Gloomwalker

by Alex Lang

  “There, all is as it once was,” Sandamar said, releasing Kyris. “Though I wouldn’t pick up anything heavy or attempt anything too intricate with it for a while.”

  Kyris only half heard the big man as he continued to marvel at his right hand. He felt a spike of envy. Here Sandamar had the power to shape flesh, and all Kyris could do was visit a nightmarish mirror realm inhabited by soul-sucking wraiths.

  Caldir entered the room with an expectant expression.

  “It’s done,” Sandamar said, then made a hasty exit without another word to either.

  “I don’t think he is fond of me,” Kyris said, still transfixed by his hand.

  Caldir took the seat the fleshmender had vacated. “Sandamar is not the most trusting under normal circumstances, let alone…” Caldir trailed off with a smile. “If you need time, we can resume our discussion tomorrow.”

  Kyris looked up met his eyes. “No, I’ve given some thought to what you’ve said.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll agree to your proposal with one amendment. Three tasks for three payments. Clearing of the debt, securing the information I need or, failing that, an introduction to the Whisperer, and… healing for my sister.”

  The man hid his surprise well. “Please elaborate.”

  “Jahna. She was badly injured and blinded when we were children. It was years after the… incident before I found a mender of Ormoss that could look to her injuries, and only after a suitable donation.” Kyris could not stop the bitterness that crept into his voice. “The mender inspected her scars and ruined eyes and said it was not the will of Ormoss that she be healed. He said that for some, ‘the physical is a reflection of the spirit. Until one’s spirit is cleansed, there is nothing to be done.’”

  “What did you do?” Caldir asked.

  Kyris did not answer, but the look on his face must have been sufficient as Caldir nodded in acknowledgment.

  “Many years later, after we traveled far from our home and had visited other cities, I decided to approach another mender. She was more forthcoming about her own limitations. Though she did not see Jahna’s injuries, at my description of them the mender admitted that she would not be able to help. But she did tell me that the greatest of her Order, the most favored of Ormoss, resided here in Vigil. To my shame, I have not inquired further since arriving in the city. I have seen some menders tend to small cuts and bruises, speed the process of natural healing. Perhaps I thought her words simple boast, but after witnessing what Sandamar has done, well… Could Sandamar heal my sister? I would have asked him, but…” Kyris gave a weak smile.

  Caldir seemed to consider this. “I’ll speak with Sandamar of this, of course. But from my understanding, such a feat would be beyond even him. Sandamar is a true talent. He was high in the Order once, but what is not commonly known is that for most scions of Ormoss, their gift has a natural leaning towards their own flesh, their own bodies. Yes, Sandamar can heal bruises, close wounds, and undo the damage he has done, but it is a shadow of what he can do to himself, hence the resilience you have witnessed. Now, fleshmenders of greater prowess, the elders within the Order, their power can affect the bodies of others just as strongly as their own. Had you encountered someone like that, what was done to your hand would have been much worse and occurred much quicker. The damage that can be inflicted… well, it’s a sight not ever forgotten. That being said, the elders are also the greatest healers and can perform true wonders.”

  Kyris nodded as he processed this new information. “I want you to help me locate an elder to heal my sister.”

  “I can help you locate, but that is all. For the remedy will come at a high cost, and despite how they like to portray themselves, the menders of Ormoss are far from magnanimous. This cost is an unknown, thus I cannot agree to it.”

  Kyris thought it over, then nodded, “Fair point. Simply locate.”

  “Then the payment is as such—I will do everything in my power to locate a mender of Ormoss capable of healing your sister, Jahna, of her blindness, if such a person exists. Is this agreeable?”

  “Agreed,” Kyris said.

  “Very well. I will confer with Sandamar tomorrow, after he has some time to calm, and see what insights he can offer.”

  “Thank you. Oh, outside of Sandamar, please do not mention this to anyone else.”

  Caldir nodded. “As you wish. Now, there is one last thread to sew. What information do you want that is so hard to obtain it would require someone like the Whisperer’s involvement?”

  At Kyris’s hesitation, he added, “If you tell me, I might be able to begin the search. The gathering of knowledge is rarely quick. Or you can wait until the last task has been complete.”

  Kyris sighed. “I’m looking for an inquisitor of the Path by the name of Kathmor.” Kyris could read Caldir’s expression which said ‘That’s all?’, so he hurried on. “He would be an old man now. His name isn’t carved on their blasted obelisks, so I don’t think he’s dead.”

  Caldir’s eyes widened at the mention of the monuments that had all the names of those within the Path who died in service of the Divine Flame since before the founding of Vigil inscribed upon them. The many obelisks were erected in the courtyard at the center of the White Citadel at the pinnacle of the Bluff. Kyris hadn’t said it to boast, but perhaps it would be good for Caldir to know what he was capable of.

  “You read all the names on the obelisks?”

  Kyris smiled. “It’s chronological. I only had to inspect the latest one.”

  “Perhaps this Kathmor became an outcast. Committed a crime that would prevent his name from being inscribed.”

  Kyris shook his head. “There should be a record of it, then. And if so, I need to know for certain.”

  Caldir stroked his chin, seeming to give what Kyris had said great thought. After a long stretch of silence, he asked, “Why do you seek this man?”

  “That's my business, and it doesn't concern you,” Kyris returned bluntly. He took a breath and more deferentially said, “It's a private matter, though it’s not hard to imagine, I’m sure.”

  “No, I suppose not. I would need everything you know of this man in order to investigate further.”

  “Of course. Then we have a deal?”

  Caldir leaned back in his chair and stared at Kyris. The silence dragged on.

  “Well?” Kyris broke in.

  Caldir smiled. “Yes, we have a deal.”

  A nagging notion occurred to Kyris then. “Um, one last thing. Those men on the bridge?”

  “Yes, the Imperium huntsmen. Leashers,” Caldir said with obvious distaste.

  “Leashers?”

  “Members of the Bound. Scions from conquered lands who signed the Accord, a contract with the Imperium saving themselves from the mines. They are permitted to work for the Imperium using whatever power they have that has been deemed serviceable. The leashers have an unusual gift, to commune and command makors, monstrous beasts. Be thankful that makors are not allowed in the Old City, otherwise our encounter tonight with the huntsmen may have turned out very differently.”

  “I see. The big one. He made mention of tracking me. So, it was by some animal?”

  Caldir stood and ushered him towards the door. “Worry not, Kyris, that has already been taken care of.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “The horned head of their slain champion was held aloft for all to witness by Overlord Velloras. Routed were the beast hordes, their bloodlust quelled and ferocity sapped by the triumphant display.

  Thus marked another victory, the fourth such, driving from Spire Aelyn the foul beasts and betrayers.

  Through all the desperate and terrible battles fought after the fall of Tesra, the Godlings held their ground, and gave not a step, and with each triumph, and with his indomitable spirit, had Velloras pulled the Godlings from the depths of despair.

  Tho that would not be enough, the great Overlord had determined.

  An end to the foulspawn, retribution
to the betrayers, such crusades could not be waged behind the walls of the great Spires, as their numbers were too few to muster to send forth to meet the twisted and corrupt enemies.

  Long did the Overlord ruminate and perform exacting rituals to beseech the Makers for a path forward, and after a fortnight of such rigors, did Velloras prove himself most blessed among the Blessed, receiving a vision from glorious Allithor.

  An assembly was called, and Overlord Velloras revealed to his Brethren what he had been shown, and even among the most ardent, there was doubt, for how could the lesser man of this land be relied upon to share their sacred duty, how could any amongst them be worthy of the blessings of the Makers?

  To have such misgivings towards the Maker’s word would customarily be intolerable, tho Velloras did not judge too harshly his fellows.

  Consumed by petty disputes, the Ar’Razi did war amongst themselves, and some, in their ignorance, did even raise arms against the Godlings.

  Nonetheless, they could be taught and guided and thus raised, this Velloras knew. And the will of Allithor was absolute, and thus did the Overlord decree that the glory of the Makers would be spread forth, that the fractured peoples of the realm would be united under one Divine banner.”

  Tasi stopped reading and closed the book. “Well, it seems Velloras saves the day yet again.”

  “The theme is subtle, but I think I have the grasp of it,” Jahna said as she put her carving tools away in a small pouch. They sat out front of the Wellspring Inn, the latest residence where Kyris had ensconced them. Being in the Old City did afford them some freedoms not found in other parts of Vigil. Not once while Tasi read had she been harassed by the unwanted attention of admirers.

  “What do you think?” Jahna held up her latest work for Tasi to see, a jaybird.

  “Oh, it’s lovely,” her sister commented without any hesitation.

  Jahna smiled beneath her veil at the kindness.

  “Should I continue?” Tasi said.

  “No, it’s near time we meet Kyris.” Just then a nearby bell tolled.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Come.” Jahna stood and held out her arm for her sister to take.

  “What’s happening?” Jahna asked. She’d noticed that the tempo of the crowd had changed from the normal shouts and chattering to an excited buzz and low, hushed whispers.

  “There’s some kind of gathering at the center the bridge,” Tasi replied. They had just walked onto the Forger’s Bridge on their way to meet Kyris at the food stalls on the other side. “Some kind of ceremony, perhaps?”

  “Hah, it’s a ceremony, all right,” said a gruff male voice. “You never seen…” the familiar pause then, “a dousing?”

  Jahna’s veiled visage often gave people a brief hesitation as they tried to deduce who they were addressing. Not well-attired enough to be a lady of a great house. Too much attire to be a dock district dancer. This was only conjecture as she hadn’t ever seen either, but Tasi was very vivid in her descriptions.

  “Why, no,” Tasi answered. “What’s the occasion?”

  The man, pictured by Jahna as an old, weathered fishmonger given his grizzled voice and odor, began to explain, but a murmur ran through the crowd and turned to hissing. The contemptuous hissing of hundreds, it seemed, given the volume and intensity. She leaned into Tasi and asked, “What’s happening?”

  “A keeper is leading a row of men in chains and shackles onto a platform or stage. They’re wearing some kind of… Oh, no. I thought them wearing masks at first, but they’re beastkin, Jahna. Some have horns, but all their faces are muzzled. Men of the watch are bringing what looks to be… gibbet cages onto the stage. There’s also a brazier of coal…”

  Jahna gave Tasi’s arm a tap. She’d heard enough.

  “Oh, you girls are in for a treat,” the old man that smelled of dead fish said. “You must be new to the city, eh? Where are you from?”

  Jahna gave her sister’s arm a cautioning squeeze. Tasi, in return, gave a reassuring caress. They could communicate so much in that fashion.

  “Lowdell,” Tasi lied.

  “Lowdell?” The fishmonger harrumphed, and Jahna got the impression the man didn’t know where that was. “Don’t they drown foulspawn there? I suppose if you don’t have a proper river. What do you do with them in Lowdell?”

  “Umm,” Tasi stammered.

  “They’re beheaded,” Jahna said. “That’s how things are done in Lowdell.”

  “Oh.” The fishmonger cackled. “I suppose that would do it. I’d like to see that.”

  A harsh, agonized cry silenced the crowd.

  Jahna was curious and yet dreaded hearing the details.

  “Are they being branded?” Tasi asked.

  “Aye, with the mark of the Chain, damning them to Mythaas.”

  That seemed rather redundant to Jahna given that all of Mezu Vos’ spawn were doomed to Mythaas. It was a twisted birthright of damnation, according to the preachers of the Path. The old fishmonger probably wasn’t interested in debating the finer points of Path doctrine, so she kept the thought to herself.

  The crowd was growing, and its voices, though pitched low, were a loud, indistinct droning to Jahna’s ears. Bodies jostled and pressed against her, and the smell of the unwashed clawed at her nose, an assault on her keen senses. Jahna gave Tasi’s arm another firm squeeze.

  “Right, then. Thank you, kind sir, for enlightening us,” Tasi said as a way of parting and started pushing through the crowd, guiding Jahna away.

  “What, you’re not staying?”

  “Oh, no. No. We must be going. Prior engagement.”

  “The Silver Sun shines eternal.” Jahna pictured the man looking skyward reverently when speaking those words.

  “Oh yes, the Silver Sun shines eternal,” Tasi replied halfheartedly.

  “You really should try harder to be convincing,” Jahna chided, only half serious. “What… what are they doing now?” she asked, her morbid curiosity getting the better of her.

  Another cry, this one a pain-filled braying, answered the question for her.

  “There’s four more yet to be branded, I’m afraid. Will you be alright?”

  “Tasi, I’m no fragile flower to be withered by the sounds of suffering. Lead on.”

  Her sister gave her a gentle pat. “Come, we should be able to get past if we go along the back.”

  It was slow going, working through the crowd, and two more times cries and wails were heard. The remaining two prisoners made no such noise, though Jahna swore she could hear the hiss of burning flesh and fur. There was another shift in the crowd as the murmuring fell silent like a smothered fire. A voice rang out, seemingly close in the sudden, eerie quiet.

  “Good people of Vigil,” boomed a commanding female voice. “You are called forth to bear witness as these wretched and damned abominations, these spawns most foul, are sent to the Mythaas, to endure the punishment due their kind and trouble us no more. In so doing, we stoke the Divine Flame and strengthen the Light. We weaken the army of the Night Mother and keep at bay the Eternal Dark.

  “These six before you are but a sample of what Allithor’s champion, the archon’s son, Lord Lathian, has reaped from the wilds of Frontier-lands. Many more will be offered up, to spill their blood upon the sands of the Grand Stadium in the coming days. All good and pious citizens of the empire shall attend—”

  “Come, now is our chance,” Tasi whispered as she continued to pull her through the crowd. Jahna could not know for sure the number of people present, but she pictured the bridge covered with throngs of bodies. Everyone had stilled, and Jahna feared their movement would attract attention.

  “Let’s not draw undue scrutiny.” Jahna whispered the warning.

  Tasi didn’t reply, but they slowed, their progress less rushed.

  The speaker upon the stage continued with her address. “Praise to the champion Lathian, praise to the Archon Lothander, Praise to Allithor!” The crowd repeated the chant.
/>   “We, the Keepers of the Divine Flame, condemn you!” the voice finished.

  “We, the servants of the Light, condemn you!” The crowd shouted in unison.

  Tasi leaned into Jahna and described what she saw. “They are putting the beastkin into the cages attached to chains. Oh…”

  A moment later, a splash quickly followed by another, then four more could be heard, then cheers erupted, followed by hoots and hollers and more splashes.

  “They are throwing rubbish into the river,” Tasi whispered to her.

  They must have broken from the crowd as their steps quickened unimpeded.

  “Well, that was a horrid ordeal,” Tasi said.

  “It’s not over for some,” Jahna replied, thinking of the six drowning beneath their feet.

  “No, of course not. I…”

  Jahna found her sister’s hand and gave it a gentle pat.

  The slightly arched stones of the bridge gave way to the packed dirt. Every day, Jahna and Tasi would go for a stroll through the markets or the parks. Kyris would join if he was around. He insisted that the fresh air would do her good, although there was nothing fresh about the air in the city.

  “Still fancy a meal after that?” Tasi asked, her tone making it clear that she no longer did.

  “Thankfully, I didn’t actually have to see it.” Despite her words, Jahna had pictured the execution in her mind, though the details of the beastkin faces were somewhat blurry. She’d never seen a real beastkin before. As children in their small town, they’d attended the yearly Spire Lighting festival. There would be a performance during which three actors would don wood-carved masks of a ram, a wolf, and a bear, to represent the foulspawn hordes and caper after the children. The masks were grotesquely detailed with bulging eyes, lolling tongues, and bloody fangs. She knew well enough now that those were crude imitations and yet, those images still lingered as she imagined the six beastkin being dropped into the river.

  They walked for a while, neither speaking, then Tasi asked, “Are you feeling well, Jahna?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I hate this city, the people, the smell. Ugh, the gods-forsaken smell. We are in the den of our enemies and I fear for the life of my foolhardy brother every day. But other than that, I’m perfectly fine.” Jahna felt her sister’s arm stiffen against her own. “I’m sorry, Tasi. I don’t mean for you to bear the brunt of my frustrations, but… there are few others to carry this burden.” Jahna gave a sardonic smile under her veil.