Trail of Pyres

by L. James Rice

  Why had she studied the Light for so many years? Studying words under the delusion of knowledge as power. This! This was true power. She stared at her hands, balling them into heated fists and opening them again to tingling chills, her heart trembling, her thoughts shrill and incoherent in her mind. She stood before she thought too. With a stiff first step she stumbled into the nightstand before steadying herself, then put one foot before another with ginger, padding steps.

  When she reached the door, she opened her mouth to speak, but with energies raging she only croaked. “Help me.” She cleared her throat and found her voice. “Help me.”

  The guard with his waxed black mustache arrived at the door, swinging it open. His face went blank on seeing her, as if the Dark had already taken hold of his heart, but it hadn’t. Not yet.

  Meliu unleashed the Dark in a torrent that slammed into the man before cascading, blackening the room and hall. She’d never felt anything like it in her life. She could feel devils dancing all around here, illusory or real, they were a horror, but her soul stood as an eye of tranquility in a storm of terrible Dark. When the prayer faded she expected to find the man gone, having run away with a streak of piss in his wake, but when light returned she found a man broken, curled into a ball, eyes rolled into the back of his head, foaming drool on his lips, and wreaking of his own shit. She stared, her jitters calmed under the influence of Erginle’s Light.

  “Now that’s a curious turn.” She smiled as she grabbed his ankles, meaning to drag him to the corner behind the door, but the bastard was heavier than she figured. Or, the power of prayer convinced her she was stronger than she was. It took her a couple wicks to roll the trembling man behind the door and to prop him in the corner.

  Satisfied with her work, she returned to sit on the bed and wondered if the man would snatch and eat cockroaches if they skittered too close.

  “Vern. Vern?” The sound of Teveru’s voice snapped Meliu from her meditations, holding Light and praying for Dark every few wicks while waiting for her meal. However easy they came at first, already the powers took on a more natural flow, walling away the fear.

  The door opened and Meliu shot the pretty girl a sedate smile. The whore was nervous, glancing around the room. “Be a dear and bring me my food.” Meliu giggled and the girl’s face cracked a smile as she sauntered over to set a plate of greens, bread, and some sort of meat on the bed. “Close the door, please.”

  Teveru turned and gave the door a shove and it slammed closed. She noticed the quivering man in the corner with trails of slobber stretching to his chest. A rasping gasp sucked through her lips. The girl’s knees quaked without a need for Dark. “What have you done?”

  “Nothing you ever need suffer.” Meliu broke the hard loaf in twain and smeared half with butter. Deliberate bites ground gritty grains as she studied the fidgeting girl. She held her nerves well, considering the horrors which must be flitting through her soul. “I’m no mere witch, Tederu. I am a vessel of the Vanquished Gods, do you know of my masters?”

  Tederu turned, her eyes struggling to rise from the warped floorboards as she nodded. “What will you do with me?”

  Meliu tore a bite of greasy meat with her teeth, pondering for a moment only now how it held the shape of a large rodent before tossing the remainder to the floor. It wouldn’t do for an evil witch to gag on rat, so she swallowed, pinned her eyes on the girl and a hunk of bread. “All I ask is you forget my face when I’m gone. Remember me, speak of me, and the Shades of the Vanquished will torture your soul until this man’s torment seems petty. Sit, be silent.”

  The girl flopped against the wall as far from the guard as she could find, pulling her knees into her chest and hiding her face. Meliu summoned a flicker of Light to soothe her guilt over her threats, and finished her meal, except she kicked the rat carcass over to Vern, the critter’s glaze covered with specks of dirt and streaks of hair from the floor. The man didn’t so much as notice the offering.

  Meliu loomed over the whore, hiding the book mouse she’d become over the years and unleashing the street tough daughter of a tavern cook. “You and the ladies of this house ain’t my enemy, all I want is to leave this shit hole.” Without response, she kicked the girl’s shin. “Directions, guards?”

  “There’s a ladder, to your left, but that just takes you to the main basement. Follow the hall straight, turn right, you’ll find steps. A uh, a right, then a left, you’ll find the front doors. Estvin will probably be by the door, Tedun and Ridlo wander the halls.”

  Meliu smiled, leaving by the front door suited her. “What time of day is it?”

  “Still dark. Candles yet before morning.”

  Meliu grabbed the corked jug of water and prayed for Light and a modicum of Dark, holding their forces within, walking slow and steady down the lantern lit hall until reaching the ladder. She gazed upward, her heart beating fast. Walking was one thing, climbing a ladder would fatigue her muscles if she held onto the elements. She could lose the tenuous grasp on her prayers, or worse, the energies could overtake her. She sighed and released the Dark, retaining the Light her body and soul were accustomed to. She climbed and braced her back against the wall of the narrow corridor at the top, pushing with both hands on the trapdoor above, praying it wasn’t locked.

  The slab of oak was heavy but lifted, and she crawled into complete darkness. A prayer for vision could let her see in this dark, but no, it would leave her vulnerable. Mingling a prayer of Life into Light and Dark, it was beyond her abilities. Now she had a weapon, she didn’t want to let go.

  A splinter of Dark rushed into her soul, and she unleashed a trickle of Light, bringing a dim glow to the room. Empty crates were stacked and leaning, some broken while others lay tumbled on their sides, with cobwebs thick in places. Margo’s whorehouse didn’t have much use for the basement, it seemed. A single hall exited the room, and she followed it, taking a left, then a right, and as promised she came to a set of stairs, at the top a heavy door.

  She released her prayers and squatted against the wall in total darkness, relaxing her muscles and rubbing her temples. Holding Light and Dark at the same time taxed every fiber of her body and soul. Her eyelids wore weights, and she felt as if she could fall into slumber without warning. She grabbed her left arm and pinched to wake herself. A prayer of Life could fight fatigue, but it’d be a facade of strength that might tempt her to prayers her mind wouldn’t handle.

  Two deep breaths and she slapped her face, a beneficial sting for focus. She stood and muted the doubts in her mind, focusing her ears for sounds from above. A muffled voice carried through the ceiling and floorboards creaked several times, nothing useful. With her back to the wall she crept up the stairs.

  With only a couple of guards maybe in her path, she hoped to make it out of here without a fight. Hells, with luck on her side she might mosey on outside with nothing more than a grin and a wave. She straightened, took a breath and prayed.

  The door opened to a stream of dust speckled light. A man with shoulders damned near too wide for the frame stood staring, and his hand was quicker than her gods. Her forearm deflected the blow, but the blackjack slammed her shoulder as the man overpowered her. She crumpled and tumbled toes over nose before twisting into a sideways roll that ended with her sprawled on the basement floor.

  Laughter led his creaking, heavy steps down the stairs. “How’d you get out, whore? A bit of witchery don’t scare me none, little girl.” He squinted and covered his eyes, expecting Light.

  The pain in Meliu’s shoulder was intense, but nothing compared to stripes from the Maimer’s Lash. Light and Dark flooded her body in unison as she brought herself to hands and knees. The energy pushed her limits, and she knew it, but the Light calmed her, and she grinned, her control complete in a way she knew she couldn’t trust. “An interesting choice of words.”

  Her world went black, darker than blindness, and she swore she could feel chill devils kissing her skin.

  The man screamed, shri
ll and wild enough to remind her of a running horse breaking its leg, and he too lashed out, flailing, his sap striking the walls in wasted rage. She rolled across the floor and muttered a prayer to strengthen the Dark, and she heard the man’s feet clunking the stairs before the crash of his heavy body, and the tumble he made to the bottom.

  The ceiling above groaned and clopped from uncountable pairs of feet, dashing all hope for a subtle escape, and she smiled.

  Meliu released her prayer of Dark long enough to note the man’s bloodied head and dislocated shoulder, long enough for a breath.

  A piece of her wondered if the Dark wasn’t already driving her to madness. Better a devil than a whore. She stood, prayed, and sauntered up the stairs to stand in the hall. Heads poked out of doors, men and women alike, but they weren’t suspicious of a puny Silone girl.

  She turned right, walking as if she owned the place. Act like you belong and you will, act like you’re in control, and you are. Several of the ladies glanced, a couple men even stared, but she reached the end of the hall without a soul thinking to lay a hand on her.

  She rounded the corner and a lantern lit hall stretched before her, at the end a single guard in a linen arming jack, mace at his hip and small sword in his hand. The man sweated beneath his gear, but he wasn’t afraid of her, not yet.

  Meliu decided then she wasn’t just going to escape, she was going to have fun doing it. The mingling of Light and Dark was a high she’d never experienced and every rush of Elemental energy brought her closer to a precipice, a sexless orgasm of remorseless power over the fate of those around her.

  She raised her arms, unleashing the Dark behind her.

  The shrill screams of women, the bellows of terrified men, fed her impassioned prayers as she sauntered down the passage, the Dark swelling like a fog behind her. The guard didn’t see some meek foreign girl now, some titless child who’s best destiny was laying with dirty men who could afford her.

  “When you scream, only devils will answer.”

  The guard’s sword clunked on the floorboards. His hands fumbled with the door before throwing it open; he disappeared into the night. She marched after him with bounding strides, giddy with the surging flow of energies.

  The guard ran down the street, but he would be back with friends soon. She released her Dark prayer to free those still in the brothel before running away from the guard’s direction. With no idea where she was in this damned town she zigged and zagged, only making sure she didn’t circle back, until she could run no more.

  With the exhilarations of Dark gone, her muscles ached, and she realized that the prayer of Light she held was the only thing keeping her upright. The guards would’ve barred the gates for the night by now, and from the looks of the sky she guessed she’d wait several candles for the dawn.

  She staggered into a wall, panting, fingers and toes already numb and her hands and feet tingling. Never had she pushed herself so far with prayer. The gods were generous with their gifts, but gifts bore prices. With a stumble she ducked into a dark, cramped alley, wanting to scream from exhaustion and frustration, from the fear of what she may have done to her body and soul, her mind. Tears came: How many innocents did she hurt, how many minds did she destroy? But she didn’t dwell on it long, she still needed to survive.

  On hands and knees she found her way beneath a rickety cart with a half-broken handle and heaped with refuse; stale greens and egg shells and bones, from an eatery she guessed. If it stank, she didn’t notice.

  The energy of Light drained from her body and she shook, sweat and chills coming in the night’s cool air. Curled into a ball she closed her eyes, and moments later was only aware of rolling onto her side to sleep because of a rock jabbing her ribs. The discomfort did nothing to keep her from slumber.

  9

  Seasoned Mummy

  Fire, light, and sight, deny, tonight.

  Human sitting besides flames by night is blind,

  yet in the darkness he might see.

  Find Lessons in words,

  the curds of a troubled mind,

  blind while sitting in universe bright.

  –Tomes of the Touched

  Night no longer came to Herald’s Watch with the fires of Eliles’ tower burning, nor did the days arrive with a sense of normality. Fire and steam clouds hid the sun, the moon, and the stars. Her entire world was an island, and she its all-powerful goddess, but unlike the gods, wise to approaching omniscience, ignorance plagued her every waking thought.

  And boredom.

  After weeks of eating fish morning, noon, and night… or whatever passed for time these days… it wouldn’t be long before she grew a taste for Artus’ tongue-curling spirits.

  Ivin’s cousin went straight to the granaries and cobbled up a still, then set to fishing every day. Count one man on the island contented with his peculiar life.

  In fact, most folks adapted better than she’d figured. Jinbin tended to the Temple of the High Sun, proclaiming himself high priest of the island while setting about learning to brew in fact rather than in theory. Taking on the temple’s duties wasn’t so much piety as it was claiming the small brew house. The only heated words on the Watch were a war over the virtues of ale versus whiskey, a combat ended with both men snoring rather than dead, and with drool from their lips sufficing for blood on the battlefield.

  Seden laughed over her iron stove as she cooked every day at the Salty Frog, serving a warrior’s fiery whiskey and a monk’s latest experimental brew every noon and night. And if she wasn’t there when you arrived, all were welcome to the stove and stores. The Frog had become the center of civilization on the island, with it a rare day everyone didn’t arrive to sup.

  Artus and Jinbin, along with Poluk (a man born and raised on the Watch) tracked down the three mules who once worked the mill, and they again had fresh-ground grain. Folks set the mules free when ships refused to haul them. Poluk cared for the animals and the grind stone, and bragged how he was the only honest miller in the world, seeing as no coins changed hands.

  Everyone had something, except her. She could fish, but grew annoyed at the taste of her catch, so most times she walked the island or stared at the flames of her creation.

  When Artus Choerkin strolled to her perch on a rock overlooking the harbor, she’d combined two of her pastimes, sitting with a fishing pole, its hook resting on stone, while she stared at the fire. He planted a foot with a stomp to get her attention. “We’s got a problem.”

  A groan reached her throat, but she resisted the childish noise. Instead, she gave him a childish glare. “What?”

  He jutted his chin and rubbed his whiskers. “They ain’t grown since yer fires went up.”

  “You wanted it to grow until you could use it as a belt?”

  He arched a brow as if giving it consideration. “I’m thinkin’ that’d be more laughable than useful. No. Not a damned thing’s grown. Not so much as an onion nor flower.”

  Sooner or later they’d be down to fish, and that was something she couldn’t stomach. “You expect me to make plants grow?”

  “Them gardens, they don’t wilt, nor die, nor grow; budded flowers haven’t bloomed, and those blossomed don’t drop no petals. They don’t change ‘less we pick ‘em.”

  “You think the Sliver stopped time?”

  He scratched his beard. “We can see the sun and moon cross the sky, sort of like, and we’re damned well moving about. Maybe if I knew a different definition for time I’d say yes, but as it were, I don’t have a word fer it.”

  Eliles stood and hopped from her boulder to the shore. “Perhaps we should stroll the gardens?”

  She’d spent most of her days around the docks and rocky shore, avoiding the upper city with its fortress and temples. Memories of Ivin, Kotin’s pyre, and walking on ground claimed holy, brought memories to chill or sadden her. It was childish avoidance to stay away, she admitted to herself, but even as they strode through the first gate into the main city, she regretted the st
eps. Memories are a false pain. Dareun told her this a hundred times as a child, but as now, it did little to assuage the sorrow bringing a curl to the corner of her eyes. She clenched her fists and strode onward with Artus by her side.

  They passed through the winding maze of squared gray buildings until they passed Skywatch’s white dome. As holy a place as anywhere on Kaludor, but she avoided it as if it were a fevered rat; a pang of guilt churned her gut, but she stiffened her back and pushed on until they reached their destination.

  The gardens stood green and full, rows pruned and weeded to a perfection which should require a dozen monks tending the soil every day. The vines tied to the trellising showed a scant finger’s new growth beyond the tie strings. Eliles leaned, cupping a bunch of grapes, the tiny fruit still green. Fedud grapes, a hardy varietal sometimes grown on the southern tip of Kaludor. She recalled them from when she arrived on the island, the first time she’d seen grape vines in her life, and they hadn’t changed much.

  “Wilu and her boys tend the gardens?”

  “Aye, they do. They’re the ones who came to tell me they’d been watering the damned things, but otherwise hadn’t any work to do.”

  She stared, willing Elemental Life to flow into the fruit. Healing had never been a strength, but she could staunch the flow of blood in a minor wound and heal it to a scar, and a plant was simpler because it didn’t require Spirit.

  If the tiny thing had shriveled, split, or popped it wouldn’t have surprised her, but doing nothing did.

  She gave the thing a squeeze for no good reason. “I don’t know what to think.”

  Artus whistled. “A damned shame, that. You and me could’ve made us some wine. Then I’d be one up on that damned monk.”