Red Season Rising

by D. M. Murray

  Yet more for the waterfall of waste.

  *

  Grunnxe reined in beside the slow rush of the Valeswater, and turned to face the gathering forces behind him. We’re here, Master.

  There was silence in his head. The Master God did not speak.

  The Priestess slid up beside Grunnxe’s horse, her head bowed and shoulders slumped.

  “Feeling a little chastened, are we?” Grunnxe mocked the Priestess.

  The sound of bubbling water drew Grunnxe’s attention away from the Priestess. He turned to the Valeswater and saw it roil. It splashed onto the bank as jets of water sprung up several feet and then fell back to the churning mass below.

  “What’s happening?” Grunnxe mumbled, not asking the question of anyone.

  “You’ve much to learn of the Master’s way, Great King.”

  The Priestess’s words slapped at Grunnxe. “Shut your mouth.” He knew his rebuke was childish, but he didn’t care.

  He turned back to the Valeswater to see jets of liquid grow taller and more frequent before freezing in mid-air. The water shimmered and then spread wide. Tall stands of water grew and merged into one, standing as a hundred-foot-wide wall. The wall of water flickered and grew dark in colour before it resolved into a scene. Grunnxe’s mouth fell open as a city appeared in the distance of the wall of water.

  Carte.

  *

  The creature stopped thrashing as Broden smashed its head against the cobbles one last time. The snow on the ground made a dirty brown paste with the dead blood of the monster.

  Broden stood, breathing hard, and took the few steps required before gathering up his sword. The fight around him was tailing off. The dozen creatures that had taken them by surprise, sprinting through a fog of snow, had been dispatched. The eight citizens they had gathered on their latest sortie from the cathedral had knotted together and embraced each other with fear as the platoon fought away the terror.

  “Everyone fine?” Broden hissed in the dim light of the morning, struggling to see the furthest of his platoon through a thick fall of snow. The response came back one by one; all fine. “Let’s keep moving. We’re not far from the cathedral. You’ll be safe there.” Broden set off running, quick and quiet.

  His men flanked the group of civilians and hurried them along.

  Broden squinted through the snow, desperate to see the cathedral up ahead. The groups of those things are getting bigger. Can’t keep fighting them like this. He finally saw the imposing shape of the cathedral. He stopped and turned to his group.

  He leaned in and whispered to them, “We have to make it across the square. Remember, whatever happens, keep running. Aim for the side door. Tell them you’re with Captain Broden’s party. Understood?”

  The group nodded and grunted, too frightened to speak.

  “Say it. Say it back to me,” Broden snapped.

  The mumble fell from their frozen mouths, “Captain Broden’s party.”

  “Good. Let’s go.” Broden turned and, as a single body, the group sprinted into the square towards the cathedral through a white haze.

  They ran low and hard, eyes almost shut to avoid the flakes of snow, but open enough to see where they were going.

  Broden heard a cry from behind as one of the group slipped in the snow on the cobbles. A commotion followed which he could only assume was guardsmen tripping over the prone civilian. “Keep running!” Broden hissed as the group made it across the square and down the side of the cathedral. “Get to the door!” he ordered one of the platoon before turning back towards the square. Just through the haze of snow, he saw a city guardsman running towards him. “Come on, keep coming!” he cried out as he closed the gap, the guardsman coming closer, becoming clear.

  The man had blood trailing from his mouth and his eyes were white.

  Fear ran through Broden. Not one of mine.

  He ducked, just avoiding the swing of the creature’s claws. Broden spun and brought his sword crashing down, but missed the mark. The creature turned and crouched, white eyes blinking, fresh blood and flesh still clear around its mouth.

  Whoever fell stayed down. Broden circled the creature, waiting for an opportunity. He stole a glance over its shoulder and saw two more forms approaching through the snow. You’re in trouble now. He swung, causing the creature to leap to one side. He swung again and missed once more.

  The others grew closer.

  Not long. Have to be quick. He feigned a blow and followed with a kick, sending the creature reeling to the snowy ground. Broden pounced and drove his sword home under the chin of the prone monster. It stiffened as he slammed the sword into its skull.

  Fuck! A pair of rough hands grabbed him from behind and hauled him up. Broden moved to strike at his unseen assailant, but was slapped across the face before he had half a chance.

  “Don’t be stupid, laddie,” said a familiar, ragged voice. “Come on, keep on running. The other lads will deal with them.”

  “Subath!” Broden spluttered. “I’ve never happier to get a slap in the face from you!”

  “Aye,” the old warrior growled as they approached the cathedral’s side entrance. “Never been happier to dish one out either.” Subath roared at the door and shoved Broden in once it was opened, following in behind. “Keep the door ready. The others will be back in a moment,” Subath ordered those on the door. “Come on, you. Up the stairs.” Subath gave Broden a slap on the back and began making his way up into the cathedral. “We’ve to have a little talk.”

  *

  As they reached the top of the stairs leading to the cupola, Althia walked by carrying a bowl of warm water and some cloths. Broden stopped in his tracks.

  “Althia,” Broden called out, causing her to turn.

  “Captain Broden.” She smiled at him. “I’m just tending to some of the injured you brought in earlier.”

  “How’s everyone faring?”

  “We’ve plenty of help. We’re managing just fine. It’s surprising how much food there is in the cathedral stores.”

  “Hardly,” Subath grumbled under his breath. “The church takes what it desires, from my experience of it.”

  Broden ignored the comment. “How’s my man?”

  “Last I looked, he was asleep, as was the little girl you brought in.” Althia smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m afraid I have people to tend, Captain.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  As Althia made her way off, Subath called after her, “Is there somewhere private I could talk with the captain?”

  Althia smiled. “Of course. There’s a free room next to where the injured guardsman and the girl sleep. You may use that.”

  They made their way into the room. Subath clicked the door shut and turned gravely to Broden.

  “What wrong?” Broden asked, plonking himself down on the bed with a sigh.

  “The outer wall’s been abandoned.” Subath’s face cut a sorry sight.

  “What? What’s happened?”

  “This happened!” Subath raised his hands, pointing out the window and towards the cupola. “The walls were overrun. Those creatures came from all around. The troops on the walls have either died fighting them, locked themselves in the towers and gatehouses, or are making their way back to the inners walls of the High Command, as I’ve ordered. I’ve tried to send word, but the damned pigeons can’t fly in snow this fierce. I would send a runner but…” The old fighter shrugged his shoulders and nodded towards the window. “Well, you know.”

  “Dajda!” Broden made a blessing on himself and stood, staring out the window as snow flurried down.

  “No one’s listening, Broden. We’re in this alone still.”

  “There’s time still—”

  A scream punctured through from the adjacent room, cutting Broden off.

  He and Subath sprang out the door and burst into the next room, swords free from their scabbards. Before them they saw the injured guardsman standing with one foot out of his bed, hunched, f
ingers like talons, and white-eyed.

  He growled at the two soldiers and shot a glance back to the small girl who had squirmed towards the back of the bed. She held her covers before her face in a hopeless act of defence. The creature looked towards Broden and Subath, who stood with mouths agape at the beast. It swung a clawed hand at the air between them and snapped its teeth.

  “Not that one. She’s under my protection,” Broden muttered before leaping at the creature, his cry thundering around the cupola.

  Broden slashed at the creature. His first blow cut off a swiping hand, spurting blood across the wall. Subath’s sword slammed into the creature’s shoulder blade, dropping it to one knee. Broden’s second swing cut free the head. The disembodied head fell onto the bed and settled, white eyes staring at the ceiling.

  The child continued to wail as the creature’s body was kicked over by Subath onto the floor between the beds.

  Broden turned to Subath, a dawning on his face. “They grow in number.”

  “And what?” Subath replied.

  “You said you were overrun, then the guardsmen who had me in the square, and now him.” Broden nodded to the guardsman’s corpse on the floor. “They’re growing in number, because every time they kill or injure one of us, they are increasing their forces.”

  Subath’s lips moved in silence.

  “What is it?” Broden asked.

  “I’m trying to work out how many people are in this city.”

  Broden’s face dropped. “Dajda!”

  Subath’s lips stopped moving and he looked up. “We have to get back inside the High Command. We’re nothing but meat out here.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Kalfinar scribbled a signature and blotted the order. He handed it to the young soldier. The lad’s hand tremored.

  “What age are you, boy?” Kalfinar asked the young man.

  “Fifteen, Your Highness.”

  “Not a ‘Highness’, boy. Just ‘sir’ will do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go on, get going.”

  “Sir.” The youth saluted and hurried off.

  “Are we so stretched that we’re taking lads off the street and putting them in a uniform?” Kalfinar asked Merkham and the gathered officers.

  “Aye,” Merkham replied, raising his head from where he scribbled on the large map of the city. “We’re that stretched.”

  As Merkham finished speaking, another messenger burst into the room, causing heads to turn.

  “Chief Marshall, sir.” The messenger saluted. “Lord Harruld’s physician has sent for you. He says it’s a matter of some urgency.”

  Kalfinar started running before the messenger had finished. He bounded the short hallway, boots slapping flagstones, and burst into his father’s private chambers.

  “Father!” Kalfinar stopped in his tracks with Evelyne coming into the study just behind him. “What’s happening?” Kalfinar asked as he approached his father.

  Harruld was lying along his chair by the fire with a thin, glass tube venting blood from his arm. He had a wet cloth over his eyes while a physician listened to his heart through an ear-piece.

  “He can’t hear you, boy,” a thin croak came from the chair in which Olmat sat. “He’s being bled.”

  “Kalfinar?” Harruld’s voice sounded. “Is that you? Take this bloody cloth away from me,” Harruld snapped at the attending physician, who removed the wet cloth.

  Kalfinar approached his father. “What’s he doing to you?”

  “Treating a sick and weary man. I’m old. I’ve fought and stressed through my entire life. My blood’s tired. The physician’s getting rid of some of the old stuff. He seems to think my old body can make some fresh blood.” Harruld laughed a weak sound and then grimaced as the physician removed the tube draining blood from his arm. “But what I can’t make can be found in other ways.”

  “Take a seat and roll up your sleeve, Chief Marshall,” the physician said to Kalfinar.

  “What?” Kalfinar reacted slowly to his new title.

  “Your father needs some of your blood.”

  “I’ll not need much.” Harruld grinned and pulled himself upright. “I’ve felt more invigorated for a few days after each purge, but it has ceased to have as much of an effect. The physician seems to thinks the blood of a vigorous kinsman could help.”

  “Seems like I’m your man.” Kalfinar placed a hand on Harruld’s shoulder and sat down beside him.

  “Here, let me help,” Evelyne said to the physician as she unfurled the tubing and affixed the barbed siphon on the end.

  “Place the other end into the bottle. There’s one in the bag over there.” The physician pointed to the large, leather bag on the side table by the window.

  Harruld watched her for a moment as she walked to the other side of the room. He turned back to Kalfinar. “Are you happy?” he whispered.

  Kalfinar looked at the back of Evelyne as she reached into the bag. “I am, even with our world falling around us.” A crash of glass sounded and Kalfinar sprang to his feet. “Evelyne!”

  She stood staring out of the window.

  “What’s wrong?” Kalfinar asked, stepping up beside her.

  “Demons come,” she said.

  “Do you mean the creatures?” Kalfinar asked. “The ones attacking the city? They’re spirits of Balzath, aren’t they?”

  “No, worse than that comes,” Evelyne said. “I had a sense that something was coming.”

  As Evelyne finished speaking, footsteps pounded up the stairs nearby. They turned to face the door and Merkham came into the room, followed by one of Subath’s subordinates.

  “What news?” Harruld asked, his voice trembling.

  Merkham answered, “The outer walls, My Lord. We’ve been forced to abandon them and retreat. The creatures are too many.”

  The chin of the young officer next to Merkham wobbled.

  “Lad, speak up,” Kalfinar ordered.

  “Sir,” the young man responded, “about three hundred of us have made it back behind the High Command walls. A skeleton force is holed up in the towers and gatehouses and Subath is lost in the city. His group hasn’t made it back. We’ve lost unknown numbers to the creatures. They swell in numbers with every one they take.” The officer broke down as he finished.

  “Hells,” Kalfinar muttered. “Lad, head back to your platoon. Orders will be issued. For now, just get some rest and something to eat.”

  The officer composed himself, saluted, and then left the room.

  Merkham stood in silence, looking out the window. “When did it stop snowing?”

  They each looked out the window. The rising sun was shining, breaking between heavy, dark clouds.

  “Didn’t even notice,” Kalfinar mused

  “About ten minutes,” offered the physician attending Harruld. “The snow broke not long before Captain Kalfinar and the lady attended.”

  As the physician stopped speaking, more footsteps sounded from the stairs.

  “More bad news.” Kalfinar faced the door.

  A sergeant from the signals tower came puffing and red-faced into the room.

  “Chief Marshall, sir.” The man gasped for breath and offered a tiny roll of paper towards Kalfinar.

  “Thank you. At ease,” Kalfinar said, unfurling the paper. His eyes scanned the message. “It’s from Abbonan. Solansian ships have been spotted. They sneaked in on the fog. Abbonan has taken charge of the fleet and moves to engage them.”

  “With the outer walls weakened, we’ll need to get everyone back to the High Command. We need to send out troops to help them.”

  Harruld rubbed his eyes. “Dajda damn it, Kal!” he snapped. “Have you not heard what Merkham just said? Only three hundred made it back.”

  “What about Broden? Subath? All of the troops out there? The people? Are we abandoning them to the mercy of monsters?”

  “We pray for them,” Harruld mumbled.

  “No one is listening.” Kalfinar spat his w
ords, his heart racing.

  He walked to the window, staring over the walls of the High Command and into the city. The sun was breaking crimson through the clouds, washing the city in a red as the snow reflected the light of the sun. Blood sun. Painting a city in blood. How very apt. Where are you, cousin? Where are you?

  *

  Broden peered out the window at the square, now lit in a blaze of scarlet and pinks by the rising sun.

  “How’s it looking?” Subath asked.

  “Square’s clear,” Broden said, his eyes scanning for any signs of the creatures. “Are the people ready?”

  “Aye, shit scared, but they’re ready.”

  “Good. Have they taken weapons?”

  “Of sorts. The caretakers and the holy ones weren’t so happy about the congregation ripping up their benches and taking their candlesticks, but when I told them that they’d be the only thing between them and being eaten, it sort of did the trick.” Subath croaked a laugh. “It’s amazing the fine silver candlesticks that come out of the vestry in moments like that.”

  Broden smirked and clapped Subath on the shoulder as he walked past and into the main body of the cathedral. He looked at the frightened people gathered. There stood at least two hundred souls rescued from the city, frightened holy people, and Tuannan, all powerless whilst Dajda slept.

  “You ready?” he called out.

  Some mumbles and nods were all he received.

  “That’ll have to do,” he grumbled to himself. “Remember to keep running. The High Command’s only a mile from here. If we run fast and smooth—no stops—we can be there in a little over ten minutes. Fast and smooth.” He scanned the eyes of those around him. The atmosphere prickled with fear. He stopped at Althia and offered her a reassuring nod. “Are you ready?” he called out once more.

  Althia smiled, nodded, and then glanced down at the small girl who clung tight to her.