In the Ruins

by Kate Elliott

  “Can you speak Wendish?” he said slowly, because he knew no words of Jinna. He tried out the other languages he could stumble along in. “Can you speak Ungrian? Can you speak the tongue known to the Quman? Can you—”

  “Liat’ano,” it said, lifting a hand in pantomime to shade its flat eyes as would a man staring into the bright sun.

  “Liathano! Do you speak of my wife, Liath?”

  The creature hissed, as in agreement.

  “What does this mean, my lord prince?” whispered Fulk. “How can such a monster know our names?”

  “I don’t know. How could such a creature have learned to speak Jinna?”

  “Jinna!” The creature spoke again at length, but they could only shake their heads. Impatience burned at him like fire as he wondered what this creature knew and what it could tell him. Did Liath live, or was she dead? How did it recognize them?

  “Are there any in our party who can speak the language of the Jinna?” asked Fulk.

  “Only Liath,” he said bitterly. “That’s why she took those two Jinna servants with her. She was the only one who could understand them.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Drag it back to the sea. If it can speak, then it is no mute beast but a thinking creature like us.”

  “What if it is our enemy? You see its teeth and claws. I heard the stories the ship-master told us—that it eats human flesh.”

  “It is at our mercy.” He shook his head. “It gives me hope that my wife still lives. For that reason alone I can’t kill it, or leave it to die, as it surely will, stranded here.”

  It was, indeed, no mute beast. He gestured toward the sea. He spoke his own name, and Liath’s, and Fulk’s, and gestured toward the sea again, as the creature stared at them. When they clambered down the crumbling bank and grabbed its arms, it did not fight them. It was heavy, and strange, and difficult to drag although its glistening tail slid easily over most obstacles. In the end, out of breath and sloppy with mud and ash, they got it to what had once been the shoreline. The sea had sucked well out into the bay, but they dared not walk there among slick rocks knowing that the next wave would come soon.

  “Go with the Lord and Lady’s grace,” said Sanglant. “There is nothing more we can do for you.”

  “Liat’ano,” it said again, and pointed toward the sky and then toward the ground.

  “Does she live?” Sanglant asked, knowing that the pain in his heart would never cease, not until he knew what fate had befallen her and their daughter. He had lost so much, as they all had, but he feared there was worse yet to come.

  Lying there awkwardly on the ground, it glanced toward the sea, then copied with eerie precision his earlier gesture. It waved toward the forest, suggesting haste, and said a curt word, repeated twice, something like Go. Go. It had the cadence of a warning. Surely it could sense the tides of the sea better than he could. Fulk shifted from one foot to the next, glancing from the creature to the sea and back again.

  “Ai, God!” swore Sanglant. “Come, Fulk.”

  They left, jogging across the plain. In places the tide had swept the ground clear. Elsewhere, ditches, small ridges, or other obstacles had caught debris in a wide swathe, corpses and branches and here and there a weapon or wagon wheel tangled together and stinking as the hours passed. Nothing moved on that plain. There was still no sign of life among the broken walls of the town. No birds flew, and now and again lightning brightened the clouds, followed by a distant rumbling of thunder.

  They heard the water rising before they reached the soldiers waiting for them at the edge of the forest, nervous as they listened and watched the glimmer of the sea. He turned as the rest of the troop hurried away along the road into the cover of the blasted trees. The water rose this time not in any distinguishable wave but as a great swell. He could not see the mer-creature. The light wasn’t strong enough, and the shoreline was, in any case, too far away and the ground too uneven. Like the rest of them, it would survive the tide of destruction, or it would perish.

  A dozen men waited at the verge, unwilling to depart without their prince. Without their king.

  “She must still be alive,” he said.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Fulk.

  Lewenhardt offered him reins. Sanglant mounted Fest and together the remnants of his once proud company rode into the trees.

  2

  “I looked through fire for those whose faces I know, Your Majesty, but I saw nothing.”

  Sanglant glanced toward his council members waiting on the ramp that led up into the ruined fortress. The army had settled down under the afternoon haze to lick its wounds, recover its strength, and assess its numbers and provisions. “The Seven Sleepers may have protected themselves from Eagle’s Sight. We must act as if they still live. They remain a threat.”

  Hathui shrugged. “I saw flames and shadow. Flashes of things. An overturned wagon. Falling rocks. A horse killed by a falling branch. None of it made any sense, nor could I hold any one vision within the fire. And of Liath, I saw nothing.”

  “Ai, God!” He paced, kicking up ash, and spun to face her. “Seek her at nightfall, each night, and hope she seeks in turn.”

  “Nightfall is difficult to gauge with this cloud cover and ash fall, Your Majesty. We might each seek the other every evening and never touch. The Eagle’s Sight is a powerful gift, but a man butchering a deer has more accuracy and delicacy.”

  He laughed, more in pain than amusement. “The crowns have the same failing, do they not? Thus we are spared the weight of a power too great to combat by natural means. I no longer wonder—” He swept an arm wide to indicate the heavens and the shattered forest. “—why the church condemned sorcery. See what sorcery has wrought.”

  “Liath is a mathematicus, Your Majesty. Do you mean to put her aside because she knows the art of sorcery?”

  He grinned. “I began as captain of the King’s Dragons. I have always been a soldier. If a weapon is put in my hands, I use it. And anyway …”

  And anyway I love her.

  He could not speak those words aloud. He was regnant now, but his position was by no means secure. He could show no weakness; he could possess no weakness, and if he did, if he loved unwisely, then he must conceal the nature of his desire or it would be used against him. In that way the Pechanek Quman had tried to dishonor him by tempting him with a woman’s flesh. He had come close to falling.

  “Seek her at nightfall, Hathui. Keep trying.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  He strode over to those who waited, climbed the ramp until he stood above them, and situated himself so all those gathered below or huddled within the ruined walls could hear. He raised a hand for silence, and they quieted, but it was never still. The hiss of falling ash, the crack of breaking branches in the forest, not as many now but sharp and startling each time the sound came, and the moans of the wounded ran beneath his words.

  “Cousin,” he said. “What accounting have you reached?”

  Liutgard was an excellent administrator and a wise enough soldier that she let her captains fight her battles for her. When she was younger, her husband had carried her sword as a talisman in place of her, but since his death some years earlier she had shown a disturbing tendency to take to the field herself.

  She beckoned her chief steward forward. That woman tallied their remaining forces and lines of command, about two thousand men and perhaps half that many horses remaining although strays were continually being roped in. They had salvaged provisions for about three weeks, if strictly rationed, but were low on fresh water and feed for the horses. There were not enough wagons to carry all the wounded though crude sledges could be built and the wounded placed upon those and dragged by healthy men.

  “What now, Your Majesty?” Liutgard asked when her steward had finished.

  “Yes, what now?” they asked, all the assembled nobles and captains, those who had survived.

  He was at first silent, but at length he spoke. “If fire
and ash and water have wreaked such havoc here, how badly has the rest of the land suffered?”

  Lord Wichman laughed coarsely and shouted, “Surely we have survived the worst!”

  “Hush! You fool!” said Liutgard to her cousin. “Do not tempt God! There may be worse yet to come. What do you mean to do, Your Majesty?”

  The curse of foresight had spared him, as it spared all born of humankind. It was amazing that he had once said to his father: “I don’t want to be king with princes all biting at my heels and waiting for me to go down so they can rip out my throat. I want a grant of land, Liath as my wife, and peace.” Such luxury was no longer in his grasp. If he did not lead, then this army would fall to pieces and much worse would indeed come to pass.

  “We must move out, and swiftly. This land is too devastated to support an army.”

  “What of Queen Adelheid, Your Majesty?” demanded Burchard.

  Sanglant laughed bitterly. “You and I both saw the ruins of Estriana. I think there are no survivors.”

  “Should we send scouts into the town?”

  “How can we tell when another wave may overtake any of our scouts who go down to search? If we wait for the sea to subside completely, we will suffer losses ourselves from thirst and starvation. Nay, I pray you, Burchard, we have no choice. Queen Adelheid is living, or she is dead. If she is dead, there is no help for her. If she lives, those who have survived with her will lead her to safety. Our situation is too desperate.”

  Burchard bowed his head, but he did not protest. Liutgard nodded to show she approved.

  “The Brinne Pass,” he continued. “It’s too late in the year to attempt the higher passes, but there’s a chance at least that we can cross into the marchlands and thence west to Wendar.”

  “At last!” cried Liutgard. “Home!”

  “Your Majesty,” objected Burchard. “What about Darre? What about Henry’s empire?”

  “Without Wendar there is no empire. Imagine, if you will, how far the tide of this destruction may have spread. Look at it! We do not know how distantly the deadly winds have struck or what damage they leave in their wake. The people of Wendar have already suffered greatly. If there is no succor for them, they will turn to others who will offer them surety and order. We must secure what is ours first, our birthright. When that is safe, then we shall see if my father has an empire left to defend.”

  They knelt to display their obedience, all except Liutgard and Burchard.

  “What of Henry’s remains?” Liutgard asked.

  “His bones and heart must go to Quedlinhame.”

  She sighed. He recalled her as so young and bright and spirited when they had grown up together in the king’s schola. Now she looked as aged as he felt, scarred by Henry’s ill-fated expedition into Aosta and by the events of the last two days. But she was too strong of spirit to dwell on what could not be changed. She beckoned to her steward and they spoke together before the duchess turned back to her cousin. “My steward has been overseeing the boiling, Your Majesty. She’ll find a suitable chest, and a box for the heart.”

  “So be it. We’ll camp here to tend our wounded and repair what we can in preparation for the journey to come. Drink sparingly. Fulk, send out scouts to search for water, and others to see if there is aught to be recovered from within the forest: wagons or armor, provisions, strays. Wounded. Anything. Bury the dead that you find, but we can leave them no monument and we can carry none of the dead home with us, none but my father. As soon as the king’s remains are fit to move, we will leave.”

  As the rest dispersed to their night’s bivouac, Hathui came up beside him. “What of Liath, Your Majesty? If she reached Dalmiaka, as she hoped, then she is south and east of us. We’re leaving her behind.”

  “We cannot act unless we know she lives and exactly where she is.”

  “An expedition could be sent. I would go—”

  “I haven’t strength or provisions enough to split my forces.”

  “A small group only, Your Majesty. Ten or twelve at most surely—”

  “To ride where?”

  “We can guess where she might be. A scouting expedition only. I could find a dozen who would be brave enough—”

  He gritted his teeth and she stammered to a halt, seeing his expression. “Do not pain me with these objections, Eagle. Liath is powerful enough to rescue herself.”

  “If she is injured?”

  “Then I am too far away to help her. For God’s sake, Hathui, do not forget my daughter! I have not! I do not know if Blessing lives, or is dead. If the Horse people kept their oath to us, or have killed her or enslaved her. I may never know. But we must march north. We must march now. I will not split up my army. No.”

  She met his gaze. She was a bold woman, and for that he respected her. “It is a terrible choice, Your Majesty.”

  “It is the choice that has to be made. We are two thousand here with at least a thousand horses, without enough water, feed, and food, in hostile country swept by untold damage, and with winter coming and mountains to be crossed. Our situation is dire. If we lose Wendar, we have lost everything. Liath will find us if she lives.”

  “I will pray, Your Majesty.”

  “So will we all.”

  III

  AWAITING THE FLOOD

  1

  SHE waited alone in a vast new world. For a long time she stood at the top of a ragged ridgeline, the earth smoking, hot in many places, and stared as the sun’s rising illuminated the changed landscape. Devastation surrounded her. The extent of the destruction was staggering. What remained of the old land had been stripped to rock by the force of the explosion, or vaporized by the heat, or scalded clean by the blast of a gale. West and northwest as the wind blew, a cloud of ash obscured the horizon. East and northeast the ash fall wasn’t as severe, but the ground had altered strangely, forming eerie ranks of hills one after the next, each with the same height and curve. In hollows, pools of muck stank like sulfur. Nothing moved. Nothing lived. Nothing that had once lived here existed even to decay. Right above her the sky had an odd look to it, which she recognized after long consideration as the natural blue sky.

  Only to the south, most changed, had life escaped harm. Some magic, perhaps the embrace of the aether itself, had protected the Ashioi land from the backblast of the spell. Although it had suffered from drought during its exile, it appeared rich with its living bounty in contrast to the destruction around her. To the east, the sun struggled to break free of the ashy haze but could not; it glowered, an ominous red, as it climbed.

  What to do?

  The magnitude of the destruction so overwhelmed her that she could not even weep. It was as if half of her had been blasted clean away by the cataclysm, leaving her with no tears but rather a few practical questions that really had to be answered.

  Clothes. Water. Food. Her lost companions. Sanglant and Blessing.

  The rest could wait.

  Behind her the land looked impassable. Certainly she’d not find food or drink for many a league inland. There was no telling how far the storm had blown. She doubted she’d last long once night fell and the temperature dropped. It was late in the year. There had already been snow, now burned off for as far as she could see.

  She shifted her grip on her bow and walked south toward the hills of the ancient land now returned. Ashioi country. She heard a faint horn call. From farther away, through the intense silence, a human cry shuddered, but it might have been a trick of the air. She saw nothing and no one. The heat of the ground chapped her feet, and as the morning passed her soles dried and cracked until they bled, leaving drops of blood as a trail in her wake. It was so hot, but heat had never troubled her. Thirst hit harder, and her feet hurt, and her skin stung from the ash. The spell had exhausted her. But if she stopped and could not get going again, then thirst, hunger, and weakness would defeat her, and no person born of humankind alone could negotiate this steaming landscape to rescue her, not until it cooled. And they would only attem
pt a rescue if they knew she was here, which they did not.

  Sanglant was too far away to help her, if he even lived.

  In time, the sun nosed up over the haze and reached zenith within that mote of clear sky directly above. The sun was so bright. Even the ground blinded her as she stumbled onto a ribbon of chalky white. She halted. She stood on a narrow road, bleeding onto its gritty surface. Behind there was nothing to see except empty wilderness and smoking pits. Ahead, the ground rose precipitously. Grass clung to the hill in patches. Here and there clefts and holes split the hillside like so many narrow cave mouths. At the height of the rise a ruined watchtower rose at the limit of a stand of pine trees.

  She had been here before.

  She had enough energy for a chuckle, then trudged upward, weary beyond measure. Unbelievably, he was there, waiting for her with a skin of water. He stepped out from behind the tumbled wall with a look of such surprise that she knew he had not, precisely, expected to see her.

  “Liath!”

  “Eldest Uncle! Ai, God! I’ve need of that water, if you’ve any to share.”

  “Plenty to share, as you will see.” He smiled. “The young should know better than to parade in front of the old with that which can never be regained.”

  “I beg your pardon!” She guzzled water, but forced herself to stop before she drank the entire thing. She poured water on her hand and wiped her brow. Her fingers came away black with grime. She looked down at herself. “I’m cloaked in ash,” she said, and it was true, but she was nevertheless naked even if smeary with soot. He was amused.

  “Come with me.” He gestured toward the trees.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the river, where you can wash yourself. I’ll see if I can weave a garment out of reeds.”

  The water gave her strength, but a second, more intangible force did so as well. She recalled clearly the last time she had walked through this grove of pine trees, just before she had ascended the mage’s ladder into the heavens. Then, the air had been dry and the ground parched. Now she smelled water in the air. She felt it in the greening leaves and the rash of shoots lacing green trails along the ground. Its softness cooled her skin.