Songs of the Eternal Past- Complete Trilogy

by C S Vass

  “I can help,” Fiona said. “I have to. This might be because of what I did to his men.”

  “No, no,” Harken hissed. “That will only make things worse.”

  Shouts turned to screams accompanied by the sound of cruel, sharp laughter.

  “I can’t sit this out,” Fiona said. “I’m sorry.”

  Ignoring Harken’s protests she opened the door and ran outside.

  * * *

  The cold night mist seeped right through Fiona’s clothes and down to her bones as she ran into the chilly air. Like most residences in Barrowbog, Harken’s house was far from the main cluster of shops and houses that made up the center of the village. Through the scattered trees Fiona could hear the shouting of men alongside the metallic ringing of steel swords clashing.

  Crouching low, Fiona tried to determine which direction to move in. The fighting seemed to be happening all around her. A pitched crying caught her attention, and she ran towards the noise. It wasn’t long before she came across an old woman groveling at the feet of two heavily armored men in ring mail. The men laughed as she cried, and one of them lifted a longbow with an arrow that’s tip burned like a foreboding star in the mist. In an instant, her straw-thatched roof was burning.

  The wail of the elder woman pierced Fiona’s heart.

  “Where did they go?” one of the soldiers barked as he turned his attention to her. The old woman could do nothing but gape, tears streaming down her face, as she watched her home burn before her eyes. “Useless old idiot,” the soldier barked. He raised his blade.

  The noise he made was like nothing human as he looked down to see the tip of the demon-pommel blade pierce his heart. His companion, perhaps frightened at the prospect of fighting more than an old woman, lost his courage and fled. Rather than chase him down Fiona asked what was happening.

  “I-I don’t have a clue,” the old woman stammered. “They just showed up. They’re looking for the rebels, they said. What rebels? Do you see any rebels here?”

  Fiona wanted to stay and help, but there was more fighting all around her. Deciding that she needed to put her efforts towards helping those in immediate danger, she left the old woman to watch her house burn. She ran through the chaos towards the sounds of fighting until she saw a lone figure standing in the road in front of her, sword in hand.

  “Stop!” he shouted.

  Fiona lifted her own blade, unsure of what to do. This figure was dressed differently than the soldiers. Instead of ring mail he sported some type of leather hide armor and there was a white cloth wrapped around his face.

  “Get out of the way,” she countered as she approached the man, sword raised.

  “Wait, wait! Fiona, I didn’t realize it was you. It’s me Jet!”

  Jet quickly strode towards her.

  “What the hell is going on?” Fiona asked.

  “The meeting, it was attacked,” Jet said. “The provincial lord’s men found us. We had to scatter. They’re hunting us down.” He was breathing very hard, and his sword was stained with blood.

  “Well, what do we do?” Fiona asked.

  “I wish I knew. A lot has happened tonight. All I know is that Lord Raejo is not an evil that can be removed slowly or peacefully. The man must die.”

  “What are you talking about? Look what your little meeting has cost the village. People are dying! Their homes are burning up before their very eyes!”

  “Fiona!” His eyes were full of urgency. “You don’t understand.” An explosion of fire lit up the night off in the woods.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Jet grabbed her shoulder and looked at her with fear-flooded eyes. “Raejo is using dark magic. My group has uncovered his secret. He’s made arrangements with a group of necromancers and convinced them to enter into his service.”

  Another fiery blast shook the treetops.

  “But what—”

  “Fiona, there isn’t time. People are dying right now. I’m sorry about what I said to you before in anger. It was unkind and unwise. But I need to know right now. Are you with me or not? Because we need to act right now to save this village and save the lives of my friends.”

  A thousand thoughts flashed through Fiona’s mind in that instant. But if there was one thing she knew it was that Greythor’s philosophy of love in the face of adversity would not stop his village from being reduced to rubble.

  “I’m with you. For now at least. We’ll talk after this threat is removed.”

  Jet nodded. “That’s more than fair. Now come on!”

  The two ran back into the trees. “Where are we headed to?” Fiona asked.

  “The Bloody Crown, the inn where we had our meeting. That’s where they caught us and that’s closest to where most of the fighting is going ton. We’re going to have to—ah, shit!”

  Jet was suddenly on the ground, an arrow sprouted from his left shoulder. Fiona instinctively leapt to the ground just in time to watch another arrow fly over her head. She shoulder-rolled into a crouching position with her sword held defensively. Another arrow whizzed by her head, missing her by inches. She searched desperately, but only saw trees around her.

  Suddenly something else whizzed by her head from behind her, and before Fiona knew what was happening, there was a fiery explosion in the trees from the direction the arrows had come from. The sound of men screaming filled the night. Fiona turned and saw that Jet had just thrown something.

  “What was that?” she asked, astonished.

  “Blast-crystal,” Jet said. “From our Lord Raejo’s very own private stock. Never thought I would use one, never really thought it would work it I did.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Can you take care of this for me?”

  “What? No, of course I can’t. I don’t know how to treat a fucking arrow wound.”

  “It’s easy,” Jet complained. “It went through my armor, it shouldn’t be too bad. You have to look at it and see if the whole arrow head went in. They always use the triangle heads with the barbs. If not, just pull it out. If the barbs went in, you have to cut it out of my flesh.”

  Fiona was stunned silently. “Wh—no, Jet, I can’t do that. I’ve never done anything like that.”

  “Fiona! If you don’t do this, then I’m not going to be very helpful when the next volley comes and you’ve got one sticking out of you. I’m telling you, it’s easy. Please, just look.”

  Fiona grimaced, but what choice did she have? Quietly she peeled back Jet’s armor as gently as she could and looked down his back. In the moonlight she could see the arrowhead plainly.

  “The full triangle isn’t in,” she said. “It looked about halfway though. Jet, I don’t know if we should yank it out.”

  “Oh, we definitely should yank it out. Can you please do it for me? It’ll hurt a lot more if I have to.”

  She looked at the arrow like she would rather reach into a chamber-pot. “Do I have to?”

  “Absolutely. I’m going to hug this tree to give you a little resistance so you don’t go yanking me around the damn swamp. You ready?”

  “Jet.”

  “I have faith in you, come on.” Jet grabbed the tree with both arms. “Fiona please, this isn’t fun for me either you know. We have work to do.”

  “What if you start bleeding really badly?”

  “I will, but it’ll be okay. It’s not deep enough to do any real damage. I’ve seen this a bunch of times.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Fiona.”

  “Jet, I don’t want—”

  “Fiona!”

  She grabbed the arrow and tugged it with all of her might. Surprised by how easily it came out she tumbled backwards and fell onto the ground.

  “Holy hell,” she muttered. “Are you okay?”

  To her shock Jet was outright laughing. “Lucky the little shit-bag was a weakling, I barely felt that at all.”

  “Do you need me to—”

  “No, it’s fine. Just
a normal battle scratch.”

  She scoffed. “Okay tough guy. I don’t know how you fight but I like to do more scratching than getting scratched.”

  “Great, we’re going to have plenty of opportunity for that. Now come on!”

  Sighing, she followed Jet as he ran off into the woods.

  Chapter Six

  Fiona would remember that night for many years as one of pure terror. She and Jet spent the evening creeping through the woods fighting Lord Raejo’s men. There was no single battle, but a thousand small skirmishes and surprise attacks. More than once Fiona thought they were dead when soldiers leapt at them from behind trees or underneath some brush, but each time they managed to survive.

  Jet was no coward, Fiona quickly learned. Harken’s son was arrogant and quick to anger, but also brave and fiercely loyal. More than once she saw him risk his life against a far greater number of opponents to help his companions. In the end, the soldiers of Lord Raejo were gradually beaten down through a lack of sheer endurance. The rebels were more numerous than they had anticipated and already had many escape routes and places of ambush pre-planned.

  The next day Greythor called a great meeting in a field. The entire village came out, dozens of men, women, and children with tired, angry eyes. While the loss of life to the villagers had been minimal, the loss of property had been great. In their frustration Lord Raejo’s men had set the village wheat fields ablaze, and the village was devastated by the loss.

  “Elder, Lord Raejo will not let this insult to him pass! Something must be done!”

  The man who spoke echoed the concerns of the entire village.

  Greythor stood and raised his hands to quell the chatter of voices. “I hear your concern!” the village elder said. “You are frightened, and it is unclear what will happen. The wrath of Lord Raejo may come upon us if we resist, yet it may also come upon us if we don’t. What are we to do?”

  “Fight!” a man with a thick blonde beard shouted. “We have to defend ourselves.”

  There was scattered cheering throughout the crowds.

  “Fighting is what got us into this mess!” another shouted. “Would you see us all slaughtered? You speak of madness!” Fiona noticed there was less support for this sentiment. It seems Barrowbog was coming to terms with the fact that it had been drawn into a rebellion against their provincial lord.

  Greythor listened to the shouts of his people with a solemn kind of dignity. “You seek to rise against our provincial lord. What you fail to see is the destruction that has come to us is your fault!”

  There was a great outcry at this proclamation, but Greythor continued. “It is the fault of each and every one of you who has conspired to remove our lord by violence. It is the fault of every single one of you who has not convinced your sons and your daughters to walk the path of love. Most profoundly… the fault is mine. I am your leader and I have failed to show you the urgency and necessity of peace.”

  “How can you say that!” a young man shouted. “This is the fault of a provincial lord who has destroyed the sacred pact between us. It is he who raised our taxes to pay for his excesses. It is he who decreed an additional fifth of our crops must be sent to his granaries and storehouses. I place the blame at the feet of Lord Raejo, and I say he must be made to answer for it!”

  There was a great exclamation of support for this sentiment, but Greythor merely sighed. “I see that I fail you even now.” For the first time Fiona saw him not as a strong old man, but merely as weakened and tired. “I reprimand all of you. You have followed my leadership when it was easy, but now when it is most important to do so, as times grow more difficult, you seek to abandon me. Very well. I can see I must lead by example. I must still be your leader even if you make it difficult for me.”

  The tension among the crowd was palpable. It was clear that these people still loved and respected Greythor, but what could they do? In the face of their imminent destruction he seemed to be suggesting that they put down their weapons and act with love and kindness.

  “This weakness is a disgrace!”

  The voice cut through the crowds like wind through cheap fabric. Fiona turned, and to her surprise saw it was Jet who had spoken.

  “Sit down,” Harken, who was seated next to him, hissed.

  “We cannot hide from the fact that our provincial lord is a black-hearted scoundrel. Love is of the utmost importance, on that I agree with you, Elder. But who do we give our love to? How do we show it? Do we give our love to a despotic ruler who seeks to bleed us until we are no more? Or do we give our love to each other, in the form of an assurance of the dignity and respect we all deserve? I have no love for Lord Raejo because love is earned. I love each and every one of the people in this village enough to raise my sword and risk my life. That is how I love.”

  Greythor listened to Jet with a bowed head. During his speech Fiona thought that the old leader might actually be swayed. After all, she certainly was. How could you argue with that?

  When Jet finished speaking his face was red. There was a glitter in his eyes that Fiona saw as a sign of complete devotion to his cause. In that moment she realized how truly invested he was in this.

  “Child, I hear you,” Greythor said. “But you do not hear me. Raejo is as the head of the great serpent Kriyali. Should you strike him another will grow in his place. We must endure these injustices for a ti—”

  “This is our time!” There was wild defiance in Jet’s eyes. “The other villages will see what happened here and know they could be next. They will rally with our cause if we act fast. Greythor, I honor you, but you are wrong. I am going to the other villages to plead our case and seek us true allies who will defend us with weapons, not with empty words. I urge all of you who love this village and this province to prepare yourselves.”

  “Jet, come back!” Harken was yelling after his son, but it was no good. Jet was sprinting off into the swamp, presumably to gather his allies while he had a chance to.

  An uncomfortable silence descended upon the village. Greythor’s face seems to be carved out of stone. “Let him go,” the village elder said after a time. “I will be here for him when he returns though he seeks to stain his soul with blood.”

  “Elder Greythor,” a woman from the crowd called. “Do you really intend to do nothing while we are threatened? Surely we must act, for the sake of our children if not our own.”

  “We will keep the peace at all costs!” Greythor’s voice was like booming thunder.

  “Well-spoken, old man.”

  All head’s turned. A host of riders from the provincial lord approach, armed and armored in their customary ring mail attire.

  Greythor stood and did not look away from them. “Welcome, friends. Why have you come to Barrowbog this morning?”

  The soldier who spoke had a voice like steel scraping steel. “We come, old man, because our lord demands it. We thought to find whisperings of betrayal, and what do we find? A bloodbath! So I have but one question. How will you pay for it?”

  “What?”

  “No!”

  “Your men started this fight!”

  A chorus of angry shouting erupted from the villagers. Fiona, sensing trouble, made her way over to Harken. It was important to her that she be able to defend him should a fight break out. As she moved her muscles groaned with protest. She had a hard night of fighting last night, and there wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t sore down to the bone.

  “SILENCE!” Greythor bellowed. It was the first time that Fiona heard the village elder raise his voice in anger. Obediently the villagers complied.

  “Were I a god to raise the dead, I would restore each and every man to you,” Greythor said. The words caught Fiona as odd, and she immediately remembered what Jet had told her last night about Lord Raejo’s necromancers.

  “Alas, I am not.”

  Fiona tugged on Harken’s arm. “If this gets ugly, stay close to me,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure you’re safe.

 
Harken shook his head sadly. “Fiona, you are new here, but there is a reason that Greythor is our leader. I am confident all will be well.”

  The soldiers used their great destriers to push their way through the crowds. “We’re not interested in what you’re not, old fool,” their leader barked. “I want to know. How are you going to make up for the blood that was spilled under your watch?”

  Greythor continued to meet the soldiers gaze, anger etched into his usually serene face. “Unfortunately I have no intention of doing so. The lives that were lost were precious, unique, and utterly irreplaceable. To suggest I could somehow make up for them would be the height of dishonesty.”

  “The old bastard thinks we’re playing games with him,” a soldier sneered. “Let me make this very simple for you, old man. How are you going to repay us? Your village is a poverty infested shit-hole. So unless you have a secret trove of gold hidden away, I suggest you start getting creative.”

  “Honor demands that gold could never make such a payment,” Greythor said. “You servants of Lord Raejo should know that. I can offer you only one thing. The head of the one responsible.”

  The uproar was incredible. Villagers were screaming in defiance, and several men were actually cursing their feudal lord. “He can’t mean that,” Fiona breathed. Next to her, Harken was white as a ghost. It was obvious who Greythor was speaking of.

  “Elder Greythor, do not give up men of this village to appease this tyrant!” someone shouted. “Our men are worth ten thousand of his.”

  “Silence!” Greythor yelled for the second time. “The lives of men are not to be weighed against each other like so many golden trinkets. Lord Raejo’s soldiers have suffered losses, and honor demands that they be repaid.”

  “He can’t be serious, can he?” Fiona asked. “We’ll have to do something.”

  “I…” Harken was at a total loss for words.

  “Gentlemen,” Greythor went on. “I will bring you the head of the one responsible by this day’s end. You have my word.”