by A J Dalton
Plague was the last thing he needed. Every couple of generations there’d be a plague in one of the regions, and whole communities would have to be sacrificed to contain it. He’d even heard a rumour that one of the Saints in the north had caught a plague and died a few centuries back. Well, that was what came of allowing the People too close to one’s holy person. Frustratingly, there was now no question of Drawing Haal and Silus to the Saviours in order to read their thoughts about what manner of magic had been manifested by Jillan. Damn the boy! How was it that he could be so elusive?
Azual was too distracted to notice the neat houses and the bowing People lining the wide road that led straight from the north gate to the central Gathering Place. He was deaf and blind to their waves, prayers and supplications. The boy had left school and been attacked. There’d been some magic and a murder, but there were none who could tell him about it … unless he got the physick to play go-between with Haal and Silus for him. He might do that later. But where had the boy disappeared to after the murder? Surely it could only be to his parents’ place. And they were Maria and Jedadiah from New Sanctuary! He felt sick to his stomach. It could not be a coincidence.
Some decades before, Azual had discovered signs that the People of New Sanctuary had been experimenting with pagan magicks. They’d kept much of what they’d been doing a secret from him because they’d discovered some way to cloud their thoughts. When Azual had visited the town to Draw the next generation of children to the Saviours, one of them had let slip certain thoughts about his parents performing rituals to increase the presence of the Geas in New Sanctuary. Azual had burned with righteous rage that this blasphemy against the blessed Saviours should be committed by some of the People from his region, and in the town square had tortured those who were implicated. When they would not give up the names of others, their defiance provoked a mindless fury in him. He put them to the sword and began to slaughter the People of New Sanctuary indiscriminately. It had only been when the Saviour to whom he was devoted had spoken to him that he’d returned to himself. The few town members who’d survived, or had been captured after fleeing the massacre, had been distributed among the other towns of the south, and New Sanctuary had been razed completely to the ground, as if it had never existed. Since then, he’d not really wanted to dwell on thoughts of the place, although it haunted his memory.
No, it could not be coincidence. Indeed, thus far, it was the only thing that he’d come across that offered some sort of explanation for what had gone on in Godsend. Instinct told him that this Maria and Jedadiah held secrets that would finally see the pagans flushed out of their last remaining hiding places. Along with their son, they held secrets that would see Azual finally gain the power he needed to become as godlike as a Saviour. At last! And it was so close now.
He quickly scanned the pattern of thoughts in Godsend and found the two in a small dwelling at the other end of the town. As he’d expected, there was little to be had from their thoughts at this distance about the night of the murder or Jillan’s whereabouts. They had to be hiding something.
‘Holy one, the elders and the Minister are at the Meeting House this way.’
‘They can wait, Captain, and will do so if they know what’s good for them. You and your men are to accompany me to the southern end of the town.’
Godsend was far less presentable in this quarter. Most of the houses, although hovels might have been a more accurate term, were built of a mixture of materials, much of which had no doubt been begged, borrowed or stolen. There was hardly a truly vertical wall in sight and no two buildings seemed to be of a similar shape or size. As a result, the neighbourhood was a maze to any save those who had grown up there.
Azual had always taken a dim view of the place. When a town allowed such poverty-stricken areas to develop, it increased the chances of crime becoming a general problem, as those who were the most desperate stole from those who were conspicuously richer than themselves, formed gangs to run protection rackets or developed black markets that would ultimately affect everybody. Such areas destroyed the cohesion of a community, and that made it harder for the People to act as one in their obedience to the will of the Saviours. And as far as Azual was concerned, the only point to keeping the People alive was to serve the needs of the Saviours and be absolutely obedient to their will. At the same time, such areas often had poor sanitation and were breeding grounds for all manner of sickness, plague included. Was it any surprise that Jillan had been bred by such a filthy and corrupted place?
Had he been replete with energy, Azual would have simply smashed through every wall in a straight line between himself and the home of Jillan’s parents. As it was, he was forced to employ a far more mundane means of navigating the maze, given that he was disinclined to tax himself reading hundreds of random thoughts in order to plot a course. ‘Captain Hamir, lead us to the home of Jedadiah the hunter, if you please.’
They reached a small cottage-like building near the south wall. Captain Hamir was about to knock on the door, when the Saint pushed him aside and forced it open. The towering representative of the Saviours ducked and moved inside.
‘What’s the meaning of—’ Jed shouted and rose from where he’d been having his breakfast.
‘Where’s Jillan?’ the Saint demanded without hesitation.
An image flashed of the boy shouldering a leather pack, hurrying out of the small home towards the southern gate. Then the image was smothered and clouded over. But Azual had seen enough.
Jedadiah went for the knife with which he’d been cutting a block of cheese, but Azual had sensed the move coming and backhanded the large bearded man, throwing him back against the wall. Maria ran from the small kitchen to her husband.
‘Take these two and hold them in the punishment chamber,’ the Saint said over his shoulder to Captain Hamir and moved back outside.
The Saint ran along the southern wall, not caring whether any of the Heroes followed, and sprang up the stairs three at a time until he reached the ramparts. Samnir was there waiting for him.
‘You! I should have known you’d be involved,’ Azual spat. ‘Yours is the worst crime of all, for you have betrayed your oath and the sacred trust of the Saviours again. Your blasphemy is deserving of the most terrible punishment! How could you do this? How dare you do this!’
Unbelievably, the Hero had lowered his spear so that it was levelled at the Saint’s chest. Even more unbelievably, it was clear the Hero fully intended to use the weapon. The temerity of this creature!
‘You defy me?’ Azual hissed. ‘I could smite you in the blink of an eye.’
Samnir feigned a yawn. ‘Then why don’t you? Or are you trying to bore me to death, you meaningless windbag?’ Then the Hero’s grey eyes narrowed and he sneered, ‘Face me like a man or not at all!’
For several seconds Azual was speechless with outrage. In his entire time as a Saint he’d never been sneered at by anyone. Was this the ghost of his father, mocking and belittling him? Would he always be haunted by his disapproving spirit? His eye bulging, Azual choked in a high-pitched voice, ‘I could destroy your mind with a mere thought!’
Samnir returned a humourless smile. ‘Actually, you couldn’t. You were not the one to Draw me, you see. I thought your conniving masters explained such things to their fawning lackeys. Of course, it would be beneath them to explain themselves to such lowly beings as the likes of you and me, eh? They would far rather keep us ignorant, as then it’s much easier to take our crops, children, blood, thoughts and very lives.’
Suddenly wary, Azual took a step back. The creature was right that their thoughts were not connected. Depleted as he was, Azual suddenly wondered if this trained soldier could actually be a danger to him – his words were certainly dangerous and intended to keep the Saint off balance. How curious that he was experiencing a certain excitement and thrill at facing this man. It had been a long, long time since he’d met anyone who could stand up to him. He felt a grin spread across his face. ‘I
shall enjoy this, blasphemer. I shall Draw you to the Saviours for the second time in your life, leaving you a mindless, dribbling idiot incapable of feeding yourself or even changing your soiled linens,’ he whispered as he drew his short sword of blinding sun-metal.
‘Come then, Saintling, and let us see how quickly I can have that other eye of yours out.’
The ball of sun-metal high above the world of the Overlords burned her sight, causing fluids to run from her eyes, and made her skin itch so badly that she wanted to pull it off in chunks. Freda sank back into the ground, where she could see again and where the dampness soothed her skin.
Although she could not sense much of what went on above her, she could tell from the vibrations in the ground that small wagons were being pushed back and forth to fill a larger one, presumably with sun-metal. A line of people was being escorted by heavier ones to another wagon. Did the Overlords mine people too then, people like Norfred’s son, Jan?
She waited, patient as a rock. At one point heavy men carrying sun-metal – weapons? – poured out of the mine entrance and began shouting angrily. The men ran in all directions, just like the crawling creatures in the ground did whenever she moved suddenly. She assumed the men were Overseers looking for her, looking to drag her back down into the mine so that Darus could hurt her. She had no intention of letting people hurt her again if she could help it. Norfred had said she didn’t deserve to be treated so, and the things Norfred had said to her would always be more important than anything anyone else said, even if they were an Overseer or Overlord.
She wouldn’t let them hurt her. Yet there were so many of them, so many. When they attacked her in large numbers, she struggled to stop them. And there was always the threat of a sun-metal weapon like the one the Overseer had used against her. Why were there so few people like Norfred and Mistress Widders? Why were most people like Darus? Was it because everyone wanted to be an Overseer and couldn’t afford to have favourites?
She sighed and waited, content to be safe where she was. After a while, the heavy men with sun-metal weapons stopped running around and returned to the mine, except for one who went to a set of … chambers above the ground. The chambers were made of regular blocks of stone and the same soft material that was used for the handles of the miners’ tools – wood, Norfred had called it. Then, several heavy men came out of the chambers and went to sit in the wagon containing the sun-metal.
She waited and then realised with wonder that the ground was becoming cooler, and that the ball of sun-metal no longer burned so brightly. The world of the Overlords was becoming darker! Maybe the ball of sun-metal was being hauled away in a large wagon, but she didn’t hear the vibration of any wheels. Then the wagon of people and the wagon of sun-metal began to trundle away from her. There was a strange four-beat rhythm accompanying the passage of the wheels, and she realised that several big creatures walking on their hands and feet were pulling the wagons behind them. The creatures were strong and uncomplaining, and she wondered what they were.
She decided to follow the wagons through the ground, hoping they would lead her to where Jan had been taken. Then, once the ball of sun-metal had completely disappeared, she travelled half in the ground and half out. It was dark like under the ground now, except for small, silver lights that allowed her to see all the space. One of the lights was much larger than the others, but it did not hurt her eyes. And there were clouds up near the lights. She wondered if they were dangerous gases like those that sometimes built up in the mines. If so, she wouldn’t want to be around if the ball of sun-metal came back, because it would probably ignite the gas and cause a terrible explosion and cave-in. She’d need to watch carefully for the ball of sun-metal, that was for sure.
She had little trouble keeping up with the wagons, for they moved slowly, but then she came up against webs of wood in the ground. She could not pass through them as she did the rock. Each web was connected to a tall pillar of wood above the ground, a pillar that had large clouds of a type of moss high above. The moss moved in the breeze and made a sort of rushing noise. She had absolutely no idea what the woody webs and pillars were, but they fascinated her.
Freda went close to one and heard the sound and felt the faint vibration of water moving in the wood. And the wood moved ever so slowly – although far quicker than rock – as if it were alive! Was it growing? She tried asking it some simple questions and listened for a response. There were shifting rhythms and patterns in the sound the wood made, which might have been a language of sorts, but she didn’t understand it. Then, when she tore through a fragile area of web by accident, there were high-pitched sounds, as if the wood were in distress or screaming. There was now no doubt in her mind that the wood was alive and capable of some sort of communication, even though it was unintelligible to her.
Unable to proceed any further through the ground without hurting the wood, she went completely above the ground. She felt slightly sickened now to think that the miners used tools made from these dead creatures, and that the Overseers built chambers above the ground using dead wood. More cruelty. Freda wondered whether the Overlords would want to use her dead body to make tools and chambers if they caught her. Imagine if they used her to build a chamber while she was still alive! It was a terrible thought.
She shuddered and realised that the continuous breeze was making her cold. She should find herself some sort of clothing, although it would always get ruined whenever she travelled through the ground. Clothing might also help to protect her skin should the ball of sun-metal ever return.
After an hour or so, the wagons pulled off the track they were following and moved into an open area among some of the wood pillars. The heavy men with weapons got down and began to issue orders to the dozen or so people they’d been escorting, most of whom seemed young, little more than children really. There were both boys and girls among the youngsters, and several of them sobbed quietly. Freda felt sorry for them, knowing that they must have been taken from their parents and would probably never see them again – it was like when Norfred had been taken from her.
Two of the youngsters were set to gathering dead wood from beneath the pillars, and Freda realised that the pillars naturally shed parts of themselves, so perhaps the miners weren’t so bad after all with their tool handles. The dead wood was then piled atop a small flame that had been created by one of the heavy men. A number of the youngsters immediately clustered around the fire, and Freda could see them shivering with the cold even from this distance.
Two other youngsters were told to bring food from the wagon, as well as sacking for beds. Then the dozen youngsters were left to settle down as a group while the heavy men moved some distance away to start their own fire. Once one of the heavy men had tethered the strong and uncomplaining creatures to a wooden pillar and fed them with grain poured from a bag, he joined the other five men and entered the murmured conversation.
Moving as stealthily as she could, hunkering down like a boulder whenever anyone looked her way, Freda came in among the wagons and took some of the sacking to serve as clothing for herself. Then she moved back among the wooden pillars and around the clearing until she was close enough to the heavy men to hear what they said.
One of them with a pipe clenched between his teeth was saying, ‘Big as Saint Goza hisself, I heard it were.’
‘And with skin as hard as rock too, so hard it turned back Altor’s sun-metal spear,’ said a thin-faced man with a large hairy mole on one cheek.
Were they talking about her? Freda wondered.
‘Ain’t heard of nothing that can stop sun-metal,’ said the eldest of the men, who was cutting himself pieces of something to chew on every now and then.
The youngest, whose face was free of stubble, nodded. ‘Apparently, it was sun-metal that did for the old pagan gods.’
There was a moment’s awkward silence, and Freda feared they had sensed her presence.
‘You ought to know better than to talk of the pagans, boy,’ the pipe said by
way of reprimand. ‘It only attracts their attention, you know. You may not have seen any in your time round here, but they used to be thicker on the ground than the trees. I dare say there’s more than a few of them still lurking in the caves and other dark places of the north.’
‘Aye,’ agreed the one who’d fed the strong and uncomplaining creatures. ‘And don’t forget this region was sacred to them pagans ’cause of their rock god. They say you could go walking and just pick up sun-metal, diamonds, any type of precious rock you wanted straight from the ground. Where there were lots of ’em, the stupid savages would set up a shrine to the rock god instead of mining anything of value. No wonder the pagans were no match for the Empire, eh?’
The youngest’s jaw dropped. ‘Serious?’
‘The point being, boy,’ the pipe sighed, ‘that this place was always important to the pagans and one of their gods, so the less said about them the better, see? We don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention while we’re out here with just ourselves and some green kids.’
‘Truth be told, mind, a bit of action wouldn’t go amiss,’ the eldest observed. ‘I may have a sword, but I haven’t had to use it in years. See, a lot of the shine has gone from it, even though it is sun-metal. Needs coating in pagan blood to bring it alive again. All we are, lads, is a bunch of nursemaids for wagonloads of kids who can’t even make toilet on their own.’
‘Big Harold can’t make toilet on his own either.’ The mole-faced man sniggered, making most of them smile.
Big Harold, who up until now had been too busy drinking something foul and reeking to say anything, lowered his bottle and burped fragrantly. ‘’Strue! Sometimes this awesome body of mine gets the better of even me. Still, at least no one would say I was too ugly to be a nursemaid, eh, warty?’
Mole-face’s smile dropped. ‘It is not a wart!’