by Colin Taber
“How do you know?” Fel asked, but already his widening eyes declared that he suspected the truth.
“I was a young inquisitor then, but rising quickly through the ranks. The death of my senior on the way to Ossard placed me at the head of the inquiry – something I was determined to succeed in.”
“Sweet Velsana! It was you!”
Anton’s voice came out as a whisper, “Yes.”
Fel glanced at Sef with surprise, but then swallowed and took a deep breath. “Were you not punished for such excess?”
“Punished? Why no, the Inquisition celebrated me. It was the Most Holy Benefice of the Church, who would refuse to let us return and finish our work, that my Inquisitorial seniors cursed for excess – excess caution! To the Inquisition I was a hero.”
“A hero?”
“The Inquisition always backs their own. They have many enemies; some who hate their methods, but more who’re simply jealous of their power. The Inquisition will always defend its own, even if they’re privately assessing the subject’s actions and working to punish them. In public they stand as one.”
“What an institution!”
“Some say it’s more like a family.”
“I can see why.”
“Yes, it’s a strange beast.” He looked down at the table again and took a deep breath. “Afterwards, despite the support of my seniors, I began to fill with doubt. I was shaken by a curse, a curse that was brought down upon me. It was the first of many. Far too many.” Anton turned to Sef. “It was from Juvela’s grandmother. To face such a thing, from someone guilty of only casting spells of love, made me begin to question my work. Eventually, I confessed my doubts to my seniors. I was corrected. Yet, to have done so exposed my own failings.”
Fel gave a nod. “You fell from grace, no longer their hero.”
“That’s what happened. Even though they convinced me that my actions in Ossard were right, I struggled to find the same zeal. They watched me for months, then seasons, and finally years, waiting for me to rekindle my passion. It left me in limbo, never given positions of consequence, only ever offered minor power. I was doubted.”
Sef asked, “But they sent you back to Ossard?”
“It was my last chance to prove myself.”
They sat for a moment, considering Anton’s words.
Sef changed the subject. “What of Aker Quor and the Quor Colony to the north? Is it truly a wasteland after the war?”
Fel looked to him. “The land recovers, in places at least, while the new city of Aker Quor thrives. The colony, as a whole, is an unnatural place, no longer one of woodlands, river valleys and summer fields. All that remains are the mountains and bedrock that once lay hidden beneath rich pastures.”
Anton said, “It’s truly that bad?”
“That bad and worse, but it had to happen. The population there, as small in number as they were, rebelled not just against Recontact with the rising Fifth and Final Dominion, but also against our Kinreda.” He caught himself and paused before looking to Anton. “They were our own heretics.”
“And your retribution worse than anything the Inquisition could inflict.”
Fel’s manner firmed. “What do you know of what happened?”
“Not much for certain, but I’ll share it with you,” Anton offered.
“Go on.”
“The Lae Velsanans that lived on that rugged and snow-dusted island had done so in their villages for as long as the Heletians have known of it. They were skilled in sea-craft, particularly in whaling. Sometimes they’d come to Ossard to trade, seeking things they couldn’t get in their cold homeland. Whatever they bought they paid for with the ivory and oils they harvested from the seas’ brine-beasts.”
Fel gave a nod. “Go on.”
“They’d been left alone by the Fourth Dominion of Old Wair-Rae, but at the rising of the Fifth their lands were annexed and worked back into the mainstream of the Lae Velsanan world. It was a culture they’d drifted away from during their long isolation.”
Fel nodded again, the hardness of his face fading. “A good start.”
“The problem arose a few years ago when the governor of the colony began to suspect that his subjects weren’t supporting the great work of the Ansilsae, as decreed by your Kinreda’s five faiths. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that not only were they not supporting it, but actually working against it...”
Fel’s voice came hard, “That is a grave charge; to work against something divine and pre-ordained! It would be more accurate to say that while the local population may have held some reservations, as many do who go through Recontact, that the bulk of them were led astray by local ringleaders. Those damned souls were more concerned about base notions of wealth and power than wanting to dispute the Ansilsae.”
Sef shook his head with confusion. “In Ossard we heard some news of the campaign against the separatists, but little detail. The talk from fishermen and sailors was of the glow of flames on the northern horizon, of all of Quor seemingly ablaze. It looked to be a grave doom for a people being swamped by such an overwhelming power.”
“They were not swamped!” Fel snapped. “Recontact is always a difficult time. Over the course of millennia and four dominions we have developed provisions for dealing with such things.”
Anton asked, “And what are they?”
“We declare a period of grace so as to limit interaction with the Dominion. That quarantine gives all parties a chance to prepare for what comes next.”
“And what’s that?”
“Their integration: From the Kinreda to the Cabal, and the noble and merchant houses, too, none may move on a new territory until the end of Grace. That period is overseen by a military governor’s administration and gives time for all involved to adapt – and also time for us to deal with those who had been ruling the Recontacted land. It has always worked, sometimes not smoothly, but it allows for all to find a new balance, one that offers a path to peace within the Dominion.”
Anton said, “We heard that the problems in Quor began as a series of raids on forts, attacks that grew in regularity and ferocity until they became more than a nuisance.”
Fel sighed. “At first the raids seemed to be about plunder, if wrapped in a slogan of local grievance. Such raids earned retribution. Before long we seemed to be tied into a vicious tit-for-tat campaign.”
“And that’s what happened; things just got out of control?”
“Prince Jusbudere and I had only just arrived from The Core when the unrest entered its second season and began to spread. We were in the north, far from the worst of it down on the southern coast near a comfortable garrison called Pan Tilae, a place of good fishing and even winter wines.”
“This was during the term of Grace?” asked Sef.
Fel nodded. “Pan Tilae was the softest posting that Quor offered, yet no palace of pleasure, for Quor was largely a backward place. Even its biggest town, Hasa, could only claim two thousand homes.”
“So, what happened?”
“The separatists mounted a raid against the garrison. The administrator for the south of Quor was stationed there, a son of House Fiquene.
“During the raid the administrator himself took up arms and sought to intervene. We know little for certain of what happened next, aside from there being an explosion which we suspect was caused by the misuse of altered naskae. Over five hundred people died, including the administrator. The garrison’s survivors were in such a fury that they went on to slaughter the locals.
“The violence spread with news of the catastrophe. On both sides tempers blew, seeing larger raids from the locals and stronger reprisals – particularly in garrisons that held troops with ties to House Fiquene.”
Sef asked, “I thought you’d said that noble houses aren’t allowed to come into a territory until after Grace?”
“I did, but some rules are flouted. Such a thing has become accepted because of the constant need for troops. The enlisted have to come from s
omewhere, and that means, inevitably, they come from the crowded estates of the nobility. Houses are supposed to free enlisted troops of their bonds during their term of service, but most do not.”
“So the fighting escalated and the war began?”
“In some districts a relative peace had reigned, such as in the north at Nar Quor, but even there, eventually, the war arrived. For us the trouble started as a few raids on our garrison, and then ambushes as we chased the villains away along forest trails. Eventually the towns and villages became unsafe to us. Soon an order came, one that would see all disturbed settlements razed in a terrible night of flames, something fuelled by the white fire of altered naskae. It brought the resistance to an end, but not because a peace had been agreed, only because hardly any of the population remained. For Recontact it was a disaster.”
Sef asked, “Hardly any?”
“Well over half perished, most in that one terrible night, but many afterwards in the chaos that followed.”
“Were you part of it, of whatever battles were fought in the north?”
“When the fury of it all came to Nar Quor it was with flames more than anything else. I took part in some defensive work and a few raids against bandit camps, but compared to what was happening in the south, they were mere skirmishes.”
Anton asked, “I’ve heard it said that none of the native born remain, but it’s untrue?”
“It’s a lie, but what remains is a broken people. Most of them have fled the ruined towns and villages of the coast to live in the wilds, shunning the new arrivals that come to refill the place. They’re more desperate now, but so few in number that they’re more likely to steal colonial livestock and crops by night than seek an open fight or to raid.”
“What was your original mission; to see Quor through Grace?”
“No, not for me or my unit. We were searching for the Terura, just using Quor as a base. Seers back at the royal court had sensed something of them out this way.”
“And you’ve been searching for them ever since?” Sef asked.
“It was important. Aside from the threat of chaos they represent, this area – and Quor in particular – is now a bridge between two halves of the Fifth and Final Dominion.”
Anton nodded. “You speak of Ungria.”
“Yes, Ungria and its many provinces, that have come under High King Caemarou’s rule. Their acceptance of the primacy of Yamere nearly doubled Lae Wair-Rae’s strength, showing the truth of the Ansilsae as our Fifth Dominion comes closer to its final blooming.”
“What now of Quor?”
“It’s being rebuilt and filled with settlers from The Core, yet most of the work being done there is for the navy and military. Aker Quor and Hasa are not just rebuilt, but sport great ports and shipbuilding yards. Already a pillar-tower is planned for Aker Quor and one later for Hasa, the first of many to come. One day they’ll also be grand trade ports in their own right – even more so now that Ossard is denied to merchants sailing eastwards.”
“So, the fall of Ossard has profited you?”
Fel’s back stiffened. “No, not me. Perhaps it’ll profit the new people of Quor, but for me it remains a tragedy.”
“And so you go to gather information and wait for the outcome of the Inquisition’s campaign?”
“Yes.”
“Why not help? Why not be part of removing the Horned God’s blight alongside the Inquisition?”
“Such an alliance is not possible in a political sense, not at home. Many Lae Velsanans distrust middlings and think of them as a lesser people, some even consider them to be just animals. To fight against them is something they can understand, but not alongside them.”
Sef sighed. “What kind of future are we founding? Are we just making room for the world’s next tragedy?”
Fel shrugged. “That’s what I also wonder sometimes.”
Anton raised his wine and said, “A toast then: To a better future.”
The others raised their goblets.
“To a better future.”
“To one of peace.”
Fel sipped his wine and then put it down. “Tomorrow we’ll be passing to the north of Evora and into the Evoran Sea. In a few days we’ll part ways. If you need anything you need only ask. From there I’ll be heading back to the Northcountry and then Quor.”
“Just some water and food to see us on our way,” said Sef.
“And best wishes,” added Anton.
Fel gave a nod. “You’ll have them.”
Chapter 27
-
The Coming Battle Brews
-
The days passed by with both Sef and Anton gone – and Fel and the Sidian, too. I found I missed them all, a feeling no doubt exaggerated by the way we were forced to wait, not just for the coming end of winter, but also for news.
Worst of all, I knew it’d be a long time before I again saw Sef, so I wished him luck, as I wondered how long it might be. His thoughts still came to me by way of our bond as I slept. That at least came as some solace.
We also all waited – some more than others – for word from the Black Fleet.
As those days passed the people of Marco’s Ruin grew more divided. The divisions didn’t yawn suddenly open, but came more gradually; between those who’d fight alongside the Inquisition, and those who just wished to be left in peace.
I discovered, to my surprise, that I didn’t think either group was right. There was a third way. That realisation only added to my unease.
In essence, I believed that Kurgar’s Ossard needed to be defeated, I just didn’t think this to be the right method or time. Conversely, I also felt that those who wanted to be left in the ruins were in their own way shirking a duty, for had they not been part of the city when it had lost direction?
In short, there was no easy answer. Not for anybody.
During those days of waiting I contemplated how I might somehow bless those who wanted to go and fight in an effort to keep them safe. How to do so, for such a large number, left me feeling not just at a loss, but sickened with fright. I just didn’t have the strength to work such a thing.
In truth, I was terrified of the celestial knowing that to dare its flavours would only arouse my dark hunger. And, if I lost control, I suspected that the feeding unleashed would be terrible indeed, my unborn child the first to suffer – and most certainly not the last.
Those fears paralysed me.
Meanwhile, Pedro and Silva prepared their volunteers, putting them through drills, sometimes on the terrace and at others times on the beach. Those without weapons wielded canes of oleander. Any of their supporters who couldn’t fight instead laboured at repairing weapons and armour or making rose flags.
My colours were going to war!
The banners worried me, for surely such colours would mark them, making them tempting targets for Kurgar – and perhaps even the Inquisition.
I hadn’t given up trying to dissuade Pedro, but he never wavered nor showed any doubt. Worse still, Silva’s new found enthusiasm only fired my husband’s determination.
Seeing Pedro’s will so strong and unyielding made me envious.
If only I could harness such steel, perhaps I’d be able to bless them and keep them safe. If only...
And what if they thought I’d be doing so in any case? What if they expected that very thing? I was sure some of them, maybe all of them, would be marching to war certain in their own minds that I’d be working to keep them safe.
I wouldn’t abandon them, surely?
More and more, I felt like I was being followed by a smothering shadow, something that threatened to engulf me in misery and doom. I needed a solution, and for that there was only one place to turn; Grenda.
I found her in the canyons as she watched over teams harvesting wild roots from the dark soil. She, for once, seemed surprised by my visit, but after taking in my glum face, stepped forward. “You’ve come with troubles?”
“Yes.”
“And you�
��ve been so lost in those worries that we’ve neglected your lessons. In truth, none of this is working out very well, is it?”
“No.” And it wasn’t, not at all.
We’d begun heading down a path, one relatively unused. We walked side by side as I considered her words – and then, finally, came out with the only solution I could see, “My people expect me to bless them when they go to fight, but I can’t, not without risking losing control of my hunger.”
“As you’ve said before?”
“Yes, but I wonder if I’ve found an answer.”
“What might that be, for it isn’t mastering your addiction, is it?”
Slowly I shook my head. “Have you ever heard of moonroot?”
She stopped, seeing me turn to face her. “Juvela, you mean the root that numbs the link between body and soul?”
“Yes.”
“What of it?”
“I wonder; could it be a tool for me to use, something that I can administer as a last resort if I’m in danger of losing control?”
She grimaced.
“Well?”
“I don’t like the idea, but maybe. How’d you come to know of it?”
“Anton. He explained its properties – after having had his men use it to subdue me back in Ossard.”
She scowled. “Yet now he’s a dear friend!”
“Forget that; what of moonroot? Could it stop me feeding?”
With a frown she thought about it, but I was relieved that she at least kept her sharp tongue still while she did. Finally, she shook her head. “No, it couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’d block you from drawing power from your soul into this world, for example, in bestowing a blessing of protection upon Pedro.”
“Yes?”
“Soul-feeding is something that doesn’t happen in this world, it’s something that happens solely in the celestial. There your soul consumes another. Your body isn’t part of that, so hampering the link between meat and life-light won’t stop anything.”