by Colin Tabor
Being immune to their heat - and still dizzy after the Moonroot - I’d been thinking of them just as balls of light. Behind me, I’d just set a very short fuse for something at the heart of the Loyalist district, and that something would become a firestorm.
There was no time to think of clever plans, or how to deal with anything other than getting away. At least with the alarm being raised people could seek safety, and that gave me the seed of an idea; was this the way to get the Loyalists out of the city?
I was closing on St Marco’s.
Behind me the avenue crowded with Loyalists calling out abuse and launching a hail of uprooted cobbles, and somewhere between hunted Lady Death. Despite it all, my spirits rose.
I was getting closer to Newbank!
I saved a few of my flaring stones, throwing the rest into alleys and onto roofs. I didn’t want to create hardship for people, far from it, but I needed to sow confusion.
Finally, I reached the square to stumble past St Marco’s Church, the sad building standing blackened and ruined. I could feel the spectral gaze of the priests who’d perished within it upon me; they’d been marooned there. They offered no particular blessing or curse, now being of the celestial, they knew the truth of the city.
For them I whispered a warning of the darkness to come. I also shared my hopes, that in their own way, they might intervene to influence the Loyalists behind me.
I crossed the square, making for the bridge. Behind me the avenue flared and flashed as the new fires grew in their rage. The streets about filled with people, not just because of the rising flames, but also roused by the news of Anton’s apparent death.
The bridge ahead, despite the numbers of Reformers and Flets coming and going across the Cassaro, had yet to be repaired - even in a temporary way. I walked along what was left of it until I came to stand at its charred end. It left me looking across a wide gap to Newbank.
It was then that I heard her, “I claim this soul for Mortigi!”
And as I spun about, I felt a burning sting above my hip.
So close to home and now this!
Her intended stab became a cut, winding around my body with my turn. She lost her grip on the knife with my movement, its handle now slick with blood.
Somehow I ignored the pain, instead growling, “Why can’t you just let me be?”
She froze, surprised at my lack of response to the wound and taken aback by my rage.
Blood trickled down my side in fat lines. The wound hurt with all the venom of the Pits, but right now, under the waning influence of the Moonroot, my anger took precedence.
She taunted, “You’ll never see your family again!”
I didn’t need any more reasons to get wild with her, but she seemed determined to give them.
She went on, “The ritual’s at dawn, and the night’s already well past its mid. Before the sun clears the horizon they’ll be dead!”
I’d had enough, so I gave in to my fury.
Unarmed, I reached into the celestial to try and weave a casting to stop her, something that would leave me free to go. She was powerful - a favoured high priest - so I knew I’d need to draw a lot of magic through to overcome her. I began that task, that manipulation, but straight away I realised that something restricted my power.
The Moonroot!
What I’d done before - of igniting gravel and summoning wind of the elemental - hadn’t required much effort, but what I needed now demanded a whole lot more. Simply, the Moonroot blocked it.
Back in the real world, she drew a fresh blade.
I had to do something, anything, but I’d only have this one chance.
And so my power bucked!
I might not have been able to drag power through to stop her mortal form, but I could still work things in the celestial. Great tentacle-like limbs unrolled from my soul’s core lashing out to ensnare her own. With a violent jerk they sought to overcome her.
Back in the real world she started and gasped.
I raised my flaring fists to rest them on her shoulders, the light of the near molten stones held within them made my fingers glow red and showed the shadow of bones. Apprehensive, she tried to wriggle away from the heat, so I hissed, “She’s scared of the light!”
She whispered, “What are you?”
And for an answer, I unleashed myself upon her.
My celestial limbs tightened again, flexing and constricting to open tears along her soul’s core. I upped the pressure to send her soul-stuff to bursting out, spraying off into the chill depths of the void.
Some of it hit my own soul. It felt good; the taking of power. It reminded me of the high I’d gotten from my followers, but this came more intense and pure.
Lost in that rising rush, I found myself working to take in more of her soul-stuff as it escaped. Finally, overwhelmed by the euphoric sensation, I found myself tearing open her soul to sup at her - her very existence.
In the real world I sighed, it rising into a wail, and then into Schoperde’s Song. I sang it like it’d never been sung before, setting waves rushing out along the river, celestial sparks to flash and flare, and great coiling bolts of power to roll around me.
The Loyalist crowd coming into St Marco’s kept back, many screaming in fright. At the same time, Lady Death’s voice hissed out of her ruin as a long and mournful sigh. She’d be dead in moments, and not because of the lightning coursing through her and me, but because her soul was nearly gone.
Oblivion waited.
And then it was done.
Sated, I returned my perception to the real world.
It was hard to focus, to concentrate, to even breathe after experiencing such a thing.
So, I confessed to myself, that was soul feeding…
The taking of someone’s soul until they died…
Every sense in me sung, my body tingled, the knife wound had healed, and my head spun.
By all the gods, I wished I’d never done it!
Having tasted it, I knew I’d have the urge to feed again, and its lure would forever be hard to resist. What I faced was nothing short of the temptation of Death’s addiction. If I gave into it, I’d be failing not only myself, but also the cause of Life.
In front of me, Lady Death’s body fell crumpled and wasted to the scorched boards of the bridge.
I still sang the Song of Sorrow, but it certainly wasn’t to mourn her. I wondered at that; maybe it was because of my own loss of innocence.
What had I done?
That was when I noticed the crowds gathered in Newbank. Most of them were Flets seething with anger, riled by the accusations of murder called out by Loyalists.
In so many eyes - on both sides - burned a mindless lust for revenge. Their anger was fuelled by their bloody-minded gods, and for no good reason but to service their own divine addictions.
If I was to have a part in unseating them from their heavenly thrones, I’d be glad of it. I’d do it even at my own cost if it would bring their whole order crashing down so Schoperde could start afresh.
Above the roar of flames, yelled abuse, and my own singing, I heard others join my song. It reminded me that there was - as there always should be - still hope.
Hope.
I still had to save my family, find the innocent, and then lead them to safety. Despite all the hatred, some love remained.
The crowd of Loyalists in St Marco’s glared in anger, blaming me for Ossard’s ills, but I didn’t care. Further along the river towards the port, mobs of Reformers spilled into the streets, armed, and coming to meet them. I then turned to look upon Newbank where tens of thousands lined the riverbank. Over there were all sorts; some who hated me, others who feared me, and my own people led by Baruna.
She had them gathering at the other end of the bridge where she stood at its charred end. It was they who sang, joining with me to call me home.
I could see others standing amongst my enemies on all sides looking on in wonder. They were almost convinced.
&nb
sp; To the roar of my people, I stepped out from the charred planks of the bridge to walk across the void to Newbank.
I knew without question where my power was coming from now; my people. I couldn’t deny it.
Today the world would change.
I whispered to Schoperde, “Your daughter is born.” And I prayed to her; may my family be waiting while Marco watches over them, and may Sef, my most loyal friend, also be safe.
Oddly, using my celestial senses, Marco didn’t seem to be there. In checking the bond I’d established between us, I realised that something was amiss.
I let the glowing stones drop from my hands to fall into the river below. With my crossing all but complete, I then took my first step onto the Newbank side of the bridge’s scorched boards to be greeted by fresh cheers.
Baruna took my hands. “It’s so good to have you back.” And my people parted so we could pass through.
Their happiness was uplifting, giving me another high. But the sensation reminded me of a new and aching hunger I harboured - for soul-feeding.
24
Liberation
The crowd parted so I could move ahead, many held torches, others lanterns, and even a few clutched at candles that dribbled hot wax. My people; they’d waited for me, knowing that I’d return.
They had faith.
But with my return came the city’s fall, and our exodus could no longer wait. By sunrise Newbank would be swarming with Loyalists and be at the heart of the city’s woes. The city of Merchant Princes was gone, as was the Inquisition’s short-lived pious empire, for now came the dark days of Death’s Ossard; a bleak and ruined boneyard of violence and decay.
Beyond my people stood so many more. Most of them cheered at the sight of fresh fires across the river, some with wicked grins, but there were others who prepared to face the Loyalists with all the dignity that our ancestors had mustered to meet the fury of the genocide.
So this was Ossard’s end …
I said, “Let those who want peace and to survive the fall of the city follow, for soon we’ll be ready to leave - after I’ve attended to my family.”
Baruna nodded.
Sections of the crowd whispered about us; word had spread of the link between the kidnappings and Kurgar. I could see groups arguing, some not quietly. The news seemed to have split Newbank. Some didn’t believe it, but others did, remembering a slow stifling of the peaceful faiths by a Guild always blaming the need for secrecy.
My own followers crowded deeply around, perhaps as many as a thousand. About them thronged many more who’d come to see me for themselves. It was these souls, I realised, that I had to win over to make a difference, to salvage something from the coming fall of the city.
With every step, using my footfalls as a rhythm, I burnt a little of my power; that which I’d gained in consuming Lady Death. Pulses of it rolled out through the celestial to break upon the crowd’s souls like the surf on a beach. For my followers it came as a blessing, for those unsure of their allegiance, a whisper of truth. To the remainder, who’d already given themselves to Death’s gods, it washed over them as if they lay under the waterline, buried beneath slime and weed.
I walked along to feel a returning flow. Most stood strong in faith, others like Baruna thrummed with extra illumination. This was the beginning of something; not just hope, but a new age.
I said, “The Loyalists are claiming the Inquisitor dead and blaming the Flets for it. They’ll try for vengeance by coming into Newbank, but it’ll leave their backs unprotected.”
“And you think the Reformers will take advantage?” Baruna asked.
I nodded. “They already are, and then they’ll move onto their ritual. We must be quick.”
She said, “We have a lot to take.”
“I still need to get to my family, and what of Sef; I saw him attacked?”
“Sef lives, but is wounded. He’s waiting at the crowd’s rear.” She smiled. “Almost everything is arranged, for now the only thing we need to do is fetch Marco and your family.”
“Thank you.”
My followers formed a path, and at its end waited Sef with one of his arms bandaged.
I smiled. “Are you alright?”
“I’ll be fine; they got some steel into me, but it was the club to the head that dropped me.” His own smile softened, “I’m glad you’re back.”
I nodded.
He looked to the other shore as the warmth drained from his face. “And now comes the fall?”
I followed his gaze. “Yes.”
Our coach waited with Kurt atop it; I got in, Sef beside me, and finally Baruna. She said, “Marco hasn’t sent any word, and people are talking openly of Kurgar’s involvement. If the Guildmaster has heard, he may’ve tried to move them.”
He would’ve heard. The master of the Flet Guild could hear any of Ossard’s gossip, and this was certainly a matter close to his heart. I said, “We’ll go straight there.”
Sef gave the panel a knock, seeing Kurt get us started.
Baruna said, “Others will follow to help, while yet more will see to getting our people out of the city. I’ve told them to get beyond the gates by dawn and to take any who are willing with them. I’ve also sent some to collect your parents and their maids.”
“Thank you, Baruna.”
Sef looked to me. “Your power has grown; what happened over there?”
“I’m awakening. They’ve all spoken of me as though I’m something to fear - and for the first time I believe them.” And, I sensed, the effects of the Moonroot had finally waned away.
Baruna smiled.
“Anton told me some things of note.”
Sef asked, “And you trust him?”
“Whether he meant to help or not, he told me some truths thinking I’d soon be dead. I’ll tell you the details of it later, but the core of what he said was why they want me destroyed and the consequences if they failed. He also told me of the only other to survive their hunt.”
Sef asked, “Another avatar?”
“No longer an avatar, but awakened.”
“Who?”
“Dorloth of the Gargoyles.”
Both of them stared.
“I don’t know how, but maybe she can help.”
They looked to me, too stunned to answer.
“Anton also told me that I’m not a power like those above, I’m something new. Schoperde birthed me, and others like me, to replace the old generation who’ve been overcome by their greed for souls. I’m part of a second chance.”
Baruna asked, “What second chance?”
“Life’s second chance - and its last.”
Sef’s eyebrows arched.
I explained, “Schoperde birthed the old gods to look after the races of man, but they’ve become addicted to feeding on the souls of those they’re supposed to protect. Together they’ve grown so strong that they’ve blocked her attempts to raise new gods, gods that won’t succumb to that same addiction. It’s a battle that’s gone on for thousands of years and left her drained.”
The coach slowed as we moved deeper into the slums. The afternoon and much of the night had passed since the Inquisitor’s men had mounted their raids. Some of their fires burnt on, but the smoke wasn’t as thick. The bulk of what now drifted about was being blown from the growing inferno raging across the river in the Loyalist district.
The streets of the slums held a scattering of traffic and also some crowds. True, it was late, but there were relatives to check on and also news wanted of the chaos unfolding across the river. An undercurrent of fear, bitter and sharp, also haunted the night; it came from the rumours concerning Kurgar.
The road only grew narrower the deeper into the slums we went. Soon enough we had to leave the comfort of the coach and take to the dirt lanes on foot. All about us people hurried, many openly wearing the symbols of their true faiths; those first subverted by the Church, and then by our own guild.
Taking in the atmosphere, I imagined that the
Flets living in Old Wair-Rae had once also gathered in such a nervous air on the eve of Def Turtung. Then, the Lae Velsanans had turned against their former slaves after a generation of granted freedom, scared by my people’s growing wealth and success.
For all of us, either living two centuries ago in the Fourth Dominion or today in Ossard, we stood at the cusp of our judgment. It was time to stand for our truths.
We hurried on through the slum’s alleyways heading through the maze. After passing a few more turns we’d be at the tower, and I could feel my power rising with my expectations.
We were so close!
My concerns also rose. I couldn’t communicate with Marco; his soul felt wrong.
I led, then came Sef and Baruna, and behind us walked a dozen of my followers. Unlike the streets we’d just passed through, the deeper we went into the heart of the slums the more deserted they’d become. The dark ways narrowed more and more to stand tall and ominous.
I whispered, “Let’s be careful.”
The alleyways lay quiet, even the open sewers dared not sound a trickle or gas a bubble.
I slid my perception into the celestial to search for Marco.
His soul was there, yet something was wrong. It glowed alive and beaming, but from it stretched a luminous trail that raged like billowing smoke in a gale-caught fire. Sparks also leapt after it to add to his shed soul-stuff, all of it burning off into Oblivion.
I hissed, “Wait!” And we stopped only one turn from the tower.
Nothing seemed to be lurking about his soul, and it didn’t seem to be ensnared by any kind of casting. I also looked to the tower where its celestial presence loomed dull and lifeless. I reminded myself that it’d looked that way before, no doubt masked by some kind of magic.
Sef asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t see them.
“They may be hidden.”
I shrugged as I resumed our march. “Perhaps.”
“Is Marco there?” asked Baruna.
“Yes, but something’s wrong.”
After another turn we entered the small square, it now occupied only by shadows and the echoes of distant riots. We passed through it to ignore the tower, and turned down the alleyway opposite.