Remnants of Atonement (True paths Book 1)

by G. P McKenna

  Amicia released my hand and balled her fists, face falling into an unpleasant scowl, “they will not assist us?”

  “Some will,” Ilana said casually as if she was reporting the weather, “Lord Issak and I have managed to organise your citizens willing to resist Deniliquin into small cells around the city. When you decide the time is right, you will find allies within the walls,” she glanced back at Ilya and I, eyes lingering on our clasped hands, “but we will speak more on that later. There are more pressing matters at hand right now.”

  “What could be more pressing than the state of my people?” Amicia demanded.

  “Ilya did not warn you?” Ilana’s eyes raised to Ilya’s, who promptly found something of interest to stare at upon the rug.

  Amicia paused midstep and looked between Ilya and Ilana, “Warn me of what?”

  An awkward silence fell over us as Ilana continued to stare at Ilya until he dropped my hand and moved to take Amicia’s, leading her over to a wooden bench and sitting her down. He took a knee. Ilana reached out and pushed his head down before looking at Amicia, her bored face softening slightly as she spoke, “my little ones managed to dispose of three enemy soldiers in the deep woods after last night’s events. While scavenging supplies they came across a message that exposed inside information, signed by one of your own.”

  Amicia’s pale face went almost translucent, “who?”

  Ilana released Ilya’s head and patted his neck twice. Ilya inhaled deeply before looking up to meet Amicia’s eyes, “the message had been signed by Heston Burgerdella, Your Highness.”

  A shrill laugh shot from Amicia’s lips. She quickly covered her mouth and reached out to grab a handful of Ilya’s hair. She pulled the strands tightly, “as in my butler? Certainly not.”

  “I’m afraid so, Your Highness,” Ilana said, “I sent word to Commander Ramsey, who then detained and questioned him this morning. Heston has already confessed.”

  “But Sir Edward…” Amicia broke off with a laugh that was chestier than the first before releasing Ilya’s hair and shoving him away as she stood, “where is Heston now?”

  “He has been left under Lord Issak’s protection in the mages workshop, Your Highness,” Ilana replied and continued when Amicia opened her mouth, “word of his actions has already reached both the Royal Guard and Foot troops. As expected, they are less than thrilled and demand action is taken, but neither I, nor Commander Ramsey, have authorised anything. I assumed that this would be something you would wish to do yourself.”

  Amicia nodded and set her face in a straight, severe line before storming the halls towards the Mages workshop, where dozens of troops and guards had already gathered. They flattered themselves against the walls as their irate Princess stormed past, lest she flatten them in her wake, her eyes glued only to Commander Ramsey who stood outside the workshop’s flap, his sword in hand. A sad look crossed Amicia’s face as she came to a stop before him, and she reached out to stroke his scarred cheek before turning on her heels to face the crowd.

  “I understand you are all upset,” she stated clearly in a voice too high and punctual “you have every right to be, but we will not submit to anger. We will not murder those who stand accused of a crime without first understanding their motives. If we do, we are no better than Lord Deniliquin. Everybody deserves a chance to plead their case,” the gathered troops remained silent, unmoving other than a dry cough somewhere in the back. Amicia sighed and clasped her hands together, “very well. Return to your posts now. There is much to be done before the enemy manages to regroup. We must be prepared this time.”

  Nobody moved. Ramsey cleared his throat and clapped twice, “you heard Her Grace. Anybody not on their posts when I am finished here will face severe consequences.” At their Commander’s threats, the troops disembarked with more than a few groans and mutterings of displeasure. Amicia’s pretty face twisted into an ugly mask as Ramsey leaned in close, “forgive me for asking, Your Grace, but you intend to allow Heston the opportunity to plead?”

  “Yes,” Amicia snapped, her eyes glaring at the backs of her retreating guards, “everybody deserves that much. Had you afforded the Warlock that, perhaps…” she trailed off, but it appeared to have the desired effect as Ramsey winced as if stricken. He looked to Ilana, but her face remained stoically impassive as she watched the scene unfold. Ramsey swallowed heavily.

  “Your Grace,” he said carefully, “with all due respect, the only acceptable punishment for a capital crime such as treason is public execution. We lost many good people last night. If Heston isn’t appropriately punished, we risk the troops becoming demoralized.”

  Amicia remained silent, watching as the final guard turned the corner before finally looking to Ramsey. Tears filled eyes, “I understand, Sir Edward, but I cannot authorize the execution of such a historically loyal servant without first understanding why,” she wiped her eyes and straightened with a small stiff, “no, I will not.”

  Ramsey once again looked to Ilana, but the Ilvarjo woman only nodded slowly. Swallowing, Ramsey stepped to the side. Amicia smiled and touched his arm, “thank you, Sir Edward. I promise to be fair in my dealings with him.” With that said, Amicia stepped past the flap, just as Ilya’s hand once again found mine. He pulled me into the darkness below.

  The spiral staircase was shorter than I remembered it being, and not even halfway down did the pleads of a posh voice reach my ears, “Lord Issak, be reasonable. You know me, you know that my reasoning is true.”

  “I know no such thing,” a gruff voice replied, “and even if I did, I lost men of my own last night. Somebody must pay.”

  “But-but-”

  “Heston.” The Rubenesque butler looked up, fresh tears flooding his permanently watery eyes as his busted lip quivering when Amicia stepped off the final step. His face went pale, illuminating the prickly redness of his cheeks and the bruising of a broken nose in the flickering candlelight. Somebody had tied his wrists to a wooden chair in the centre of the room, but he didn’t struggle as the princess nodded to the Poota at the Butler’s side. Issak bowed and moved into the shadows, lifting a sharp battle axe over his beefy shoulder. Amicia knelt beside Heston, arranging her purple skirts like petals on the onyx floor, and covering Heston’s hand with her own, “I wish that I could say this wasn’t so surprising. Whatever possessed you to betray me, betray my Father like this, after having cared so diligently for us all my life?”

  Heston shook his head, projecting stringy snot, “My Princess, do you not understand? Everything I’ve ever done has been only to assist you.”

  “How could exposing my position to my enemy assist me?” Amicia asked.

  Heston stared into her eyes for a moment before screwing his own shut, a fat tear dripping down his cheek, “you are the final heir to the nobelist bloodline in existence, yet you’ve been exiled to live out in a forest like a peasant. You’re surrounded daily by dirt and bugs and animals. You even allowed a blood-eyes to use your private bathing facilities,” Heston spat on the floor at a respectful distance from Amicia before opening his eyes to look back into her face with undisguised awe, “can’t you see, My Grace? You don’t belong here. You belong in the palace, where you will be safe. If only you would go, I know that you would see that.”

  “Only if I submit myself to Lord Deniliquin. Listen to me, Heston,” Amicia grabbed both sides of his head and held it still, “I never will. Never. Not under any circumstances. Dennil infiltrated the Armoury, the holiest of institutions, and then ordered the slaughter of the armourers in cold blood; Ascot itself. They must be avenged.”

  “But you would be safe,” Heston choked out through a sob. “And then you could negotiate safe passage for each of us. I know that you could.”

  “Oh Heston,” Amicia wiped the tear from his chubby cheek, “Deniliquin isn’t interested in negotiating with me. If it was that simple don’t you believe I would’ve done so to save my father years ago? No, he wants them, and he will kill me if he ever gets th
e opportunity for I am the only thing preventing his false prophecy from being neutralized,” Amicia stood and wiped off her skirts, “you almost sentenced me to death last night. You condemned many others.”

  Heston’s eyes watered and he shook his head, “that wasn’t my intention. I didn’t think-”

  “That’s precisely it, you didn’t think,” Ilana said.

  Heston’s eyes jumped in our direction, squinting into the shadows before widening as they fell on Ilya. He pulled against his restraints, chest heaving in near-hyperventilation, “y-you,” he stuttered, “but you’re dead.”

  “Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Ilya stated calmly.

  “No,” Heston shrieked as he continued struggling, “I tended to your body. You are dead!”

  “It’s fascinating how the mind deceives reality,” Ilya said, “you’ve desired my death for so long that when I was injured you managed to convince yourself that it was fatal.”

  “I’ve never wanted you dead,” Heston looked to Ilana and shook his head, “I have never wanted him dead.”

  Ilana’s bored expression remained unchanged as she moved to stand beside Amicia and placed her hand on the Princess’s shoulder. “Your Highness,” she said, “now that you understand his reasoning, it is vital we learn the full extent of his betrayal.” Ilana nodded towards Issak, who shifted his axe.

  “Please, Lady Lukasiak,” Heston pleaded through a chesty wail as he resumed pulling against his restraints, “all I told them was of the wall’s instability. I swear it.”

  “Strange,” Ilana pulled a dagger from the belt strapped to her thigh, “I don’t believe you.” Ilana took a step towards the sobbing man, only to pause as Amicia arm shot out in front of her.

  “But I do,” she said. Ilana lowered her head, and Amicia stared at her for a moment longer before dropping to her knees before Heston and rested her head in the butler’s lap. Several minutes came and went with the only sound being Amicia’s muffled cries and Heston’s breathing that was rapidly calming. Finally, Amicia kneeled up, pulling Heston’s head against her chest, “I forgive you, Heston. I truly do,” she pulled away and stood, turning her back on the old man. Her tear-filled blue eyes stared straight through Ilya and I as she spoke clearly and calmly, “but the rest of the camp do not. Ascotian law cannot. That’s why, with deep personal sorrow, I must sentence you to death by means of decapitation. Common law dictates that it should be done publicly, but as a final gift of gratitude for your years of diligent service I will overlook that and spare your family the humiliation. It is my sincerest hope that the Deities will grant you peace. Goodbye, Heston.”

  Without another word, Amicia stormed towards us. Her shoulder slammed into Ilya’s side as she passed. The impact forced our hands apart, but Amicia didn’t apologize as she disappeared up the spiralling staircase. I watched her retreating back before looking towards the butler. It was awkward. I still couldn’t understand why I was even there, why Ilana had insisted I accompany them down there. Clearing my throat, I looked towards her, “do you want me to-”

  “I want you to watch carefully,” she interrupted before adjusting her grip on her blade and squatting next to the slobbering butler. For several moments only his wounded sobs echoed in the room before she finally spoke again, “I never liked you. I understand that feeling is mutual, and so accepted your increasing disdain for both my sons and I because it wasn’t your fault. An individual is never responsible for their own ignorance. You were indoctrinated by your parents to hate our kind, as they had been by theirs. Understand that I hold no ill will towards you for that. All you will endure now is a direct response to your actions. Especially for making the Princess cry. For that alone, I despise you.”

  Heston looked up, snot and tears pooling on his red cheeks, “I-I…. I.”

  “Ilya, come,” Ilana held out the dagger, “you will do it.”

  Ilya’s brow furrowed as he approached his mother with caution to take the blade from her hand. He adjusted his grip as he looked down on Heston, “do I have to remove the head?”

  “If you would like,” Ilana stood, “though it would be cleaner to leave that to Issak.”

  Ilya nodded and placed the dagger against Heston’s jowls. The butler instantly began shaking, sending fluids splashing onto Ilya’s hand as he looked up, “please, I swear-”

  “Shh,” Ilya placed a finger against Heston’s lips, “it will be alright. In this reality we all must reap what we sow. That’s one proverb that never fails in its truth.” Ilya moved the dagger. Red hot blood sprayed his uniform, but he didn’t so much as flinch. I wanted to look away, but when I did Ilana’s eyes were on me, as bright and burning as the plasma leaking from the butler’s neck. It was like she was searching me, looking for something that only she could see, but whatever it was I was determined not to allow her to find it, so I turned back to watch as Heston gave one final, prolonged gurgle before falling silent forevermore.

  Thirty Two

  Mnemophobia

  Fear of memories

  All things considered, I should’ve expected the uproar when arriving back at the infirmary, but the sheer volume inside was ridiculous. Apprentice physicians moved crates upon crates of medical supplies while their superiors barked directions in between insults hurled by the medics who cleaned the bodies of the deceased. Each required formal identification before a mass burial could take place that afternoon, with the rumours swirling around camp saying that the Sword himself would officiate it. I didn’t know if that was true and I didn’t have time to worry, for while Ilya faced up to his mother’s scrutiny, it was time to face the music of my own.

  And boy was it musical.

  “Ouch,” a familiar voice whined from a side room, “why do you gotta poke so hard?”

  “Stop being such a baby. You’re supposed to be a hero, for Deities sake.”

  “Well the Deities don’t go poking their fingers up my—morning,” Pogue gave me a pained grin as I pushed through the flap. Doctor Kira sat directly between his legs and looked up at his words, icy blue eyes narrowing, but said nothing before turning back to her stitching. My heart dropped, but I straightened my back and cleared my throat.

  “I’m back,” I said. Nailed it.

  Something in Kira’s mind must’ve exploded for her frame quivered and she raised her head once more. For a moment, just a moment, the life seemed to drain from her face, before being reignited by a fire that burned her cheeks red. “That’s all you have to say? I’m back. Pathetic.”

  Knowing better than to test the good doc when she had a scalpel in her hand, my innards screamed at me to flee, to fall to the floor and beg for forgiveness, but I never could resist poking a sleeping beast. And so I did the worst thing I could’ve done. I smiled, “What were you expecting me to say: Mother, I have returned, or something a tad more traditional? Maybe I could get down on one knee and-”

  Kira was on her feet in seconds, towering over me, “don’t get smart with me,” she said through clenched teeth, “you know exactly what I mean.”

  “She means-”

  “Shut up, Shield,” Kira said. Her eyes bore into mine, icy and hard, until I was forced to look away. Kira grunted, and walked back to her seat between Pogue’s legs, picking up her abandoned needle and thread to continue working as if I wasn’t even there. As I watched my fists clenched and unclenched. Pogue waved at me, and he nodded towards Kira with a wink. I had no clue what he meant by that, but approached my mother anyway, gingerly placing my hand on her shoulder. “Mum-”

  “Stop. Don’t mum me,” Kira interrupted, “I am pissed. No, beyond pissed. I am—can you at least go and wash your face or something? It’s impossible to rage efficiently when you resemble a giant blob of phlegm.”

  “It’s my fault. We-”

  “Shield, do you see where I’m sitting right now? One small slip and opps, bye-bye lineage. Zip it,” Kira said as she knotted one of the stitches. Pogue’s face paled, and he raised his hand t
o make a zipping motion across his lips. Kira worked in silence as if I wasn’t even there, the only sound being her scissors as she clipped off stitching’s. I wasn’t sure what to do. Calling her mum had always worked in the past. It was my trump card. I just needed to utter the word and she’d melt like Summer snow. What else could I do?

  A pair of gloves smacked me in the face.

  “If you’re planning on staying, don’t just stand there,” Kira said. She adjusted her spectacles before passing me a pair of scissors in a gentler manner.

  Stitch. Clip. Stitch. Clip. Stitch. The rhythmic ambience guided my heartbeat enough that the fog clouding my head could clear and I could find the words that would help. “I’m sorry.”

  “Okay, you’re sorry.”

  Her reply was drier than I’d anticipated, but I couldn’t stop without explaining why. Without her forgiving me, “I had to do it. It was my fault he died.”

  “And now you’re responsible for his life.”

  “Actually-”

  “Shut up,” my mother and I shouted, causing Pogue to hiss.

  Kira placed the needle on the tray with a huff and sat back to look at me, “it wasn’t your fault he died, Kilco. You’re not the one who stabbed him and fractured his skull. Reviving him isn’t something I’m going to harp on about because it would be a waste of my time. You’re going to do what you’re going to do, regardless of what I say. You always have,” she shook her head and applied antiseptic to Pogue’s knee, “I thought you were beginning to grow up. You cared so well for Ilya. Even when he wasn’t easy, you did everything you were asked. You returned every afternoon and did your duties without whining. I thought you were showing positive changes, taking responsibility.”