Red Season Rising

by D. M. Murray

  The dreamings said to me these things. Heed them well, or heed them not.

  The woes of man will be felt as the earth weeps black tears and a dead king rises, rejuvenated by the powers of a dread lord, chief among our terror and wielder of our bane. First unto thee shall be cast hunger and chill, and hunger redoubled.

  Hark!

  The Betrayer has placed the dagger afore your breast. They have marked the course. Chaos will reign when the rudder of the ship is cast lose in the sea of turmoil. The grey cloud and blue chill of night will stab deep into the heart of men, and the armies of a dread lord will smash upon thy ship in the storm of the seas, in the sea of blood, in the season of blood.

  Woe unto thee!

  Feared men shall walk the world, and the children of a dread lord, usurper, will rise up and claim their place in the balance of all. Children of tooth and claw, children of fire and pain, shall legions form.

  Fear them!

  Hope lies with the sleeping ones, they alone shall deliver unto thee a salvation, calling forth the proclamation, the trumpet song, to bring unto thee the turning of the tide. Release them from their slumber, and free upon the world Dajda’s voice. Such is thy deliverance.

  Wary thy must be!

  The Great Mother, Dajda, will sleep as her servants search for the masked children of the divine, the salvation. Watchful as thy go, for when the Dajda doth sleep, thy souls, and the souls of all Dajda’s children, are wanting of divine embrace, and are vulnerable to the dread lord.

  Seek them!

  Look ye for the servants, granted to them the light and the vision, for it is within these spirits that thy peace shall reside. The servants shall awaken the saviours, and as one, two and three pillars fall, so shall their song soar.

  Seek them!

  Woe unto thee my brothers and sisters. Heed these tellings and cast thy lot against the design of the foulest dread. Stay thy course marked by the servants, and ye shall be delivered salvation by the shining ones. Stay this course not, and thee shall suffer eternal under the yoke and lash of the dark and cruel usurper.

  The dreamings said to me these things. Heed them well, or heed them not.

  Here ends the written record of the dreamings of Teporan Mane, by the hand of Magnarus, primary scribe of the Great Holmon I of the Noehmiana, Chief Marshal of the Free Peoples of the Free Provinces.

  Kalfinar looked up after reading aloud the ancient script before him. “Well, that was cheery. What in the hells does this mean?” He looked once more at the parchment. “As the earth weeps black tears? What am I to make of this?”

  Harruld answered, “We’ve held this parchment, amongst many others by Teporan Mane and other such seers, for many ages. Tuannan amongst us, archivists, have consulted them in times of threat, hopeful of insight. It’s when we met and discussed all matters that this parchment became a little clearer to us. You know well enough there have been poor crop yields these last two seasons. The farmers in Ilsinuer are calling it a famine. The grain stores have suffered all over the Free Provinces as a result. We’re only just keeping the bellies full with reserves, and imports from Canna, but the cost is bleeding us dry. The most recent reports coming out of Ilsinuer and Noehmia were of a black discharge weeping from the fields. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. It’s a blight throughout our principle agricultural lands.” Harruld’s face bore a tired and worn look.

  Kalfinar glanced back to the parchment. “‘A dead king rises. That must mean Grunnxe. Children of tooth and claw, of fire and pain. My dreams.” Kalfinar shook his head. “What must we do?”

  Olmat answered, “It is you who must find the Horn of the Dajda, find the sleeping ones. There’ll be those who will hunt you down. You must evade them, and return to us with the horn of Dajda.”

  Small beads of sweat formed under Kalfinar’s eyes. I’m needed. No. I need. Smoke.

  “They are our salvation,” Olmat said. “They are the Anulii, the children of Dajda.”

  “But why? If these are the children of Dajda, can they not simply be awoken by the will of their God?”

  Olmat rubbed his bald head. “The Anulii had to reside within us to protect us. Man is free willed and may choose to worship, if he wishes. Many of us have chosen not to worship, or, for whatever reason, have been unable to do so, and, as a result, that link has been broken. We need to find them and bring them back, for without them all, their power is not complete.”

  “How many have been lost?” Kalfinar said.

  “Innumerable,” Olmat responded. “And it appears many more have been isolated and destroyed by the Desverukan.”

  “What of the light when I was saved from my dream on the ship?”

  “You were one soul in need at that point in time, and you called for Dajda. If many more, thousands, or millions, called for Dajda’s salvation, then there may not have been the strength to do so. Souls would be lost in such a way, food for the demons, as yours could have been.”

  “How am I supposed to be able to find these people?” Kalfinar asked.

  “You don’t need to. You just need to find the Horn of Dajda. It will call them forth.”

  “And where exactly is this fucking horn?” Kalfinar rubbed the sweat from under his eyes and then the gathering beads on his forehead with the back of his hand. Get yourself under control, damn it. Forget it. It’s nothing but poison!

  “You must seek them”

  “Them?”

  “The Horn of Dajda is three souls.”

  “How am I supposed to find them?”

  “There will be help for you in this task. Both this and your strength will see you succeed. I’m sure of it,” Olmat said.

  Kalfinar shook his head. “You need someone of strength? Well, everyone in this room knows I’m not strong. What strength did I display when I lost her and the child? I was weak and wretched, and spilled my sorrow upon the streets!” He shook his head. “No, I’m not one of strength. You’ll have to find another.”

  “Your role in this act is already marked, Kalfinar,” Olmat said. “As are the roles my brothers and I will fulfil. I interpret Teporan Mane’s writings of the three pillars as my brothers and I. What it means to say the pillars will fall is for any one of us to guess. But I think it is clear what that is to mean.”

  “Not that.” Kalfinar said, the words feeling thick in his throat.

  Olmat dismissed the words with a wave of his hand. “We have been around for a rather long time. Longer than most, in fact. Our primary focus has been to protect Dajda from her enemies. To do so, we have sought to learn of our world, to interpret ancient texts, and so seek out the gifted and watch over them as they grow. Sometimes, some are born who are granted the gift of sight. The sight to see the Horn of Dajda. You’ve suffered a terrible loss, but the dark days you lived after it should not torment you, and you shouldn’t mistake grief for weakness. You need to free yourself, free yourself from your fears. There is no other way. You must accept your part in this, as we all must.”

  “Then the choice is not my own,” Kalfinar said as he bowed his head. “Show me what I must do.”

  *

  The spirit trembled before its master. The rebuke was fierce. It was, however, surprised not to be obliterated. If it had not been for the link made with the manthing, it would surely have been destroyed. No longer was it the charge of the spirit to take control of the manthing’s soul. Now, the spirit had to take others and possess manthings to do its master’s bidding. If the actions of the manthing could not be manipulated for its master’s will, the spirit would see that others would strike. The spirit gathered its subordinates and set off for the cities and lands of manthings, searching for weakened bodies, and vulnerable souls.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The old king’s face split in a grin as he beheld his reflection in the mirror. His teeth showed no sign of the blackened decay that, until recently, they had held. His skin was tight and pink, no longer sagging and dull. His short beard sprung white on his chin still, but
the braids in his hair, worn long at the back of his head, were brown and shined, instead of the tired grey which had crowned his head before. Although pleased on the whole to be revitalised in such a manner, Grunnxe was still disappointed to see the ragged scar which ran from his left eye and across his cheek remained, blinding him still on that side. He recalled the handsome face of his youth, before the governor of Carte, Harruld, stabbed out his eye. His thoughts turning to his enemies, Grunnxe pulled up his smock and rubbed his stomach, his muscles firm once more. Over the area above his navel, a lumpy, star-shaped purple scar remained.

  He laughed to himself.

  The governor’s son had thought him dead, for his sword had slid deep within his guts, mangling his innards. Grunnxe knew he should have died, and doubtless would have been had the priestess not come to him after the governor and his men were forced to retreat. His laughter ceased as he recalled the cold burn and stinging shock of Kalfinar’s blade ramming its way through his body.

  He shook his head, chasing the memory away. He cared not. The governor and his son would already be dead if his plan had been realised. The fast riders would be back soon with news of the mission’s success. He would savour that news. Turning, he regarded himself once more in the long mirror. He turned his face fully to the left, and stared long at the unscarred side and smiled at what he saw.

  “It pleases thee, your highness?” the small holy man in the dark habit standing behind Grunnxe spoke at last.

  “It pleases me more than if I were dead, yes. You said I’d be young again, yet you fail to give me back my eye. What manner of success is that?” Grunnxe had turned from the mirror and bent with his face pressed close to that of the trembling man.

  “We could only go so far back, great king. It is harder to undo the injuries. We had to work around them. Any further and we risked losing our grip on the process and you could have been undone. My master said this would be so.” The small holy man’s hands clenched tightly below his chin, offering meagre protecting from the snarling face of Grunnxe.

  “Pah! You fear much, little man.”

  Grunnxe knew the small holy man was correct. His master, the priestess, had indeed warned him there was only so far they could take him back. Despite it, his ego yearned for his once unspoilt face and, in his disappointment, he effortlessly shoved out his hand and pushed the trembling holy man over onto his backside before turning toward the mirror once more. He approached it and raised his arms wide above his head. His fingers spread, and his head tilted back towards the roof of his pavilion. Grunnxe, the once old and beaten king of Solansia, descendant of the great kings of the Cullanain, and long-time enemy of the Free Provinces, proclaimed himself returned. He would sweep bloody vengeance and devastating pain onto whoever remained alive to oppose him. His ancestor’s lands would be reclaimed once more, in the name of the Kingdom of Solansia, the rightful rulers of all the peoples of The Cullanain.

  *

  Kalfinar put down the parchment as his father spoke.

  Harruld summarised their thoughts, “So we’ve concluded that Teporan Mane’s word depicts the crop failures throughout our main agricultural regions in Ilsinuer and Noehmia, and it appears, from what Bergnon has reported and from our own logic, that Grunnxe is alive. That makes two accuracies from the parchment. Now, we’ve a number of areas we need to puzzle out if we’re to be sure, and ready.”

  “If we’re going to gamble on the entire piece,” Broden interrupted.

  “Yes, quite,” Harruld acknowledged. “Let’s work through this as best we can, so at least we’ve considered our options.”

  Kalfinar said, “Somewhere and somehow we’ve been undone by betrayal.”

  “It could refer to the assassinations, perhaps the hand of the assassin was guided,” Broden said.

  “Yes, perhaps so,” Governor Harruld said as he stroked his grey beard. “It was a stunning strike if we look at it coldly.”

  The severity of the betrayal dawned on Kalfinar. “It had to be someone who knew everyone who was targeted. They knew where we were barracked, even down so far as to where we slept! This had to be someone who knew our command, and it had to be someone close.”

  “I fear you’re right,” Governor Harruld grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “This is a grave theory, indeed. I’ll get Bergnon to compile a roster of the senior command that lives. In fact, we’ll need to take it down so far as sergeant. I think we’ll be in need of some promotions.”

  Kalfinar consulted the parchment once more. “The Field of Storms,” he said.

  “What was that?” Broden asked.

  “The Field of Storms, to the east. It used to be a huge lake, an inland sea around about a thousand years ago. This was known as the Sea of Storms. This may be what ‘storm of the seas’ refers to.”

  “But there’s no sea today,” Broden said.

  “No, there’s no sea today. But the land that used to be the sea is covered at this time of year in winter poppies.”

  “The Sea of Blood,” Governor Harruld mused aloud. A grave look etched across his wrinkled face. “Solansia is going to strike at Apula.”

  *

  The rejuvenated king admired himself in the full-length mirror. His armour of freshly burnished steel and polished leather, complimented his invigorated body. He flexed his arm, strong once more, and smiled.

  “Traxal, are they ready?” he called to his general, who waited outside his pavilion.

  “Your Highness, they are,” the response returned through the canvas partition.

  “Then let them behold their king reborn,” he whispered to himself as he appreciated his flexing arms. Grunnxe placed the crowned helmet over his head, careful not to dishevel his hair, and slid his sword into its ornate scabbard. Pausing in front of the exit, he exhaled and smiled to himself.

  The cheer was enormous as Grunnxe strode out.

  Thousands of loyal Solansians rejoiced. Once feared to be dead, the beloved Grunnxe, patriot and hammer of the Free Provinces, stood before his people with his muscled arms aloft.

  The priestess stood in the shadows of the tent behind Grunnxe. Clothed fully in black, the crowd were not able to see her form.

  Grunnxe turned his head and cast a glance back to the shadowy figure. “Spread my words. Make them loud. They all must hear what I speak.”

  “As you command, master.”

  “Soldiers of Solansia!” Grunnxe addressed the mass, his voice booming with unnatural power. “The hour of darkness is passing, for King Grunnxe has come to lead you into the light!”

  There were more thundering cheers.

  “Solansia will at last, after four hundred years of fury, crush the traitorous alliance and reclaim our place on the throne of the Cullanain. There is no doubting that this is the hour of our glory, for I have been told so by a great and powerful God. A God who is rising from the shadows and will reward our loyalty with power.”

  With his arms aloft and voice resonating across the vast plain, Grunnxe received the adulation of his subjects. He knew he had their devotion. They would do anything for him. The disciples of the priestess, the wretched holy men, had gone forth and spread the word of their new God to the masses. Prayers and benedictions were taught and worship conducted. The Solansian forces gripped their love of their new god with a ferocious and hysterical enthusiasm.

  “Children of Solansia, let us pray together now to our God, and may he bless us with strength and courage against the demons of the west. Let us offer our spirits to the great and true God!”

  As cheering gave way to silence, Grunnxe felt engorged with pleasure.

  It was perfect.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Bergnon hammered on the governor’s door. “My lord, I have the roster.”

  The heavy oak door swung open and a tired-looking Governor Harruld ushered Bergnon into his study. Thaskil and Arrlun followed behind and stood at ease by the door. Long-limbed wolf hounds sniffed at their boots and legs before settling.

  “How’
d you get on?” Harruld asked as he sat behind his paper-strewn desk, fingers knitting behind his head.

  “We were only able to review the rosters as they were delivered from Hardalen and Terna, so there are no further changes to our knowledge in that respect. We did, however, manage to secure a full rollcall of the senior command here in Carte, down to campaign-experienced corporals.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll be needing the bodies.” He sighed a long and ragged breath. “Go on.”

  “My lord, all who were present after the attack remain present. That is, all but one.” Bergnon paused, his eyes fixed on the governor.

  “Yes?”

  “Chief Administrative Officer Johnstane is missing.”

  “Have you confirmed this for certain?”

  “We have, my lord. I sent Arrlun and Thaskil out to the church, infirmary, his offices, and just about everywhere else he was known to frequent. Johnstane has no family or other homes within the city. I’ve had the city scoured this night and no one has seen him. He appears to have vanished.”

  “How on earth did he get out?” Harruld asked no one in particular. “Damn these guards.” He slammed his fist into the desk, startling the dozing wolf hounds. Harruld rubbed his face and sighed. “Well, that’s something to go on at least. Good work. We’ll have to dispatch a team to bring him in. If that’s all, Bergnon, go and rest some. I’m organising a council for midmorning. I’ll need you there. You two,” the governor addressed the two raw soldiers.