by Jim Galford
Commotion from farther up the street drew Estin’s attention back that way, where a group of undead had come into view. They followed behind a single human-sized person in black robes Estin recognized immediately. The woman that had chased them…the woman that had made sure his parents were killed. She also seemed to notice him, and he swore he could see her grin under her hood, even several hundred feet away. How she had already gotten into the city, he could not imagine. He had to guess he had been in the sewers far longer than he had thought.
Hissing angrily in the woman’s direction, Estin grabbed Feanne and lifted her again, guessing he had only a couple minutes before the Turessian reached him. He had to hope he could bargain for Feanne’s life one way or another, and that meant finding a healer. Once the Turessian reached him, there would be no more bargaining.
Estin turned with Feanne and ran up the steps as fast as he could manage without falling. In the distance behind him, he could hear others running after him, as citizens dove into their homes and the Turessian led her zombies down the street.
Estin was well past the point of exhaustion. He should have fallen an hour earlier, but he knew there was no chance to stop now. He could rest after the Turessian caught him and in the hours she would likely torture him before letting him die. Between now and then, he had to find a way to get Feanne healed and make her run for her life.
At the top of the steps, the temple lay sprawling ahead of Estin as a huge open area, surrounded by a mostly decorative wall. In the middle of the place, he could see twenty or so people in simple brown robes kneeling around a central podium he could barely see and honestly could not have cared less about. Trees had been planted in open sections of soil regularly around the temple, blocking his view of large areas. He did not care who these people worshipped, what god held sway here, or whether its followers were people he would have run from in another time and place. All he cared about was that he saw living people in the temple, where he had been told there would be healers.
“I need help!” Estin shouted as he crossed the threshold into the temple. One by one the worshippers looked in his direction, their eyes far less accusing compared to those outside. They had no idea what to make of him, but they were not judging him. “I need a healer!”
The brown-robed men and women got to their feet and headed toward Estin, their attention rapidly shifting to Feanne. They came to him in a rush, taking turns touching Feanne to judge her condition, all the while studying both her and Estin with no more confusion than any other stranger might have been given. They were curious, bewildered, but friendly.
“She had water from the swamp,” one of the priestesses noted as her hand touched Feanne’s brow. “She’s very far along. There is not much time. Her lungs are already filling with liquid. Another hour and she will rise as one of them.”
“I’ve successfully treated several with this condition,” one of the priests said, eliciting nods from others in the group. “You came to the right place, traveler. We will treat your woman. Take her to the altar and our elder priest will specify the treatments we may use. If he cannot help, we will do what we can until the high priestess returns, regardless.”
Estin glanced over his shoulder and could see the undead nearing the temple steps, with their Turessian leader at the head of the group. Not really taking his eyes off them, he followed the priests and priestesses to the middle of the open area, where the altar stood, with a human seated in a thronelike chair at its foot. Estin was only barely aware of the man, his full attention on the Turessian closing in on him from the streets.
“Please,” he asked as he turned to the altar and the priest seated there. As he raised his eyes to the man, Estin continued, “My mate…my wife…she drank from…oh, nine shades of burning hells…”
Seated at the altar was a man dressed similar to all the others in the temple, but Estin’s attention went straight to the tattoos that whorled around his cheekbones and brow.
The man grinned broadly at Estin, laughing at his dismay. “You thought you would not find any of us here?” the Turessian asked, waving away the other priests and priestesses, who backed to the edges of the temple. “Jnodin was wise enough to welcome our aid against the plague that lingers in the swamps outside. Your wife now suffers from its effects, due to your lack of faith in the people of Turessi, wildling.”
Estin wanted to scream, to draw his weapons and fight over Feanne’s body, but he knew exactly what had to be done. No matter the outcome, he had to negotiate.
Laying Feanne at the foot of the Turessian’s throne, Estin knelt, lowering his head almost to the stone floor. “I come to you for help, when I know you have no reason to give it. I beg for her life. Please, take me and let her go.”
The Turessian laughed and clapped his hands, leaning back in the chair. “Why would I do that, wildling? Surely by now you know that my orders are to kill you. I saw your wife here kill Varra. I saw your fights with Arturis. I saw more than enough to justify tearing you apart, yet you beg for me to heal the woman who killed one of our youngest members? Give me a reason.”
Before Estin could reply, shouts from behind him signaled the arrival of the other Turessian with her zombie soldiers. He looked back and watched as they marched into the temple, while the priests and priestesses waited nearby, their attention on the priest Estin knelt in front of. The black-robed woman glared at them in passing as she approached the throne, while Estin lowered his head again.
“Rishad, I see you have not tired of acting the role of a god’s plaything,” the woman said as she walked over beside Estin. The woman reached down and flicked Estin’s ear, but he remained on his knees, refusing to lift his eyes from Feanne.
“Good to see you again, Liris,” the Turessian on the throne replied, standing up and stepping over Feanne to approach the woman. “Your manners have not improved, I see.”
The mood chilled the temple instantly, and Estin could hear the brown-robed priests behind him whispering.
“We have our orders. I am performing mine. I can take this from here, Rishad.”
The brown-robed Turessian chuckled and moved between Estin and Liris. “That will not happen. I warned you what would happen if you brought those filthy things into my city again. I am a man of my word, as I have always been. I gave this city my oath that there would be no undead within the walls.”
The group of undead standing behind Estin collapsed as one, some losing limbs as the magic holding them together failed abruptly. Before the last had settled to the ground, he could see Liris’s hands clench angrily from the corner of his eyes.
“The orders are simple,” Liris said. “The wildlings die. It is not difficult to understand, even for you. This one traveled with the traitor. We are to glean what information we can and then execute him. I will not disobey and will not stand by while you do so.”
Turning sharply, Rishad took one knee alongside Estin. “Estin, dear boy. What were your exact words as you entered this temple?”
Looking up at the man, Estin could see a mix of amusement and hatred in his expression. It was more like looking into the face of any of the people Estin had met that hated wildlings as they might hate a rabid animal, rather than the way he had seen the Turessians watch him, ready at any moment to tear his throat out if only for spite.
“I said I needed help,” Estin whispered, clasping Feanne’s hand tightly. That grip was all that kept him from reaching for his sword.
“A little louder, boy. I can barely hear you.”
“I need help for her,” he repeated, trying to keep his voice steady.
“You hear that, Liris?” Rishad asked, standing again. “As these people have long believed, the unworthy will ask for aid and receive it. He has invoked a need for mercy in a holy place. There is little I can do but humor him. Jnodin law is as clear as your orders.”
“You can do what you are told and kill him,” Liris snapped in reply. “Give me the wildlings if you do not have the stomach for this work
anymore. You can deal with Dorralt in your own time, but I will not disobey him.”
“Then this becomes a test of your faith as well as mine. Will your faith in Dorralt give you the wildings and a way out of this bastion of life? Or, on the contrary, will this wildling’s faith save him from you? It is an odd situation, but one I warned you would come if you continued to blindly serve. I have found my faith. How strong is yours?”
Estin could not believe what he was hearing. He had seen the madness in one Turessian after another, embodied differently in each. They had all done things their own way, some by killing everything in their path, while others conquered the living and led them as kings. This man had gone a new direction, seeking to be—maybe believing he was—a prophet of some sort. He had never even considered the Turessians could disobey any more than he thought the animated corpses they used as fodder could disobey an order.
“Wildling,” Rishad said, still facing Liris and keeping himself squarely in her path, leaving no doubt that he intended to stop her from advancing, “what would you give to save this woman?”
“She is not a woman!” growled Liris. “She is a beast, the same as him! We are not to talk to them as if they were intelligent beings!”
“Answer the question, Estin.”
Sitting up, Estin evaluated the two Turessians and saw the tension evident in both. They were nearly ready to come to blows. Their demeanor hinted at such fights more than once in the past. “I would give my life for her,” he told them honestly. “I knew coming here might get me killed. She’s the only thing that matters to me. Anything I have or can give is yours in exchange for her life.”
“So you see,” Rishad went on, still without looking at Estin, “Estin here wishes to trade his life for hers. I am not disobeying…not entirely…if I fulfill half of Dorralt’s order. One wildling dies and the other is spared for Estin’s faith in our mercy. Would you not agree that is sufficient for today?”
Liris stepped away, raising one hand. Instantly her whole lower arm burst into blue flame as she prepared to fight. “Do not make me do this, Rishad,” she warned, though Rishad made no attempt to stop her in any way. “You are my family…my clan. This is not how we should address one another.”
From where he knelt, Estin spotted movement above him. Staring at the dark top of the wall that circled the temple, he saw dozens of soldiers with bows running to take up positions. Within seconds there were thirty or more women and men aiming weapons at Liris.
“Killing a servant of their god will not go over well,” Rishad told her with a hint of humor in his tone. “You are no more a god than I am. There are limits and I have made very certain that those soldiers know yours, even if you haven’t figured those limits out yourself. I made those arrows myself…blessed, I told them. You will heal, but by then your prey will be days gone. Those arrows can hurt us, Liris.”
The flames vanishing as she let her hand drop, Liris shouted back, “We are gods! We are the new gods this world has waited for! This is why they should worship us, not because of some superstition we foster in them!”
“The old gods still walk the world, no matter what we claim for ourselves, Liris. I have accepted my place here. The laws of their god…my god…dictate that any who seeks help will receive it. Estin has asked for help for his wife and he will receive whatever help I can grant him. Once that has happened, his safety is in his own hands. There will be no bloodshed in this temple, unless you prompt it.”
The temple remained nearly silent until Feanne’s rattling cough broke the calm. Estin checked her mouth and found there was hardly any room for her to breathe around her tongue. She was going to die within minutes if something was not done.
Looking down at Feanne and then over at Estin, Rishad finally said, “Liris, I cannot stop you from killing them once they leave my dominion. Dorralt gave me absolute authority over the lands I hold, and you will not harm people under my care. Dorralt may object to the way I rule, but he gave me these lands so long as I could hold them. If and when the wildlings leave, they are yours.”
“You have that authority only as long as Dorralt allows it,” Liris replied and then turned on her heel and walked away to Estin’s amazement. Soon the temple was empty, aside from the few priests, priestesses, and the three of them near the altar. Even the archers atop the wall departed.
“A messy business war becomes,” Rishad said absently as he sat down on the floor beside Estin. Carefully, he picked up Feanne’s hand and felt the pulse in her wrist. “After a few hundred years or so, even your closest friends begin to grate on your nerves. I do not recommend living forever, Estin. Eventually, you learn that death is not such a bad thing.”
“Why did you oppose an old friend to help us?” Estin asked nervously.
“Friend? No, Liris is my sister. Dorralt turned us both a few centuries ago, before the Turessian council was even aware he had begun taking action against them. As for why I help you, it is not for your sake. Left to my own wishes, I likely would have killed you both after letting my people see me help you. Rather, my dear sister wishes you dead, so you will live. It’s a small thing in the face of all that my master has done, but it is what I am able to get away with.”
“Thank you,” said Estin, though he saw Rishad sneer briefly. “Whether you’re doing it from kindness or malice toward another, it still means just as much to me.”
“Don’t make too big a thing of this or I might change my mind,” the Turessian warned, putting his other hand to Feanne’s forehead. “I have not killed a single person in this city since taking charge, and I do not intend to start now, even with you. My orders are to hold the border against invasion, and I found the best way to do that was with the support of the people. Once I joined them, I discovered this place and it warmed a heart that had been cold for far too many years. Many have died from the poisons I put in the swamps, but I have not killed anyone myself. If I felt then how I feel now, I would never have poisoned the place at all.
“My sister, on the other hand, will stop at nothing to kill you. She enjoys the work. If she can manage it without my notice, you will die in the city. If not, you will die within a day of leaving. That is why I am able to refuse Dorralt’s command…I know another will handle you.”
Estin nodded in acknowledgement of the dire situation he was in.
“The fever is abating,” Rishad announced a few seconds later, without Estin having even noticed he had done anything. “There is water in a decanter beside the altar. Keep her drinking and she will recover quickly. Rest the night here. In the temple my authority will keep Liris at bay. Elsewhere, your life is in your own hands. You may stay as long as you wish, but I claim no responsibility once you go.”
“Thank you again,” Estin repeated, clasping Feanne’s hand. Already her breathing had become easier and her tongue had less of a black coloring. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Thank me when you live to see anything beyond the walls of the temple,” Rishad warned him, smiling ominously. “Good luck to you, wildling. Do not return here. I may follow the god of the wilds, but Dorralt can force my hand at any time.”
Silently, Rishad got to his feet and bowed toward Estin before turning and walking from the temple. Several of the priests left with him, but a half dozen of the men and women fanned out around the perimeter of the temple, facing out toward the city. They were Estin’s only protection against whatever Liris intended to do.
“We’ve been through worse,” Estin told Feanne, squeezing her hand again before getting up.
Walking over to the altar to fetch the water Rishad had told him about, Estin stopped and looked at the enormous tree carved into the stone altar. A similar image was engraved into the stone walls every few feet. Smiling to himself, Estin realized he knew what deity these people worshipped. Though the god went by many names, Estin knew it as Kerrelin, the god of the woods and survivors. There was an irony in that, at least to Estin. He had never been religious, but finding a god that hi
s life seemed to be following in the shadow of was startling. Even more so, knowing a Turessian worshipped that god.
He located the decanter of water and brought it back to Feanne, resting it near her head as he settled alongside her. He took her hand again and said, “Just think, you get to live through this one without any new scars. First time for everything.”
Her eyes fluttering open briefly, Feanne seemed unable to focus on anything and closed them again, squeezing Estin’s hand in return. “Why?” she asked, her voice dry and hoarse.
“You should drink something,” Estin said, lifting her head and putting the lip of the decanter to her mouth.
She managed to choke down a sip before coughing uncontrollably for a moment. “Why did you help me?” she asked again once her coughing settled. “You owe me nothing.”
“This isn’t about debts, Feanne. I help my friends.”
Though still clearly too dizzy to see clearly, Feanne opened her eyes long enough to give Estin a glare that told him she did not accept that answer at all. “When I showed the scar on my leg, I saw your face,” Feanne said. “You knew what it was from already. How many of these scars are known to you?”
“More than I care to admit to. I was there when you got many of them.”
Feanne nodded and tried to sit up, but her muscles would not work properly. Lying back down with a sigh, she stared up at the sky. “Estin, I may not really know you anymore…but this was more than I expected of anyone in the group. I heard some of what that man told you. You risked a lot for me, despite how clear I have been in disliking you.”
“I’m a fool like that.”
Blinking and obviously trying to focus her eyes, Feanne looked up at Estin and slowly reached up to touch the deep scars along the side of his muzzle. He had earned those fighting to keep Feanne and their children alive, before she had taken him as her life-mate. For years he had been proud of those scars, but now he flinched away at the touch.