“Does this river take us where we need to be?” Lyraal’s voice was deep and soft, a whisper in comparison to some. She spoke clearly enough however, and she looked to Myridia when she talked.
“For now it goes in the right direction and we are ill-prepared, without water and food. We’ll follow as long as we can.”
She looked back over her shoulder toward the northeast and saw the titanic black wall of clouds running along the edge of the world, moving slowly in their direction.
“Have the gods spoken at all? I heard that they can. That they sometimes make their desires known.” Lorae’s voice was weak and insecure. She barely dared speak, as if Myridia would lash out at her. Fear made some strong and some weak. She was worried for Lorae. She was not the strongest of girls. She had youth on her side. She was resilient. If she were lucky the gods would make her strong enough.
“The gods speak to the He-Kisshi. They have never spoken to me. But I know what they want. The old tales have told us that if our home was taken we had to go to the Sessanoh, and so we will.”
“The world is so large…” Lorae looked around, her eyes scanning the horizons. On one side there were the clouds. Far in the distance there were mountains, in the west, that shone with the oddest light in some places. In between there was the seemingly endless stretch of scrub grass and dirt. If not for the river there would surely be no way for them to survive the trek, not unless they found supplies.
Sometimes the gods offered aid in the strangest forms.
There was a caravan heading their way. At first they were only distant marks on the western horizon. Those forms followed the river and would soon come across their paths.
“Be aware, sisters,” Myridia cautioned. “We will soon have company.”
They came in wagons painted in a dozen garish colors, with horses of their own and gatherings or items stacked to preposterous heights on each of their wagons.
The women stayed where they were, and watched as the wagons came closer.
The man riding in the first wagon tipped a hat to them. He was tall and thin and his hat was much the same, dressed in red ribbons that flapped in the light breeze. As he finally reached their location, he slowed the wagon to a halt and the others followed suit. No one came from the wagons nor did he move from his spot. There were no threatening gestures made. He was wise enough to know that strangers could be dangerous when startled.
He was tanned where they were pale. He smiled as he saw them, then frowned.
“You are not in the right place. Your skin is peeling. Do you have clothes enough?”
Myridia looked at her body. She had a thin shawl wrapped over her shoulders and back, and there were strips of that same shawl over her feet. Aside from that the only clothing she wore was the occasional shadow that fell to shelter tender, sunburned skin. Most of the others had a bit more. She made sure they were sheltered properly.
“What you see is what we have.” She stood taller and let the shawl fall back. He was a man. His eyes flickered over her body then back to her face. Then they moved to the dirt nearby where the remains of their meal sat raw and stripped of flesh.
“Then you are in a good place today. At least one of you knows how to fish and that is something we cannot do. So I propose a trade. You catch the fish…” He looked at the raw remains. “We cook the fish, we share the fish and we find you clothes to wear.”
Five words in their native tongue and Lorae and Memni – slightly older than Lorae, and far too brave for her own good – were in the water, fishing.
“I am Myridia. We will have fish for you soon.”
The man smiled, his long features seemingly designed for that purpose. His hair was cut short and his clothes were dusty but well kept.
“I’m Garien. We are entertainers, heading for Saramond.”
Myridia nodded. “We head for…” She paused a moment, trying to remember the words in the tongue of the stranger. “We head for the Mirrored Lake. It is across the mountains and far to the south.”
“I can’t say as I’ve ever heard of it.”
“It is hard to find.”
“On a long journey then?” He looked back the way they’d come. “I know you would like to follow the river, but I’ll recommend against it. There are others following us who are… unkind.”
“Unkind?”
“We are entertainers. Minstrels, dancers, puppeteers. We like to make people happy and we spread the news from one place to another.”
His eyes did not show happiness when he spoke again, as if a light within him had been dimmed. She preferred the smile.
“Those who follow us prefer to make bad news happen. I would avoid the night people.”
“The night people? Why do you call them that?”
Garien stared at her for a long moment, not even breathing. His eyes took in details and catalogued them. She saw it in the way he stared. He was not a man who missed many details. “Because they only travel at night. I daresay no one has ever seen them by the light of day. I don’t know if it hurts them, but I know they hide from it.”
“Where do they come from?”
“I cannot say, but they have followed us from the tail of the Broken Sword Mountains. And that is far to the south of here.”
“You have been far south of here?” She paused as Lorae called and pointed to a large collection of fish. Garien looked at the fish and nodded before looking back at her.
Garien nodded again, slowly. “Many times.”
“Is there a fast and safe way to get there?”
“Head across the plains for the base of the mountains and stay there as you go south. There are a few small towns but they are not as regularly bothered as some.”
“Bothered by who?”
“There are always raiders. Sure as there is a sky above us, there are raiders. They look to take what they can from anyone who looks weak.”
Garien looked past her and pointed. “And now my question for you. Do you have any idea what is making that happen?” He paused as she turned to look at the towering wall of clouds in the far distance. A hundred bolts of lightning that danced and shivered, half hidden by the rains and the distance, cut the blackness but it was easy to see that the storms were violent.
Garien continued, “I have never in my life seen a storm like that.” The plains were a wide open area and even from a great distance it was easy to see that the storm bank was vast.
She could have lied, but did not think she would be doing him or his a kindness. “The gods have been angered. They have sent the He-Kisshi to find the ones who interrupted the last sacrifice.”
“What are the He-Kisshi?”
She frowned. “What you call the Grakhul. They are the Undying. They are the voice of the Gods and the Anger of the Gods.”
“Cloaked fellows? Take as they want and leave coins behind?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
Garien frowned again, this time in concentration. “I suppose I owe Em an apology.”
“Em?”
“She is our acrobat. A better tumbler and climber you will never meet.” Garien shrugged. “She also swore that the Grakhul were real. I have never run across them in my life, but she has.”
Myridia nodded. “He-Kisshi. They are not the same thing. The Grakhul do not take people from their homes.”
“And how do you know so much about them?”
“I have… met both before.”
Garien smiled and nodded and his entire face was made brighter. “I have seen much of the south and you much of the north. I suspect we have seen a great deal of the Five Kingdoms between us.”
Myridia did not smile. Instead she squinted back toward the storms. “You should turn back.”
“Whatever for?”
“The world could end soon. The north is not a safe place for anyone.”
Garien climbed down and waved to the wagons behind him. “We can discuss that after we eat. I have not had fresh fish in a very long time.”
> After his gesture the rest of his troupe came out of their wagons, moving cautiously, but smiling as they gathered.
One man and one woman moved toward the collection of fish. In moments they were cleaning the catch and preparing them for roasting.
Seven
The Undying in Their Rage
“We’re from Mentath. That makes us stubborn as a people.” Scodd’s voice boomed warmly. It seemed the only way the man could speak was with great, bellowing words. Despite that fact, Niall liked him and his entire family: Doria, his wife; his son, Doug; and Temmi, who was at least as loud and boisterous as her father. They’d stayed two days at the lodge, while Doria insisted on fixing him and Tully as if they were badly broken. She fed them enough for twelve. What they could not eat the family took care of without issue. Though it took some doing, the woman even found shoes that were small enough to fit Tully’s feet. They had, according to Temmi, belonged to her before she’d grown breasts. When she mentioned her breasts, the girl lifted them in their bodice, with her hands to show Niall. Not so much because she was bragging – though she was ample – but because she loved the look of discomfort on his face, and she laughed herself red at the expression he managed. It seemed to be a point of pride for the family to be brash and unashamed in all of their actions.
The family came from Gaarsen, a rather substantial city on the other side of the Broken Swords. The best way to get across the mountains was the Crystal Pathway, a natural opening in the mountains that was named because it was lined with the selfsame crystal. Had the stones been worth anything they’d have been picked away generations earlier, but they were only quartz and not a very fine grade in that area.
In any event, the family were travelers and they sold wares. They’d planned to sell them to the Grakhul – they were among a small handful that were permitted – but the storms were too intense and they chose to ride them out in the lodge. Two days later the storms were only getting worse.
The next day Niall finally told them what had happened with both him and Tully.
The Gaarsens were horrified.
“I have heard of people getting away before.” Scodd waved that part away. “Now and then someone outsmarts the cloaked ones and escapes. There are always replacements. That isn’t the part that confuses me here. It’s the storms. My family has made these trades for generations. My father, his father and his father before him. Longer back like as not. I have never heard tell of storms like these. Something has gone very wrong.”
Scodd looked to his wife. “Do you think you should?”
Doria scowled even more than usual. She always scowled, or so it seemed. Apparently her mood could be positively joyous and she still scowled. The only time that changed was when she laughed. When laughter finally came, her face was fifteen years younger and bore a powerful resemblance to the constantly smiling Temmi.
“I’m not even certain that I can anymore.”
Niall looked at the woman and found himself frowning. Mysteries had never been something he enjoyed. He preferred finding the answers to reading the riddles.
“Doria was a scryer before we were wed,” Scodd explained.
Doria looked toward Niall and shrugged. “Sometimes the gift stays and sometimes it goes. I chose to leave that behind and have a family.” Niall nodded as if that meant something to him but she saw right through his attempt to bluff. “Scryers have to stay in one place. They are to be at the beck and call of their nobles, the better to let the royal families know if the gods are angry.”
“Is that what scryers do? I thought they only told fortunes.”
Doria smiled. “That is not at all what scryers do. We only study the portents sent by the gods. If there are problems, if there is a failed sacrifice, we are there to let the royals know. If the royals have questions for the gods, we answer them as best we can.”
“You actually speak to the gods?” Tully sounded astonished.
“No.” Doria shook her head. “We listen to them. They do not speak to us or to anyone. We are the method they use to let their will be known. Even if a king asks a question, we do not speak to the gods. We merely send the message onward.”
“The royals can’t ask for themselves?” Niall asked.
“The gods cannot hear them. They will not answer unless the royals ask a scryer.”
“So you used to be a scryer and quit?”
The scowl deepened and Doria shrugged, then scratched at her short hair. “Like I said, I chose to be with Scodd.”
Tully looked to the older woman with wide blue eyes. “So, are you going to ask the gods what is happening?”
Doria looked at her husband and then at each of their children, then at Niall and finally at Tully. “I think I must.” She shook her head. “I am not sure I will like the response, even if the gods do answer.”
Without another word Doria rose from where they’d all been sitting and moved over to the supplies they’d brought inside. A great deal more was out in their wagon, secured then hidden as best they could from prying eyes. What they’d brought in was what Scodd considered necessities. Niall had never owned that many “necessities” in his life. Then again, he was one man and not a family.
Within minutes Doria came back carrying a mortar and pestle along with a small package of dried herbs and plants.
She saw Niall’s expression and nodded her head. “They’ll help me attain the right way of thinking. I’m out of practice.” He couldn’t promise he’d kill to know what herbs went into the mix, but he knew at least a few gardeners who would.
Who wouldn’t want to touch the mind of a god and hear the thoughts of the creators of the universe?
Doria very deftly cut open her palm and watched blood flow into the bowl before she ground the herbs and blood together. The mixture looked darker than he would have expected. When she was done the paste went into her mouth. Her expression said all he needed to know about how vile it tasted.
Moments later she was on one of the cots and laying back, her eyes closed and her face slack. He’d have thought she was asleep, but her hands moved. Making very meticulous gestures.
Scodd leaned in close and spoke softly. “It’s been years. She used to be able to do this without any sort of assistance. Now we’re not even sure if she can get an answer.”
He gestured to her hands. “There are a couple of hundred ways she has to move her hands. She said it’s like a prayer and a way to clear her mind. Best we stay quiet and let her think. Then we can find out what we need to do.”
They were silent for a while, but the simple fact is that sometimes silence is boring, and so they moved out of Doria’s earshot and talked softly among themselves.
The winds hammered against the door of the lodge, shaking the structure in its frame. Sadly the noise was no longer unusual. The storms were not slacking off at all, but staying consistently miserable.
The fireplace hissed and crackled as a thin stream of water sought to get in and douse the flames. With a solid series of coals burning in the base there was little threat of that, but the fact that water was managing to trickle in spoke volumes of the storm’s intensity.
The door thudded hard in its frame, hard enough to make Tully jump and then giggle nervously.
Tully opened her mouth to speak and Doug looked toward the shaking door. Doria sat up at that exact moment and screamed, “He’s coming here! He is so angry!” Her voice was stricken with panic and her eyes were wide.
The door shivered once more then was ripped from its hinges and hurled out into the storm. Water splashed in and the wind came blasting through. A heartbeat later a silhouette came to the threshold, a black shape that looked like a man bracing against the wind. It was not a man, and despite knowing that he had killed the damned thing, Niall recognized the monster that came through the door.
That dark, hooded face looked at the ground initially, but soon rose to scan the room. It took in Doug and then Doria, body moving with the head, the cloak-like form shuddering wit
h each bellowing breath, buffeted from beyond by the gale.
Tully, who had been sitting cross-legged before the fireplace, did her very best to stand up and force herself through the closest wall, facing the nightmare that had previously tried to kill her.
“We killed you!” Her voice broke and her skin, already pale, grew paler still. Her eyes were wide and in that moment Tully looked all of twelve.
Niall rose as quickly as he could, searching in vain for a way to get past the hellish thing blocking the doorway with its body.
“I am Undying, you foolish bitch!” The He-Kisshi stepped into the lodge. Lightning tore at the ground behind it and backlit its shape as it slipped into the place that was supposed to be a sanctuary.
Scodd spoke up, forcing a smile across his round face. “This is a place of shelter. No one is supposed to be attacked here.” His words were nervous. He knew what he was facing. He understood that the thing was a He-Kisshi. He’d been the one who had explained to Niall and Tully the difference.
“Be silent!” The monster’s words were a whip crack in the air, followed by the thunder that always chased after lightning. “Do not speak and I may yet spare your lives!” The clawed finger of the thing jabbed at each member of Scodd’s family, then turned to stab at Tully and Niall.
“But they are forfeit.” The words were softer now, hissed. “I will have my satisfaction.”
Gods be praised, Doug and Scodd both stepped forward at the same time and spoke as if they were one. “No. You will not!” Scodd’s thick, booted foot kicked upward and slapped across the demon’s cloaked legs.
Doug aimed higher and his heavy fist – complete with something in it – smashed into the cowl as if striking at a face. The hooded shape staggered and fell, and for a moment Doug looked pleased.
Then the thing rose up as quickly as any man ever had and ripped its clawed fingers across Doug’s face, tearing trenches down to the bone beneath his flesh.
Doug fell back shrieking in agony and Scodd screamed in denial, shaking his head, horrified by what had happened to his son.
The Last Sacrifice Page 10