Heir of Autumn

by Giles Carwyn

  A hound bayed in the distance. Brophy looked back at Shara. The music of the magic box floated around them, mingling with the mist. He bowed his head.

  “We better go,” he said, unbuckling the Sword of Winter from Celinor’s waist. He looped it over his shoulder and rose.

  “Brophy,” Shara said, pointing farther up the canyon.

  A small woman with black curly hair and a powdered face stood in their path with a long knife in each hand. A squad of Ohohhim archers rushed up behind her, arrows at the ready.

  Brophy looked the other way. A dozen spearmen rounded the corner, their hounds straining against their leashes.

  “Put your sword away,” Shara whispered. “It won’t help us anymore.”

  15

  BROPHY SHEATHED his sword as the Ohohhim soldiers surrounded them.

  He inched closer to Shara and held up his hands. She stood half a head taller than their captors, but that didn’t make her feel any safer. Razor-sharp spearheads hovered inches from her chest and back. She felt an urge to throw an enchantment over them, but her powers had fled the first instant she saw the child.

  “We came to talk to Father Lewlem!” she said.

  “Silence!” one of them shouted. “Don’t let the witch speak.”

  Lewlem’s wife stepped forward, her eyes widened as she neared the baby. Her jaw clenched, and she looked up at Shara.

  “Mother Lewlem,” Shara said. “Please, we must speak with your husband.”

  The tiny woman tucked her blades into the folds of her cloak. “Is that the child?” she asked, pointing at Shara’s sling. Her powdered face tensed, and her breath came in shallow gasps. “Give her to me. Now.”

  Shara glanced at the soldiers. They hovered, staring at the sling.

  “Wait,” Brophy said, holding up his hands.

  “He’s infected!” one of the spearmen shouted, pointing at Brophy’s wrist.

  Three soldiers lunged at him, spears thrusting for the kill. Brophy threw himself to the ground, rolled away, barely evading the sudden attack. He came to his feet with sword in hand.

  “No!” Shara shouted. “Stop it!”

  The Ohohhim charged, and Brophy danced back, batting their weapons aside.

  Lewlem’s wife reached for the sling, Shara spun away, dumping the baby onto the ground with one hand as she kept the music playing with the other. She lifted a foot over the babe’s head, which rested on a sharp rock. “I’ll kill her!” she shouted. “I’ll do it!”

  “Halt!” Mother Lewlem barked, her blades suddenly in hand.

  The spearmen backed away from Brophy, turning to look at the child. They recoiled. One retched, but managed to keep the vomit down.

  “It’s the Legacy,” one of them murmured.

  “Back up!” Shara demanded. “Back up!”

  At a gesture from Lewlem’s wife, the foreign soldiers all backed away.

  “I will give this child to Father Lewlem and no other,” she said as Brophy rushed to her side.

  “He is infected, he must die,” one of the Ohohhim whispered to Lewlem’s wife.

  “Let me see your wrist,” the tiny woman said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  Brophy shifted his blade to his left hand and held his wrist out. Shara winced. Black tendrils extended from a small scratch all the way around his arm. One had snaked down as far as his fingers.

  “Why doesn’t the infection spread?” Lewlem’s wife asked.

  “We will explain that all to your husband,” Shara insisted.

  “Then follow,” the Ohohhim woman said, hiding her blades for a second time. “We will take you to him.”

  Brophy picked the baby up and tucked her back into Shara’s sling.

  They were escorted through the narrow canyon in tense silence. As they passed through a thick bank of mist, Shara whispered to Brophy. “Are you all right?”

  “I can feel it growing,” he whispered back. “But I’m fighting back the way I fought your magic in the Wet Cells. The heartstone on the sword seems to help. If I take my hand off, I can feel a blackness surge inside me.”

  “How long until you are completely infected?”

  “I don’t know. The wound is small. A week? An hour? I don’t know.”

  The mist cleared and he moved closer to her. “Let me see the baby.”

  She pushed the music box to the side and drew back the edge of the sling. A black spot the size of a coin blotted the crown of the baby’s head, inky tendrils snaked all the way to her face.

  Brophy glanced to the soldiers all around them.

  “She’s worse,” he whispered, so low she could barely hear. “It won’t matter how long I last if she dies.” He fished into his pocket and drew out his father’s and Celinor’s heartstones. He touched them to the baby’s forehead and she twitched. “Keep these on her as much as you can.” He gave the stones to Shara. “And this.” He removed his necklace and winced. He paused, then slowly put it around the baby’s neck.

  Lewlem’s wife stared at them, but Shara ignored her.

  “Are you sure you are all right?” she asked Brophy.

  The strain was evident around his eyes. “For now. If Celinor cured your wounds, one of the Sisters should be able to help the baby. But we need to get her to Ohndarien.”

  Shara nodded, remembering Baelandra’s words.

  It must not be brought here. I would rather see Ohndarien fall.

  Shara kept her thoughts to herself and followed the white-faced foreigners through the narrow canyon. They marched in long lines, each one holding the sleeve of the man in front of him.

  LEWLEM’S WIFE led them down the mountain toward their camp on the beach. A warning horn blew as they approached, and dozens of soldiers ran up the hill in little lines to greet them. A crowd of soldiers trailed them as they marched down the slope. All activity in their camp stopped as Shara moved through the tents. The black-haired boys stared at her and the baby in mute astonishment. Lewlem’s wife led her to a line of rowboats along the shore.

  “You may come.” She shook her head as she looked at Brophy. “He must stay.”

  “No,” Brophy said, his hand gripping the pommel of the Sword of Autumn. “If she goes, I follow.”

  “It’s all right,” Shara said. “I will go alone. It will be all right.”

  “What if they—”

  “What? Kill me? Kill you? Brophy, it all depends on this meeting.”

  Brophy’s eyes narrowed. “Shara…”

  She shook her head and climbed into a rowboat. “Wait for me. I’ll return.”

  No one spoke as six soldiers launched the boat and stroked past the breakers into the sea. The oars creaked steadily, and Shara found herself turning the music box to the same rhythm.

  The Ohohhim took no chances with her. Four soldiers rowed, and the other two held their naked short swords pointed at her throat. With each rocking of the boat, a sword tip pressed lightly against her collarbone.

  The Ohohhim ships loomed as they approached, their shiny black hulls like polished obsidian. The little rowboat wended through them until the soldiers found the one they sought. The ship creaked, swaying over them. Small waves splashed along the side of a hull.

  “Daughter of my heart, it is a joy to meet you again for the second time,” Father Lewlem said, leaning over the ship’s railing. His robes had been exchanged for loose black pants. “Of all the places in the Emperor’s world, I did not think to find you here.”

  “Father of my heart,” she replied. “I remember you fondly, though it has been too long since I have seen your face.”

  A rope with a loop in the end snaked down the side of the ship. Moving carefully across the wet wood, Shara stepped into the loop. She hooked an elbow around the rope, resting the music box gingerly on top of the sling, and continued turning the handle. Men on deck hoisted her up the side of the ship and set her on her feet, then backed away, their eyes fixed on the baby.

  A muted howl rose from below the deck. Shara glanc
ed around, no one else seemed to have noticed it.

  Lewlem’s wife climbed over the ship’s railing and stood behind her husband, pinching his sleeve. Lewlem’s eyes were wide as he stared at the bundle in Shara’s arms. He pressed his palms together.

  “Is that the Legacy?” he asked. “Is that The Child Who Lived?”

  Shara moved the music box aside and drew back a flap of the sling.

  His brow wrinkled, and he stepped away.

  “What have you done to her! What have you done to that child?”

  Shara looked down at the baby. The infection had spread across half her head.

  “You have corrupted her!” Lewlem shouted, unable to catch his breath. “You have poisoned her with your foul magic.”

  “No,” Shara said, backing up against the rail. “We were attacked, she was injured, she needs to be healed.”

  Horror turned to despair on the old man’s face. “But she is the child who lived. She is immune.”

  His wife whispered something in his ear.

  The ambassador hung his head and struggled to compose himself. His bony little hands were clenched into fists. The baleful eyes of the crew seemed to accuse Shara from all directions. “This is unexpected,” Lewlem finally said.

  Another muted howl arose from below deck. Shara looked around, but everyone else ignored it.

  “Come,” Lewlem said. “I arranged for refreshments in my cabin.” He turned and walked aft. His wife fell in line behind him, pinching his sleeve. The desolate crew parted slowly to make way for her. Shara took a deep breath and followed. The trio descended the steps to Lewlem’s cabin.

  A round wooden table had been bolted to the deck at the center of the small room, and three chairs encircled it. Chunks of steaming fish had been arranged on a plate in the center. A loaf of bread and a pitcher sat next to it.

  “Please sit,” Lewlem said, sinking into one of the chairs. Lewlem’s wife followed, and Shara did the same. He scooped some fish into a bowl and set it in front of Shara. His old hands were shaking. The ambassador did the same for his wife, then filled his own bowl. His wife then poured wine for each of them.

  “Thank you,” Shara said.

  None of them touched the food.

  Lewlem folded his hands in his lap. “I apologize for my earlier outburst. We must illuminate these events,” he said.

  “The Legacy is not what you expected,” Shara said.

  “No.”

  “What were you seeking?”

  “A child, such as you carry. A music box, such as you spin. But not this child I see before me.”

  “What was she supposed to be?”

  “A house for all the lost magic of Efften. A great vessel of healing. A tool to undo what the leaders of Ohndarien have wrought upon the world with their foul magic.”

  Shara stared at him a long moment until she understood what he was saying. “Fourteen years ago—”

  “We know what happened in the Vastness. A great evil was unleashed, but an infant child and a young woman escaped the destruction. The women of the Vastness told us what happened. They saw the four sorcerers from Ohndarien emerge from the corrupted lands and follow the child across the sea. The horsewomen know about the child. She is the only thing that can hold the evil back, yet the Ohndarien sorcerers have kept her away all this time. They, who caused the corruption in the first place.

  “I accompanied His Eternal Wisdom when he came to the Vastness to investigate. Many of our soldiers were infected. No matter what we tried, we could not heal them. We believed this child possessed the healing power we need.”

  Shara shook her head. “You are right about many things, but you are a victim of a misunderstanding. The Ohndariens did not unleash the corruption you have seen. This child did.”

  A flicker of annoyance crossed the ambassador’s face, but he nodded for her to continue.

  Shara relayed the story of the child to Father Lewlem as she turned the handle of the music box. When she finished, he sat back, his fingers steepled against his chin. His forehead was wrinkled in thought.

  “So you see, the Brothers have been protecting the baby, fighting to keep her from letting the black emmeria into the world again,” Shara said.

  The ambassador paused, closed his eyes. “Then our mission is for naught. I would like to doubt you, but now I have seen the child. The power that destroyed our soldiers flows from her like a foul wind. Despite our short time together, I believe you. Your words ring true.”

  “I am sorry, Father. But perhaps there was another reason you came to this island. We need your help. Now that the baby is infected, we have to get her to Ohndarien to cure her.”

  “There is a cure?” Lewlem’s eyes lit with a fierce hope. He leaned forward, clutching the edge of the table.

  “There is another artifact of Efften called the Heartstone. It resides in the center of Ohndarien and was created to repel the black emmeria that the child carries. Each of the Brothers carried a piece of that stone, burned into his flesh. These heartstones allowed them to withstand the corruption and to heal it in others.” Shara revealed the top of the child’s head. One of the dark tendrils had reached as far as an eyelid. “If we do not get the child to Ohndarien soon, she will die, and nothing will stop this corruption from spreading.”

  “Yes.” Lewlem nodded. He turned to his wife. She rose and shuffled quickly from the room. “We will bring your friend on board and set sail immediately.”

  Another howl sounded from below, and Shara shivered. Memories of the black oxen and corrupted birds leapt to mind.

  “Father, what is that noise?”

  His wife returned to the cabin and came silently to Lewlem’s side, pinching his sleeve. Without a word, Lewlem stood. “Come,” he said. “Let me show you something.” He nodded toward the center of the room, and his wife looked up at him, shook her head slightly.

  “Yes, Heart of my Heart, we must. If there is any path from here, surely it lies with Shara-lani.”

  Lewlem’s wife glanced at Shara, seemed to look her up and down, then her eyes focused on the floor again. She let go of Lewlem’s sleeve, knelt before the rug at the rear of the room and peeled it back. Underneath was a trapdoor. She pulled it open. A surprised snarl came out of the darkness. Then, silence.

  Shara glanced at Lewlem.

  “Come,” he said. “It is safe enough.” He led the way down the steep wooden steps. She followed, descending into a large cargo hold. A foul stench hovered in the gloom.

  “Bring her to me!” an enraged voice shouted out of the darkness.

  Lewlem’s wife slipped past Shara and turned up the wick on a swinging oil lamp. The added light threw shadows behind the ribs of the ship, splashing orange on the thin sheen of water that sloshed across the hull.

  At the far end of the hold hung a man, suspended in midair, shackled at the wrists and ankles and around the waist. Velvet padding lined the cuffs, but they were covered with bite marks.

  The man screamed and yanked mightily against his bonds as Shara stepped off the ladder. The chains clinked and swayed as he thrashed, then pulled tight. He strained, pulling with all of his strength, but he could not free himself.

  “Give me the prize, give her to me!” the hanging man screamed.

  To Shara’s amazement, Lewlem and his wife bowed in reverence.

  Shara sloshed forward, peering into the gloom.

  “Be wary, my daughter,” Lewlem said. “Step no closer.”

  The prisoner was not quite a man. His bare skin was black and bumpy. Uneven spines ran down the center of his chest and the outsides of his arms. His black hair hung lank and greasy over the hard ridge of his protruding brow. Long fangs pushed past his scaly lips. His waist was covered with a loincloth, but otherwise he was naked. His engorged muscles bunched and flexed like snakes writhing under his skin, even when he wasn’t moving.

  Shara flicked a glance at his hands. His fingers had too many joints and did not end in fingertips, but tapered thinner and
thinner until they ended in pointed flaps of bloody flesh.

  “I want her, give her to me!” the creature rasped. His thick tongue licked the front of his teeth. It was covered in blood, and a trickle ran down one of his fangs, dripped into the water. “Give me the baby. Give me the baby!” He gnashed his teeth.

  “By the Seasons,” Shara murmured. “Who is he?”

  “I’m your master,” the man growled, his breath rattling in and out of his lungs. “I have never been wrong in five thousand years.”

  Shara turned to Lewlem and his wife. Their heads were still bowed in deference.

  “Give me the child,” the thing said in his guttural voice. His fingers flexed as though he were crushing the baby’s head in his hands. He turned his red eyes on Lewlem. “Set me free! I command you!”

  “You know I cannot do that, my lord Emperor.”

  “Treason!” he roared, thrashing against the chains.

  “This is the Incarnation of God on Earth,” Lewlem said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “His Eternal Wisdom, the Emperor of Ohohhom.”

  Shara breathed hard, trying to assimilate what she was seeing and realizing why the Ohohhim were so desperate. Their entire culture revolved around this one man. If his condition were known, the Opal Empire would fall.

  “Give me the child!” The creature snarled. Thrashing in his chains, his undulating muscles strained to the breaking point. “I need her!”

  Shara looked at the moorings of the chains. They were strong, built into the very structure of the ship. He would have to rip the hull in half to break free, but she wondered if he could. Despite herself, she stepped back.

  “Set me free!” the Emperor roared.

  “You know I cannot do that, my lord,” Lewlem repeated as though he had said it a thousand times.

  “Please,” he whimpered, going limp in his bonds. “I command you. Let me touch the child. Just let me touch her.”

  “Come, Shara-lani,” Lewlem said. “Let us retire to my cabin.”

  “No!” the Emperor shouted. “Stay. Don’t leave me in the dark, not in the dark!”