The Fall of Ossard

by Colin Tabor

  That afternoon, I let Sef tend to his own business, while I finally got some sleep. I fell into bed exhausted, lost to slow and bitter tears.

  I wept for my missing daughter, who I loved so very much, but also for my husband, a man I’d once loathed, but now longed to see. Eventually I drifted off and found some respite. I needed that, that moment to rest and gather my spirits.

  When I later awoke it was midafternoon. I could have so easily just rolled over and closed my eyes, but instead I got up, planning to check on my parents.

  I walked the short distance, leaving Kurt behind in his quarters above the stables to watch over the house.

  I planned on a quick visit, one done to see how my mother was coping with all that was going on. It was there that I was when the news came, news that changed everything.

  Everything…

  I sat with my parents in their sitting room where we played at polite conversation and pretended that all was well. We talked of many things, but nothing of consequence, while we ignored the obvious topics of my stolen family, and the city, divided, burning itself slowly to the ground.

  Then Sef arrived.

  He burst in through the front door like a clap of thunder, earning a squeal from a maid. My mother opened her mouth to reprimand him, the help, but then she saw his obvious bewilderment. Instead, she asked, “Sef, whatever is it?”

  He looked to me while holding up a hand as he caught his breath. Finally, he said, “The followers of the new saints have proclaimed a fourth!”

  And the wail of horns sounded in the distance.

  I stood, shaking my head.

  He went on, “He’s been named in the burning port, where his faithful are armed and dangerous, and readying to march to war!”

  My heart faltered; armed and dangerous? He couldn’t mean…

  And a second set of horns blared in answer, sounding from somewhere much closer. The traditional instruments evoked images of the battle-scarred plains, lakelands, and deep forests of Fletland.

  Sef forced it out, “It’s Kave! The Heletites across the river are claiming that he’s one of the new saints!”

  I gasped.

  “There’s more; they’re raising an army of Kavists, and they’re on the other side of the Cassaro rallying their Flet brethren to war!”

  My father gaped in horror. “If you go, Newbank will be defenceless!”

  I said, “You can’t, Kurgar has banned crossing the river.”

  Sef shook his head. “They say the Guild has retracted the ban. Regardless, fighters are already being ferried across!” His voice quaked with excitement, at once fearful, but also euphoric.

  “Proclaimed amongst the new saints? Sef, is this a trick, or are they willing to allow any faith into their reformed church? Will Schoperde be next?”

  And that was when I noticed the air’s growing edge.

  Sef shook his head, as veins stood out at his temples, and bulged about his neck. His eyes sparkled with excitement, while spittle flew from his lips. “Look into the celestial, look and see!”

  My perception dipped into that other world, and there it was; the change I’d felt. Divine blessings were again about.

  He called out the truth, while his hands clenched into trembling fists, “A rain of blessings! It’s true! We’re raising an army to reclaim the city!”

  With his soul energised, I wasn’t going to be able to stop him. Still, it was a chance to cross the river. “Sef, you’re free to go, but you need to take me.”

  “No! This is a sacred duty, a pilgrimage!”

  “I just need you to help me cross the river. Once done, I can search for Maria and Pedro behind your faithful line. Sef, you’ll be free of me to do what you need. I won’t have you mind me.”

  He wanted to refuse, and started to shake his head.

  I glared at him, making it plain there was only one answer I’d accept.

  In the end, desperate to get going, he gave in. “Alright, but I can only guarantee your crossing. On the other side, I won’t be serving you, but Kave.”

  My parents rose to protest, but we left them.

  Sef and I hurried towards the river, from where cheers rose along with the wail of horns. We spotted Cherub on the way, the big Flet greeted Sef by taking him into a great bear-hug, the two of them sharing their euphoria. I was all but ignored.

  Moment by moment, they were both becoming more distant to me, and well and truly focused on the task at hand - Kave’s task.

  Thousands of Flets crowded Newbank’s river shore, the mass thickest by the bridge. They cheered a group of Kavists at their heart, the big knot numbered in the hundreds. From there the warriors waited to cross the Cassaro by way of a dozen boats that ferried eager loads to the edge of St Marco’s Square. The landing Kavists wasted no time on arrival; they climbed the river-wall, waved their battle colours, and drew their weapons.

  Yet if Newbank presented a spectacle, the city-side did doubly so. On that other shore, tens of thousands of Heletians cheered a gathering of a couple of thousand devotees to Kave - they new, fearless, and raw.

  The Flet Kavists arrived to be embraced by their Heletian brethren. They gathered to kill together, to shed blood and battle, yet on their faces played nothing but joy.

  Watching it, I couldn’t doubt that Kave sanctioned this. His warriors held his glory in their eyes and his strength in their arms. Kave was of the new saints, and with that acceptance came a realisation; in the end, despite how honourably combat might be conducted, it was nothing but bloody violence with death at its core.

  Death…

  I’d been blinded to the truth by a childhood awash in tales that celebrated the bloody defence of Fletland. Somewhere in all that, while the defence was necessary, my people’s culture had become twisted so that we revered the bloodshed and tragedy, instead of the life it sought to protect.

  Today, the god of battle had come to Ossard and raised an army, and now he’d go on to expel the Inquisition. Kave didn’t do it because it was just, but because he wanted people dead. It was simple greed, nurtured and driven by the divine addiction of soul-feeding. He was in league with Death because of it, or more so, the great and mighty Kave was Death’s bitch.

  I was appalled.

  Truly, the goddess of life had no allies, and now the divine war spoken of in the Book of Truth had come to rage openly on my own home’s streets. And worst of all, Death would win here too.

  Unless someone stood against it.

  But how could you do such a thing without bringing more death - the very prize the war-gods sought?

  It seemed like a riddle, something frustrating and confusing, and for an answer I only had hope.

  There had to be others willing to make a stand?

  In a city that found its nights haunted by the sombre notes of Schoperde’s Song as surely as its days came veiled in smoke’s grey, there had to be more than a few souls who shared allegiance to the goddess of life. If they were out there, I’d have to find them.

  That realisation stirred another, one built of chilled whispers.

  Grandmother hung close by.

  I’d still not talked to her. Now, while being put into a boat with Sef and Cherub, didn’t seem ideal, but it’d just have to do. So I passed my perception from one world to another.

  I called into the celestial, “Grandmother!” And thus began my search.

  Her cold blue spirit, gaunt and neglected, soon appeared. It seemed she was always close by. Long strands of spectral hair stormed about her illuminated face, rising like a halo in contrast to the dark pits that were her eyes. It gave me caution, especially after sighting her other halo.

  Faint enough to be almost missed, scores of skulls circled her with each of them joined to her by a thin, silvered chain. They stared at me, and in an instant I knew them; it was the chorus of whispered voices I’d so often heard, the innocents who’d perished with her at The Burnings.

  What had she become?

  I’d been told that s
he’d once been a caring woman, wife, widow, and mother, but that was a lifetime ago.

  She was changed.

  I looked into the deep pits that should have held her eyes, but they only gaped darkly at me. “Greetings, Grandmother.”

  She gave a curt nod. “And to you, Granddaughter.”

  “You’ve watched over me all my life, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” She smiled afresh, but in the blue hues of the celestial, such a thing held no warmth.

  “I’m no Cabalist.”

  She nodded. “I’d hoped you were, but it’s not to be.”

  “I’m aligned to the gods, to Schoperde.”

  Her smile faded. “I’m surprised.”

  “Why?”

  She sneered. “Because I thought Schoperde only took virgins, and not sluts who gave themselves away at the first sign of a gifted drink!”

  The comment hurt, but I didn’t reply.

  She waited.

  I said, “I don’t have time for insults.”

  She studied me and then relented. “I apologise for the slight.”

  “It’s alright, I’ve greater burdens.”

  She nodded. “I’ve been here a long time and it’s not been easy.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  Again, she nodded. “This would’ve been easier if you’d been a witch, but I guess I have to live with that.” She sniggered at her own joke. “And of Schoperde as well! A pleasant calling, but with no real power.”

  I waited.

  She shrugged, a movement that stirred her haunting skulls. “Juvela, I’m more friend than foe. Over time I’ve lost my chance to be reborn, but I can wander, yet this realm isn’t safe. I can’t survive it by myself. I need to stay near you.”

  “Me?”

  “Don’t act surprised, you know that you’re special - you’ve had a whole morning of your hulking bodyguard telling you that very thing. He’s right. Your soul is old and powerful, and being near it gives me sanctuary.”

  “How?”

  “Your untapped power keeps the sad predators of this place at bay. They hunger for it, but it’s so strong and pure that it’s poisonous to them, and that keeps them back. Me, perhaps because of our shared bloodline, I can get close and shelter in your soul’s glare.” Her face fell into a grim smile, something ominous. “And for that I’m grateful, it’s given me a lair.”

  Her words chilled me.

  “Juvela, only one thing overrides my concern for you, and that’s my hunger for revenge. I want to kill that dog, Anton, and as many of his brethren as I can. I want to drag him from the mortal world and torment him, I want to shred his soul and twist it, I want to curse it and piss in it, and then I want to scatter its ruins to the feeders and see him lost to Oblivion!”

  “It’s true that he’s a man with blood on his hands, but my priority is my family, then my people, and then my city. Do you understand?”

  Reluctantly, she nodded.

  I regarded her. “Will you hinder me?

  She shook her head, setting the skulls about her to shift and their empty eyes to flash. “Juvela, I’ll work with you.”

  And that would just have to do.

  My perception returned to the real world, where I found myself packed between Kavists on our cramped river crossing. The men and women about me were restless, some talked quietly while others prayed. A few glanced at me with questioning looks, but most accepted me, knowing of my respected family and having heard of my part in the opera house raid.

  Our boat reached the opposite shore to grind against the river-wall, as Kave’s newest followers called out greetings from above.

  Sef went up first, then me. I waited beside him for Cherub, uncomfortable amidst a crowd of blessing-drunk Heletians. Watching them in this exuberant moment, I couldn’t help but wonder at how many of them had spent the previous day looting Flet homes.

  I slipped part of my perception into the celestial to see this strange moment in both worlds. The darkness of the void didn’t show in that double vision, only the luminescence of souls and magic.

  The glowing bolts of the first blessings that had initially energised the Kavists, Flet and Heletian, had now faded away. The battle god had finished bestowing them, but now prepared to gift a second wave.

  Scores of deep blue lights began to race across smoke-dimmed skies. They only got faster as they sought out the souls of a select troop, and then, one by one, they found them.

  The gifted power set the hearts of the chosen racing, crazing their minds, and flushing their eyes red. Of all the blessings I’d so far witnessed, this one came promising to be the most violent. In it Kave bestowed nothing but bloodlust, anger, and the hunger to see all life bowed. This was his blessing of ultimate glory; to be made, for a time, one of his Berserk Guard.

  His so-blessed warriors drew their weapons, arched their backs, and growled out deep and loud battle cries.

  The Kavists about me cheered their honoured fellows, while Flets continued to climb up the river-wall, and into the arms of their Heletian counterparts. They sang and cheered together, lost in their strange joy. Watching it all, I wondered if the Inquisitor had any idea of what would soon be coming for him.

  Soon enough, their cheers began to fade and give way to a rising chant. It boomed rhythmic and rough, banged by fist on armour. It rolled out to dominate the river districts with its simple tones, and in it Kave’s faithful prayed for success, honour, and yet more power.

  Standing amongst them, I could only wonder what such a large gathering of cultists could do when so blessed. Surely they’d take the city - after all they had the numbers, skill, and the backing of the god of battle.

  How could they fail!

  I fell back from them to find some space amidst the gear of a nearby cart. Sef and Cherub didn’t even notice; they were lost in their exuberance as they waited to work Kave’s commands.

  Sadly, I realised that this was where Sef and I parted ways. Today, his loyalty to Kave overcame any coin my family could offer, and even our deep bonds of friendship. If Kave was to stand amongst the new saints, then Sef as his priest would stand with him, but I could not.

  Such thoughts only fed a growing sense of loneliness.

  About me, the voices of the Kavists rang out heavy as they began to punch at the sky. They sang out simply, using a small cycle of words, with most of it lost in the roll of their verse, except for the last; die!

  The Flet Kavists had now all reached St Marco’s, seeing the force complete. At the same time the chorus climaxed with a thunderous cheer.

  They formed up on the riverside road and began to cross the square. I walked behind them while scrying the nearby buildings, seeking for any sign of my family. After me came a much larger crowd, the faithful of the new saints. While none of them cursed me, I could read their many thoughts, “The Forsaken Lady!” And for most of them I remained a symbol of ill-favour.

  It was a contradiction for me to be there, perhaps even dangerous, but the Kavists seemed to have accepted me, so, grudgingly, the greater crowd let me be.

  Again I trod the streets of Ossard surrounded by space.

  Again I was alone and outcast.

  Then something brushed my arm.

  It was maddeningly soft, like a down feather, but also chill. I turned and saw nothing, yet knew that was wrong. A moment later, the celestial gave me the answer.

  My grandmother haunted beside me, unseen by the surrounding crowd. She smiled, a genuine thing this time, it taking away the unease of our earlier conversation. Now her eyes weren’t dark pits, but there to sparkle as if full of life. “You won’t walk alone, my dear, not if I can help it.”

  The Kavists began their march to cross St Marco’s Square.

  At their front surged those blessed to be berserk; one hundred of Kave’s chosen. They moved about, restless, and on the verge of charging to Ossard’s distant heart. Behind them came the rest of their brethren; the new Heletian converts, and the more seasoned Flets. A comma
nd of Kave’s senior priests led those ranks, it almost exclusively Flet.

  The command stood tall and determined, with battle banners rising from where they were strapped to their backs. All of them wore well-crafted armour, and brandished fine blades, a few of them even wielded blessed weapons licked by running flames.

  St Marco’s church loomed on the far side of the square in challenge, despite its ruined belltower.

  Kave’s command stopped in front of it, and began to climb its rubble-strewn steps. Its great double doors slammed shut at their approach, the churchmen inside sending one of their number sprinting away from the building’s rear.

  None of the Kavists cared.

  Seig Manheim reached the top of the steps to the cheers of his warriors and the broader crowd. He raised his hands for quiet, the motion flexing his thick arms; more than any he spoiled for battle. “We march on the Cathedral, and to take back the Malnobla for the people. From there we expel the Inquisitor and his dogma of hate!” His banner rose on a fresh breeze, its navy field opening to reveal a golden fist.

  The Kavists raised their weapons and cheered, something made louder by the roar of the crowd. The berserkers, trembling and drooling under the pain of divine restraint, added a series of battle cries before loping towards the avenue that would take them to the Malnobla.

  Seig cried, “For Kave!” And bounded down the stairs.

  I followed the Kavists, while the crowd also began to rouse. Behind me, many of them paused to pelt St Marco’s with loose cobbles and rubble from the belltower. The mob outnumbered the Kavists, perhaps by as many as five to one.

  If the Kavists were an army, then what was it that followed them?

  The tall windows of St Marco’s became obvious targets. The tinkle of rocks punching through the rare coloured glass peppered the square, all of it followed by the ugly chime of the precious shards falling to shatter. Before long, someone hurled a ball of burning rags through one of the broken windows. By the time my own boots found the avenue, the windows loomed as gaping holes that spewed thick smoke.

  The Kavists marched unchallenged. In the distance, through the haze, we could see the lone figure of the churchman who’d fled to carry a warning. He was halfway there.