, and then…why does it stop?”
Sebastian shook his head. “I can’t answer all of your questions, but yes. Our world turns in some unknown ether. Maybe this ether is like water, maybe like air. I don’t know. As for why it turns, I don’t know that either. On the Snail Mountains, I learned why it stops. It stops because our world is attached to a great beast that drives it through this ether. This beast gets spent over time and must be replaced so that another can drive us. Much like changing horses in the middle of a long journey. But to change beasts, the world cannot spin. So it stops temporarily, pushes forward to mount another beast, then spins again for the next leg of the journey.”
It seemed so outlandish. The Purveyor’s mind flooded with questions. “So you’re saying at each Day of Ascendancy there is a…change of horse. You’re saying we, our world…is on a journey.”
Sebastian nodded.
“How can the prophecies predict when we change horses?”
“The same way you can plan to stop in Esienne in four days time to change horses for a trip to Rio Castellan.”
“But if that’s the case, the journey is so long, many hundreds of years. How can the timing of each change be so precise as to know when it will change beasts so accurately?”
“I don’t know how, but such is the nature of the journey.”
“Someone must have known, then. The Shepherd—he planned our voyage? He knew where we’re going? Is that what you’re saying?” Then he made another connection. “The hearthstones as well, they were put there by the Shepherd so we could moor to something?”