by L. L. MacRae
He rested his chin in his hands, thinking about everything she’d told him. None of it was familiar, but he understood the hurt and pain so many people here felt.
Even though Bragalia hadn’t been at war with Porsenthia for decades, nor the Myr for only a handful of years, death was still rife in the poorer communities given the Lairds’ constant confrontations with each other. Starvation and disease usually went hand in hand within the more isolated hamlets and villages, with one’s chances of survival linked to the Laird in control of the canton. More generous Lairds provided for their people. Those who were more interested in hoarding land and resources to themselves often let their people starve while they warred for glory, greatness, and greed.
It gave some explanation for the hostility he’d experienced earlier.
According to Selys, it was worse further south and east, where cantons were more prone to conflict. But Ulbridge’s canton, where the Shrine of Neros had been built, was relatively peaceful. It meant that a steady stream of injured, dying, or dead, made their way here for funeral rites and cremation, entombment, or burial at sea. As Neros was the Spirit of the Lasseen Ocean, many were dealt with by the third option—especially those who had no relatives.
Fenn wondered if he’d have the same fate if he died without ever regaining his memories.
‘The casualties of war never end,’ Jisyel whispered. They watched the rites from a short distance away, under the shade of an apple tree whose fruit had yet to ripen. Pink blossoms drifted down every so often, caught in the strong breeze, adding an ethereal tone to proceedings. How could something so beautiful frame something so horrific?
‘It seems a harsh place. More than the Isle of Salt,’ Fenn replied.
Jisyel drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. ‘In some ways, yes. Lots of places still haven’t fully recovered from…the Myr.’
They sat on a low stone wall that ringed the shrine, watching quietly and keeping themselves out of the way. Thanks to Selys, they’d been able to have something to eat, and she’d even brought them a bucket of warm water each to get cleaned up.
Cleaning the silt out of his hair and clothes had done more to cheer up Fenn than a belly full of hot stew, and he could actually relax if it weren’t for the tension that had grown between himself and Jisyel since Selys had made her observation.
He’d been touched by the Myr.
Even without any knowledge of who or what they were, he’d shuddered at the priestess’s words.
Jisyel had done her best to explain what was happening at the shrine—no doubt to keep herself from thinking about what Selys had said. She spoke about the different cantons of Bragalia and where Calidra was from, expanding on Selys’s earlier words. She’d skirted around the topic of the Myr as much as she could, clearly uncomfortable discussing it.
He remembered the man had said they were death. And judging by Jisyel’s reaction, they invoked fear more than anything else.
But Fenn had to know more.
If the Myr were responsible for what had happened to him, he needed to know why and demand they undid whatever they’d done to him.
He watched the procession of robed priests and priestesses walking past weeping, kneeling relatives. They watched their loved ones bound in thin linen, their faces showed varying degrees of grief—from sadness to stoicism, anger to fear. Fenn wondered if he had any relatives who were going through the same gamut of emotions, or whether they were all dead, and he should be the one upset.
One priestess, her hair already thin and grey, bent crookedly to place a small fruit cake at the throat of the body she’d been wrapping. She then placed a small wooden spoon in her right hand, and a folded apron in her left, before gently binding them all with the off-white linen that every member of the dead had been wrapped in.
Behind the priestess, other members of Neros’s order were doing the same—placing small trinkets in each hand, or at the throat of the deceased. He couldn’t figure out any pattern to it. Some were given food, others items of clothing, jewellery, or tools.
‘Why’s she doing that?’ Fenn gestured to the priestess.
Jisyel turned away, her shoulders stiff. ‘Better to ask them.’
He shifted where he sat, hurt by her dismissiveness. It was worse coming from Jisyel, who was usually so light-hearted and prone to laughter, and never took anything too seriously. ‘I’m still the same person, you know? I don’t know what happened to me.’
She sighed, hunkering into herself.
‘Jisyel?’
‘I know, Fenn. I just…the Myr…it…’ Again, she huddled into her knees, facing away from him. Her easy smile and happy-go-lucky attitude had been forgotten, and Fenn suddenly felt very unwelcome.
Before he could say anything more, Selys returned to them, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a streak of dark blood across one arm. ‘That’s all I can do. Now, they will burn, or be washed away by Neros.’
They looked back to where the bound bodies were carefully being carried on thin planks of wood through the spattering of trees dotted around the shrine’s western side, to the water that flowed swiftly beyond.
‘Here.’ Selys pulled out three small cups from within her robes, and a half-full bottle of a liquid so dark red it seemed black. ‘A toast to their passing.’
Fenn wasn’t sure about it, but when he saw Selys only gave them a few drops each, he sipped it to be polite. He wasn’t sure if it was wine—it didn’t taste like anything he remembered, which admittedly wasn’t much. Sweet and salty at the same time, it tasted of fruit gone bad in the sun. It coated the back of his throat and he suddenly wished he had water to get rid of the taste.
He forced his attention back to Selys, who despite confidently stating he’d been Myr-touched, wasn’t as repulsed by him as Jisyel was. ‘I saw the priests and priestesses putting items with bodies before wrapping them. Why?’
‘Because you leave the world as you enter it—naked, squealing, with no notion of who you are or what your purpose is. We decorate the bodies so when the soul reaches the spirit world, they will know who they were.’ Selys faced the water, watching the burials, unflinching. ‘A mother. A warrior. A baker. They can remember their essence and be at peace.’
‘How do you know who they were?’
‘Those who bring them tell us.’
‘What if they don’t know?’
Selys turned to him and gave Fenn a small, knowing smile. ‘We choose for them. You do not want to be lost in the spirit world.’
Fenn gestured to the landscape around him. ‘I’m already lost in this one. Wouldn’t make much difference for me.’ He pushed himself off the wall. He wasn’t above begging, but it was obvious he needed the priestess to have any chance of crossing through Bragalia. ‘Selys. Please. Tell me how this…this…curse can be lifted. Is there something you can do?’
‘It’s beyond me, I’m afraid. The Myr are too powerful.’
Fell dropped his shoulders, letting his frustration show. He’d tried to keep his emotions under wraps after blurting out his annoyance at Master Inquisitor Torsten and almost getting himself arrested, but his patience was wearing thin. ‘Is there anyone who can help? I thought things would go back to normal after a few days, but nothing’s changed. I remember waking up on the Isle of Salt and nothing before that. Every time I try and think, my headache worsens.’ He clutched his head as a particularly sharp spike of pain blazed across his temple. ‘If there’s a way to stop this, I want to know.’
‘You may not like the answer,’ Selys replied.
‘It can’t be worse than this. What if I have friends? Family? What if I was doing important work somewhere?’
Jisyel sat up straight. ‘I know I’m going to sound like Calidra, but…Fenn, what if you’re an enemy?’
‘To who? Have I hurt you?’
‘You’ve been touched by the Myr! Tainted.’
Annoyance flared across his chest, bright and hot. How could she say that after they’d helped e
ach other so much? ‘And how is that my fault, Jisyel? You were happy enough to help me before. Why does the cause of my memory loss make any difference?’
‘Because the Myr have been trying to wipe us out for centuries!’ Jisyel shouted. ‘Say what you want about the queen, but she’s the only thing keeping the continent safe! And now you’re here, and all those lost souls, what if you’re all part of some Myrish sneak attack?’
Fenn raised his hands, afraid someone near the shrine might have overheard. ‘Jisyel, sshh!’
‘No! I will not sshh!’
‘I don’t know anything about the Myr! About myself! How could I possibly be part of an attack?’
‘Stay calm, please.’ Selys raised a hand to both of them. ‘All the amnesiacs that I’ve seen, even at a distance, were weak, disorientated. Several have even died. I would not think that was the most effective fighting force, would you? Don’t let your bias cloud what’s right in front of you, Jisyel. Anyway, you said Fenn had helped you. Surely if he worked for the Myr, he’d have left you for dead?’
Jisyel hugged herself. ‘I…I just don’t know what’s going on. Cal’s not here and…’ She seemed on the verge of tears. Now her walls had broken down, Fenn could see how vulnerable and scared she was.
‘It’s worse for me, Jisyel,’ he said gently, trying to let his anger dissipate, ‘you’re scared. I know. So am I.’
Jisyel gently touched his shoulder. She took several long breaths and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Fenn. I didn’t mean…I just…the Myr are terrifying. You should hear the stories! And Calidra is always telling me that I’m too reckless, always getting into trouble and doing something stupid. So, I thought I’d gone and done it again, and…and that wasn’t fair on you.’
He squeezed her hand. He’d not expected an apology, and was glad he’d not lost his only friend already. ‘Selys, please, if you can give me any information at all, I’d appreciate the help.’
The priestess pulled her robes back down her arms as she thought. Behind the trio, the final rites had been completed, with mourners lingering on the bank as they stared out across the water. Most of the priests and priestesses had made their way back to the shrine, with several heading inside. It made the courtyard appear suddenly empty.
Selys tilted her head, and in a low, almost conspiratorial voice, whispered, ‘You’d need something of Myrish origin to help you.’
Fenn grimaced. ‘There’s no other way? No other spirit that could help?’
‘Possibly. But you’d need a very powerful spirit. And the only one I can think of that holds a candle to Myrish magic is Toriaken.’ Selys suppressed a laugh. ‘Best of luck with that.’
‘The queen’s dragon?’ Fenn groaned. ‘Can’t you do something?’
‘Me? If only. I’m no High Priestess, and Neros doesn’t bless any of her followers, unfortunately.’ Selys genuinely looked remorseful.
‘What’s a High Priestess?’
‘Someone who has devoted their life to their spirit, like me, but has also received a boon. Their spirit has chosen to bless them, and thus shares their power with that individual.’
‘Like…Jisyel’s curse?’ Fenn tried to fit the pieces together in a way that made sense.
‘Well, Jisyel is the opposite, I’d say. Spirits can bless or curse anyone they choose. Understanding them and working towards acquiring a blessing is why many people join an order and get this.’ Selys raised her left hand, her tattoo in full view.
‘How do you get a blessing?’ Fenn wondered if he could get one, it would be an easy way to cure his curse.
Selys laughed. ‘Unfortunately all spirits are rather fickle. And as I said, Toriaken is the only one I know of who could possibly destroy that Myrish magic.’
He could hardly believe it. Going anywhere near the queen, even to ask for help, would surely result in his immediate arrest by her Inquisitors. He supposed he could chance it, and hope he was able to request an audience with Queen Surayo before anything awful happened to him. Torsten’s smug smile appeared in his mind’s eye, and he shook his head with a shiver. Fat chance of that happening. ‘I don’t suppose there’s anything Myrish conveniently located in that shrine that could help?’
Jisyel let out a startled yelp that she quickly bit back down, covering her mouth with both hands.
Selys shook her head. ‘Anyone harbouring something Myrish would be executed for high treason, Fenn. You won’t find any of their artefacts near here.’
‘High treason?’ The more Selys spoke, the worse things seemed to get.
Selys glanced at Jisyel and smiled. ‘Well, Queen Surayo saved us all from the Myr, ending the war five years ago. Even talking about the Myr now is the worst kind of insult to her.’
He pulled at his hair. ‘So my options are talk to a queen whose Inquisitors want me arrested, or find something impossible? Is that right?’
Selys laughed, her eyes twinkling. ‘I didn’t say that. I just said anyone who had such a thing would be executed for high treason.’
Fenn had been about to argue when her words sunk in. Ignoring Jisyel’s fierce stare, he crossed the short distance to Selys and reached for the priestess’s hand. ‘You…you know someone?’
With a smile, she pulled her hands away from him and smoothed down her robe. ‘I know of something.’
‘Where?’ Already, his breathing quickened. Was this finally his path to ridding himself of the curse? He knew next to nothing about Selys aside from the fact she didn’t behave like the other priestesses of Neros, but right now, he was pinning his hopes on her being correct.
‘A Myrish…construct. It’s a creature, of sorts, created through their magic. Said to live in the Nethal Mountains in northern Porsenthia, at the site of an ancient battle.’
Jisyel stood up, joining them. ‘Priestess Selys, with respect, you’re talking about a sailor’s myth.’
‘Am I?’
‘What myth?’ Fenn looked between the two women. ‘Can you please remember that I don’t know anything about what’s going on?’
Jisyel stared at him intensely, as if she’d never seen him before.
He hated being under scrutiny. ‘Do the Myr normally do this to people? Take their memories? I’m guessing not by the way everyone’s reacted to me and the others.’
‘They usually massacre us.’ Selys’s voice was flat. ‘They’ve not set foot on the continent for five years. Queen Surayo finally brought the armistice, and we’ve enjoyed peace ever since. Porsenthia even more so than Bragalia. She may rule with an Iron Dragon, but there’s no more risk of Myrish death spirits snatching us from our beds. So you turning up, Myr-touched, without memory…all those other lost souls could be the same.’
‘Something’s happening, that’s for certain. Would explain why Torsten himself was in Ballowtown.’ Jisyel chewed her thumb.
‘It is unusual for the Master Inquisitor to leave Porsenthia.’ Selys nodded.
‘More than that, there was an attack in Ballowtown—’
‘A creature of shadow,’ Fenn interrupted, pleased he finally had some knowledge to contribute. ‘Something about it that made my skin crawl. It was something dark. Evil. I don’t know, perhaps that was a Myr?’
‘No. The Myr don’t look like that,’ Jisyel said, ‘but maybe it was one of their spirits? Or a construct of theirs? They have so many.’
Fenn swallowed. Suddenly all the strange pieces of the puzzle appeared to fit together. He wasn’t sure how, but everything felt connected. His memory loss, and those of the other unfortunate people. The attack on Ballowtown. The Inquisitors—and Torsten—investigating. Now, Selys had confirmed the origin of his amnesia, perhaps it was related to the creature attack as well.
And at the centre of it all: the Myr.
‘Why haven’t they been here in five years?’ Fenn asked. ‘How did the queen defeat them?’ He was no fighter, but if he could somehow replicate what she had done, it might drive away the Myrish magic in his own body and mind.
S
elys sat down on the wall. ‘Like I said, Queen Surayo arranged an armistice. She ended the war. Prior to that, the Myr would attack us. Sometimes every day. Sometimes we’d go a whole year without encountering them. They’d kill people first with their death spirits, then swoop in to take the life from the land. The army would drive them off eventually, though there are a few places in Porsenthia that bear the scars of the larger conflicts.’ She sighed. ‘During those, Toriaken led us to victory. He’s one of the most powerful dragon spirits. Although I’m sure Neros is equally capable.’
Selys touched her dangling earrings, beads of jade. ‘The Myr were persistent, until five years ago, when the queen attacked them in their homeland. A few weeks after her return, she declared peace. We’ve not been attacked by the Myr since. We assumed it was the end to centuries of fighting. We were finally at peace.’
Another wave of pain surged through his head and he let out a small gasp. Was it getting worse? Maybe he was imagining it. ‘Somehow I think peace is over.’
From the sounds of things, an answer could lie in the Myr’s homelands, wherever that was. Otherwise, Selys had given him an option—even though Jisyel didn’t seem to believe it was real.
‘Fenn, we better keep moving. The funeral isn’t far off, and we need to get to Fellwood. Calidra’s probably on her way there now.’ Jisyel rubbed her shoulders as if cold.
‘What about this Myrish creature in Porsenthia, Selys? You said it was near Nethal? Some ancient battle site? Can it really help me?’ Fenn watched Selys carefully, looking for any signs of deception.
‘I can’t say for certain. But your curse is of Myrish origin. Unless you can have Toriaken himself help you, I’d say it was your best bet.’ Selys raised one hand to touch the soft blossoms on the tree that grew over the wall, the dappled shade dancing across her face.
Fenn made his decision. ‘Then that’s where I have to go.’