by Aaron Bunce
The woman reached up and wiped her forearm across her face, smearing tears and snot into a shiny mess. “Buildings…they were falling. But before that happened, the gates came down. Anyone in the Old City after that was trapped. My husband, Gor, Mani bless his heart, put us here and told us to wait for him. I told him that it weren’t his place to be no stinkin’ hero, but he ran up to the old town to see what he could do to help. He came back, told us about the gate, and went back. That’s the last we seen of him. We heard all manner of screaming and crying for help all throughout the last night,” she said, her shoulders bobbing, “but it got quiet. So I sent my little one here out to look for food, and maybe word of Gor. He’s small, and quick as a jackrabbit. But you’re the first face we seen. What happened? What’s going to happen to us? You’ll help us, right? You’ll find my Gor and get us out of the city? Please, sir. Please!”
Last night. The attack started less than a full day ago, Julian reasoned, listening and trying to digest the woman’s terrified ramblings.
The woman surged forward suddenly, grabbing him by his armor, desperation twisting her face into something feral. Julian reeled, the woman’s mucus-covered face revolting. Worse, she smelled horrible, like piss and shit. He broke her hold and staggered clear. He suddenly longed for a bath and warm robe – the comforts of home, where people didn’t smell like an open sewer.
The woman wailed, her children feeding off of her emotion, and started to cry and weep, too. He hadn’t seen anyone hostile since entering the old city, but just because he couldn’t see them, that didn’t mean they weren’t there. They would hear the noise, and they would come.
“Shhh. I will help you, but you need to stay here and above all else, stay quiet,” Julian hissed on impulse, and almost immediately regretted it. The woman searched his face and quieted, her two children burying their faces into her dress and mewling quietly.
In truth, Julian wasn’t sure anyone in the Old City was still alive, and if they were, what Spider and his masters had planned for them. Nor was he sure he could get the woman and her children out of the city. He hated himself for making such a rash, hollow promise. That was the old him coming out. Think, you fool!
“Stay here. Stay hidden. I’ll come back, and help get you and your children to safety,” he said, closing the secret compartment, and watching the mother and children’s terrified faces disappear into the darkness.
Julian dove into a bush and broke two branches off, before placing them against the house in an “X”. It was a subtle enough marking, thanks to the bushes and shrubs, but would help him identify it later, when and if he were able to make it back. However slim that chance was, he didn’t want to leave the woman and her children to starve to death because he couldn’t remember where they’d been hidden.
Turning north again, Julian took off between the houses, moving against the buildings, and low and fast between them. He digested her words. He could sneak through the lower city easily enough, but if the Old City gate was down – well, that would be an entirely different kind of problem. The wall was tall, and built out of smooth granite. There was no way he could scale it.
A crash sounded somewhere ahead, splintering, shattering wood splitting the morning air. Julian dropped to a knee, sliding Nightbreaker a finger’s width free of its scabbard. He moved forward slowly, turning to his right and creeping along the side of a crudely mortared stone house, and peered onto the lane.
A small group stood in the middle of an intersection of streets, a horrible pang of familiarity stabbing into him as he took in the scene. The gnarls milled about, poking spears threateningly at the line of shackled, cuffed prisoners. It took every ounce of willpower to hold Julian back, as a man in mismatched gray and red armor and a dark metal mask appeared through a doorway, before shoving two people into the dirt.
Spider! Nightbreaker slid noiselessly from its scabbard, the sword humming gently against his palm. Several gnarls appeared through the doorway next, dragging a pair of writhing, screaming people behind them.
Julian edged forward, watching as the four people were pulled together on their knees. The faceless sauntered before them, inspecting them as he had once done to Julian. With a forceful exhale, he jammed Nightbreaker back into its scabbard. There was no way this faceless was Spider. He towered over the people on their knees, his arms long and well-muscled. His mask was longer, what looked like horns or tusks protruding next to the mouth hole. Spider was small and stunted – a waif of a man.
The faceless tore at the people’s clothes, lifting a shaking, elderly man off the ground, his legs flailing and kicking. The masked man said something, but he was too far and his voice too distorted by the mask.
Without warning, the faceless threw the aged man into the roadway. The gnarls converged on him instantly, hopping in and stabbing at him. The old man rolled and howled, the spears piercing his body in a dozen places.
Julian clenched his jaw and cursed, but there was nothing he could do. The man was already dead. The faceless inspected the other three, but waved a pair of gnarls over, who proceeded to beat them with clubs before slapping on the shackles dragging behind the other prisoners.
Moments later, the group continued up the roadway, gnarls breaking off to either side of the lane, kicking in doors and disappearing inside. A plan formed in Julian’s head a moment later as he watched the Faceless lead the group up the lane, towards the lower-city market, and beyond that the sweeping, cobblestone road to the Old City gates.
Tanea…Mani. Make this the best stupid decision I make today, Julian pleaded silently, patting his chest before running across the lane and into the row of buildings.
He moved up to the house the faceless just raided, leaning out from the wall to make sure the trailing gnarls were out of sight, before turning and running up the stairs and through the broken door. Julian picked his way through the broken and shattered lives of the home’s former owners. Furniture, clayware, paintings, and a man’s cane all covered the floor, smashed and trampled.
Julian cut back through the house quickly, scanning each room until he found what he was looking for. The bedroom was simple, a wooden bed dominating the middle of the space, while a small chest of drawers sat against the outside wall, the washbasin sitting on top still holding the clean water for that morning’s washing.
He took a rumpled shirt out of a drawer and pulled it over his head, then a pair of gray, wool trousers, and slipped them on. He moved to leave, but spotted a heavy, hooded robe hanging on a hook on the wall. Julian slid it on and lifted the hood, satisfied that it covered at least a portion of his face. The clothes and robe covered his armor well enough, and if he slouched and lowered his head, he hoped that he could pass as just another captured, broken commoner.
Julian moved back out of the house and up the lane. He spotted the human caravan, standing outside a cluster of tall, stone buildings. Approaching slowly, he waited until the faceless stormed up the stairs of the closest building, several large gnarls following closely.
Timing, he thought, huddling behind a thick bush and scooping a rock out of the dirt. The door crashed in, the faceless and his gnarl escorts storming inside.
Julian took a deep breath, slid sideways and clear of the bush, and threw the rock between two buildings just up the lane. The stone struck the stone building and bounced into the bushes, rattling the vegetation loudly. Just as he hoped, the gnarls surrounding the prisoners perked up at the sound. The creatures at the head of the column rushed towards the noise, while the beasts guarding the rear moved forward curiously.
Julian walked quickly out from the bushes, keeping his steps light as he fell in at the back of the line. He managed to scoop a dangling pair of shackles off the ground and slide them over one wrist before the gnarls appeared from between the buildings, snapping and yowling at one another. He quickly slid the first pin into place, but intentionally left the second pin open and dropped his hands, letting the folds of the robe fall over them.
The gnarls dispersed
into their previous positions, moving much more quickly once the faceless emerged from the building, and led them up the lane to the next group of buildings. Julian hunched over and let his head sag, trying to blend in with the beaten people.
The gnarls behind him snorted and huffed, growling unintelligibly under their breath, but they didn’t seem any happier to be there than the people in chains and didn’t pay him any mind, save to jab at him to move forward.
Julian almost chuckled at the circumstance he’d put himself in. But it wasn’t from mirth. He willfully put himself into the hands of a faceless again. The last time he’d crossed blades with one, Spider had played with him like a cat to a mouse. Would it be so different now? With Pera dormant would he stand a chance?
The answer flooded into him from somewhere inside the city. Tanea’s heart quickened its beat and matched his own, and for a single heartbeat, he felt the presence of something beyond them. The blade on his hip hummed gently in its scabbard, answering his unspoken doubts and fears. Yes, there is always a chance.
The faceless and slathering gnarls led them further up the lane, around a few bends, but they only fished out another few people from hiding. They, like the ones before, were inspected, beaten, and shackled at the end of the line. Julian clenched his jaw as the creatures beat and abused the people, remembering the confusion and helplessness he’d experienced when he woke up on their march north.
He wondered why they chose to hide in their homes, instead of fleeing the city. But then he remembered the wagons and carts lined up on the south road, but more, the bodies of men, women, and children staining the ground red. Fear. Sometimes it was a stronger lash than ropes or chains.
They wound their way up through the New City market, the stalls and vendor carts abandoned and in complete disarray. He spotted women and children moving between the stalls, fishing food off the ground and placing it in baskets. They moved stiffly, like wooden people. He didn’t need to see the bracelets fused to their flesh to know why. Just like the poor men at Cottonwood Grove. They didn’t want to attack him. Hell, they had no choice, and he killed them. The thought still festered inside him.
The faceless fished a familiar looking horn off his belt as they approached the Old City wall, and blew a single, deep note. A boom sounded inside as the counterweights were released, and the massive wood and iron gate started to rise.
Julian’s throat tightened as they passed beneath the arch and into the courtyard where he first met Tanea. He had finally made it home.
Dusk wanes on an age.
The white lady’s voice will go silent.
She is tarnished by thaws of unfulfilled promises.
A new cry will ring forth ~ a plea for a true god.
The ancient powers will answer Denil’s call.
Their understanding is beyond men and gods.
They will deliver Denil with a glorious new day,
A shining sunrise of man’s ascension.
But the white lady will not relinquish her hold upon this realm easily.
She is primeval and crafty –the betrayer –the first deceiver.
She will birth a child into the world, spewed forth in the guise of a lamb, cloaked in innocence and purity.
Mani’s chosen has teeth and claws.
Not a lamb, but a wolf, intent to devour the faithful.
The truest of faith will serve, and put the wolf to the blade, safeguarding Denil’s glorious new age.
Fall of the celestials – rise of man.
Bound verse, illuminated by Unknown author.
“The Unholiest of Holies”
Chapter Fifteen
Split Roads
Henri screamed, “Herja! Herja!” his voice echoing hollowly in the darkness. “What happened? You said I could…that I needed to help him! You said the road would take me to my children!”
He sat in the dark sand for a long while before finally crawling to his feet, the black water lapping noiselessly against the sand a few paces away. Shadows drifted by overhead, casting the beach in a haunting, muted glow. There was no sign of the Valkyrie, in her shining armor, or in her eagle form.
He tried to remember what Herja told him about the phantom road. He remembered her saying that it had many paths, but only one would lead to Luca. The road guided him to his boy, but now his path was blocked. How did that happen?
Was that supposed to happen? Was he supposed to find a different path, or would it open on its own? The strange old woman, if Henri could really consider her that, was more than she appeared, so the idea of leaving Luca in her care gave him more than a little anxiety.
Did I help him? Is he okay now? he wondered, but didn’t believe that his son was okay, or that he had helped him in any meaningful way. There was something significant going on, and Luca was wrapped up in it somehow. He couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t made things worse for the boy.
“Was this the plan, Herja?” he shouted into the hollow space of the phantom road. “Did I help my boy…and what now? Is this the extent of his plan for me!?”
Henri took a tentative step forward, but the rolling, dark waves and gray sand melted away into the darkness. He was alone again, stranded in the narrow, claustrophobic road.
She said Hunter’s faith would guide him. Maybe that is the key. I just need to have faith that the road will take me where I need to go, and that the fate J’ohaven spins for my children will take them to safety. Henri shut his eyes, and believed that Hunter was better off, Luca was evidently going to be safe, and Eisa… His thoughts hiccupped between his two younger children and lost his focus. He didn’t know where Eisa was. Only that she needed him somehow. Luca was the key? But how was Luca the key?
“Arggh!” Henri screamed, turning in a circle and kicking at the shadowy ground. He longed for the numb of a drink, if only to take the edge off a bit.
The darkness crept closer. Henri felt it, falling like a wet, clammy sheet over his skin. He feared it would swallow him whole, or pull him down into some wretched hole where he was slowly stripped of everything that made him, him. This is it. The end of my road, he thought in resignation, so easily stumbling back into his old ways.
Henri slumped to the ground, struggling under the weight of the darkness, the sudden cold enveloping him completely. His thoughts jumbled, piling forth all at once. He saw his children, his wife, and their home, but as soon as they appeared, the recollections blurred and drifted into the darkness. It was stripping him away, bit by bit, layer by layer.
His thoughts clarified for a moment and he focused, conjuring up a cherished memory. A babe appeared in his mind, nestled in a blanket tight in the crook of his wife’s arm. Eisa cooed, her head covered in dark, fuzzy hair and her cheeks rosy red. My girl, he thought, warmth blossoming inside. The cold of the phantom road lifted a bit, driven away from some invisible force. He was a father…a husband.
At that thought the shadows recoiled, a path appearing suddenly before him, curving off to his left. The phantom road changed. It grew lighter, the murk and gloom lifting as he savored cherished memories of his children. He conjured up the memory of Hunter, his eldest, the newborn babe swaddled in his bed. He remembered the fear and doubt he felt. They were young, newly married, and by no means prepared for a family. The phantom road did not change before him, but as soon as his thoughts turned to Eisa, the path started to shift.
“Take me to my daughter,” Henri whispered, moving forward along the new path.
His thoughts swirled in a dizzying mess, hovering on his grief at losing Hunter, the fear and uncertainty in Luca’s future, but finally, to Eisa’s unknown fate. He ran forward, propelled by the darkness. The phantom road glowed faintly beneath him, the path ahead barely distinguishable from the darkness.
Henri ran for some time, his doubt and indecision cutting at his insides like a knife. How could he choose between his children? What kind of parent could pick one over the other? He had been so close to Luca, touched him, guided him, and now he was gone
again. Henri couldn’t stand the thought.
Resisting the urge to turn, or force the phantom road to change, Henri moved forward. Gradually the path changed. Darkness gave way to lighter shades of murky gray, but it wasn’t like his approach to Luca before. No, this was something entirely different.
A voice drifted to him from somewhere straight ahead – a young woman’s voice, gently rising and falling in singsong. He toppled back into a memory of a small, raven-haired girl in a garden, twirling her dress as she danced with butterflies.
“Eisa…” Henri whispered, longingly. Did he…could he recognize his daughter’s voice? Or was it…? He stopped moving, turning his head to listen, just as the voice trailed off again. It grew louder again in its ebb and flow, but he couldn’t tell.
“Eisa!” he yelled, his voice swallowed up by the phantom road. There would be no answer, no hints…if he wanted answers, he would have to push forward and find them for himself.
A cold shiver crawled down Henri’s back, propelling him forward, first at a fast walk, then a jog, and before he knew it, he was running as fast as he could. The uncomfortable pinch of fear twisted his guts as her voice grew stronger, the phantom road changing with it. Flickering, pulsing shapes moved in the murk on either side of him – squirming as if made up of a million flexing arms, contorting and reaching for him. Henri pulled his arms in close, sure that if they managed to get ahold him, he would likely never break away again. He would become just another delirium lost in the phantom road, lost and stripped of everything he knew and loved.
Landscape appeared out of the gloom, but it looked strange – twisted and disfigured, like burnt, scarred trees lingering after a fire. Henri slowed to a trot, taking it in, while taking care not to get too close. Powdery snow covered everything in a thick blanket. He could feel it squish beneath his feet and the flakes drift and settle on his skin, but it wasn’t cold.
A small cluster of buildings lay ahead, nestled around a wide, well-maintained road. The structures were all dark. They didn’t look like the buildings he saw when he found Luca. These looked dead.