The Ossard Series (Books 1-3): The Fall of Ossard, Ossard's Hope, and Ossard's Shadow.

by Colin Taber

  The alcohol had long ago relinquished its grip on me, replaced with horror and shame. Pedro knew, but refused to let me become a prude. He pulled out of me as he rolled off, and with his closest hand squeezed one of my breasts. “Perhaps I’ll see you again, Juvela, you are too special to let go.” Then he got up, turned around, and fetched our clothes from where they lay on the paving.

  Under the silver-blue moonlight, I could see that the cultist had marked a four-sided diamond on his back. Painted in blood, it now trailed long dribbling lines from the base of his neck running all the way to his butt. He looked to me and smiled, but it wasn’t of shared joy, instead it was of selfish power.

  We seemed to be alone, leaving me to wonder if I was safe. I also worried about the time; Isabella had been gone for far too long.

  I wanted to run.

  I wanted to go home.

  I wanted Sef.

  Pedro dressed himself and then helped me. He pulled me up and off the lounge, forcing me into my dress with well-practiced hands. I wondered with disgust; how many other women had he been with?

  Then we stood facing each other.

  I scowled at him.

  Would he or his robed associates ever want to see me again? I hoped not.

  This would be the end of it.

  He regarded me. “Your dress looks as it should, but let me fix your hair. He fussed over me, his touch lingering, and then he wiped away tears I didn't remember shedding.

  As if nothing had happened, he asked, “How am I, orderly enough?”

  Shocked and numb, I whispered, “Yes.” He actually looked magnificent, truly alive and vital, as if he'd been blessed.

  He took my reluctant hand and led me along the path.

  I felt stunned and confused. My guilty flesh still carried his memory, worse still a part of me revelled in it.

  I'd unwittingly been part of a ritual that saw my previous silence on the redheaded boy's kidnapping mature into the guilt of being present at his murder. I'd also shamed my family.

  Voices rose from the stairs, we turned to meet them. I let go of Pedro's hand.

  It was the rest of our party.

  I would try and tell them, I had to.

  Pedro stepped forward to greet them.

  Horseface and Heifer looked tired and bored, but I couldn't hold their gaze.

  My cousin carried the bouquet of roses. The sight of them hurt me; my perfect dream dead.

  I tried to speak, to say that a boy had been killed, that forbidden magic had been worked, but my mouth would simply not move. Despite my efforts, neither my voice nor jaw would follow my command.

  Pedro watched me. A sparkle in his eye told me that he knew of my plight. I could see his relief.

  Isabella appeared out of the darkness behind us.

  Had she been there all along?

  Her face gave away nothing.

  My cousin said, “It’s a good night for a rooftop stroll, but unfortunately the evening must come to an end.” He looked to Pedro and continued, “I must thank you for your invitation to dinner.“

  Pedro bowed and looked to me. “It was a pleasure, and a pleasure I’d very much like to have again.”

  I shivered.

  3

  -

  The Coming of Shame

  -

  I went through the next few days as if in a trance.

  My mother worried, I think she thought I was drifting off, somehow becoming lost to the magic. Struggling with my own guilt, I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth. I convinced myself that I wouldn't have been able to in any case because of the binding their leader had put upon me.

  Slowly, I pulled myself out of the haze, helped by my mother reducing the amount of lotus she added to my meals. In the end, I reminded myself, it hadn't been me drawing the blade across the boy's throat. I was just a witness. If anything, I was also a victim – if perhaps a luckier one.

  And so I went on, trying to soothe my troubles away. It didn’t work, not at first, but soon I found some solace and my malaise began to fade.

  Pedro didn’t call on me, and for that I was glad. I even began to think I could put the whole thing behind me and settle for a simpler man.

  Until I discovered I was pregnant.

  Before long I wasn't the only one who knew. My mother realised and told Father. The maids overheard, and through them the news of my shame spread.

  Pedro's next visit started without the charm of our first meeting.

  I was sitting in our household's courtyard, a place I'd tried to find peace in by greening like Rosa Sorrenta’s famed garden. My efforts had shown some success, but early autumn in Ossard was no time for new roses to take.

  I heard the bell ring, and listened as one of our maids attended to it. I expected it to be a messenger – since word of my pregnancy had got out, my parents' friends had stopped calling, all too embarrassed by my condition.

  Soft voices hummed, followed by quiet as the maid hurried away to seek my mother.

  My parents weren't speaking to me. They hadn't since I'd confirmed my pregnancy, something feared by my mother since she'd seen the state of my torn undergarments. Worst of all, she’d also forbidden Sef to talk to me.

  The little I did want to say in my defence couldn’t be said; the cultist’s casting blocked every one of my attempts to talk of it. It left my mother and father, and even Sef to think the worst of me.

  I heard the click of the front door’s latch; our caller had either left or let himself in. The curiosity as to which saw me turn around. At the same time, a gentle whisper of warning swirled about me.

  I looked up to see Pedro step through an opened door that led into the courtyard. Once on the cobbles, he just stood there and gazed at me. After a pause he swallowed and said, “Juvela, how are you?”

  “I’m well,” I said in a shaking voice as I got to my feet.

  He came forward, retrieving something from his belt. He stopped before me and then moved to offer it; a small leather pouch. As our hands met, he looked to me and said, “This is medicine from Evora, it will end your malady.”

  Speechless, I didn't accept it.

  His eyes widened. “You must take it. Have your maid mix it into a broth...”

  “May I help you?” My mother's voice cut off his words.

  We both turned to see her stepping into the courtyard, the maid behind her in the shadows. Sef also stood in the house, watching, but his hand rested on the hilt of his sword while his face flushed red. I’d never seen him so tense.

  Pedro turned and bowed, closing his fist over the pouch. “Lady Van Leuwin, I am Pedro Liberigo.”

  She stared at him. “I know who you are.” And it was obvious that she did. “Have you come to belatedly ask for her hand?”

  Pedro stood stunned and for once his charming tongue lay still.

  I paled at the suggestion.

  My mother stepped forward. “Well, have you?”

  To his credit, he stood his ground. “No, I’ve not come to ask for her hand. I’ve come to speak with her regarding topics of mutual interest.”

  I spoke up, my tone weak, “He's come to give me a brew to kill our child.”

  Pedro winced.

  My mother's eyes gleamed, as if given permission to slake her thirst for his blood. She growled, “What kind of man are you? No Fletman would hear of such a thing. You Heletians have no honour!”

  He nearly choked, his own face turning red. Finally, fired by his wounded pride, he spat back, “Maybe so, but Heletian men can't have any less honour than Flet women – she is looser than a tavern wench!”

  My fists bunched and my lips trembled. “You liar! You have dishonoured me and my family, and stolen something precious and dear!” and then the rest of my words died, my jaw locking as my rage saw me try and tell of the ritual, his corruption, and the murder. Frustrated, I could only curse.

  Pedro grinned, realising that his master's sorcery had silenced me. He turned back to my mother, but as men do, he
lost his courage in the face of a woman so enraged. In that moment she had all the power – something I was famished for.

  She walked up to him and pointed an accusing finger. “You will do the right thing, and there is only one right thing to do.”

  He stared incredulously. “What, marry her? A plain Flet maiden from a common family?”

  My mother answered in a voice cold enough to silence the heavens, “Your family is hearing of this right now, as is the mercantile, stevedoring, seafarers’, and Fletlander guilds. Our shame is becoming your shame, and there will be only one way to soothe it: You will marry her!”

  Both Pedro and I were stunned by the news. The shame of it all, the whole city would know by dusk!

  He glared at her, only to be distracted like all of us by the sound of urgent knocking from the front door.

  My mother called to the maid, “See to it!”

  We heard the door open, followed quickly by the stomp of booted feet. In moments the courtyard began to fill with men at arms in the livery of the Liberigo’s, a dozen of them, and amongst them Lord Liberigo himself. The men at arms arrayed themselves to either side of their lord, a tall, broad, but lean man, without his youngest son’s looks. Lord Liberigo stood stern and hard. This was a man who did business, and did it quickly.

  Sef moved to stand beside my mother.

  “Lady Van Leuwin, it is unfortunate that we should meet under such circumstances, but I came as soon as I received your message.”

  My mother answered, “My apologies for the harsh language within it, my Lord, but we share a problem that needs a just solution.”

  Pedro had paled at the sight of his father. He began in a quaking voice, “It’s not...”

  His father hissed, “Shut up, Pedro!”

  The front door slammed again, followed by the sound of hurried feet. My father appeared, his satisfaction plain to see as he took in the sight of the Liberigos. My mother nodded, indicating that all was well despite the presence of the armed men in livery.

  Put at ease, my father's gaze landed on Pedro. He strode straight up to him, his eyes boring into him as his anger built. “Shameless bastard!” Then he raised his hand and slapped him.

  The solid blow reddened Pedro's cheek and saw him struggle to keep his footing. He looked to his father, waiting for him to intervene. He didn't.

  Lord Liberigo clapped his hands together and growled, “You deserved that, Pedro, and you deserve so much more!” Then he turned to my parents and said, “You have done well in forcing my hand. You have succeeded in shaming my family, and your own, by making Pedro's part in your daughter's condition public – but I don’t blame you. I can see you are merely trying to make the best of a bad situation. I imagine you want compensation?”

  My father's fury settled, but he still stood angered. “You can't buy us off, not in this!”

  Lord Liberigo shook his head and chuckled. “I'm not going to, in any case it's too late for that. Instead, I'll give you what you want. Pedro is a no-good playboy and has shamed my family with his exploits for years. It's time he settled down. I offer him in marriage.”

  I nearly died.

  Pedro cursed, “Father, she's a Flet, and her family of no consequence!”

  My father turned on the young man, slapping him so hard that he was knocked off of his feet.

  Pedro looked to his father, his lips quivering and bloodied.

  Lord Liberigo answered, “Pedro, you have much to learn. Yes, Juvela is a Flet, but so is much of Ossard. You need help, and I know of a good monastery that can see to it while your betrothed runs through her maternal peace.”

  If Pedro could have paled more he would have, he stood whiter than olive skin should go. I knew his fear; would the holy men of the church discover his shameful secret, his involvement with heresy?

  I hoped so!

  With his shoulders slumped, he whimpered, “I won't do it!”

  Lord Liberigo hissed, “You will!” Then he turned towards my parents. “The union of our families has benefits for all. I lose responsibility for a troublesome son, your daughter salvages some dignity, and you receive the benefits of a close association with the most powerful family in Ossard. Will you be a part of this?”

  Inger looked to Josef, he in turn turned to me. I knew what Father was thinking; what better solution? He asked, “Juvela, will you abide by this?”

  Pedro turned to me, his pale face regaining some colour. This was his way out. He knew I didn't want to marry him, not after what I'd seen.

  My parents expected me to say yes, it was my duty, but how could I?

  Pedro couldn't help himself, a triumphant grin took to his face.

  He would win!

  Gently, like a chorus of angels, I heard the whispering voices rise again in my mind. This time they sang out, peaceful and welcoming, and lacking their previous confusion, they were led by one, strong and determined, it stirring to comfort me.

  Could I become a lady of magic, a witch? And if I did, would I be strong enough to control whatever it was that Pedro stood mired in? Could I be safe?

  He expected me to refuse, and to do it out of hand. The longer I stood there in silence the less smug he looked. Sensing my considerations, he began to panic. “This is insane!”

  In that moment I tasted power over him – and I liked it!

  He gasped, “This is madness!”

  I considered what an opportunity it was for my parents.

  He continued, “She's looser than a tavern wench...”

  Could I do it?

  And then his own words doomed him, “...and just a plain-faced Flet!”

  I growled, “I’ll do it, and if the monastery can’t break him, I will!”

  And the blood drained from his face.

  4

  -

  A New Life

  -

  We married in a simple ceremony held in St Baimio's Cathedral the very next day. My new husband spent the time in between confined to the Liberigo residence, and after our exchange of vows he was sent on to a monastery amidst the mountains of the interior.

  His father said it would be best for all of us, especially me, if Pedro's selfishness was broken in such a place. He assured me that his son would return a new man.

  In truth, I feared what might come of it. Would the monks catch the scent of ritual magic? A commoner would be burnt alive for such heresy, but the son of the Lord of Ossard?

  Could I be fated to be a widow before I became a mother?

  There had been a time, albeit for only half an evening, when I'd been infatuated with him and hostage to all his charms. It seemed an age ago. Since then I'd changed, becoming something other than the childish girl who believed in lotus-fuelled dreams. Now I stood determined to control my future. Never again would I submit to him, but to ensure that I needed to awaken and master my own power.

  -

  Throughout the term of my pregnancy, I sought more knowledge of the arcane. My mother was horrified at my interest. She begged me to abandon my search for answers. When I asked why, she’d just whisper the name of the Inquisition. At such moments I saw something in her eyes, something terrible.

  I asked, “Grandmother?”

  Tears came, running fast to flood down her cheeks. “Oh Juvela, they came for her. They took her away and burnt her at the stake!”

  I was stunned.

  The little they’d previously said about her death had led me to believe she’d died in the chaos of the riots, not in the mass burning that had triggered them.

  -

  And all the while a new life grew within me.

  I prayed for goodly souls for my new family, for all three of us, but not to the Heletians' Krienta.

  I followed Schoperde, the god of life. She’d given life to all of us, and the world about us; that included her divine children, Krienta and so many others. She was one of the two original powers of the universe, and partnered to the other, her husband, Death. Together they’d made all that followed.r />
  Schoperde’s faith arrived in Ossard with the Flet refugees. While my people found themselves grudgingly accepted in the city-state, their gods were not. Officially they converted to the Church of Baimiopia, but their beliefs survived in secret.

  At the time, after having fled the bloody events of Def Turtung, enduring a harrowing sea-crossing, to only then be faced with the zealous Inquisition, the exhausted refugees of two hundred years ago had found the decision easy to make. Still, deep down, we Flets longed to practise our faiths openly.

  Ironically, my faith stood as forbidden as whatever dark religion stained Pedro's soul. His spirituality was about death and power, while mine was about love and life. They couldn’t have been more different, but not in the eyes of the Church.

  The thought always brought a bitter smile: Pedro and I had more in common than we realised.

  -

  I never received any report on Pedro's progress. It left me wondering if his heresy had been discovered and fiery redemption granted, yet no word came.

  My feelings for him were confused. At the same moment I felt repulsion and hope, anger and anguish, but certainly no love. To make this work I needed to be strong, but also to soothe my bitterness. We had to coexist and build a life tolerable for each other and our coming babe. Together.

  Regardless of that understanding, even lukewarm feelings for my new husband struggled to find vigour.

  In the meantime, the marriage had restored some of my dignity, was profiting Father's business, and had legitimised my coming child. I told myself that that was enough, but in the dark of night, I wondered if the best outcome was for Pedro simply never to return.

  The passing months became seasons, and so my belly swelled. I thought of Pedro often, him carrying his own burden as he no doubt suffered through demanding religious training and trials. Sometimes I worried that he’d return charged with the zeal of a missionary.

  He didn't.

  Even ice holds more fire than what came back.

  He arrived a few days before the birth, at a time when I was plump and rosy. He stood with slumped shoulders, ragged hair, sunken eyes, and pale sagging skin that let his bones show through. He’d lost a lot of weight, but a good deal more spirit. It was as though Death had taken him for a lover, and when done, spurned him.