Another hand interrupted her. “Any original circle of standing stones will likely be the location of the twenty-four control stations in the kingdoms. I am sure your people will have built many replicas but it is the decas that were first erected after the Great Poison that mark the control stations. Have you not wondered why there are circles of standing stones in our lands, or on Vostos, even Arland and Dorland? Granted, these circles of standing stones are not worshiped but they are there nonetheless. These all mark the positions of the control stations. And we must gain access to them.”
Her head ached. She let her mind sit in a blank place for just a moment as she stared unfocused at the instruments on the magister’s desk.
“Queen Londenia, whether you believe these standing stones that you use for worship are holy places or not, the fact remains they stand above the key to our survival. We are at the stage where we may have to go into the Ten Kingdoms by force. We do not want to risk war but if it must be done to avoid almost certain destruction then—”
Londenia stopped him with a sharp breath, saying, “You will get access to five of the kingdoms immediately…that I can assure you of.” She referred to the Bay, the Watch, the Wetlands, Last Kingdom and Long Kingdom. She continued, “All our guards swear fealty to First Kingdom before they are assigned to us but they are all loyal to their own king. They will do as commanded and not interfere.” There was a moment of silence. “I will go to First Kingdom.”
Their eyes met in silent agreement.
Londenia set out on her new mission the next morning. Leaving the Still City of Mor behind, protected only by a long-glow on her back and her two Noths, Garrod and Raine.
Queen Se’Rel was to return to the Bay Kingdom with a Morian-pledged guard, one-hundred strong, to retake her kingdom and bring stability back. It was also to be the first place of call for keeping the shield operational. Magister Caline sent students of the Knowledgeable Arts along with her who would manage the control stations: first in the Bay of Blue, then into the Watch Kingdom, Wetlands, Long Kingdom and Last Kingdom.
Now it was up to Londenia to convince Ma’leven, High-King of the Ten Kingdoms and ruler of First Kingdom, to speak with his avatars on the Beast’s Eye to allow this to happen across the less agreeable three kingdoms: First, Peak and Gate. Londenia feared that (even though she was one of Ma’leven’s ruling queens) the kingdoms were now so divided that the High-King simply may not listen, respect or trust what she had to say.
One of the last things that Magister Caline had said to Londenia before she left Mor highlighted the instability and division of the Ten Kingdoms: “You call us the Still Cities as if we are all one nation. This is not the case. Mor and Nethren, for example, are as separate as Arland is to one of your kingdoms, and yet we work in collaboration more than First Kingdom does with Last Kingdom.” The Still Cities put aside differences in the interest of their people. They shared their knowledge between cities as if they were of the same union. It was only through this unity that they were able to fully understand the threat to the Mortal Realm and perhaps find a solution. There was little such unity between some of the Ten Kingdoms.
From the magister’s final words to her, it seemed that the Others had moved their attacks further east. If the shield had fallen for even just a short time, who knows how many of these Others could have made it through into the Mortal Realm. Londenia feared for her family in Long Kingdom, her friends in Last Kingdom, for Romarus and for every mortal. If some did make it past Beverine’s Shield, then where are they now and what terrors will they bring?
She prayed to Beverine for protection.
Choose not the path that sooths pain in the present. Choose the path that will sustain you and allow you to prosper in the future.
Ancient Lixus Proverb
Baskie
The Others
Owin’s home was within sight on the horizon as they floated towards it on Swift Locutus. They acquired the small ship when Romarus invoked his kingly rights at the harbor in Meltanespear, to the north of Last Kingdom. Baskie wasn’t convinced that King Romarus was as stupid as he had first judged when they met outside Grietum’s Hive. He was quick to turn on the king-style voice when he wanted to.
“I demand you give us the use of your vessel, in the name of King Romarus of Last Kingdom,” the boy king shouted when they reached the coast, after trekking north through desert for four days.
The weather-beaten faces of the old traders and fishermen were skeptical at first, likely on account of Romarus’s age and his very un-kinglike look. But some words from the Skip convinced them of his royal status.
“I offer you this,” one of the old traders said, walking towards a pale looking cutter at the end of the dock. “We named it in honor of your father, Your Grace.” The old man bowed deeply as he willingly offered the proud vessel, named Swift Locutus. It was a small craft, built for speed. Its single mast stood tall with two sales rigged fore and aft. Two sharp headsails beamed bright-white above the bow.
King Romarus had made one other request to the old trader before they boarded the cutter to return to the Mother’s Island. “Will you look after Barry for me?” the king asked, handing over the duneback’s reigns with a solemn look on his face.
The old trader nodded and gently stroked the beast’s shaggy mane that ran down its curved neck. “Of course, Your Grace. She is a fine beast. My granddaughter will take great delight, especially when I tell her it was a gift from the king.” After the old man spoke, Romarus embraced the creature, tears rolling down his dimpled cheeks.
I still find it strange that a king felt so much attachment to a beast of the land, Baskie thought, remembering back to the sobbing King of Last Kingdom, who was currently staff-spinning on the deck of Swift Locutus in perfect sync with Owin. The long flawless sticks whipped through the air with a dull hum. Romarus’s knuckles didn’t seem to be slowing him down. His right hand was strapped up with a length of white cotton as a result of the king bashing his fist in anger multiple times against the solid metal door back in Grietum’s Hive. There was no doubt that King Romarus had broken several bones but he hardly seemed to notice.
The boy king brought his staff to a halt behind his shoulder. “You keep looking up when you spin it overhead,” he instructed Owin. “Keep your eyes on the fucker attacking you.”
Owin brought his staff to a stop under his arm too and replied, “I look up to the Mother for strength.” Baskie almost felt a shudder of embarrassment at Owin’s words.
The king’s eyes darted around and his lips scrunched up. “Well if it works for you, then do it.” He shrugged.
You’re supposed to be teaching him and you just give in to his usual shit. Baskie shook his head, turning back to the thin strip of land growing larger as they approached. “Here,” he shouted to Owin behind him, “you’re home.”
Fifty footfalls from the shore they lowered the sails of Swift Locutus. The Skip and Brick were to remain on the cutter; neither trusted one another with their small ship and black dust. The Skip wanted the substance dumped in the sea. Brick, however, protected it as commanded by King Romarus until he was reunited with his brother, Saul...Costalus.
Owin, Baskie and Romarus got into one of the small thin rowing boats that clung to the sides of the cutter and made their way to the island. They grounded their narrow little skiff and pulled it up onto the sandy beach. Something about the island didn’t feel as safe as it normally did when Baskie stepped onto its shores.
The smell of smoke hung in the air. They peered over the ridge leading to the grass fields that covered most of the island. A group of campfires surrounded the field around the big gray House of the Mother. Around them, sat large pale men with broad shoulders and thick legs and arms. Some of them squatted around the fires, others sat on the ground, leaning on the standing stones surrounding the gray structure. From where Baskie crouched, it looked like parts of their bodies were patterned green and blue.
Owin whispered, “Who the f
uck are they?” For a moment, Baskie thought his friend was about to make a break towards the throng of large men in a foolish attack. But his body steadied and turned away to sit with his back to the ridge, staring back out to the sea.
“Big bastards,” Romarus said, eyeballing the campfires.
Thanks for the valuable input, Baskie mocked, as he watched the king gaze in an almost forced, heroic manner.
“Where would my brother be?” Romarus asked.
The two pods lay to either side of them. Baskie pointed to the pod that Saul stayed in. Before he dropped his finger, Romarus ran like a gust of wind towards the arced roof of the wooden dwelling. Trying to grab his robes, Baskie only ended up with a handful of long grass. Owin scrambled and clawed up the ridge to follow the king but Baskie quickly seized him by the collar and pulled him back. “Fucking idiot!”
“He’s trying to save his brother, he’s not an idiot.” Owin defended the fuckwitted king.
“He’s not going to be able to help his brother if those ‘big bastards’ get to him first.” Baskie paused to think. He remembered how Saul first took him along the shoreline, unseen, to his pod.
He pulled Owin along below the ridgeline of the beach towards the opposite pod to the one Romarus had run for. We’ll double our chances in half the time if we check the opposite one. But what if he doesn’t recognize his own brother? Is he clever enough to even remember that Costalus will only answer to the name of Saul now?
Baskie and Owin made their way crouched beneath the ridge. At halfway, Baskie craned his head over the bank. His heart thudded. One of the large pale ogres squatted in the grass twenty footfalls away, shitting in a hole. Baskie pressed a finger to his lips to keep Owin quiet. He pointed back and over the ridge.
Owin nodded. He slowly raised his head above the ridgeline. His eyes widened and he dropped to a crouch. “Shit,” he whispered, then mouthed, “What the fuck do we do?”
Baskie shrugged, trying to think. He lifted his head for another peek. His nose ticked. Fucking grass, he thought, as a sniff slipped out. The shitting man’s head jerked. From the side, Baskie saw him sniff the air like a wild animal on a hunt. From where he hid, Baskie couldn’t make out the man’s eye color but could see that his face narrowed unusually towards the chin. A grunt followed and his large hand reached for a leaf. He wiped his chunky pale arse, scratched his big hairless balls, then fixed a gray leather wrapping around his waist. Baskie saw steam rising off the disgusting pile left by the hulk of a man walking away from them back to the crowd sitting around the House of the Mother. Owin joined Baskie, watching the big bastard return to the others. They both sighed with relief and continued running in a crouch below the ridge.
They drew level with the pod. The grass field, between them and the round wooden door, lay empty. Baskie put two hands on the top of the ridge. Owin closely followed. With a nod to each other, they scaled the bank. Baskie’s feet thundered over the grass. The round wooden door shook and shuddered towards him. When they reached the deck at the front of the pod, they took up crouched positions on either side of the door. His heart pounded. Their chests begged for air, as they tried to slow their breath. The door that normally represented safety and warmth now stood like a cloaked figure hiding a dark secret.
They creaked the door open and slipped inside. Nothing felt the same. Everything had been knocked over and the smell of shit lingered. They crept up to the door of the first bedchamber.
“Mior, you there?” Owin whispered. Something moved behind the door. “Mattespin?”
Baskie looked at Owin and held a finger to his lips. He put his hand on the doorknob and twisted. They peered inside and saw two boys on their knees. They wore blue cottons but had nothing on the top half except thick black collars around their necks—like those of a slave except there were no chains attached. They stared back at him but didn’t speak.
Owin ran over and knelt down. “Mior, what the fuck happened?”
“Don’t touch me. Just get out of here,” the boy whispered back, staring straight ahead through misty eyes.
“What the fuck are you on about? What have they done to you?” Owin’s hands didn’t know what to do. He clearly wanted to help his friend in some way but couldn’t figure out how.
Mior turned to him with a manic look in his eye. “Fucking run,” he cried out in a mixture of anger and desperation. “Go! Fucking go! They’ll catch you and they’ll punish us more! Fuck off! Go!”
“Come with us,” Owin said, reaching a hand out to Mior.
The boy with the bent nose recoiled from it, his eyes wide open.
“You’re not even tied up, just come with us. We have a ship.” Owin’s voice was beginning to crack as he spoke. “Who are they?”
“They’re some kind of sorcerers. They have weapons they hold in their hands that shoot flame. They cause us pain even when they’re not—”
Voices from outside made Mior go silent. Owin staggered to his feet and backed away with his eyes fixed on his friend.
“We should go,” Baskie said, starting to back out of the door. Why are they just kneeling there? The whole picture of what was happening in front of him confused and scared him. Do not just see with your eyes…these smells, their faces, the feel…nothing is making sense. Everything is wrong. He snapped out of it when he heard the voices outside drawing closer. Baskie froze. The voices were deep, it sounded as if there were two of them. Their words made no sense. The grunting tones of the men got closer.
Baskie ran to the opposite bed from the kneeling boys and dove underneath, dragging Owin with him. While lying flat under the slats of the bed, Baskie could only see the kneeling boys’ legs. They both shook, breathing heavy and fast. The door to the room burst open and two chunky pairs of pale, hairless legs walked into the room. They wore leather sandals. From where he hid, Baskie couldn’t see above the men’s knees.
A deep laugh made him shiver. One of the men shouted at the kneeling boys. Owin and Baskie lay hidden under the bed, listening to the two men barking out words. The men kept repeating one phrase in particular. Parred Clarah, they kept saying, mixed in with a load of other shit.
“Parred Clarah,” one of the men grunted in one last loud bark. Then, all Baskie could hear were the boys’ broken, shallow breaths. The men moved behind the kneeling boys. A sharp buzz filled the room as if an insect had flown in. At the same time, the boys fell onto their sides, their hands grasping at their collars in unison. The muscles across their stomachs tightened, with veins throbbing on their necks and arms. After a few seconds, their bodies relaxed and their hands dropped.
“Parred Clarah,” was barked several more times, followed with another intense painful spasm by both boys. It didn’t seem as if the men were causing any of the pain. They hadn’t pressure pointed them and there was no branding of any kind. The boys grasped at the collars and writhed around as if being choked or burned alive by some invisible ghost. It made Baskie’s stomach churn but he couldn’t look away.
Once the writhing stopped, the two men argued with each other. They both walked behind Mattespin, the skinnier of the two boys, and one of the men pushed the other away. He heard the man grunting and his huge legs went to either side of Mattespin. The boy stared at the floor with no expression.
Baskie closed his eyes and covered his ears and thought of himself running through a field. He could almost feel the grass between his toes and the sun on the back of his neck, when an elbow hit him in the side. No! What the fuck is he doing?
Owin dove from under the bed. “Get the fuck off of him!” The attack didn’t last long. Owin’s feet levitated above the floor and Baskie heard him gasping for breath. “No! Please, I’m Sorry—” Owin wheezed.
His friend was interrupted by a bark, “Niena!” The man laughed, standing up and letting Mattespin fall to the floor. “Niena!”
The other man snarled, “Noh Niena,” and pointed at Owin’s crotch.
The man spat and dropped Owin to the ground, barking someth
ing else that both of them laughed at. The man squatted back down, picked up Mattespin again and dumped him on his hands and knees. The grunting started again. Baskie dropped his head lower to see the men’s faces. He caught a partial glimpse of the one behind Mattespin and saw angry gritted teeth. Baskie dropped lower to reveal more of the man’s face. He felt a heat burning from his chest and his eyes throbbed. The face was like something from a nightmare, sat on top of a large hairless body. The eyes were black orbs; round dark pits that drew Baskie’s stare. Although terrifying, he couldn’t draw his gaze away. He willed his eyes down. Part of the man’s chest and arms looked inked, a bluish-green color. Baskie didn’t want to risk a proper look so popped his head back out of view.
Before closing his eyes again, he saw Owin lying on the floor. Only a fuckwit enters a fight he knows he cannot win. They were the biggest men Baskie had ever seen. I can’t save you, he willed Owin to hear.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his mind back to his warm-season field. All he could see was an image of that narrowing face, high sharp cheekbones, with emotionless black pits for eyes.
The man’s grunting grew louder until Baskie heard a deep sound that he had only ever heard from an animal. Soon after, Mattespin dropped to the ground and the man stood. The one on the right grabbed Owin and picked him up as they left the room. Baskie took a moment to catch his breath. When he heard them leave the pod, he crawled out from his hiding space. They’ve taken my friend…my fucking stupid friend. He felt a lump growing in his throat.
He grabbed Mior by the chin and lifted his head. “Why are they doing this? Tell me, so I can help you.”
Mior laughed a sad laugh. “There are hundreds of them,” he gasped. “They come and shout things we don’t understand and then when we don’t say what they want to hear—”
A Poisoned Land (Book 1: Faith, Lies and Blue Eyes) Page 41