Remnants of Atonement (True paths Book 1)

by G. P McKenna

  Stallions are sneaky like that.

  Horses, however, were not known for premeditated murder at the worst of time, so I increased the strength of my stroking, “this is the most majestic horse I’ve ever seen. I’d kill for him,” I turned to face Howey, “Not to own him- you can’t truly own a spirit like this- but if he told me to kill, I wouldn’t question his authority.”

  Howey nodded and took a step backwards, “that’s Ilya’s mount.”

  Of course it was.

  With one final firm pat, I placed my hand on my hip as the stallion head-butted my shoulder, “what’s he like, the Shield’s-,” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

  “Quiet,” Howey said as he picked up a rake, “too serious. All Ilvarjo are, but Master Lukasiak-”

  “He’s Ilvarjo?” I’m unsure why such news shocked me. Ilya the Ilvarjo. Nobody else would be that uninspired in the naming department.

  “Yeah,” Howey nodded, “you know, most people around here have problems with the Ilvarjo. Superstition runs deep, especially in these parts. But personally, I’ve never had any trouble with them. They take good care of their mounts and they keep themselves to themselves,” he stopped his raking and looked at me with a frown, “I do remember one rumour about the Lukasiak boy though. A bit unsavoury.”

  “What?” I asked eagerly.

  Howey looked around before leaning in close, “Nobody has the guts to say it too loudly because, you know,” I didn’t, “but it’s been floating around that he maybe beds with men.”

  Ah. The final frontier of Ascot. It didn’t bother me. In Bethany homosexuality was often considered the height of fashion, depending on the season. I forced a scowl, “oh.”

  “Yeah,” Howey said quietly with a small smile, “but I don’t know. It might just be because he looks a bit like a girl. That, and he’s the easiest target from somebody who dislikes Ilvarjo if you get my drift.”

  Mumbling a thanks, I left the stables with my fingernails in my mouth. Being Ilvarjo didn’t make the Shields companion any more special. It didn’t. So why not me?

  This isn’t how it ends.

  Someone was running behind me, heavy footsteps thumping, causing the wet grass to squelch. Had I dared look back, I was sure my footprints would be little more than mud patties in a sea of green, but I couldn’t look back.

  Not this time. Not like this.

  With newfound energy, my pace increased. The sound of footsteps were drawing closer, closer. I could feel the presence behind me. Reliable, intimidating, fast. I was faster. Still, the shape of my pursuer was definite in mind, pulsating heat that only made my muscles twitch readily. Almost imperceptibly, the hair on the back of my neck shifted as breath creased the skin just as the torchlight came into view.

  So close.

  “Oi, stop.”

  Water sprayed as my feet skidded, coming to a halt directly at the line of the staircase that led to the Armoury courtyard. Moments later there was a thud behind me, undoubtedly caused by my abrupt finish. Nobody could ever claim the Shield a picture of grace, “Boy, you run quick,” he panted, “why didn’t you stop when I told you to?”

  “It was more of a suggestion than a demand,” I replied, tapping the lowest step with the toe of my boot. Exhaling, I turned and sat on the grass. Wetness soaked my tights, joining the sweat of my brow on the long list of things that annoyed me. I wiped it away with my stinging fingers and looked at Pogue.

  Three days had passed since my outburst. It hadn’t been mentioned again, for which I was thankful. Common was the person who denied a grudge, rare was the one who spoke the truth of those words. Pogue was the unusual type. Or maybe he just didn’t think me worthy of a grudge. He certainly didn’t consider me worthy of crossing the threshold into his home.

  For weeks he’d been teaching me the layout of the maze. At first, I’d required a bread crumb trail of moss to find my way out, but as the days passed by my mental map became so well worn I was able to find my way in the dark. Which was lucky for it was always pretty damn dark there.

  In all those days, however, not once was I permitted to step so much as a toe on Armoury grounds. We’d reach the threshold and sit for hours. He’d tell me all his grand tales of life growing up inside a tree. The fae, the flurries, the furies. How he’d been trained to be the Shield by the mystical sword. About a giant nest in the sky. It all sounded so whimsical and free. Only once had I ever suggested we venture inside. He’d growled inhumanly, almost wolfish, and punched the ground, “Nobody goes in there no more.” Even those cerulean blues had looked lupine as he snarled.

  I hadn’t asked again. Anything that stole away that smile wasn’t worth the darkness it brought. Even then he had a big stupid grin on his face as he finished recounting an invigorating game of tag with some of the Mariquil calves. It was idiotic, undoubtedly childish, and I could’ve listened to him speak all day.

  Closing my eyes, I breathed in deeply and let it out as a concentrated sigh. The quiet buzzing of dragonflies, the gentle swaying of leaves. The industrious sounds of the camp couldn’t penetrate the high hedges. I had no worries in the world. Well, I had some worries, but right then they seemed so far away.

  “Somebody said something about you.”

  Except that one.

  “Oh yeah,” I cracked an eye open. His position was erect, the relaxed posture utterly evaporated as he investigated my face. Not good, “something scandalous I hope.”

  “Doctor Kira is sending you home?”

  “Deities calling, where’d you hear that?”

  “When you’re the-Shield-of-Ascot people tend to tell you things,” must’ve been all the finger quotations, “so it’s not true?”

  “No, it’s true.”

  Or would be if my plan didn’t work.

  “Oh jeez,” he picked a blade of grass. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve mistaken him as being disappointed at this confession. He gave me a weak smile, “I’m sorry, if you’d told me this was gonna be our last time together I would’ve come up with something more special.”

  My nose wrinkled at the thought, “I’m not leaving today, you know?”

  “No, but I…” he trailed off, splitting the edge of grass to thread another through and folding, “I’ve been thinking about Ilya, about what you said, and you’re right. I can’t mope forever. Ilya will find his way back, I know he will, I just gotta keep going until he does. I need to keep working.”

  Silence settled over us. Even the bugs seemed to stop buzzing as he peered at me through long lashes. He hadn’t said it yet, it wasn’t real until he did, but he was silently forcing me to ask, “you’re not telling me this to cheer me up, are you?”

  He shook his head and shuffled on his knees looking down at me, what little sunlight there was caught in the blue of his eyes, making them shine like gems, “there’s something going on at Lake Cygnus.”

  My hands were shaking, and I shoved them beneath my thighs, “Deniliquin?”

  Pogue nodded, “he already took control of the villages on the shores near Swannanoa ages ago. There was nothing we could do about that because they needed the city to live, but the ones further away live off the lake instead and so always sided with us before, but now… there’s something strange in the water making the villagers act all weird.”

  “How so?”

  Pogue shifted uncomfortably, a slight blush coming to his cheeks, “well Amicia said they say and do things that make no sense. They’re all twitchy, and lots of them are not…wearing nothing. She said they think Deniliquin might be spiking the lake water with Dat..dat-”

  “Datura?” I offered.

  “Yeah, that one,” Pogue said brightly, “how’d you guess?”

  Datura was an extract of moonflower. With strong hallucinogenic and mind control properties, it was a common ingredient in truth serum and a highly addictive one at that. If misused over long periods, Datura drove its victims insane, causing them to pluck their eyes out and cannibalize their o
wn children while under its influence. The good doc despised its existence, and I’d spent many nights listening to her recount her daily disagreement with the deans at the Bethany Institute of Medical Arts about its increased use in alchemy. There weren’t words small enough to explain that to Pogue though, so I shrugged, “lucky guess.”

  Pogue put the blades of grass down and rested his hands on his knees, “anyways, they think there’s mages’ by the mouth of the river pouring that stuff into it. Maybe even some warlocks.”

  “You’re sure she said warlocks?” I asked.

  While every art form has its freaks- and everybody who practised the magical arts were freaks- warlocks were the circus freaks. Mages were just the fourth and fifth born sons of nobs and whomever else could spare the barrel full of krona it took to waste five years at a swanky magical institute, in hopes they’d one day climb further up the hierarchy at some monarchs table. Warlocks were a darker curse. Born too flexible of mind my mother had once described them, they were magical acrobats who could kiss their own asses from both directions. And that was only the natural-born warlocks. The ones who slaughtered and consumed their way to energetic superiority. A shiver went down my spine.

  Pogue nodded, “yeah, but don’t worry. It’s not like I’m going alone,” my heartbeat increased rapidly, “Amicia is sending twelve of her best guys with me.” And just like that, it dropped.

  “Oh,” I stood up, dusting off my knees. This little adventure wasn’t worth the grass stains or the trouble I was going to get from Doctor Kira, “well, good luck then.”

  “Hey, where are you going?” Pogue yelled, but I didn’t look back. Truth be told, I didn’t know. I just had to pace to keep from exploding. A hand grabbed my arm and turned me around, “you’re sad that I’m going.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I shook my head anyway, trying to pull out of his grasp, “no.”

  “You are,” he let me go, taking a step back, “please don’t be. Chances are by the time I get back you’ll be long gone, but I hope you’re not. You know, before this war I’d never once left these woods. Actually, I rarely left this tree. I don’t know much about people, but I do know most people here only wanna talk to me because I’m the Shield. You’re the first person who really tried to be my friend, who is sad to see me go. Thank you for that,” he pushed the thwittled grass into my hand and smiled as I brought its humanoid shape close to my eyes, “I wish you’d gotten to meet Ilya. You would’ve liked him much more than you do me.”

  I sincerely doubted that.

  Eight

  Nosocomephobia

  Fear of hospitals

  “Eugh, what is it now?”

  It was closer to dawn than dusk on what was to be my third final night on the right side of Ascot’s borders when the bell broke the slumber of the entire infirmary. It wasn’t the ringing itself that was unusual, for that bell rang several times a day in cases of life or death emergencies, it was the pitch of yells and screams accompanying it that was weird.

  Something fragile sounding smashed to the right. “Shit, that was my favourite one,” exclaimed the physician on duty -as the good doc insisted on being called after a certain hour- followed by the familiar clicks of the oil lamp which lit the room up brilliantly. Bespectacled eyes fell upon me. It was difficult to tell what mood she was in - that perpetual look of annoyance unwavering as she simultaneously pulled on her white coat and adjusted her tight bun before grabbing the poker. “I swear, if this is another false alarm, I’m sending whoever’s screaming home in parts.”

  Funnily enough, that wasn’t what the poker was for. There were plenty of refugees interested in the chemicals we kept in the dispensary, and on more than one occasion, Kira had been forced to chase someone from the out while brandishing the poker. But it wasn’t some poor dependent geezer desperate for a hit who’d awoken us. The commotion was coming from outside the tent. Physicians, healers and medics alike gathered around the entrance, looking out into the night. Kira looked them over for a brief moment before poking the bonneted head of Melly.

  “You’re in my way. Move.” Melly didn’t even flinch as she fell in step beside me as Kira flounced forward, “alright, let’s see what was so important it was worth waking me up for.”

  It was the middle of the night and I didn’t need to see. I needed to crawl back under my rock and so asked Melly, “what’s going on?”

  “The Shield-” was all I managed to catch over the overwhelming cacophony of shouts. Still, her assessment of the situation being connected to Pogue seemed about right, if the familiar bulk clutching a bundle of blankets was any indication. He wasn’t the one making all the noise though. There was an immense flurry of activity as what seemed to be half the camp tried to assist him at once, which only resulted in everybody screaming over one another as their hands closed around every part of Pogue they could find.

  As far as unique deaths go, disembodiment by a well-meaning mob was definitely up there. And the noise. Oh, the noise. Dozens of people all shouting at each other, at him, at absolutely anything to get attention.

  “-you’re the Shield of Ascot, aren’t you?”

  “Shield, are you alrigh-”

  “Please Master-”

  “-Let me give you a hand.”

  Only one voice had enough elegance to stop them: “Get off him. Give him room to breathe, you six-toed cretins.”

  The crowd stilled and looked at Kira as she pushed her way through with a bit more force than was perhaps necessary. The lamplight caught the ice blue of her eyes in a rather mesmerizing way as she scowled at the blankets in Pogue’s arm. “Please help,” his voice warbled.

  “Of course I’m going to help, you stupid boy,” she took his arm, pulling him towards the tent while barking at some poor, unsuspecting medic about crowd control. I followed behind, staring at the tiny masked creature beneath the blankets. Was that…no, I refused to believe that something so fragile looking could accompany the Shield.

  Kira urged us towards one of the few rooms with a real door, where she flicked the switch which lit the gas lamps dotting the ceiling. The walls were lined with shelves, full of instruments and fluids of every kind. A large porcelain tub sat beneath the bench in the centre of the windowless room. That was no examination room, it was for surgery.

  I washed and gloved as Kira took the figure from Pogue like it weighed nothing, which it very possibly did. It was skinny enough that a strong breeze might knock them over and long blonde hair covered their upper face entirely. I ripped a band from a supply cart and approached the bench. They were shivering, despite the many blankets which covered them, their skin hot as I pulled the bloody flaxen strands away and froze. The eye…oh, boy.

  “Right,” Kira snapped gloves on as she examined the tools and equipment Melly had quickly laid out, “step aside, Shield.”

  Pogue hesitated but didn’t need to be told twice. Kira was, as always, unexpectedly tender as she removed the blankets from the Ilvarjo. The exoskeleton uniform had been torn in several places, revealing bruises, cuts and various other injuries that dotted the pale skin beneath. She removed one of the flimsy bandages that covered the right eye and paused, resting her wrist against the boy’s forehead.

  “Kilco, prepare the antibiotics.”

  It didn’t take a trained physician to see the immediate problem. The eye was swollen shut. Blood had mixed with thickened pus and other fluids to crust pale lashes together. That wound was worrying. It cut neatly through the eyebrow to end directly below the bottom lash line. It hadn’t tainted the closed lid.

  Kira glared at the wound as if personally offended, “better make that two syringes and a vial of concentrated healing tonic,” she glanced to where Pogue stood swaying in the corner, “Shield, does he have any family here?”

  “His mum is-”

  “Go get her.”

  Pogue looked up, eyes unfocused, “but-”

  “Now.”

  Pogue opened his mouth as if to argue, but I shook m
y head, and he closed it again. Kira was furious. It wasn’t apparent on her face, but I heard the slight tremor in her voice. The earliest warning sign to not push her least she blow. Pogue left without another word as I finished preparing the injections. Kira snatched them from my hands and immediately plunged them into the Ilvarjo’s arm, one after the other.

  “Start disinfecting his other wounds,” she commanded without looking up for the eye.

  We worked in silence as Kira began cutting away the strange grey material of the ruined exoskeleton and gave the boy a thorough examination. Completely exposed like that, the Ilvarjo was a scrawny little thing. A fellow runt of the litter. The Ilvarjo sigil had been carved into his left bicep. The scar tissue was slightly raised and somebody had packed it full of a red pigment that glowed against his pale skin. I’d never seen anything like it and traced the lines, bringing my finger up to fondle the hem of his mask. I wonder…

  Melly grabbed my wrist, “don’t.”

  “We have to check his face for injuries.”

  She shook her head, her bonnet popping loose over the spring of her curls, “it’s forbidden to look upon an Ilvarjo child’s face.”

  “Forbidden,” I repeated while clenching a fist in the material, refusing to let go even as she tugged, “don’t tell me you believe those superstitions? You know, as well as not having fangs under here I bet he can also drink milk.”

  “You’re not funny, Kilco,” Melly said but let go and took a step backwards, “if you want to take it off, you go ahead, but I will not work on him. Especially not if his mother’s coming.”

  I rolled my eyes, “come on-”

  “Enough,” Doctor Kira said and stood back, “the mask stays on for now. Kilco, get the Amberlynn. He’s passed out now, but what I’m about to do would wake the dead.”