The rest of the camp, Liam guessed them to number about forty, were beginning to stir. He could hear running water from behind the trees on the opposite side of the clearing. He slowly stepped around the men; some still sleeping, some moving, some packing their sacks. Almost all had deep blue tattoos on their faces, each to a slightly different degree of coverage and a slightly different interpretation of the swirling lines of the Talons of Freedom. The ones who were awake gave Liam a nod as he passed. Liam nodded back and followed the sound of the water; each step painful, heavy and desolate.
Liam found the source of the sound twenty or so paces from the edge of their camp. A small waterfall gently spilled into a moonlit pool. Liam crouched beside the pool and filled his cupped hands. The water was cool and fresh. He drank some and covered his face with the rest.
He took a deep breath and looked around, only then noticing that he was not alone.
“Rhoie?” Liam asked the figure sitting in the shadow of the trees.
“Yes, Liam. It’s me.”
Liam reached for another drink and sipped from his hands. The sight of Rhoie alive lifted his spirits, but also reminded him of the fact that if it was were for Rhoie, Brandi would still be alive.
“It seems Lyra kept her word. She said she would save you,” Liam said. “Brandi was my responsibility.”
“No, Liam. Brandi’s death is my responsibility,” Rhoie said, holding back tears. “I never should have set foot in your tavern after joining the Talons. I shouldn’t have gone with Lyra. I should have followed you and helped you escape. Maybe ...”
Liam interrupted Rhoie with cold, dry wisdom. “Rhoie, I can tell you not to blame yourself. I can tell you there was nothing you could have done, but it wouldn’t matter.” Liam stopped and looked up at the final stars fading in the gathering light.
“Nearly eighteen years ago, my wife was murdered before my eyes,” Liam said gravely. “Not a day goes by that I do not relive that night. All of the things I could have done; should have done. The pain dulls a little over time, but it never really goes away. Now ... now I feel ...” Liam stopped, trying to contain his emotions. He took a deep breath. “Now I suppose I share your guilt about what happened to Brandi. We both have a lifetime of sleepless nights ahead of us, wondering what we could have done differently.”
“I loved her, Liam. I hoped one day ...”
“I know, Rhoie,” Liam stood up and walked over to him. “You hoped one day you would marry. I hoped so as well. I would have been proud to have seen it come to pass.”
Rhoie rose to accept Liam’s embrace. Liam could feel Rhoie give in to his sadness and relax on his shoulder for a moment, crying unashamed. A memory came unbidden, of the first time Rhoie had allowed Liam to comfort him. Rhoie had grown particularly fond of a chicken that resided on their property, and one day it was eaten by a wolf. Since that day, Liam had held him many times, helping Rhoie to deal with his pain.
Liam held him tighter, and allowed himself to be comforted too. He was reminded that he still had something left to live for.
Then the boy tensed. He sniffed hard and pushed away. Rhoie stalked around aimlessly and grumbled, wiping his tears away angrily. He knelt down, splashed his hands in the water and soaked his face repeatedly, as if he were trying to wash away his childish sadness, and replace it with something else. Finally, without turning to look at Liam, he said, “I know we can’t bring her back, but we can do something.”
“What is that, Rhoie?”
“We can avenge her.”
Liam paused for a few breaths before asking, “How do you plan on avenging her?”
“We must kill Arconus,” Rhoie answered through gritted teeth.
Liam’s shoulders drooped. Hearing those words confirmed his worst fears. Had he been Rhoie, he would have felt the same way. Now, in his forty-seventh year of life, Liam could still touch that kernel of vengeance within. He could hear the echoes of that desire, that hatred, that righteousness that had once consumed his soul. The day his wife was killed, he had given up the way of the sword. It had been the violence in him that had led to her murder, and he had grown to hate the violence more than he hated his enemies. In challenging the King’s soldiers the night before last, he had not hoped to avenge Brandi. He had hoped to join her.
After his wife’s death, he had retreated from the cycle of violence, and focused his energy on his daughter and his tavern. But now the cycle was spinning faster, like a vortex, drawing him and his loved ones in. It had already claimed Brandi, and at that moment, amid the grief over Brandi’s death and the caustic talk of vengeance, Liam felt certain it would take Rhoie next.
~Æ~
Sinead knocked on the Oracle’s door with Brandi Foster standing beside her. It was highly unusual for the Oracle to request an audience with anyone, but it was also highly unusual, she supposed, to bring someone back from the dead.
When Brandi had come to them, delivered by carriage, she was unconscious and the Sister’s debated for hours about what they should do with her. Sinead had heard Viebke and Bianka arguing heatedly about it. Bianka, the younger sister, refused to treat her; but Viebke insisted that it was their duty to heal anyone who was delivered to them, no matter how they felt it fitted into the prophesy.
“It is our duty to serve the Fates, Viebke,” Bianka screamed at one point. “This abomination could ruin everything. The first stone has been placed and keeping her alive is putting everything in jeopardy.”
“Keeping her alive?” Viebke screamed back. “It sounds to me like you are speaking of more than just denying her care, sister. It sounds to me like you are flirting with breaking one of your sacred oaths. I have had enough of this argument. I am going to help her with or without your consent.”
Viebke stormed off to tend to Brandi, but it was not necessary. By then Brandi had risen on her own and had been watching the altercation. No one knew for how long. Neither did they know how much she had understood. In the two weeks since she had arrived in the mountains, she had not yet spoken.
Now they stood before the door of the Oracle. It was opened by Sinead’s aunt, Lucinda.
“Greetings, Sinead, and what a pleasure to meet you, Brandi,” she said kindly. “It is wonderful to see you here. May I pour you something to drink?”
Brandi shook her head slowly, and Sinead politely declined for the both of them.
Lucinda said to them in a low voice, “Please be brief. The Oracle is more lucid than I have ever seen her. I think the effort is draining her.”
The Oracle walked into the room. Sinead had seen the Oracle before, but she was always slashing about with hair half covering her face. She had never really had a look at the Oracle’s face. Now she saw a thin, pretty, troubled young woman. The slightly crazed look in her eyes faded into lucidity, even dignity, and then back to a fearsome madness. Sinead stood still, trying to convey a calm she most certainly did not feel. Her emotions ran from fear, to awe, to wonder and to pity.
The Oracle stared at them blankly, then gestured for them to sit down. With a flash of a troubled smile, the Oracle sat with them at the small table. Lucinda took her position standing behind the Oracle, who gazed intently at Brandi.
Lucinda nodded to them reassuringly. Then the Oracle reached out to touch Brandi’s face. Sinead fought the instinct to protect Brandi.
Brandi winced at first, and then allowed the touch. The Oracle closed her eyes and seemed to be concentrating. After a moment she started trembling, and then she screamed and broke away.
She stood quickly, knocking her chair to the ground and running to the wall behind her. She put her arms against it and buried her face in them.
Sinead did not know what to do. The Oracle’s behaviour was always unpredictable. She returned to the table after a moment, set her chair upright and sat down. She reached out for Brandi’s hands, hesitated for a moment, then took a breath and reached again. Brandi complied.
“Brandi Foster,” said the Oracle in a near whisper. “I
can see your pain. It is much like my own. Where I see glimpses of the future, the past and the present, delivered to me by the fates; you see something else. You see death.”
“Yes,” Brandi answered. “I see nothing but death. I have been dead. I should not be here now. Bianka was right. It is not natural,” she said calmly, but with tears forming.
“Brandi,” said the Oracle compassionately, “all that is, is natural. All is by the will of the fates. You have brought something special with you, something sacred. This is why I wanted to see you. Before you came here, I could not see the future that we desire come to pass. Now, with you, there is hope. I have a special mission for you.”
“I cannot accept. I am not strong enough. I can barely get through the day with all that I see ...” and then the tears broke through.
The Oracle held her, stroking her back. “I know your pain, dear Brandi,” she said soothingly. “Your pain is very great because this is new to you. You will master it. The Sisterhood will show you how. It took me many years to master mine. You will master your pain, and harness your new powers. You need to take a very important journey. A senior sister must accompany you. It must be Viebke, and I want Sinead to go with you also. Viebke can begin your training and continue with Sinead’s.”
She turned to Sinead. “You will bear much responsibility in the coming years. You must be prepared.”
“Yes, Oracle. I understand,” replied Sinead respectfully.
“You must come back when the second stone is placed. Viebke will know when it happens. Perhaps the two of you will feel it too.”
Sinead nodded.
“You saw the rivalry between Viebke and Bianka. They are blood sisters, as well as Sisters of Æhlman. It is imperative you come back after the second stone is placed, or there will be no one strong enough to fend off Bianka’s will.”
Sinead and Brandi nodded in agreement, but their confusion was obvious.
“I’m sorry, Oracle,” Brandi stammered. “I don’t know what I must do or where we must go. I want to go to my father. I want to see Rhoie again, but not like this, not like I am now. I feel I am a monster.”
“No, Brandi, you are a Death Walker.”
“A what?” Brandi gasped. “A Death Walker? By Atai, I am a monster.”
“No Brandi, to be a Death Walker is a great gift, if you can bear it. Listen to me now,” she said, sternly but kindly. “You will see Rhoie and your father in time. By going on this journey, you will be able to help them in ways you never could if you were with them. This I know for certain. For your father, you will fulfil a very important mission. For Rhoie, you will be able to help him on his journey from time to time. Rhoie has been close to death before, and he will be again. This will bring him nearer to you. In time you will understand. Viebke will help you to master your powers, but only you can master yourself.”
The Oracle closed her eyes and began to sway.
“You must go,” she told them. “It’s been very difficult to keep up with this conversation, to break through the madness for this long. I’m growing stronger, but I must rest now.”
VII
It is typically not stupidity that makes the public gullible to propaganda, but a lack of time and energy available to seek out the truth.
– King Arconus
Arconus, Gastious and Argus sat at the large conference table, as they had done just a two weeks ago after the coup attempt, as it was being called. Argus was unsure how the people of Jeandania would react to such a ploy, but, after a fierce campaign disseminated through the most subtle and reliable channels, most of Jeandania believed that Santaque had been at the centre of the conspiracy of the clan leaders to overthrow the King.
“The campaign seems to be quite effective, sire,” Argus offered.
“You mean they believe the conspiracy story?” asked Arconus.
“I believe so, sire, at least to some degree. The clans themselves are still quite shocked and angry, but without their leaders, quite impotent, I feel.”
“And they now know what will happen should they seek revenge,” said Gastious.
“Indeed,” agreed the King. “Let us turn to other matters. The ambassador from Nevulia would like to arrange a meeting between myself and the Nevulian King.”
“Nevulians are all dogs who hunger for land, like sailors lust for whores,” rattled Gastious.
“Mixed metaphors aside, your putrescent friend does have a point,” said Argus. “I believe it’s too early for a meeting. Jeandania’s still a rogue nation in the eyes of other civilised countries. I think we must let them believe this for as long as possible, while we build our strength. The moment we look organised is the moment Nevulia begins to think of expanding its empire. We must not tempt them until we’re ready to defend ourselves. If we can organise a legitimate military, and if we can maintain relatively ordered free trade, we can garner support from our neighbours to the south when the time comes. I believe we must avoid the appearance of ambition. Eventually Rhenquist will come to us. Right now though, we have enough domestic problems to deal with before inviting international attention.”
“I will weigh your thoughts on this matter more thoroughly this evening, before meeting with the Nevulian ambassador. In the meantime, Gastious, I presume you are keeping an eye on our guest.”
Gastious nodded. “The Ban’hoen’s are monitoring the ambassador’s every move.”
“Ah, that reminds me,” Arconus said, reaching behind to pull an ornate woven rope with long tassels, summoning the servants. A moment later the young Rhedmond Ban’hoen walked through the doorway, carrying a carafe and three small glasses on a tray.
“Rhedmond, I think you should be one of my advisors, son,” remarked the King. “You are so much wiser than those halfwits in the hall.”
“I exist only to serve the King, not to advise him,” answered Rhedmond as he poured the drinks and served them.
Argus accepted the drink and nodded his thanks. He pondered the servant boy, who was indeed impressively resourceful. Hard alcohol was illegal, after all, and this seemed a fine tipple.
The Ban’hoens had been looking after the occupants of the castle for many generations, no matter who they were.
The last plague was hard on all of Jeandania. It had festered in the palace as badly as it had in the slums, wiping out most of the royal family, as well as most of the Keepers of the Castle, as the Ban’hoens were called. The teen-aged twins were the youngest of only a handful of Ban’hoens to survive. They were now in their early twenties, carrying on the long tradition of their family, making sure the palace ran smoothly, without incident, even after an insurrection. Arconus had devised an ingenious use for the twins, which he employed at executions; death at the King’s command and always by his side.
As Rhedmond Ban’hoen exited through the service door, Arconus turned to other matters. “Argus, I have heard that there has been some discontent among the merchants in the city.”
“Yes, sire. My sources tell me there is some concern about the taxes in the southeast. Being largely subsistence farmers, the taxes are particularly harsh on them. Most of the region cannot afford to buy new supplies this year, and this is of great concern to the merchants who sell those supplies. They feel similarly in Tungstone, Whetherby and Snake’s Mouth.”
“Aah, but their profits from the city have increased three-fold in eighteen months. They can afford to lose a few clients in the country,” Arconus replied.
“Yes, sire. But there is some concern about the pattern of this behaviour,” Argus spoke calmly, but forcibly. “While the motives behind your conditioning efforts are well understood, strangling the country with taxes, and burning down the farms that fail to pay is not good for long term growth. We need the country to prosper, so that we can prosper. Forgive me, sire, but while your policy is certainly restoring order in Jeandania, it is not good economics.”
“Enough, warlock!” Gastious bellowed and slammed his fist on the table. Argus bristled at the term
warlock, the derogatory term for sorcerer.
“Settle down, Gastious,” Arconus ordered calmly. He addressed Argus. “I know that commerce in the country is important. My conditioning efforts will be finished in due time. Sometimes you must tear the old structure down in order to build a new one. They must fear me before they’ll follow me. A few prominent dead men help me to control the rest.”
“Which reminds me, Your Highness, I have it on good authority that the tavern owner from Snake’s Mouth is not actually dead, as the reports say. Is this true?”
Gastious flared at Argus, rising from his seat. “That is none of your concern, warlock!”
Argus had the sensation of being in the room with a wild hungry predator, with Arconus holding the leash.
Arconus put a hand out to Gastious, gesturing for him to sit down. “I do wonder where you get your information.” Arconus focused his penetrating eyes on Argus, and then turned to Gastious.
“Gastious, would you care to enlighten Argus on the status of Mr Foster.”
Gastious bristled at having to speak to Argus, but he obeyed his King. “We had him. We had them both. Foster escaped through the back of the tavern, killing many of my men. Then the Talons came to his rescue.”
“And the boy?” pressed Argus.
“The boy escaped as well. I don’t know how. He was in my arms, and then he was gone.”
Argus nodded. He wondered to himself if the Æhlman Sisterhood had been involved. “But why was Foster reported dead?”
“One of my men lied to me. He knew the consequences of his failure. He pointed to another who had died in the fire and told me it was Foster. We only learned the truth the next day.”
“Where’s the man now? The one who lied to you?” asked Argus.
“Sergeant Cane is in the interrogation chamber.”
The wasp pits. Argus shuddered at the thought.
Arconus added, “We have made arrangements to find Foster. I saw no purpose to amend the report. I’m confident Foster will be dead in a few days, nonetheless, and this embarrassment will be behind us.”
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