The Fall of Ossard ot-1

by Colin Tabor

  He smiled, but it was weak.

  “I’m sorry, I‘m not jesting at your expense, but so all of us can share our burdens.” I leaned forward to put a hand to his shoulder, and something passed from me to him. It was like when I’d touched Baruna.

  What was happening here?

  His smile filled out; he’d also felt it.

  He looked up and nodded, yet waiting tears made his eyes sparkle. “Let me finish, for my story also holds something of use.”

  We all nodded.

  “We often travelled the length of the deep valleys, and as a young boy I used to love playing in the abandoned mining towns. I’ve seen many such places, most of them far inland and closer to the heart of the mountains. Those are of no help to us…”

  I wondered at what he was saying, but then remembered Felmaradis’suggestion.

  “…they’re all too cold in winter and far away. Without good preparation such a trek would be the death of us, still not all of the ruins are found in the interior’s high valleys. I can remember the roads we took and that some abandoned towns lay in the lowlands. There are four such ruins in the valleys to the north; three nestled amongst rolling hills, and the last a strange place half drowned on the coast.”

  Sef asked, “Strange in what way?”

  “The buildings, or what’s left of them; they’re solid and huge, and have room to shelter hundreds upon hundreds. The local shepherds keep clear of them because they believe that they’re haunted. My father wasn’t so cowed, instead he was fascinated – as were my brother and I.

  “We’d camp there whenever our rounds took us near. Father thought that the ruin was old and crafted well before the silver rush and even the birth of this city. He was certain that it wasn’t worked by Heletian hands.”

  Sef raised an eyebrow. “Then who?”

  “My father thought that they were Lae Velsanan ruins, perhaps a fort from one of their fallen dominions. You see, the steps, windows, and doorways were all usable, but oversized for people like you and me.”

  The story was intriguing. I was also certain that he was talking about the same site Felmaradis had suggested.

  Marco continued, “Only a few shepherds live on those wind-blasted hills with little protection from the squalls that blow in from the sea. Anyway, we can talk more of it later.”

  And we would; it sounded interesting.

  Marco went on, “I had a good childhood. I helped my father on his rounds and was happy. Eventually I left his business to him and my older brother, knowing that my sibling planned to fill it with his own children.

  “I went on to work as a tailor, and sometimes even as a merchant myself. I made some coin, never much, but enough, and then I met someone and fell in love.” And a tear slipped from his eye.

  “That was Atalia, a lovely woman, and one who tried so hard to keep me happy.” He shook his head. “Well, we married and built our lives together, and then waited for the coming of children to complete our family.

  “That wait went on, stretching through the seasons and into the years. It left us with nothing to show for it despite all our love and efforts. Our local priest offered to pray with us and happily took our coin in return for blessings, but in the end, after spending a small fortune, we still had nothing but our unfulfilled dreams.

  “We resigned ourselves to our fate, but then she…” and his voice broke, only to return hoarse a moment later, “…but then she told me that she was expecting.” His hands trembled in his lap.

  “She seemed so well as she carried through that first season. She’d had some sickness, but she took herbs for it and used balms on her spreading skin…” he stopped again as his words trailed off. After a deep breath he said, “I’d never known such happiness, yet my feelings were eclipsed the day she took my hand and put it to her belly so I could feel our babe kick.” He shook his head in wonder.

  “Our neighbours, a young couple, also came to be expecting. So, as is the way of things, her husband and I talked of raising sons while the women talked of daughters. Amidst the chat of babies and such my wife shared some of her balms and a brew for morning sickness, something she’d bought in the port from an Evoran herbalist.

  “Alas, for their household, it wasn’t to be. After only a season the babe slipped from our neighbour’s womb. It made things awkward between us.

  “For Atalia and I, all seemed well until five days ago. My wife had begun to have dreams, strange dreams, dreams that showed her a sanctuary that was unknown to her. She told me of it even though we both thought it just some sort of fancy. She described it as a gorge with its sides greened by ledges that stepped down into the soil’s depths. More greenery could be found about a beautiful pool at the bottom, something bubbling with mist and heat.” He looked at us as he shook his head. “I’m not doing it justice, she made it sound wonderful.”

  I stared at him, all the while trying to soften my gaze.

  How’d his wife shared my dream, for I needed to hear no more to know that she’d seen the same fern-forested place?

  Sef asked, “And then the city began to give into chaos?”

  He nodded. “Our home and our lives seemed peaceful enough despite the changes swirling about. Whispers of the new saints came, of course, then the extra kidnappings, and then the arrival of the Inquisition. Through it all our home remained a place of calm.” He looked to me and said, “We were in the square when your husband and daughter were taken. We saw it, all of it, and cried out and mourned with the crowd.”

  I nodded, but kept quiet, not wanting my own misfortune to distract from his recount.

  “That night we went home as the criers declared the Inquisitor our saviour, yet sleep came hard, but not just because of the chaos: It was Atalia, she was restless and close to birthing. Still, eventually, we both drifted off.

  “I awoke not long before dawn to find the city quiet and Atalia dozing, but later she began to stir. She seemed upset, telling me of another dream she’d just had, insisting we needed to leave Ossard and that the only safe road would be through Newbank. She said that it had something to do with that poor lady, the Flet on the balcony who’d lost her family.

  “I began to wonder if she was unwell as she just wasn’t making any sense. And that’s when it happened…” Tears began to run down his cheeks.

  We waited.

  “The front door smashed open, it startling us against the silence of the night. I jumped out of bed to find the front room filling with men, too many to stop. Three of them grabbed me and pinned me against the wall. I called out a warning to Atalia, but I was too late; they’d already found her.

  “The men who had me stared with blank faces, but I could see hate in their eyes. I asked what they wanted, but they wouldn’t answer me.

  “A man yelled at my beloved, so I began to struggle, causing them to beat me until I blacked out. I roused on the floor to the sounds of the same man, his voice hard as he spat his venomous charge; witch!”

  Marco took a deep breath as he wiped at his tears. “I could hear Atalia cry out for me, and I answered that I was there, yet the man’s charge kept ringing in my ears.”

  Witch!

  “With the Inquisition in the city, we both knew what that would mean.

  “I began to beg, calling out that she was innocent and heavy with child. Finally, one of the men watching over me hissed of witnesses. I turned to see our childless neighbours standing outside in the street, lit like shades in the dim grey before dawn.

  “Atalia screamed afresh, making me struggle anew. I watched a man stride out of our room, past me, and into the street. He opened a leather pouch and showed it to our neighbours; on seeing it they nodded. He turned back to the house and called; we have it! It was Atalia’s balms and herbs.

  “Atalia was led out and past me, towards the door. Grazes marked her body and tears her face, but they were nothing compared to the fear in her eyes. They had a gag about her mouth, and behind it a clove of garlic.”

  Garlic;
many believed it could break a witch’s spells.

  “I cried out that she was innocent and had done nothing wrong, yet all they did was beat me again until I blacked out.”

  He sat there and looked to each of us. “That was the last time I saw her alive.”

  Sef said, “Maybe she’s alright. She could be locked up somewhere, perhaps in the Turo?”

  Marco shook his head. “No, I found her later that morning. She was tied to a stake in Market Square, burning along with half a dozen others. She was already dead.”

  The three of us sat in appalled silence.

  His seemed accepting, but he’d barely had time to come to terms with Atalia’s death. He added, “It’s a sad story, and only finished by me telling you that I returned home to find it looted and burning. My neighbours chased me away, cursing me and the bad luck I’d brought them.”

  “Bad luck?” I asked.

  He nodded. “At first I thought they spoke of their own lost babe, but there was more to their taunts.”

  “What?”

  “Something about a sickness.”

  I looked to Sef. “Kurgar spoke of a rising sickness?”

  Sef nodded.

  Marco added, “They claimed it was from the new saints, and that only the Loyalists were falling ill with it.”

  Poor Marco, I felt for him. I’d suffered and still went on suffering, but Marco’s wife and dreams of family were well and truly dead.

  I stepped close to him and put my hand on his shoulder. Again something flowed between us, a kind of transfer of power. I could feel it, it running from me to him, yet it also left me sated.

  He smiled as his tears stopped, and then he whispered, “Thank you for your blessing.”

  I stood back trying to ignore the reverence in his eyes, but it was a look shared by Baruna and Sef.

  This was too much…

  Looking for a distraction, I grabbed at the first thing to come to mind. “Thanks for sharing your story, Marco.”

  He gave a grateful nod.

  “We’ve all suffered, it’s true, and we need to protect ourselves and any who join us from the coming chaos and perhaps even the rise of plague. I also need to find Maria and Pedro – I’ll not leave the city without them.”

  They agreed.

  I went on, “It seems that to be safe from both plague and madness we have to leave Ossard. While that’s unpalatable, it makes the question; where should we go?”

  Marco nodded. “The ruins I spoke of.”

  And I agreed, “Call it fate or coincidence, but Marco’s ruins have suggested themselves…”

  Sef stopped me. “Hang on, we’ve only just heard about them. There are countless abandoned villages and towns across the Northcountry, how can we be certain that this is the best place to go?”

  I had no trouble answering him, “Sef, while you were with your Kavist brethren this afternoon, I saw the Lae Velsanan officer again in port. His name is Felmaradis Jenn, and he spoke of what sounds to be the same ruin. It’s too much of a coincidence. If Marco thinks it’s a good place to shelter then I’d be prepared to go and have a look, but having also agreed to meet Felmaradis there a season from now seals it.”

  “Can you trust him?” Sef asked.

  What he meant was; have you forgotten that he’s Lae Velsanan?

  “I trust him. He’s good-souled if complicated, and in truth a mystery.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s comfortable with me and Flets in general. At one point he even spoke in fluent Flet.”

  Sef raised an eyebrow. “He is a mystery then, unless he learnt it on some sprawling estate from a downtrodden slave.”

  “Sef, he was fluent and without accent. He’s a natural. That’s not the hallmark of someone who’s learnt a language just to order about slaves. If you want me to accept one thing, then I ask you to accept another. There’s something about him, something honest and powerful, and he says he’ll return to the ruins in a season to help.”

  Sef nodded, and while he was intrigued, an air of reluctance haunted him.

  Marco said, “It’s been years since I travelled those roads, but they were good enough back then. In fair weather it was a day’s walk up the Cassaro, then a day’s zigzagging climb up the valley-slopes and over into the neighbouring sound, and from there a day east along the sound’s shore, and then you follow it round for half a day.”

  Sef asked, “Three and a half days?”

  Marco nodded. “By foot.”

  “And food?” I asked, “How do we feed a couple of dozen when we’re fleeing a doomed city?”

  Sef said, “Juvela, it’s not that we shouldn’t plan and work towards it, but we will be able to feed them. We take what we can, mainly grains and root vegetables, foods that will keep. We’ll also take some seed and livestock and buy more from the farming hamlets along the way.” And then he smiled.

  And gave me comfort.

  He was right. It would work out, and not because we left it to fate, but because we’d look for opportunities along the way. We’d settle ourselves down and wait for Felmaradis, and in the meantime we’d make the most of whatever presented itself.

  The city was doomed and we all knew it, if not by strife, then by cult ritual, or rising plague. We needed to get out.

  “Well, let’s get organised. Let’s talk to some of the Flets downstairs who know Newbank well enough to round up some carts and food. We’ll also need water, blankets, and so much more. We have to be able to move, and quickly.”

  They agreed and left me.

  From the celestial, I could hear my grandmother stir, a mournful sound. I slipped between worlds. “What’s wrong?”

  She stood there, her eyes lit by the flames that had claimed her, and thankfully naked of her halo of skulls. “Such sad stories.”

  I nodded, almost overcome by a rising sense of grief.

  Why did the world have to be such a hard place?

  I said, “It’s terrible what they’ve gone through, and poor Marco so recently bereaved.”

  She answered, “Yes, poor Atalia. At least she knew that he loved her and never harboured any doubts. Even their daughter, unborn and unnamed, knew of their love for each other.”

  A daughter…

  Hot tears marked my cheeks.

  My grandmother shared my grief, yet something menacing stirred in the void nearby.

  She said, “Juvela, I have Atalia here, and she wishes to see you.”

  And another form stepped forward.

  She was spectral like my grandmother and painted in wisps of blue. She had a thin face and long hair, and in her arms she cradled a plump babe, her unnamed daughter.

  “Atalia?”

  She curtsied, her eyes shining with pleasure – or was it the spark of her own murderous fire? I also sensed the stink of smoke and noticed her daughter’s shawl was woven from it.

  I asked, “Should I tell Marco? I could bring him here.”

  Grandmother said, “I think it’s best he doesn’t know, at least not for now.”

  Atalia, all aglow in spectral blue, reluctantly nodded.

  Grandmother said, “Don’t worry, Juvela, you’ll find your own family. I haven’t seen them pass this way.”

  Her words strengthened me.

  She went on, “Your hope and compassion are strong things, they’re your things. Use them.”

  “Thank you. I should go now, I have so much to do.”

  They nodded.

  I began to shift my perception back as I moved between worlds.

  And at the same time, that lingering sense that something watched us grew, as if it circled and was about to pounce.

  Grandmother gasped.

  I paused in my leaving.

  And the sparkling fires in her eyes dimmed to become the dark pits that had marred her the first time we’d met. When they finished deepening, as if on cue, the halo of skulls sprang out from behind her.

  Atalia and her babe faded away, yet I noticed that their skulls re
mained. I could see them as I left that world, anchored to my grandmother and also enslaved to her fate.

  I left the celestial.

  22

  An Unpleasant Surprise

  I found myself on my balcony taking in a terrible view. The night sky spread in amber, highlighted in yellow and red over the districts where the fighting flared at its worst. Twisting pillars of smoke rose to feed the bloated pall above, and about it all rained ash and sparks adding to the hellish glow.

  I couldn’t see any stars or even the broad and swirl-marked face of the moon. It was as though the world centred on the unstoppable fall of Ossard and nothing but that lone doom. Aside from the granite-flanked valley snaking away eastwards, there was only the dark sea to the west. Nothing else could be seen. We were all alone now at the city’s death.

  Newbank held bustle and noise, some of it angry, yet no wild fires flared. Our district’s only part in the current chaos seemed to be in the endless stream of warriors we sent across the river, but such actions only added to the certainty of the coming end.

  Regardless of plan or policy, the Flets of Ossard were already aligned to the new saints. The revelation of the fourth, Kave, had seen to that.

  I might not have had all the answers, and been somewhat confused, and no doubt deceived by others, but my soul could sense the truth: The stink of the Horned God clung to the city.

  Ossard was doomed.

  There was nothing left to do, but to try one last time to find my family and then leave.

  Rumours were already running of a new wave of kidnappings. It could only be the spike Felmaradis had warned of: The cultists were getting ready to sanctify the city.

  Many of Newbank’s Flets laughed at such stories coming from across the river, but I couldn’t. I knew what it was to have my loved ones stolen away.

  Word had also come of the Inquisitor sending a ship south. It had cast off to seek aid from Greater Baimiopia and summon the rest of the Black Fleet. It wouldn’t get through. The unnatural storms Felmaradis had spoken of would be waiting for it. The simple truth was that whoever had worked to ruin Ossard had done a masterful job -and all the while remained hidden.