Haliden's Fire

by Chris Sendrowski

  The surrounding towns had already fallen; he’d watched the fires in the distance, dancing like swirling wraiths against the horizon. If the southerly winds grew much stronger, Moss Town would be next.

  A faint light appeared in the distance.

  “Bring him in!” a voice shouted. “And be quick about it!”

  Several men stood at the top of a small rock outcropping a few footfalls away. When the trio reached them, they pulled them from the water and threw blankets over their shoulders.

  Haliden fell to his knees, exhausted. As he shivered, the light of a hundred meridium torches illuminated dozens of pale and frightened faces staring at him.

  Proust threw off his blanket and approached the garna-barra. Soaked and unarmored, he looked frail in the shimmering light. But his eyes burned bright with resolve.

  “We don’t have much time,” he said. “Ready the wagon and anything else going with him.”

  “We don’t take orders from no murderer,” one of the men said.

  Haliden watched as Evetner’s hand curled around his father’s sword.

  “Just do what he says?” the boy told them.

  The man glanced at his companions and laughed.. “And what if we just tell you and your father to go piss off?”

  “Then you can carry your own venermin to the Block,” Haliden shouted.

  The group turned to him.

  “I’m carrying your burden. Help him ready the wagon or take it yourselves!”

  The man grinned. “So… the artist has a spine? Figured you for just another yellow heretic.”

  “I just want to get the hells out of here,” Haliden replied. “Will you help us or not?”

  The man hesitantly nodded. “Very well. Boys… lets get it done. We’ll deal with the knight later.” And like that, they marched off for the wagon.

  Haliden sighed.

  “Thank you,” Evetner said. The boy was trembling, his hand still clasped around his sword.

  Haliden nodded.

  Braying echoed behind the chamber.

  “Instar!” Haliden pushed past the gathered villagers.

  He was almost to his friend, when a woman grabbed his arm.

  “Please,” she whispered. Tears streaked her soot coated cheeks. “Take my boys. Give them a chance.” Haliden tried to break free, but she only squeezed tighter. “Don’t let them burn. It’s not their time.”

  He remembered her. She was the woman from the great hall, that same desperate and heartbroken mother who had pleaded for him to take her boys to the Block.

  Proust stepped between them and pulled her hand free. “Leave him,” he said.

  Haliden met her eyes one last time as the knight led him around the chamber. And then she was gone.

  Instar paced back and forth in a makeshift pen, frightened and disheveled. But when she saw Haliden, her nervous whinnies quickly transformed into braying joy.

  “My girl!” Haliden shouted as he hugged her neck. “How I’ve missed you.”

  The garron nuzzled his cheek, grunting and huffing playfully. Meanwhile, Proust and the others slowly rolled the cart toward them.

  “She wouldn’t let any of my men near her,” the knight said as he unslung a harness from his shoulder.

  Haliden smiled. “That’s because she only answers to me.” He took the harness and began adjusting the straps around her head and body.

  “They’re trying to get through the tunnel!” someone shouted from the far side of the cavern.

  “It’s time, artist. Are you ready?”

  Haliden finished tightening the last buckle on the harness. “I couldn’t be less ready.”

  The venermin sat in the rear of the wagon, surrounded by countless gifts and offerings: loafs of bread, salted venison, pickled eggs, pieces of dented and scuffed gold, a chest full of yellow diamonds. There was even a jar of gold teeth. All priceless heirlooms passed down from generation to generation.

  And now they were Haliden’s responsibility.

  His stomach nervously boiled as the weight of it all suddenly hit him. What if he failed? What if Moss Town was erased from history because of his mistakes?

  A man approached Instar. As the garron curiously nickered, the man raised a small jar to her nose.

  Haliden tensed. “What in the hells are you doing?”

  “You’ll need fleet feet, artist,” the man said as Instar licked the jar. “Faster than any thoroughbred on Alimane.”

  Haliden ran over as Instar plucked a bud from the jar and gnashed it between her teeth. “Wait!”

  “Relax, friend,” the man said. “This is what she was bred for.”

  Haliden watched nervously as Instar swallowed the strange herbs. Within seconds, she began bucking and grunting as her muscles twitched violently beneath her smooth, black mane.

  “What did you do to her?”

  “I gave her coxil root. To wake her verial heart,” the man said. “In a few seconds, she’ll be a god amongst her breed.”

  Instar thrashed against the paddock, her eyes confused and frightened.

  Haliden quickly grabbed her reins. “Easy, girl. Easy!” Large veins bulged beneath her silky hide, and her legs were thick with corded muscle.

  The man watched in awe. “Never have I seen such a wondrous beast. She’ll outrun even the fastest verax now.”

  Slowly, Instar calmed. Haliden rubbed her side, relieved.

  “You know her spirit word?” the man asked.

  Haliden nodded. Red Bartle himself had imparted it to him. A word he would take to the grave.

  “Good. But be careful,” the man said. “Push her too hard now and her hearts will burst.”

  Evetner climbed aboard the wagon and took a seat beside the venermin. As he adjusted his armor, his father approached with a roll of cloth in hand.

  “My father gave this to me when I completed my training at the citadel,” he said as he removed the cloth from a tarnished gold helm.

  Evetner sat up, awestruck. Golden wings adorned either side of the helmet and a meticulously crafted eagle’s head perched atop its brow.

  A marvel, Haliden thought as Proust fitted it over his son’s head. Armor was rare enough this far from the Block. But work of such magnitude was almost unheard of.

  Evetner removed the helmet and ran a finger over the eagle. “I… I can’t accept this, Father.”

  “It’s yours,” Proust said. “I was never worthy of it. But you are.”

  Evetner reluctantly nodded. “I won’t let you down.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry.”

  Evetner placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

  Instar brayed excitedly.

  “Ready?” Haliden asked Evetner.

  The boy glanced at the many faces watching them and nodded.

  Two rusted steel doors slowly opened at the opposite end of the cavern.

  The townsfolk cleared back, squinting as daylight flooded into the cave for the first time in decades.

  “Gods be with you, runners!” someone cried.

  Haliden swallowed as cold sweat dripped down his back. Goodbye, Am.

  He picked up the reins and snapped them atop Instar’s back.

  The garron lunged forward, her muscles rolling beneath her flesh like waves across a black sea. Faces blew past in a wild blur, their shouts and cries drowned out by Instar’s thunderous footfalls.

  Haliden’s heart soared as fear and adrenaline pulsed through his veins. This is it! he thought. The weight of an entire town was on his shoulders now.

  Evetner glanced one last time at his home as they exited the cavern. Proust stood in the entrance, waving as the doors slowly shut. And then he was gone.

  Instar brayed wildly, her eyes wide with excitement as a horn sounded in the distance.

  Evetner pointed to the eastern section of the forest. “Here they come!”

  Lines of mounted men flooded from the woods. Many were covered in burns and filthy rags, and a handful w
ere on fire, screaming as flames trailed behind them.

  Evetner raised his bow and loosed.

  A rider tumbled from his mount, his neck snapping against the ground as the others pressed on.

  “They’re gaining,” Evetner shouted.

  “Then shoot straighter.”

  Trees flew past in a wild blur, their branches scraping the side of the wagon. Haliden sunk low in his seat, his feet wedged beneath a sack of potatoes as the wagon bounced atop the forest floor.

  A rider drew up alongside them and jumped onto the wagon.

  Haliden swiveled sideways and kicked the man in the knee. “Help!” he shouted to Evetner as the injured rider crawled toward him.

  Evetner raised his father’s sword and slammed it into the man’s back.

  “Gods!” Haliden cried as blood splashed across his face.

  Evetner pushed the dying man over the side of the wagon and pointed behind them.

  “More are coming!”

  The wagon bucked violently as Instar picked up speed.

  Another rider drew up alongside them and leveled a crossbow at Haliden’s head.

  Evetner picked up a small crate and tossed it at the firewalker, knocking him from his horse. But even as the man vanished behind them in a cloud of dust, a dozen more riders closed in from the south.

  Evetner picked up the Tritan bow and pressed its scope to his eye. The crosshairs drifted onto the lead rider, but they were going too fast for the device’s gyroscope to lock on.

  One of the other riders broke ahead of the pack and fired a crossbow bolt at Haliden.

  Haliden flinched as it whipped past his nose. “Faster, Instar! Faster!”

  Evetner pushed the useless scope aside and fired blindly at the man. To his obvious surprise, the rider tumbled from his horse with an arrow jutting from his skull.

  “By the gods! Good shot, man!” Haliden shouted.

  Evetner shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”

  Haliden turned. A silhouette stood atop a small rise a hundred footfalls in front of them.

  “Ember!” he cried.

  She took down three more riders before the remaining firewalkers engulfed her.

  And then she was gone.

  “We need to go back!” Haliden cried.

  Evetner shook his head. “It’s too late. We all die if we go back.”

  Haliden punched the wagon. “Damn this! Damn it all to the hells!”

  Trembling, Evetner sat down beside the venermin. “Gods watch over them,” he breathed as tears welled in his eyes.

  Instar ran on, her hooves thundering atop the forest floor.

  For a time, neither man said a word. Their world became a blur of ash and pine as they raced through the dawn.

  Haliden wiped blood from his face, weeping within the folds of his cloak. Nothing else remained now. His home, his family, his friends. Ember. They were all gone.

  “You’re all that’s left to me, Instar,” he whispered as they rode on through the forest.

  And the hope of Milane. The hope for one last moment together. One last chance to make amends for everything he’d done wrong.

  13

  Dozen’s of translucent sacks lined the road, dangling from raw cut pine posts like ghostly beehives.

  “What in the hells is this?” Haliden said as they drifted past.

  Evetner sat nestled beside the venermin, sharpening his father’s sword with a whetstone. “Offerings,” he replied as he ran the rock down the length of his sword. “I’d heard of such things from merchants out of Ash Port. I dared not believe it, though.”

  Haliden brought Instar to a halt beside one of the sacks.

  Evetner lowered his blade. “What are you doing?”

  Haliden reached over the railing and grabbed the top of the sack. It was heavier than it looked, and as he lifted it, the water inside shifted, forcing him to drop it into the wagon.

  “By the gods, artist!”

  Haliden extended his hand. “Give me your dagger.”

  “Just leave it.”

  “Your dagger!”

  Eventer sighed. “Very well.” He withdrew the rusted blade from his belt and handed it to him. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Haliden grabbed the top of the sack and cut a four inch hole around the knot. Flies erupted into the air, stirring up the stink of rotten flesh within.

  Haliden leaned over the side of the wagon and wretched.

  “I warned you,” Evetner said.

  A child’s corpse lay in a fetal position inside the sack, floating in brownish green liquid dotted with dead maggots and flies.

  “Why?” Haliden gasped.

  Evetner pressed a rag to his face as he climbed into the front. “Men are monsters, artist. Why else?” Flies scattered into the sky as he tied off the sack and lowered it over the side of the wagon.

  “We need a shovel,” Haliden said.

  Evetner shook his head. “We don’t have time for that.”

  Haliden climbed off the wagon and began dragging the sack into the woods. “I’ll use my damn hands then!”

  Evetner shook his head. “This is a waste of time. The fire will send him off proper enough.”

  Haliden scraped at the ground, tossing clouds of ash and dirt over his shoulder.

  Evetner sighed. “Very well. But when we burn, it’ll lay on your head.”

  They finished burying the child several calls after sundown. It was grueling work; the forest ground was rocky and crisscrossed with dense roots and rotting tree stumps. More than once they had to start over in a new spot. But it was done now and as darkness descended upon the world, both men sat silent, too exhausted to move.

  Haliden took a deep breath, his sweat soaked shirt clinging to his flesh. “Are all men such beasts now?”

  Evetner stared at the rock marker they’d placed atop the shallow grave. “They were offerings to the Breath,” he replied. “We first heard of it several months ago, when a caravan of traders stumbled into town. Water worshipers had stolen some of their children in the night and drowned them in cow stomachs just like this. When they were done, they drowned themselves in Ives Lake.”

  “Madness,” Haliden said.

  “To us. To them it’s prophecy. And it’s spreading like wildfire.” Evetner wiped his hands on some dead leaves and spit into the darkness. “Anarchy rules Alimane now, artist. And it will only get worse. That’s why we need to keep moving.”

  Haliden reluctantly nodded. “All right. But slow and steady. I don’t want her getting hurt.”

  “Whatever you say, artist.”

  Haliden took one last look at the fresh grave. He knew neither the boy’s name nor origin. And no one ever will, he thought. But that was the way of things now: everything wiped clean and forgotten. Haliden’s heart ached at the realization. Will anyone remember me or my work? He doubted it. There were more important things to worry about now.

  Like staying alive.

  The half-moon hung directly above the forest, its faint, silver glow illuminating the ash-covered trail.

  As they rode on, the forest began to thin, giving way to vast expanses of sprawling plains. At first it was a welcome change, but soon the moonlight revealed dozens of crude wood crosses posted atop a small rise in the east. And like earlier, sacks hung from each one, the various sizes and shapes whispering of the darkness within.

  Evetner lay in the back of the wagon, staring at the ashen sky. He had barely spoken a word since they buried the child.

  “I’m glad I have no god to pray to tonight,” Haliden said as a pair of crosses drifted past.

  “And why’s that, artist?”

  “My tongue would curse us both.”

  Evetner huffed. “We’re already cursed, my friend. We ride against the gods’ will, remember? The Block will be our hell.”

  “That’s if we even make it.”

  Evetner sat up, his expression hard as stone. “We’ll make it. But when we do, you might wish we hadn’t.”<
br />
  “And why’s that?”

  Evetner laughed. “You do realize that we’re not the only ones heading there. Every thief and murderer in Alimane will be haunting these roads now. Not to mention all the beasts driven from the southlands.”

  “What… are you afraid of seeing a dyran?” Haliden laughed.

  Evetner ran his fingers down the flat side of his father’s sword. “Much and more, artist.”

  “You really believe the rumors?”

  The boy nodded. “Why not? A great wall of fire rolls toward us. Would you have believed that a month ago?”

  Haliden shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  The Breath loomed in the south, it’s orange-yellow tendrils tickling the edge of the horizon as heat swells cast thick clouds of ash across the land.

  Haliden felt himself drifting into a trance as he watched the skyline. How could Alimane be so lost? he wondered. Everything he had ever known, his land, his home… Where do we go from here?

  Evetner sat up. “Did you hear that?”

  Haliden broke from his daze. “Hear what?”

  Evetner pointed at the venermin. “Something moved… inside it.”

  Haliden shrugged. “Probably just something shifting.”

  “Something that coughs?” He leaned forward and slowly ran a hand across the device’s seal. “It’s not closed properly. Look… the seal is cracked.”

  Haliden brought Instar to a stop and stepped into the back.

  “See!” Evetner said as Haliden knelt down beside him.

  “Maybe it broke from the road,” Haliden said as he ran a hand over it. But then another cough resonated from within.

  “There!” Evetner hissed. “Hear it?”

  Haliden nodded. “Take the handle.”

  Evetner quickly grabbed his end of the venermin.

  “Ready?” Haliden said.

  Evetner nodded.

  “One… Two… Three…”

  Both men simultaneously lifted the lid and tossed it aside.

  “By the gods,” Haliden breathed.

  Two boys lay inside the venermin atop a miasma of seed pouches, parchments, and other priceless heirlooms too precious to be stowed in sacks or crates. The oldest was maybe six or seven turns, the other not a day past three. Both were tear-streaked and trembling, their clothes soaked with urine and sweat.