by A J Dalton
Jillan stifled a gasp as he recognised the saintly emissary from his dream. The Saint of Jillan’s region was Saint Azual, and was he not said to have but one eye? Jillan knew he should throw himself on his ruler’s mercy, but he was too frightened to reveal himself. Instead, he closed his eyes and turned his face away, praying he would not be seen. Then, as quickly as he had come, the Saint was gone.
Jillan got to his feet as thunder sounded in the distance, echoing off the horizon. The storm was coming closer. He dropped back onto his stomach and covered his ears. The ground shook. It was on top of him now. Dark horsemen galloped down the road in the wake of the Saint. A large number of Heroes, pushing their beasts to the limit to keep their master in sight.
His ears ringing, Jillan got up unsteadily. Keep going! Saint Azual and the Heroes had been heading to Godsend. Word about him must have spread already. And they’d sent for the holy Saint himself! The holy representative of the blessed Saviours! Jillan shuddered in terror. He was in so much trouble. He would be damned and punished for all eternity.
He took to the road and began to run, his feet slapping tiredly. He had to leave Godsend as far behind as he could. Slipping on the mist-slick flagstones, he put his hands out in front of him to try and break his fall, but jarred his wrists painfully, and then his face and knees were scraping across the stones.
The pain was excruciating and he lay with his head ringing. He sobbed a few times, fighting off tears. You’re not going to get far if you run yourself into the ground, you idiot! Better to get some proper rest and set out early in the morning. If you go breaking your leg or neck in this gloom, you won’t be getting to Saviours’ Paradise anytime soon, now will you?
Wincing, Jillan eased himself up and checked everything still moved properly. He started to limp down the road, looking for some track leading off through the trees towards what was likely to be higher ground rather than a bog.
The mist ahead of him thinned as he went, so he decided to go a little further. He was rewarded as a warm glow was revealed around a slight bend in the road. A building, out here? He couldn’t be near Saviours’ Paradise already, could he? There was no way he could have come far enough. He limped closer and realised he was approaching a fork of sorts in the road.
He made out a white signpost and hobbled over to it. The arrow pointing down the road he’d just come along read GODSEND, the arrow pointing to the left read SAVIOURS’ PARADISE and that to the right HEROES’ BROOK.
He looked at the building across the road. It was a solid two-storey construction of large blocks of a grey stone like granite, with thick wooden pilings and cross-beams. There appeared to be some sort of wooden side building, which was presumably a barn or stable, although there were no animals in evidence. The main building’s door was large and sheathed in some dark metal, no doubt for defensive purposes, but the door was not currently tightly closed – rather, light shone around it as if it were only on a latch. Jillan then saw the large side-on sign swinging above the door and bearing the name MEETING O’WAYS INN and a picture of a knife and fork. At that moment, the aroma of cooked meat assailed him and his mouth instantly watered. He had not realised just how hungry he was, and he was prepared to risk entering an inn that must mostly be used by Heroes.
Jillan wasted no time crossing to the door, rapping on it and then turning the heavy ring handle. He entered an open wood-beamed room with plenty of tables and chairs clustered around the wide fireplace against the back wall. Flames danced merrily beneath a cooking pot suspended from two hooks, and the smells of a stew coming from it were now all but enough to make him faint.
‘Ah, so we are to have guests tonight after all!’ boomed a voice from a room to the right, and a fat, balding man came out to greet him. He had a moustache that was an alarming shade of orange and his small black eyes were lost in the folds of his face, but he had a broad and welcoming grin. ‘I was worried we’d fallen out of favour when so many horsemen passed without so much as stopping to wet their lips.’ He extended a meaty hand towards Jillan. ‘I am Valor, the owner of this fine inn. Come over to the fire, to warm yourself. What name might you go by? And do you have a mount that needs stabling?’
Jillan shook the innkeeper’s hand, which was surprisingly clammy, and found himself dragged over to a table across the room. ‘I am … er … Irkarl. I’m on foot.’
‘Irkarl, eh? You passed the horsemen, yes?’
‘Yes. That is, I mean, no. I heard them on the Godsend road, but I’ve come from Heroes’ Brook.’
‘Heroes’ Brook, eh? Last I heard, the road was flooded and wagons couldn’t get through. That still the case? You must be hungry, young Irkarl, yes?’
Jillan nodded. ‘Of course.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m on pilgrimage to Hyvan’s Cross.’ And immediately realised his mistake.
Valor frowned. ‘A strange route to come, young Irkarl from Heroes’ Brook. Why did you not take the north road from your village?’
‘I … er … am deliberately taking the more roundabout route so that it is a more difficult pilgrimage,’ he extemporised.
Valor nodded slowly, watching Jillan carefully. ‘A fine sentiment indeed.’ Then his toothy grin returned. ‘But listen to me wittering on when you must be in want of sustenance. Where are my manners? Ingrid, you lazy girl, where are you? Come serve our guest at once. Ah, there you are. Irkarl will be wanting some of our famous mutton stew, I’ll be bound, so step to it, girl!’
Ingrid, who was around Jillan’s age and whose orange hair declared her Valor’s daughter or close relative, nodded with her eyes kept down and mumbled that she would get a bowl from the other room.
‘And you’ll be staying the night, Irkarl,’ Valor ventured. ‘Our rooms are clean, vermin-free and aired every day. Indeed, they are so comfortable that I shall have to come wake you up in the morning lest you sleep the whole next day through, if not the whole week!’ With a laugh, the innkeeper went to the cooking pot and stirred it with a ladle so that generous amounts were lifted out and shown before they were allowed to fall back into the pot.
Jillan found himself staring and nodded.
Valor was suddenly standing over him and smiling. ‘And how will you be paying, good Irkarl of Heroes’ Brook?’
Jillan’s face fell. ‘I-I don’t have any coin with me.’ He felt like weeping.
Valor dropped a reassuring hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. ‘Fear not. We will discover some other means by which you can settle your account. At worst, you will tell me the names of your people in Heroes’ Brook and I will write to them so that they can send money with the next wagon to venture this way. Now, just you wait there and I will fetch bread and ale to accompany your meal. A man who travels often works up a greater thirst than hunger, eh?’
Ingrid entered with a bowl just as Valor moved over to the bar where he could tap a barrel. She ladled stew from the cooking pot and placed the bowl and a spoon before Jillan.
‘Do not drink the ale,’ she whispered and was gone.
It had been so quick and quiet that Jillan wondered if he’d imagined it. He stared after the girl and started as he realised Valor was already returning. Jillan snatched up his spoon and shovelled hot stew into his mouth. It burned as it went down, but he didn’t care. He did not need to fake his appreciation.
‘Mmm, it’s wonderful!’ he said, looking up as Valor’s shadow fell across him.
Valor returned the smile and thumped two foaming tankards down on the table. He took one for himself and sat across from Jillan. ‘Well, there’s plenty more, young Irkarl, enough to satisfy any appetite.’
Valor drank as he watched Jillan eat. When Jillan finally put his spoon down, Valor pointed encouragingly to the tankard of ale, which Jillan had thus far not touched.
‘Might I have some more bread to mop the bowl?’ Jillan asked hopefully.
Valor nodded indulgently and moved away. Behind his back, Jillan poured some of the ale out of his own tankard into the cooking pot and then swapped h
is tankard with Valor’s. By the time Valor returned, Jillan was sat composed in his seat apparently having drunk a good draught of the ale.
The innkeeper licked his lips and wiped beads of sweat from his brow as he placed the bread near Jillan. Valor took up his ale and downed it in one, all the while watching the boy. ‘Come, young Irkarl, I am sure you must be ready to see your sleeping quarters.’
Jillan nodded and located his pack. ‘Yes, I’m suddenly very tired.’
Valor chuckled in understanding and fumbled for a set of iron keys he wore on his belt. ‘Thish way then,’ he slurred and led Jillan to a narrow set of stairs. ‘Up, young Irkarl!’
Jillan was forced to go ahead of the large man and soon found himself trapped with him in a small corridor on the floor above. The sound of the man’s laboured breathing filled the place.
Valor was swaying slightly and his head was nodding as he unlocked one of the rooms. ‘In!’ he said belligerently.
‘I don’t think—’ Jillan began.
‘In!’ the innkeeper roared, clumsily grabbed Jillan by the scruff of the neck and threw him into the small bedchamber. ‘Go to shleep and I w-will be a-along to collect my payment later, you’ll shee!’
Valor banged the door closed, trapping Jillan on the inside, and after several stuttering attempts got the door locked again. Then there was the sound of the big man slumping against the outside of the door and sliding to the floor of the corridor. He began to snore loudly.
Jillan ran to the door and thumped and yelled, but the snoring continued uninterrupted. He shouted and cried for help but no one came. He tried to call the storm down to free him, but there was no answer. He tried the thick shutters on the windows, but they too were locked. Finally, he gave in to exhaustion and tears and fell to the hard wooden floor. Surely the Saint would have him now.
CHAPTER 4:
Only as it pleases others
Saint Azual reached Godsend with the first rays of the morning sun. He’d run through the night, leaving his personal guard far behind. He was hardly winded but the magic he’d acquired the day before had been entirely exhausted. He would need to replenish himself here before he could move on again, hopefully with the magic of this rogue boy. What was his name? It was in the minds of so many people in Godsend, even at that time of day, it was easy to pick out: Jillan.
‘Open the gates!’ he shouted angrily, projecting his command into the mind of every Hero in the town, and shocking a good number of them awake. He would need to have serious and lasting words with the Captain here, make such an example that none of the Heroes would ever sleep again.
The Saint tried to discover the boy’s location but couldn’t pick out anything clearly. Azual was not yet connected directly to Jillan’s thoughts because of the boy’s youth and the fact that he had not yet been Drawn to the Saviours. Also, Azual had drained himself by running through the night at such speed, so his senses were no doubt slightly dulled. Curse them, but what was taking so long with the gates! To think that one such as he should have to wait on such lowly creatures! If he’d been replete with energy, he’d have leapt over the gates or simply torn them off their hinges to have done with it. As it was, he had to stand long moments grinding his teeth and knuckling the burning itch in his eye socket through the patch.
At last the great wooden doors across the northern entrance to the town swung inwards. At the same time a bell started ringing somewhere to alert the People to the arrival of their Saint. Azual cursed again. No doubt large numbers would now be turning out, bowing and scraping, begging that he touch and bless them, generally getting in the way and being an annoyance. They’d be stretching, touching and pawing at him. By the Saviours, how he loathed them, with their trivial concerns, their tawdry gifts and their wretched, shrieking children.
A number of Heroes emerged through the gates to honour and salute the Saint’s arrival. ‘You!’ Azual sneered down at the Captain of Godsend, who was by no means a small man himself. ‘Have your men form a guard to keep the People back. I want the Minister and the town elders to meet me in the Gathering Place immediately. Tell them to waste no time getting there, as if their very lives depended on it. Do you understand me? And as we go, you can tell me everything that has gone on here under your watch, and why your men are in such a sorry and sluggish state.’
The Captain swallowed and saluted again. ‘Of course, holy one. Please, this way. A boy was killed. We have been scouring the town and the surrounding woods day and night but have not found the murderer as yet, one Jillan Hunterson. I’ve been pushing my men and many have been without sleep for prolonged periods.’
‘How has the boy managed to evade you for so long then? Perhaps your men are not that difficult to evade, eh, Captain? Is someone helping him, do you think?’
The Captain half-jogged to keep up with Azual’s long strides. ‘As the son of a hunter, we suspect the boy has some knowledge of the woods hereabouts, holy one. We have discovered very little from the parents, who say the boy never came home from school. Beyond that, we have questioned his best friend, Hella Jacobsdotter, daughter to the town’s trader. She swears by the blessed Saviours that she has no knowledge of the events that occurred, even though she left the school with Jillan. Apparently, the lessons that day were somewhat disrupted and Jillan and the girl were kept back late.’
‘Really?’ Azual murmured. Credit to the man, the Captain had discovered a useful amount of information in a relatively short period of time, given that he would have no doubt also had to calm the People before getting a search under way. He’d given Azual enough to be able to start trawling the minds of the People for answers as to what had happened. Ah, yes, that firebrand Praxis had stirred things up in the lessons all right. Jillan and Hella had indeed left school late. Jacob and most of the elders believed Hella free from blame. Yet Azual could not read the truth in the girl’s mind because she had not yet been Drawn. ‘Have the girl sent to the temple. I will deal with her later.’ He frowned. They’d left the school, but then what? He couldn’t read it clearly. Just speculation and hysteria. ‘The killing itself, Captain … What’s your name? What do you think went on there, hmm?’
‘Captain Hamir, holy one.’ The Hero half-bowed, no mean feat given that he was now all but running to keep up with the seven-foot Saint. He hesitated, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. ‘I suspect, holy one, that some of Jillan’s classmates had been waiting to catch him before he got home. Three of them.’
Ah, yes, Elder Corin’s son, Haal – a bit of a bully. ‘They jumped him.’
‘I suspect as much, holy one.’ Captain Hamir nodded. ‘Three against one. The boy will have been forced to use whatever means were at his disposal. As it turned out, he was in league with pagan spell-casters from beyond the walls.’
Azual dismissed the man’s ignorant comments with a wave of the hand. ‘Surely you’ve questioned this Haal and …’ Who was the other? ‘… Silus? What did they say? I need to know about the nature of the magicks involved if we are to be properly prepared against them.’
Each of Azual’s questions guided the Captain’s thoughts towards the bit of information Azual wanted, making that information quicker to extract. The Saint could have found the information in the man’s mind anyway, but it was always easier with someone who was cooperating and could be directed. The Saint could also have searched all the minds in the town for what he needed, but using that approach often invited a flood of contradictory thoughts and ideas that then had to be sifted before he could distinguish fact from fiction. Therefore, unless he wanted to learn something that was common knowledge among the People, it was far less exhausting and laborious simply to ask questions of some individual, so that the information he was interested in came straight to the top of their minds. ‘Ah, but I see you have not questioned them, Captain Hamir. Why is that?’
The Captain rubbed his unshaven chin and grimaced. ‘The physick advised against anyone seeing them, holy one.’
What was th
is? ‘Surely the boys were not in a state so fragile they could not be questioned?’ Then Azual stopped as he gleaned the answer from the Captain. He dragged the soldier back by the elbow and glared into his face. ‘Some sort of illness that can be caught? Plague!’ he hissed. ‘How is that possible?’
The Captain visibly paled as his face was brought close to the Saint’s own, with its terrible eye. ‘H-holy one, I do not know, truly! I swear it by the blessed Saviours! The two boys began to lose their hair. Then their teeth loosened. The physick whispered to me that their fingernails and toenails had also blackened and fallen away.’
‘You are sure it’s contagious? Answer me, man!’
Captain Hamir nodded. ‘The physick thinks so. One of my men who took the dead boy and the two others back to their parents fell ill with something similar. H-he is close to death, holy one.’ He paused. ‘M-might there be anything you can do for him?’
Azual pushed the man away. ‘It is not for you to ask me questions. I need to think. I see now why you treated it as so urgent to find the boy – you are looking to contain the plague. Who else knows of the contagion?’
‘All the elders, the Minister, the parents of the boy Silus, the physick and myself. That is all, holy one.’
‘Good. Make sure it stays that way. The last thing we need is panic. The numbers of people travelling from Godsend is to be reduced to a minimum. The trader is to be examined by the physick discreetly before he is allowed to leave, as are the Heroes who accompany the tithe wagons to Hyvan’s Cross. The Heroes are not to recruit any of the youth from Godsend for training at the Great Temple until you hear otherwise from me. Is that clear?’
The Captain saluted smartly. ‘Yes, holy one!’
‘And those with the contagion are kept away from everyone except the physick, yes? Their bodies will be burned. Yes, good.’ As he began to march towards the Gathering Place once more, he found the physick’s thoughts and briefly explored them. An illness with similar symptoms occurred every now and then among the very elderly in the poorer parts of Godsend, but there’d never been any sign that it could be contagious.