A Prayer of Dusk and Fury

by D Elias Jenkins

  The hatchetmen grinned as they swung their axes, and then they advanced on the captain.

  Blackweather picked up his knives and circled them. Moving to never allow himself to be horseshoed and flanked. He thrust his back against the wooden stage and braced as the first two rushed in at angles like the pincers of a crab.

  He parried the first axe as it fell, bringing up his clawed foot and raking the attacker's torso. The hatchetmen doubled over and blood dripped from his mouth as Blackweather dodged the second man's axe. Ducking low and hacking off the hand in two downward strikes. The bodyguard stared at his ragged stump with dumb, drooling curiosity.

  He lowered himself and spun away from the stage beneath the attacker's arms. Once he had flanked them he delivered killing blows, both men's throats sliced before they could react. They fell to their knees and gargled as the blood flowed from them.

  A shadow rushed on Blackweather and Deena screamed.

  "Captain behind you!"

  Blackweather grimaced as the axe embedded in his shoulder blade, causing him to drop one knife. He spun and wrenched the axe it from the Hatchetman's grip, but it remained fixed in his flesh. He staggered back and snarled through his teeth. One arm hung limp by his side, still holding the knife. The other hand parried against the attacker's rain of punches.

  The hatchetman's arms were thick and knotted with muscle. Coarse black hair on the knuckles. Heavy ogrish strength that thudded into Blackweather's face like a hammer.

  Deena winced every time they landed, the purple bruises welling on the Captain's face. His hand was up in defence but the axe in his shoulder meant he could not turn to avoid the blows. The blood still flowed from his wounded leg and wrist, and dripped to turn the sand black in the torchlight.

  She could not watch the brutality any longer. Deena closed her eyes and prayed to Angall. She began to reach for familiar prayers that she had offered since she could speak, but nothing came. She was empty of faith after all she had seen. So she just spoke from her heart. Her voice was small at first but grew with each word.

  "Mighty Angall

  Please grant my limbs the strength to fight in your name and to protect those who would protect me.

  I do not ask for help or miracles, only strength.

  I cannot sit by and watch monsters, tyrants and bullies take our blood any longer.

  You are the light in the dark, are you not?

  Well this is the dark, here and now!

  This before me is all the dark there ever was in the world

  And it will spread, like an endless night across every land if someone does not stop it.

  Are you not the Light?

  If you do not give us the means to fight against this evil, what good are you to us?

  What purpose do you serve?

  The light that never goes out? The eternal flame I have re-lit since I was four?

  Well Lord Angall, that light is going out!

  Day by day, everywhere I look, the world is at dusk.

  Give me a sword and I will be your right arm

  I will give no quarter, I will show no mercy

  I will make every dread beast afraid of the Blazing Light.

  I will burn this world clean .

  Where are you?"

  Deena opened her eyes. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as the mighty Karkaren was beaten and cut. Three more hatchetmen were closing in as one. Looking for a space to deliver a fatal blow to Blackweather. Deena screamed aloud.

  "Where ARE you?"

  For the briefest moment her scream caught the attention of the bodyguard. And their eyes flitted to her tiny form hiding beneath the stage. In that moment of respite, Blackweather ducked his head and impaled the hatchetman on his antlers, driving them into the man's chest with all the strength of his good leg. The brute gave a short winded grunt of surprise and grabbed the antler. But Blackweather had gathered momentum. He pushed out and ran forward like a wounded bull at the other three men. Using the stricken man on his antlers as a battering ram. Two were knocked from their feet and the other one scattered to the side, dazed and confused.

  Blackweather shook the man from his horns and the bodyguard fell to his back with a thump and gurgle. The Karkaren plucked the axe from his back with a spray of blood and sat astride the man, bringing the crescent blade down and cleaving his head into two.

  Blackweather stayed there straddling the corpse of the man. His breath coming in heaving gasps, his eye swollen shut and blood soaking his fur. For a moment he swayed and Deena thought he was about to collapse.

  The remaining two hatchetmen closed in, more warily than before. They wanted to take their time, test the Karkaren's remaining strength. And let the blood loss weaken him before rushing in for the killing blows. She saw one of Blackweather's knives on the ground by the stage, sticky with blood and encrusted with sand. She wondered if she was strong enough to wield it. It was as long as she was and looked heavy, but perhaps she could get a few swings before the hatchetmen closed in.

  If she was to be killed, as she knew she would be, at least she could go with some semblance of being a soldier of the Light. She crawled out and scurried across the sand, wrapping her hands around the hilt of the knife. To her it was a broadsword. After all her trials, her muscles were so weak, but somehow she got it off the ground.

  With all her strength Deena dragged the blade across the arena in both hands. And dug her heels into the sand in what she thought was a fighting stance. Her heart pounded and she struggled to find her voice. In front of her, the muscular killers were circling the Karkaren. Blackweather was struggling to see from his bruised eye. He curled his lip at them, and spat blood on the sand. Taking in a wheezing breath, he spoke.

  "Are you both going to dance about me all day, you fools, or are you going to get to work?"

  As the two men moved in, Deena shouted as loud as she could.

  "Leave him alone! Fight me! Cowardly pigs!"

  The hatchetmen glanced round and even they with their dim wits could not suppress a smile. They watched this skinny red haired girl in rags barely able to hold up a sword. Standing before them, jutting out her chin and brushing the hair from her tearful blue eyes. One of them spoke in a rough accent.

  "Sit back down little girl, we'll get to you in a minute."

  Deena gritted her teeth and tried to raise the blade above her waist with shaking hands.

  "The Light shall cleanse this place. I am its messenger!"

  Deena noticed that amidst the few who still remained in the skirmishing crowd, the Witchfinder stared at her with wry amusement. He cocked his head to one side and studied her in fascination, his hands clasped at his belt. More mirthless laughter came from the hatchetmen, who waved her away and turned back to their quarry.

  "Stupid child, the boss will tear you apart when we get you up north. Get that magic ripped out of you."

  As he spoke a shadow loomed over the man's shoulder and a huge jaw clamped down on his neck. His eyes went wide with shock beneath his mask. With a terrible wrench his throat was torn out and body flung aside. Behind him stood Cyrus Blackweather, his eyes feral. He paused for only a moment before crouching down and leaping into the chest of the last man. When he looked up, his muzzle was coated in gore. His breath was ragged and fur soaked in his own blood. But he turned around on all fours and prowled towards the slender Witchfinder.

  Merrick Clay took a single step back with one hand raised.

  "Now now, captain, let's not lose control of ourselves."

  The Karkaren leaned back on his haunches and then pounced.

  The Witchfinder raised his hands in a curious gesture. It was as if Blackweather was plucked from the air by an invisible hand. His arms stretched out by his side, his head jerked back and he fell to his knees, sliding across the sandy arena. Deena's jaw dropped.

  This Witchfinder was one of them, she thought. He was a magical being with the Magus Heart just like she was, like Cyrus was! She could not believe it. What kind of
being hunts outsiders just like itself, she thought?

  Blackweather was pinned there on his knees, his arms bent far back as if strong men held him fast. His face grimaced in pain and he struggled but could not move an inch. Merrick Clay studied him , tightening his fingers and watching the Captain clench his teeth.

  "Do you know anything about ossomancy, Karkaren? Bone magic. I must admit I have never tried to snap bones as thick and dense as yours, it would take a great deal of concentration and time perhaps. But I always like to test my limits, and I am fascinated to see how long it is going to take before your arms and legs snap and give in to me. And they will, beast."

  The Witchfinder gestured again and Blackweather's arms bent even further back past their range of motion. Between grunting breaths of agony he whispered, his mouth thick with blood.

  "Well I for one, am also fascinated to see...what's going...to happen."

  Deena looked at the hulking monster, crimson with blood and prostrate against the air. Writhing in his suffering. She could not watch, and turned her head away in tears.

  And her eyes fell on something.

  There, at the edge of the stage, was a glass bottle containing a single dancing mote of bright light. A tiny insignificant mote of magic, but one that even made kings afraid. It belonged to her; it was her faith, her hope, a light that never went out.

  The Light shall cleanse this place. And I am its messenger.

  With all her fading strength, Deena swung the knife at the bottle. And the glass shattered into a million pieces.

  She dropped the blade and took a deep breath. Holding out her hand, she gave a silent word of prayer. And when she opened her eyes, the fiery mote shot across the arena and kindled in the long black silken robes of the Witchfinder Merrick Clay.

  He looked down at himself.

  At first the thin man was confused, stepping back and watching his robes smoke. His concentration broken, Blackweather was released and fell to the sand, breathing hard.

  Then the Witchfinder's robes and wide brimmed hat went up in a whoosh of yellow flame. He futilely tried to bat out the fire with his hands, but it licked all the way up his back until his lank hair ignited. It was like no ordinary flame, it stuck to him like tar. His skin crackled and burned like roasting pork. He twitched and flailed in agony as he became a burning ball of fire, running for the water of the underground canal that ran through the chamber . As he reached its edge he stumbled and fell, still screaming and trying to extinguish himself. His skin was blackened and crisp. With a grunt of effort he rolled into the canal water and within moments his prone form disappeared into the tunnel like burnt driftwood.

  Deena stood there for a moment, amazed at the effect the mote had on the body of the Witchfinder. It was as if it burned brighter and hotter when it touched the matter of the Sorrow. It burned the poison of them away. It cleansed. Deena ran to the prone body of Cyrus Blackweather and tried to roll him over but it was like trying to move a mountain. He groaned and brushed her away, rolling over and sitting up. There was almost no one around them now, most had fled the market in fear of the town militia arriving. Blackweather spat blood on the sand and tried to stand but he fell back down on his haunches.

  "Give me a moment, girl."

  Deena tried to stem the bleeding from his wounds. Tearing strips from her robes and binding them tight, but he was torn.

  "You're hurt captain, you're a mess."

  Blackweather looked around him at the mutilated bodies of the hatchetmen and dismembered Grimm. He cleared his throat of blood and spoke in a croaking voice.

  "If anyone asks, there were fifteen of them."

  Deena laughed through her tears and nodded,

  "Twenty."

  Blackweather grinned and lay back with his head on the sand.

  "Aye, twenty sounds grand."

  Deena was crying now, holding her hands on his bleeding chest.

  "I cannot carry you, Cyrus. You have to get up."

  Blackweather shook his head. He coughed and grimaced in pain.

  "Even if you could carry me, I would not allow it. I could not tarnish my reputation."

  Deena could not fathom this chaotic monster if she lived to be a hundred. He could even make foolery in death.

  "You are not afraid, are you, Captain? Of death, of war, of anything."

  Blackweather looked up at her with his good eye. That expression again that she could not decipher. He spoke low and sincere.

  "I fear the Sorrow returning. And I believe now that perhaps you were born to help stop them. So get up and get on with it, girl."

  Deena glanced at the canal, but here was no sign of the charred Witchfinder.

  "Did you see what I did?"

  The Karkaren laughed in a painful wracking burst.

  "I told you that you would set ablaze whatever you were pointed at, Scorchling."

  Deena smiled through her tears and brushed her red hair aside.

  "You pointed me in the right direction."

  Blackweather let himself rest back on the sand, which was growing darker with his blood. Deena's hands were slick with trying to stem its flow.

  "Captain, I will run back, get the crew, get Sandman at the ship. I will bring help."

  Blackweather shook his head.

  "I have brought risk to them, and my path does not lie with them anymore. Leave it be, girl. Sandman knows the rules."

  Deena looked around them at the now deserted arena flickering with midnight torches.

  "We need to escape before the town guard gets here. We cannot offer explanation for all this. What we need is a horse, or a cart, something that can carry you."

  Blackweather met her eyes and furrowed his brow. He sighed and fell silent for a long moment.

  "Alright, wait a moment."

  "What?"

  "Just wait a moment."

  Deena sat there, confused and exhausted.

  Blackweather closed his good eye and his breathing slowed. Until Deena could not see his chest moving at all. For a moment she thought that he had died on her there and then and began to panic. She slapped his chest and called out his name. As her hand hit his fur, something within him began to glow.

  Deena pulled her hand back, fearing she had done something unexpected with her magic. But she was certain it was not coming from her.

  It looked similar to her own blessing, but was larger and less bright. Deena was sure that she could see Blackweather's heart glowing through his skin. Warm amber light that pulsed.

  "What is this, what's happening?"

  The Karkaren did not answer, as if he was in deep sleep. Deena began to hear a rumbling coming down the sloping entrance to the arena. The carriage of something huge. She felt the fear again, and looked around for a weapon she could carry.

  "Cyrus, we need to get up, wake up, something's coming!"

  Deena braced herself for whatever fight she could still muster, and stared at the dark entrance to the tunnel. Something ran down into the arena, a huge beast of burden with shaggy coat and curling horns. It ran towards them with thundering hooves. Deena noticed to her amazement that its own heart was aglow within its vast chest. The beast trotted up to them and stopped, snorting and sending a cloud of steam from its snout. A thick leather saddle was strapped to its back and a golden ring through its nose.

  Deena looked from Blackweather to the huge beast and back. Both their glowing hearts began to fade. Blackweather opened one eye and smiled up at her. Deena's jaw dropped and she slapped his huge shoulder, making him wince.

  “That’s what you can do? That's what the Karkaren Magus does? And you never mentioned?"

  Blackweather held up a defensive hand, dripping with blood.

  "Not every Karkaren, only the shaman amongst us. But since there might only be me left, then yes, that's what we can do."

  Deena reached out to the huge beast, stroked its hot snout. It gave a low murmur and licked its lips.

  "You control it?"

  Blackweather sh
ook his head.

  "No, never control, not that. Wild things do what wild things do, never against their will. It's...a negotiation."

  Deena stood before the creature and spoke in her politest, softest voice. It towered above her, drooling a little.

  "I'm Deena. What are you?"

  Blackweather struggled up to his haunches and put pressure on the wound on his shoulder. He winced and tested movement in the arm.

  "It's a Japhar. Been used for centuries around these parts to carry heavy loads. Lovely creatures, very docile, clever too, though the locals wouldn't know it."

  Deena reached out and stroked its fur.

  "Hello big lad. We are in trouble and hurt. Will you help us? Carry us where we need to go?"

  The Japhar bowed its shaggy head and clopped a fur lined hoof before her. Deena turned and smiled in amazement at Blackweather. The Karkaren was on his feet now, but wounded and unsteady. He reached out and placed his hand on the side of the beast, which took his weight. Blackweather sighed and gathered his remaining strength. He cast a sidelong glance at Deena.

  "Hold him steady while I get up. You'll have to guide him, I don't think I'll be conscious for long."

  Deena held the beast as firmly as she could as the massive Karkaren hoisted himself into the saddle. Blackweather groaned and winced all the way up, but once he was in, even he looked small upon the Japhar's back. Deena struggled to get herself up but with a helping hand from Blackweather, she found herself sitting in front of him. Holding on to the reins of the giant beast. She tapped its neck .

  "Onward, Japhar. Up we go. Onward!"

  Behind her, Blackweather sighed, and closed his eye. He communed with the beast, and in a moment it set off up the slope and into the streets of Dashai. They moved through the moonlight whitewashed streets and past the intricate mosaics. Hardly seeing a soul as they journeyed. Once past a large orchard of limes, they found themselves at the limits of the town. Ahead was a long pale road that shone in the moonlight.

  Deena looked up at the vast wheeling stars above her and the endless rocky desert ahead. Behind her, she felt Blackweather's thick blood soaking into her dress. She turned her head and looked up into his tired bruised eyes She could not conceal her concern.