by Daniel Casey
“Nothing about this seems right.” Towsend shook his head and turned away from the façade of the city.
“Nothing about it is.”
“It’s astounding.” Towsend sat down next to Cochrane.
“It will only become more so, though probably more grotesque.” Cochrane sighed, pointed to a spot for a fire to be made, and stood up. Towsend started a fire as Cochrane drove stakes into the ground to hang up the sleeping rungs. Towsend poured some of his water into a porcelain jar and then sprinkled a handful of herbs into it from the pouch around his neck. Without looking up, he asked Cochrane, “Tea?”
“Yes. And eat the rest of your dry meat. We need to go into the city with full bellies and as little on our backs as possible.”
“Why is that?”
“We’ll be presenting ourselves as hirelings. This city attracts only the desperate, those with no other options. Folks like that never have much and those that do, by the time they make it here have run through everything they came with.”
“So there’s no turning back.” Towsend sighed.
“You thought there was?” Cochrane was surprised.
“I guess it just really hit me now.”
“Once we get inside you’ll find that there’s more and more. The city is an onion, smells worse though. And by the time we reach the pit you’ll see what the mouth of hell looks like.”
“How will we get back out?”
“Once in the pit there are veins, shafts that go out in all directions, some even meander their way to the surface again.”
“Some?” Towsend was skeptical.
“We’ll see, eh?” Cochrane smirked.
Towsend clasped the jar with a pair of metal pinchers lifting it out of the fire. He nodded toward Cochrane who grabbed and held out two cups. Pouring the steaming hot water, now a bright red tea, into each, he set the jar and pinchers down to the side of the fire. The sun was just down and he felt the temperature begin to drop; the warmth of the tea was welcome.
“Drink it up, eat what you have, and then sleep deep. We’ll enter the city just as the sun rises.” Cochrane said.
“What do you think our chances are?” Towsend asked.
“We know they’re there, now it’s just a matter of getting to them and getting them to listen to us.”
“And then getting out again.” Towsend sniffed.
“And then getting out again.” Cochrane nodded smiling.
“Even if we do make it back to the surface, we’ll be back out in this.” Towsend gestured to the empty steppe, “The plains are huge. We won’t meet anyone if we pop out from one of your shafts. The caravans and traders only follow the roads.”
“We don’t know the steppes either.” Cochrane added, “We could just wander farther out into the barrens, die out there of exposure.”
“Or maybe find a new land,” Towsend laughed, “We could discover a whole new world.”
Cochrane’s smile was wistful, “There is no other world but this one.”
“True, but we know little about this one.” Towsend drank the rest of his tea and the two were silent for a long time staring into the fire.
Setting his cup down, Towsend stood and stretched. He shook his head with his hands on his hips staring up at Lappala, “I’m still concerned about this.”
“It’s a concern.” Cochrane said coolly.
Siracene Highlands
The morning was cold, and Kira hated it. The dew or frost or whatever, she thought, made everything worse, she shivered to her bones as the dampness crept into her nostrils. Sitting up she pulled the blankets tighter around her necks, mist hung just over the grasses and seemed to slink into the woods. Fery and Wynne still slept cocooned in their blankets, the fire pit was barren seemingly just cleaned out. Roth’s patch of ground was empty. Kira’s eyes followed the trail Roth’s steps had left in the wet grass into the woods. She turned her head and looked for Reg, but only saw the horses.
Standing she stretched feeling the chill again, and rubbed her upper arms. The sun was about to peak over the hillside; Kira turned and folded her hands before her chest. She walked off into the glen to where the shadow of crest line of the hills dipped, and then she knelt down. As she did so, she unbuttoned her tunic and opened it up so her chest was partially exposed. She closed her eyes and began to mutter in a soft, tender tone. Shade receded as light poured over the rise; Kira was crowned by dawn. Behind her eyelids, the darkness became a surging red and then she opened her eyes to take in the golden dawn. She fought the urge to close her eyes, letting them tear up, as she was momentarily sun blinded. When she did finally close her eyes, the moisture from the tears had dried. She blinked several times and felt a tiny ecstasy, a burn of light.
She finished her prayer and remained motionless for a few minutes. She let her skin start to surrender the heat of the new day’s sun, then opened her eyes and buttoned her tunic but stayed on her knees gazing into the woods. They were three days into this hill country, moving from coulee to coulee, and Kira really couldn’t tell where they were moving. Roth had said that they’d have to move up out of the coulees and follow the crests. It was unclear why but it seemed as though Roth knew exactly the path they needed to take.
All Kira knew was that it was getting rougher and she was getting sick of being out in the wild. She wanted a proper bed and proper food. Thinking of this she winced, and felt a blush take over her face. She shook her head trying to rid herself of the selfish desires. Then she looked again to the hilltops, it was clear that the terrain was getting tougher and they were moving into higher hills. These birch forests were odd, such thin trees with such bright white bark, they stood tall and their leaves were so vibrant. Kira was enthralled by the reds, oranges, and yellows; in Sulecin the forests were nothing like this, they were thick towering pines. She took it all in, the new light of the day making everything more vibrant.
“I’ll be heading off today.” Kira was startled by Reg’s voice, as he seemed to come out of nowhere standing next to his horse behind her.
“What? What do you mean?” She pulled her tunic tighter and stood.
“I need to head to my home; I’ve got a boy to take care of.”
“He’s alone?”
“He’s with his aunt in Arderra. But she rather hates me so I donna want to leave little Colm with her too long.” Reg harnessed his horse and tossed a few saddlebags over it, “last thing I need is that boy made soft or poisoned against me.” He winked at Kira. She couldn’t help but smile. Reg was a kind, rough soul, and she’d miss his levity around the fire.
“Will it be safe for you?”
“For me? I don’t see why not. Safer than staying, I’d say.” He snorted a bit as he walked over to another horse, the one that Roth had been riding, “Not to say you’re in danger, girlie. But I gave up free ranging a long time ago; I need to get back to my damn fence and sheps.”
Kira wandered over absentmindedly patting Reg’s horse, “You’re a shepherd then?”
“Kinda fitting, yeah?” He laughed and gave Roth’s horse an apple from his pocket.
Kira smiled, “A steady hand you are Reg. We’ll miss you.”
“Oh, I hardly think so. Roth’ll mind you well and those two,” Reg nodded to Fery and Wynne who were just now rising, “It’s clear, they care about you. And they believe in you.”
“They seem to. Roth,” she shook her head, “I don’t know… At times, he seems like he hates me, he hates the Light. I can’t seem to get him…”
“He hates The Cathedral, faith is different.” Reg stopped what he was doing and pointed at her.
“The Cathedral is the faith.” Kira said by rote.
“Your faith wouldn’t have thrown you away as an alm, your clergy did that.”
Kira nodded slightly, “That’s true. It’s just.” She shook her head, “Things are getting muddled.”
“It’ll get worse before it gets better, girlie.” Reg patted the horse satisfied and came back over to her and h
is horse, “I’ve seen your devotions, you don’t do them for comfort, you don’t do them out of habit; you’re sincere.”
“Of course I am.”
“Many and most aren’t. The faithful aren’t so much.”
“But they believe.”
“They do because it’s what they’ve been told, they do because it’s ordinary to do it, they do because to not makes ya stick out.”
“Like the Athingani.”
“Yeah, and others”
“Heatheners.”
“Just the surface, girlie.”
“But the Light isn’t about that.”
“You needn’t convince me.”
Kira was taken aback, “You’re one of the faithful? I just thought…you never…”
“I don’t sway with The Cathedral. Neither does Roth. I suspect that the Rikonenese don’t either. But know we all have our creeds.”
“I know that.” Kira whispered.
“Do ya?” Reg pressed, “Well, then, you also know there’s less distance between us than between your faith and your clergy.”
“I’m going to miss you.”
“You’ll be down at the homestead for Imbolc; Colm will fall in love with you.” Reg assured her.
He swung himself on his horse and leaned down to tussle her hair. Kira laughed and slapped his hand away, “You’re leaving soon?”
“Roth’ll be back with game soon, you’ll eat, an’ then you’ll head out.” He pulled his horse around and began to trot on leading his other stead behind him, then pulled up short for a moment, “You tell Roth, I expect to see you all again soon.”
“Will do.” Kira said trying to sound as much like the burly Novosar as possible. She watched him ride off and then turned to back to camp. As she came up on the others, she saw that Fery had just arisen and was wrapping up her pack. She smiled as Kira approached, “Up with the sun again?”
“Yes.” Kira felt a lightness she hadn’t felt in a long while.
Eastern Novostos Coast
Goshen stood on the shore staring at the karve as Declan scuttled it. They had made it out of the city with only the minimal amount of difficulty, due more to his lack of fitness than to anything else. Whatever was in the gruel they had feed him it was wreaking havoc with his body. A combination of dry heaving that only produced a mouth full of acid and a burning bowel that left him shaking and unable to go average distances without finding a privy. Finding one was rarity. Being free again was something, but he was still wretched, shitting himself when he slept, and having to vomit in the streets (and too often the other way around), feeling hollow in all ways.
Declan viewed him with a combination of amusement and annoyance. There was a kind of patience to him; he never reproached Goshen for this ailment. To the citizens of Bandra, he was a beggar. The baju that Declan had him dress in was black, rough spun hemp so it kept his stains to a noticeable minimum and let everyone around him know he was a slummer. Declan was disguised in a standard vigils uniform, so the game they had played through the streets of Bandra was of a beggar being herded away from decent folk. It worked quite well and the reality of this farce only deepened Goshen’s depression.
Once out of the city they hugged the tree line south along the coast. Declan had only said that Jena would be waiting for them. Two days later, here they were at a surprisingly bright beach of…not even a cove, he thought, more just an inlet. He turned away from the boat he and Declan had taken to get there to the ship that was apparently going to take them the rest of the way. The trimaran looked flimsy but even he had heard stories of their speed up in the landlocked Lakes. Goshen suspected they’d have to drag it out even once the tide came in. Jena was attending to it when they came upon came up into the cove. Declan had called loud enough to be heard, but she had registered no recognition. Yet Declan didn’t seem care as he came to the boat and tossed in his pack and sword.
“So he didn’t shit himself to death.” Jena said as Goshen approached. Declan sat on the edge of the trimaran grinning like a fool at him.
“Naw, it weren’t so rough. Though he did make for a convincing slummer.” He pointed to some gear near Goshen and gestured for him to hand them to him. Goshen picked it up slowly since he was still a bit shaky.
“Let’s hope so. Let’s also hope he can manage.”
Handing a large coil of rope to Declan, Goshen said plainly, “If not, he’ll paddle well enough. What about you?”
Jena raised her head and stared at him incredulous, “You two are going to sit on this sad craft like two hull snails, while I’m going to guide us. When I tell you to handle the tack, you better do it quick and do it right. Though I doubt you have any fucking idea how to sail.”
“These husks tied together hardly make a ship.” Declan said snidely.
“You can fucking swim to Arderra then.” Jena threw back.
Declan raised his hands in appeasement, “You’re the captain.”
She turned back to Goshen, “And when I tell you to paddle, you paddle hard.”
Goshen grabbed the side of the boat and looked it up and down. It was a small ship, maybe twelve spans long, not more than five wide with two masts only slightly smaller. There wasn’t much room; it looked like there’d barely be enough room for the three of them and the gear. Goshen studied the oars he had just given Declan. They were longer than paddles but much shorter than the oars he had seen on standard triremes and biremes. The boat was a bit odd to Goshen’s eyes; he couldn’t quite make out how the rigging and sail would work. How Jena was going to pilot this boat he had no idea, and he hardly cared. He just wanted to be away and the idea of being in the middle of the sea and even dying there, swept out to The Deep seemed fitting.
“He’s a got a point though,” Goshen said to Jena, “This doesn’t look like it’ll handle the open sea.”
“We won’t be out that long or that far.” Jena looked at him from under her brown as she was winding some cord, “Besides, what does a lakelander know?”
“Going coasting once we’re beyond Bandra.” Declan said plainly as he lifted two small barrels into the stern.
“This is barely bigger than a faering.” Goshen tapped his hands on the boat.
“Oh, so you do know something about sailing?” Declan grinned
“Shut your mouths and start pulling us out.” Jena pointed to the inlet starting to fill with tidewater.
“We’re pulling it and rowing it,” Declan jumped down and picked up a line, tossed another at Goshen, “She’s the brains and we’re the muscle.”
“I’m both,” Jena sneered, “and you two imbeciles are my burdens.”
“Which is why she treats us like beasts.” Declan laughed and began to tug the line.
“I don’t see why we can’t discuss what’s going on.” Goshen stood still and Declan paused, turned, and gave him a testy, pleading look.
Jena leapt down out of the boat and strode to Goshen; he began to say something when the next thing he knew he was on his back in the water. Jena was on his chest; she pulled him up out of the pool, and then punched him in the face. He felt a tear just under his eye, she dropped him back into the water, and he felt a foot stomp on his chest. It all happened in just a few moments, when Goshen got himself up and righted himself he saw her climbing back into the boat.
“Put us into the fucking sea.” Jena barked.
The Cathedral of Sulecin
Sinclar tugged at a string and the blinds turned open, he then pulled harder and they went up bathing the small stone room in golden light. His eyes closed, the light poured over him. He could feel the heat on his naked chest, his skin tightening at the cool touch of air. In a low monotone, Sinclar began the First Prayer of the Living Sun in the First Tongue:
Obi adia sec mor
Obi iura, venic
Obi dous, fait
Obi erat, herc
Obi lieglas, glas
Not even halfway through the incantation, there was a pounding on the door. It torn him from hi
s trance’s early stage. He opened his eyes, his pupils narrowed as the light flared his vision and his brow furrowed.
The pounding came again, “Damn it!” he roared. Standing, he spun around taking two bounding steps to the door and flinging it open to see Vander and Ebon. The two were obviously distressed but seemed to cower even more before Sinclar. Naked but for a waistcloth, he shot out an arm and grasped Vander by the throat, the pushed him back against the wall. Sinclar’s face was twisted and sour, his rage acute.
“By the Light, what do you think you are doing?” Sinclar’s grip tightened as Vander’s eyes bulged.
“Vicegerent! Please! This is urgent. We wouldn’t have interrupted your devotions if it hadn’t been.” Ebon grabbed ahold of Sinclar’s arm and tried in vain to pull him off Vander. Sinclar’s arm was like steel, Ebon like a child. Vander was gurgling about to pass out, Sinclar threw him back into the solar then turned to Ebon.
“Speak!”
Ebon winced and cowered, “We have news of Ambrose and Staad.”
Sinclar struck him with the back of his hand sending him spinning around. He let out a whimper and coughed, blood coming from his mouth.
Vander was in the doorway now, his face still flushed, “He’s gone, sire. He’s gone.”
“What?” Sinclar was still furious but his temper was lowering.
“The paladin, sire, he was taken from Bandra.”
He grabbed Vander by the collar, “Taken? How? I had him sentenced as a Hopeless.”
“He was…was…rescued. We don’t know who but we sus…spect the wom…”
“Where are they now!” Sinclar’s voice was jagged with fury. He threw Vander to the ground again.
“We don’t know!” Ebon was weeping still on hands and knees, he held up a hand pleading, “We don’t know where they went. But we know…”
“We know where the girl was taken.” Vander said in tearful rasp.
Sinclar froze, a wicked grin crept onto his face, “And where is that?” As neither priest answered immediately, he let his anger disappear from his face. It was only an instant but Sinclar’s entire demeanor changed. He reached down firmly grabbing ahold of Ebon but lifting him to his feet gently. Although he didn’t smile, he took great care into setting the friar upright. He nodded at Ebon, and then reached his hand out to Vander who clutched it thankfully and came to his feet next to Ebon.