by Tom Lloyd
'Carel, he wanted to strike at his enemies before they were ready, he wanted to take his destiny in his own hands and not let others dictate to him. The only fault to bear is mine and Lahk's, for not seeing how the battle was going to unfold.'
'Then maybe I blame you too!' Carel roared suddenly, his voice loud enough in the enclosed space to stop the smiths mid-stroke. 'You left that field greater than you were, as blessed by the Gods as he once was! Isak was barely grown, for all his size, alive for fewer years than you been a professional soldier. Aye, he were a wilful shit at times, but he always wanted to be more than the colour o' his eyes. He trusted us to keep him so!'
He turned away, staring into the wincing heat of the furnace, and Vesna could see Carel's whole body shaking. The only sound was the scrape of steel on the anvil's surface.
'We failed him,' the veteran continued in a much quieter voice. 'We din't stand in his way when he needed us. His blood's on our hands.'
Carel looked at his palm as though looking for blood, and seemed to notice for the first time how hard his hand was shaking.
'Leave me be, Vesna,' he muttered, 'I got work to do here an' I can't do it like this. Go find your bride. She needs you, not me.'
Karkarn's Iron General stared at the ageing Ghost and felt the words dry in his throat. It was nothing he'd not said to himself on the long journey home, but to hear it from the mouth of another was completely different. To hear it from someone who'd loved Isak so deeply cut through his armour like a burning shard of light, scorching the hardened soldier's heart with frightening ease.
He felt himself stumble as he retreated, the weight on his shoulders even heavier now, hot shame gripping him as he fled outside. Only then could he breathe again, but it did nothing to ease the guilt rekindled inside him.
Mihn stopped in the woods and looked around. The gentle clatter of rain on leaves surrounded him, drowning other sounds – but for a moment he thought he had heard something, a faint noise… something out of place that set his palms prickling. After a while he realised he was holding his breath and relaxed, a wry smile on his face.
'I'm getting jumpy in my old age,' he muttered, starting off down the rabbit-run again. Hanging from his belt was a young hen pheasant, the fruit of a good morning's hunting. It felt good to be fending for himself again, brushing the dust off skills he hadn't used in a while and becoming less dependent on the locals.
What little silver he had brought with him had been enough to buy fowl for egg-laying. The witch appropriated half of everything he trapped as payment for the food she brought – just as well, now rumours of the ragged man had spread throughout Llehden. Few would come near the lake now.
Mihn wound his slow way back to the lake, checking each of his snares as he went. As he came out from the trees he saw Isak standing at the shore, staring over the water, Eolis drawn and by his side. He wore a long patchwork fur cloak the witch had brought, old and ragged enough to frighten Chera if she ever returned, but still serviceable.
The white-eye stooped badly, his left shoulder dipping as though the lightning-scarred arm was a lead weight, and his head was permanently hunched forward. The damage done to him in Ghenna had turned him old before his time: as old as the hollow look in his eyes.
Mihn hurried over, but he saw nothing at Isak's feet, nor any blood on his blade. The sky had remained dull all day, though the rain had lessened to a desultory smattering. 'Isak? Is all well?' he asked anxiously.
The white-eye didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the distant shore, though he wasn't looking at anything in particular; his mind was further away. The fitful breeze did little to disturb the surface of the lake. A flock of black-necked gulls hovered over the northern edge where ducks and geese squabbled.
Everything looked peaceful enough to Mihn. Isak's pup was watching them sleepily from the small shelter outside the cottage Mihn had built for him. The hound, finally named Hulf by Isak, tired easily still, his exuberance outlasting his enthusiasm. Even if he had been chasing the geese grazing too close to the cottage, it shouldn't have been enough to drag Isak outside.
'I dreamed,' Isak said at last, his voice distant.
Mihn's heart sank. Despite Ehla's best efforts, Isak still had more memories than were good for him, and his dreams were rarely pleasurable. 'What of?'
'An empty house by a lake. A cold house.'
'That is all?'
'I woke in the cold house. I couldn't remember my name. It was all gone – who I was, where I came from. Only the lake was real. The lake and the smell of mud on the wind. I was a ghost, empty and…'
There was silence as the pair stood side by side on the shore – until an abrupt bark from Hulf brought Mihn back to the present and he turned to encourage the oversized puppy over to them. He crouched down and draped an arm over Hulf's back.
'I couldn't move. As cold as the lake,' Isak continued, oblivious to Hulf's snuffles of pleasure as Mihn rubbed his ears. 'I was dead, but still standing.'
'He is gone from you, Isak,' Mihn said, looking up. 'You need not think about Aryn Bwr any more. You are free of him and his influence.'
'Still I dream.' Isak scratched the stubble on his cheek, then looked at his fingers, as though shocked at the state of them. The end joint was missing from both middle and little fingers, and the rest bore ragged scars from struggling against his chains. Quickly he lowered his hand, slipping it protectively under his armpit and shuddering as his body remembered the pain.
When he composed himself once more, he crouched also, reversing Eolis to keep it well clear of Hulf's inquisitive nose. 'I dreamed daemons came. To the cold house with chains in their hands. They came for me and I killed them. Their blood stained my hands and feet. It reminded me who I was. In the blood I remembered my name.'
Mihn looked at Eolis again, but the sword was spotlessly clean. 'It was only a dream, Isak; it did not happen. There were no daemons, the cottage is warm and cosy, and you are not alone. You are safe now.'
Isak nodded, his face caught between a grimace and a smile. 'Safe,' he echoed with a hollow whisper, 'but is it me I remember? Aryn Bwr's name remains in one place – the prison in Ghenna made for his soul. They wanted him to feel that pain again and again. Is the pain I feel from my scars, or from forgetting a part of me?'
'That I cannot answer, my Lord,' Mihn said, bowing his head in grief. 'But here I remain, to remind you of the man you were and the life you lived. We knew this would be the hard choice, the terrible choice, but it had to be made.
'You have broken the prophecy; the threads of history that bound you are all parted. You are free of it now, free to choose a new path – free to stop those who would have used you to their own ends. And you will never be alone in this. I am with you to the end.'
'But how can I trust you?' Isak asked with a curious, twisted expression Mihn could not identify, 'when you've not even noticed Hulf eating your pheasant?'
Tila trotted down the stone steps of the main wing and looked around. Vesna was not in sight and a flutter of alarm began in her heart. It had been an hour since she'd seen him head out to the forge to speak to Carel. She was under no illusions about Carel's grief; she had broken the news herself, and held him while he sobbed. Still, he'd been a long time.
Just the memory of Carel's fury and pain made Tila want to weep. The veteran understood death better than she. Even now Tila could barely accept Isak was dead; it seemed impossible, unthinkable. That seven-foot lump of muscle and foolishness hadn't been like the rest of them. Ever since returning from the battle of Chir Plains Isak had possessed an unnatural quality, some spark of vast power at odds with mortal life.
She'd watched Vesna spar a dozen times and his skill was exceptional, she'd lain in his arms and felt the strength in his chest. The count from Anvee was a soldier well-deserving of his reputation as a hero, but even so, him she could fathom. Isak had been something more: a force of nature who suited his nickname of the Stormcaller. And now the storm was gone.
&nbs
p; She bit her lip and hurried on, forcing herself to scan the faces in the distance, however unnecessary it was. Vesna would stand out from the crowd easily enough; that she couldn't see him with one glance meant he was not here.
'Lady Tila?' said a cautious voice to her right. Tila whirled around to face the nervous young legion chaplain she'd met a few days before. 'Ah, my lady, are you looking for Count Vesna?'
'I am, Legion Chaplain Cerrat, have you seen him?' Tila's reply was rather more brusque than she had intended and Cerrat backed away a little. She had to remind herself that there were no women in the chaplaincy monasteries.
'My lady, he is… Ah, come with me, if you would be so kind.'
Cerrat led her almost the length of the training ground, weaving through the bustle to skirt the barracks and stables that backed onto the long perimeter wall. He walked quickly, looking back every few seconds to ensure she was keeping up. As they neared the furthest corner of the compound they came to the much-repaired black tower, once the keep of Tirah's first castle.
Tila felt her alarm intensify as she saw a crowd assembled outside at the foot of the stone staircase that ran up the side of the tower. The people looked wary, shifting nervously as they looked from her to the door at the top of the stairs. There were wives and servants there as well as soldiers.
'The shrine?' Tila asked, dreading the answer.
'He is there. The mourners, they fear to disturb him, my lady, but they wish to offer for their lost.'
Tila nodded, understanding the anxiety she could see in the faces ahead. There was a shrine to Karkarn there; it was custom within the Palace Guard to offer sacrifices to Karkarn as well as to Death for their losses in battle. The scriptures told of great heroes wearing a ruby around their necks at their Last Judgment, an indication that they had killed, but the act was honoured by the God of War. The relatives would want to pray, to leave a drop of blood in the offering cup for each hero lost.
The crowd parted before Tila, and she made her way straight up, not trusting herself to linger at the bottom in case she lost her nerve. As she entered the dark shrine room, the light from the doorway spilled across the floor and illuminated the hunched form of Vesna in the far corner.
The shrine was in the form of an ornate weapon-stand in the centre of the room that bore a crossed sword and axe, and, underneath, a brass prayer bowl stained by decades of blood offerings. All around the weapon-stand were symbols of Karkarn and his Aspects. A fireplace on the left, behind the weapon-stand, was occupied by a black-iron dragon, burning the incense that filled the air in its upturned claws. The walls were festooned with weapons, and links of copper armour, each one inscribed with the name of a fallen Ghost.
Tila left the door open a finger-width and went over to Vesna, who was sitting on the floor, his black-iron-clad hand pressed against his temple as though praying to Lord Death.
'Vesna?' she whispered, trying to ignore the changes and just see the man she loved underneath.
He flinched and gave a great sigh before looking up.
Tila felt her eyes widen at the sight of the ruby on his cheek, but it was the exhaustion in his eyes that chilled her more.
'He blames me,' Vesna whispered, 'as well he might.'
Tila sat down beside him, taking his armoured hand in hers. 'Carel grieves, nothing more. Grief makes liars of us all. He does not mean what he says.'
'I should have stopped him,' Vesna insisted, 'I should have died in his place.'
Tila felt her breath catch at the very thought, but she forced it away. 'Do you think that is what he would have wanted? You never understood how Isak could be so accepting of your feelings for me, but it's because he realised what it meant to be a white-eye after that first battle. Violence flowed through his veins, but he found a reason to channel it. As he watched our feelings for each other grow, Isak realised he could live with the violence. He knew he had to accept it as his lot in life, so that others might find something different, something better.'
'And what about Isak?' Vesna said bitterly. 'What does he get for his sacrifice? He was just a boy!'
She pulled his unresponsive hand closer and finally felt his fingers close about hers. 'I didn't say it was a fair exchange, just that Isak was happy to make it. And remember; he's one of the Chosen, Isak's place in the land of no time is assured.'
A discreet cough came from behind her. 'Curious that you bring that up,' said a quiet voice behind her.
Tila barely had time to turn before Vesna was upright and standing protectively in front of her. After a moment she felt him relax and step slightly away so she could see the speaker. It was a man, that much she could tell, and he appeared to be dressed in shifting robes of darkness. As her mouth fell open in astonishment, the figure gave a dismissive gesture with both arms and the black swirl melted into nothing, revealing a white silk tunic and both arms covered in ornate bronze armour.
'Lord Isak has not knelt before the Chief of the Gods, he has not passed to the land of no time,' said Karkarn, God of War, bowing to Tila with all ceremony.
In her astonishment and horror Tila found herself unable to move, let alone kneel before the God, but his imperious face showed no displeasure.
'What do you mean? Say it plainly,' Vesna growled.
'Remember your place, my Iron General – it is not to question me,' the God said coldly.
'How am I supposed to serve you if you withhold information from me?'
'Stop your petulance,' Karkarn said sharply, his face flickering slightly between the cool, emotionless expression and the wild face that Tila guessed was his Berserker Aspect. 'It is not for you to know the secrets of the Land, especially if they were kept from you by the one you grieve.'
'Isak?' Tila found herself blurting out, 'this is his doing?' She stopped, casting her mind back to the months he'd spent in Tirah before leaving with the army. 'Is that what he was up to – what he and Mihn were conspiring? He was planning for his own death?'
'What happens after death is not my domain,' Karkarn replied, 'and Lord Death is not one to be questioned idly on the subject. I do know that your white-eye has not passed through the halls of Death, and that is no simple feat.'
'What does it mean?' she asked, her voice breaking.
Karkarn gestured towards Vesna. 'I merely answer my servant's plea,' he said, and vanished in the blink of an eye.
'Vesna, what did he mean by that?' Tila asked, bewilderment clear in her voice.
The count took Tila's hand once again. 'I questioned the choices I had made, the service I had given Isak. I don't know where this path will lead, but what hope do I have if I've already failed those around me?'
'But now you know that isn't true – you know Isak was fixed upon this path, wherever it took him?'
'I wish it were as simple as that,' he sighed, looking down at his love. 'But yes, it's at least clear now that Isak had a plan – why he could not trust me with it, I don't know – Ah, damnation! I've as many questions now as I had before – ' He stopped for a moment, then said, 'No, maybe not quite. At least I can believe he didn't die for nothing. It's scant comfort when my dear friend is dead, but it's something.'
Tila stood on her tiptoes and drew him close. Vesna wrapped his arms around the young woman and bent to her, and she kissed him. They stood together, embracing closely, for several minutes, until Vesna returned the kiss with surprising fervour.
When Tila did at last pull back slightly, she settled her cheek against his. 'It's been too long since you last did that,' she murmured, breathing in the scent of his body. She kissed Vesna lightly on the throat and looked up at him, relieved to see some of the strain on his face had eased.
'It has, and I have needed it badly.' Vesna patted the pauldron fused to his shoulder. 'Anything more might be a bit uncomfortable, I'm afraid.'
Tila ignored him and ran her fingers tenderly over the black-iron plate. 'It's certainly not enough to put me off,' she declared, her fingers moving to his cheek, 'even if you are wear
ing more jewellery these days too. Has anything else changed?'
Vesna laughed, for the first time in what felt like years. 'Not the man inside,' he said. 'Karkarn was insistent that he was not looking for a warrior to fight in his name. He wanted the man I am, and so a man I remain.'
'But you are still changed; I can feel it in your arms. You've been touched by a God; you carry a part of him within you. Do you still need sleep? Food? Will Karkarn visit us every day? Will you age like a man, or a God?'
Vesna raised his fingers to her lips to stop the questions. 'I can't answer, not yet, but I can assure you that I'm still a man, with all of a man's needs and frailties. The rest is unknown; we'll have to discover the answers together.' He gestured towards where Karkarn had been standing a few moments before. 'As you've seen, my God is reluctant to reveal everything.'
'And what of me?' Tila asked in a small voice.
'What do you mean?'
Her eyes lowered and her hands fell away. 'Where do your loyalties lie now? This cannot have failed to change you inside. Whatever you believed when the offer was first made, you now have a God's interests to serve.' She hesitated, then, her voice barely audible, she said, 'What room is there in your life for a foolish girl half your age?'
'Tila, my Tila,' Vesna said, tilting her head up to look her in the eye, 'it would take more than the tears of a God to change my heart.' He took her hands again, and pulled her close, and kissed her, gently. 'Tila, I know the duty I now bear, but you have to believe that it will never eclipse what I feel for you. Just as the rage of the Gods turned mild-mannered priests into fanatics, so I have been irrevocably changed by you, and I am equally devoted to my cause.'
She blushed, and squeezed his hands. She was turning her head up for another kiss when her eyes widened and she stopped back half a pace. 'Vesna, that reminds me: Lesarl's been investigating the fanatics further and he thinks it was those who were actively praying when the spell over Scree was broken were the ones most badly affected. You mustn't expect all of Karkarn's priests to accept you easily.'