by Jane Merkley
Once he was sure she would not run or harm herself, Jaryd picked her up and held her comfortingly to him.
“I don’t want this anymore!” she wailed. “I am so hurt and tired… just let me go!”
“No, Lorn.” He put a hand to the back of her head and pressed his cheek into her dark hair. “Miren here says he knows how to help you, knows how to release the soul from you so you can have a normal life.” Jaryd called him Miren still, but over the days and time he had spent with the boy, a slow, painful conviction was working its wedge into his heart that this boy was something more, much more, than he had appeared. Jaryd would almost call the boy Gildeon, like the other priestesses had been.
“How can you know for sure?” her question sobbed.
“Because I promise you I will make it so. I promise you Lorn, you will have a normal life when we get to Ruidenthall. You will be free.”
She clutched him, her sobs ebbed, and he kissed her hair gently, just a breath, and he began to wonder what would happen to her when Huilian was gone from her, where she would go, what she would do. Would she even know how to care for herself? Would she maybe allow Jaryd to help her on her way? The thought brought a painful pound in his chest full of so many things, and so for the moment he let the questions go, comforting Lorn in his arms.
The dust settled and Miraha spun around. The army was fleeing. Exactly why, she could not tell, but Priest Herten was laying motionless on the earth. Shar was above him.
“No no no no no…” Miraha fell to her knees beside the old priest and held Herten’s head in her lap, crying. “Gildeon!”
But the god was already beside her, kneeling with her.
“Bring him back!” she wailed, her tears falling onto Herten’s weathered face.
Gildeon smiled gently and placed his hand upon the priest’s head. “Did you hear his prayer, priestess?”
“No.” The word sunk into her chest and the weight caused her to bend over the priest in a saddened stoop.
Gildeon put his hand on her shoulder. “I heard his prayer. If you, priestess, prayed to have the homeless boy down the street find food, would you want your prayer answered.”
“Yes!”
“Even if that meant the food would come from your own table?”
“YES!”
“Then why should I answer your prayer and not his? He has saved us. His faithful life was transformed into the pure essence of the truth he has been nurturing all these years. That light touched inside those who are pursuing us and blinded them with what they have not. They ran in shame because they were shown the truth of their doings and could not stomach their wickedness. That power could only be released upon death, as it had to follow the soul out of the body. He wanted to give this to us. His time was over and he knew it. Do not mourn for his passing. Rejoice because you had a friend who was willing to give his life for you.”
Miraha caressed Herten’s ancient face still soft in age, unwilling to understand that he was gone, despite the facts before her.
Shar stood patiently by and nuzzled his wrinkled nose against Herten’s neck. When the priest did not move, the horse snorted indignantly, then turned and thumped slowly back the long way the party had just come.
“Where do you suppose the horse is going?” Gildeon asked.
Juquan came up beside the boy. “Back to Ryre,” she responded with a sigh.
Sashaia joined them, and they stood above Miraha holding Herten in her lap. Gildeon left them, giving the three the moment they needed to heal.
A gentle crackling sound issued from Herten’s body and ash began to filter through Miraha’s fingers to the ground. She gasped and watched Priest Herten’s body dissolve into a silver cloud of ash and was whisked away in the wind. Miraha lifted her hands to her face in dismay and felt cold metal press into her cheek. She pulled her hand away. Herten’s necklace was in her hand, the necklace that designated him as head of temple.
She looked at her sisters who were only looking intently at her. They knew.
Juquan knelt in front of Miraha and took the necklace from her, laying it over her head so it rested about her neck.
“We will follow you, Good Priestess.” And they bowed their heads.
Eventually the group fell back in line, trudging back again toward Ruidenthall with only the one certainty that Gildeon would be able to stop Huilian.
But there was no telling what damage might be done until then.
Answers
Altarn was summoned awake by a servant pounding on the door at an hour she thought the dead being given a second chance at life wouldn’t wake up too.
She dressed with her eyes closed and grabbed a bag she had taken from the castle stores and shoved it full of things she thought she would need and followed the servant out with her cloak over one arm.
Byrone and three of his men were already waiting with their horses. Altarn had requested Jasper’s presence last night as well and he was also waiting by, looking much more alert and awake than she thought he had right to be.
“Waiting on you, princess.”
Altarn shot Byrone a poisoned look as she mounted the saddled horse waiting for her. It was dark but she kept her face turned away from Jasper just in case. Maybe by the time the sun rose she would have thought of a sufficient enough lie to explain why she looked like she had been punched in the face. She hadn’t looked in a mirror yet this morning and was not sure to what signs her injury would manifest. She hadn’t even bothered with her hair.
As one, the party galloped down the road under the two soaring moons. Altarn threw her cloak over her and tied it closed down to her waist as it became remarkably colder with the wind buffeting her.
Jasper fell in beside Altarn as they thundered onto the field, turning left around the refugee camp. Byrone took the lead with Torren next to him. His other two men fell in the middle and together they formed two tactical columns.
The horses were kept at a steady gallop and though Altarn was still waking up, the thrill of the ride through the darkness across open land refreshed her. She had done plenty of horse riding while in the army, true riding across country at constant high speeds, but it had been a couple years since and the old exhilarating flavor was finding its way back into her blood.
The temperature dropped slightly just before the sun burst out of the horizon behind them, as if sucking the lingering heat off the land for its own selfish wants.
Altarn threw her hood up, hoping that if she was careful Jasper may not ask about her face. Though, she was desperately curious what Byrone’s face looked like and would almost give up half of Heathe to know what excuses he told his own men. Almost.
The sun rose higher up their backs and Altarn was forced to abandon the cloak. Jasper rode on her right and the injury was on the left so maybe she still had a chance.
They stopped at a stream to stretch, eat lunch, and water the horses. Lunch was salted pork and cheese. Altarn forced herself to eat the pork though the salt burned a holy fire in the open wound on the inside of her cheek. The salt would clean and prevent infection. She ate as much as she dared without crying.
Someone handed her a silver canteen of fresh water. She took it and examined her face. She was surprised that she only had mild bruising which could be construed as having been received while she was training her troops. But her hair was atrocious.
She had her fill of water and combed her hair with her fingers, throwing it into a braid that at least contained the mess. She heard laughing and looked up. Byrone and Torren were splashing each other in the stream like two little boys, Torren disadvantaged because of the use of only one arm. Byrone was smiling, a thing that she had seen only briefly when she knew him in Luthsinia. It grated against her that he didn’t even have the decency to act like a tyrant.
Byrone had cleaned up his broken nose well but two faint shadows still hovered under his eyes and it was evident that he had used some powder of sorts to mask the most of it. She would remember that later on his n
ext reference to calling her a princess. But at least I don’t wear my mother’s makeup.
The rest was concluded and they headed out again. Two hours later, Byrone reined the party to a stop at the crest of a gently rising hill. The hill continued like a half horse shoe to their right and the left became a sudden cliff rising above them.
Altarn urged her horse forward beside Byrone. “If we can direct the army here, it will be an excellent place. But then, how do you plan on guiding them to a place that is so devastatingly disadvantageous to them?”
“If they are truly looking for something, as we have previously thought, then we can lure them to this spot. Of course that is all dependent on if they desire to come into Ruidenthall and if we can discover what it is they are looking for.”
“And if we discover none of those great questions, then at least you still have a beautiful piece of landscape.”
“It is possible that showing you this was a mute point, but at least we have several plans in place so we can stay one step ahead.” Byrone slapped the reins and directed his horse around.
It almost felt like a waste of a day except Byrone was right. They needed as many fallback plans as they could get. This enemy was sporadic and there was no telling what they wanted or would do next.
They stopped briefly at the same stream but did not dismount. Their horses drank and they completed the ride home as the sun was on its way to earth. Byrone called for a brief war council as they reined in at the stables. Altarn was saddle sore and her back threatened to murder her shoulders but she silently followed the group inside the castle. Jasper was still very much alert and showed no signs of having lived in a saddle for the whole day. She felt a little hate toward him, actually.
Altarn slumped in her same chair as if she was a glob of cold soup deposited there by a cook’s ladle. Byrone began to draw a hasty picture of the landscape they had just visited on a paper tacked to the wall over the map.
Then the door opened and a servant came racing into the war room without so much as a knock.
“My Lord, priestesses have just arrived in from Blindvar and are in desperate need of comforts. They say they are being chased by the enemy.”
Byrone set down his charcoal stick and headed to the door with the rest of the council in curious haste. Even Altarn perked up enough to forget about her aches and pains for a moment.
They were taken to the foyer where a disheveled, travel weary group of six were seated on the edge of the flower beds, benches, even the floor. A man in his mid-twenties with a uniform mildly representing a ranger’s in its worn state was sitting on the bench and cradling a girl’s head in his lap, gently stroking her black hair. Three priestesses were likewise weary but one stood upon Byrone entering. Her black hair was cut very short, much like a boy’s but still in a way to be viewed as feminine. She was weary but strength held her up and a special light shown in her eyes.
“Lord of Ruidenthall, we have traveled from Blindvar to flee –”
“I will speak for me.”
Byrone looked over the priestess’s shoulder at the girl who had just been laying in the ranger’s lap. Apparently, her speaking caused a reaction because her party suddenly fixed their eyes on her, as if her speaking was a rare occurrence.
“Lord of Ruidenthall,” the girl began. Her voice was light but a darkness swam behind her eyes. “There is an army heading this way. It is led by Huilian who fell from the sky with Gildeon. Huilian is not whole yet, because he is missing a piece of his soul. This piece is inside of me. The army… is coming after me.”
Byrone didn’t register what this meant, nor did his council members. Altarn and Jasper looked hesitant at best.
“Do you not know, sir?” A young boy of about sixteen years stepped up beside the girl. Byrone had not noticed him before.
“What am I supposed to know except you leading an army here?” Byrone maintained his physical composure more greatly than his tone of voice, which had threatening undertones.
The boy would not be touched by Byrone’s discomfort. “To know about The Fall sixteen years ago?” Byrone did not respond. “Then we will explain it to you. But we are famished. We have traveled from Blindvar and are in sore need of some comforts, if we may beg them off you, and then we will explain once we are rested.”
Byrone surveyed them all with stiff doubt, but the boy was not lying when he said they were in need. Their clothes and exposed skin were very dirty and they looked as if they really had walked the entire distance from Blindvar. Byrone nodded his assent to the servants standing by.
The newly arrived party followed the trow of servants out; the ranger had an arm around the black haired girl, steadying her since it was clear she was struggling to walk on her own.
Bait
Byrone paced with agitation across the room they were waiting. Torren was sitting on the arm of a couch. Cotton stuffed chairs and couches scattered the room about various tables. A cozy fire crackled warmly in the stone hearth to chase off the chill. The castle was mostly heated by copper pipes on the walls snaking through every chamber and corridor, filled with steam delivered from boiler rooms, but there was no good sense getting rid of the current fireplaces.
Finally, the party arrived. They had all changed into clean white robes while their clothes were washed and mended. The ranger was the only one who appeared uncomfortable to be seen in his. They sat and each took advantage of the mugs of hot cider set out for them.
Byrone’s patience maxed out. “I don’t think we exchanged pleasantries when you first arrived.”
“Of course.” The speaker was the oldest of the three priestesses with the short black hair. “This is Juquan.” She pointed to the priestess with smooth honey gold hair. “Sashaia.” The priestess with brown hair waived shyly. “Jaryd and Lorn. And I am Miraha, Good Priestess of the Niesh temple.”
Byrone noticed she left the sixteen year old boy out of the introduction.
“Lord Byrone.” He nodded Altarn’s direction. “Lady Altarn, Captain Jasper, and Captain Torren. But since an army is now marching directly at us, according to Lorn there, please enlighten us.”
“Sixteen years ago, two immortal beings fell from Velmashyn. They are the god Gildeon and a rogue angel named Huilian. Have you heard of them?”
“Perhaps once in the same sentence as ‘silly’ and ‘make believe’. Please continue.”
Miraha sighed gently through a smile as she cast a subtle glance to the young boy who acted detached altogether from the conversation.
“When Huilian fell, his soul broke into five pieces. These pieces were absorbed into the things which were close by. Four of them into creatures of nature. The fifth and last piece, which he has not yet claimed, is inside this girl.” She indicated Lorn who was motionless on Jaryd’s lap. “The army following us is commanded by Huilian who wants this last piece of his soul so he can become whole.”
“Then why not tie Lorn to a tree in Luthsinia? What good have you to lead this army to my very doorstep?”
The priestess remained calm and even smiled which, in a distorted way, put more danger into her next words. “Because if Huilian claims all his pieces, he will force mortals to worship him and then you will be fighting for your very freedom as well as your lives. We came to you for protection.”
“And to tell me how to kill an angel, I hope. What happened to the good days when gods and angels stayed clear away from mortals?”
“You won’t kill him.” All eyes went to the un-introduced boy. He stood next to Miraha and the presence he commanded belied his sixteen year old frame. “I will.”
“Forgive me.” Byrone lowered his head to look the boy in the eye. “My armory is fresh out of sling shots. I had to give them all out to fight killer crows.”
The boy’s smile was one of forgiveness forged for those of disbelief. “I will because I am Gildeon.”
Byrone looked at the company with the boy more thoroughly. The priestesses’ eyes were fixed on the boy with devotion w
ho looked too small to bear the expanse of their hungry gazes. The ranger had an equal stare bolted onto the girl laying on his lap.
“Gildeon, you say?”
“I didn’t truly fall with Huilian. I followed him to stop his conquest. I’ve been unable to do so up to this point, but I will meet with him on the battlefield and stop him.”
Byrone forced himself to retain a laugh. “Okay. You concentrate on banishing an immortal being and I’ll worry about the real problem with the mortals surrounding him.”
Byrone missed it, but Gildeon smiled as if Byrone was the one looking like the fool.
The air in the room suddenly ripped apart with a scream from the girl in the ranger’s lap. The girl tried to sit up but the ranger locked her tightly in his arms, as if he had done this many times already. The girl thrashed about, trying to do… what exactly, Byrone was not sure as he watched placidly on.
With a giant wrest of her limbs, the girl broke free from the cage of the ranger’s arms and jumped from his lap. Throwing open the door to the room, she ran out, the ranger right behind her. Nobody else moved. They looked awkwardly at their laps. Byrone raised an eyebrow.
“So you think to use…” Byrone tilted his head toward where Lorn and the ranger disappeared. Just then, the ranger returned with an apparent unconscious girl in his arms. “… this girl as bait?”
This remark from Byrone earned him a shocked stare from the ranger who lifted his eyes off the girl for the first time since Byrone had first seen him. Byrone took notice that the rest of the company did not so much as flinch. Byrone half-sat on the arm of a padded chair. “There is a place that would be advantageous for us to do battle. If we can lead the army to that place, we will increase our chances at victory and decrease casualties. If they want the girl that badly, they will attempt to reach her at that spot. However… in her apparent unstable state, I will require that she be drugged. I will not have her trying to run to the army, or hurting any of my soldiers.”