by Brandon Barr
To his own surprise, he began to cry.
“Kill him,” said Pike. “Kill him now!”
“No,” said the Baron. “The boy lives.”
Pike spun around, his anger barely contained. “Why? Please give me this! I’ll do it myself.”
“I want him alive now. He will be a symbol to the farmers.”
“He’ll stir revolt, just like his parents.”
“You’ve much to learn in assessing a man. He is not a hero. He is a weak, ruined man. Not a fighter, just a simpleton. His presence will be felt among the farmers. A reminder of what can happen.”
Pike took Aven’s hair in his hands and yanked his face up. Aven stared into two murderous eyes. They told him this would not be the end between them. Pike threw Aven’s head to the side, then turned and left the room, hands clenched in rage. Rhaudius made to follow then stopped and turned.
“Boy, remember this day,” said the Baron. “No one breaks my contract and lives. If my watch hears so much as a word of dissension on your lips, I will finish what Rozmin started and, when I’m through, every friend and blood relation you have will sway from the end of a rope. I showed you mercy. I expect to be repaid.
“Show the boy to the gate,” said the Baron to the guards. “He can find his way home.”
The last thing he saw before being led from the room was a plaster wall dripping with blood. Beneath lay the former Captain of the Watch. A trail of large yellow ants had formed, crawling from the baseboard to the still body.
Winter’s other dark vision.
HEARTH
The heights of intimacy in love making are far loftier than most realize. Too many sell short one or another facet of the highest, holiest, most scintillating aspects of divine eroticism. I begin with the mind.
Think upon these: the tavern whores and their clients; the adultering man and woman; the fire-blooded youth devouring weekly a new body.
All mindless passion that merely licks the butter from the pastry. All fall short of the deepest power available. A sexuality fully invested in, and fully cognizant of, the other. To know and cherish the other’s mind is an impossible feat for the whore, the adulterer and the young firebloods; for how can one value the intelligence of the other when the very focus of their intercourse is the act of throwing the other’s brain into the wind.
-Magena’s Rules, Ch. 4, Mind and Eroticism,
Book of Intimacy
CHAPTER 4
MELUSCIA
Seated on her horse, Meluscia pushed a thick braid of carnelian red hair over her shoulder then tightened her grip on the reins.
In the distance, a thin wisp of smoke curled into the air from a cooking pit that appeared freshly dug. The bodies of twenty or so people lay strewn about the rim, the meat mostly eaten from their bones. Crows hopped about atop the corpses, picking at what little flesh the Nightmares had left for them. Behind the pit, were the homes of the dead, reduced to piles of blackened wood and ashes.
Meluscia mouthed a silent prayer to the Makers and struggled to keep her emotions inside.
“Demented monsters,” growled Captain Breccio beside her. Then his voice dipped to a whisper. “Do the Makers feel nothing? Where are the prophets and the heroes of old found in scripture?”
Meluscia turned and looked at the man’s face, surprised to hear these concerns on a soldiers lips. His eyes were fixed on the gore before them. Sixteen other soldiers were close behind, seated on their horses.
“She shouldn’t be here,” said one of them, his words a slap across the face as they addressed the Captain rather than her.
It was not the first such comment to come from this man’s mouth.
Meluscia pulled on the reins and brought her horse alongside the troublemaker. He was one of the older soldiers, around the same age as her father. A hairless scar ran across the top of his head, ending at his mangled right ear. He scowled at her act of boldness, as if looking at a defiant child.
In truth, she did feel like a girl leading men, but she dared not show it.
“If I were the Luminar’s son, would you dare to be so disrespectful?”
He lifted his chin slightly. “Your father would have your hide if he knew about this. It’s dangerous here and you can’t wield a sword to save your life.”
Meluscia held his gaze. “I didn’t come here to fight, I came here to try and save these souls. Tell me these men and women weren’t worth a little risk and a minor infraction.”
“You are Trigon’s daughter,” came Captain Breccio’s strong, but kind voice. “Your safekeeping is our charge over and above even these unfortunates.”
She turned her head back to the bodies. “I may be the Luminar’s daughter, but I am one soul. I see at least twenty lying out there.”
It was only her second time witnessing the aftermath of a Nightmare raiding party. A scout had spotted them coming out from the wastelands, and had raced to the Hold. With her father gone, having taken the bulk of his fighting forces on a month long patrol, the few soldiers who remained at the Hold were under orders not to leave.
That is, unless the Luminar’s daughter forced them to, by riding out as she had, to try to warn this solitary outpost.
“Let us bury the dead and return,” she called out, loud enough for her entire party to hear. “And since my skin is still intact, there is no need to tell my father. When I become the Luminary, I will remember your loyalty.”
A grin crossed Captain Breccio’s lips. “I damn well won’t say anything. If your father ever found out, he’d spank my ass red with the flat of his sword.”
Laughter roared from the men, and Meluscia smiled, thankful for Breccio’s humor…and his support.
Suddenly the Captain’s eyes hardened and his hand went to his sword. A deafening silence fell over the group as every head turned in the direction of the Captain’s gaze.
“A rider,” said one of the men.
“Whoever it is, they’re alone,” said Captain Breccio. “And in a hurry.”
Meluscia waited anxiously, until the rider’s face came into view. Instantly her heart twisted in knots as she recognized him, and what his arrival meant.
“It’s Heulan,” said Meluscia, she turned quickly to Captain Breccio. “Go, see to it the dead are buried. I want to be as far away from this place as possible by nightfall.”
Meluscia dismounted as the soldiers rode past her toward their grisly duties.
Heulan sprang from his horse as fast as an old man could, his balding head a welcome sight. Though he was her father’s chief attendant, he had, over the years, become as close to being a member of the family as a servant could.
“How did you find me?” asked Meluscia, greeting Heulan by gripping his strong warm hands.
He squeezed her fingers gently then released them.
“When I arrived back at the Hold and found you gone, I went straight to your father’s garrison. I may be old, but I am not forgetful. I know this isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this. At the garrison, the remaining men told me of your intentions.” His eyes drifted to the sight just over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. If only you had succeeded.”
A wave of emotion passed through her. With Heulan’s comforting presence, she might actually have the opportunity to grieve over what she’d just witnessed. But first…
“Please, I can hardly bear another moment without knowing—how did Adulyyn respond to my sending you?”
“She wants to meet with you in the underpassage, in the Gathering Hall.”
“When?”
“A fortnight from tomorrow, at the crying hour.”
Meluscia nodded. “Did she express who her favor rested upon?”
“You, My Lady. She favors you. She said she values Valcere’s military knowledge, but said she prefers a student of the histories as well as a blood heir. She also said she found your openness refreshing, and that the few discussions she’s had with you when traveling to the Hold have swayed her to your side.”
“Let me warn you though,” said Heulan. “I know Adulyyn well, from when she was merely a Lord Mayor. She has a penchant for power.”
“She seemed very forthcoming in our conversations. As if she trusted me.”
“Flattery and weaseling, I’m sure of it.”
“I’ll defer to your wisdom and experience, Heulan,” said Meluscia with a smirk. “I wish I could pick and chose my allies, but at present, I’ll take whomever I can.”
If she failed to attain the throne, tragedies like the one at her back would only continue to grow.
For her, the Nightmares were the most immediate threat to the Hold, not their southern neighbor, the Verdlands. They were not the problem.
Her father, he was the problem.
She turned to survey how the soldiers’ progress was going. To her surprise, two soldiers stood nearby, one leaning on the long wood pole of his spear, as if bored. It was the insolent old soldier with the scarred head and dangling ear.
“What are you doing here?” snapped Meluscia. “I told you to attend to the bodies.”
“The Captain told us to keep watch by you,” said the man beside the scarred soldier.
Scar face gave a smile that was half sneer and leaned his head against his spear. “Just because they laid waste to the outpost doesn’t mean they aren’t around.”
“Stand straight, soldier!” said Meluscia, coldly.
The man put his spear at his side and stood erect.
“Now, go, leave us,” she commanded. “Heulan and I will be vigilant. The more hands at work, the sooner we leave this forsaken place.”
She watched them join the others in digging, but the word she’d just spoken resounded in her mind.
Forsaken.
The true peril lay not to the south, but to the east, past the wastelands and into the kingdom that had gone dark. The Star Garden Realm. That was the true enemy of her people.
Her father, it seemed, had forgotten this. And perhaps more distressing, there was the silence of the Makers. Where were the Tongues, Healers and Seers of the past?
The divine silence goaded her.
The kingdoms of men were crumbling and the Beast of the Star Garden Realm lurked in secret, unopposed, growing in power.
CHAPTER 5
MELUSCIA - Ten days later
Meluscia pressed a knee on the stone parapet of her bedroom’s balcony and peered out from atop the mountain tower. Her light blue eyes scanned the forest far below. She could see the wide road—the jutting boulders hewn into grotesque points lining the entrance to the Blue Mountain Hold like teeth in the mouth of a cold beast. In the distance, the treetops glowed gold as sunlit dust rose from the main road, stirred by her father’s army returning from patrol. There had been one thousand and eleven soldiers before departing, with twelve women, and twice as many fatherless boys from fourteen to sixteen years of age.
It was the sight of the young men that disturbed her. She saw in their eyes the determination to avenge heroes. A father, sometimes an older brother or two. Masked on each smooth, boyish face were fears dragging like fingernails across their souls—their imagination warred between the youthful sword play of yesterday and the new reality of the Nightmares encroaching from the lands gone dark. It was that remnant of innocence that consumed Meluscia. Devoured her intimately every time she saw them. After one patrol eight years ago, she’d stood on this very balcony, a young woman of fourteen, barely out of girlhood, and watched, waiting for a particular young boy to return. He never did. Never would.
Hearth was a cruel world and war had raged like an unquenchable fire since the dawn of their history, blindly consuming men and women. Hearth, a world out of order, as the sacred writings said.
She gently fingered the leather grip of her sword. She would be twenty-three by the end of summer and, according to sword master Haruuz, though she was graceful, she was far too meek to ever be counted among the fighters. Her father insisted that if she desired to follow after him as Luminary of their people, she had to be acquainted with the sword. She would continue to learn just to please him, but it would never go beyond pretense.
She saw hope in other paths for her realm. The restoration of broken alliances and the healing of old wounds between kingdoms. It would come at the cost of her people’s pride, land, and honor, but it was honest. Persuading the people of Blue Mountain Hold to travel such a radically different road was a concern that kept her up nights. Change, she was growing to discover, was a leap from a gallows into the unknown.
But there were many things that kept her up nights—her body was housed by an anxious spirit. As much as she both cherished and feared the role of Luminary, closer to her inner heart, she feared the tradition that accompanied being a woman and a Luminary—a Luminess.
She could never marry. Such were the customs since the beginning, and only Kayia—a Luminess whose name had become a byword for prostitutes and licentious girls—had broken this chain.
Unless she forsook her responsibility as heiress, she could never experience the love of a man. Such was the duty of a Luminess. For her, it would be a hard path, feeling more and more like a curse, as her swelling passions and longings were screaming for her to surrender. A curse which, in the beginning, she believed in and embraced as good, but now, as desire wore on and her heart panged for a companion, she began to doubt
Meluscia turned back to the books lying open on the table inside her room. Sunlight warmed their leathered pages.
“Lava brains!” she cursed aloud. She hurried to shut the heavy grey curtain. The approach of her father’s army had distracted her and, unthinking, she’d exposed the manuscripts by throwing open the curtains.
They were the oldest copies of their titles in the Hold. One was thought to be an original from the hand of the unnamed woman who penned it. Such was the opinion of her friend, Scriptorian Katlel. Though if he knew his young acolyte had taken them from the Scriptorium—or worse, that she’d exposed them to the sun—the last of his grey hair would go white.
With care she placed the books in a basket lined with fox fur, then left the tower with her precious cargo, making her way down the steep staircase by shaft light above. The entire fortress-hold was but a gigantic worm tunnel of interconnected rooms woven together by cold, black passageways. Blue Mountain Hold had been hewn by many thousands of years of slow and steady expansion, by the will of Luminaries of five millennia.
She doubted whether her father, or any of the oldest servants, had explored a fourth of the vacant rooms and dormant passageways. In its high years, she’d been told the Blue Mountain Hold housed more than one-hundred thousand citizens, and that another two hundred thousand lived amongst the thirteen adjoining peaks. Five thousand full-time soldiers had protected the realm, with another sixteen thousand of the populace serving seasonal duty.
A far cry from the meager thirty thousand citizens presently in the Hold. The Hold had never recuperated from the losses suffered three-hundred years ago when it was allied with the Verdlands and the two Sea Kingdoms to fight the Beast who’d overtaken the Star Garden Realm. The Nightmares issuing forth from the Star Garden, that once friendly land, did not relent after the slaughter of her people’s armies, and the toll the creeping horrors took on her people’s minds was palpable. The forests of her land were once safe places, but now the possibility of danger was only a shadow’s reach from the mountain.
And the patrols…they were distracted by skirmishes and standoffs with the people of the Verdlands. If only their focus could be shifted to what was real; to every cruel thing slithering or stalking out of the wastelands.
Meluscia’s fingers brushed along the smooth rock walls, guiding
her through the darkest runs as she descended to the middle plateau. The walls became narrow as the light grew brighter. Finally, she ducked out of the cold mountain passage into hot sunlight, her cool skin tingling at the sudden warmth. She rolled up the loose sleeves of her velvet dress, allowing the sun to touch as much of her bare body as she dared.
Ahead of her, fruit trees fell away in long rows. A servant girl saw her and immediately gave an awkward bow from the top of a ladder within an apple tree.
“You’re hair is gorgeous, Chrisstanlay,” said Meluscia, pleased she remembered the girl’s name. She prided herself in knowing every servant’s names—even the more obscure ones she seldom saw. She had never seen Chrisstanlay in the orchard before, and where she had seen her previously working she couldn’t recall. “Please, take a basket of apples home with you and share them. Tell the orchard keeper we spoke. She’ll know.”
The girl bowed, keeping her head down, afraid to make eye contact.
Meluscia’s eyes narrowed. “Next time I see you, perhaps I won’t be in such a hurry and you can teach me how you braid your hair like that. It truly is lovely.”
The girl’s head rose a little, her eyes finally meeting Meluscia’s. “I’d be glad to,” said Chrisstanlay with a smile.
Meluscia nodded. “Until then.” She returned the smile and set off, glad to have bridged the gap between servant and royalty. Meluscia knew how the girl had done her braids but, if she had the chance, she’d let the girl teach her. Anything to connect with her people and show them their high value.
At the western edge of the orchard she came to the Scriptorium. It looked like nothing more than a large boulder on the edge of a cliff. An ancient tree coming out of the soil at the side of the boulder marked the entrance. Meluscia carefully scaled the gigantic rock, holding the basket of books in the crook of her elbow. She gripped the hand holds, never allowing her mind to dwell on the sheer cliff face just beyond the tree that towered over the lower plateau. At the top she steadied herself on the tree, then reached her hand up inside a squirrel hole and squeezed a lever. A door cracked open in the large trunk, just big enough for Katlel’s modest paunch to wriggle through.