Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1)

by CW Thomas

  “Do you know why they want this so badly?” Merek asked, pointing to the gems on the counter.

  Nheto sighed again, as though every question Merek asked was a huge burden for him to answer, and for a man as big as Nheto it probably was. “These are wizard stones, some call them. These two have something magical inside of them. You can tell by the rainbow colors in the center. You see?”

  “What kind of magic?”

  Nheto shrugged. “Could be anything. If you hold it enough it might make you into a genius. If you have the right words it might enable you to spit fire. If you twirl it around your head it might make you dance the jaunty and bark like a dog. If you—”

  “I get it,” Merek said.

  “A regenstern can even act like a spyglass. They say if one is broken apart you can see what the others are seeing when you cast a certain spell over it, or something crazy like that.

  “Whatever this has inside of it, the Black King wants it bad. He’s a bastard, that one. He isn’t even king of Efferous and yet the people here talk about him like he’s a creature from all the hells. He isn’t anyone you want on your bad side, Merek. So my advice to you is give these back to whoever or wherever you got them from.”

  “There’s a problem with that,” Merek said. “I need money. What can you give me for these?”

  “Ha! I’m not buying those, my friend. No way.”

  “Please, one last sale for old time’s sake. And I do mean that. This is it for me, Nheto. I’m done. I need a ship to get me home, and then I’m never coming here again.”

  Nheto sat back on a stool much too small for his wide posterior. He folded his arms and regarded Merek thoughtfully before saying, “I have a friend who runs a ship called the Choir Girl to Thalmia every day. He owes me a favor. He can get you as far as the west coast first thing tomorrow. You can stay here for the night, but in the morning you have to go. That’s the best I can do.”

  “You sure the wife won’t mind?” Merek said.

  “That walking pair of shackles is at our home in Velia. Spends most of her time there actually. I hardly see her anymore.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s been great!”

  Merek returned to Awlin, delighted to give her news that didn’t involve disappointment for once. In the four months they had spent traveling from Slavigo, they had encountered one problem after another that delayed their return to Edhen, but now home felt like a possibility once again.

  What Merek didn’t tell her, however, was that something still felt wrong.

  Above Nheto’s shop was a practical two-bedroom home where the jeweler lived with his mother and his wife—whenever she came to visit, that is. The place was small, but its furnishings were quite extravagant, a clear sign of Nheto’s successful business savvy.

  Merek let Awlin have the padded sofa, in spite of how comfortable it looked, while he slept on the floor. By the time the light of the sun had woken them the next morning, Nheto had prepared some hot tea and some buttered muffins akin to Edhen’s cornbread.

  Nheto handed Merek a note to give to the captain of the Choir Girl while a stable boy fetched their horses, which had been saddled with supplies for their journey home.

  Awlin’s spirits were high, but as delightful as it was to see his sister happy, Merek shared none of her jubilation.

  “What’s wrong?” Awlin asked him while their horses carried them down a wide dirt road that tunneled through a thick jungle canopy.

  Merek shrugged. “Nothing,” he lied. “I’m just… just happy to be putting this place behind us.”

  “I know what you mean,” she said.

  Awlin started to talk at length about her life as a servant to Adairous Dolar, but Merek wasn’t listening. His mind kept returning to his cabin and the black viper he had seen standing on the front deck, occupying one of the most secret parts of his life. If they could find him there, then surely they would find him anywhere.

  Merek kept a close eye on the surrounding foliage of the woodsy tunnel, looking for signs of watchful eyes, though he tried not to make a show of it for Awlin’s sake. By the time they reached the harbor she was well into her fifth anecdote—or was it her sixth? Merek couldn’t remember. He glanced behind them to see if they were being followed, but aside from fishermen wandering to and from the harbor, a woman carrying a basket of greens, and a couple peasant children playing a chasing game, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  Emerging from the green tunnel of jungle, Merek saw that the road split. The main path continued straight along a line of storefronts that included an inn and a small tavern, while the left branch of the road sunk down a dirt hill into Faltonia’s harbor. The waterfront looked busy with many small fishing boats floating out over the ocean inlet, and several large flat-bottom cargo ships loading up for voyages to various shores.

  From his vantage point high upon the main road, Merek looked along the docks examining the ships for signs of danger. He saw the Choir Girl on the far right and noted the six men lugging cargo up onto the deck.

  “Are you coming?” Awlin asked. She had drifted down the road leading toward the boats, no doubt driven by eagerness unencumbered by no sense of caution.

  Merek smirked, wondering if he was being too paranoid. He led his horse down the road to the Choir Girl, a wide brown ship roped to a rickety wooden pier on its starboard side, its name scrawled across the back in a decorative Efferousian text.

  A man standing on the pier next to the Choir Girl noticed Merek and Awlin looking over the ship. He asked in sloppy Efferousian, “Can I help you?”

  “Are you the captain of this vessel?” Merek asked.

  He must’ve detected a hint of Merek’s accent because his expression became suspicious. “What’s it to you?”

  Merek sidled his horse close enough to hand the man Nheto’s handwritten note. The captain unfurled the parchment and read it silently to himself.

  “You’re a friend of Nheto’s?” he asked.

  Merek dipped his head.

  “Pleased to meet you.” The man took out a bright green rag and wiped his forehead. “Uh, if you want to dismount I’ll bring your horses on board for you. Let’s go, miss. Off you get.” He reached up to Awlin to help her down.

  “Wait,” Merek said.

  There was something about the captain’s green rag that wasn’t right. It was too bright and clean for a hard working sea captain, and not a color common to the region. Merek guessed it was given to the man for the express purpose of signaling someone else.

  “Shall I load your horse, sir?” the captain asked.

  Merek looked at him, studied him, saw the sweat on his brow and the nervous twitch of his upper lip as he reached for the reins of Awlin’s horse.

  “No,” Merek said. “Awlin, follow me.”

  “Well, hold on now,” the captain said. “Uh, any friend of Nheto’s is a friend of mine.”

  “What’s wrong?” Awlin asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” Merek said. To the captain he added, “Let her go.” The man released the reins.

  Shouts from up on the main road beckoned Merek’s attention away from his sister where he saw a contingent of black vipers charging along the line of storefronts. They were galloping toward the split in the road and would soon be charging down the slope into the harbor.

  “Move!” Merek shouted, and he kicked his horse into a furious gallop. He tried to gauge the speed at which the black vipers were moving and guessed that he and Awlin could reach the fork in the road before they did, but then what? They had no place to go but straight, and that would take them back into town, back toward Nheto’s shop, where escape would be almost impossible.

  Merek glanced behind him to see Awlin just over his right shoulder, hands on the reins, head low, galloping her horse like an experienced rider. He smiled, proud.

  Their horses pounded the ground as they made their way up the slope, narrowly beating the soldiers to the split.

&nbs
p; “Go!” Merek shouted. “Faster!”

  They galloped back through the tunnel of jungle trees with the company of black vipers close behind. Merek could hear their excited shouts echoing after them.

  How had they found him? Merek refused to believe that Nheto had sold them out. If he had, the soldiers would’ve come for him during the night. No, it wasn’t Nheto, Merek concluded. The black vipers had been waiting at the harbor just like they had been waiting at the cabin. They knew he might come this way. They knew he might try to board a ship and flee the area. He had foolishly walked right into their trap.

  Merek took a sharp corner down a side street with a row of cramped buildings on the right and jungle foliage on the left. He knew such a maneuver wouldn’t throw the soldiers off their trail, but it would force them to slow and cause those in the back to fall behind. It wasn’t the entire company he needed to outmaneuver, just the rider in the lead.

  “Stay close!” he shouted to Awlin. “Left, then left, then left.”

  “Right!”

  They came upon another sharp left turn and Merek used the position to ready his right hand and hurl a dagger at the black viper closest to them. The blade landed flat against the side of the soldier’s head, causing the man to almost lose control of his steed.

  The distraction gave Merek the precious seconds he needed to make a second sharp left, followed by a third that wheeled him and Awlin through the doors of a large gray barn. Merek had picked out the structure last summer as a prime hiding spot in Faltonia. It’s large stable bays provided easy access and its high lofts were a honeycomb of nooks and crannies.

  Merek jumped off his horse, at the same time ordering Awlin to do the same.

  “Up the ladder!” he whispered.

  While Awlin went for the ladder, Merek led the two horses into one of the stalls.

  A black viper went charging by the barn’s entrance, shouting to his comrades.

  Merek raced up the ladder and pulled Awlin into a corner of the loft packed with hay. He ripped apart one of the hay bales and buried them both in golden straw. From the loft he peeked through the space between the clapboards at the street outside. Two horsed soldiers were congregating below, muttering to each other just quiet enough that he couldn’t hear.

  “I’m sorry,” Merek whispered. “I’m so sorry, Awlin.”

  She put a comforting hand on his back, but said nothing.

  “I just don’t know if we can get home,” he said.

  They watched the soldiers for several moments before the men split up and searched in different directions.

  After some time had passed, the black vipers found their horses in the stall below and confiscated them. Their rides, food, blankets, extra clothes, and traveling provisions were now gone. The soldiers did a brief search of the barn’s ground floor, but concluded that the murderous fugitive Merek Viator had escaped, much to their chagrin. The soldiers knew he couldn’t get far without a horse, and so they sent out riders in all directions to watch the roads.

  “What now?” Awlin asked.

  Merek’s head fell onto his forearm as he lay on his stomach in the high loft of the barn. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “Just get us safe,” Awlin said.

  “I’m trying,” Merek replied, agitated that his sister didn’t sound appreciative of his efforts. “Edhen is just too far out of reach at the—”

  “No,” Awlin said. “Not Edhen. I would love to see mama and papa again, truly, but being with you is enough, dear brother. If we have to make a life on Efferous, so be it. I don’t care where we go, just as long as we’re safe.”

  He lifted his hay-covered head and looked at her. He hated that he couldn’t get her home to their family, but was relieved to hear that she could settle for the next best thing. A life on Efferous wasn’t ideal, but it also wasn’t impossible either. He knew his way around the country well enough to get them to safety, and in time the black vipers would give up their pursuit. In time, Merek and Awlin could start a life deep in the woods of Efferous. In time, he knew, they could find some peace.

  BRAYDEN

  He pulled the door open. In the shaft of light that cut through the darkness he looked down the stone stairwell beyond. The smell that greeted him was damp and old. He noticed the flickering of torchlight on the basement wall below and, feeling curious, ventured in to investigate.

  In the few months Brayden had spent at Halus Gis with the other refugees of Aberdour he’d found little about the monastery that surprised or intrigued him. The buildings were drab and plain, and the priests and nuns who lived there were meek and quiet. They lived simple lives far removed from civilization, and spent their time praying, studying, or working in their gardens, orchards, and workshops.

  The only thing that kept Brayden and the other boys entertained was their daily training with Khalous, Pick, and Stoneman. The fierce regiment was exhausting, but had already strengthened Brayden’s muscles far beyond what they were before.

  Apart from that, life at the monastery of Halus Gis was a bore.

  The bottom of the stairs swiveled ninety degrees and continued down another flight before spilling out into a large torch lit cellar built of ancient gray bricks. The room branched into three dark passages to the left, right, and center, and was empty apart from two water basins standing on either side of a broad circular archway.

  In front of him stood a sight that chilled his blood.

  Brayden walked past the basins through the center passageway, his eyes transfixed on the ossuary beyond and the macabre sight within.

  Upon the far wall hung a morbid display of old skeletons, a tapestry of bones arranged in intricate patterns. On either side of the display was a single skeleton clad in a brown robe. Their gnarled white hands were outstretched, tiny candles flickering in their palms, fingers lathered in ages of wax.

  With wide eyes Brayden’s gaze drifted up and down the display, which didn’t end at the ceiling. More bones, nailed above, loomed over him like scavenger birds. The large room, with its vaulted ceiling of death, made Brayden feel small.

  He twitched when the voice behind him spoke. “What do you see?”

  He whipped around, his eyes settling upon Gravis, the monastery’s prior. He stood under the dark of the archway, his hands clasped in front of him. The man would not have been so intimidating if it weren’t for his perpetual scowl.

  Brayden swallowed, trying to clear the dryness that had formed in his mouth. “Um, bones, sir. Who are… I mean, who were these people?”

  Gravis stepped into the room with a subtle reverence as his eyes drifted up the wall of bones. “Brothers of old. Men of the Allgod. Artisans and scholars and writers from throughout the centuries. These brothers built Halus Gis.”

  The prior’s explanation didn’t make the room feel any less imposing. Brayden cleared his throat and straightened his back, wishing the shrinking feeling in his stomach would go away.

  “What is this room for?” he asked.

  To his surprise, Gravis said, “No one really knows what the intention was of the priest who started this. Today we use it to reflect on our own mortality.”

  Brayden’s brows ruffled. “Sir?”

  “It is why I posed the question to you, ‘What do you see?’” Gravis stepped closer to the mural, his eyes tracing an arch of spines that soared up and over a centerpiece made of dozens of human skulls and femora. “Every priest is required to spend time down here, contemplating his life before these old bones. Only here can we truly feel ourselves mortal. Here we are to be reminded that what we are now will soon be gone, and that what they are—” he waved an open hand around the room, “—we will also one day be.”

  Brayden regarded Gravis skeptically. Despite the prior’s explanation he believed the giant wall of death still made little sense or had any purpose. He even wondered, for a moment, if Gravis was just trying to unnerve him.

  Brayden wouldn’t have been surprised if that had been
the case. Of all the priests and nuns at Halus Gis, Prior Gravis was the only one who opposed showing charity to the refugees of Aberdour. He argued about it with the abbot many times. He said it was too dangerous to house fugitives from Aberdour. He argued that it was more practical for the refugees to seek jobs throughout Efferous, that it was too expensive for the monastery to give them sanctuary, and that the brutal training the boys were enduring at the hands of Captain Khalous Marloch should not be allowed on the sacred grounds.

  Thankfully he had yet to convince the abbot to send them away.

  Gravis paced over to Brayden. “So, young lord, what do you see?”

  “I watched my father die in front of me, along with most of the people I’ve ever known,” Brayden said. “I don’t need old bones to remind me of mortality.”

  The voice of Moreland Fields echoed down the stairs. Brayden excused himself and offered a bow, but only out of courtesy. He was more than relieved to exit the crypt and leave Gravis behind.

  He trotted up the steps and back into the massive stone chapel. His footsteps echoed off the empty sanctuary’s ceiling of vaulted timber. Through the tall stained glass windows drifted blobs of colored daylight that decorated the many cheerless rows of old maple pews.

  Brayden veered left and exited the front door of the chapel, which spilled out onto a dirt road that cut a southwardly line through the middle of the monastery grounds.

  The sky was a single tone of gray, a somber presage of incoming storms.

  To his delight, the air smelled of hot bread, and Brayden could tell the kitchen staff was busy preparing for the morning meal. He wished for a taste, something to remind him of the comforts of home and to take his mind off the memory of that awful underground crypt.

  He saw Pick waiting for him next to a pair of gray horses that were burdened with traveling supplies. “I like that you’re up on time,” Pick said with a wry grin.

  Brayden went to the horse, but Pick stopped him. The young soldier leaned in to more closely examine his pale complexion. “Are you feeling ill, young master?”