The Fall of Ossard ot-1

by Colin Tabor

  “A lie!” he snapped.

  “Look into the celestial, you can see.”

  He considered my words, but went on, “You won’t escape your fate, not this time. I’m sorry, but you must die so that the divine order can go on…” he stopped, his eyes opening wide. “By the Holy Saints, you’re right!” He looked to me. “There is a storm barrier, I can see it!” He paused, and then his voice softened, “My messenger’s bloating body is already surfing the squall’s damned swells.”

  I slipped into the celestial to see for myself. There his messenger’s soul laid before us, the poor man’s life-light fading as it burnt out its final embers.

  I whispered with a breaking voice, “The city is doomed.”

  “What else did these Lae Velsanans say?”

  “He said that it would be preferable to have the Inquisition rule Ossard than the Reformers, but if it wasn’t to be, that I should get out.”

  “To abandon Ossard to the cults?”

  “It would weaken them if I could lead enough away.”

  He thought about it. “I see the truth of it.”

  Silence.

  He shifted in his chair. “It took until Market Square for me to be certain of you.“

  “Why, the power I drew?”

  “Yes, though I’d held suspicions since the kidnapping of your family. Then, at the end of that episode, you fell to your knees on the balcony and bleated out that heretical song. That’s when I first sensed your power.”

  I nodded.

  “Still, you’re not quite awakened, but it’d not be long now,” he grimaced, “and that would be the end of the world we know.”

  “Help me, let’s work together. We can save Ossard!”

  “Perhaps, but only for it to fall again because of you.”

  “I’m not working to do anything but save my family.”

  “Juvela, you’ve already started this thing, this assault on the divine order. It can’t be stopped short of killing you.”

  “But what of Ossard?”

  “It’s just one city.”

  I was appalled.

  He went on, “I’m sorry, but I have no choice: I must serve, and you must be stopped.”

  And a breeze came to stir the curtains behind him, as the lamp-lit room began to feel chill and lonely.

  I wondered; what kind of gods would let a whole city fall just to maintain their power?

  Gods addicted to death.

  He asked, “Do you lead many among the Flets?”

  “Their numbers grow. When I left them this morning, there were about four hundred. They’re not all Flets, there are also Heletians.”

  “Heletians?”

  “Yes, they’re good people looking for hope.”

  “Heretics!” And then he shrugged. “Oh, what does it matter! May they find what happiness they can before the end.”

  I sat in silence, still confused by my apparent role in things.

  He saw it on my face. “You don’t know your truth, do you?”

  With reluctance I shook my head. “Not all of it.”

  “Have it then, for in the end it’s all we have. You know you’re powerful, and that your power is divine?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know you’re an awakening entity; an avatar?”

  “Yes.”

  He studied my face, and I could feel him watching both my soul and filtering through the surface thoughts of my mind. I could shield myself from him, but not completely, a haze of feelings still escaped me.

  “But you’re not to operate alone, and you didn’t know that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re an awakening god, an avatar, one of a whole raft of new gods that Schoperde birthed across the world to replace the old order.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she thought the previous generation had grown greedy like spoilt children.”

  His words reminded me of what I’d read in my grandmother’s tome. “And I’m here to end them, the old gods?”

  “Yes, to end their divine rule. You along with the others.”

  “Others?”

  “The other avatars. Juvela, this was not something you were going to have to fight alone with a sword, nor a thing of wars in the heavens. It was merely a case of Schoperde birthing a new generation; of trying one last time.”

  “One last time?”

  “Yes, she hadn’t the strength to repeat her actions.”

  “And it will all fail if you kill me?”

  “Like it did before.”

  My brow furrowed.

  He said, “Two thousand years ago she tried the same thing and nearly succeeded. The established order did finally suppress it, but at great cost; the Lae Velsanans’ Second Dominion collapsed and many died in the calamities that followed, yet our victory wasn’t complete. One of the new gods survived.”

  “And still does?”

  He smiled. “She can’t help you.”

  “She?“

  “Dorloth of the gargoyles. She’s too strong for any of us to do anything about, but she’s also isolated in her troith amidst the ruins of fallen Kalraith.”

  Could she help me?

  Anton went on, “As long as my counterparts in the other established faiths do their parts in removing emerging avatars from amongst their own kind, the divine order will be maintained.” A grim smile settled on his face. “It’s one of the few things we agree upon.”

  “So you won’t work with me because it’d threaten the dark regime you’re trying to keep, even though that puts you in league with cultists?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. Funny, isn’t it?”

  “Even though Ossard will fall and become the province of the Horned God?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s insane!”

  “The Horned God is part of the old regime – not the new.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “You’ve enslaved the world!”

  “Yes, and work to keep it that way.”

  “It’s a crime!”

  “Maybe, but not one punished by my god.” He shuffled, growing restless with the conversation.

  I was running out of time.

  “Is it true that we could have weakened them by getting out of Ossard?”

  “Yes, but a hollow victory, the city would still have fallen.”

  “The Lae Velsanans are carrying word to King Giovanni; Greater Baimiopia will know, and so will the Heletian League, Church, and Inquisition. They wanted us to leave if we couldn’t control the city, so as to weaken it for those who come to retake it.”

  Anton nodded. “It makes some sense, but alas you’ll not have the life to see it, and I’ve sworn to my god that I’ll not flee.” He shook his head. “I can feel him turning from me already, he knows of my failure. Hopefully, when I hand him your soul in apology, he may yet offer me some kind of salvation.”

  “You should leave the city and take your Loyalists with you. You could work to win it back when help arrives. We could work together.”

  He shook his head. “They’ll sanctify the city, and they’ll do it soon. The kidnappings have climaxed. I’ve had word that the ritual is planned for as soon as tomorrow night.”

  My family!

  “Tomorrow night? Please, you must leave!”

  “No, I’ve vows to guide me. I’ve planned to die tomorrow, but not until I’ve taken as many of them with me as I can. It’ll be a bloodbath, and if Krienta sends me his blessings to do it, there may very well be nothing left…”

  And then another voice cut in, cold and female, purring from the shadows behind his chair, “This life I take for Mortigi!” Metal flashed from a silver blade suddenly at Anton’s neck.

  He jumped out of his chair and spun about, but was trapped between it and his desk. His hands flew to his throat.

  Too late!

  Lady Death stepped out from the shadowed curtains and came into the light. She held her knife out with the blade’s edge bloodied.


  Anton stood with his back to me, his hands still at his throat. Blood dribbled down one of them to run into the sleeve of his robe.

  Lady Death chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “You’ve got your facts wrong, dear Inquisitor, but it won’t matter, not for you, you won’t be around to see it.”

  Angered by such a brazen attack, but perhaps more infuriated that Krienta hadn’t intervened, he growled, “Get out of my rooms, bitch!”

  She lunged forward to slap him on the cheek with the flat of her blade.

  He tried to dodge her teasing strike, but couldn’t.

  She mocked, “Soon enough they won’t be your rooms, the leadership of the Reformers are already coming for them!”

  Anton put his bloodied hands behind him on the desk and launched himself backwards, kicking off of his chair. He pushed its heavy oak frame back into her, giving him the moment he needed to get away.

  She pushed the chair aside as he jumped to the floor beside me.

  I could see an ugly wound across his throat, the cut well placed, but not deep enough to kill.

  Perhaps Krienta had intervened…

  He yelled, “Men, to arms!”

  The door burst open behind us, but neither of us turned. From it we could hear the Inquisitor’s call repeated.

  A guard came up to stand alongside me with his sword drawn, another took up a position beside Anton. And all the while footfalls of reinforcements thundered from the corridor.

  Anton sneered as he wiped blood from his neck. The arrival of another set of guards restored his confidence, seeing him growl, “Kill the bitch!”

  Lady Death laughed, and with a snap of her fingers the room’s lone lamp died, plunging us into the dark. A weak light filtered in through the door behind us, but it was as good as nothing: We were in her world now.

  Sound erupted all around me; from one side, a charge forward; to the other, scrabbling back; the thump of wood, screams, blows, swords ringing as they were drawn, and then the horrid gurgle of someone drowning in their own death. Something struck me across the stomach to send me stumbling to the side and deeper into the shadows. I looked about the room, it nothing but a foul mystery of dark potential.

  Metal flashed as it caught the corridor’s light. It was followed by a meaty crunch and a gasp of agonised surprise.

  I had to get out of here!

  A circle of light appeared in front of me, and into it leered Lady Death. “Hello, Juvela, I’ll be coming for you; Mortigi has demanded it!” Then she was gone, her passing marked by the sounds of renewed fighting.

  This was a place of carnage, a charnel house, a den of the cursed and damned. I sprung from the wall, and ran for the door, knowing this would be my only chance.

  She yelled, “Run like the dog you are, I’ll give you a head start!” And I could feel the celestial surge as Mortigi gifted her with blessings.

  I flew out the door, and into the corridor, passing a pair of stunned guards as I went for the stairs.

  Their voices rang out in challenge, but they were quickly choked off.

  “Don’t worry, Juvela, I’m coming!”

  On unsteady legs, with a spinning head, I rushed and drew blindly on the celestial. Despite the Moonroot, I had to try and craft something. I was desperate; without such aid she’d catch me.

  A crisp breeze rose to gust about and grow stronger, slamming doors, tearing at curtains, and killing the light of the building’s lamps. It took me into its wild weave, becoming more frenzied, until my world seemed to be built of only its roar, my blustering hair, and a blizzard of dust, leaves and stray papers. This strange gale, one I’d called of the very air elemental, only became harder and faster so that more and more my feet didn’t even find the ground.

  I was riding the wind!

  And so I reached the Malnobla’s entrance wrapped in the wind’s embrace. From there the squall blasted aside the doors and raced me to my freedom into Market Square.

  Lady Death cursed from behind, but wasn’t defeated – she simply called on more power from her dark lord.

  My heels found the cobbles more and more as the strength of my summoning began to fade, yet with each moment I moved further, passing the barracks, the rising silhouette of the Turo, and the university. The howl of the wind accompanied me on that empty avenue, one lit by the glow of distant fires. It was then that I heard the cry, “They’ve tried to kill the Inquisitor!”

  Another voice yelled, “The Flets have cut the Inquisitor’s throat!”

  And others took up the calls or created their own, “They’ve killed the Inquisitor!”

  “The Inquisitor is dead!”

  “The Inquisitor was murdered by the Flets!”

  And then joined the bells of the Cathedral.

  The wind that had travelled with me, helping me to such a good start, now faltered and fell away. I’d have to finish my trek on foot. I ran on, tired and short of breath, but desperate to get back to Newbank and the rescue of my family.

  People began emerging from their homes or sticking their heads out of windows to listen to the cried news. Nearby, a voice growled, “There’s the witch, burn her!”

  And behind it all rose the cold laugh of Lady Death.

  I was only half way to Newbank!

  As I ran I felt something rush past, a moment later a set of darts thudded into a nearby wall’s wood.

  She was making her move.

  Still weak from the Moonroot, I knew I’d struggle to outrun her. I needed a fresh advantage.

  I grabbed a handful of gravel from the road, splitting it between my hands. In moments, with just a thought, each closed fist was lost to a blinding glow.

  She mocked, “She’s scared of the dark!”

  I turned towards the sound of her voice, and although I couldn’t see her, launched some of my fiery pebbles.

  My effort was rewarded. The alleyway flared, and in the glare from the spray of sparks, I glimpsed her retreating form. Encouraged, I hurled some more. This time their blazing light revealed her climbing up a wall. I followed her progress by throwing yet more of my flaring weapons.

  It seemed like the way to handle my escape, until I realised that I’d left a thatched roof smouldering. A moment later it burst into flames.

  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, ha
d 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!”