The Sworn

by Gail Z. Martin

  The elixir made Jair feel light within his body. The smoke beckoned his spirit to walk the ghostly pathways that stretched out before them. Jair took another deep breath and felt a shift, as if a part of him had left his body behind. Embraced by the smoke, Jair could see Talwyn and Pevre standing next to him, not in physical form but as if they, like he, were made of the smoke itself.

  Figures stepped out of the cloud of smoke that filled the tent. Two of the men were dressed like chiefs of the past. They moved to stand one on each side of Pevre, and they walked with him into the smoke, where he disappeared from Jair’s view. A man and a woman came for Talwyn. They both wore the robes of a tribal shaman, and the woman wore a necklace that had an animal skull at its center. Talwyn held out her hands to them, and they, too, vanished into the smoke.

  Jair felt an otherworldly calm settle over him as he awaited his spirit guides. After a moment, two warriors appeared out of the cloud. They were gray like the smoke, as was Jair’s spirit form, but when they offered him their hands in greeting, the touch felt solid and warm. Jair had not heard the spirit guides speak to either Pevre or Talwyn, but the taller of the two spirit warriors met his eyes and spoke to him in a low, strong voice. “Walk with us, and we will show you what we have seen.”

  Jair nodded, uncertain whether he would be able to answer them, and he let the warriors guide him. The smoke closed around them, but a new vista opened up, and it seemed to Jair that they were walking among the hillsides of Margolan in the desolate countryside where barrows stood. He had no way to know whether they were still within the ceremonial tent or whether his spirit guides had taken him far beyond its canvas walls. They passed over the road without any sound of footsteps, and though Jair could see wind blowing the branches of the trees around them, he did not feel a breeze on his skin. The landscape seemed drained of all color, but the details were crisp, as if everything were washed by moonlight.

  Jair followed his warrior spirits to a large barrow. He saw the wardings that were set by the Sworn long ago, protections most passersby would not notice, like the four oak trees planted at the quarters and the holly bushes planted at the cross quarters. High on the trunks of those trees, runes were cut deep into the bark. Belladonna, basil, and cowslip were planted around the barrow and over its mound to strengthen the magic. But as Jair approached with his spirit guides, he could see that something was terribly wrong.

  The holly had been knocked down, and the trees viciously slashed. Where the bushes or the trees were too sturdy to fall, counter-runes had been carved into the bark to negate the magic. Bits of hellebore and black willow were strewn around and over the mound to cancel out the protective plants. A hole had been hacked into the side of the barrow, and above it was a rough wooden door frame. From the top of the frame hung the butchered body of a goat. Blood from the offering pooled at the entrance to the hole. In this spirit realm, Jair could feel the hidden energies roiling, and beyond them, a powerful dark presence that was hungry and searching.

  “Who did this?” Jair asked his spirit guides.

  The taller of the two men led them backward, and it looked as if everything around them moved in reverse with them, from the direction of the wind to the motion of the moon overhead. The barrow was now untouched. Jair and his guides watched as four men in black robes approached the barrow. One of the men lifted his arms and his hands began to move with the spell he cast as another of his companions withdrew a live rat from a bag and impaled it with a large knife into the ground at his feet. Jair watched as the four men carried out the desecrations he had seen, ending with the offering of the goat. Their heavy cowls hid their faces, but in the moonlight, Jair glimpsed the amulet that hung from a chain around one man’s neck, and he glimpsed the same amulet on the silver cuff of another. It was the three-bone charm, sacred to the Shrouded Ones, Peyhta, Konost, and Shanthadura.

  Jair started toward the figures. Both of his spirit guides drew their stelians and blocked his way.

  “Let me stop them!”

  “What you see has already happened. It cannot be undone,” the shorter warrior said. “We show you what has already come to pass.”

  They stood alone now in the shadow of the desecrated barrow. “Can the damage be repaired?” Jair asked, keeping a worried eye on the darkness that stretched down from the large hole hacked into the barrow’s side.

  “If your shaman has the power,” the tall warrior replied. “This is but one barrow among many. But beware, blood calls blood.”

  With a roar, something dark streaked from the opening. It blotted out the moonlight where it passed, stretching out like the flow of a black river. The two spirit guards moved to block it, and the taller guard turned to Jair.

  “Return to your body. It knows you’re still alive. Go back among the living and it can’t follow.”

  Jair fled into the smoke, hoping that he could find the path back to rejoin his body. Suddenly, he found himself in the ceremonial tent again, facing his body. Jair couldn’t tell whether Pevre and Talwyn had returned to themselves or whether they, also, faced danger in the paths of smoke. He ran at himself, and as his smoke spirit passed through his living flesh, his body jolted awake from its trance. Moments later, he saw Pevre and then Talwyn rejoin themselves as well. Talwyn took a final handful of herbs from the last of the containers, and the strong smell of rosemary and clove sealed the working. Talwyn shook her head as if to clear it, and then bowed toward the brazier before she stood. Jair and Pevre climbed to their feet beside her. The two guards opened the tent flap and a cool night breeze dissipated the last of the smoke.

  Judging by the position of the moon, the ritual had taken several candlemarks. Talwyn motioned for Jair and Pevre to follow her back to their tent. Kenver was asleep on his mat. She poured wine for each of them and then brought out a tray of sliced apples, mint, and cheese to ground them once more in the world of the living. After they had eaten and finished the wine, Jair looked to Talwyn and Pevre.

  “What did you see?”

  Talwyn drew a deep breath. “I walked with the shamans to understand the binding of the barrow, long ago. They showed me how the protections were made, and how to re-bind the wardings.”

  Pevre drained the last from his leather cup and laid it aside. “I walked with the chiefs to the last time the Dread were in the world. They’re neither good nor evil, but their power is far greater than ours. We wake them at our peril. They serve us best watching the gateways to the abyss.”

  Talwyn turned to Jair. “And you?”

  Jair nodded. “I didn’t have nearly the adventure you did. I probably saw only a week or so ago, when the barrow was desecrated. But there’s no doubt: The Durim are the ones who broke the wardings, although I don’t know what they thought it would do or what they were after.” He shivered. “Even so, something bad nearly got out. The spirit warriors blocked it, and they said if I returned to my body that whatever it was had no power over me, but it was like a large, solid, black shadow and it felt evil.”

  Pevre looked thoughtful. “There are worse things than dimonns,” he said quietly. “The old stories say that, long ago, monsters walked the world. Things that look like the magicked beasts you’ve fought,” he said with a nod toward Jair. “But worse. Much worse. In those days, it didn’t take a blood mage to conjure the monsters, and they preyed on all living things.” He poured another draught of wine and settled back to continue the story. Jair guessed it was for his benefit, since he was certain Talwyn knew the old tales as well as her father.

  “Long ago, the Shrouded Ones ruled the night. Peyhta, the Soul Eater, Konost, the Guide of Dead Souls, and Shanthadura, the Destroyer. They called the monsters and the monsters did their bidding. Some of the monsters were beasts. Some were like the shadow you describe. Some were dimonns, but dimonns with much greater power than those that find their way to the world today.”

  “How were they defeated?” Jair asked, leaning forward.

  “The Shrouded Ones are the Old Gods, as
are the animal spirits: the predator-cat Stawar God in Eastmark, the Wolf God of the vyrkin, the Bear God of Trevath, and the Eagle God, still the patron of the Sworn. They were worshipped here long before the Winter Kingdoms were formed, when there were just bands of tribes wandering these lands, and later, when the first warlords began to bind those tribes into fiefdoms. But raiders came from the east and from the south. They worshipped a new goddess, one with eight faces. The Sacred Lady.” Pevre paused.

  “The Light Aspects of the Sacred Lady—the Mother, the Childe, Chenne the Warrior, and the Lover—took the animal gods as their consorts. But the Dark Aspects—Sinha the Crone, Athira the Whore, Istra, the Dark Lady, and Nameless, the Formless One—fought the Shrouded Ones. Through their mages and shamans, they broke the power of the Shrouded Ones,” Pevre said. “Athira lured the Shrouded Ones to their downfall, and Sinha bound their monsters and sent them to the Abyss. Nameless scoured most of the followers of the Shrouded Ones from the lands. Istra called to the Dread to guard the Abyss, and she charged her best warriors to become the Sworn protectors of the barrows, to guard the Dread and keep the wardings.”

  “But Nameless didn’t destroy all of the followers of the Shrouded Ones,” Talwyn added. “For centuries, in the far country, or up in the mountains, there were those who remembered the old ways and kept their rituals secret. Each time plague or famine would rise, the followers of Shanthadura, the Durim, would come to the fore again. And when the dark times passed, they would disappear once more. And now, plague, war, and famine have swept across the Winter Kingdoms. And like the pox, the Durim return to shed more blood.”

  Jair sat in silence, letting the story sink in. “What do the Durim think will happen if they free whatever is down in the Abyss?”

  Pevre shrugged. “We don’t know for certain. They won’t tell their secrets, and no one leaves the cult of Shanthadura alive. But I suspect their motives are simple. They would turn the monsters on their enemies and reinstate the worship of the Shrouded Ones.” He met Jair’s eyes. “And if that day comes, the Winter Kingdoms will fall into darkness. I’ve heard stories from some of the old vayash moru about how the Black Robes terrorized the people, about the human sacrifices and the ritual deaths. We can’t allow those times to return.”

  “What now?” Jair looked from Talwyn to Pevre. “Can we renew the warding that was broken on the barrow they desecrated?”

  Talwyn avoided his eyes. “Yes.”

  “Yes… but?” Jair probed, getting the feeling that he was not going to like the full answer.

  “I have to spirit walk into the barrow. My magic isn’t strong enough by itself to reinstate the wardings. I have to ask the Dread for help.”

  “They’re neutral in this, right?” Jair asked, fearing for Talwyn’s safety. “You’ll be able to return when you’re through?”

  Talwyn took a deep breath. “I’ll need an anchor. I’m not a summoner, so my soul doesn’t actually leave my body, but my consciousness—my spirit—does. Sometimes, when the spirit walks, it can lose its way, especially in the dark places. Normally, I’d ask Father to anchor me, but I need him to work some of the wardings.” She reached out to take Jair’s hand. “We’re oath-bound. You can anchor me. I’ll see the light of your spirit to find my way back to my body.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  Talwyn looked away again. “Then my body remains, but without consciousness. It will sleep without waking until it dies from hunger or thirst, but my spirit will be lost.”

  “I don’t like this,” Jair said, looking from Talwyn to Pevre. “Surely there’s another way.”

  “There’s no other choice,” Pevre said, and his tone gave Jair to know that Pevre did not like Talwyn’s plan, either.

  Jair could see in Talwyn’s eyes that she understood the risk, to herself, to the Sworn, and to the Winter Kingdoms should she fail. And Jair knew that he could not refuse her, even though his fear for her chilled him to the bone. “Then you know I’ll be your anchor. You knew before you asked.”

  Talwyn gave him a wan smile. “I believed you would do what must be done.”

  The moon was rising as Talwyn, Pevre, and Jair went to the barrows. With them went four of the Sworn’s warriors, to assure that the working would be uninterrupted. Jair knew that tonight, the stelian that hung from his belt would be useless. Tonight’s battle would be decided by Talwyn’s magic and the cooperation—or lack thereof—of the Dread.

  He watched nervously as Talwyn and Pevre made their preparations. Magic was widely practiced in Dhasson, but unlike his cousin, Tris Drayke, Jair had no magical power of his own. He hoped, and feared, that Kenver would inherit his mother’s power. His own lack of magic left Jair feeling helpless as the others prepared for the confrontation. Talwyn wore the robes that were a mark of her role as shaman and as the daughter—and heir—of the chief. Talwyn’s robes were woven in rich shades of ochre, sepia, and hues of green, the colors of the ground and the plants from which the Sworn called their power. Embroidered into the robes were symbols and runes as well as a complex pattern that seemed to brighten and dim with every breath Talwyn took.

  Pevre, also, was dressed to work magic. Tonight, Pevre wore the ceremonial regalia of a Sworn chieftain, and the mantle of a shaman. A breastplate of leather set with runes in carved bone and precious stones covered his chest and back. Leather vambraces set with silver covered his forearms. A tunic woven in shades of blue, green, and brown extended beneath his breastplate, matching his trews, and a mantle that matched the robe Talwyn wore lay across Pevre’s shoulders. From his belt hung tokens of favor from the Consort Spirits: the claw of a stawar, the eyetooth of a bear, a charm made with the fur of a wolf, and two wing feathers from an eagle.

  Jair came dressed to fight. He wore the leather battle armor of the Sworn warriors, and his stelian hung close by his side, along with an array of knives and throwing blades sheathed in a baldric across his chest. On his right hand, he wore the signet ring of the heir to the throne of Dhasson, and on his left palm, the tattoo that marked him as one of the trinnen. Though he would have been well-armed for any mortal battle, tonight, Jair felt at a decided disadvantage.

  Talwyn raised her arms to signal that she was ready to begin the working. Pevre began a steady rhythmic beat on the hand drum he had carried from the village. Talwyn started to chant in the language of the Sworn, and Jair followed along, swaying to the rhythm of her words.

  “Faces of the Sacred Lady, turn to me. I am your daughter. Honored dead, protect me. We are kin. Consorts, I ask you to accompany me. Spirits of the Dread, permit me to enter.” As Talwyn spoke, her form began to shimmer. And as she called to the spirits, a mist rose from the land around her, and as Jair watched, shapes began to appear in the mist, only to vanish like smoke a moment later. Jair thought he glimpsed the ghosts of Sworn warriors, still bearing their death wounds, and the wizened faces of long-dead ancestors. The figure of a woman with long, black hair turned to face Jair, and for an instant, he thought he had come face-to-face with Istra, the Dark Lady. The image vanished as quickly as it came, and Jair saw new shapes coalesce in the mist. Beside Talwyn were a bear, a large wolf, and a large, black predatory cat that was as big as the wolf. Jair recognized it as a stawar, one of the most feared hunters of the Eastern plains. Talwyn took a deep breath, and her robes fell away, leaving her skyclad. From the mist above her head, the figure of an eagle landed on her outstretched forearm.

  Talwyn’s body collapsed atop her discarded robes, and a spirit image stepped away from her still form. The spirit image gave one glance back toward Jair and then moved to the crude doorway the Black Robes had erected over the hole they had dug into the side of the barrow. Darkness extended down into the tomb. Talwyn’s spirit image paused at the entrance and she bowed, and then her lips moved, but Jair could not hear her words. Accompanied by the spirits of the Consorts, Talwyn vanished into the darkness.

  “How will I know if she needs me?” Jair asked, when Pevre slowed his drumming.r />
  “You’ll know. It’s not unlike the bond between a healer and his assistant. It’s your life energy that her spirit will follow back to you and back to her body.”

  Jair looked toward the place where Talwyn’s body lay crumpled and still surrounded by her robes. Everything in him wanted to run to her and gather her into his arms, but both Talwyn and Pevre had warned him to disturb nothing. Instead, he stared into the darkness of the shaft Talwyn had entered, straining to see a glow or a wisp that might give him any hint of what was going on.

  Jair felt suddenly off balance, as if someone had shoved him hard from the side. He opened his eyes, and everything around him changed as quickly as if tapestries with a different landscape had been unfurled all around him. Distantly, he heard Pevre’s voice.

  “Steady, lad. Talwyn’s drawn you into the bond. You see what she sees. Watch, and do nothing.”

  Pevre’s warning was easier heard than followed. Through the bond, Jair felt Talwyn’s fear as she and the spirit guides wound their way deeper into the barrow. The path led through complete darkness, and a mortal might have had to crawl to follow the winding, mazelike passageway. More than once, the path dropped away into air, as if whoever had made the barrows for the Dread anticipated mortal tomb raiders and set traps for them. Talwyn and her spirit guides continued, unimpeded.

  A growing feeling of uneasiness seized Jair, like the wind before a storm. His skin prickled with fear, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Talwyn was afraid, but Jair felt her muster her courage to press forward. The darkness became oppressive, suffocating, as if the shadows themselves had mass. Jair felt Talwyn and her spirit guides stop.

  “Show yourselves!” Talwyn’s voice rang out in the darkness. “I’ve come to restore the wardings. I can’t do it without your help.”

  Before Talwyn spoke, Jair thought the darkness of the barrow was absolute. But as he watched through Talwyn’s eyes, the darkness grew even blacker, but this time, Jair knew that the Dread moved in the shadows. Through Talwyn, Jair could feel the gaze of the ancient watchers, and a shiver of power ran through him. Whoever—whatever—the Dread were, they had not been human in a very long time.