Rise of the Seer

by Brandon Barr

  Aven stared at him in sudden hope. Did this mean…?

  The door burst open and Rozmin entered. His face was streaked with ashes, and a strong smell of smoke came from him.

  The Captain of the Watch gave Aven a surprised look, then walked to the edge of the table and bowed.

  “Baron Rhaudius, this boy escaped my men. How was he caught?”

  “He came to me, begging for mercy. Lied his way into my presence.” The Baron’s fingertips tapped together. “I’m glad you arrived just now. This boy, Aven, says you overheard him plotting to leave the valley? Is that part, at least, true?”

  “Yes,” said Rozmin, his eyes finding Pike for a brief moment before moving away. “He was in Plot Eight, Gar’s vineyard, talking to his daughter, Harvest.”

  “That’s impossible!” Pike yelled.

  “Control yourself,” the Baron said to Pike. He didn’t raise his voice, but Pike wilted visibly before him. An enraged look on his face, he lowered his head.

  The Baron looked Rozmin over. “You smell of smoke. Why?”

  Rozmin swallowed hard. “There was a fire.”

  At his words, Pike’s head snapped up, something sick showing in his eyes. Aven felt a sudden rush of horror and had to grab onto the back of the chair in front of him for support.

  “That doesn’t tell me anything. Give me your report.”

  “We didn’t know how many there were. They were trying to break out and it was just the two of us.”

  “What happened?” the Baron asked, his voice icy. Pike and Aven both stared at the captain, waiting for his next words.

  “We…I thought they were going to break free.” He drew himself straighter. “I smoked the stump.”

  Pike came to his feet.

  “Whose…?” Pike asked.

  “The girl’s family,” Rozmin said. “Your…” His words trailed off.

  Dark constricting fingers squeezed Aven’s chest. Aven pictured his father and Gar trying to fight the way free as the smoke and flames grew higher.

  “And?” the Baron asked. “Were there any survivors?”

  Rozmin’s tongue slid across his lips. He shook his head. “The stump was old. The fire got into the roots and the entire hovel burnt. They’re all dead.”

  Aven felt the room tilt around him. All dead. His parents. His beloved. He looked at Pike, drawn to him in that moment.

  Pike’s lips were pale, his mouth hanging open wordlessly. As if moved to the same thought, Pike’s eyes found Aven’s. Aven saw a reflection of his own pained face staring back at him and knew Pike was seeing the same horrible images and sounds. Their mothers’ lungs filled with smoke. Their fathers choking, trying to shield them from the heat with their own bodies. Harvest’s nails digging into the wall.

  Aven lost his grip on the chair, and his knees hit the stone floor. Winter. She was the only person he loved still alive. Then he remembered Winter’s vision. The bodies. The smoke. They had their answer now. He knew who it was his sister had seen in her vision.

  “You killed Pike’s family?” the Baron asked, his voice curiously calm.

  The grime covering the captain’s face couldn’t hide the pallor beneath. Again he pointed at Aven. “I heard from this boy's tongue, and his promised one’s. Everyone in there was there for the same reason.” His face twisted. “It was either risk being overrun or preserve your law! If they hadn’t been trying to smash their way out—”

  “Silence!” shouted the Baron. Rozmin shut up. “You did your duty, Captain. Under other circumstances, your decision needn’t be defended.” He placed his hand on Pike’s arm. “However, Pike is of my own blood. He is my son. You have killed his family; thus, you have killed my family.”

  The Baron brought a small crossbow out from under the table.

  Rozmin’s lips began to tremble. “I was only doing what I thought was best,” he pleaded. “I was defending your laws.”

  A delicate twang plucked the air. Rozmin’s mouth twisted open, his hands going to the quarrel’s shaft buried deep in his stomach. An agonized cry came from his throat. He stumbled backward and fell against the plaster wall.

  A thick silence filled the room, interrupted only by Rozmin moaning softly where he lay on the stone floor.

  Aven stared blindly at nothing. He wanted to go backward in time. To un-imagine the horrific pictures in his mind. If he wouldn’t have resisted Rozmin…if he hadn’t spoken to Harvest about leaving the valley…

  He felt the eyes of the room upon him, and he looked up to see the Baron studying him.

  “It appears death was part of your parents’ destiny. Guards, hoist the boy up.”

  Hands grabbed him from behind and lifted him to his feet.

  “This is your fault!” screamed Pike. He ran around the table and put his reddened face nose to nose with Aven’s. “You’ll pay for this! You think I didn’t care about them, that I abandoned them, but it’s not true.” His face twisted with hatred. “You thought you could take my place. You thought you could be their new son and take what was mine. That’s why you conspired with them to leave. You were stealing them from me. This is all your fault. You killed my family!”

  Pike’s struck the side of Aven’s face with his fist, but Aven hardly felt it. Pike’s words made no sense to him. He was completely numb inside. Nothing mattered. Not Pike. Not death.

  Pike hit him again, full force in the face. Aven’s head snapped back, the impact turning everything black. Aven welcomed the blackness. It shielded him from the stark reality of what had happened. But the peace of unconsciousness wouldn’t take him. The light returned, and with it pain. Blood puddled beneath him. His nose was like a sieve, the immense pain leaking out of his body in bright red color. It felt right.

  He began to cry.

  Pike’s lips curled, and his eyes widened with rage. “Don’t you dare cry over my family!” He whirled on the Baron. “Kill him. Kill him now!”

  “No,” said the Baron. “The boy lives.”

  “Why? Please give me this! I’ll do it myself.”

  “I want him alive now. He will be a symbol to the farmers.”

  “He’ll stir revolt, just like his parents.”

  “You’ve much to learn in assessing a man. He is not a hero. He is a weak, ruined man. Not a fighter, just a simpleton. His presence will be felt among the farmers. A reminder of what happens to those who try to break their contract.”

  Pike grabbed Aven’s hair and yanked his face up. Aven found himself staring into two murderous eyes. The look in those eyes told him this would not be the end between them. Pike hit Aven again, then turned and left the room, his fists clenched in rage. Rhaudius made to follow, then stopped and turned.

  “Boy, remember this day,” said the Baron. “No one crosses me and lives. If my watch hears so much as a word of dissension on your lips, I will finish what Rozmin started and, when I’m through, every friend and blood relation you have will sway from the end of a rope. I showed you mercy. I expect to be repaid.

  “Show the boy to the gate,” said the Baron to the soldiers. “He can find his way home.”

  The last thing Aven saw before being led from the room was a trail of yellow ants making their way from the plaster wall to the spreading pool of blood beside the captain’s body.

  Winter’s other dark vision.

  HEARTH

  The heights of intimacy in love making are far loftier than most realize. Too many sell short one or another facet of the highest, holiest, most scintillating aspects of divine eroticism. I begin with the mind.

  Think upon these: the tavern whores and their clients; the adultering man and woman; the fire-blooded youth devouring weekly a new body.

  All mindless passion that merely licks the butter from the pastry. All fall short of the deepest power available. A sexuality fully invested in, and fully cognizant of, the other. To know and cherish the other’s mind is an impossible feat for the whore, the adulterer and the young firebloods; for how can one value the intelli
gence of the other when the very focus of their intercourse is the act of casting the other’s mind into the wind.

  -Magena’s Rules, Ch. 4, Mind and Eroticism, Book of Intimacy

  Chapter Five

  MELUSCIA

  Seated on her horse, Meluscia pushed a thick braid of carnelian red hair over her shoulder then tightened her grip on the reins.

  In the distance, a thin wisp of smoke curled into the air from a cooking pit that appeared freshly dug. The bodies of twenty or so people lay strewn about the rim, the meat mostly eaten from their bones. Crows hopped about atop the corpses, picking at what little flesh the Nightmares had left for them. Behind the pit were the homes of the dead, reduced to piles of blackened wood and ashes.

  Meluscia mouthed a silent prayer to the Makers and struggled to keep her emotions inside.

  “Demented monsters,” growled Captain Breccio beside her. Then his voice dipped to a whisper. “Do the Makers feel nothing? Where are the heroes of old, found in scripture?”

  Meluscia turned and looked at the man’s face, surprised to hear these concerns on a soldier’s lips. His eyes were fixed on the gore before them. Sixteen other soldiers were close behind, seated on their horses.

  “She shouldn’t be here,” said one of them, his words a slap across the face as they addressed the Captain rather than her.

  It was not the first such comment to come from this man’s mouth.

  Meluscia pulled on the reins and brought her horse alongside the troublemaker. He was one of the older soldiers, around the same age as her father. A hairless scar ran across the top of his head, ending at his mangled right ear. He scowled at her act of boldness, as if looking at a defiant child.

  In truth, she did feel like a girl leading men, but she dared not show it.

  “If I were the Luminar’s son, would you dare be so disrespectful?”

  He lifted his chin slightly. “Your father would have your hide if he knew about this. It’s dangerous here, and you can’t wield a sword to save your life.”

  Meluscia held his gaze. “I didn’t come here to fight. I came here to try and save these souls. Tell me these men and women weren’t worth a little risk and a minor infraction.”

  “You are Trigon’s daughter,” said Captain Breccio’s strong but kind voice. “Your safekeeping is our charge over and above even these unfortunates.”

  She turned her head back to the bodies. “I may be the Luminar’s daughter, but I am one soul. I see at least twenty lying out there.”

  It was only her second time witnessing the aftermath of a Nightmare raiding party. A scout had spotted them coming out from the wastelands and had raced to the Hold. With her father gone, having taken the bulk of his fighting forces on a month-long patrol, the few soldiers who remained at the Hold were under orders not to leave.

  That is, unless the Luminar’s daughter forced them to, by riding out as she had, to try to warn this solitary outpost.

  “Let us bury the dead and return,” she called out, loud enough for her entire party to hear. “And since my skin is still intact, there is no need to tell my father. When I become the Luminess, I will remember your loyalty.”

  A grin crossed Captain Breccio’s lips. “I damn well won’t say anything. If your father ever found out, he’d spank my ass red with the flat of his sword.”

  Laughter roared from the men. Meluscia smiled, thankful for Breccio’s humor. And his support.

  Suddenly, the Captain’s eyes hardened, and his hand went to his sword. A deafening silence fell over the group as every head turned in the direction of the Captain’s gaze.

  “A rider,” said one of the men.

  “Whoever it is, they’re alone,” said Captain Breccio. “And in a hurry.”

  Meluscia waited anxiously, until the rider’s face came into view. Instantly, her heart twisted in knots as she recognized him—and what his arrival meant.

  “It’s Heulan.” Meluscia turned quickly to Captain Breccio. “Go. See to it the dead are buried. I want to be as far away from this place as possible by nightfall.”

  Meluscia dismounted as the soldiers rode past her toward their grisly duties.

  Heulan sprang from his horse as fast as an old man could, his balding head a welcome sight. He was her father’s chief attendant and had, over the years, become as close to a member of the family as a servant could.

  “How did you find me?” asked Meluscia, greeting Heulan by gripping his strong, warm hands.

  He squeezed her fingers gently then released them. “When I arrived back at the Hold and found you gone, I went straight to your father’s garrison. I may be old, but I am not forgetful. I know this isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this. At the garrison, the remaining men told me of your intentions.” His eyes drifted to the sight just over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. If only you had succeeded.”

  A wave of emotion passed through her. With Heulan’s comforting presence, she might actually have the opportunity to grieve over what she’d just witnessed. But first…

  “Please, I can hardly bear another moment without knowing—how did Adulyyn respond to my sending you?” she asked.

  “She wants to meet with you in the underpassage, in the Gathering Hall.”

  “When?”

  “A fortnight from tomorrow. At the crying hour.”

  Meluscia nodded. “Did she express who her favor rested upon?”

  “You, My Lady. She favors you. She said she values Valcere’s military knowledge, but said she prefers a student of the histories as well as a blood heir. She also said she found your openness refreshing. And that the few discussions she’s had with you when traveling to the Hold have swayed her to your side.”

  Meluscia’s heart was lifted, despite the gruesome tragedy she’d minutes ago been staring upon. With the help of Adulyyn, Regent of Heartbur Peak, Meluscia felt there was a chance at persuading some of the other Regents in the Blue Mountain Realm to pressure her father to choose her as Luminess—to choose her over Valcere.

  “Let me warn you, though,” said Heulan. “I know Adulyyn well, from when she was merely a Lord Mayor. She has a penchant for power.”

  “She seemed very forthcoming in our conversations. As if she trusted me.”

  “Flattery and weaseling, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’ll defer to your wisdom and experience, Heulan,” said Meluscia with a smirk. “I wish I could pick and choose my allies. But at present, I’ll take whomever I can.”

  If she failed to attain the throne, tragedies like the one at her back would only continue to grow.

  For her, the Nightmares were the most immediate threat to the Hold, not their southern neighbor, the Verdlands. They were not the problem.

  Her father—he was the problem.

  She turned to survey how the soldiers’ progress was going. To her surprise, two soldiers stood nearby, one leaning on the long wood pole of his spear as if bored. It was the insolent old soldier with the scarred head and dangling ear.

  “What are you doing here?” snapped Meluscia. “I told you to attend to the bodies.”

  “The Captain told us to keep watch by you,” said the man beside the scarred soldier.

  Scar face gave a smile that was half sneer and leaned his head against his spear. “Just because they laid waste to the outpost doesn’t mean they aren’t around.”

  “Stand straight, soldier!” said Meluscia coldly.

  The man put his spear at his side and stood erect.

  “Now, go, leave us,” she commanded. “Heulan and I will be vigilant. The more hands at work, the sooner we leave this forsaken place.”

  She watched them join the others in digging, but the word she’d just spoken resounded in her mind.

  Forsaken.

  The true peril lay not to the south, but to the east, past the wastelands and into the kingdom that had gone dark. The Star Garden Realm. That was the true enemy of her people.

  Her father, it seemed, had forgotten this. And perhaps
more distressing, there was the silence of the Makers. Where were the Tongues, Healers and Seers of the past?

  The divine silence goaded her.

  The kingdoms of men were crumbling, and the Beast of the Star Garden Realm lurked in secret, unopposed, growing in power.

  Chapter Six

  MELUSCIA - Ten days later

  Meluscia pressed a knee on the stone parapet of her bedroom’s balcony and peered out from atop the mountain tower. Her light blue eyes scanned the forest far below. She could see the wide road—the jutting boulders hewn into grotesque points lining the entrance to the Blue Mountain Hold like teeth in the mouth of a cold beast. In the distance, the treetops glowed gold as sunlit dust rose from the main road, stirred by her father’s army returning from patrol. There had been one thousand and eleven soldiers before departing, with twelve women, and twice as many fatherless boys from fourteen to sixteen years of age.

  It was the sight of the young men that disturbed her. She saw in their eyes the determination to avenge heroes. A father, sometimes an older brother or two. Masked on each smooth, boyish face were fears dragging like fingernails across their souls—their imagination warred between the youthful sword play of yesterday and the new reality of the Nightmares encroaching from the lands gone dark. It was that remnant of innocence that consumed Meluscia. Devoured her intimately every time she saw them. After one patrol eight years ago, she’d stood on this very balcony, a young woman of fourteen, barely out of girlhood. She had stood watching, waiting for a particular young boy to return. He never did. Never would.

  Hearth was a cruel world, and war had raged like an unquenchable fire since the dawn of their history, blindly consuming men and women. Hearth: a world out of order, as the sacred writings said.

  She gently fingered the leather grip of her sword. She would be twenty-three by the end of summer and, according to sword master Haruuz, she was far too meek to ever be counted among the fighters. Her father insisted that if she desired to follow after him as Luminary of their people, she had to be acquainted with the sword. She would continue to learn just to please him, but it would never go beyond pretense.