Lost Lore: A Fantasy Anthology

by Ben Galley

  I opened my eyes, and instead of the thatch and half-finished cladding I was used to, I saw the lonely peak of a pine tree. Its skeletal point held a single crow, busy performing balancing acts in the chill breeze. Beyond the tree, a sky of white and snow-laden grey. Had I sleepwalked again?

  That was when I heard the voices. No tuneless humming of father, no whining of my brother, just four accents I did not recognise.

  I could not see their owners from my position, lying flat with a bedroll beneath my head. As I wracked my mind for understanding, the previous night’s events came rushing back to me in a blur. I let out a frustrated sob as I remembered the gaping hole in my father’s skull. The smell of burning flesh and thatch still occupied my nostrils.

  I jerked upright and found my arms bound to my sides. My ankles were tied too. The knots were not mean, but firm enough. I bucked like a worm finding half its body stolen by a spade.

  ‘Let me free, you bastards!’

  There came a sigh, and a huge man with one eye appeared in my view. He had a shaved head and peculiar grey flakes around his cheekbones and temples. He was upside-down to me, and so I saw his smile as a grimace. It chilled me.

  ‘Why do they always get angry at us?’ he asked, but not of me. I was busy trying to summon enough saliva to spit at him.

  Another voice grunted. ‘Confusion.’

  A female this time. ‘It’s because you forgot—again—that you were knocking out a child, not an adult. You rob half their memories. Don’t know the strength of your own spells.’

  Spells. I struggled anew.

  ‘You can do it next time then.’

  Another voice spoke, this one with the quality of paper being crumpled. ‘Is that any way to speak to our illustrious leader, Inwick?’

  ‘Fucking kidnappers! Murderers!’ I screamed at them.

  Another face appeared overhead, this one a pale-skinned, sharp-boned woman. At least, I thought it was a woman. It was hard to tell with her short white hair slicked back across her head.

  ‘Calm yourself, child,’ she said. There was no hint of care in her voice, but plenty of irritation. I did not care. The saliva I’d gathered arced from my lips onto her brown tunic. She did not flinch.

  ‘Charming.’

  Both figures retreated, making way for two more. One was a thin scraping of a man, with skin as papery as his voice and the hollow eyes of a corpse. He looked ancient, and yet there was a bright glint in his eyes that told me he was far from the grave. He attempted a warm smile, but I saw sharp fangs behind his grey lips, and I shrank away.

  ‘You talk to her,’ he said, motioning to the other, much younger man. ‘They never like me.’

  The other sighed, strolling around to face me as he tugged a pipe from his pocket. He proceeded to light it without a match nor flint. His cupped hands glowed as an orange flame blossomed between them. Though the breeze sought to tear it away, it remained steadfast, flickering no more than a bedside candle.

  The older man tutted at him. ‘Show off.’

  Bent over the flame, a smug grin appeared amidst a tangle of black hair.

  ‘You know me.’

  By the dark stubble and lines around his eyes, I would have guessed the man as the same age as my father. Once again, the thought of him face-down in the snow, his skull open, choked me. Outrage faded to fear, and I felt hot tears gathering at the corners of my eyes.

  ‘Please…’ I began to beg.

  The younger man knelt by my feet. I saw an ornate sword hilt behind his head. He kept his hands to himself, but his eyes searched every inch of my face. He sucked on his pipe several times before he spoke.

  ‘I’m sorry about your family and anybody else you’ve lost, but they’re gone now. Nothing can be done for them. But the good news is that you’re alive, and that we’re here to help you, not harm you.’ His words had the flatness of repetition.

  I could have laughed. ‘Is that it?’ I spat. ‘That supposed to fix it all?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, narrowing eyes at me. I wondered what he saw. ‘But I understand you’re angry, confused. Upset. An explanation sometimes helps.’

  ‘Who are you? Who were the others?’

  ‘All in good time, girl.’ He puffed on his pipe and tried to blow a smoke ring, but the breeze stole it away. He humphed. ‘You got a name?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He gestured for me to divulge it, but I hesitated. I’d heard talk in Old Graer’s tavern of lending names to strangers, and what a rogue could do with it. What trouble they could rustle up. These were suspicious times, but after being hauled from your home in the dead of a winter’s night, and watching your family burn before you, a name isn’t much to give up.

  ‘Hereni.’

  ‘Strong name. Sounds Paraian.’

  ‘It is. My father travelled far and wide.’ Another sob came to stick in my craw.

  The man settled down onto his backside, knees drawn into his chest, arms balanced atop them. His long hair obscured most of his features besides a pair of grey-green eyes. The fact they were not pale and milky like those of the men at my cottage somewhat comforted me.

  ‘What did he do?’ the man asked. The past tense of his words made me flinch.

  ‘Trapper. Trader. Took furs from here to the south. Swapped them for jewellery of bone and polished stone.’ I don’t know why I told him, but it was something to keep my lips from shaking.

  The man nodded. ‘Who else did you lose?’

  ‘Mother. Brother.’

  ‘Their names?’

  I felt my anger growing again. ‘Why do you care?’

  ‘Because I’ve lost too. Far too many to count. An uncle. A lover. Friends. Even a daughter. It helps to say their names when they pass. They hear it, you know, before they pass to the other side. We’ll say their names later.’

  I said nothing, and instead struggled against the ropes that were wrapped around my waist and feet.

  The stranger eyed my sodden bearskin and holey trews and wrinkled his face. I saw a web of scars on his jaw whiten as they stretched.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Sixteen summers. Why? How old are you?’

  ‘Hmm, older than you think. And because you remind me of somebody I used to know,’ he sighed. ‘Hungry?’

  The word elicited a growl from my stomach. I hadn’t wanted to give him the satisfaction of agreeing, but my belly betrayed me. The night’s terrors had famished me.

  ‘You can eat if you promise not to run. Besides, it wouldn’t do you any good. See this one-eyed fellow?’

  The huge man was behind me, but I nodded anyway.

  ‘He may look like a big old lump, but trust me, nothing outruns him. Except me.’

  He waited for my answer, and after several moments of scowling and realising I had few other options, I agreed.

  ‘Good.’

  A knife came forth from his sleeve, along with a glimpse of red and gold armour, and my bonds were slit. I stayed in the same position until he had moved away. Only then did I rub my cold wrists and sit upright.

  The man moved to the fire and left me be to fetch my bearings. We were on a hillside that looked familiar to me. It was one I had climbed several times as a younger girl. The lone pine on the bald summit had always been the flagpole, when I’d made its rocks my fort.

  I swivelled my head, stretching out my cold neck, and saw a thin column of grey smoke rising from the snowy forest below. It was several miles away now, but the distance did nothing to soften the wrench in my gut. I wondered if that pillar was all that was left of my home.

  ‘I can’t go back, can I?’ I asked of the small huddle, gathered around an iron pot and a small fire.

  The old man with the sharp teeth answered. ‘You are free to do as you wish, girl, but it is worth asking yourself what is there for you beyo
nd ashes and bones.’

  ‘A home.’

  ‘Homes travel with a person. They are not one place forever, girl.’

  ‘Durnus. Let’s leave the philosophy for now, hmm?’

  The elder bowed his head, and I watched his baggy neck wrinkle up. ‘As you wish.’

  It was the woman’s turn to speak. ‘Let her eat. Come, girl. Hereni, was it? Break your fast.’

  I looked at them, each after the other, and with the same amount of suspicion. It was the impassiveness of their eyes that swayed me. They held no malice, no designs for my flesh, nothing but a controlled calm.

  I sat a few feet from the fire, with the slope behind me just in case I wanted to test the big man’s speed. He certainly didn’t look fast. He reminded me of father’s travelling companion, a huge Arkan by the name of Vinn. This man was even bigger. The scales between his wrinkles drew my eyes. I wondered if it was some sort of disease.

  A bowl was passed to me, steaming with a reddish stew. Chunks of pink meat floated in it, along with shrivelled carrots and some sort of green berry. It didn’t smell repulsive, and I cupped the bowl to warm my hands while the broth cooled.

  ‘You have questions?’ asked the big man. ‘You can ask.’

  I did. Question upon question, and though I doubted any of them would quell the pain in my chest, I asked anyway.

  ‘Who are you?’

  The old man flashed his fangs. ‘A simple enough start. “Who” is always easier than why and what. I am Durnus Glassren. This lump near to you goes by the name of Eyrum, a Siren of Nelska. This lady here is Inwick, originally of Krauslung. And this scruffy character to my right is Farden, also of Krauslung.’

  The man with the grey-green eyes nodded behind a wreath of pipesmoke. ‘Originally.’

  ‘Am I supposed to know these names? You don’t look from around here.’

  The four of them chuckled, and Farden answered for them. ‘I would be surprised if you did. There were once songs about us, but it’s been a while since they were sung in the south.’

  ‘You talk of Krauslung, but you can’t be the king’s soldiers.’ Their ragged clothing held no crests or royal insignia.

  There came a deep laugh from Eyrum. I’d never heard of a Siren, but I’d heard of Nelska from the songs in Graer’s tavern, and my father when he would come home drunk and tuneful once a week. A wild and barren place, they called it, full of smoke and fire that erupted from the ground. Dead and lifeless from the Last War.

  ‘We have never held the favour of King Malvus.’

  ‘Then what are you? Traitors? Rogues?’

  ‘Ah,’ Durnus smiled. ‘Now we come to it.’

  Inwick, the skinny white-haired woman, answered. Something about her voice made her sound noble, though her dark cloak and simple armour said the opposite. ‘In simple terms, girl, we are helpers of the innocent. People like you, young and old. That’s why we rescued you from those men. We have been fighting against blaggards like that for many years now.’

  ‘And who were they?’

  Farden answered. ‘They were the king’s men.’

  I scoffed. Though I had never laid eyes on the king, nor his capital, nor even the central kingdom of Arka, I knew my home lay within the king’s lands. The coins I had spent in town bore his face. His colours hung from the reever’s hall. I knew to whom I owed fealty. King Malvus, the Lord of the Arkathedral; the man who had banished war from Emaneska.

  ‘Lies.’ The accusation was thrown at them like a sling-stone. ‘They used magick. They were outlaws, just like you are.’

  Durnus smiled. ‘Suffice it to say, there is much you do not know—’

  ‘Then why don’t you tell me!’ My mother’s temper on my lips. It was a meagre tribute to pay her.

  Farden held up his hands to silence the others. Once again I saw his armour beneath his sleeve-hem, like overlapping autumn leaves of russet and gold. It looked far more noble than the simple mail that covered the rest of him.

  ‘Fine. But you better eat your stew first. Ill news lies heavy on empty stomachs.’

  I saw sense in that, and held my tongue while I tackled the spicy broth. The meat was salty, but the vegetables and berries sweet. It was like nothing I’d tasted in my life, and I found myself guzzling it back. It filled me to the brim, and when I had drained the bowl, running was the last thought on my mind. I sought a rounded rock instead, and propped myself up against it.

  Inwick and the fanged man had retreated down the slope with longbows in hand, presumably hunting for crows or other meat. Eyrum hovered nearby, his one eye switching between Farden and I when it wasn’t focused on washing out the pot.

  ‘You have an old head for somebody so young,’ said Farden, making me flinch after the silence.

  ‘And you can tell that already?’

  ‘It’s not the first time I’ve met somebody like you.’

  I pouted, showing my displeasure at his familiarity.

  ‘You don’t know me.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ Farden grinned widely. ‘Now then, if you call us outlaws, what does that make you, Hereni?’

  I stayed silent. It was a trick. Magick was outlawed by the king, punishable by hanging and burial, so that your soul never reached the other side.

  He tapped out his pipe, now dead. ‘I can tell by your silence that you know what I’m talking about. You’ve felt the call, haven’t you? Tell me I’m wrong.’

  It was my greatest secret. Four months, I’d been sneaking to the barn or into the woods, burning pinecones in my palms or scorching rocks. It had started as a tingle at first; an unnatural warmth. My mother had thought it a fever, but no amount of poultices or tinctures had brought down my heat. One morning, I’d dreamt of a fire, and found hand-shaped scorch marks in my bedsheets. I’d buried them in the forest before dawn, and blamed it on my brother. Gods, had mother given him a beating.

  ‘Tell me. What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘What can you do? Sparks from your fingertips? Make the ground shake? Light? Fire?’ He must have seen the twitch in my eye. ‘Fire it is.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  Instead of continuing to argue with me, he showed me his empty hand, rough with callouses and old scars. Before I could blink, a flame was hovering an inch above his palm; a deep red and teardrop shaped. I was mesmerised. I’d never seen magick like it before; so blatant, so skilful.

  I shuffled away. ‘Outlaw!’

  ‘Then I should welcome you to the club.’

  ‘I can’t do that. What I do isn’t magick. It’s just a charm. A knack.’

  ‘Magick by a different name. And that’s precisely why they came after you. Why they burnt your home and dragged you into the woods. They would have dragged you all the way to Krauslung if we hadn’t felt it too, and come for you.’

  I spat at his feet. ‘So it’s my fault my family is dead?’

  ‘No, it’s your precious king’s. He’s the one who banned magick across the empire. The one that sent those men to your door.’

  Farden saw the curl of my lip, the rage behind my eyes. He extinguished the flame with a clap of his fingers. ‘Fine. I can tell you’re the sort that likes to start at the beginning, never mind how long ago that was.’ He scratched his head. ‘Far too long ago for my liking…’

  Farden reached into the cooking fire and spread his hands over the embers. Flames sprouted almost immediately. I shuffled backwards as they blossomed, fearful.

  ‘Before you were born, magick was not outlawed, but revered. It was controlled, managed, respected. The Arka was its master, and through our own sacrifice and toil, we made sure it never ran amok. It was not perfect, but we had peace. There was no great sprawling dominion, just a simple harmony between a range of nations. The Arkathedral was not a fortress, but a council of right and w
rong. I was one of the many mages that carried out its decrees and did the hard work. Have you ever heard of the Written, Hereni?’

  I’d heard their name in tavern eddas, often followed by words like “destruction”, “chaos” and “murder”. I said as much.

  ‘Some kind of old monster.’

  Farden rolled his eyes. ‘Twenty years, and all fucking common sense disappears. They were mages, girl. The best Emaneska ever produced. Unfortunately, several decades ago a witch named Lilith hunted most of them down, and your king tried to finish the job. They had no place in his new empire, you see. Too powerful for his liking. Malvus was born without magick. His skills are in lies and rhetoric. When the Last War almost destroyed the Arka, he laid the blame at magick’s feet. He used that lie to conquer the shards of Emaneska, and mages, Written and people like you were rounded up and shot between the eyes with an arrow. Now, they live in fear.’

  I hissed, for I had no words. I refused to accept that everything mother and father had told me, was a lie built on a lie. I knew our king as a saviour. Malvus had dragged the Arka out of its own filth and destitution and turned it into the peaceful empire it was today; an empire that spanned most of Emaneska, from northernmost Skewer down to the cliffs of Hâlorn, stretching almost to Kroppe in the far east. Everybody knew Malvus had succeeded where centuries of others could not, and that he had done it all without magick. Every edda told the same story.

  I pressed my hands to my temples, feeling a dizzying mix of confusion and guilt. A whole empire couldn’t have been wrong…

  ‘Magick runs through your veins as it does mine, Hereni. Just as it does in Durnus’ veins, and Inwick’s, and Eyrum’s. In that, we are the same. You are a new version of an old breed, and because of that he came for you. Your family unfortunately stood in the way.’

  ‘Why?’ I whispered. ‘Why not kill me there, instead of dragging me to Krauslung to die?’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t want you dead, Hereni, he wanted you for his new army. He’s banned magick across Emaneska, but that doesn’t mean he can’t use it. He wanted to make a soldier of you. One of those pale-eyed freaks. Hypocritical, no?’