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

by Colin Taber

  To balance the Kavist advance, more and more of the pious Heletians pushed past their priests’ breaking line. They charged with whatever weapons they had to hand, but also armed with faith and determination.

  Already the cobbles lay thick with bodies and gore.

  Blood and more blood...

  Strangely, crowds gathered at the edges of the square to watch the macabre spectacle. Before long, some of their number also joined in.

  Bloody chaos, and it only deepened...

  Standing there with Baruna, I realised that it was the city that stood forsaken and not me. They just couldn’t see it. Even in the confusion of battle, people kept away from me.

  They were crazy!

  And above it all Anton watched.

  Surprisingly, I could read his feelings. Like mine, they ran strong right now, making them difficult to shield. He'd also had enough of the fighting, but for so many different reasons.

  He wanted it finished; not just the battle, but the whole uprising. The disgust on his face for the Kavists and Reformers was plain. He wanted them crushed, it setting his anger to burn and flare.

  He cried into the celestial, “Enough!”

  And I could feel him gather power as he bound it with his rage. He asked of Krienta a mighty blessing, and his god, so desperate to hold Ossard, gave him what he wanted.

  His power deepened, then doubled, and then began to surge as though Krienta himself touched the Inquisitor.

  Baruna looked to me with nervous eyes, her calm shaken. “I can feel something, something coming, something woven of shadow, anger, and fear.”

  She wasn't alone, many in the square also began to look about with unease.

  The very air began to chill and become brittle, as if haunted by Death’s stale breath. The tension rose as more and more people stopped fighting to focus on a threat they felt, yet that remained unseen.

  Nervous, Baruna shifted beside me, so I reached out to take her hand. Before they met, the gap between them blazed into life with a fat and flaring spark. She started, but I grabbed her hand.

  I whispered, “Please Schoperde, I’ll give anything to save these people from whatever doom stirs.”

  Power began to gather in my soul, seeping through into my body as it came into our world. I worked to control it, wrestling with it while the air around me buzzed and snapped.

  Baruna turned to me. “Please, you must stop him!”

  But I barely heard. I was lost in my efforts to manage the power flooding into me.

  For the briefest of moments, I risked a glance at Anton to see if he was close to finishing his task. I could see his spell gathering in the celestial, some kind of fiery coil, it rank with power.

  I called, “The Inquisitor brings death, get out of the square!” and my voice rang out over a sea of people looking for a threat they felt, but couldn’t see.

  The Inquisitor replied into my mind, “You can’t save them!”

  He was probably right, but I had to try!

  Seig Manheim stood at the heart of the bloodstained square, his torn battle colours hanging limp from the pole strapped to his back. He could also sense the strength of Anton’s casting, seeing him call, “Retreat! Get out of the square!”

  The disbelief was plain on his warriors’ faces: They were of Kave and had the skills and numbers to fight. They could finish this, win it, and take the city. There was no need for flight!

  “Get out!” he demanded, his voice booming.

  While some wondered at his wisdom, his fellow priests worked at breaking the curses still plaguing so many of their brethren.

  He bellowed, “Retreat!” and something close to fear edged his voice.

  His tone saw others take up the call, while the alarm on his face washed away doubts.

  I realised that he knew what was coming; he could read Anton’s casting.

  All the while, the Reformers of the new saints kept pushing into the square at the Kavists’ rear. Unaware of the coming danger, they were blocking the Kavists' best line of retreat.

  My eyes began to sting, my stomach knot, and my legs cramp. There was going to be much death here, too much.

  I had to do something!

  Anton commanded from his belltower, “Rally to your priests, the heretics run!”

  And the Loyalists charged to attack the Kavists in their confusion.

  Anton grinned from above as his eyes came aglow with power.

  Baruna begged, “Do something!”

  I lifted my arms as the font within me boiled. “The Inquisitor brings death, get out of the square!” This time my message was powered by the energy that filled me. I didn’t just think it or hear it, but felt it thrum through my heart, bones, and flesh.

  In a moment, thousands of eyes locked onto me.

  Someone yelled, “The Forsaken Lady cries doom!”

  Seig and his priests bellowed, “Retreat!”

  And Baruna called, “She’s trying to save you!”

  Finally, the Reformers pushing into the square behind the Kavists began to slow and the first of them turned and fled.

  Despite all that was happening, the Church’s Loyalists continued to fight on. Unknown to them, their priests fell back behind them to head for the Cathedral.

  The Kavists were mostly caught between the Reformers and the Loyalists. They were never going to get away.

  I called out, “This way!” repeating the message in the celestial.

  And every Kavist heard me.

  Those with no better choice ran for me. They forgot the jammed streets, the mobs, and their foes and fallen comrades; they just ran for the opera house.

  I clicked my fingers on both hands.

  A wind rose up as a sudden squall to gust across the square. It knocked people over and tore at banners, before blustering past to punch open the main doors of the opera house.

  The first Kavists came sprinting up the steps followed by hundreds of others. Sef was amongst them. “Juvela, you must come inside!”

  I shook my head. “Go!” And my perception was lost to him.

  I searched the Inquisitor’s gathering power, trying to understand its weave.

  What was it?

  I held my hands out, my fingers tingling. I was about to begin casting, but I still didn’t know what to do to or how to protect us.

  And then the Inquisitor finished brewing his magic.

  His words spilled across the square like a mountain’s deep rumble to make the ground shake and draw dust from buildings, “May they be cleansed by your fury!”

  Silence...

  The smoke-heavy sky started to flare and spark, as though the night’s stars had come out early to discuss the bloody events below. The white and yellow lights only got brighter, their heat growing.

  I looked closely, my perception straddling both worlds. Something was up there working to nurture it, whatever it was.

  Angels!

  Krienta’s winged servants laboured without question, using their sacred swords to cut into the very fabric of our world. They opened a tear between it and the third; the elemental.

  What I could see was elemental fire!

  The anger of that primal place boiled through, and from there it spilled to begin its long fall to the ground. It let out a chorus of fiery screams as it scorched the very air.

  I had to hurry!

  I still didn't know what I was casting, but I could feel the beginnings of its power flow.

  Someone in the square yelled, “A miracle!”

  The falling fire wasn’t a divine gift, it wouldn’t know friend from foe. It would incinerate everybody.

  The Kavists continued to flood past.

  Baruna said, “We should get inside!”

  “Go, Baruna, I’ve got to cast.”

  She looked to the sky. “We need shelter!”

  “Go, I have to see this through.”

  My fingers stung as though pierced by nails. I could feel the power, it invisible, yet rushing out.

&nbs
p; Again from the crowd, “A miracle!”

  And then the rising scream of the falling fire drowned out everything else.

  The Reformers were now retreating, some even running up the steps and into the opera house. Many others stood to stare skywards in bewilderment. About them lay hundreds of injured and a thousand dead.

  Anton's casting howled louder, its light now blazing brighter than the sun. Those still in the open no longer spoke of miracles, instead they finally began to turn and run.

  Too late!

  I flicked my fingers to see the opera house doors slam shut.

  It was time to ignore those caught in the open, and to concentrate on my casting: Whatever I was going to do, I had to get it right.

  Baruna whispered, “Sweet Mother!”

  Then all I knew was blinding heat, hot enough to redden my skin and draw sweat to dampen my clothes. It was madness! The whole square was going to burn, thousands would die, and the heart of Ossard would be scorched!

  My grandmother hissed, “Any time now, dear!”

  Nasty bitch!

  The air filled with the stink of sweat and singeing hair, while the clothes of those still trapped in the open began to smoulder. A searing wind came up to squall about, its gusting blast seeing me go from being wet with sweat to being as dry as the brittle pages of my grandmother’s tome.

  Thinking of her, I whispered, “Time enough, indeed.” And the power that had been running through me burst out tenfold.

  What had previously seemed like a strong flow had just been leakage, now the real magic began. It left me gasping: It was ecstasy, orgasm, and childbirth, and so much more.

  My spine arched back as my arms were thrown out wide, and my fingers lost to sparking jets of blinding blue.

  My grandmother's voice sounded, its bitterness gone, “Control it, but don’t slow it; just push it out. If it hurts, push harder!”

  And I did.

  The square about us became cooler as the power flooded out from me. It raced for the heights of the surrounding buildings, working as it weaved something between them. Long strands became visible that reached across the square to form a kind of arched web. The strands kept growing thicker and more numerous, until they joined to dim the light and ease the heat.

  Another fool cried, “A miracle!”

  I wove my casting by forcing it this way and that. I yelled, “Get out of the square!” And then the power in me began to stumble.

  The elemental fire still fell from above, but was now seen through a laced roof of deep blue ice.

  The crowd responded to my words. They ran and crawled, and did what they could to escape. Through a haze of exhaustion, I realised that I’d accomplished something; I’d bought them time.

  The flow of power through my aching fingers slowed, and then came at last to a stop. My back straightened, but my legs just wanted to drop me. I opened my mouth to reveal a swollen tongue overcome by an unbelievable thirst, as I rasped, “Elemental water.”

  And the threads of the thick weave joined to turn into a roof of rippling liquid, its cool bulk haunted by great shards of ice.

  The temperature in the square dropped, as did the glow and howl of the falling fire.

  I grabbed Baruna, pulling her to one of the opera house’s columns. “Hold on!”

  A thunderous boom sounded.

  The elemental fire flashed a blinding yellow, forcing us to close our eyes.

  The next moment, the air was replaced by water, not a solid flood, but a thick spray that seemed more liquid than not. It blasted past us to knock us off our feet, and went from cool, to warm, and briefly to hot. Just as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

  The sound of running water filled the square. It ran from roofs, facades, and steps, seeking the gutters as it made its escape.

  I let go of Baruna, and together we left our shelter behind the column to take in the scene.

  Above us the sky was clear, just as the square before us spread almost washed clean. It sat sparkling in the afternoon sun, flooded in places, as rivulets flowed to drain it away.

  People cautiously appeared from buildings, streets, and laneways about its edge, their eyes wide with wonder.

  The tops of the taller buildings – the Cathedral's two belltowers, the roof of the Malnobla, and the heights of the Turo – all stood blackened. The stark burns made it clear where my watery shield had ended.

  Baruna looked to me and laughed with relief. I could only smile. She said, “What a wonder, you saved all of us!” And then she glanced over my shoulder.

  I turned half expecting to see the beginnings of some new outrage, or hopefully Sef, but it was just a man.

  The Heletian stood at my side and of a similar age to Baruna. His face lit up as we turned to him, it carrying the dark weathering of too much sun – or perhaps too much grief. “I’m Marco, Marco Cerraro, and I’d very much like to help you, as you alone seem to be working to save the people of the city.”

  Joy shone in his eyes, the same kind of honest happiness that Baruna shared, yet for him I could see that it also battled a deep sadness. There and then, I knew that the troubles of the city had already touched him.

  He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it, and the thrill of being alive raced through me. “Welcome Marco, I’m Juvela, and this is Baruna.”

  He smiled as though my words were a balm.

  Behind us, a young woman skipped through the square. “It’s a miracle! Saint Baimio’s tears have washed the city clean!” She trailed a streamer of the Inquisition’s black, navy, and gold behind her, as the depths of the receding waters began giving up the bodies they’d hidden.

  I shook my head. “It’s time to leave.”

  20

  -

  Words of Warning

  -

  The three of us left the square – I couldn’t stay, not in a place so marked by death. I led us towards the port to leave behind emerging crowds that wandered in shock, spoke of miracles, or who simply stared after us.

  To some of them I was still the Forsaken Lady, but for others I’d become something else. I didn’t notice it at first, but some of them followed.

  Now seemed as good a time as any to walk the streets sensing for Maria and Pedro, as I didn't think anyone would stop me. I felt tired, and doubted I could stand any more casting, but time for finding my family was running out.

  Such thoughts reminded me of how I’d looked after the magic at the opera house. I lifted my hands to examine them, expecting to find them marked, stained, and wrinkled like a hag’s. With relief I saw that the skin hung a little loose, but it was barely noticeable.

  My grandmother whispered, “You pushed it out, the gathered energy. You pushed it all out and didn’t let it wear you down.”

  I slipped my perception into the celestial to answer her, still stung by her mockery as I’d been casting.

  She was there waiting for me.

  Her spectral form smiled with sparkling eyes as she welcomed me to the cold and dark void. There was something comfortable about her, about the way she carried herself. She seemed different to the way I sometimes saw her; the form marked by dark and empty eye sockets, and haunted by her skull halo.

  I wondered at that. Her mood often seemed to differ, swinging easily from one extreme to another. Right now she waited to be warm and helpful, but at other times she’d been stubborn and bitter. I’d have to watch her. She was complicated, as if she came with two faces.

  Regardless, this was no time to linger. I thanked her and returned my attention to the real world, to my new companions, and the search for my family.

  Back on the cobbled avenues of Ossard, I walked with Baruna and Marco, along with a few others who shyly followed behind. They trailed in calm silence, not like the mob that had come down from St Marco’s, or the hateful crowd that had waited to meet them.

  Those with me seemed to be gentle souls looking to bring Ossard back to peace. They’d been changed by recent events, shaken from their ow
n complacent lives, to realise that they had a part to play in halting the city’s death.

  Beyond any doubt, I was no longer forsaken, but that being the case; what was I? Of Schoperde, certainly, but the power I handled seemed to be more than priestly – after all I’d just bested an Inquisitor.

  Every day only brought more mysteries.

  Quite a few of the buildings we passed had been looted and some razed by fire. The streets were thick with rubble and ash. Scavengers picked over the ruins; rodents, birds, cats and dogs, and even people. Increasingly, the townsfolk weren’t after valuables, just food.

  What had happened to my city?

  The streets seemed deserted, but if you stopped and listened you could hear the movement of looters as they rifled through the rubble. More often, drowning out all else, came the mournful sobs of those left bereaved or homeless.

  All of it dared me to consider that perhaps the city was too far gone, but I refused to accept it. I thought I could still have the old Ossard back and Pedro and Maria too. I had to believe it.

  By the time we’d reached the waterfront, the numbers of those following me had tripled. Two dozen walked behind me, a mix of Heletians and Flets.

  Thankfully, something distracted me from that uncomfortable realisation; the Lae Velsanan ship that had been in port only four days ago was again moored. A full score of its soldiers stood on the wharf, armed and barring access, while they eyed the smoke rising over the city.

  Even at a glance, it was obvious that the sleek ship had taken damage. One of its three main masts was down, snapped near the base, other harm was also clear.

  I walked towards it with Marco and Baruna, and followed by the rest. The Lae Velsanan guards in their sea-greens didn't move, but watched our approach. I slowed as we neared.

  Looking across the deck, I searched for the officer I’d spoken to before, but was wary of his cold-souled senior.

  Activity covered the ship. Reset rigging dangled and strained as it was adjusted, a section of the bow’s railing was being mended, and new supplies delivered. The crew were busy, and amongst them laboured a bare-chested common-man.

  The blonde Flet, broad-backed and muscled, toiled to move heavy crates into position on the deck. He turned about to expose his thick arms and toned chest, his torso covered in a gentle mat of golden hair. He laboured alone amongst the Lae Velsanans, but showed no sign of fear.