The Broken Man

by Hawkings Austin

  He circled the child with his power, freezing it in place. The ghost breathed in the essence of the soul. The child was filled with the purest smell of fresh fields and daylight, things which he could no longer experience in death. His improved form didn’t feel daylight or smell the flowers.

  He would feast before the sun rose: first this child, then the soldiers. The priestess with the iron blade he would save for last. Let her be demoralized by the deaths of her men and the loss of all her strength. When she was too weak to lift that earth-blessed blade, he would devour her.

  Leaving his cloak standing, he dove into the child, sampling the wonderful liquor of the soul. It was a girl child, a tiny creature of the Ruad tribe. Deep within her he dove, drinking up the essence of her being.

  Odd, he thought, she died almost instantly. The essence inside that body was hardly worth the effort of feeding on it. Still, it was enough. He had sufficient power to kill those intruders, as long as he avoided touching that horrible iron sword.

  The headless ghost pulled the energy together, forming a small but beautiful ball of soul. He climbed back up through her body, seeking the exit, but found none. He was confused for a moment, disoriented. He had never been lost inside a person before. He panicked, slashing his way back and forth down her limbs, seeking his doorway, but there was none.

  How can a child have no eyes? he screamed, though he had no mouth, and only one man could hear him.

  Waylaid lifted the doll from the grass and brushed it off. He hung the doll back on its fishhook in the center of his turtle shell, so that it wouldn’t touch his skin, and sprinkled it with salt. In time, he would tame this spirit to his will, but for now he would let it run itself out and rest.

  He looked out of his circle of salt and saw the cloak of shadows still standing in the darkness, the small lights playing about its surface. He was no longer a sorcerer and wouldn’t perform such sacrifices now, but there were the lives of over a dozen children in there, as well as the man and woman who had died to craft it. A huge source of power for sacrifice to the Fomor Gods.

  “BREA!” he shouted. “BREA!”

  The diamond shifted on the hilltop, the corner moved toward him, dragging the others past the burned out torches, racing toward him.

  “Waylaid, where are you? Where is that thing?” she called.

  “Here! I need you here!” Waylaid yelled.

  His voice was suddenly hoarse and he swallowed dryly. There was power here for great sorcery. He could save the cloak till he truly needed the power to tame a god. He could feel the immense power it held and it nearly broke him, he had been weak for so long, but he would not turn to sorcery.

  Mistress Brea ran to him, her great blade like a line of silver in the night.

  “Brea,” Waylaid stared into the darkness. “I need you to tell me something.”

  “What? Where is it?” she asked.

  “The ghost is gone, mostly, but he left something behind.” His voice hoarse with frustrated need, he spoke. “Tell me, Brea, what justice will the Blessed Mother give to his victims? They served him though they did not wish it.”

  Brea softened immediately. “The Blessed Mother always has a place for children. Tell me what you need me to do.”

  “Place your sword on each of those stars, those beautiful little stars.”

  Slowly, she touched each with the tip of The Blessed Mother’s Answer, and it vanished away. When it was dark, Waylaid breathed a bit easier. He stepped free from the circle and reached his hands into the darkness. He made a great tearing motion, from the height of her shoulders to the ground. For a moment, he was cloaked in shadow himself, nearly vanishing from her sight.

  He straightened again, and it was a bit less dark at the edge of the forest. The sun lit the upper clouds, rays appeared over the horizon, coloring the sky and covering the world in all the shades of green. From the edge of the shadows, Waylaid nodded at her.

  “The headless ghost has been destroyed,” he said, speaking somewhat truthfully.

  She smiled, looking at the faint touch of light to the highest clouds and a lightening at the tops of the trees.

  “Is it gone?” she asked, again.

  “No, not really.” Waylaid looked discomfited. “There is a sorcerer here, someone who knows the greatest arts of Fomor sorcery and is willing to teach them to a foolish man who dreamed to revenge himself against the Ruad.”

  “A Fomor?” she asked and Waylaid shrugged.

  “I don’t know his race or his mind, I only know his sorcery.” He was quiet a moment as the morning brightened around them. “Good Father forgive me, but I know his sorcery very well.”

  They looked at the others, her people, on the ground just a few paces away. Seth was belly down with Oren plastering bandages on his back. Seth had his forehead pressed into the dirt, and he gritted his teeth.

  “Goddess Bless it!” Oren pressed the edges of the wound back together and glued them shut. He wrapped the remains of his tunic around Seth’s back. He would return to the Library in only his vambraces and a loin cloth.

  Keynan lay on his back, his head wrapped in a bloody cloth; his eyes stared sightlessly across the hill, lost in rage blindness. His face struggled for composure, but he seemed comforted by the presence of his friends. The only thing he had ever fought for.

  Brea stood with Waylaid.

  “I don’t care,” she said. “You know what happened? We won.” She was filled with pride for each of them. “I don’t care what happened. If we have to do it all again, we will.”

  Waylaid shrugged, and his belly rumbled.

  “I think I missed breakfast, yesterday. What does a man have to do to get food out here anyway?”

  Piju appeared at the edge of the forest. He looked at them and decided it was safe to come out. Waylaid looked at him.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Yes,” said Piju. He stepped over to Brea. “My pardon, Mistress Brea, but I need to speak with my Master in private.”

  “Waylaid, I’ll get the chariots, just see if you can get to the North road, and I think we can get you back to the Library before lunch.”

  “Boys,” Brea said to her people, “I’m taking the morning off. I expect to come back and find you’ve cleared the stones off of that corpse.”

  “By the Good Father’s Giant Pe…”

  “Keynan!” Brea shouted.

  “Moving,” he said, lumbering to his feet. Oren and Seth followed, keeping their mouths appropriately shut.

  Waylaid and Piju were already halfway across the bog mound and heading for the North road.

  “So,” said Waylaid, as they walked. “What are you?”

  “I’m your hunter, I was right all along, I’ll always be your hunter.”

  “Are you trying to be a sorcerer’s apprentice as well?”

  Piju lifted his shoulder. “I’m hunting a sorcerer now, right?”

  Waylaid looked at his feet for a moment, and then looked at the cairn up on the hill.

  “They won’t find the head for that corpse, not in that grave,” he said.

  They walked on together, reaching the edge of the forest. Piju looked at Waylaid and saw the discontent on his features. He thought to himself that Waylaid was stuck between two things. What could those things be? Piju knew he couldn’t keep this hidden.

  “Master, I must confess that I lied to you. I fed my blood to the Burning man.”

  “Yes,” said Waylaid. “I knew.”

  “I need to learn what to do. I need to know how to kill things like this.” Piju found himself getting heated.

  “No,” the giant spoke. “There can be no emotion in this. If you need it, if you want it, the gods will take you, turn you into something evil.”

  Piju quieted himself.

  “You understand,” said Waylaid, “that this man didn’t start his life as a monster. He hated the people of Ard and wanted power to kill them all. However much they deserved his hate, he put someone he loved to the knife. H
e gave up everything, every last joy of this life, for power. In the end, he needed power more than he wanted to eat a meal or ever touch a woman again.” Waylaid shook his head.

  “Sorcery is evil; I’ll not have a sorcerer for my apprentice.”

  Piju couldn’t see the right path to take. He did want this power, but Waylaid was right. In the end it might be better if he had never held it. The best course was honesty.

  “Master, I need this to save my people.”

  Waylaid walked away.

  “I could see me becoming this, if it freed the slaves of Ard.”

  Waylaid just kept on walking.

  “Master, please.” Piju hurried to catch up.

  “Convince me,” said Waylaid. “Tell me you’re better than this. Tell me you won’t make the mistakes he did. Tell me you’re a good man, who knows Good from Evil.” Waylaid turned to face his apprentice, his horrible face contorted with anger.

  “CONVINCE ME!” he roared.

  Piju sank to his knees.

  “I have nothing, Master. I am just a hunter. I don’t even know right from wrong, I don’t know what mistakes he made. I just know you. I trust you. I am your apprentice.”

  Tears streaked his face. Piju knew he had no chance, that he had ruined everything by feeding the burning ghost his blood. He hadn’t improved anything last night, taunting the headless ghost, even if it had saved the boys. The tiny desperate piece of his mind would not give up and sought the path once more.

  “I did save the boys, Master,” he said.

  “What boys?”

  “Tal and Galen,” Piju spoke to the forest floor. “They followed you into the woods last night. The headless ghost came for them. I distracted it and then got them home.”

  Waylaid blinked.

  “Don’t distract me when I’m yelling at you.”

  “Sorry, Master.”

  “So, tell me, how’d you live through that?” Waylaid straightened. “Magic?”

  “I tried to call the Burning Man, it didn’t work.”

  “The Burning Man has no more power than you,” Waylaid said. He shook his head. You are lucky that an unbound spirit didn’t just eat your soul for trying to command it.

  Piju nodded. “My father came, saved me, but the Shadow Man banished him. Then…I don’t know. I guess luck. I couldn’t do anything. It just left.”

  “Huh,” he barked. “Good luck and the ability to think when terrified.” Waylaid shrugged. “I’ve worked with worse, I suppose.”

  “Then you’ll keep me as apprentice?”

  “No” said Waylaid, walking away from Piju.

  Piju dug his fingers into the leaves, wishing away the wrong answers. Damn the Fomor anyway.

  “That was a joke, Piju. You’re a journeyman now, so you have to do twice the work. Find me the blessed road and get me breakfast, I’m hungry.”

  “Yes, Master,” said Piju. Happy tears sprang from his eyes and he quickly wiped them away. The weight of days fell from his shoulders. “I’ll get right on it, Master.”

  Piju ran.

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