Grace of the Light

by Fergal F. Nally

  Morrigan remained still in his arms, at peace. He allowed her to float in the slow moving current, one hand keeping her secure the other cleaning the encrusted blood from her skin. This felt right, a rebirth. Things would be good again, she had said their son was free, she was in control. Liss’s heart sang.

  Once he had cleaned her skin he carried her back to the hill. The darkness was more pronounced, he had to take care on the rough ground. The wind was cold, he shivered despite his exertions. He noticed Morrigan grew warmer and she in turn warmed him. He held her close absorbing her heat, her strength. Now that she was free of that thing maybe she would heal and recover.

  His thoughts descended into a reflection on the day’s events and his plan for shelter at the heart of the barrow. He had noticed a group of briar entangled stones to the east of the barrow, an entrance of sorts. He reached the hill and walked around its base heading east.

  Morrigan felt light in his arms, she had not opened her eyes since the river. He slowed his pace. The barrow was huge, the men who had built it had invested time and care in its construction. There would be one entrance and for a few mornings a year the rising sun would flood the chambers inside banishing darkness for precious minutes. Light chasing away dark, bringing new hope, opening a door between life and death.

  Liss was beginning to understand why Si an Bhru was so important to Morrigan. She wanted to open the door between worlds, to bring forth and give to this world. He could see he was part of it all, he did not know what role his son would play but it would be important. He saw dark shapes rising ahead, he had arrived at the eastern section of the barrow. He had found the shelter stones, the entrance would be at their centre.

  He moved carefully through the overgrown shapes, thorns reached for his skin. He managed to avoid them and found the entrance stone. The doorway itself consisted of two stone pillars with a mantel, above which was a narrow slit. The entranceway was blocked off by smaller stones held together by mortar and moss. It looked as if the entranceway had been sealed off, not by the original builders but by others much later on, perhaps descendants. The blockage was crude but effective.

  Liss put Morrigan gently on the entrance stone and went to the blocked doorway. He sighed, then tested the barrier with his hands, there was no way he could breech Si an Bhru’s defences. He sat down beside Morrigan. The clouds broke momentarily, the moon lit up the area.

  Morrigan stirred, a breeze rustled the ivy clad stones. Liss looked back the way he had come, saw movement and went to investigate. He reached the shelter stones and found nothing, it was colder here, he shivered and returned to Morrigan. The air surrounding her was blurred. Liss blinked and stared, the moonlight held and he saw the same black smoke he had seen earlier. It had returned and was engulfing Morrigan.

  The smoke was doing something to her, Liss did not feel fear, instead he felt relief and waited. The smoke clung to Morrigan, caressing her, it covered her bare skin, weaving a dark fabric. After a few minutes, its work done, it withdrew from Morrigan, its tendrils snaking towards the barrow’s blocked entrance. Clouds obscured the moon, darkness returned.

  Liss moved in to check on Morrigan and reached out to her. He jumped as his hand was gripped by a formidable force, instinctively he pulled away, the grip lessened but did not let go. Morrigan’s voice erupted in his thoughts.

  “Well done Liss, my boy. You got me here. Our child, my son is with us. He is the smoke that you see, his body is not yet claimed from the dark side. We need to be inside the barrow when the sun rises, for with this next dawn the solstice is upon us. Its light will wake the dead, the door will open and my son will cross over and join with his spirit to be complete. Joy will be ours, then it will be done.”

  Moonlight broke through the clouds, Liss gasped. Morrigan stood in front of him wearing tunic and breeks, a gown resting on her shoulders. Her hair was full and glowing, her eyes radiant. It was his time, their time, he could smell and taste the magic in the air, he could feel it crackling around him.

  Morrigan reached out and touched his arm, a surge of passion welled up inside him, he leaned towards her. She embraced him, his face brushed against her hair. He breathed her in, she smelt of earth, stone, water and forest… elemental. Strong. She released him and turned towards the barrow entrance, smiling.

  Tendrils of smoke were weaving their way through cracks in the barrier… infiltrating.

  Liss smiled.

  It would not be long.

  Chapter 15

  The Stirring

  “Danger’s in the air, my friend,” the Iron Duke said to the Earl of Thraken.

  “It’s the way of the world.”

  “Aye, Loki’s scheming again…”

  “And we’ve to take it, he’s the trickster god after all,” the Duke replied.

  “Who’s behind this mess? First the Duchess, then the hunchback, a slap in the face for the king. He’ll react badly, there’ll be blood, remember the last time? You, we were lucky to be away. This time we’re the ones here, our names will be in the hat.” Thracken held his hand over his mouth as if to hide his words.

  “It’s a chain, there’ll be more assassinations, likely in quick succession. The king will lash out, we must be prepared, but not make the first move. You’ll need the support of the court and the Mage School. If we strike first they’ll fall in behind the king. They must feel his rage first, taste his madness… then they’ll support us.”

  “Agreed. What I want to know is why now? What’s driving this? Who’s behind it?” Thracken mused.

  “My spies are searching but still nothing solid,” the Iron Duke said.

  “Do you have anyone close to the Sisters of Light?” Thracken asked.

  “No one has leverage there, they are a closed order. Closed to all.”

  “They know something, they know everything. I’ll seek an audience with them,” Thracken declared.

  The Iron Duke looked at his friend, amusement in his eyes. “You’ll never get an audience with them, we are outsiders. They’re the ones that choose contact, believe me you don’t want to be contacted by the Sisterhood, they’ll steal your last breath.”

  “We’ll see, everyone has a price, a weakness. What do you care for most in this world Duke?”

  The Iron Duke held Thracken’s gaze feeling the other’s intent. “Really? I wouldn’t even tell you my friend. That’s every man’s secret, every woman’s child.”

  Thracken was no longer listening, he turned and looked over the city walls. Change was in the wind, he lived for this, keeping one step ahead of the game. He was a survivor and had lived this long by his wits; court life with its intrigues and betrayals was a daily battleground. This was his world, kill or be killed. He would live by his belief, trust no one. Not even the Iron Duke. Every man had his price, every man would turn if enough pressure or pleasure was applied.

  ~

  Grace watched her blade pierce the woman’s throat, the sleeping fumes had done their work.

  She put a few extra drops of the volatile tincture on the cloth and inhaled some of the fumes herself. She had done this before, it gave her a heady feeling, like standing on the edge of life. She reached out and held her victim’s hand escorting her to the otherside.

  The woman jerked one last time, drowning in her own blood. Her body went limp, her eyes died. Grace felt sadness and excitement within; another journey started. She let the woman’s body down and rose, catlike, alert. This was the last of her marks. The previous twenty four hours had passed in a blur of shadows, stalking and death. Her side ached from the chainstick assassin who had ambushed her after her last killing. It was a tough fight but it had ended badly for her attacker.

  Grace was exhausted, but her job was finally done. She would return to Aelisa but the need for release rose inside her. She had not indulged for many months, but this hunger needed to be sated. She would take refuge under dragon smoke’s dark wings. She had enough gold from her last two marks to keep her in dragon smoke for d
ays if she wished. It was her choice, her time, her head was spinning with all that had happened in the last few weeks, she needed release. She felt a new sense of power growing within her. Perhaps she could live without the Sisterhood after all? Falinor had been benevolent, he was watching out for her, she was still alive.

  She turned and backed out of the room, stepping over spilled wine and food. She went to the door and opened it, descended the stairs and left the temple heading towards the river where she would find sellers of the black flower. All city rivers brought food and poison to their hearts. Light and dark.

  Nature had a way of balancing things out.

  ~

  Thracken stood in the courtyard beside the ash tree.

  His tip off had led to this nondescript building in the merchant’s district, he had spent good gold to bring him this far. He waited, those within knew he was there, it was useless to knock on their door, they would come when good and ready. The sun beat down on him, he sweated in his chainmail. He had come alone, the advantage secrecy. The risk was great, spies and assassins were abroad, his life too would be in play. There was nothing he could do but wait.

  He was philosophical, his time would come in this game.

  After the third hour he heard a light scrape behind the door, a narrow silt opened at eye level. He heard wheezing from behind the mesh.

  “The Earl of Thracken… to what do we owe this… honour?” the voice said in a monotone.

  Thracken had rehearsed his words. “I’ve news for the Sisterhood, news from the east, news of Ashtoreth and Morrigan, news about the Simulacrum.”

  The wheezy breath faltered then coughing erupted from the mesh. The slot slammed shut, silence returned to the courtyard. Had he given too much? Too little? Would his words pierce the Sisterhood’s secrecy, prick their interest? Suddenly fatigued, he went over to the ash tree and sat in its shade taking a long draught from his water bottle. A butterfly fluttered through the air and landed at his feet stretching its wings in the sun.

  Thracken watched the butterfly, admiring its red wings. Magic was everywhere, in the breeze, the rain, the seasons and the sky. Erthe magic kept things going, the magic of men was used for subterfuge and gain. He smiled, that was what made the game interesting, the subterfuge and gain.

  Thracken closed his eyes fatigue finding its mark, his breathing deepened, minutes turned into hours, evening descended. He woke stiff, a chill in his spine. He looked up and froze, twelve figures surrounded him, women dressed in dark robes. Their faces obscured by masks, hair tied back, eyes painted; reds, greens and gold.

  Their eyes held him, searching, penetrating.

  One of the figures stepped forward, hands at her side, daggers in her belt and boots. There were a thousand ways to die at an assassin’s hand, he knew this woman would have other weapons he could not see. He was at her mercy, one wrong move and he was dead a thousand times over.

  “Thracken, you wish to speak?” the woman rasped, her voice foreign, west plains maybe. She did not use his title, assassins regarded all men as equal, rank served no purpose in their eyes. He found this strangely comforting.

  “My Lady? Forgive me, I’m at a disadvantage, I don’t know your name.”

  Thracken was met with stony silence, the circle of menace drew in. He continued. “I’ve come to share what I know in exchange for what you know, that way we may shed our light on the darkness.” She remained silent, the air heavy with threat.

  “I’ll take your silence as an invitation to continue. I’ve inside knowledge, Ashtoreth has risen, her sister Morrigan too, they are united and bent on revenge on men and the Erthe. Someone in the City is plotting an Imperial alliance with the Simulacrum to defeat Ashtoreth. A rogue assassin, one of your own, is being used to force a coup against the king, to drive him out, make him strike at those around him. When he does, the court, the mages, the city guard will turn on him and the rest, you can imagine… there’ll be chaos. Will you tell me what you know? Perhaps together we can survive this, maybe even turn events to our advantage.” Thracken stopped, sensing he had spoken enough.

  “My name is Syrah and yes you have my attention. You’ll follow me, first we need you blindfolded and asleep, for we are taking you to a place where outsiders are forbidden.”

  Thracken stiffened as a sack was shoved over his head, he felt a sharp scratch on his neck and sleep followed. His eyes and limbs grew heavy, he fell into blackness.

  The assassins removed his weapons and lifted him, carrying him across the courtyard, through the open door. They bore him through corridors, across an inner garden, past fountains and fruit trees. Peacocks strutted on the lawns calling out in alarm as they went by. They bundled Thracken into a cart covering him with sackcloth and straw. The cart left the building by a back gate and clattered along the back streets of Dej. It passed through the markets, the temple district, then wandered along the public parks finally making its way to the river. It was late evening by the time it arrived alongside the low slung barge.

  A soft whistle rang out, four hooded figures appeared from the barge, they scooped Thracken up and carried him inside through a hatch in the roof and down steep steps. The light was low, the space smoky. The smell of fish and spice pervaded the air.

  The figures placed Thracken onto a low cot then disappeared up the steps. Minutes later Syrah descended, she stood and waited. Water lapped against the side of the barge, she remembered her river days far to the west, as a girl. Her parents had been taken by slavers, the Sisterhood had found her saving her from starvation. Her heart filled with resolve and love for the Mother and the Sisterhood. All was good, all was to be taken. Her life and her sisters’ lives were one with the Mother; the Mother would lead. She would provide.

  From the rear of the cabin something stirred. “Syrah, you’ve done well. Speak your mind, do you think the Earl speaks the truth?”

  Syrah recognised the Seeker’s voice, the Sister next in line to the Mother. The Seeker spoke with and for the Mother. Syrah dropped to her knees and bowed. “Seeker, forgive me, I did not know you were here…” she was lost for words. The only time she’d been in the Seeker’s presence was as a feral child brought in from the wilderness, at her joining ceremony. The Seeker had put her hand on her forehead and sworn her into the Sisterhood; her new family.

  “Syrah, it is important to me to know what your heart told you when you heard this man’s words, instinct recognises truth. Was there truth or deceit in his words?”

  Syrah paused then spoke. “I felt truth, albeit a condensed version.”

  “That’s good to know. That’ll be all, leave us. I’ll call when I need you.”

  Syrah bowed and went back up the steps, she wondered if the Earl would live to see the next day.

  The Seeker came out of the shadow, her frail body wrapped in a non-descript robe. Her mind was calm, this was a watershed. The Sisterhood had never taken sides, always neutral, always working within the status quo. They provided a valuable service to society, to civilization. They answered prayers and solved problems for all sections of the ruling elite. The Sisterhood lanced the abscesses of political corruption when the law was paralysed. They cleared the dead wood, evil and good in equal measure, they were agents of change.

  The Sisterhood stood for impartiality, but in order to have the surety of the high ground you had to own it in the first place. If what Thracken had said was true, and she had reason to believe it was, then this one time the Sisterhood needed to take sides. She knew what her decision was but she wanted to see this man’s eyes, wanted to hear his words for herself.

  The Seeker reached out and brushed Thracken’s hair away from his eyes. He was handsome in a solid way, his features fine yet worn by too many years of worry, time always ate into men’s hearts and bones. She pulled a vial from her sleeve and opened the lid, fumes reached her nose, she winced. She waved the vial under Thracken’s nose, his face contorted. He opened his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “What?
Get that out of my face. Who are you? Where am I?”

  The Seeker removed the salts and put the lid back on the vial. She pulled back allowing him to sit, he rubbed his eyes and face. She gave him water and he accepted gratefully. His mouth was parched and he drank greedily.

  “You’ve been brought to a safe place by the Sisterhood. I’ve heard your words from my sister, I need you to repeat them to me. I need to watch you speak, look into your eyes, only then will I see the truth. One false word and you will die. Do you understand?”

  Thracken was stunned, he had made it this far. He was alive and being interrogated by this crone, he had penetrated deep into the Sisterhood. This was his chance to form an alliance with one of the most powerful groups in all of the Imperial Cities, some would say even more powerful than the mages. He felt the tension build in his chest, his life was in the balance, he would tell the truth, she would see that. She would let him live, it would be worth it.

  He repeated his message using almost the same words he had used for Syrah. When he finished, he took another mouthful of water, it tasted slightly bitter, he had not noticed that earlier.

  The Seeker looked at him and nodded. “Fine, fine, my Lord. Yes I see what you say most clearly.” She turned her back on him and started climbing the steps to the outside.

  “Wait… wait! What is your answer?” Thracken managed to croak, his throat swelling, his breathing more difficult. The pains in his chest grew and exploded into his head, blood trickled from his nose and eyes, he slumped and fell, dead, to the floor.

  “I think you know what my answer is, my Lord,” the Seeker whispered under her breath.

  Chapter 16