Heart of the Maiden: (Lords of the Deep Hells Book 3)

by Paul Yoder

  The Tarigannie people were free, and the desert air itself seemed cleaner as light winds swept through the land, clearing the stench of death from its sands.

  45

  Judgment Day

  The dark streets of Brigganden were rife with the same level of unease and foreboding as when they had passed through it the first time, priests and soldiers following the small army of four hundred riders that made their way through the unwelcoming town led by Bannon, Hathos, and Reza with Terra at her side.

  “We did not come through the city gates when responding to Fin’s call. Brigganden seems no longer a safe place to pass through these days with its current rulership,” Bannon whispered to Reza as they trotted through the quiet streets, being watched closely by the priests and soldiers.

  “Forgive my sayings, lady Terra, but this sect of Elendium has brought a foulness over Brig these last months.”

  Terra looked upon the priests in white robes who were sneering at her, particularly entranced by the glowing amulet she wore openly, one sprinting off through the streets as if suddenly on an urgent mission.

  “To think, we liberated this place not that long ago, and now their people hide indoors under constant watch,” Reza spoke, not worrying to keep her voice down, sickened by the city-state’s citizens kowtowing to the bishop’s influence and harsh laws.

  The soldiers looked down from their city towers dispersed along the main road, watching the army march their way through town, the priests following the group closely, not saying a word as they shadowed their steps.

  “Few would dare walk the streets of Brigganden on the lord’s day of rest,” came a slithering voice Reza and the others heard, looking to see Bishop Tribolt fast approaching the band.

  “But I am not surprised it was you who disobeyed our ways. You have violated our treaties, and as such, recompense is required,” the bishop announced as a large detachment of soldiers began to make their way down from the judges courtyard, the soldiers in the watchtower being ordered to load their crossbows, the sounds of clicks of taut strings snapping into place all along the city towers.

  Bannon stepped forward, addressing the man in robes. “We were not told of this custom at the gate. If you would punish visitors walking through the streets on your lord’s day, why let them in through the gate in the first place?”

  “We do warn those travelers that have not been given the doctrine of Elendium. Sultan Metus and his men have been informed of our laws. I see some among you that were there that day in court. Did you not read the treaties?” the scrutinizing man sharply asked, soldiers filling in behind him as he drilled Bannon.

  “We just came from war, Bishop Tribolt. This is no time to harass your neighbors who just last year saved this very city from the hands of the arisen,” Bannon said shortly, done with the ridiculous spite the religious man held for those he was supposedly serving.

  The bishop ignored the comment, continuing with his sentence. “Punishment for breaking the Lord’s Day is time in the oubliette. Seeing as we cannot send your whole company to the oubliette, penance by the flagellant thongs will suffice.”

  The streets were quiet as Bannon stared the bishop down, all awaiting his response.

  “We will not be paying your god’s ridiculous penance,” he said at length, a very tense hush falling over all close enough to hear his response.

  “Elendium demands it…,” the bishop sneered, stepping closer to the general, Bannon seeming not in the least intimidated.

  “You do not speak for Elendium,” Terra said, breaking the tense silence. “False is your authority, and perverse is the sect you lead. This is not the way of the faith.”

  “How dare you challenge my authority, child. We may not have an oubliette for a whole army, but we have one perfect for one small as you,” the bishop scolded, turning his wrath to the girl who stood her ground, rushing up to her.

  Cavok, always at her side, took one step forward and snatched the frail bishop by the throat, squeezing just enough to stop him from speaking, watching emotionless as the man squirmed and struggled for breath.

  “Let him go, Cavok. He needs to answer for his corruption of the faith,” Terra said, Cavok releasing the bishop from his grip, still standing between the two in case the old man still wished to continue his hostilities.

  The robed man coughed and sputtered, composing himself, going still after his eyes glanced upon the glowing necklace that Terra wore around her neck. Terra saw what he fixated upon.

  “You see the sign…. You’re trembling,” she noted aloud, watching as the man looked back to the soldiers that had come with him, seeing that none moved up to protect him, seeing the other priests among his fold eyeing warily the pendant Terra displayed.

  “You have nothing to say now—now that you see that you stand in the presence of a true follower of the faith—a saint of the holy one?”

  “Blasphemy,” the man said, but his speech was weak with fear, no conviction in his voice any longer.

  “Blasphemy?” Terra shouted, and her pendant shined bright, causing the bishop and his priests to turn away, her voice taking on an otherworldly tone as she stepped forward.

  “The church has been corrupted, these last generations stifling my chosen—my saints,” she said, gently beginning to levitate above the crowd, her eyes glowing just as they had upon the platform in the ruins, her voice shifting to another’s voice—one from the heavens.

  “I speak to all here in the name of Elendium, the Eternal Light. All here bear witness to the fate of those that preach false doctrine and dole out unjust punishments in my holy name.”

  The bishop collapsed, weak with fear, hysterical on the ground. He was frozen in place, unable to move. His priests looked as if they were ready to bolt from the scene as Terra looked over the crowd from above.

  She raised her hand, and as the fear of God became complete in all of the priests’ countenances, light fell from the sky, parting the grey clouds, pillars of white falling upon each follower in white robes, enveloping them in a blinding light.

  Through the noise of the dying screams sounded the click and whizz of a crossbow, the bolt flying from the steps above, sinking into Terra’s chest.

  Her eyes returned to blue in an instant, dropping her from the sky as the rain of light abruptly ceased, leaving scorched spots along the street where the priests and bishop once were.

  Cavok had a hatchet in hand in an instant, hurling it at the dumbfounded guard, realizing his mistake just as the axe head thudded into his face, knocking his helmet from his head as the blade cracked open his skull, dropping him dead on the spot.

  “Hold!” Bannon boomed, holding his hands up before both groups, repeating, “Hold,” as he attempted to stop things in the street before they escalated into a bloodbath.

  “Reza, see what you can do for her,” Bannon ordered quickly, looking back to the girl, seeing that she had unfortunately been struck squarely in the chest, limp and unresponsive upon the ground.

  He turned back around to the city guards, most seeming confused as to what to do, the priests apparently murdered en masse all at once, and one of their men down with an axe embedded in his skull.

  “No more bloodshed—we want no more bloodshed,” he started, hands still raised peaceably, attempting to quail the uneasy murmurings along both sides, swords and bows being drawn.

  The crowd did quiet slightly as he held everyone’s attention, and he continued to speak as Reza made it to Terra’s side, propping her up as Cavok pulled the bolt from her chest quickly, plugging the hole in her as blood from her heart shot forth, reddening her white robes.

  He knew the shot was fatal unless Reza could help.

  “We have not come here to war with you. This false sect has hobbled your city instead of providing protection. The arisen threat is no more. We saw to their end.

  “Open your eyes. You have not been oppressed by anyone but this corrupted religion. We have done nothing but try and aid your people from the
beginning—do not make an enemy of one of your strongest allies. I can promise you, it would only end poorly for you and your future here in Brigganden.”

  Bannon’s words calmed the low rumble of mounting tensions amongst the two groups, a few from both sides making moves to put away their weapons in shows of good faith.

  “Cast off this false religion, protect your city by your own hand, and we will be at your side in troubling times,” he ended as more weapons were lowered.

  “How is she?” Bannon asked after seeing the crowd had been momentarily pacified, turning to Cavok who watched Reza working with Terra, attempting a healing as he spoke.

  “They’re both struggling,” Cavok mumbled, looking frustrated and helpless with knowing there was nothing he, or anyone else, could do if Reza wasn’t able to pull through with the healing.

  Reza no longer had Isis’ ring, the aether within it being completely spent on Sha’oul and Nomad in the ruins. She was working through the healing, but the bolt had pierced Terra’s heart, the damage was massive, and it was draining her essence quickly as Reza did the best she could to patch the delicate structures along the girl’s most precious organ.

  “Reza!” Nomad called out, making his way through the troops to make it to her just as she collapsed, catching her as Cavok tended to Terra.

  The hole where Terra had been shot had been mended, but both girls were barely breathing, and the two men could do nothing but hold them as everyone in the crowd turned now to someone making their way through the line of soldiers upon the steps.

  “Report,” a frail man in black robes barked out at one of the senior guards in the crowd, the guard quietly explaining all that had just transpired to the bent over old man.

  “Metus’ troop, eh?” he said after a brief pause, taking it all in, shouting in a shrill voice, “Weapons down, unstring those bloody crossbows you idiots! These are our allies.”

  There was a shuffling amongst the guards from both sides, all readily now sheathing their weapons and lowering their bows and crossbows as the order was given.

  “General Bannon, correct?” the old man said, hobbling through the soldiers to appear in front of the scene where Terra and Reza lay upon the ground.

  “Yes, and who are you?” Bannon answered, not having seen the judge the last time they had been through the city.

  “Judge Hagus,” he answered simply, eyeing the girls. “I remember those two, and you, big man,” he said, poking Cavok’s bicep with his cane, a strange wiry eye upon the lot of them.

  “We’ve not had a good run of luck these past months…,” he admitted, alluding to events he figured none he spoke to knew of.

  “The captain of the guard tells me you blinked away the bishop?” he asked, a bit of pleasure in his voice.

  “Yes, I suppose we did,” Bannon answered, uncertain himself what had just happened with Terra’s channeling.

  “Good,” the old judge spat, issuing no further explanation of the sentiment.

  “Forgive us this exchange,” he continued, looking down to Terra and Reza. “I’ll have our best medics tend to them if you would allow us this recompense.”

  Bannon looked to Hathos, wondering how wise it would be to allow their injured to be taken care of by those that had attacked them in the first place. One look to how shallow Reza and Terra drew breath, however, forced his compliance.

  “We will send a detachment with her,” Bannon announced, no flex in his position.

  “Of course,” the old man agreed, whispering a command to the lead guard, which went to work dispersing the crowd of soldiers that encircled the area.

  As the streets cleared, light patters of rain began to fall, plinking off the armor of Bannon’s soldiers as they stood in formation, watching as Cavok and Nomad carried in their arms Reza and Terra up the scorched and bloodied stairs, following behind the old man in black robes with the city guard captain by his side.

  46

  The Uncertain Path

  “She…doesn’t even look like Wyld anymore,” Lanereth said, disturbed by the unnatural jerking afterimage of the kaith they once had traveled beside.

  Malagar sat across from what was once his former friend, cross-legged, studying the mixture between Seam tear and what once was a person he had known so well.

  Lanereth saw that her companion was deep in his thoughts, showing no sign of replying to her comments anytime soon. She stood, moving to the large bone segment that had fallen in front of the cavity they were in. After the dust had settled from the arches collapse, they had found their escape blocked.

  She pressed against the large beam of bone. It was as solid as the other walls around them—they were not going to budge it with any amount of force they could generate.

  She looked to the gaps along the cavity’s lip. They didn’t look promising either. Perhaps they could attempt a squeeze along one of the corners, but there was little room available, and rubble filled what gaps there were.

  She sat back, looking upon the marbled cylinder that was her staff, tucking it away once more into her vest pocket. With the rift now closed, she knew no further channeling of Sareth’s might would be possible, and even if she could once again channel her gifted power, within such close confines, she doubted that another blast like the one she had delivered earlier wouldn’t rip them apart within the small, ivory coffin.

  It seemed destined to remain there with them, along with her amulet, hidden away in rubble, holy artifacts underneath a pile of bones in a distant, forgotten hell.

  What a sad fate….

  A flicker and a flash of brilliant color snapped Lanereth’s attention from the bone obstruction to where Wyld had been. Malagar was meditating, eyes closed as he chanted, sitting in front of the iridescent warp of space that rippled out towards him from where Wyld had been.

  Malagar held forth his arm, and from it flowed the same aura of color as within the rift, creating a polar field of energy exchange. To her, it seemed he was communicating with the thing.

  “Malagar,” she hesitantly whispered, the strange flux melting onto his arm. She eyed the creeping material worriedly.

  “Malagar, what is that?” she fearfully asked, as it quickly engulfed his arm.

  He did not verbally answer her, but instead, opened his eyes, looking into the brilliant void within the rift that had opened where Wyld had been, the Seam stretching out before them endlessly.

  He looked to the saren, holding his other hand out for hers. The Seam continued to engulf his body.

  She looked to the rift, seeing eternities within. She knew very little of the Seam, it being banned from study at even the highest levels of records across all major institutions. It was a place she had heard was full of uncontrollable and endless pathways—pathways that by their very nature, flouted in the face of all standard practices and schools of organized thought and theory.

  But even with the apprehension, the absolute vastness of what lay within, she could not deny there was an unreal beauty to what she saw, what she could feel coming from within.

  The Seam continued to envelop Malagar, freezing him in place, his otherworldly eyes now staring into hers as if from another time, an afterimage of where and what he once was.

  She grabbed onto his hand just as the flow enveloped it, growing onto her arm now, a numb, icy feeling tingling along as it reached up to her, jittering along as it engulfed the rest of her body.

  Her mind was assaulted with fractioned views of the place within, and as she shifted to move into the rift, her thoughts continued to muddle and multiply, thoughts flowing into her consciousness—thoughts she had previously had—thoughts that she would have sometime in the future—thoughts that were not her own all together.

  As they walked forward, time both slowed down painfully while simultaneously slinging forward incredibly fast, leaving her not knowing if seconds had passed since they walked into the rift portal that once marked Wyld’s death place, or eons.

  Malagar looked steadily onward, and
she still held his hand.

  His hand was the only constant that tethered her mind to a set reality. His hand, and the image of him leading her forward.

  To where…she did not know.

  Through the endless rift of everchanging realities, the two trudged along, making their way along the narrow path where existence and physics could still somewhat hold together, just enough to allow for their travel.

  Years would pass away, decades, lifetimes beyond measure of them holding onto each other, onto their very existences, before a light would shine before them.

  A light that they both could sense they once knew very well. A light that smelled of the foreign concepts of soil and air, of trees and rivers. The sounds of life. The place they had once known an existence upon.

  They had found their way through the endless Seam web back to the world of Una.

  47

  An Undying Friendship

  The darkness of unconsciousness gave way to the shade of night as Reza opened her eyes slowly, looking around in the dim room, the only illumination being that of the open window letting in the fresh, night air.

  Nomad stood, back to her, looking out of the window, the view of the quiet city below too mesmerizing for him to break free of the view until he heard Reza stir in bed.

  Turning around, the two met eyes, smiling, Nomad coming to her to embrace her in bed.

  “You rise again. After so many days…I had begun to worry,” he said into her shoulder. She could tell by his voice that he was struggling to keep his composure.

  “Nomad…,” she dazedly said back, returning his strong hug, giggling lightly at the desperate embrace, as if he were worried if he didn’t hold her tight enough, she would wisp away.

  “Nomad, I’m fine. Lighten up or you’ll crush me,” she said playfully, gently pushing the man off of her so that she could have some room to breathe.