Broken Earth

by C M Blackwood

  But that was not to be.

  Eventually, their faces began to blur all into one another. Lila listened carefully to the words of the medicine man; and pictured again her mother, swathed in the very robe she wore now.

  So very beautiful! So very like . . .

  Lila looked to Antony. He stared back at her, with eyes wide and shining.

  Mother, what is an angel?

  ~

  The night had fallen down, very black and cold, before Lila separated herself from the crowds that filled the grounds. But eventually they began to file back into the city, and took slowly to the streets, as the gates clanged shut behind them.

  The soldiers withdrew to their barracks, and the servants went directly to their chambers. The night meal had been served hours early, on account of the burial; and all were free to retire as they would.

  But there stood Tobias Redda, somewhere in the centre of the darkness, positioned still beside the grave of his Queen. Several men walked past, shaking Lila’s hand or patting her shoulder, as she stood dumbfounded near the West entrance. There went Thomas Henry, Harn Fala, and Yuvi Flay; all looking so very tired, that they could not even think of burying any more wolves that night. Yuvi Flay would not be found with his boys in the barracks, either on that night or a great many which followed it.

  It was a night for solitude.

  ~

  With not a sound to be heard but the sighing of a sleepless wind, Heidi lay alone in her chamber, surrounded by blue light and emptiness.

  The burial, as it did for so many people, had set her thinking. Not too seriously, of course – for what was she to know concerning the funeral of a Queen? But it served as something to fill her mind, when so many other things which would have caused her more pain were already vying for her attention.

  Surely, Dera was asleep by now. There were not very many things powerful enough to keep that woman awake; and Heidi was certain that the death rites of a woman who had been, for all intents and purposes, a perfect stranger to her, was not one of them.

  David and Helena had retired to their own rooms. Before leaving, David had embraced both Heidi and Dera, and smiled through the tears which seemed not to have left his eyes since Jade’s disappearance. Helena had looked carefully upon Heidi, at a time when she thought that she was not watching; but Heidi had seen her, and though she had not given her any of evidence of it, had been filled with much less hatred at the sight of her.

  Heidi looked to the side of the bed where Jade had lain, since the night she arrived at the castle. The blankets were still rumpled; and there, on the pillow, was the impression that had been made by her sleeping head.

  Nothing under the blankets now. No head on the pillow now.

  Heidi turned away. She dispelled the light from the room, and squeezed her eyes shut tight against the darkness.

  XXXIX: Aurelus’ Decision

  From his place in the skies, despite the warnings of his sister and his Lord, Aurelus continued to watch over his charges. He wept at the occurrence of all those terrible events, but dried his eyes at the thought that he would go to them soon.

  After witnessing all those things which happened betwixt the capture of Jade and the death of Abella, he was forced to turn away in his grief. He wandered his room, and took in the beauty of all those things that surrounded him, but found that he could take no real pleasure from them, when his heart was already broken.

  He went finally to the great jar that he kept upon the shelf, and touched the top of it lightly. Brilliantly silver it shone, there in the light – with the Power of a thousand suns stirring within it. From that very jar had come all of those things which he had given to his charges. From that jar had come the Power which made them his own children under the sky, and which blessed them with the protection of his name. The Aurens were beings of his own creation; while the Dúnanen were the tainted servants of Férglag. Black had he painted their hearts, though they did not know it. Through him came the wolf-men of the lands far to the South; and through him came the great strength of the Lumaria, for all of those years since the birth of their race. Through him came the fire that dwelt in the eyes of men.

  Aurelus turned his back on the jar, and returned to his seat beside the viewing-floor. Clear it was, and through it he could see whatever at all that he wished. He watched now in misery, and could finally do nothing, but to cover his face with his hands.

  A shining light beside him drew his attention from his woes. He dropped his hands and looked to the left, and saw a great and mighty figure there, who was clothed in snow-white raiment, and who looked down upon him in sympathy.

  He rose from his seat, and fell to his knees. “Hail, Lord,” said he, with bowed head.

  He felt a warm hand atop his head, and heard a deep voice which said, “Rise.”

  So he rose, and stood looking into a pair of clear, bright eyes. “Still you despair?” asked the mouth below the eyes.

  “I do, Lord,” said he. “Forgive me.”

  A kind smile. “There is nothing to forgive.”

  “Then what shall I do?”

  “You shall do what you wish.”

  “Lord?”

  “My father’s hand is firm. He loves all, but He hates fiercely too. He sometimes does not see what you see.”

  “May I fight for them?”

  “You may.”

  Aurelus dropped to his knees once again, and cried, “Hail, Otóvin!”

  “Hail, Aurelus!” said the other, with a mighty laugh. “You are noble beyond all reaches of the imagination.”

  There came a knock at the door, then; and a moment later, Arolah came striding into the room. When she saw that her brother was not alone, she faltered and said, “Forgive me, Lord. I did not know that you were here.”

  “And why should you, fair lady? But at least seem content to see me, pray!”

  “Of course, Lord!” exclaimed Arolah.

  “Ah, yes!” said He. “So the time has come. Your brother Aurelus, he watches as the end draws nigh; but only the end of an age! The feud will live on, even when those below have died. This is but one battle in a long and terrible war! So it will be – for so Belial has made it.” He looked to Aurelus. “But I do believe, Aurelus, that you call him Férglag still? Oh, how could your poor mother have known!” He gave a heavy sigh, and looked from Arolah to Aurelus. “Two angels above all others, and the greatest devil of all! It should not have been this way – but there is no changing what is. Not until there be changed what he is.”

  Aurelus shook his head, and said firmly, “I take no pity on my brother. Here he lived once, with me in the skies; with our beautiful sister, too!” He looked sadly at the jar. “But it proved too much for him. Or perhaps – not enough.”

  With a last gentle smile bestowed upon them, Aurelus and Arolah found themselves alone in the room. Aurelus returned to his seat, and his sister came to stand beside him; and together they looked down upon the earth.

  “I shall go to them,” said Aurelus finally, looking into the face of his sister.

  She sighed at the firmness of his face, but said finally: “And I shall go with you.”

  “Dear sister!”

  She smiled at him; but began to frown, as her gaze strayed back to the earth. “What a great mess our brother has made!” she exclaimed.

  And so it was then, that they realised the full truth of what was in store for them. Their eyes reached down from the firmament, and took in the wages of darkness which were creeping more quickly now, all across the land. From that high place, the shadow could be seen as it truly was: a thick, parasitic cloud, impenetrable in the places where it had taken hold. It devoured the life that lay beneath; and used this strength to grow, and to expand. The shadow was moving steadily nearer that centre point, that first-mentioned axis of impending war. And it would not be long now, till it rose to overthrow – or was overtaken, just as all else in the earth.

  As that clear and honest voice had proclaimed, to every extent
of truth and certainty:

  It was the end of an age.

  XL: Awakenings

  Every minute of every day, and across every inch of her skin, Lila could feel the eyes of Dain Aerca upon her home. In every room they wandered; on every person they rested.

  All this she could feel, but there were things she knew which prevented her from worrying too greatly, or too prematurely.

  On the day of the siege, the Sorceress had lost nearly all of her wolves (we say nearly because, in spite of the efforts of the Army of Eredor, several of the beasts did manage to escape; namely the leader who was called Kellin, and some who were close to him). Before she could strike again, she had to make more – which could prove a time-consuming process. Lila thought of the men who would lose their lives for it, and wished with all her heart that she could do something to save them. But what could she do? Only slay them when they finally came, and release them from the misery of their newfound existence.

  Hardly any of the Lumaria had been present at the battle. Lila, of course, could not hope to guess at the exact reason for this; but she suspected that it was a reason which fell within her own favour.

  Suspicions, of course, are no substitute for certainties – so she kept her eyes open wide, and at least one of them observant, each time she slept.

  The bodies of the dead were all buried (or burnt, as per the decision of each family), and the desert outside the gates of Onssgaard was free of wolves. The grey clouds dispersed from the sky above the city, and the bright yellow sun came to shine in all its glory. People began to smile, and to laugh and to sing; and the misery of death grew less severe.

  The city thought that it had seen the worst. It looked back with sadness upon that day of loss, but surely expected nothing of the kind to repeat itself so very soon. Yet even while they lived, burthened with so much less fear, the wheels of fate were in motion. They rolled, slowly and constantly, towards a destiny that none (at least, none that were left alive) had foreseen.

  But how could they have known?

  ~

  Of course, Lila had been right enough in her musings upon the Sorceress’ impediments to further destruction. But she was also correct in her guesses of that woman’s unabated fury – and evidence of it, though she herself could not see it, was presented daily at Grénha.

  Dain Aerca sat alone for a long while, thinking and considering. Then she slept; and then she thought; and then she considered again.

  It seemed that all of her waking life was filled with these thoughts and considerations. There was much work to be done, firstly in the restoration of her Narken forces; and then in the attempt to reconnect with the mutinous Lumaria.

  Currently, Biscayne and his small band of fellows were sheltered within the fortress. Zana, of course – who had no fear at all of anyone – went to and fro betwixt Grénha and Death Rock. There were Lumaria still who would confide in her, though there were none who would do the same with Biscayne. With perhaps a little too much enjoyment, she lorded this daily over his head; and daily he seemed to inch just a little nearer to that familiar, homicidal impulse which both he and the Sorceress shared in respect to this same individual.

  Be all of that as it was, however, there were still massive amounts of work to be done. Dain Aerca met daily with the Master, and was sometimes even accompanied by Zana. He was greatly pleased by their work in Onssgaard, and said nothing (even if he did think of it) of Dain’s failure to gain the Princess. When he finally came to mention it, he only assured her that there was plenty of time still, wherein she might revisit the matter – and patted her head, in the assurance that she had done well thus far. The Auren had been captured; and if she could not be broken, she would simply be killed. So said the Master.

  So it was said; and so it would be done.

  ~

  Things began to pass, then, in the manner of weeks and months, rather than that of days. Though the mood that had taken hold of the people in the city was pleasant enough (more so than in quite a long while, to be truthful), it did little to spread to those who dwelt within the castle. There, the air resembled that of just before the siege – in that the Princess’ officers in their times of rest lay somewhat anxiously, as though they were certain that some ill thing would befall them in the next moment or two (a practice which was quickly and unwittingly adopted by each of their soldiers in his barracks).

  Oh, yes – despite the brightness of that shining sun outside, that same warning of darkness hung still in the air of that place. The men were comforted very little, it is no surprise, by Princess Lila’s reversion to her previous mania. It seemed, though, that with the breaking of her castle and the death of her mother, the madness had tripled. It became very difficult for anyone to get a word in edgewise with her; and even were she to listen to each and every word which someone thought to speak to her, she would answer always with the same statement.

  “Only death,” she would say, raising her hands to clutch at her head. “Only death will we know! Oh, that blue sky! The clouds will come, the rain will come – and only death will we know.”

  This is the feverish response which she would give, over and over again; not always in the same words, but certainly always in the same sentiment. And so she became bound to her chamber, and afterwards bound to her bed, where Tobias Redda called on her daily. It was with a very sad countenance that he looked down upon her, and offered her the sleeping draught which was required for the cessation of her ravings.

  When the high officers, accompanied frequently by Samson Trippe and Silas Perco, asked him what ailed her, he told them this:

  “It is no ailment of the body; but one of the innermost part of her mind, where I can neither see nor reach.”

  And this is all he would say. There was much more, however, that he thought, all those hours which he sat beside Lila while she spoke aloud (sometimes to him; sometimes to herself; and sometimes to someone whom only she could see). These thoughts centred around a certain force which he could feel emanating from her own body, which seemed to originate from the area round her heart (or somewhere thereabouts). He pressed his hand to the place where the bone shielded that pounding, pumping thing, and his eyes widened at the Power he felt there. It grew stronger each day, and surged just a little quicker each night, in its encasement of flesh. The old man suspected it was this that was setting the Princess at odds; and that if she did not discover it soon for herself, she would verily burst from the great pressure that was building.

  It cannot be said that Tobias Redda was a possessor of great Power; but merely, perhaps, that he was more sensitive than others to the presence of it, and that it was this quality which made him such a very apt medicine man. So he moved his hand finally from the chest to the head, closed his eyes and listened intently. Jumbled thoughts pushed violently at one another, and scattered their neighbours to the far reaches of the mind. Yet there was one voice that rose above all the rest; and Tobias could see it hovering there like a bird above the ground, standing out in perfect whiteness against a backdrop of black.

  He sighed, and took his hand from the Princess’ brow. She awoke in an instant, and looked up at him, with the very same eyes that had so troubled her officers. They seemed, each moment, a little more ready to break free from their prisons in her head.

  “The gift has been given, my dear,” said the medicine man. “Best not to waste it, don’t you think?”

  But her eyes did not see, and her ears did not hear.

  “Quite strong already, you were,” said he. “But stronger now. Do you see?”

  She was gripping his hand.

  “Do you see, my dear?”

  She let her eyes wander to the ceiling. They grew even wider, as her face began to twitch.

  “Tell me that you see.”

  All in an instant, the silence was broken; and a terrible scream rent the air. On and on it went, at first harmful to nothing but the ears. Then, deeper it grew – and deeper still, until the very walls began to shake.
Tobias smiled as the grip on his hand tightened, and as pieces of broken stone fell down past the windows from their places at the tops of the towers.

  “Hush, my dear.”

  She fell quiet. The rumbling ceased; but in the floors below, a great array of panicked voices could be heard.

  “Very good!” he said, patting her hand. “Very good, my dear.”

  ~

  This apparent progress, however, was no real progress at all; for immediately afterwards, Lila sank back into her previous stupor, and could be called upon for hardly anything. Needless to say, Mr Redda was terribly disappointed at this; but even to his own considerable intelligence, one of the greatest of looming threats was as of yet unknown. While Lila lay incapacitated, there arose a series of meetings among those men called the Elders, who had for some time fallen quiet into the background of the tumult; but who now viewed an opportunity to give rise. These meetings, of course, contained only ten in attendance; for Samson and Silas no longer considered themselves a part of this group. One must not think, either, that all ten of the men who did consider themselves as such, were equally evil; for this would be an untruth. It should be said, rather, that most were mere followers (though they should not have been deemed any more innocent for this) of a particular member of that group. It is doubtful that that particular member should need any particular identification; for surely one can infer for oneself, what with all things said previously concerning this man, his identity.

  We might look, for a moment or two, more closely into these meetings, and hear those specific words which were said; but we think, on the whole, that that would be most unnecessary. For what would it show us, other than the hate and malignity of which we are already aware? We need only know that that particular man, with whom we are all acquainted, had begun something of an enterprise meant to draw power unto himself – and, quite naturally, to retrieve this power from she to whom it rightfully belonged. At that moment, however, she was lying sick abed, was worried for in both physicality and mentality, and so was hardly considered (by most) a worthy possessor of such power.