by Alex Lang
For a moment, Kyris couldn’t get his legs to move. He was frozen in fright for Jahna had lied to the man. Very convincingly, but it was false, nevertheless.
When Jahna noticed he hadn’t moved, she held out a hand to him, and he grasped it. Feeling bolstered, they walked forward together.
Once the family had been ushered back into their house, they gathered in the main room. The soldiers moved aside the large table where they ate their meals, and Jahna was instructed to sit in a chair while the rest of the family were seated bunched in a corner. Kyris noticed the two soldiers were tense. One even had his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Can’t the seers of Rumathil glimpse the truth of the matter?” their mother pleaded.
The inquisitor spread his arms wide. “Aye, but do you see a gray seer among us? No. Not all servants of the gods are willing to endure the hardship of the road, it seems. And believe me, woman, the seer’s touch is no gentle thing.” He turned back to Jahna. “Now, it would be within my right to strip you down and see for myself that you do not carry any of the blight upon your body.”
Jahna’s eyes went wide. Their father jumped up from his seat, and a soldier pushed him back down. Before he could make another attempt, the inquisitor had his hand up.
“Refrain yourself. There will not be another warning. As I was saying. It is within my right, but I will not. Not because of any improprieties. What are such trivialities in pursuit of the righteous cause? Rather, I will not because it is not a surety. Yes, all spawns of the Night Mother are foul and hideous, but some are able to conceal their vileness… on the surface. But we inquisitors are gifted so as to pierce such trickery. I will not rely on my eyes. I will use another method and find out whether you are speaking the truth, child. This process will not be pleasant, but if you are free of blight, then you have nothing to fear.”
The man brought his staff in front of him and held it with both hands. An unnatural, white flame burst forth within the basket at the top of the staff.
Kyris’s mother gasped, and his father looked to rise again, but the soldier tasked with keeping the family in line drew his sword.
Kyris was transfixed by the strangely colored fire.
The flame expanded, now seeming to burst at the confines of the basket. “I would advise sitting still,” Inquisitor Kathmor said.
Jahna turned to Kyris. Their eyes locked, and he knew what she was thinking. She wanted to use their ability, to go to the dark place, wanted both of them to do it to save their family. But the Gloom, as Jahna named it, was not a good place. It was an unnatural, dangerous place, and Kyris feared it. Far more than he’d ever admitted to his sister, for she seemed not nearly as affected by its nature. They had vowed not to use the ability unless both were present and consenting. Kyris didn’t know what to do or what to say. Should he give a nod so the two of them could somehow fight back, or give a small shake of his head because it was far too risky, for both them and the family?
Before he could decide, something else demanded Jahna’s attention. A tendril of fire, like a living thing, snaked out from the basket that topped the inquisitor’s staff, growing in length as it curved around Jahna. She yelped and jerked back from the fire, but she had no place to go.
“I said, sit still, child! Lest you be burnt, nightspawn or not!”
The fire wound around Jahna, never touching her but continuing on its circular path, moving upwards.
“I do not control the flames, child. You are in Allithor’s hands now. He will keep the heat from you if you are pure. If you are not, then there is nothing in this world that will save you from his righteous wrath. You will burn. The flames will cleanse the darkness from you.”
As the inquisitor spoke, the fire continued to snake around her, encasing Jahna in a funnel of flame. How she was not burnt already, Kyris didn’t know. The inquisitor must have been telling the truth for the emanating heat was intense. It felt like a bonfire was raging in their house. He stared on in horror. He desperately wanted to do something, anything, to help, but his mind would offer no course of action. Emin and his mother were both crying. His father sat silent, stunned at the display.
Kyris eyed one of the soldier’s daggers, still in his belt. He could enter the Gloom, then shift back behind the man and grab the weapon, but the soldier glared at him as if reading his thoughts. Kyris also feared using the ability would get Jahna killed.
“Now, child. I will put forth these questions to you, and Allithor will divine the veracity of it. And though I cannot guarantee your safety, if you answer truthfully, then perhaps your family would be spared the same fate. Are you a spawn of the Night Mother? Do you carry the taint in your blood?”
The flames flared, swirling white waves danced. The fiery prison contracted and expanded in a back and forth motion, though every time it contracted, it pushed closer in to Jahna.
She screamed, and Kyris panicked, thinking she must be burning.
“Answer me!” the inquisitor demanded.
“No! Noooo!”
Whether that was a refusal to Inquisitor Kathmor’s demand or the answer to his earlier questions, Kyris wasn’t sure, but the man apparently took it as the latter, as he nodded.
He proceeded to ask many more questions. Some were repeated, just worded a different way, and all were in the same vein. “Have you ever consorted with the blighted? Have your neighbors consorted with the blighted? Do you know any who were cultists of Mezu Vos? Do you possess abilities not those of the Tesrini?” This continued for some time.
Jahna answered all appropriately, which is to say she lied when it came to questions of herself and Kyris, but otherwise spoke true. Kyris was awed by his sister’s courage, that despite her obvious terror, she stuck firm to her answers. Kyris also noted that the flames had not burned Jahna when she lied, which was something he would dwell on for a long time to come.
The inquisitor then asked of their family. “Are these two truly your parents by blood, or were you adopted? Are these truly your siblings by blood, or were they adopted?”
Jahna seemed confused by this and looked to her parents, as if the thought had never occurred to her. Kyris certainly never questioned it.
“Do not look at them. Answer the questions,” he ordered, and the flames flared.
She answered, “Yes, these are my true parents and siblings.”
Kathmor seemed to have reached the end of his interrogation. His posture changed. No longer did he lean into his staff. The grim scowl eased as his face relaxed. The flames also quieted, settling back further from Jahna as before the questioning. The inquisitor stood for a long moment, staring down at her trembling form.
In an instant, the flames that surrounded her dissipated, leaving nothing behind, not even a wisp of smoke. The ball of white fire within the cage, however, remained.
Jahna had not moved a fingers-breadth. Her white-knuckled hands clutched the chair bottom, and her head slumped forward, dark hair covering her face. Only now did Kyris hear her breathlessly whispering over and over. “I am not a nightspawn. I am not a nightspawn. I am not a nightspawn.”
“Very well, child. You have been tossed into the crucible and emerged sanctified,” Inquisitor Kathmor said. “You may rejoin your family.”
Jahna slowly released the chair, as if having to command each finger to obey. She was drenched in sweat, and when she looked up towards her family, she seemed to stare through them. As she staggered towards them, Carina rushed forward to gather her daughter up in a tight embrace.
“You’re fine, my sweet. You’re fine. It’s all over,” she cooed to Jahna.
“Only if that were so, but we are not finished, yet,” Kathmor said. He had not moved from his spot. “One child has been tested. This proves her free of foul influence, but what of this one?” He gestured to Kyris. “Are you the child’s true sire?” the inquisitor asked of Perin. “Perhaps your wife did lay with others. Happens all too often, I fear.”
Kyris stared at the inquisitor, the m
eaning of what the man was saying dawning on him. He glanced at the empty chair his sister had so recently occupied as if it were venomous viper.
“They’re twins, you fiend. Perin is father to them both!” Carina screamed at the man.
“Truly?” Unperturbed, he looked back and forth at Jahna and Kyris, doubt on his face. “They do quite resemble one another, but he is younger, no?” Kathmor looked to the two soldiers, who shrugged in reply.
“It matters not, all will be tested. We will continue with the young one next, if you prefer.” He gestured to Emin, who had latched onto their father during the commotion.
“What? No, you can’t,” Carina said.
“And why not? Are you claiming them to be triplets now? Did you have a litter, woman?”
“He’s only a child of five. He doesn’t understand.”
“I once saw a befouled unborn claw its way out of its mother’s belly. Age and innocence means nothing to the blighted. Now, enough of this. Lothryn, the child.”
The portly, middle-aged soldier took a step towards Emin, but found Jahna blocking his path.
“Out of my way, girl,” the soldier growled, as he attempted to shoulder her aside.
“You will not touch my brother!” Jahna yelled, then clung to the man. They both blurred and vanished. One moment they were struggling, the next they were gone, as if sucked away in the blink of an eye.
Everyone was stunned. Only Kyris knew what had happened—they’d never told anyone about their ability, not their parents or friends—and even he was shocked; not that Jahna had shifted, but that she’d taken the soldier with her. He hadn’t known she could do that, or that it was even possible.
A whoosh of fire and intense heat brought him out of his bewilderment.
“Nightspawn!” Inquisitor Kathmor held his staff before him, the flames atop so large and bright that the basket could no longer be seen. His face was drawn back in a mask of fear and hate. “You will all burn!”
“Behind you!” the young soldier yelled, as he pointed with his sword.
Inquisitor Kathmor whirled just in time to see Jahna charging at him with a cleaver raised high. A gout of white flame burst forth from his staff and washed over her. She screamed, clutching her face, and fell back to the ground.
Kyris was aghast, but the nightmare continued. His father rushed the solider but was stabbed through the stomach, the blade emerging out the back. Kathmor brought the staff to bear on Kyris, and he grasped the presence in his mind, for the first time ever, without any hesitation. He shifted into the Gloom, then recoiled as muted white flames flooded through him harmlessly.
Kyris jumped to his feet and was struck by the silence. The instant end to the clamor was jarring, but the horrible, chaotic scene still played out around him.
Jahna and his father were on the ground. His mother and Emin cowered in the corner. The inquisitor and soldier were searching, making frantic movements with their weapons.
“You! What’s going on?” demanded a voice from behind, and Kyris whirled to see the soldier, Lothryn, standing in the doorway of the house. “What did she do to me?”
Kyris ignored the man and ran towards the writhing form of Jahna. Before Lothryn could grab him, he shifted back.
He returned to hear the inquisitor shout, “Burn! By the cleansing flames of Allithor, burn!” and a torrent of flames washed over his mother and brother, setting them ablaze. So dumbstruck by the horrible sight, he couldn’t utter a sound. The house was burning, and smoke was quickly gathering, the black swirls a stark contrast to the ashen flames that spread over everything. The remaining soldier stumbled out the front door, but the inquisitor continued to channel the white death at the bodies of his family. Kyris crouched over Jahna, only a few paces behind the inquisitor’s back. Whether so intent on his task or unable to hear over the deafening roar of the inferno, Kathmor didn’t notice.
Kyris, getting a hold of himself, reached out to Jahna and attempted to shift. A stuttering sensation, as if he was shoved back hard but then prevented from moving. Nothing happened. Why? Why couldn’t he do it?
Jahna turned to him at his touch, and for the first time Kyris saw the damage the flames had wrought; he let out a choked sob, half revulsion, half anguish at the sight.
“Jahna, we have to go. Jahna, please. We have to escape to the Gloom.”
She gripped him tightly, and again he felt the familiar sensation, but this time it was not his doing. It had been successful, as everything darkened. Silence reigned. Kyris dragged his sister towards the kitchen hearth. Kyris could see the hazy form of the inquisitor turn around, searching for Jahna’s body. He took a couple of steps towards them, but burning debris fell from the ceiling. The inquisitor seemed hesitant, but he turned and rushed out of the house. Kyris dragged Jahna over to the cellar hatch that sat next to the hearth. He heard a scream from outside the house, not the spine chilling cry of the monsters that dwelt here but that of a man. He remembered the other soldier then, Lothryn. Did the monsters get him?
“All right, Jahna. One more time.Hurry.”
She moaned in reply.
“Jahna, please. I can’t do this by myself. I’m not strong enough. Please, go! Go, you dung-faced weasel!”
A shriek sounded outside the house, confirming his earlier fear. The monsters were here, and as if summoned by his thought, a black, ghostly man appeared near him. He turned back to Jahna, but she had gone hazy. She had gone back. He grabbed at the presence, now warm and inviting, and returned to the proper world, as well.
The heat was overwhelming, and the smoke gagged him. Kyris fell to his knees and crawled over to Jahna, barely able to contain the coughs. She didn’t seem to be conscious anymore. He pulled open the hatch that led into the cellar. Lowering himself through the opening, Kyris stood on the ladder and pulled his sister closer. He lost his footing, and the two of them tumbled to the cellar floor. Kyris untangled himself, got back on the ladder, and pulled the hatch closed.
He took just a moment to catch his breath, but no longer. He pulled Jahna towards the small archway leading to the additional storage space that his father had dug. The alcove was not directly below the house, and, more importantly, was not roofed by the wooden kitchen floor. Kyris pulled Jahna into the space, moving as far back as he could until he touched the wall. He held Jahna close as the house he was born and raised in burned and collapsed around them.
Kyris woke with a start, realizing he had dozed off. The horse had come to a stop at the side of the road near a ditch. It took him a moment to orient himself. Judging by the Silver Sun in the distance, he was likely halfway back to Vigil.
He turned back to look at Kathmor. The man’s face was much paler than when they had started the journey. Kyris jumped back to confirm what he already knew. He felt for a breath, and there was none. He placed his ear to the chest, listening, and could not detect a beat. The man was dead.
Inquisitor Kathmor was dead. The deed was done, and yet, it felt as though the bastard had somehow won in the end.
Kyris stared at Kathmor’s lifeless face. Without warning, his gut heaved, and he had to fight down a surge of bile. He was baffled. Of all the people he had killed on his path here, either to advance his goal or because they stood in his way, never once had he shed a tear and felt ill, but now… over this miserable whoreson?
Kyris pulled the body to the back of the wagon and rolled it off onto the road. He turned away, intent on resuming his trip, but then jumped down himself and kicked the corpse. He screamed as he kicked. And when he was too tired to continue, as a final act of contempt, he unrolled the blanket, sending the body tumbling into the ditch.
Kyris stood panting. The culmination of all his efforts since he’d made the vow of vengeance lay face down in a ditch in front of him. And yet, where was the satisfaction? Where was the feeling of triumph?
Falling to his knees, he began to sob.
He lost track of time, but eventually he gathered himself and climbed back on the wagon in
a daze.
There was a hollowness, a space where his desire for revenge once resided, and it was fast filling with guilt and regret. The risks he’d taken, the sacrifices made, all so he could stab an old man to death. The anger that always burned in him was still there, but now it was directed inward, at himself.
What now?
Jahna and Tasi. He had come so close to losing them yesterday. He needed to get them safely out of Vigil. They would leave as he had promised.
Kyris urged the horse forward, continuing on the road back to Vigil towards the glaring silver false-sun of Allithor.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jantyre sat upon the rooftop, in the same spot he had stood on the night of the ambush, gazing down at the empty storefront. It’d been two days since, and the artificers had already taken everything. All the books, furniture, even the clothing and rolls of fabric. The tinkerers had taken it all, as if any object could hold some secret. And perhaps any object could have, given what he’d learned of this Caldir fellow. A criminal who trafficked in relics operating in the Halcyon district, right under the Imperium’s nose. That he could appreciate.
That night, when he’d followed the armsmen down into the underground lair, he had split off, intent on exploring, but Aolwyn’s badgering and his own curiosity of the assassin’s strange power drew him back to the fight, if only as an observer.
He’d been fascinated watching the killer wreak havoc among the armsmen; vanishing, only to reappear behind some hapless victim. Jantyre half-expected the assassin to appear next to him on the rooftop, especially after he’d drawn the man’s attention with an arrow. But the assassin did not, even in the underground arena when Jantyre was closer. There was a limit to the distance… and elevation perhaps, where the assassin could reach. That was good to know. From his vantages, Jantyre had seen much of the fighting. Picturing the assassin’s attacks and movements, something nagged at the edge of his mind, as though there was some pattern, some revelation he just couldn’t quite grasp. No matter, he thought, it would come to him.