The Godseeker Duet

by David A Willson

  She and Mykel had left the cavern far behind this morning, running west for miles, larger mountains and peaks coming ever more into view. Flaring the health rune kept her from tiring, and the wind through her hair was exhilarating, bringing a sense of freedom that banished all worry. Right now, there was no Kayna in her thoughts, no fears for the people of the Great Land, and no questions about her destiny. There were only the wind and the sun.

  Mykel burst ahead of her, laughing, bare feet pounding the grass and soil below, then he launched himself high overhead with a powerful leap, black hair flowing behind. The magic ivory staff was strapped to a small pack on his back, and his tunic flapped in the wind as he glided above, landing in a cloud of dirt and grass, then running and leaping again. Nara grinned, then flared speed to race ahead, moving well past him. The speed rune was relatively new for her, allowing her to mimic the powers of a racer, and Mykel could no longer keep up with her on runs. Not unless she let him. She would not let him today.

  Only a few months since the battle at Fairmont Castle, since losing Bylo, and she had learned much in that time. Not just about magic but also about surviving loss. About growing up. About following Dei’s will and embracing her part in His plan. She still missed Bylo, but she was getting stronger every day, and she imagined that he would have been proud to see her grow. She was no longer his little girl but a young woman embracing her role in the world, difficult as it was.

  Nara had practiced much new magic. The most important was sight. And while she caught glimpses of what might happen in the upcoming hours or days, they were brief. More like flashes, with emotion and images intertwined.

  “You’ll get the hang of it,” Anne told her. “It will take time. Keep practicing.”

  But Nara was tired of practicing. She wanted to run.

  A few more minutes of speed pushed her far ahead of Mykel, but she slowed after reaching a high meadow that opened out over a broad valley, her breathing rapid from the exertion. A river flowed far below, winding between high peaks far in the distance. It was a beautiful sight, mountains still bearing their snow-capped peaks, drawing a clear transition between the landscape near Eastway and this stark mountainous terrain.

  “I think we’re just north of Took,” Mykel said, catching up. “There should be villages along the river in that valley.” He pointed south. “Rivers are the lifeblood of the interior, and there are always villages along them.”

  Mykel would know such things. His father taught him much about the native people of the Great Land and how they supported themselves in remote areas. “I wonder how they are faring,” Nara said. “The people down there. I wonder if Fairmont— if my sister, rather, is treating them well.”

  “I can guess the answer to that question easily enough.”

  “We should check on them.”

  “We’re supposed to stay hidden, Nara. You never know who’ll be there. We can’t risk a conflict, not until your training is complete. And you’ve just started.”

  He was right. She knew little, could grasp several new runes but wasn’t skilled with them and wasted too much energy. She tried to be efficient, but she couldn’t seem to ration her power. But these months had been enough waiting. Enough hiding. She wanted to get out in the world.

  “So, we’re just supposed to hide, to ignore everyone?” she said. “What if they need help? We’re only a few days travel from Fairmont, and if things are going badly, they would be the first to feel it, wouldn’t they?”

  “I’m game, but Anne won’t be happy.”

  “It’s her job to help me learn, not to tell me what to do.”

  Mykel shrugged.

  Nara stepped forward, passing the few trees that stood upon the high meadow, looking over the cliffs at the valley below. The cliffs wouldn’t be easy to navigate, so she traveled along the edge until she found a rough pathway that served as a safer way down. Mykel followed and as they reached the base of the cliffs, the sounds of the river drifting up to them.

  “The breakup of the ice and snow on the mountains has fed the river,” Mykel said. “It’s raging.”

  “I bet it’s cold too,” Nara said.

  “No doubt.” Mykel approached the river’s edge, slipping between some large stones to dip a foot in a swirling pool. “Ooh! It’s liquid ice!”

  Nara joined him, slipping off a shoe and putting a foot in the water next to him. The chill rose up her leg, but she didn’t withdraw. It was refreshing after the long run. “Feels good.”

  Mykel pulled his foot out of the pool and drew closer to her. She sensed his intention and pulled her own foot out, turning to face him. He came even closer, grabbed her around the waist with his right arm, then lifted her chin with his other hand. She closed her eyes as his lips met hers. Softly. Just once. “You feel good,” he said.

  She smiled. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Bitty.”

  She rested her head against his chest and held it there for a moment. His heart beat fast and loud, and she listened as it slowed. He was everything for her. And since Bylo’s death, he was the only stable thing in her crazy world. Mykel had known her for her whole life, grown up with her in Dimmitt.

  “We need to go back,” she said, her head still pressed against his chest.

  “To Dimmitt, yes. But not now. You’re not ready. You’ve learned so little.”

  “I may not be ready to fight my sister, but we can get Sammy. At least that.”

  Mykel shook his head side to side. “I don’t know. I want to, but–”

  “Then it’s decided. We’ll tell Anne tonight when we get back.”

  “Nara, I–”

  “It’ll be fine. We’ll avoid trouble, I promise.” She smiled and hugged him even closer. It was a good idea, and she longed to see Dimmitt again. They could be there in a little more than a week. Less if they ran as they did today.

  A few moments more and her heartbeat slowed, her breath no longer ragged, and she pulled away from him, slipped her shoe back on, then walked south. She didn’t want to go back to the cavern. Not yet. This had been an escape from the training, from the pressure of what she knew was ahead, and it was refreshing. She couldn’t let it go.

  They walked for about an hour before several small shacks along the riverside came into view. When they approached, however, they found nobody within.

  “Fish shacks,” Mykel said. “There must be a Nupat village nearby.”

  As they opened the doors to a shack, Nara saw the carcasses of fish hanging on string within the structures. Flies gathered on the meat.

  “Sheefish,” Mykel continued. “Big ones too. But they’ve been hanging for a while. They should have preserved them already. Something is wrong.”

  Mykel’s words sparked a touch of fear in her and Nara looked about for an enemy, scanning the riverside and the ridges above, but finding nothing.

  They walked again for a time, finally coming upon a cluster of cottages on a rise overlooking the river. A well-worn path made their approach easy, but they heard no sounds. No children were playing, nobody was working, and there were no sounds of activity despite it being midday.

  Nara picked up her pace as she approached the center of the small village. The cottages were empty and charred, and strange smells reached her nose. Burnt wood. And something else, something that wrinkled her nose and made her heart skip a beat.

  She slowed her pace, fear growing with each step.

  As she approached one of the blackened cottages, she saw items that lay scattered about the ground. A doll. A tiny wooden sword. And the horrible smell was so strong now.

  “Wait, Nara,” Mykel said, stepping in front of her and grabbing her shoulders with his hands. “This is bad. You don’t want to see this.”

  She put a hand on his wrist and looked into his big brown eyes. “When I was afraid, Mykel, I wanted to run away. But people got hurt. Died. People I love. Fear won’t stop me ever again.”

  She pushed past him and continued, approaching
the dead husk of the structure. Three of the walls were still there, but the roof was fallen. A blackened stove, its chimney collapsed in pieces about it, stood in one corner. In the center of the home, she found multiple bodies in a pile. Burnt, blackened bodies. The empty husks of human beings gathered in one place. Husbands. Wives. Fathers. Mothers.

  Six months before, she would have run from the cottage screaming and weeping. But she had seen pain up close, suffered herself, and it was no stranger anymore. It had a habit of following her. An unwelcome but familiar companion. This close to Fairmont, it was no great surprise that there would be suffering.

  She counted the corpses—three, six, nine, maybe a couple more, but she couldn’t tell because fallen pieces of roof blocked her view. She moved to lift the wreckage so she could continue, but Mykel moved past her, lifting charred beams out of the way so she could finish her macabre tally. Two of the bodies rolled away from the pile when he moved part of the collapsed wall, a crisp arm falling loose from a torso.

  “I’m sorry, Nara, I—”

  “There are eleven adults,” she said. “But no children.”

  “Oh,” Mykel said, looking back among the bodies as if he had just noticed that. “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Nara moved to the other cottages, one by one, but found no other bodies. Still no children. She walked to a clearing in the center of the village where they likely gathered for group events. She found dark stains in the dirt there. Several, all collected in one area. She reached down to touch the stains, but they were hard and crusted. Blood.

  Her heart seemed still, numb, and she shed no tears, somehow detached from the horror of the scene, as if a wall had gone up to protect her from falling apart. The protection was welcome, but while something held her emotions in check, her mind wandered on the circumstances of this slaughter. Were these people murdered quickly then burned afterward, or had someone burned them to death? She’d never heard of simple villagers being exterminated like this. Not in scripture. Nor the histories. Not anywhere. Who could have committed such acts, and why?

  “We bury them, then go south,” she said.

  He waited before answering, his hands balled into tight fists. “Other villages,” he said. His voice was low and angry. “Along this river.”

  “Yes.”

  Nara flared the earth rune to create graves on a hill above the village while Mykel carried the victims, one at a time, to their resting places. Angry at the senseless loss, Nara flared earth again to cover them over, the soil moving as she willed it. These murders were chilling but as horrible as they were, she couldn’t help but focus on the missing children. Why would they take the children?

  “It may not have been Fairmont,” Mykel said, avoiding mention of the true villain’s name. “Could be a local conflict.”

  “You don’t believe that,” she said. “And if that were true, it’s no better.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he said.

  But it was. She could have killed Kayna. There, in Fairmont castle, in the midst of the fury three months before. With the control of the king’s armor and all the power it held, she could have ended it all. Prevented these deaths, saved the children. But she’d let the monster live. And now, with little training, no plan, and no magical armor to draw strength from, defeating her twin sister felt like an impossible task.

  They moved south along the river to find a similar scene. Another village with only twenty homes, the burned corpses of the adults stacked in one cottage. Dried blood on the ground in the center of the village, and again, no children. Nightfall approached, and while they should have been getting back to the cavern, this was more important.

  “We keep going,” she said. Mykel didn’t argue.

  She had just finished burying the last of the bodies when she heard rustling nearby. From a bramble bush near one of the burnt cottages, two eyes stared at Nara. A child? She walked to close the distance, and a little one ran clumsily from the bush up a small hill but tripped on a root, falling.

  “It’s okay,” Nara said. “I am here to help.”

  As Nara approached, the child rolled over, her face full of fear. It was a beautiful native girl, no more than four years old, with brown skin and coal-black hair. Her gaunt face showed that she hadn’t eaten in days. Her clothes were dirty, and scratches covered her cheeks and forehead. Had she seen the horrors that occurred in the village? How long had she been alone?

  Nara knelt, holding one hand out. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  The girl flinched as Nara touched her hand to the girl’s cheek, then lurched forward, hugging Nara.

  Oh, sweet dear, what have you suffered?

  The wall she had been using to hold back the horrors came down, and tears came to Nara’s eyes. She hugged the child, standing with her in her arms, patting her back and stroking her hair.

  “I have you now, and I won’t let anyone harm you.”

  She turned to see Mykel standing nearby, watching.

  “What are we going to do with her?” he asked.

  Nara shrugged and hugged tighter. “I don’t know.”

  They walked south for the next few hours, the lights of Took looming closer in the distance. The girl refused to be put down, clinging to Nara as they approached the city. What would they find inside Took? If lights were lit, then people would be tending to the candles and lanterns. They wouldn’t destroy an entire city, would they? As they approached, Nara heard the sounds of life—wagons and people moving about, and she exhaled a sigh of relief.

  She stopped just outside the town wall, and Mykel came alongside her. Yet, instead of the sounds and smells of the vibrant city reaching her nose and her ears, all she could think of were the smells from the corpses earlier in the day. And the stillness, that horrible silence of the dead villages. She couldn’t free herself of it.

  Took was safe, but why? Because it was a larger town? A brisk wind brushed her face, blowing her hair back, and a seeing struck her. The suddenness of it forced her eyes open in surprise, unblinking. The images that came to her were of a village by the sea. Then she saw the mountain. The church. The harbor.

  Dimmitt.

  She saw images of soldiers with royal livery and someone in a red robe. Swords. Shields. Children were being gathered in the center of the town while screams from mothers echoed in the distance. Fathers bellowed and fought, wielding axes and sticks, struggling to defend themselves, their homes, and their families. But Nara fixed her attention on the children. Scared. So scared. Gathered together, they huddled in fear.

  Then she saw fire and squeezed the child in her arms, trying to hold back her own screams.

  3

  Yury

  It was a clear, cool day as Gwyn crouched behind a tree in the forest, her eyes focused on a boy doing the same less than a hundred yards away. At Anne’s direction, she had made the trek to this remote area in the northwestern area of the Great Land, far north of the Wastes and several days from Fairmont. Over a week of travel. To find a boy. And to save him. From what, Gwyn didn’t know. Save him and wait for Anne—that’s all she was told. It seemed foolish, but when an ancient seer tells you to find someone, you do it. Besides, spending endless days pacing about an old cavern had made Gwyn restless. She was a watcher, and she loved being on the move.

  The boy was still, quiet, and well-skilled at woodcraft for one so young–he couldn’t be more than fourteen years old. Gwyn slowed her pace more than usual to avoid alerting him to her presence. She had followed him since his departure early in the morning from Klaksha, the Roska village where he lived. He seemed to be easily distracted and a bit sloppy, rarely looking behind to assess other threats. At this moment, his focus was fixed on a creature in the clearing beyond.

  Monsters such as these wandered about the woods and plains in this area, and Gwyn had heard of them in recent days but had never seen one. They began appearing several months ago and where they came from nobody claimed to know. But every
one feared them. And they should. This boy should fear them too, and he was far too close for comfort.

  The creature had dark skin, bereft of clothing on its torso but with shredded, dirty fabric about its waist and legs. It moved while hunched over, walking mostly upon its legs, only occasionally using its arms upon the ground the way an animal would. Its eyes glowed in the near-darkness–orange, subtle, like embers from a dying fire.

  It snarled and made sounds that were like words articulated through mangled teeth, though Gwyn couldn’t make out what it said. More than an animal but less than a human, there was something fascinating about it, something that in a single moment was both magnetic and terrifying. Broken, monstrous, yet pitiable.

  She looked at it with her special sight and marveled at what she saw. It wasn’t just physically broken; its light was broken. Not brilliant and multicolored, like Nara’s, nor bright and solid like that of a gifted. Instead, it flickered, bright one moment, then dull, dark, as if its soul was somehow damaged.

  Curiosity must have overcome the boy’s fear, fixing his sights upon the strange beast when he should have run away as fast as he could. Brave for such a young one. He was of average height and had a strong frame. He carried a long, thin knife in his right hand and his grip shifted nervously, betraying an eagerness to use the blade.

  Anne had recently coached Gwyn in using her gift to look for subtle shifts that told so much more. The difference was often visible when the subject engaged in physical exertion, the light changing as the person labored. This boy would be gifted after his announcement. It wouldn’t be an elemental power like that of a flamer. No, he was a racer, perhaps. Or a bear. Something physical, but it was hard to tell. But he had no cepp, no magic, and would need more than a knife to battle this beast. A lot more.

  He stepped to one side, and the crack of the twig under his sole alerted the monster. A set of glowing eyes turned toward his hiding place. Caught.

  The pounding of the boy’s feet in a panicked retreat made it easy for Gwyn to follow him. Moving on a parallel course, the crashing of his pursuer among the bushes and branches helped to hide her own hurried footfalls. The boy would not outpace his adversary, and he must have known it because he slowed and turned, brandishing the knife and a scowl on his face. His shoulders were hunched, tense with anticipation. He intended to die facing the enemy, not running away. Brave lad.