Miserere: An Autumn Tale

by Teresa Frohock

  Lindsay’s screams filled his head. The rock she conjured fell back through the chasm. It hit the stone bridge with a crash and a plume of dust shot upward. Lucian glanced into the hole. Ten feet below, the rock landed close to where it had been before Lindsay moved it. Her talents were becoming manifest.

  She ran to him and tried to help him stand. “Are you okay? I thought you were going over with the horse!”

  “I’m fine.” He reached over his back and his fingers found his cane; he pulled it from his pack. He got to his feet and pushed her behind him.

  Across the newly formed chasm, the captain and his soldiers were calming their mounts and surveying the damage. Speight and four of his men remained on the bridge.

  Lucian drew his blade and glared at Speight, but he spoke to Lindsay. “Go ahead of me like you did before. Quickly.”

  “Come on,” she tugged his sleeve.

  He shook her off. “Go!”

  She snatched his mantle off the ground and scrambled ahead.

  The chasm between the two stone columns was too broad for Speight or any of his men to cross. One of the soldiers raised a bow and notched an arrow. He aimed his shot at Lucian. Speight raised his hand. The man lowered his weapon.

  “She wants him alive!” The captain glowered at Lucian. “There’s another pass three days down. You and I both know this is going to end badly if you don’t do like she says.”

  Lucian remembered how he had hobbled through Catarina’s house while his leg healed. To walk six feet felt like sixty miles, but his twin insisted that he dine with her every evening. If he remained in his room for any reason, she would send Speight and his men to drag him downstairs. The captain had always been happy to oblige his mistress.

  “Come on, Lucian!” Lindsay’s frightened voice interrupted his reverie. “Hurry up!”

  She had stopped on the other side of the next platform, poised to run, but she hesitated. For me, he thought, she waits for me. For the first time in years, someone depended on him, and he wouldn’t fail again. Lucian backed away from Speight and his men.

  Lindsay relaxed her stance and waited for him. His mantle was bunched in her arms, and pale hair whipped around her face in the wind. Her features were fierce with her terror, her cheeks flushed. In a flash, Lucian saw the woman she would become and her beauty was terrible, like a diminutive angel full of light and fire ready bring the wrath of God down on her enemies.

  Speight’s attention shifted to Lindsay, and he grinned through his thick mustache. “Nice looking kid you got there, Lucian. You share?”

  Disgust twisted Lucian’s stomach. Catarina kept Speight supplied with children Lindsay’s age or younger; the man’s sexual appetite was insatiable. Lucian would die before he allowed Speight to touch this child. He had failed to save the others; he could save Lindsay.

  While Speight talked, several of the soldiers rode toward the next pass at Dervenshire. Lucian stumbled on the loose gravel and glanced over his shoulder to make sure of his path. He sheathed his weapon and started to move faster. Speight loved to hear pleas and retorts; silence drove him wild with fury. Lucian learned long ago how to cheat the captain out of the satisfaction of an argument.

  Speight leaned forward, his face as ruddy as his hair. “I’m dragging your crippled ass back to Hadra before the end of this week, Lucian Negru! The harder you make me work, the rougher it’s going go! If you’ve got any fucking brains at all, you’ll sit your ass on the other side of this bridge and wait for me!”

  Lucian almost stepped on Lindsay, who glared at Speight with tears in her eyes.

  “Lindsay?” He ignored the captain’s impotent shouts and focused on the child. “Are you hurt?”

  “Why are you letting him talk to you like that?”

  Speight reined his mount to join his men.

  “Because he wants me to shout back at him. It’s a game to him, and it makes him angry when I don’t return his insults.”

  She handed him his mantle, and he stroked her hair out of her face. He realized she lost her purple band at the camp. “Let’s go,” he said gently.

  It took them longer than he would have liked to work around the debris, but they made it to the other side with no more adventures. When they reached the meadow, he sat down on a rock and rubbed his aching knee.

  Lindsay had stopped crying, but she was pale and drawn. Lucian motioned for her to come to him and she did.

  “Are you all right?” He examined her, looking into her eyes for any sign of strain as he checked her pulse. Her hands trembled but otherwise she seemed fine.

  “I really sorry, Lucian. I didn’t mean to kill the horse.”

  The horse. Lucian tried to ignore the disappointment raging through his gut. The animal had been a boon to them, but it couldn’t be helped. “I know you didn’t. We’ll do just fine without her.”

  “Jeez, Lucian, don’t you get you get it? That was real animal, and I killed her.”

  “She panicked, Lindsay. When any creature panics, it loses control of its fate. Do you understand that?”

  Lindsay froze. “Like I did at the creek. I panicked. I couldn’t move, Lucian.”

  “I know.” He pulled her down beside him and put his arm around her. “I know.”

  She jammed her elbows on her thighs and leaned forward, her teardrops fell to the grass. “I hate it here. I hate everything about this place.”

  He could easily heal her grief with a touch, but not without crippling her as he’d damaged Catarina. He wouldn’t do it. Lindsay would have to learn to cope with her dark days like Catarina should have done. If he’d been stronger, he would have pushed his twin away rather than give in to her constant demands. Perhaps she would have grown to become self-sufficient, instead of relying on him for her every need.

  “Listen carefully.” He rubbed her back. “Your talents have started to emerge, and you must learn to control them and your emotions. If you panic, you’ll die like that horse.”

  “How do you do that? How do you keep cool when somebody is bearing down on you like that?”

  “Practice.” He smiled and tilted her face up so she had to look at him.

  “I don’t want to practice that anymore, not if it means being scared like that.”

  He chuckled and wiped her tears away. “Fear is natural. You’ll be frightened many times during your life, Lindsay, and you will overcome it every time.” He found a strip of leather and tied her hair back. “One thing I learned while I lived with my sister was to celebrate each and every victory, no matter how small it may seem. At the creek, you froze and I helped you. However, you overcame your fear when Speight was bearing down on us. You used your talent to raise that rock. You saved us. That is a victory.”

  She looked back across the bridge. “For real?”

  “For real. Now that we know one of your talents, I’ll have to teach you how to use God’s power. If you don’t learn how to focus your energy, you could end up hurting yourself and anyone around you.” He rose and tested his weight on his knee. He was sore, but he could walk. “We’ve got to move. We have a three-day head start. Let’s use it to our advantage.”

  She glanced uneasily in the direction Speight had taken his men. “Maybe we can get another horse.”

  He didn’t answer but watched his step on the broken paving stones leading away from the bridge. Without the horse, they wouldn’t move fast, nor would he have the luxury of taking his time to rest his leg. Speight would ride his men into the ground now that he’d sighted his prey. That meant Lucian would have to push himself on his bad knee, and he knew what kind of agony that would bring.

  No help for it, he thought as he paced himself. Speight wasn’t the only danger to them; Catarina knew of Lindsay, and that put Lindsay’s welfare in jeopardy. Catarina would allow no one to stand in her way of Lucian’s affections. She had thought nothing of orchestrating Rachael’s ruin; she would easily eliminate a defenseless child.

  “Lucian?”

  “Yes, child?�
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  “It’s okay to cry when you’re scared, right? I mean that doesn’t make me whiny, does it?”

  He remembered Rachael, who never cried.

  Once he had asked her, Don’t ever you weep?

  In the night, she answered, when I’m alone.

  It wasn’t until his sister’s betrayal that he understood what Rachael meant. During the eternal dusk that had shadowed his life these last years, he often pondered Rachael’s words. He knew what it was like to weep in the night, and he knew what it meant to surrender.

  “Lucian?”

  “Of course it’s all right to cry.” He tugged her hood onto her head so she wouldn’t take a chill or see his eyes.

  He was surprised when he felt Lindsay’s tentative touch. When he didn’t brush her away, she reached more confidently and placed her hand inside his. He would have to be careful with this child, or she would win his heart in spite of his resolve to keep their relationship distant. Lucian gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze and she rewarded him with a small smile.

  For now, that was enough.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  the ierusal barren

  Translucent clouds veiled the sun as Lucian and Lindsay stopped in front of the dilapidated tavern. A sign creaked in the weak breeze; the proud red bull painted on the board had faded to the color of rust. Beneath the sign, the crooked door leaned into the frame. Brown weeds grew between the slats of the wooden porch. The lone sentry on Ierusal’s outskirts, the pub had once been a traveler’s last stop before Melasur, but visitors came no more.

  “Is that a tavern?” Lindsay whispered and pointed at the inn.

  He nodded and found his handkerchief. He wiped the sweat from his face and tucked the cloth back into his sleeve.

  Earlier, she had braided her hair and used the leather strip to tie the end. The braid swung over her shoulder as she looked around him. “Think there might be a place for you to sit for a few minutes?”

  “No time.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but the gesture felt false even to him. His leg throbbed constantly from the forced march he’d subjected them to over the last few days, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on.

  “You don’t have to pretend,” Lindsay said. “I can tell it hurts; you’re moving slower.”

  “I’m fine.” He gestured to the skyline. “And we’re almost there.”

  Spires rose against the clouds. The jagged edges of wood and stone bore testimony to the acrimony that had wasted Ierusal and the surrounding land. Through the pale, dead trees, he could see the city’s stone walls rise behind a hedge of greenery. They were perhaps a quarter of a league from Ierusal.

  The faraway sound of a horn silenced any further conversation. They waited for a full minute, but Lucian sensed no one and they heard no further noise.

  “Is that Ierusal?” she asked, nodding at the broken spires.

  “It is, but we still must be careful.” He started walking. “Keep your voice low. If you must talk, let’s continue your lessons.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Can’t we take a break, Lucian?”

  He said nothing but walked as fast as his lame leg would allow.

  She sighed and made no more protests. “Psalms. You were teaching me about the Psalms.”

  “Ah, now I remember. We use the Psalms to focus our minds on drawing down our power. I think you likened it to drawing down the moon?”

  “Yeah, but you called it Avalonian, not Wicca.” She ducked a low hanging limb and turned gracefully to walk backwards so she could look at him. “If you’re a Christian, how do you know so much about Avalonians?”

  “John’s wife Tanith is a priestess.” He smiled at her disbelief. “She married John, but she didn’t convert to Christianity. John would never ask her to give up something so precious as her beliefs. It’s how the Seraphs keep peace between the bastions. It is forbidden for Katharoi to proselytize.”

  “This sure isn’t like Earth.”

  “It’s what Earth could be with a little more tolerance.” And a common enemy. The tip of his cane landed on a loose stone, and Lucian’s weight shifted to his bad leg. His knee buckled and he groped for a way to steady himself. Lindsay rushed toward him and grabbed his arm; he clutched her shoulder until he found his footing. She was a good child; it would be easy to love her, but Lucian resisted the temptation. To open his heart to her would only bring them both more pain in the end. He patted her back and resumed his pace with more care. “Go on.”

  She stayed close to his side and recited what he’d taught her. “When we draw on the Spirit without a clear focus, we can do more damage than good with magic.” Lindsay grew quiet, and he waited for her to speak again. “That’s what happened at the bridge, didn’t it? I panicked and didn’t have a clear focus.”

  “Very good.” He liked it when she arrived at her own conclusions.

  “So the Psalms will help me focus?”

  “Yes. Then you can channel the spell more effectively.”

  “And not hurt anyone?”

  “Precisely.” Lucian nodded and they walked in silence until the forest gave way to a small field of yellow grass undulating in the cold wind. Several yards ahead, the grass ended abruptly at the edge of a blackened patch of ground. The scorched area covered several leagues to the left and right.

  Though the eastern and western gates were out of sight, Lucian knew the charred area extended to both gates, creating a horseshoe of barren ground around the city’s walls. Nothing but burnt earth filled the land from the edge of the field where they stood to the greenery at the base of Ierusal’s walls. The skeletal remains of siege weapons rose from the ashes. Strewn across the Barren were lesser tools of destruction mixed with gray and broken bones of soldiers and their mounts. It was a field of death.

  The road passed across the Barren to the northern gate. Strangely enough, whatever had burned the earth left the cobblestones unmarked.

  Lindsay stared at the carnage. “What did you guys do to this place?”

  “This is the result of Mastema’s rage. There are five areas like this in the Wasteland; we call them Barrens. This is the Ierusal Barren.” John had never allowed them to get close to any of the Barrens; he claimed the grounds were haunted.

  Until now, Lucian had avoided the scorched areas, but the road that cut through the Ierusal Barren was the shortest route to the city. Beyond the Barren, at the top of a gently sloping hill, the city of Ierusal lay forlorn and rotten. The only sign of life was a thriving rose bush, the Sacra Rosa, which crawled up the battlements to obscure the gray stone walls surrounding the city. The plant was as green and lush as if it were mid-summer, not autumn.

  It was the first living thing they had seen in the Wasteland and Lindsay exhaled with wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

  It was deadly. John had brought his three foundlings here to impress upon them the history of the Wasteland. He had made sure to push back the verdant leaves to show all three the thorns that were long and sharp as daggers. Catarina had merely raised an eyebrow at the legend, but the Sacra Rosa made a deep impression on Lucian and Rachael.

  “It’s the Sacra Rosa,” he said.

  “Is it magic too?”

  “Yes, it is. You see, this was the last city to fall under Mastema’s siege during the War.”

  “That schism thing, right?”

  “It is called the War of the Great Schism, not ‘that schism thing.’”

  She wrinkled her nose at him.

  “There’s a legend that says the flowers were born from the bodies of the last four Katharoi to take a stand in defense of the city. When the Fallen’s mortal army took Ierusal, the Katharoi commissioned their bodies to the earth, one Katharos by each city gate. The Sacra Rosa grew overnight. The city was open for anyone to enter, but only those with love for the Spirit could pass through the thorns unmolested when they left. Those committed to the Fallen were torn to pieces.”

  She touched the end of her braid to her lips.
“Is it true?”

  “What?”

  “The legend. Is it true?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Lindsay cocked her head and examined the distant city. “So all those evil people are still there?”

  There were hundreds of stories to explain the loss of life. They had starved and resorted to cannibalism; they had fallen through a Hell Gate and into Mastema’s mouth. While the tales were endless, the result was the same—the city was empty. Lucian chose the least offensive of the lot. “They went mad and fought amongst themselves until there were none left.”

  She picked up a twisted piece of metal and turned it over in her hands before losing interest and dropping it back to the ground. “Do you people have any happy stories?”

  He gave her a weary smile. “Yes, yes, we do. I shall try to remember one for you.” He looked to the sky. On the other side of Ierusal, great, dark clouds started to gather. It was early afternoon, and if they crossed the Barren, they might have a roof over their heads before the rain came.

  A chill wind ruffled his hair and he pulled his mantle close. “Let’s go.”

  At the edge of the grass, a wagon lay on its side, the iron frame all that was left to give it shape. Lucian hesitated. He didn’t like the look of the alien landscape. John had been right in avoiding this place. The eerie silence of the Wasteland coupled with the devastation of the battlefield left Lucian anxious.

  Lindsay rubbed her arms. “There’s something bad about this place. The magic here buzzes. It almost hurts.”

  “We’ll be all right.” When he concentrated, he felt the vibrations as well, but this was simply more of the Wasteland’s sour magic. “You’re becoming more sensitive to the Wasteland spells as your own talents manifest. Strong magic leaves a resonance. You have to learn to understand the difference between a reverberation and active spells.”

  “How do you know the difference?”

  “Experience. What you’re feeling now is an echo. What you felt with Catarina was active magic.” He gauged the distance to the city.