by A J Dalton
She lay in a wide pool of frozen blood, her shoulder impaled by a ling knife. Why hadn’t she removed it? Her face was as white as the rarest bone china.
‘Nostracles?’ the Scourge urged.
‘Yes?’
‘Does she live? Is there anything you can do to heal her?’
‘There is but a single dying spark of life within her. Even if I had not healed my own leg, I would not have the strength to help her. We would do well to pray for her.’
‘Pray!’ he spat, all his anger and fear coming to the surface. He’d already lost Young Strap, he was about to lose Kate and now the gods wanted him to beg! He drew his sword and levelled it at Nostracles, all thought of treating him gently forgotten. ‘No! You haven’t even tried yet. Get on with it! Do your job, priest of Shakri! While there’s life, there’s hope, isn’t that what your lot say? What use are you if you won’t even try to save her? Your conscious, aren’t you? Then you must have some power or strength to help her. I don’t care if you kill yourself in the process. I’d happily swap her life for yours.’
In his fragile state, Nostracles was terrified to be suddenly confronted by a madman brandishing a sword. He began to cry. ‘I-I… can’t!’
The Scourge refused to relent. ‘Try, damn you, or so help me I’ll kill you where you stand!’
‘Desist! I’ll handle this,’ came a mature woman’s voice from behind the Scourge. ‘Nostracles, we’d be here till the end of time if we were to wait for a prayer to pass Janvil’s lips. He’d rather watch the whole world die than compromise his principles. Janvil, lower your sword and bring Kate over here. I have a fire ready, and hot food. Can’t you smell it?’
The Scourge’s mouth was already watering. Succulent viands, hot bread, sweet onions and fresh cheese… the aromas assailed him and made him lose his train of thought. His stomach growled and whined. He closed his eyes, almost able to taste the promised fare. It was divine… it was… Shakri!
He span and glared at a stout matron whose countenance made it clear she was equally unimpressed with the Guardian. She put her hands on her hips and began to tap one of her feet in warning.
‘Well? What are you waiting for? Do you want her to live or not?’
The Scourge jammed his blade back in its scabbard and knelt down to Kate’s sprawled body. She was frozen to the ground and pinned by the knife. He grabbed the handle and pulled it free in one swift motion. Blood oozed sluggishly from the wound. Then he worked his arms under her, cracking ice and frozen blood, and straightened his legs to tear her free. Some of her scalp and hair were left behind on the ground.
She was distressingly light and he had no trouble carrying her over to the fire. He looked at Shakri expectantly, ignoring the veritable feast that had been laid out for them and the fact that Nostracles was indulging himself in the same self-abasement he’d performed on the previous two occasions they’d met the goddess.
‘Well?’ the Scourge challenged.
The matron rolled up her sleeves and crouched down. She put a finger to each of Kate’s temples for a second or two and then sat back with an unconcerned expression on her face. ‘You are fortunate, Janvil, that my priest had already prayed to me for help. Otherwise, I might not have been able to intervene to save your companion. Try the cooked goose.’
The Scourge’s suspicion was obvious as he slowly sat and tried a modest-sized piece of goose. Rich juices dribbled down his chin and he could not help closing his eyes in appreciation. ‘Nonetheless, you would not have acted unless it suited your purposes. Kate clearly has some significant connection with the necromancer Mordius and his creature Saltar. Do you seek to use that connection, goddess? Are you seeking to use Kate? Just how far can you intervene before you start limiting free will and upsetting the balance?’
From where he was face down on the ground, Nostracles grabbed the Scourge’s foot and, with it, his attention. Eyes still averted from the goddess, the priest said in a low voice, ‘The goddess is not answerable to the likes of us! You should be grateful she has healed Kate. You must beg the goddess’s forgiveness for the words that you have spoken in your fear and haste.’
The Scourge kicked with his foot to try and break free of the priest’s stubborn grasp, but when it became clear that Nostracles fully intended to hang on no matter how ridiculous it might seem, the Scourge gave up. ‘No. Certain answers are a condition of my co-operation. Or, rather, let me tell you what I surmise. Without creation, the gods would be directly confronted with each other. Those that were naturally opposed to each other, like Shakri and Lacrimos, would war. Every god would be forced to take a side in the struggle because of its fundamental nature. In the end, only one aspect of the godhead would survive and there would be nothing but isolation, loneliness and emptiness for all eternity.
‘What creation does is organise and separate the gods, but only when we mortals have free will. If mortals were without free will, if they were simply agents of the gods, then the same struggle would be played out, with the same consequences. Our free will keeps the gods and creation in balance. Nostracles, have you never stopped to wonder why the gods are embodiments of human emotions and aspects of life – hate, knowledge, luck, death, and so on? Without the gods, there would be no humanity, but without humanity, the gods would not continue to exist as they are.’
‘Blasphemy!’ Nostracles whispered with intensity.
‘Gently!’ Shakri commanded. ‘There are certain things Janvil sees. Truly, what he describe explains the way he chooses to behave. Pray continue, Janvil.’
‘I now understand what you meant the last time we met, goddess, when you said that in some ways we mortals had more freedom than the gods. Mortals have free will, whereas gods are only allowed to act in this realm under certain conditions. I know that one of those conditions involves a mortal praying for or conjuring up divine intervention. But prayers do not always work, do they, goddess? I would know something of the other conditions. How else can I be sure of what you are committing to match my co-operation? Nostracles, try the goose before it goes cold.’
The matronly figure of Shakri interlaced her fingers over her ample girth and sat back in contemplation of the Scourge. She eyed him critically, just as a farmwife would debate with herself whether a pig or head of cattle were ready for the butcher’s knife. Finally, she said, ‘Yes, Nostracles, you should eat something before you faint.’
Nostracles moved quickly to obey the divine instruction of his goddess. She pursed her lips and then said to the Scourge: ‘It amuses me that you ask a god for a demonstration of good faith. You are right that there are limitations to what I can do, if the balance and creation as you know it are to be preserved. You ask me what the nature of those limitations are, but that knowledge is only shared with my priesthood. Would you become one of my priests, Janvil?’
‘You have asked me to act on your behalf even though I am not one of your priests. Nostracles, would you eat that raspberry tart for me? It’s distracting me.’
Shakri nodded to Nostracles and he greedily complied. ‘I see what you mean. Well then, let’s see if I can’t try to give you a general idea of how things work. My timely appearance here – without which you would all have died incidentally – was enabled by two things. First, the heartfelt prayer of Nostracles and, second, the fact that Lacrimos had recently been summoned to this realm, albeit for a short time. My appearance re-establishes the balance… or tips it back the other way at least.’
‘So it’s like a tit-for-tat thing?’
Shakri tilted her head. ‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Now that I’ve appeared here, it’s Lacrimos’s turn again. If things were to get desperate. I could intervene out of turn, but that would only serve to tip things even further in Lacrimos’s favour. He would then be able to intervene on a larger scale than previously, on a scale that might finally decide everything. The balance could tip permanently in his favour. And the custard, Nostracles. I know it’s your favourite.’
The
Scourge rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. ‘I see. Yup, it wouldn’t be so great for us mortals if creation were to be made to Lacrimos’s design specifications. However, and forgive me if I misunderstand, but surely it also follows that things wouldn’t be so good if things were to tip permanently in your favour either, goddess?’
The spoon Nostracles was using for the thick, yellow custard paused midway to his mouth. He dared to glance at the divinity, wondering what her answer would be. The matron smiled reassuringly. ‘The difference being of course that I am the goddess of creation, the mother of all life. I bring wonder and joy to the world. This is my creation. And Lacrimos is the Destroyer. He is disease, war and death. Enough of this now, for you must rest so that you may be healed.’
‘Now hang on a minute!’ the Scourge frowned. ‘I do hope you’re not thinking of trying to put me to sleep. You don’t have my permission for that. Besides, you still haven’t told us about your intentions for Kate. Or where Young Strap is. Or Saltar and Mordius, come to that. Did they get past the guard post or are they still in the mountains? And how did they get past the post unnoticed, if that’s what they did?’
‘You do not require such information really and I have already intervened as far as it is safe to do so. Come, just a short sleep.’
‘No! We have to get after the necromancer and animee right away. And find Young Strap before he gets himself into trouble. Get away from me! You’ve got no right, you bloody bit-!’
The Scourge slid backwards off the rock on which he’d been sitting and onto a blanket the goddess had deliberately positioned when creating the camp site.
‘It is fortuitous he fell asleep right at that moment, holy one, before he had a chance to utter profanities he would no doubt regret in the future.’
‘Never mind, good Nostracles. I am not as prudish and pompous as you might think. Neither am I so insecure as to worry about anything a mortal might say, even one as insightful as Janvil.’
‘Forgive me, holy one! I never meant to imply - !’
‘Be silent, Nostracles! Just drink the gooseberry juice I’ve prepared for you and listen. Don’t worry, I’ve sweetened it with honey. Now, in case you were wondering, I put the Scourge to sleep for two reasons. First, the three of you simply need to rest. And second, I don’t want you catching up to Mordius and Saltar before they’ve had a chance to complete certain tasks I’m guiding them towards, Yes, I helped them slip past the guard post, to answer the question I know you’re pondering. I didn’t need to do much really. That Saltar is very good, you know. Anyway, they should get to Accros okay, unless there’s some interference I haven’t foreseen… or they choose to be contrary in the way they exercise their free will. As for you three, you’ll get some rest. Then, Nostracles, you will call the horses once you’re all awake. Try to track Young Strap – that should stop you getting to Mordius and Saltar too quickly. Right! That’s pretty much it. Finished your juice? Ready for a nap?’
‘I have a question.’
‘You do? Remarkable. This is your first, isn’t it? The first you’ve ever thought to voice anyway. That Janvil’s a bad influence on you. Oh, well, I guess I’ve only got myself to blame. Let me see, you’re wondering if I’m really as fallible as I seem. Well, when it comes to my creation, I am infallible and omniscient, though not omnipotent. Sadly, this realm of my creation interfaces with realms beyond my control. They sometimes intrude into the realm of my creation and there is only so much I am permitted to do. Now, enough bedtime stories! Off you go!’
Nostracles slid gently to the floor, a smooth rock there as his pillow. The matron turned a calculating gaze on the recumbent, shallow-breathing Kate.
‘Awaken, daughter!’
Kate opened unfocussed, bleary eyes, but still wasted no time looking round. She saw the matron and then turned to see the Scourge and Nostracles.
‘All is well. They are simply sleeping. Give yourself a moment… Do you know who I am?’
‘Is it really you, holy mother?’ croaked Kate.
‘It is. Nostracles asked that I help all of you. You were injured nigh unto death. I have mended your wounds.’
‘Th-thank you. I’m very cold.’
‘That will pass. I may not ask anything of you in return, but there is advice I can give you if you would like it.’
Kate nodded her head a fraction, no longer strong enough to speak. Her eyelids began to droop again.
‘Good, then I will be quick. I will tell you that your love for Saltar has my blessing, daughter. But you will have to fight for that love. Saltar is still to be fully wrested from Lacrimos’s realm. Yes, I can see that it hurts you to hear it but I will do what I can to help you. Be aware, however, that you may have to fight the King’s Scourge to the very death. He is a man of uncompromising principle who will not be deterred once he has decided upon a course of action. I can see the tears in your eyes, daughter, and that you understand the truths I have told you. Do you accept them?’
Kate nodded heavily, as if death itself were dragging at her shoulders.
‘Then it is done. Sleep well, my daughter.’
***
Saltar had led the horse along the road with the sleeping Mordius on its back all through the night. The horse had long since given up trying to resist Saltar’s implacability. Saltar even suspected that whenever his back was turned, the horse had taken to closing its eyes and allowing itself to be led along while fully asleep.
He wondered what horses dreamed about. If they dreamed of the sorts of things that went on while they were awake, then what was the point of dreaming? But they seemed to dream even so, since when their eyes were closed the eyes still moved beneath their lids, their ears twitched and they occasionally nickered.
The same was largely true of humans, if he thought about it. Except for the dead ones, of course. Why was it that he couldn’t sleep though? Wasn’t it something about the brain repairing itself while the body slept? His brain was dead, so he couldn’t sleep. Maybe, but his brain seemed capable of learning things. Maybe he fed off Mordius’s magic or mind for that sort of thing. That might explain why he got stray thoughts that seemed to belong to someone else popping into his head now and then. The only problem was that they just didn’t seem like the type of thoughts Mordius would have. Violent, monstrous things would race across his mindscape from time to time. They came and went so quickly that he couldn’t really perceive many details, but he always sensed that there was death and bloodshed involved. Was he being harrowed by Lacrimos? Was the god angry that Mordius had stolen one of His subjects or slaves?
‘Saltar, listen to this!’ Mordius said excitedly from where he sat in the horse’s saddle reading the small journal he had taken from the animal necromancer’s dwelling. ‘It says, I have heard that Voltar thrives. They say that he no longer tries to hide himself, so confident is he in his power. He is winning powerful friends amongst the nobility of Dur Memnos, no doubt by way of doing certain favours for them. We are divided amongst ourselves about what to do. Heritus has already left. Savantus calls him a coward and says our only chance is to stick together and strike Voltar down before he can become too powerful.
‘I’m not sure what to do. How can we possibly stand against Voltar? I wonder if Heritus has the right of it. It may be prudent for us to lie low, at least for a while. I think it is we who should be hiding from Voltar. And the entry ends there. Can it be, do you think?’
Saltar was silent for a second. ‘Voltar is not a common name.’
‘Could the King really be one of the six? It’s inconceivable! His Guardians are employed to hunt down users of necromantic magic. Surely he would not create such a force in the land when that very force would also threaten him!’
‘Either he keeps his use of magic well concealed or he’s stopped using it altogether. After all, kings are powerful enough without the need for magic.’
‘If the King is the same Voltar as in the journal, then he would have to be centuries old. And now I think about it,
Voltar seems to have been King forever. I have no idea who preceded him. My old master, Dualor, never spoke of anyone else ever having been on the throne. Voltar must be using magic to stay alive.’
‘Then perhaps the Guardians are aware of his magic but are simply designed to exterminate any necromancers who might challenge his authority.’
Mordius frowned but nodded. ‘It could be. It makes a sort of sense, if it really is him of course. But how could he have taken the throne?’
‘The journal entry speaks of Voltar as being confident in his power. The author did not think his group – presumably the other five acolytes of Harpedon – could stand against Voltar. Mordius, do you think Voltar has the Heart? If so, taking a mere throne would not have posed too much of a challenge for him. Do you think we’ve been heading in the wrong direction all along? Should we now be heading for Corinus?’
‘I-I don’t know,’ the small necromancer confessed, at something of a loss.
Saltar blinked and sighed autonomically. ‘Well, what was it that brought us here in the first place? You said the Heart was rumoured to be in Accritania. You have also mentioned that you were somehow being called to search for the Heart, although you said you could not sense a direction to the call. Are we here because of mere rumour, because if so I believe the journal may be a more concrete lead?’
‘I-I… well, the thing is… it’s just I have a feeling we should be here in Accritania. Maybe not a feeling exactly, but a sort of instinct.’
Saltar stared at Mordius with dead eyes. ‘I see. I have no such instinct, perhaps because I am dead. But perhaps not.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your instinct must come from somewhere, must it not? There must be a source, be it a latent memory of something you once saw or heard, even unconsciously, or be it an aegis placed upon you.’
‘An aegis?! Placed on me by whom or what?’
Saltar shrugged clumsily. ‘How can I know? What would you surmise?’
Mordius scratched at his thin, scraggily beard. ‘Well, I… well let me tell you that I don’t like the idea that I might be under some sort of aegis. A man likes to be in control of his own thoughts and life, you know. And I’d like to think I’d know if I was being directed by some intelligence. But then that’s probably the paradox at the centre of this magic. Once I’m aware of it, the magic probably begins to break down. Curious stuff magic. It creeps up on you when you least expect it.’