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

by Colin Taber

  I needed souls. I needed to feed. Any would do – or all!

  Sometimes, I’d drift into an almost delusional state. In those moments, I’d fantasise about feeding, and then sample the celestial in the search for souls just to get a taste. It was madness, a tempting madness, and one I’d only wake from when I recognised the essence of a soul I’d begun to prey upon.

  That’s Baruna!

  Pedro!

  Oh gods, sweet Maria!

  But what unsettled me the most was the taste of my unborn son.

  Such helpless innocence!

  On that day, realising what I’d done, I threw up and wailed. Worse still, I realised that he was someone I couldn’t get any distance from: He was always going to be the hardest test for my addiction.

  A test I dare not fail!

  So, I lived in fear, not that the world would do him harm, but that the threat came from me. What if I became lost in delirium, or dreamt of a lustful feeding and fell into it, only to awaken and realise I’d not only tasted, but consumed his soul entirely?

  If such a thing came to pass, I’d be accursed to carry his growing body, a soulless vessel, hosting it all the way to labour and birth. Even if he was born with a heartbeat, he’d be doomed to die within moments, once he issued from my exhausted womb.

  What a curse!

  To taste souls and sample their flavour was to discover something sweeter than the best honey, more heady than the finest wine, and even outdid my hazy memory of the lustrous effects of lotus.

  Lotus...

  I wondered, could the oblivion of lotus help soothe me – or would it just see me lose control? Could I dull one addiction by drowning it in another, for the salve that was Pedro’s loving had all but failed?

  Such an idea seemed stupid, but I was getting desperate.

  How long did I have before my hunger defeated my crumbling will?

  That thought led to another; what of moonroot, the very thing that stymied access to the celestial? Anton’s henchmen had used it to overwhelm me back on the streets of Newbank. Was it something that might also help? Could it block the temptation, or even be used to just steal away my consciousness if I was losing control?

  And that day was drawing only closer...

  But where, in the midst of winter, could either lotus or moonroot be found?

  Around me, as I wrestled with my own troubles, life continued on. Winter deepened as a cloak of fear settled about my people, one that grew heavier with each passing night.

  It was at this time that Baruna told me of people being overheard talking of leaving to try their luck elsewhere.

  But where could they go?

  From then on, during the few fleeting moments of sleep my addiction allowed, I began to suffer fresh nightmares. These were not of lone strangers killed by the winter on the open road, but instead my own people.

  All of this worked to subdue the atmosphere in our home, one that had started out so well. Now, people felt threatened and unsure. On top of that came increasing sightings of travellers using the valley road. It seemed that many of the refugees who had settled around Goldston were being turned out.

  Clamping down on my hunger with what remained of my faltering will, I made an effort to be seen by my people, to reassure them that all was well. It was at such a time that Pedro found me in one of the common rooms, as he came bearing news. “Juvela, our grain has spoiled.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The roof has leaked in the granary and water got in to ruin much of our store. We won’t have enough for winter, not for everyone in your court.” He was tiring of me, of my singleminded interest in him at night, and of our people who would do whatever I asked, but paid him little attention.

  His tone hurt, but such a thing and the damage my malaise was doing to our marriage would just have to wait. His news was grave, as without our grain store we faced our first real threat.

  I looked to him and put a hand to his own, squeezing it. “How much have we lost, or more importantly, how much can we save?”

  Something sparkled in his eyes at my touch. “It looks like we’ve lost at least a quarter of it. Of the remainder, it’ll have to be...”

  “Lady Juvela!” came a cry.

  We both turned.

  One of our watchmen was running towards us, dodging people in the common room.

  “What is it?”

  “Lady Baruna has sent me to tell you that a party of twelve approaches the gate; they’re marked in the black, navy and gold of the Inquisition!”

  I looked to Pedro who’d tensed at the news, taking his hand away from my own. “Show us.”

  We left the warm winter halls of the second level, passing through the afternoon’s drizzle to look over the walls at the delegation from the lower terrace’s heights. They were closing the distance along the trail to our gate; they’d be there in moments.

  They looked to be an official mission, all robed in the hooded blacks and greys of the Church. Some of them carried banners, the silks limp with the bleak day’s drizzle.

  Baruna came towards us from the stairs of the light-well, she looked concerned. “Kurt’s closed the gate. I’ve got some of our watchmen to station themselves there, while others are at the stairs so that we can call your instructions to them.”

  The gate was little more than a big door of oleander canes, something a few men or a strong horse could kick in. Yet, she’d made the right choice.

  I nodded. “We’ll see what they want.”

  And then, together, we watched as they marched closer.

  They came to a stop ten paces out on the well-worn trail, their lead calling, “We are here to parley with the witch known as Juvela Liberigo of fallen Ossard and the Newbank slum!”

  I didn’t know the man, though he wore the robes of the Inquisition. Perhaps it was one of Anton’s juniors, a survivor of the Loyalist flight during the city’s fall. Clearing my throat, I replied, “I’m Juvela Liberigo, who is it that comes to speak with me?”

  Angela and Silva arrived beside us on the wall, so too did my own parents. All of us looked down on our visitors with interest, not the least Ossard’s former Lord.

  “I am Giovanni Tarano, an assistant to the righteous Inquisitor Anton Camberi of the Expeditia Puritanica – and here in his stead. I am here to parley.”

  “Then come forward and enjoy our warmth and hospitality.”

  My words put a shadow of a smile on his stern jaw, for about him stretched the valley’s greens, often lost under churned mud and what remained of the last snow heavy enough to reach the lowlands.

  Baruna asked, “Do you wish to meet them down there or have them brought up?”

  I looked to Pedro, him rubbing his thick arms against the damp and chill. None of us were dressed to be outside, we were only there because of our unexpected guests. “Have them come to the first common room where we’ll wait for them by the fire. I’m sure they’ll welcome the warmth.”

  She nodded and left to arrange it.

  The first common room was one of the larger halls and a popular place against the cold because of its huge hearth. Today, as we returned to it, a couple of hundred people sat there on that gloomy mid-afternoon, keeping busy with simple tasks. Some worked on needlework, others at leather or carving, or the preparing of food.

  I called out to them, “You may stay if you wish, but I must ask for quiet as a party of the Inquisition has arrived and will be admitted to speak. You needn’t fear them, but we will hear from them as they may carry word of our old home and other news.”

  A score of whispered conversations burst into life at my announcement, but no one made to leave.

  We gathered some facing benches by the fire and settled down onto them just as Baruna appeared. Following her came their delegation, made dour by their cold and wet journey, yet on seeing the flame-filled hearth, they gladdened.

  I rose to greet them. “Welcome to our halls. Let us take your travelling cloaks and set them to dry while we ta
lk.”

  They bowed in gratitude and took off their long cloaks, handing them to Kurt and Baruna, who gave them on to others, who hung them on racks beside the fire. The robes they wore underneath were also damp, but I wasn’t yet sure how hospitable I wanted to be. Instead, I indicated the bench opposite our own.

  There, by the fire’s warmth, they could dry their clothes as we talked – and the more information they disclosed, the drier they might become.

  Giovanni said, “I thank you for your hospitality, for it’s more than I expected.”

  “Neither of us is in a good position to nourish old animosities.”

  “Times are bleak, it’s true,” he said.

  “So, you’ve come to speak. What is it that you wish to discuss?”

  “Many things, but firstly I wish to know of the fate of my master.”

  “Anton?”

  He frowned. “Yes, Inquisitor Anton.”

  I was challenged: Did I feign ignorance or reveal the Sef-given truth, a truth I hadn’t yet shared with my own people?

  He continued, “Word amongst the faithful speaks of you cutting his throat on the night of Ossard’s fall, but I’ve also heard that you’ve denied such a thing?”

  “No, I didn’t cut his throat. Lady Death attacked him as we talked in Lord Liberigo’s office. Amidst the chaos of that attack, I fled his custody – but he also escaped.”

  “Her attempt on his life failed?”

  “She struck him a good wound, one across the throat, but not deep enough to kill. He bled from it, but if stopped and wrapped it would have healed.”

  “And so he survived the attack, but then what happened?”

  “For certain, I didn’t know at the time. Lady Death used a dark blessing to kill the light, and in that realm of shadows, Anton’s own guards arrived to bring us aid. She killed many of them as I fled, but I wasn’t alone in my escape.”

  He shook his head. “So, you know nothing for certain?”

  “Of late, it’s come to my knowledge that he did survive, and I reveal it here for the first time for all.”

  Lord Liberigo turned to me in surprise, followed by the others.

  Giovanni asked, “Where is he?”

  “He’s imprisoned in the city, in the bowels of the Malnobla.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s being held with one of our own, Sef Vaugen.”

  Now it was Baruna and Pedro who were the first to turn and stare.

  He nodded. “You know this through your witchery?”

  “I have a bond to Sef, once my bodyguard, but also and always a dear friend. I labour to protect him as he is questioned and tortured by his and Anton’s captors. I give both of them strength.”

  With that, in all the hall, there wasn’t an unsurprised face left.

  Yes, I was keeping Anton alive!

  Into the silence, I asked, “So, the Loyalists have fled the city?”

  He gave a slow nod, still considering my truth. “Not all, but many, leaving our people scattered. Most have gone south and east, with only a few north. Many are about Goldston, Minehead and Conarda, though there are also some numbers in Unard and Turi, and more in the hamlets in between.”

  “I see, for we haven’t seen many pass this way.”

  “And your people are all here?”

  “Yes, at the moment, but we’re many and it’s crowded.”

  “Have you heard much news of fallen Ossard?”

  “Not much, though we haven’t been looking for it, we’ve been too busy making ourselves ready for winter.”

  He looked about at the high ceiling and doorways, and the huge fireplace, with its generous warmth. “It’s quite a home that you have here.” He looked to me. “It’d be something better shared – if it weren’t for it being haunted by the last age’s heretics.”

  At his words the air grew chill.

  We weren’t alone...

  He felt it too, so raised his voice, “This place is haunted by the doomed, those who danced like animals around towering pillars of stone while calling to their primal gods. They were the tree worshippers, the venerators of vine and herb, and the believers in women seers. This was once their place, a den of heresy, and no good can come of it!“

  The fire suddenly stirred at his words, flames leaping and blowing about, making us all jump off our benches and step back.

  He cried, “Witness their fury at having their truth revealed!”

  People about us gasped and yelled, all moving back as a great flood of smoke billowed out from the fire, rising like a wave to reach for the ceiling before crashing down.

  With a firm and loud voice, I said, “We’ve been here for days enough, yet nothing bad has happened. This is Life’s haven, even for those now dead.”

  The fire settled.

  Giovanni looked to the calmed flames. “This is a place of the oldest heresy, of where they celebrated the wild god of life and her season of lustful heat. It’s a place of bitch-worship and carnal love, where it comes to fruit and breed!”

  I countered, “They’re our hosts and have been tolerant!”

  “They are heretics!”

  “And in your mind, so are we! I renounce your hate. Here, together, we stand with our haunting friends, for this is Life’s House!”

  About us, some gasped while others cried out, pointing to something behind me. I could feel what loomed there: A chill deputation of our hosts had revealed themselves. I hoped that now that they could see our foes, perhaps they’d finally accept us.

  I went on, my words aimed solely at the spectres, “We’re refugees from Ossard and seek only hope and life. We want no enemies, but know that those who side with Death are misguided!” After a brief pause, I added, “We’re simply trying to make things right, despite our own failings.”

  In that moment I felt Marco’s presence again, and knew that somehow I’d finally answered his own ghost’s hope.

  I think I’d passed a test...

  Something cold and firm landed on my shoulder – the supporting hand of the leader of our dead hosts. Today, we’d made friends of them. We’d at last found allies.

  I said to Giovanni, “So, in answer to your question; I know little of the happenings in Ossard, though I’m open to hear news. We’re happy to share such information with you and your Loyalists, and perhaps in some things to work together, but your people are not welcome to share their faith, as it seems to be built of nothing but fear.”

  He looked to me with fury. “Then we have nothing to discuss!”

  I snapped, “Their robes!”

  And they were gathered and handed back to them.

  They turned to march out. Finally, just before they left the hall, Giovanni stopped and said, “Have this news: Ossard is suffering.”

  “In what way?”

  “Plague rises in the city – and some of your people remain in Newbank, while some of our own are in the Northern District. Sooner or later, both of our peoples there will fall unless we aid them.” Then he turned and left.

  As soon as they’d gone, I spun about to look upon the spectres, but they’d already disappeared.

  Pedro looked to me, confused. “What’s going on?”

  Kurt had gone to lead our guests out, but Baruna remained and said, “On the way up they spoke of the rosetrees on the ridgeside.”

  “What did they say?”

  “They came that way, walking the trail through them, but spoke of there once being a wood, as if they had spread. Unfortunately, all that remained of them were fresh stumps. They said that they’d been recently lopped, the ground salted, and the timber removed.”

  Sorrow came for me, the same kind of bleak feeling I’d had when I thought of the doom Anton had prophesied to Sef. I’d known that Sef had been told that the trees would be felled, and that he’d not been able to see them when last on the Malnobla’s roof, but still I’d hoped.

  Just thinking of it reminded me of the power I’d once held – and that stirred my deep
hunger. Suddenly, I felt weak. I reached out for Pedro to steady myself.

  He looked to me with concern. “What’s wrong?”

  In a breaking voice, I said, “My fever returns.” My legs buckled.

  -

  I awoke later, much later, to a night of cold wind and sleet. The room was dark about me and I was alone. I’d been left to lie on my bed and sleep. Sighing, I rolled over, but my head was heavy – yet not as much as my heart. The hunger had returned, and with it that deep pain that nagged and ached, working to tear the last of my will apart.

  I sat up, the motion filling me with nausea, yet I managed as I rose and stepped towards the window while grabbing at the wall.

  Behind me, I heard a deep voice hiss out of the night, “You dare stand there and talk of Life? Look at you and your dark hunger. You are filth!”

  A whispered chorus backed the accusation, rolling slow and mournful from a score of ghostly throats, “Grae ru!”

  I turned at the sound, suddenly conscious of how chilled the room felt, but moved too fast. I lost my balance and fell, hitting my head, only to again be taken into darkness.

  -

  I stirred again, this time because arms were about me as they lifted me from the cold stone floor. My body shivered, my face wet and chill. Barely conscious, my hunger bucked on instinct, my perception sliding straight into the celestial to seek out a soul to feed upon. It went for the first it found. Unable to regain control, I sampled it.

  It was Pedro!

  What was I doing?

  The shock of it saw me wrestle back control as my perception fled the celestial, but all at a cost: A body-wide tremor came to take me, something that set me to sweat and ache as the whole of my core cramped.

  My eyes opened to reveal a candlelit room, with Pedro carrying me, as he put me back on our bed. He whispered for me to hush.

  I tried to speak, but couldn’t, the shaking of my body worsening. Suddenly, my stomach lurched, and then I was sick. I vomited over myself, the bed, and his arms. It didn’t stop until I was only retching up air and horror.