A March of Woe (Overthrown Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  Get out of my mind. You’re going to get us killed, Julian thought, desperate to flush the Nymradic out, but the creature was distracted and unresponsive. He felt despair, loneliness, and pain seeping out of it, polluting him with grief.

  The dark, rock faces of the whispering stones materialized out of the shadows. He was sure that was what they were. They had wide, hungry mouths, and hollow pits for eyes. They were twisted, grotesque beings made of stone. No, something deeper, something inside the stone.

  A figure appeared, far off in the distance. It pulsed like a bright star, burning through the green foliage and dark shadows. Pera’s emotions flooded into him, dousing him like a warm blanket. He felt affection and longing. A voice filled his mind, flooding through his connection with Pera. It was filled with pain and regret, peaking until Julian feared it would tear his mind apart, and then abruptly it went quiet.

  Something crashed against him, tipping the boat violently to his left. Water rushed over the side, lapping up over his ankles and onto his thighs. The boat turned, and it took Julian a moment to realize that he was moving backwards. The boat had been turned completely around.

  Pera flooded him with sorrow and anguish. The emotions were so powerful they made his muscles and skin ache. Julian kicked his feet up and swung about on the bench, but sprawled forward into the freezing water as the boat jolted to a stop. The rolling thunder was tenfold louder, as if a thunderhead had drifted down on top of him.

  Sputtering, Julian lifted his head out of the water and pushed up onto his hands and knees. Dark, jagged roots hung just before his face, where they had punched clean through the small boat’s narrow hull. Water rushed all around him, slipping over the side and in through the gaping holes. It slipped in past his armor and leached away his warmth and strength.

  His fingers numb, Julian pushed up onto his knees. He hadn’t run into an icy bramble as he first thought, but the massive root ball of an upturned tree. The trunk sat perpendicular to the river, its ample girth sitting half in the water, while its narrow span extended up the bank a healthy distance away. Julian stood as the boat sunk deeper into the icy current, water now spilling in from all sides. Wood snapped as the small craft started to break apart beneath him.

  Sinking lower and lower, Julian slogged forward and scrambled against the slimy, frozen bark of the gigantic tree. Pera’s warmth was gone, the dark creature retreating deeper into a secluded part of his mind.

  Pera! Julian thought frantically. I can’t feel my hands. I can’t get a grip! I need your strength!

  The Nymradic moved distantly, but didn’t respond.

  The boat wrenched sideways beneath him, its hull caught in the powerful undercurrent of the icy river. Desperately trying not to panic, Julian lurched forward and hooked his arms in the snarl of roots, just as the boat broke apart.

  “This is nice mess, Ama’lik,” Julian whispered, his teeth chattering as the current washed over him, pulling against his body.

  Julian stretched out and grasped the highest root he could reach and pulled, but there was no way he could heft his bulk out of the water. With his sodden clothing and his strength gone, he was simply too heavy. He would have to work his way down the length of the tree, towards the bank, and hope there was a spot shallow enough for him to crawl out.

  Moving slowly, Julian slid his body sideways against the tree, jagged chunks of ice and bark breaking free in his hands. There were plenty of stubby branches to grip, but with no place to anchor his feet, his arms quickly tired. The current ripped and bubbled against his back, pulling on him and trying desperately to suck him down and under the tree. It was painful, exhausting, and terrifying.

  “Pera!” Julian cried, his teeth chattering loudly, but the Nymradic was gone, its kinetic strength and surety replaced by a hollow, echoing pit of doubt and panic. I am alone, he thought, terrified by the realization.

  Julian worked his way along the trunk, his cold legs thrashing in the dark water, working desperately to find a footing. His toe brushed against a rock, or it could have been a submerged branch, but there wasn’t enough of a foothold.

  Arm over trembling arm he went, feeling his way numbly along the tall, ice-coated tree trunk. One moment he was wrapping his fingers around a slimy branch, and the next he was under water. The icy current wrapped around him like a giant, suffocating hand. It rolled him over and twisted him about, his stinging skin bouncing off and scraping against the rough bark of the giant tree.

  Julian kicked and pulled at the water, finally dragging his fingers through the course silt of the riverbed. He twisted about, planted his feet, and kicked off, clawing towards the light. His head broke the surface and he gagged down a sputtering breath.

  The water roared all around him, pulling on his body and lapping over his head. His armor weighed him down, the boots and arming jacket soaking up the freezing water. Julian fought against his panic, barely managing to keep it from taking over completely.

  A quick kick and twist and he managed to turn in the water, the downed tree that he tried to cross now receding into the distance. Julian collided with a rock hidden under the water. He scrambled for it, but the current was moving him too quickly.

  The roar was louder now. Deafening. Julian bobbed in the water, a stinging, cloudy mist raking against his face. The river dropped away directly ahead of him, the water spilling out into the air and disappearing from view. Julian kicked and pulled, the realization forming far too late in his mind. The sound. The mist. It was a waterfall.

  Julian’s first impulse was to cry out to Pera for help, for strength, but the Nymradic felt far away. Even if he could form the words, he felt confident it wouldn’t respond. He slapped ineffectually at the water as he tried to fight the current, but he was cold, and numb.

  Open air suddenly spanned before him and he cried out involuntarily. He caught sight of the landscape stretching out far below him, the falling water, and a dark, wide lake. Julian latched on to his last recollection of Tanea, trying desperately to focus on the subtle beating of her heart. A faint aroma of scented oils filled his nostrils as the world tipped, and then, he was falling.

  Chapter Three

  Stronger Together

  Dennah lifted her boot out of the snow, the seeping cold unable to fully mask the horrible ache plaguing her muscles. Freckles slowed behind her, the reins tugging her arms back and halting her progress.

  “Come on, girl,” she said, turning and giving the spotted horse an affectionate rub on the nose. Freckles nickered and shook her head, but she resisted. The horse was tired.

  Dennah took a deep breath and wiped the cold snow from her face. She looked over to Roman, who trudged through the snow just ahead of her, leading the sell swords’ large horses behind him. He didn’t seem to be shivering, but he looked like he was having a hard time lifting his boots, just like her.

  “We need to stop…” Dennah said, giving in and sagging down to her knees.

  Roman took one final step forward, before stopping and turning her way. He nodded, his face a mask of wind-burned skin and plastered snow. Quietly, they led the horses into a sheltered cove of trees and looped the reins into the branches.

  Dennah leaned back against a tree and slid down to the ground, the powdery snow pluming around her. Roman appeared through the trees and used a pine branch to sweep a clear spot in the snow. She watched as he propped the branches up between the trees, creating a small break from the wind.

  Dennah moved to get up and help him, but her legs refused to uncross beneath her. She watched Roman work quietly, until he started to stack wood into a small fire.

  “No fire. They’ll find us,” Dennah said, wearily, leaning forward.

  Roman paused, but resumed stacking the wood a moment later. “The wind and the snow have picked up. So unless they are following our tracks, they won’t see the smoke. And if they are following our tracks, there’s nothing we can do about it. Not until the storm fills them in anyway. So, we might as well get you warm, oth
erwise, you’re not going to make it through the night,” he said.

  Dennah nodded, wrapping her arms in tighter, fighting to hold on to every bit of body heat. Building a fire felt contrary to everything her father ever taught her, that if there were men out looking for them, they would see, or smell the smoke. Yet, the idea of a fire, even a small one, was a bit of comfort she could not deny. She would simply have to trust him.

  When he was done stacking the wood, Roman pulled his right glove off. Warm light split the winter dusk as fire crawled up his hand, licking over his fingers and dancing into the air. He held his hand under the wood, and only pulled it away when the campfire crackled and glowed. Dennah eased away, only realizing what he was doing once he pulled his hand free from the campfire. The tree trunk felt hard and cold against her back. She was pushing away with her feet, and hadn’t realized it.

  It’s Roman. It’s just Roman, she thought, trying to stifle her panic.

  Roman looked up, his light brown eyes meeting hers. He seemed to read the apprehension on her face, and quickly clenched his hand into a fist. The flames coursing out of his skin and licking over his fingers into the air quickly disappeared.

  “About that…” Roman said, sheepishly, but paused as he pulled his glove back on and settled down against a tree. An awkward, crooked smile played across his face as he cleared his throat.

  Dennah was still watching his hand, the one he used to light a fire. Roman followed her gaze and dropped his hands into his lap. “I suppose we need to have that talk,” he said, clearing his throat.

  Dennah shook her head, breaking free from her stupor, and met his gaze. When she finally found her voice, the questions toppled out in an unruly tangle.

  “How do you know there isn’t anyone following us? How did you escape from the prison? Tusk…Tusk was dead. We buried him in the snow. Didn’t we? Your hand?” she finished, her eyes dropping to his gloved hand, which was covered with fire only a moment before.

  Roman chuckled nervously and held his hands out, warming them by the fire. The bright orange and white flames rippled and arced off the burning wood, leaning and flowing towards him. He frowned and pulled his hands back into his body before speaking.

  “Where do I start?” he asked quietly.

  “The fire?” Dennah whispered.

  “The monster from the barn,” he started tentatively.

  Dennah nodded, urging him on. She’d leaned forward, away from the tree and huddled closer to the fire. Now that she was so close to fire she found the idea of ever walking away from it again painful.

  “They called it the dyp mork. The deep dark. There was a boy down there,” Roman said, finally, lifting his head and meeting her gaze. “His name was Rat. He came and emptied my toilet, and brought my food. There was a jailor, too. He was a big guy with a red nose and green teeth. But you see, they were all the same person.”

  “They were the same person?” Dennah asked, trying to make sense of her friend’s rambling story. He seemed to be just as confused by it all as she.

  “They poisoned my food,” Roman said, rubbing his stomach. He proceeded to tell her the rest of his story. How the boy, Rat, grasped him and forced some strange power into him, and he was finally able to force the wretched Ifrit out. Somehow, he managed to take the spirit’s black heart, and with it, its power.

  “Wow,” Dennah said, raptly. Her own ordeal with the three assassins suddenly felt insignificant.

  “Can you still feel it?”

  Roman shook his head, and to accent the point, slipped his glove off and lifted a single finger between them. A trickle of flame rippled over the digit, burning like a macabre candle.

  “It feels like it has always been a part of me,” Roman said, before pulling his hand in close.

  Dennah shook her head, and blinked, very aware of the ache that had settled into her eyes.

  “…and Tusk?”

  “The Crow told me that something happened to my family, generations ago. It tainted my bloodline. Somehow, I am wedged between our world and the realm of spirits. That is how the Ifrit found me. He told me that I needed to find a spirit to fill the space within me. A spirit that would aid me, and not…well, you know,” Roman said with a grimace.

  “Tusk,” Dennah breathed.

  Roman smiled, and nodded. “I was lost in the tunnels beneath the fort, lost in the darkness. But I couldn’t give up. He told me you were in trouble. That the constable wouldn’t stop at poisoning me. He would also silence you. I had to get out of there, so I focused harder than I ever have before. I slipped into myself. It felt like dying, Dennah. The spirit realm is like a dream, made up of shadow and flowing color. I searched for what felt like a lifetime, even though I didn’t really know what I was looking for. It was only when I had given up that I noticed him. I think Tusk had been following me the whole time – a faithful companion refusing to leave my side.”

  Dennah nodded, starting to put it all together. “Is he out there now? Is that how you know people aren’t following us?”

  Roman pulled the stopper out of his waterskin and took a drink, before nodding. Not even a heartbeat later a form materialized out of the darkness. He blended in so well with the snow Dennah could have walked right by him and never known. He appeared larger than any dog she had ever seen. He dwarfed even the timber wolves she encountered in Bardstown, before all of their troubles started. His fur was thick and white, so heavily crusted with snow and ice that he looked like the wind-formed berms surrounding their small shelter.

  Tusk stepped in around the fire, his large brown eyes first locking on Roman, before sliding to Dennah. They were the deep, brown eyes of the lovable, if not aged dog she knew. They seemed out of place with his wolfish façade.

  Spots of color appeared in Tusk’s fur, and abruptly, the fearsome hunter transformed into the shaggy, brown dog covered in unruly tufts of fur. He nosed Roman’s arm, forcing his hand up onto his head. Roman tousled his fur and scratched behind his ears.

  “I know boy, I can feel it too. We both need rest,” Roman said, quietly.

  Dennah wasn’t entirely sure if he was talking to her, or the dog, so she let her gaze fall to the fire and pretended not to notice.

  Tusk padded quietly around the fire until he stood next to Dennah. He stuck his cold, wet nose in her ear and snuffled in her hair, finally licking her cheek. She hooked an arm around the dog and pulled him into a hug. He growled happily, but pulled away, before lifting a paw and setting it on her leg. Dennah locked eyes with Tusk, his large, brown eyes communicating so much more than she ever thought possible.

  “I know what happened,” Tusk seemed to say, “I’ll protect you this time.”

  Dennah reached up and smoothed the hair on the large dog’s head, a single tear sliding down her cheek. Her thoughts inexplicably soared back to the smoky barn, where she held him as his body failed. She remembered how the sticky, blood-soaked fur felt between her fingers, but more vividly, she remembered the anguish that wrenched at her heart. Dennah fought to stifle a pang of guilt. If only she had been stronger.

  “We’ll protect each other,” she said, pulling Tusk close and whispering into his ear.

  Tusk nuzzled her, brushing her cheek with his soft fur and wiping away the tear that broke free. He cocked his head to the side, making eye contact. He growled and pawed at the snow. It was as if he was trying to speak with her.

  Tusk leaned forward and licked her once on the nose before turning back towards Roman. Dennah watched as the large dog’s outline grew fuzzy, his body dissolving into a dark mist. In the span of just a few moments, Tusk melted away into the cold, winter air. The mist pooled around the fire, before drifting over and disappearing into Roman’s body.

  Dennah settled back against the tree, letting the sound of the crackling fire and whistling wind wash over her. She tried to take stock of where she was and everything that had happened, but she didn’t know where to start. As a whole it was mind numbing. She would have to find a way to brea
k it apart, and deal with it in pieces. But no matter how she looked at it, the world she thought she knew felt so much larger, and darker, now.

  Roman wiped his nose and shifted. Their eyes met for a moment, before his gaze slid back to the fire. He looked tired and haggard. His eyes were dark, and his skin pale. She suddenly became aware of how good she had it, sleeping in a real bed, eating real meals, and playing soldier, while he was locked in a windowless cell, starving and waiting to die. No matter how uncomfortable it made her, she needed to be a friend.

  “So…” she started, needing to speak but not entirely sure what to say. “What now?” She smiled, trying to break the tension that pulled her voice tight.

  Roman chuckled, his eyes still locked on the fire. He shook his head. “Exactly,” he said finally, and looked up.

  “Will you go back to Bardstown?” Dennah asked.

  Roman shook his head. “They will stone me. To them, I murdered Frenin, and Greta, and all the others. They think Banus was a good man. If the Lord Constable tried to have you killed, there is a good chance they all believe you are guilty, too.”

  Dennah nodded, a horrible, fuzzy pain settling in her head. She hadn’t really taken the time to think about it, but he was right. She had been awarded a dispensation, or so she thought. Now, the constable believed, or hoped, she was dead. Did that mean that the news of her innocence hadn’t spread beyond the fort?

  “Lord Thatcher,” Dennah blurted out suddenly.

  Roman shook his head before she could continue.

  “We appeal to him. He has the power to clear both of us. He is fairer than most, well, as provincial lords go. Or, that was how Tadd put it at least,” Dennah said, trying to sound upbeat and convincing.

  “He will welcome you? The constable…” Roman started to say, but Dennah felt her face scrunch up. He continued before she could interrupt. “He will not welcome or pardon me. The bastard son of a disgraced, overthrown family. One he no doubt believes is responsible for murdering half a town. He will do what Teague and the Lord Constable did. They will lock me in a dark hole, or…”