by Greg James
“Can people truly be so easily deceived?”
“When times are as desperate as this, and fear is all they have to feed their bellies, my Princess, then yes. Yes, they can.”
“Let me know when you find the traitors, General Kella.”
“You feel sorrow for the Were, Majesty?”
“Yes. I do.”
She said no more, just gazed out over the white lands beyond Highmount’s walls and thought of how soon they would be awash in the blackness and darkness of Fellspawn.
Chapter Twelve
The expanse of the Grassland Plains unfolded before Sarah as she rode out of the gates of Trepolpen with Master Jez in the lead, his horse laden with the scant provisions he trade with the Kay’lo. They had all left their weapons behind – even the Sword of Sighs. Sarah felt vulnerable without its hilt in her belt. It was the rod to the Flame’s lightning. She feared that she would not be able to control the power without it.
Well, not much I can do about it now, she thought, I’m just going to have to control it, aren’t I? Somehow.
The night’s clouds hung low, and a cool dampness in the air made her companions’ clothes cling to their skin. Sarah could feel a cold sweat prickling her brow and see it glistening on the others too. They were all nervous. All afraid. Orraea was affected. Sarah wouldn’t have said she was pleased to see that, but it reassured her that there was a feeling heart beneath the Wayfarer’s frosty exterior. No conversation passed between the riders. The Kay’lo were keen of ear, and their tunnels ranged far and wide. Sarah could not risk their plan being overheard before they arrived at the meeting place, so each rode on, alone with his or her thoughts. Sarah could make out Enna’s hunched shoulders ahead, as if he were prepared to fight at any moment. Beside him, she noticed the easier, flowing rhythm of Witta’s movement, and found her mind wandering to how good-looking he was for an older man. But she stopped those thoughts before they wandered too far.
I have to be alert and pay attention tonight, she thought. There’ll be time enough for daydreaming another night.
After an hour had passed, a downpour of hail that soon turned into rain tumbled from the dark heavens, quickly churning the land around them into black rivers. Their horses’ heads bowed under the barrage, but they slogged on.
Maybe there might be something up ahead, Sarah thought. A house, a hut, a farm, just somewhere for a breather and a break.
They rode on in wet misery. The moon never once pierced the heavy clouds as the exhausted, wheezing travellers hung from their saddles, almost toppling onto the sodden ground at times.
Finally, Master Jez signalled a halt. They gathered into a slumped huddle as Orraea conjured fire from the space between them. Its flames leapt up—blues, whites and greens colouring their faces with a flickering, ghostly hue. The fire warmed them, dried them, and after a short while their teeth began to stop chattering, but the miserable silence remained oppressive, along with the relentless, drumming rain.
Sarah turned to Enna and asked, “Why did you want to come on this journey? Why did you agree to put your life in danger for me?”
“Why do you ask, my Lady?”
“Because a lot of people have … put themselves at risk for me. Some I knew. Some I didn’t. And I want to know why.”
“My story, my Lady, is a sad one. I was a criminal at one time, a brigand of the outlying Grasslands hereabouts. One day, I came upon a woman who was great with child. I had robbed men and women before on the roads. I had even killed those who tried to fight me or escape. But this woman, Della, was not someone I could have harmed. Her voice was gentle and her eyes were too much like a child’s: innocent of the world. I spoke to her, I found that she had been abandoned on the road by her own family. The man who had made her with child did not want a baby, and her family refused to care for her, so she was sent out onto the road to live or die. I took her in. I cared for her and, when her time came, I helped deliver the baby. It was a hard and painful time for her, as I am no Herb-Sister, but the child was born healthy and Della survived. She named the baby D’nai, in honour of the goddess of love. From that moment, we were never far from one another.”
“Then came the day that the Nightlands’ hordes spilled out into the Plains. They set fire to every homestead in their path. Della had made me a better man than I had been, so I was away from my own home helping others save theirs. I was not there when …”
He paused. Sarah watched him swallow hard and blink a number of times before he continued.
“My home was a ruin, and their bodies were inside it. I stepped away from my grief long enough to bury them and bless the graves in as much of a manner as I could. I came to Highmount after that. I wanted to fight the Fallen One and slay as many of his creations as possible. When the word was put out that a quest was to be made to the Kay’lo city, I volunteered. Such a quest could be the difference between His Shadow’s victory and or His defeat. That is why I am here.”
Sarah laid a hand on the big man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Enna.”
“Do not be, my Lady. Be sorry for any Fellspawn that stands in my way.”
Sarah’s eyes turned to Witta, and he nodded.
“My story is one of hope, though no sadder, necessarily, than Enna’s tale. I was a scout during the last war, before we became estranged from the Kay’lo. I fought alongside them and undertook missions with them as we sought to drive the Fellspawn back into the Nightlands. There was a Kay’lo girl—different to the other Kay’lo. Her hair was honey-white and her skin was as pale as a skull. She was beautiful to me, like a sculpture in the finest marble, but her fellows rejected her because she was not dark-haired and dark-eyed as she should have been. I think she had no one to talk to before I came along, as she talked to me of this as we ran, hid, and carried out our sabotages against the enemy. She was strong, fast, and a good fighter—as fierce as they were, and as dedicated—but they never accepted her as one of their own. I would have followed her to the Edgelands of Seythe and jumped into the dark places below if she had asked me to.
“The last time I saw her was on the eve of the Great Push. We promised ourselves to each other after the fighting was done. But then came the slaughter of the Great Push. We drove the Fellspawn back, but we lost so many, and it was not long after that the Three Kingdoms and Kay’lo came to blows over the Grassland Plains. With that, I lost her, with no way to find her, dead or alive, until now. When we get to Lo’a’pan, I mean to seek her out. If she is dead, I will find her family and tell them how brave and proud she was, the honour she did to her bloodkin during the last war against His Shadow.”
“What was her name, Witta?”
“K’Aoa.”
Enna asked, “So, shall we press on through this misery then?”
“Unless we can find some form of shelter, yes,” Master Jez answered. “This abysmal weather has made me lose my bearing across country. I’ve never seen the like of it before.”
A studied silence engulfed the small fire as they each reflected on the unspoken truth. The storm had come on too fierce and too sudden to be anything other than conjured.
“Hold. Look over there.” Witta peered into the darkness beyond the fire. “I believe I see a light other than our own. It looks to be a stronger one, too.”
“Then let us head for it before we become drenched once more.”
Master Jez nodded and sprang into his saddle. The short break seemed to have reinvigorated him. When he glanced back, Sarah felt sure he was just checking everyone was mounted and ready to move on, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was also checking they were not being followed.
Chapter Thirteen
The farm they came to was quiet and strange, although lights burned in its windows.
“This could be a trap set for us,” said Enna.
“True, but I want to get out of this deluge and into the dry,” Witta replied.
“Then we go in carefully,” said Master Jez. “Enna, Witta and I will check the
farmhouse and barn. We will return for Orraea and Sarah when we are sure the coast is clear.”
“The Flame will be safe under my guard,” Orraea said.
Sarah opened and closed her mouth, feeling as if she should have had something to say. Not having thought of anything in time made her feel a little stupid. She sank into silence as she watched the men ride off towards the farmhouse. Tension hung palpably between the two women while they waited. Sarah could sense the emotional stagnation in the air, could hear the older woman shifting in her saddle, as if holding thoughts and feelings within. She was sure that she was doing the same. It was never pleasant to be alone in the company of someone who didn’t like you, but Sarah was feeling the atmosphere was not all Orraea’s doing. She was sure it was spreading out from the farmhouse too, in some way. The windows continued to glow with the hues of dusk, undisturbed by passing shadows, and Sarah wondered when the men would return.
Eventually, three dark shapes separated from the farmhouse and slowly resolved themselves into the forms of Master Jez, Enna, and Witta. Their bodies were free of tension, but Sarah felt something else there. They had found nothing amiss—she knew that before they spoke—but something about the farm still bothered them.
“There are no signs of a trap or of any of the Fallen One’s servitors hiding in the farm. The lights are oil lamps, and appear to have been lit not long ago. But it seems the farm’s owners will not be returning. All of their belongings are gone. We can rest here tonight,” Master Jez said.
They rode together to the farmhouse, unmounted, and tied their horses to the hitching posts at the front of the house. Sarah thought she glimpsed teethmarks—and not the teeth of horses either—gnawed into the wood of the posts, but she dismissed the thought as tiredness. The weather was playing on her nerves.
Sarah and Orraea retired to the room that appeared to have once been the kitchen while the three men took the living room space. They lay on the floor in their clothes, leaving their packs and sleeping blankets to dry out in the far corners of the room. It did not take long for any of them to fall into a deep sleep.
~ ~ ~
Sarah was awakened by the child. It did not touch her. It merely stood before her, very still, unmoving. It was breathing; she could see that much. It was no dead thing come to haunt her. But still it shouldn’t be there. There was something wrong about it. The moment closed around her as the child stood there, eyes downcast and yet seeming to see her and not see her simultaneously. Sarah watched the child, which just stood there before her, waiting. Patient. Expectant. Waiting for her to do something.
Sarah did nothing. She did not call out to Orraea, and her throat felt dry and stiff. After a time that could have been seconds, minutes, or hours, the child spoke in a lost voice.
“You should not seek to deceive him.”
Who?
“The Prince of Pain knows you as you know him. He knows you will seek to save the Kay’lo. You will try not to sacrifice them to his will.”
Who are you?
“I am a Wight. I do as he bids me.”
You’re a child. A little boy.
“My mother and father are dead. Fellfolk took me to him in the Nightlands. I saw things. Horrible things. And then he made me a Wight—a wanderer who bears his eyes and enforces his will.”
The child opened its eyes, and Sarah wished she could have screamed. The eyes in those sockets were not human; they may once have been, but now they were hellish pits. A cruel smile curled the child’s lips as it sprang, leaping through the air in a nightmare-slow arc that brought it down hard upon her chest, driving the breath from her body. Sarah tried to move, but her arms and legs were still and wouldn’t respond to her thoughts. Her mouth was open, but no sound came out. The smile on the possessed child’s face was swiftly becoming a demonic rictus and its fingers were eagerly fastening around her throat. Sarah could feel its thumbs pressing down hard on her windpipe. Black smears spread across her vision, and she heard the voice of E’blis.
Those who defy Him die, O Flame, and once you are dead, your sister will follow soon after. Her blood will feed the Fallen One and speed His resurrection.
“Kiley! No!”
Sarah caught the Flame, or was caught by it. She could never be entirely sure. It seared through her, blasting away the paralysis that had engulfed her to hurl the child from her. It slammed it into the wall, where it crumpled in the corner and did not move.
Oh no ...
As soon as the Flame had come, it went again. Sarah let it go with ease this time. She could hear the sound of Orraea awakening as she scrambled over to the small form in the corner. The child was still, and its skin was cold. Sarah grasped its chin and raised it up so she could see into the child’s eyes. They were normal. Human. There was no life left in them.
Sarah let the child’s head flop back down and moved away from it, shaking her head, mouthing ‘no’ over and over again. She barely felt the Orraea’s hands on her shoulders, and she had not noticed Master Jez, Enna, and Witta join them. The three men examined the boy, finding no more life in him than Sarah had done.
“What happened here?”
Sarah heard the words but said nothing.
“Sarah, please tell me what happened.”
Her eyes fixed on Orraea’s, and for the first time she felt something akin to empathy there, shining deep in the frosty depths.
“He came out of the dark to me. He said ... he warned me ... E’blis made him. He’s dead. I killed him!”
“No, Sarah,” said Orraea. “You didn’t. This child has been dead a long time. Wasn’t his skin cold as ice when you touched it?”
Sarah nodded.
“Those who have just died do not feel so cold. You know that, don’t you?”
Sarah nodded again, hesitantly.
“This child was killed by E’blis. He was the trap we did not see. He was made for you.”
“There was a boy,” Sarah said, “months ago, in the Norn Valley. I almost killed him when he attacked me. I was so scared. He was possessed, but he was a child. I couldn’t bear it if I’d killed him. And now ...”
“And now, you have not killed a child again.” Orraea fixed her with a stare that was harder and more like the ones Sarah was used to from the Wayfarer. “Listen to me. His death is not your fault. You can be angry about it. You can remember it as another life to be avenged by the defeat of the Fallen One. But you cannot hate yourself for it. He did not die because of you.”
Sarah nodded once more and tried to force a smile from her lips. Orraea broke her gaze to help the others carry the boy’s body from the room. Sarah knew they were going to bury it. Part of her felt guilty for being too afraid to help, but she couldn’t look into that face, those eyes, again. They had been so vicious and twisted with evil, and then so innocent, empty, and lost.
Later, standing on the fringe of the farm, Sarah watching flames licking up over the windows of the farmhouse as it burned. Orraea had started the blaze with a minor enchantment, to heat the damp wood and keep it burning even if rain fell.
As she stood with her companions, Sarah remembered the child’s face as it fell away from her. So still. So dead. How the eyes had lost their tainted glow to become wide and pleading. Human. They had been begging for sympathy and understanding before they became empty of life. The shadows in the farm were His, Orraea said, and more creatures might yet come out of the dark to pursue them if the building was allowed to remain.
“You must be careful, Sarah,” warned Master Jez.
“Why?”
“We have burned the house down, but we cannot scorch away memories or sorrow. These are the ashes and cinders that endure in our hearts.”
“How do I live through something like this? I know Orraea is right, that I didn’t kill that boy. He was already dead. But that doesn’t change how it felt to me. He felt alive and then he felt dead.”
“Sarah, you could give yourself to the sorrow and let it be the meaning in your life, for
sorrow is a tenacious thing and does not pass away easily. But if we do not try to let them go, our nightmares will always come back to haunt us.”
Sarah felt nothing. She was empty. Numb. A stranger in a strange land. Someone who should not be here, because when she was here, terrible things happened. Terrible things like this. The world was cast in a new light to her. The sun did not shine in the same way as it had when she was a child.
Is this what growing up feels like?
I don’t like it.
The future was dark and uncertain, she understood that, but did life and death have to come crashing in all at once?
Such uncertainty took away your hopes and dreams. It changed them and your path, leaving the old one burned and in ruins, so it seemed. But that is the flow of things, and you need to go with it. Fight. Hold on. Try to put back together what has fallen apart, to rise from the darkness and return to the fire’s light. Then all this would be behind her.
For ahead lies hope, reborn.
Chapter Fourteen
Someone was banging on her bedchamber door.
Jedda stumbled to her feet, shuffled to the door and opened it.
“What is it?”
The wide, wild eyes of a servant boy stared back at her. “My Princess, he has escaped. The general sent me to tell you.”
“Who’s escaped?”
“The killer. He is out in the streets, loose in the old market street of Plainstown.”
“By the Mother! He can’t be!”
Jedda dressed hurriedly in a plain jerkin, leggings, and boots and let the boy lead her out of the palace. She knew where to go. She followed the shouts and screams, and there he was, the Were, standing in the remains of Plainstown Square, dressed only in a dried skin of blood and dirt. His bones showed through his skin; some foul magic was acting on him. It had brought him back from death. A small bag , its neck open, sat at his feet, showing a severed head inside. He had killed again.