Faric’s unease disturbed Wist. He had watched as the Lyrat Pair had dispatched the dangerous foes at Potter’s Field, with simple, if brutal, efficiency. To see Faric unsettled brought home to him just how dependant he was on the Lyrats.
Aviti straightened behind Tyla as they passed the remains of a broken home. Faric guided his horse to the first intact building that they came to and Tyla fell in line behind. Aviti’s remained encased in her silent shroud.
The similarities between this place and N’tini’s farm hit Wist as they crossed a gap in the boundary fence. This had also been a farm, although it appeared to have been based around raising crops rather than livestock, judging by the lack of pens. The house was of comparable size and structure to Aviti’s home. She couldn’t be blind to the resemblance.
Faric’s horse stopped next to the front door of the abandoned farm and Tyla’s mount drew up alongside; the two Lyrat’s dismounting in a single, synchronous movement. ‘Stay here,’ said Faric, moving towards the back of the house.
Tyla offered a hand to Aviti but she declined with a shake of her head. Then he left them and entered the house through the front door. Wist’s legs nearly collapsed beneath him, as he slid down from the horse to the ground. Two nights riding and two days with no sleep were taking their toll. Aviti landed beside him, making barely a sound in the rough sand.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
A look of confusion stole across Aviti’s face. ‘You ask about my well-being?’ Her tone was sharp and she bristled with sudden anger. ‘I grieve for my father; I grieve for my brother; I grieve for my mother still. Do not make me waste my grief in pointless anger towards you. My mind tells me that you are not to blame for this, but my heart burns with a passion to -’ she paused while she struggled to rein in her fury, ‘to place the fault completely at your feet and vent my rage upon you.
‘I fear that I would unleash a fire I could never hope to contain.’
She turned her face from him. In the dim light of dawn, he could see her shoulders shaking. Her graceful frame cast a long shadow that fell over him.
‘You’re right to blame me,’ he said. ‘If it wasn’t for me then you’d still be with your family.’ He faltered, unsure how to proceed.
‘I have seen some of my past – in my dreams.’ Aviti neither replied nor moved. ‘I am Wist,’ he said, with a measure of certainty in his voice. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind now. I’ve seen the war in which I fought. In my arrogance, I thought that I could end all the fighting on my own.
‘I don’t know why I have returned to this place. Whatever the reason, you shouldn’t have had to endure this.’
Aviti remained motionless beside the powerful horse she had been riding, holding its reins tightly in her hands.
‘I promised your brother I would protect you,’ he said. ‘I haven’t managed to keep the promise.’
The silence between them deepened as the moments passed and Wist became aware of the muscles in his legs, which were painfully cramped from the night’s riding. He attempted to move the weariness from them by stretching, using Faric’s horse to balance himself.
‘I’ll try harder to keep my word,’ he promised.
‘I do not want your promises,’ she snapped. Her hold on her anger was slipping. ‘I do not need your protection. Concentrate on saving yourself.’ Then she spun to face him. Her face glistened in dawn’s fragile light. Her delicate features wore a thin veneer of anger holding back the pain.
‘These are the last tears I shall shed,’ she avowed. ‘I will find a way to control this fire within me, and I shall use it. Whoever took my family from me shall pay.’
He could accept her anger, in many ways it was preferable to indifference. He should tell her about her father’s last vision, but this wasn’t the time. After the madness of the past few days, or nights, he didn’t want to let this opportunity slip away. ‘Aviti, what happened at the graveyard?’ Wist asked. ‘I watched as you dropped Tyla’s dagger and then felt my own resolve slip. It was as if I’d nothing left to give.
‘Then I felt as if the horse had kicked me in the chest. The light returned to the world in a rush. I thought the night had been dark before that thing came at us. Tyla called it a “Waren”. Does that mean anything to you?’
A glimmer of shock passed across Aviti’s face, supplanting a little of her rage. Then she turned away from him to gaze to the horizon where the sun had just broken through. The air was so still; everything felt stunted and lifeless.
‘Waren.’ Aviti breathed the word. ‘It seems this world holds more horrors than I could possibly have imagined.’
‘So you know of these-’ Wist searched for the word, ‘creatures?’
She answered with a shake of her head. ‘More tales that I thought were used to control children. Keep them in their bed, fearing shadows and noises in the night.’
‘Anything you remember, please,’ he pleaded.
‘Simply put, the Waren hate all life,’ Aviti’s voice sounded weak and unsure in the vast desert, her rage subdued at last. ‘Seeking out darkness and despair, they find the cracks in you and pour their darkness in.’
‘Seems an extreme way of keeping children from misbehaving,’ he said, his nerves taking control of his tongue. She shot him a cold glance.
‘Sorry,’ he added, immediately regretting his flippancy.
‘Lead the horses around to the back of the house,’ said Faric, his sudden appearance causing them both to jump.
‘Oh – OK,’ Wist said unsteadily. Faric walked back into the house, as silently as he had arrived.
‘That pair are as quiet as the dead,’ he said and then grimaced. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean –’
‘They are what they are,’ she replied. ‘Silence and stealth come naturally to them, without it, none of us would survive.’
--*--
After the horses had been secured, and their needs addressed, the four companions entered the house. The Sun had risen enough to allow them to see inside the abandoned dwelling. They gathered in what might once have been the main bedroom.
The room was completely vacant. The desert had begun its reclamation of the house some time ago; sand that had blown through the open doorways and past the broken doors had begun to pile against the far wall. A partially collapsed hearth sat opposite a narrow slit, which let a little light in. The silence in the room highlighted its state of dereliction and neglect. The other rooms in the house contained little more than this one; a couple of rough carved stools and a broken table was all that remained of the lives that had been here.
The Lyrat Pair went out for a final patrol of the area, leaving Wist and Aviti alone once more. Wist wasn’t sure whether she was merely avoiding conversation with him, but she lay on the floor facing one of the walls, her back facing him.
He watched the vertical line of light make its way up the wall above the remainder of the hearth, marking the passing of the day until there was some banging and scraping from outside the house and the Lyrats returned from their circuit of the area.
‘Tomorrow we make for the White Corb,’ stated Faric as he lay his weapons down.
‘How can we cross a river?’ asked Wist. He hadn’t thought that their flight from Mashesh would include the difficulties of traversing a river. ‘We’ve no boat, or raft.’
‘The river is shallow enough here to wade across, leading the horses as we go,’ Tyla replied. ‘At this time of year, the crossing will not difficult; later in the year, the floods would make this impossible.’
‘I’ve never seen the autumn rains,’ Wist commented. ‘The last time I was here there was a drought. I can’t remember a single drop of rain falling, just an endless procession of scorching hot days and baking nights.’
‘We have boarded up the entrance to the house,’ said Tyla. ‘It shall help keep the interior dark and keep out any animals.’
Wist ran his hands over his face and felt the lengthening beard there. He was afraid of what he might look lik
e, having not shaved in over a month.
‘Give me your arm,’ requested Faric, extending his hand. Wist held out his bandaged arm without question; he had completely forgotten about it. Faric unwound the rag and examined the wound.
‘Your arm does not heal,’ said the Lyrat gravely. ‘It is not poisoned, but it continues to bleed. I can see no reason for this.’
Faric poured a little water over the cut and gestured to Tyla, who went to their packs. He returned after a moment and offered a small wide-brimmed vial to Faric. It contained a sickly, olive green, viscous paste. Faric scooped a little of it with his index finger. The gelatinous liquid had the consistency and texture of mud, but smelled faintly of mint. Wist tried to pull his arm out of the Lyrat’s grasp.
‘You can’t put that on it,’ he protested vehemently. ‘Are you crazy? I’ll get poisoned!’ Wist struggled in vain to free his arm.
‘Trust me,’ said Faric, as he smeared a little of the gritty substance over the cut. Immediately, the wound began to burn.
‘God, what’s in that stuff!’ he yelped.
‘Nothing that will harm you,’ Faric replied. ‘We have used this for centuries. The burning shall pass and it will help close the wound. You should not cross a river with an open wound.’
Faric tied a clean strip of cloth around Wist’s wrist, then he released the arm and went to set out his bedroll alongside Tyla’s. As promised, the sharp sting of the ointment passed quickly so, feeling a little foolish, Wist settled down on the floor once more. Throughout his remonstrations, Aviti had lain silent on the floor, lost in grief and pain.
--*--
Despite the fatigue from their flight, sleep was beyond Wist. With no distractions in the room, other than his travelling companions, his mind wandered back to N’tini’s farm and the month he’d spent there convalescing. How he yearned for those repetitive and exhausting chores now. They’d left his body spent, succumbing easily to sleep.
His mind drifted further back to his trek through the desert, which had returned him to Mashesh. Most of this journey was still lost to him. Memories of his torture at Tilden’s hands intertwined with his halting steps through the desert. Every stumble, every missed step, every time he faltered, Tilden’s leering face had leapt out of the dark corners of his mind to punish his ineptitude. His nerves burned as he revisited what little he could remember of that terrible crossing of the open desert. He should’ve died out there. The merciless sun only had to claim his body and his suffering would have ended. But the desert would not relinquish its hold on him.
His thoughts went deeper back to the dark passage that had brought him here. His memories of this were even less distinct; they consisted of sensations and emotions rather than clear images of a journey, if it had been a journey at all. All he knew was that his mouth had been polluted with despair’s corruption, permeating through to his soul. The cancerous tentacles of despondency had encircled his heart.
Wist’s mind had fragmented during that awful time, each part of it enduring an individual torment. Every insecurity and weakness that had held him together had been ruthlessly exposed and dissected. Without a point of reference, he was unable to gauge how long that disembodied state had lasted for, but eventually his mind coalesced. The pieces of his battered psyche intertwined as he felt himself rushing towards his destination, integrating and reconnecting. As he had emerged into the light and overwhelming heat of the desert, he’d instantly felt the pull of Mashesh on him. As if a barb had been embedded in his flesh, he was drawn in. Twice he’d summoned the strength to raise his head, to look at where he was being dragged. The brief glimpses that he’d managed to understand had shown him the huge cliff face where the land had been so violently torn. For the rest of his stuttering journey, his eyes had either been closed to fend off the sand or he’d focused on placing one foot in front of the other. Like a drunken man lashing out at mental apparitions, he’d stumbled his way across the miles and across the years back to Mashesh.
Was that what had happened? Had he somehow been transported through time? But why and who could have achieved this? He would find no answers until he had spoken to Eliscius. Was Eliscius responsible? The fact he had survived the enormous gap in time suggested that either his mentor had either performed the same impossible feat that he had, or that Eliscius had contrived to bring both of them forward.
As he pondered the riddle that his life was, he became aware of an indistinct noise; a faint moaning rose from the far end of the house. Was it the wind passing through its narrow gaps and fissures? Wist dismissed it from his mind and the noise soon abated. He laid flat on the ground, submitting to his fatigue.
He closed his eyes and relaxed his body, trying to get at least a few hours rest. The aches and pains of riding began to fade and soon his breathing deepened and sleep began to take him.
The sensation of falling backwards woke him with a start. He sat up, unsure of whether he’d cried out. He was relieved that he hadn’t woken anyone and he was also glad that he hadn’t shamed himself in front of these fearless men.
With his heart pounding in his ears, and his breathing fast and shallow, Wist lay back down. He held his breath for a few seconds, in an attempt to slow his heart rate, releasing it when he felt his chest ache for air. As he exhaled, the noise of the wind returned, only this time it sounded less like a moan and more like a call; like someone calling a name. After several heartbeats had passed, the call came again, louder but no more distinct.
Uncertainty gripped him. He wouldn’t wake the Lyrats and the thought of rousing Aviti didn’t appeal to him either. As he rose, he lifted a staff that Tyla had left against the wall near to where he slept. He had been certain that Tyla would have woken the second he touched the weapon, but the Lyrat slept on soundly. Trying his best to make no sound, he passed out of the room.
The hall was darker than he had expected, especially as it must have been approaching midday. The narrow slit in the main room provided scant light in the room and it was almost black where he stood now. He reached out his right hand to find the wall, using the staff in his other hand to ensure that nothing obstructed his path. Groping his way along, Wist made his way towards the small shafts of light coming from door frame.
‘Come to me,’ an ethereal voice whispered. He froze at the doorway to the kitchen. A glowing, nebulous form floated near the back door. At its core, a shape began to form.
‘Let me see you,’ it crooned. The timbre of the voice shifted to take on the lighter tones of a woman.
Fear held Wist motionless. He knew that voice. Entranced, he watched as a gaseous figure began to form in front of him. A human woman stepped from the cloud, her face contorted in anger and disgust. Her body flickered in the partial light and took on the appearance of an animated corpse. He watched horror-stricken as the women’s body decayed before him.
‘What a pitiful wretch you have become, Boy,’ it gloated.
‘Useless,’ it spat through a gaping maw and then it took a single step towards him.
‘As worthless as you are hopeless,’ it denounced him and took another step.
‘Just like your father,’ it said; its tone severe and loaded with venom. The putrefied body stood an arm’s reach from him now.
It recoiled with a violent shudder. When he looked again, its face had changed; no longer a pale skinned woman ripe with decay. Now a taller, darker woman, in the prime of life, stood proudly in front of him.
‘Daughter,’ it said. ‘Kill him now. He has destroyed everything we built. He has stolen your brother. He drips with the blood of our family. Do not tolerate him to breath once more.’
The apparition no longer addressed him. Behind him stood Aviti, her face a mask of shock and confusion.
‘He stole you father’s final words from you. Kill him now!’ it screamed.
‘It isn’t –’ Wist said, his voice failing. Aviti had lifted a knife from the sleeping Lyrats before she had followed him. It trembled in her grasp, casting shafts
of reflected light from its blade.
‘This isn’t your mother,’ Wist said as loudly as he could manage. ‘Please don’t listen to it.’ He couldn’t bring himself to strike her. A part of him agreed with this foul thing. Wasn’t this all his fault?
Aviti raised the hand holding the dagger and pointed it at Wist. Her hand shook violently now and he braced himself for its impact.
Aviti screamed - not a scream of terror, but one of outrage. She moved the point of the dagger from Wist to her mother. The apparition grinned maliciously back at her.
Tyla burst between them, knocking the knife from her hand. He continued on at full pace, passed straight through the ghostly form and burst through the makeshift door, flooding the room with light. Wist reflexively closed his eyes against the violent intrusion of the sun.
When he managed to blink his eyes open again, he could make out Tyla’s silhouette in the gaping doorway. The first touch of sunlight evaporated the spectre. Not a trace of it remained.
‘A Lytch,’ said Faric from behind Aviti. ‘Again, we must beg your forgiveness. Twice we have failed to protect you.’ He spoke to Wist but his words included the Masheshi girl. The Lyrat lowered his eyes to the floor, perhaps in shame or defeat.
‘Stop it,’ snapped Wist. ‘I didn’t make you responsible for me. Don’t take my mistakes as your own.’ His anger was a thin façade covering his fear. Wist turned to Aviti.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked, his voice softening as he spoke.
Aviti took a deep breath and nodded. She raised her head and looked straight into his eyes. ‘I would not have killed you. I knew it was not my mother, though it wore her countenance. The words that came from that demon were not hers and they certainly were not mine.’
‘I know, Aviti,’ he replied. ‘It was using my own thoughts against me, wasn’t it?’ Wist looked to Faric for confirmation.
Faric nodded solemnly. ‘That is the way of Lytches. Normally, they attack when a person is alone and vulnerable. They have no form of their own and so they inhabit something gleaned from their prey.’
The Redemption of Wist Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3: The complete collection Page 9