The Ossard Series (Books 1-3): The Fall of Ossard, Ossard's Hope, and Ossard's Shadow.
Page 42
Pedro sensed that something lay behind my silence. “Well?”
“I don’t know, but I think I know who once dwelt here.”
“Who?”
“The Ogres, the fourth race of man.”
“Ogres?”
“Yes.”
“What, before they were defeated by Saint Baimio?”
“Those here were defeated long before then.”
“By whom?”
I shook my head, still taking it all in. “I’m not certain of the history, not yet.”
“It’s a wonder!”
We walked to the balustrade that overlooked the waters of the sound. Out there, about sixty paces distant, loomed the lone tower rising thirty paces above the waterline, making it taller than the terrace we stood upon.
Pedro shivered, seeing me turn to him. I asked, “What’s wrong?”
He gave a weak smile. “Nothing, just a memory of something long gone, and I pray, one day forgotten.”
“What?”
“This place; it’s innocent of my pain and misery, but looking about it reminds me of the monastery I spent time in so long ago. These walls have a feeling about them, of something holy. It’s a spiritual place.”
I looked about as he spoke, realising that something in his words rang true. The structure had been built to be defended and to stand time’s test, but there was also something about it that called to the soul.
People moved about us, continuing their exploration.
Pedro forced a smile. “Shall we go on?”
“Yes.”
Our discovery continued, revealing more floors and rooms. Another terrace spread atop that second four level building, its layout similar to what we’d just passed through.
Several smaller buildings arose, built into the gorge-side at the upper terrace’s back. Their facades were of the same light stone, but graced with well-weathered carvings of trees, men and angels. They were a marvel, if but their glory faded.
Simple fountains inside the two largest buildings brought water to the top terrace and into wide pools. Fed by springs sourced from the hills behind them, the pools they serviced were now dirty and overrun by time, yet still they overflowed down a series of well-worn channels that stepped down and out of sight, draining into the very walls of the ruin.
Those two halls both backed onto the gorge wall, separated from each other by an empty courtyard, and crowned by small towers rising over their doorless ways. One of them had seen its glory toppled long ago, yet the other tower remained.
Pedro and I entered the building with the intact tower and sought out its steps. Worn by time and filled with the litter of an age – dirt, weeds, and generations of abandoned bird nests and their residue – we pushed on to the top of a set of spiralling stairs.
Our effort delivered a breathtaking view.
We could see across the valley, even over some of the adjacent ridge, down the sound’s dark waters, and as far as to glimpse the distant sea in the west.
Pedro smiled and said, “Well, none shall sneak up on us.”
The sun shone, as the wind rose to gently blow down the length of the sound. Right there and then, together, we knew we’d found sanctuary.
-
Our first night in the ruin ran late, but was filled with joy and relief. Finally, long after sunset, we retired, lost to exhaustion.
The second terrace was a warren filled with many rooms and meeting halls, with only half its passages and chambers connected to the central light-well or with windows on external walls. The layout wasn’t ideal, leaving it dark and drafty, but at least we were sheltered.
Families took most of the rooms on those levels, sharing them between themselves, and from there we put single men down into the ground level where they would form a watch. The single women were housed amongst the families in a group of large halls, each to be warmed from built-in hearths of the most generous proportions.
For now, such simple arrangements would have to do, but all could be worked on and changed. I think people were just grateful to know that they’d have a roof over their heads.
So, on our first night, none noticed anything wrong or strange. Not even the watch I’d requested, but that was because – despite their best intentions – they’d also been lost, one by one, to slumber.
But, the second night was different, and one heralded by hints that not all had gone as we’d thought the night before. In the morning, people noticed things moved and astray. Nothing had been stolen or damaged, just shifted and prodded. No one blamed anyone, most assumed others had just moved things during the course of our repairs and settling in, or that they were mistaken.
Still, it was the first sign of trouble in our new home, and proof that – despite what we thought – the ruin was already occupied.
I shared a corner room with Pedro on the top level of the second terrace. It had two windows, one that looked to the south over the valley and beach, the other opened westward to the sound. Part of the room – near its entry – was a small alcove where we put Maria to sleep. The room outside had been given to Baruna. Another room nearby was given over to Angela and Silva, and another to my parents, while I kept yet another for the return of Sef.
Sef...
I felt guilty in keeping that room aside, but it was something I had to do. It was a reminder that I still had much to achieve; and yes, for me, it was a sign of hope.
Hope that he would be freed!
Sef’s room had a window on the sound with a view framing the lone tower that rose from its depths. There were times when I’d sit on the crates we’d stacked there, taking in that view, and reflecting on all that had happened.
At such times, I’d almost feel Sef beside me.
Oh, my poor Sef...
Through our bond, I knew what was happening to him, all of it, whether terrible or mundane. In return I’d send him all the love and well-wishes I could, hoping to see him again alive and whole.
Sweet Sef!
On occasion, I’d hear his whispered words in my mind, as if they came like a prayer. At other times, I’d have flashes of vision or sound, of what was happening to him. Most of that came as a dark nothing, sometimes accompanied by conversation, or, more terribly, by hot stabbing pain when he suffered savage beatings.
Amidst all this were two things I got from him that I dearly loved; the tingle of his knitting wounds as my blessings worked to heal him, and the realisation that even in his place of darkness, damp with muck and scurrying rats, he wasn’t alone.
He’d found a friend and a measure of comfort.
Sef had found his own hope in such a place, and provided some of his own in return. He had company in that dank hole, a nameless and faceless friend, and that seemed very important, perhaps more important than any help I could offer.
It meant that both of them now lived with hope.
Chapter 4
-
A Healing Voice
-
From his cell, Sef was dragged up stone stairs, through the cellar, past solid doors with fresh locks, and to the Malnobla’s ground floor. Once there, he was taken up yet more stairs. He was eventually allowed to walk freely, but pushed if he dawdled or struck from behind if he took too much interest in anything about him or anyone he saw.
And what he saw...
As he rose through the Malnobla, he could see that much had changed. Fresh silk banners hung from cleaned walls to replace the portraits of leaders past; there were also maps of the Northcountry, Dormetia, and even the wider world beyond; and illuminated passages of verse speaking of the glory of the New Saints. Seeing it, the order of it all, left him to wonder at what changes had been wrought outside.
What had Ossard become; a ruin or the sprouting seed of a rising power?
Sef noticed the soft glow of daylight in some of the rooms that he passed, the sight arousing in him a need to feel the sun again on his skin. He wondered at the thought, a thought so whimsical: He knew that there was a good chance h
e was being marched to his judgement and execution.
What need could he possibly have for the sun’s sweet kiss?
Perhaps the closest he would get to such warmth would be to feel his own hot lifeblood pumping from a mortal wound upon his battered flesh. For him, this summons was most likely the end of all things. Deep down, he knew and accepted it.
There would be no more sunrises for him.
This would be the end of his road, and what a long and black road it had been, even if it had finally found some illumination at the end.
Juvela had been right. She’d seen that Ossard was lost and finally accepted it. He’d said it himself as he counselled her, knowing his words held bitter truth, but still, in his heart, he couldn’t believe it.
A day might come when a new city would stand here, perhaps even one innocent of what had unfolded in these bleak days, but it would not be the Ossard of old. That city was dead.
Sef’s attention returned to his surroundings, as his climb up the stairs came to an end. He was led off the landing, down a corridor and into the Lord’s office, but not to find Kurgar behind the broad desk.
Seig stood there, the broad Kavist High Priest leaning back against the front of the desk.
The thugs escorting Sef pushed him forward and kicked at the back of his knees. Sef came crashing down in front of Seig, his hands going out to break his fall, yet he struggled to stay upright, for the polished floorboards were slick with blood.
And any illusion of order and civility was shattered.
Seig laughed. “Mind yourself!”
Sef glared up at him, wondering if it was his destiny to add to that crimson pool – or would it just be put off for another day?
“Sef, you have erred against your Lord and Master. There’s much you owe Kave, so much so that it would be too simple a thing to send you straight to the Pits!”
“I’ve committed no crime!”
“You firstly abandoned your duty in Kaumhurst, but more importantly, have since abandoned Kave in your heart and mind. You turned from him when you were most needed, as we took Ossard. You have to make amends and be punished.”
Sef spat at Seig’s boots. “I see only blood and suffering, and misery and death! I came to Kave in an attempt to save life, but was deceived!”
“Fool!” And Seig swung his leg forward to kick Sef in the chest.
The blow hit hard enough to knock Sef’s hands out from under him, seeing him fall forward onto the bloody floor.
“You’re such a disappointment – and all for the hope you place in that stupid girl. You know she can’t last.”
Sef shook his head while gasping for air.
Seig paused, before snapping, “Bring him!”
They picked Sef up, dragged him out and back to the stairs. Up they went, led by Seig, until they were on the roof under the dusk sky. There, as Sef gasped under the pain of what felt to be a cracked rib or two, he found himself dumped into the gravel at Seig’s feet.
“Get up, I’ve something to show you.”
Sunset had passed, the colour of the sky deepening, though it still clung to a dull amber in the west. The smoke of past days had cleared, meaning the fires were out. Only in one place did a solitary plume rise to twist on a gentle breeze.
Sef knew it instinctively; that was where they burnt the dead.
Seig said, “Look about you, order has returned. We’re rebuilding the city, but this time as one dedicated to Kave and the New Saints.”
Sef shook his head. “After so much death, and just to grab power!”
“Oh, grow up, of course we did it for power!” He shook his head. “You’ve gone soft! Well, you needn’t fret, not any more. You’ve no longer got any part to play in this grand work!”
Sef glanced about to see a city at peace, but bearing scars that would take a generation to heal. The shattered towers of the cathedral reared up nearby, a building now blackened with smashed windows and collapsed walls, and then there was the Turo, its scorched top also a jagged wreck. And they were only the most obvious wounds, standing out because of their height and size. Beyond them, across the city’s districts, whole streets lay in charred ruin.
Seig spoke in a low voice, “I didn’t bring you here to show you the city, but to show you something of Schoperde’s whore.”
Juvela!
Sef turned to him, intent on his every word.
“It’s down the Cassaro, but distant.” He pointed to the east.
There, far away, nearly lost to the valley’s lazy bend as it continued to snake away and grow in height, the northern ridge – even at such a distance – could be seen to wear a darker hue, but amidst it were areas faintly aglow. The discolouration of the ridge stood out part way up its slope. To make out any detail of the murk or soft yellow light held within was impossible, but its existence was undeniable.
Sef felt his heart stir just in witnessing it. “What is it?”
“Trees.” Seig shook his head. “We’re rebuilding a city, one that will be the greatest of the age, while your lady plants a wood.”
“But it’s lit, does she camp there?”
“No, she’s long gone. The light is not from campfires, but the wood itself; it’s bewitched.”
“How?”
“It’s a spreading thicket of rosetrees.” He turned from it. “Don’t get excited about it, you’ll never see it again.”
“Why?”
Seig grinned. “We’ll be putting it to the axe tomorrow.”
Sef looked to him in disgust, but Seig ignored him as he gave a nod to the guards.
A moment later, Sef’s next beating began.
-
Sef awoke stiff and sore, but knew he was lucky to be alive. He could taste blood in his mouth, and much of him ached, yet despite his pain he was oddly pleased; for he realised that he was back in his dark cell, but not alone. His head lay in his friend’s lap, his wounds being tended by a gentle hand armed with a damp rag.
“Welcome back,” his friend whispered.
Sef had never heard such sincere relief.
“They’ve put you in my cell and filled yours with new prisoners, but they seem unconscious or perhaps dead.”
The big Flet reached with a sore hand to feel at the bumps and wounds on his face. His friend said, “Be careful, they’ve treated you harshly. I’d at first feared you too far gone.”
Sef mumbled through swollen lips, his throat gummed up with saliva and blood, “I’ll be alright. I don’t think they can kill me yet – I still carry the protection of Ossard’s Rose.” And just at the mention of Juvela, he could feel himself strengthen.
“She is powerful, yet I suppose she’s now gone: Escaped to the ruins in the distant hills,” his voice was wistful.
Sef asked, “If you know of her, why didn’t you also leave?”
“Me?” His lap shifted as he shook his head. “I couldn’t, not then, but... but perhaps... perhaps now I wish I had.”
“Why couldn’t you; all were welcome?”
“I could sense the truth of her with my soul and heart, but not accept it in my mind. I had duties to fulfil back then, old allegiances – even though they were already failing – and in those last days I was blinded by desperation. You are right though; she is indeed Ossard’s Rose and I confess it before you.”
Sef smiled to hear such a thing, and again felt a tug at his groggy mind for his friend’s voice rang out familiar, particularly with the healing of his wounds. “Friend, tell me your name, for I know the sound of your voice, yet I can’t see your face?”
The answer came, but only after hesitation, “I’m sorry, Sef. I thought you knew. It’s me, Anton.”
And then the lock turned on the heavy door that led through to their cells, while the amber light of lamps came to fill the dark void. Figures came forward, one calling, “Come Inquisitor, it’s time for you to answer some questions.”
Chapter 5
-
A Growing Need
-
Across the ruin were areas where the walls or roof weren’t sound. We had over sixty stonemasons amongst our number, so they set to work supervising crews of volunteers to do what they could to reinforce and rebuild – or, where necessary, bring anything dangerous crashing down.
Surprisingly it turned out that much of the structure wasn’t built of cut stone, but somehow moulded from it. Many walls and floors were made of single slabs or fused sections, leaving them solid and strong, even after all this time. The back three-quarters of the ruin held to this elemental method, leaving only small sections, mostly away from the hillside, that rose by more traditional means.
Thousands of other jobs also needed to be done, whether fixing walls, building gates, or dealing with one of our simplest problems; the countless draft-generating over-sized windows that punctuated the thick walls of the ruin. There was much to do.
It was after another long day of labour that Pedro and I found ourselves retiring exhausted but satisfied. There wasn’t yet a door about, but many a draped sheet or curtain, and that, like the incessant drafts, stood as only a minor burden after all we’d been through. We fell into bed exhausted, while Maria curled up on her cot after she’d spent the afternoon helping clear rocks from what would soon be our first field. After she’d dozed off, Pedro and I sat up on our makeshift bed by the light of a lone candle and talked in contented tones. I hadn’t yet said anything about my feelings that I’d conceived, but remained certain.