That afternoon, I let Sef tend to his own business, while I finally got some sleep. I fell into bed exhausted, lost to slow and bitter tears.
I wept for my missing daughter, who I loved so very much, but also for my husband, a man I’d once loathed, but now longed to see. Eventually I drifted off and found some respite. I needed that, that moment to rest and gather my spirits.
When I later awoke it was midafternoon. I could have so easily just rolled over and closed my eyes, but instead I got up, planning to check on my parents.
I walked the short distance, leaving Kurt behind in his quarters above the stables to watch over the house.
I planned on a quick visit, one done to see how my mother was coping with all that was going on. It was there that I was when the news came, news that changed everything.
Everything…
I sat with my parents in their sitting room where we played at polite conversation and pretended that all was well. We talked of many things, but nothing of consequence, while we ignored the obvious topics of my stolen family, and the city, divided, burning itself slowly to the ground.
Then Sef arrived.
He burst in through the front door like a clap of thunder, earning a squeal from a maid. My mother opened her mouth to reprimand him, the help, but then she saw his obvious bewilderment. Instead, she asked, “Sef, whatever is it?”
He looked to me while holding up a hand as he caught his breath. Finally, he said, “The followers of the new saints have proclaimed a fourth!”
And the wail of horns sounded in the distance.
I stood, shaking my head.
He went on, “He’s been named in the burning port, where his faithful are armed and dangerous, and readying to march to war!”
My heart faltered; armed and dangerous? He couldn’t mean…
And a second set of horns blared in answer, sounding from somewhere much closer. The traditional instruments evoked images of the battle-scarred plains, lakelands, and deep forests of Fletland.
Sef forced it out, “It’s Kave! The Heletites across the river are claiming that he’s one of the new saints!”
I gasped.
“There’s more; they’re raising an army of Kavists, and they’re on the other side of the Cassaro rallying their Flet brethren to war!”
My father gaped in horror. “If you go, Newbank will be defenceless!”
I said, “You can’t, Kurgar has banned crossing the river.”
Sef shook his head. “They say the Guild has retracted the ban. Regardless, fighters are already being ferried across!” His voice quaked with excitement, at once fearful, but also euphoric.
“Proclaimed amongst the new saints? Sef, is this a trick, or are they willing to allow any faith into their reformed church? Will Schoperde be next?”
And that was when I noticed the air’s growing edge.
Sef shook his head, as veins stood out at his temples, and bulged about his neck. His eyes sparkled with excitement, while spittle flew from his lips. “Look into the celestial, look and see!”
My perception dipped into that other world, and there it was; the change I’d felt. Divine blessings were again about.
He called out the truth, while his hands clenched into trembling fists, “A rain of blessings! It’s true! We’re raising an army to reclaim the city!”
With his soul energised, I wasn’t going to be able to stop him. Still, it was a chance to cross the river. “Sef, you’re free to go, but you need to take me.”
“No! This is a sacred duty, a pilgrimage!”
“I just need you to help me cross the river. Once done, I can search for Maria and Pedro behind your faithful line. Sef, you’ll be free of me to do what you need. I won’t have you mind me.”
He wanted to refuse, and started to shake his head.
I glared at him, making it plain there was only one answer I’d accept.
In the end, desperate to get going, he gave in. “Alright, but I can only guarantee your crossing. On the other side, I won’t be serving you, but Kave.”
My parents rose to protest, but we left them.
Sef and I hurried towards the river, from where cheers rose along with the wail of horns. We spotted Cherub on the way, the big Flet greeted Sef by taking him into a great bear-hug, the two of them sharing their euphoria. I was all but ignored.
Moment by moment, they were both becoming more distant to me, and well and truly focused on the task at hand – Kave’s task.
Thousands of Flets crowded Newbank’s river shore, the mass thickest by the bridge. They cheered a group of Kavists at their heart, the big knot numbered in the hundreds. From there the warriors waited to cross the Cassaro by way of a dozen boats that ferried eager loads to the edge of St Marco’s Square. The landing Kavists wasted no time on arrival; they climbed the river-wall, waved their battle colours, and drew their weapons.
Yet if Newbank presented a spectacle, the city-side did doubly so. On that other shore, tens of thousands of Heletians cheered a gathering of a couple of thousand devotees to Kave – they new, fearless, and raw.
The Flet Kavists arrived to be embraced by their Heletian brethren. They gathered to kill together, to shed blood and battle, yet on their faces played nothing but joy.
Watching it, I couldn’t doubt that Kave sanctioned this. His warriors held his glory in their eyes and his strength in their arms. Kave was of the new saints, and with that acceptance came a realisation; in the end, despite how honourably combat might be conducted, it was nothing but bloody violence with death at its core.
Death…
I’d been blinded to the truth by a childhood awash in tales that celebrated the bloody defence of Fletland. Somewhere in all that, while the defence was necessary, my people’s culture had become twisted so that we revered the bloodshed and tragedy, instead of the life it sought to protect.
Today, the god of battle had come to Ossard and raised an army, and now he’d go on to expel the Inquisition. Kave didn’t do it because it was just, but because he wanted people dead. It was simple greed, nurtured and driven by the divine addiction of soul-feeding. He was in league with Death because of it, or more so, the great and mighty Kave was Death’s bitch.
I was appalled.
Truly, the goddess of life had no allies, and now the divine war spoken of in the Book of Truth had come to rage openly on my own home’s streets. And worst of all, Death would win here too.
Unless someone stood against it.
But how could you do such a thing without bringing more death – the very prize the war-gods sought?
It seemed like a riddle, something frustrating and confusing, and for an answer I only had hope.
There had to be others willing to make a stand?
In a city that found its nights haunted by the sombre notes of Schoperde’s Song as surely as its days came veiled in smoke’s grey, there had to be more than a few souls who shared allegiance to the goddess of life. If they were out there, I’d have to find them.
That realisation stirred another, one built of chilled whispers.
Grandmother hung close by.
I’d still not talked to her. Now, while being put into a boat with Sef and Cherub, didn’t seem ideal, but it’d just have to do. So I passed my perception from one world to another.
I called into the celestial, “Grandmother!” And thus began my search.
Her cold blue spirit, gaunt and neglected, soon appeared. It seemed she was always close by. Long strands of spectral hair stormed about her illuminated face, rising like a halo in contrast to the dark pits that were her eyes. It gave me caution, especially after sighting her other halo.
Faint enough to be almost missed, scores of skulls circled her with each of them joined to her by a thin, silvered chain. They stared at me, and in an instant I knew them; it was the chorus of whispered voices I’d so often heard, the innocents who’d perished with her at The Burnings.
What had she become?
I’d been told that she’d once been a caring woman, wife, widow, and mother, but that was a lifetime ago.
She was changed.
I looked into the deep pits that should have held her eyes, but they only gaped darkly at me. “Greetings, Grandmother.”
She gave a curt nod. “And to you, Granddaughter.”
“You’ve watched over me all my life, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” She smiled afresh, but in the blue hues of the celestial, such a thing held no warmth.
“I’m no Cabalist.”
She nodded. “I’d hoped you were, but it’s not to be.”
“I’m aligned to the gods, to Schoperde.”
Her smile faded. “I’m surprised.”
“Why?”
She sneered. “Because I thought Schoperde only took virgins, and not sluts who gave themselves away at the first sign of a gifted drink!”
The comment hurt, but I didn’t reply.
She waited.
I said, “I don’t have time for insults.”
She studied me and then relented. “I apologise for the slight.”
“It’s alright, I’ve greater burdens.”
She nodded. “I’ve been here a long time and it’s not been easy.”
“I can’t imagine.”
Again, she nodded. “This would’ve been easier if you’d been a witch, but I guess I have to live with that.” She sniggered at her own joke. “And of Schoperde as well! A pleasant calling, but with no real power.”
I waited.
She shrugged, a movement that stirred her haunting skulls. “Juvela, I’m more friend than foe. Over time I’ve lost my chance to be reborn, but I can wander, yet this realm isn’t safe. I can’t survive it by myself. I need to stay near you.”
“Me?”
“Don’t act surprised, you know that you’re special – you’ve had a whole morning of your hulking bodyguard telling you that very thing. He’s right. Your soul is old and powerful, and being near it gives me sanctuary.”
“How?”
“Your untapped power keeps the sad predators of this place at bay. They hunger for it, but it’s so strong and pure that it’s poisonous to them, and that keeps them back. Me, perhaps because of our shared bloodline, I can get close and shelter in your soul’s glare.” Her face fell into a grim smile, something ominous. “And for that I’m grateful, it’s given me a lair.”
Her words chilled me.
“Juvela, only one thing overrides my concern for you, and that’s my hunger for revenge. I want to kill that dog, Anton, and as many of his brethren as I can. I want to drag him from the mortal world and torment him, I want to shred his soul and twist it, I want to curse it and piss in it, and then I want to scatter its ruins to the feeders and see him lost to Oblivion!”
“It’s true that he’s a man with blood on his hands, but my priority is my family, then my people, and then my city. Do you understand?”
Reluctantly, she nodded.
I regarded her. “Will you hinder me?
She shook her head, setting the skulls about her to shift and their empty eyes to flash. “Juvela, I’ll work with you.”
And that would just have to do.
My perception returned to the real world, where I found myself packed between Kavists on our cramped river crossing. The men and women about me were restless, some talked quietly while others prayed. A few glanced at me with questioning looks, but most accepted me, knowing of my respected family and having heard of my part in the opera house raid.
Our boat reached the opposite shore to grind against the river-wall, as Kave’s newest followers called out greetings from above.
Sef went up first, then me. I waited beside him for Cherub, uncomfortable amidst a crowd of blessing-drunk Heletians. Watching them in this exuberant moment, I couldn’t help but wonder at how many of them had spent the previous day looting Flet homes.
I slipped part of my perception into the celestial to see this strange moment in both worlds. The darkness of the void didn’t show in that double vision, only the luminescence of souls and magic.
The glowing bolts of the first blessings that had initially energised the Kavists, Flet and Heletian, had now faded away. The battle god had finished bestowing them, but now prepared to gift a second wave.
Scores of deep blue lights began to race across smoke-dimmed skies. They only got faster as they sought out the souls of a select troop, and then, one by one, they found them.
The gifted power set the hearts of the chosen racing, crazing their minds, and flushing their eyes red. Of all the blessings I’d so far witnessed, this one came promising to be the most violent. In it Kave bestowed nothing but bloodlust, anger, and the hunger to see all life bowed. This was his blessing of ultimate glory; to be made, for a time, one of his Berserk Guard.
His so-blessed warriors drew their weapons, arched their backs, and growled out deep and loud battle cries.
The Kavists about me cheered their honoured fellows, while Flets continued to climb up the river-wall, and into the arms of their Heletian counterparts. They sang and cheered together, lost in their strange joy. Watching it all, I wondered if the Inquisitor had any idea of what would soon be coming for him.
Soon enough, their cheers began to fade and give way to a rising chant. It boomed rhythmic and rough, banged by fist on armour. It rolled out to dominate the river districts with its simple tones, and in it Kave’s faithful prayed for success, honour, and yet more power.
Standing amongst them, I could only wonder what such a large gathering of cultists could do when so blessed. Surely they’d take the city – after all they had the numbers, skill, and the backing of the god of battle.
How could they fail!
I fell back from them to find some space amidst the gear of a nearby cart. Sef and Cherub didn’t even notice; they were lost in their exuberance as they waited to work Kave’s commands.
Sadly, I realised that this was where Sef and I parted ways. Today, his loyalty to Kave overcame any coin my family could offer, and even our deep bonds of friendship. If Kave was to stand amongst the new saints, then Sef as his priest would stand with him, but I could not.
Such thoughts only fed a growing sense of loneliness.
About me, the voices of the Kavists rang out heavy as they began to punch at the sky. They sang out simply, using a small cycle of words, with most of it lost in the roll of their verse, except for the last; die!
The Flet Kavists had now all reached St Marco’s, seeing the force complete. At the same time the chorus climaxed with a thunderous cheer.
They formed up on the riverside road and began to cross the square. I walked behind them while scrying the nearby buildings, seeking for any sign of my family. After me came a much larger crowd, the faithful of the new saints. While none of them cursed me, I could read their many thoughts, “The Forsaken Lady!” And for most of them I remained a symbol of ill-favour.
It was a contradiction for me to be there, perhaps even dangerous, but the Kavists seemed to have accepted me, so, grudgingly, the greater crowd let me be.
Again I trod the streets of Ossard surrounded by space.
Again I was alone and outcast.
Then something brushed my arm.
It was maddeningly soft, like a down feather, but also chill. I turned and saw nothing, yet knew that was wrong. A moment later, the celestial gave me the answer.
My grandmother haunted beside me, unseen by the surrounding crowd. She smiled, a genuine thing this time, it taking away the unease of our earlier conversation. Now her eyes weren’t dark pits, but there to sparkle as if full of life. “You won’t walk alone, my dear, not if I can help it.”
The Kavists began their march to cross St Marco’s Square.
At their front surged those blessed to be berserk; one hundred of Kave’s chosen. They moved about, restless, and on the verge of charging to Ossard’s distant heart. Behind them came the rest of their brethren; the new Heletian converts, and the more seasoned Flets. A command of Kave’s senior priests led those ranks, it almost exclusively Flet.
The command stood tall and determined, with battle banners rising from where they were strapped to their backs. All of them wore well-crafted armour, and brandished fine blades, a few of them even wielded blessed weapons licked by running flames.
St Marco’s church loomed on the far side of the square in challenge, despite its ruined belltower.
Kave’s command stopped in front of it, and began to climb its rubble-strewn steps. Its great double doors slammed shut at their approach, the churchmen inside sending one of their number sprinting away from the building’s rear.
None of the Kavists cared.
Seig Manheim reached the top of the steps to the cheers of his warriors and the broader crowd. He raised his hands for quiet, the motion flexing his thick arms; more than any he spoiled for battle. “We march on the Cathedral, and to take back the Malnobla for the people. From there we expel the Inquisitor and his dogma of hate!” His banner rose on a fresh breeze, its navy field opening to reveal a golden fist.
The Kavists raised their weapons and cheered, something made louder by the roar of the crowd. The berserkers, trembling and drooling under the pain of divine restraint, added a series of battle cries before loping towards the avenue that would take them to the Malnobla.
Seig cried, “For Kave!” And bounded down the stairs.
I followed the Kavists, while the crowd also began to rouse. Behind me, many of them paused to pelt St Marco’s with loose cobbles and rubble from the belltower. The mob outnumbered the Kavists, perhaps by as many as five to one.
If the Kavists were an army, then what was it that followed them?
The tall windows of St Marco’s became obvious targets. The tinkle of rocks punching through the rare coloured glass peppered the square, all of it followed by the ugly chime of the precious shards falling to shatter. Before long, someone hurled a ball of burning rags through one of the broken windows. By the time my own boots found the avenue, the windows loomed as gaping holes that spewed thick smoke.
The Kavists marched unchallenged. In the distance, through the haze, we could see the lone figure of the churchman who’d fled to carry a warning. He was halfway there.
The Kavists kept a good pace, set by the rhythm of their chant. The crowd behind me also pushed on. I strode on between them, alone, aside from my haunting grandmother, while scrying for Pedro and Maria.
Perhaps, when we reached the Square, I’d again search the opera house…
But each step I took only fed rising doubts. My spirit, which had been so buoyed at being able to restart my search, now began to fail.
Grandmother whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll help you in your search.”
But I wondered; could we be too late?
“They’re hidden, and that means they live.”
And in front of us, Kave’s march continued, all of it accompanied by prayers, horns, and cheers.
The Cathedral’s bells started to toll, not long after the entrance to Market Square came into view.
And it was then that the empty avenue leading to it suddenly began to fill. A couple of hundred Heletians spilled from the streets towards its end, all of them armed with swords and makeshift shields. The Loyalists were moving to meet the Kavists.
The warriors of the cult of battle lifted their swords, checked armour, and readied themselves. The Kavists didn’t mock or jeer the defenders, they simply doubled their march. They had to; the berserkers having spotted a foe finally lost the last of their control.
A great cheer rose from the mob behind us, hungry for revenge.
And the ranks of the Kavists moved faster, trying to keep up with their berserk brethren.
The berserkers gave a guttural roar, as their lope became a run.
I whispered, “Sweet Schoperde, please protect Sef, even though he follows another.” And a bright golden spark sped out from me to charge into the rear of the advancing Kavists. It was magic, and woven from the stuff of love and life.
I marvelled. Somehow I’d called something, something to protect him; a blessing. I was learning.
Perhaps there was hope…
Up ahead, the Loyalists tried to link their shields.
The berserkers, frenzied and wild, now charged at full sprint.
And the main body of Kavists burst into song and took up their horns.
While the Loyalists braced themselves.
Then the berserkers were upon them.
The touched warriors crashed through the defensive line, swinging swords and roaring like animals. Blood sprayed up, along with cleaved flesh and broken shields. The berserkers didn’t slow, miss a step, or even choke on their battle cries. They met the faithful of Krienta, and in a moment, cut through them.
But Kave grew bored of chants, song, and play…
The crazed Kavists emerged from the defenders’ ruin. They didn’t pause or even glance at their grim harvest, they just headed on.
The Kavist ranks in front of me cheered, while the mob behind roared.
I winced at their madness. How could they all give themselves so easily to hate? They disgusted me, leaving me glad to be outcast and alone…
…until I found that I wasn’t.
She stood behind me wearing a worn grey dress. Surprised, I just started and stared. She was Heletian, perhaps somewhere in her late twenties, with a trace of silver prematurely teasing the temples of her hair. The colours worked well with her olive skin and hazel eyes, and when she smiled, it all joined to come alive.
“Alone no more!” my grandmother whispered.
The woman stood only a pace away, she didn’t flinch or fall back, or even look frightened. With a firm voice she said, “My name is Baruna, and I’d like to walk with you?”
I gestured towards Market Square. “I was going this way.”
She nodded. “Then let’s go together.”
And we turned to walk side by side, while the mob behind us fell silent.
Baruna said, “I’ve come to end your loneliness and mine. You’ve hope and compassion, I saw it in the square when you saved that poor woman’s child. What you have is what we’re poor in, and what Ossard needs in these dark days.”
Her words warmed me. Already I could feel my burden lighten, as if it was now shared.
I was no longer alone!
And ahead, the berserkers leading the Kavist charge had almost reached Market Square – yet we barely noticed. While Death loomed up to cast his shadow over the city, we stood as a spark of life, and perhaps, as Baruna had put it, hope.
But that spark was threatened by the surrounding madness.
The Kavists followed the berserkers in their charge, their swords raised and banners flying.
Before them opened the wide space of Market Square. It stood naked of its stalls and merchants, instead its middle spread blocked by a wall of robed churchmen. Behind that priestly line of a hundred stood thousands of Loyalists fingering grim blades, many of them makeshift weapons taken from kitchens, fishmongers, and butchers.
Inquisitor Anton stood above it all in one of the Cathedral’s belltowers, from where he bellowed, “Oh sweet faithful, Krienta watches and will appraise you. Be ready to work his will!”
His pious followers cried out for the chance.
From across the square, the Kavists called out in answer.
The priests waited, but did not fear.
And all the while, with each moment, Kave’s berserkers drew nearer.
Krienta’s holy men readied the seeds of their blessed defence. They knew that their lord wouldn’t abandon them, not here and now. United, they cried, “For Saint Baimio and his father, our righteous lord, Krienta!”
And the celestial heaved as hundreds drew upon it for power.
That strange other world, normally a pool of dark calm, churned into boiling life. The air about us tingled as it tensed, filling with flaring sparks.
Behind us, the followers of the new saints surged forward. They wanted to be a part of this, the smashing of the unreformed Church.
The berserkers raced across the square with blood-flushed eyes, crying from drooling mouths. For these touched warriors, only kills would do, but they’d have to work for them; Krienta’s priests were already casting.
The Inquisitor led that casting as he called from up on high, “Oh Krienta, heretics have dared enter the heart of your proclaimed city! We beg you to bless us so that we may show them your mercy, or if you wish it, judge them, and leave them blinded by their soul’s blight!”
His priests raised their arms, “May the carriers of heresy be struck blind!”
The square filled with piercing cries.
A flock of black ravens appeared, launching themselves into the smoke-heavy air from the weatherworn ledges of the Cathedral’s towers. Countless, they circled and cawed with grating voices, only to suddenly turn and dive.
Warnings were yelled.
And like a furious black hail, the ravens struck, raining down to seek the eye-flesh of the lead Kavists.
People cried out in horror.
Of all the Kavists, only a handful had helms or time to raise shields.
I looked for Sef in the chaos, finally spotting him with Cherub at the centre of the carnage. A Heletian between them had taken one of the birds in the face, the blow bringing the man to his knees, while the frenzied beast worked to puncture his eyes. Sef grabbed at the frantic bird, tearing it from the man before snapping its spine. In sober disgust, he threw the feathered lump to the cobbles and used a boot to crush the life out of it.
The stunned Heletian sported a red face with torn and bloody cheeks. He’d been lucky, he still had his sight – many others around him didn’t.
The birds continued to attack, gouging and slashing, and bursting the eyes of any Kavist they could. Agonised howls filled the square as blinded warriors fell to their knees while dropping their swords.
Despite the gore of it, the Kavist charge went on – if slowed. And amidst the advance, Kave’s priests desperately worked to finish their own castings to end the threat from above. Two of them in the command worked especially hard to provide such relief, chanting and praying while rubbing flints together from where they kneeled.
When the ravens ended one attack, those that escaped the swinging swords, fists, and grabbing hands of the Kavists launched themselves back into the air. They rushed to gain height, before turning about to dive back down and seek fresh eye-flesh.
After the savage fury, marked by their harsh screech and deep caw, some began to squawk in surprise. No longer did their call hold anger, now it began to ring out with fright.
Above the square, as they sought fresh victims, some of the birds began to smoulder and leave singed and flaming feathers to fall free. Before long, it wasn’t just a few birds so afflicted, but most of the flock. Their pained sounds became more panicked until they started to burst aflame. The squealing birds then fell as balls of fire to land with sickening thuds amidst a haze of stinking smoke and singed feathers.
Warriors swatted other birds off their comrades before stomping them dead. In moments, Kave’s priests had seen the ravens finished.
With their warriors now free, their mighty charge could resume.
Krienta’s priests braced themselves. They knew that this would be a test, their biggest test, of their character and faith’s truth.
The Kavists closed the gap.
And from that other realm, Kave also watched. He paid heed to his followers here, as he did to them everywhere, but only the most deserving would receive any more gifts. Ultimately, the skills of his followers would decide who won their battles, not endless favours.
In contrast, Krienta was a god worshipped by only one people, of one region, of one world. The Heletians revered him, but no one else. He didn’t just watch, he worked to see his followers win, lest this be the beginning of his undoing.
The Krientan priests stood in front of the Loyalists, the ordinary townsfolk poor in weapons and skills, but rich in faith. The Loyalist force seemed outdone, until, led by Anton, their priests uttered a second curse.
The Inquisitor called out from above, “Krienta, you have seen their souls and sampled their truths, now lend us your power to cripple the heretics amongst these fools!”
His priests spread their arms, as they cried out, “May the carriers of heresy be struck lame!”
And again Krienta listened.
The lead Kavists froze with their swords in mid-swing, while their roaring voices failed. Some stood posed like statues, others just slowed as if burdened by cold-bitten joints strung with weak muscles on age-weary frames.
Many Kavists escaped this latest curse to continue the advance, but soon discovered that their way lay blocked by their crippled brethren. The Kavists’battle cry, its roar halved by sickened throats, fell into confusion.
Some of Kave’s priests sought a divine solution to this latest trial, others raised their swords and called out fresh rally cries.
Emboldened by Krienta’s support, his priests moved on with their plan. Half of them drew knives and stepped forward to begin their bloody tasks, seeing them slash at exposed throats and stab at undefended hearts and bellies. In moments, the white robes of the Church of Baimiopia turned red.
The square spread half full of Krienta’s cursed, the Kavists too sickly to do anything but wait for the advance of his blood-drenched priests. There was hope for them though; their fellows were passing through the maze that their blighted bodies had created, and they came unaffected and free.
Krienta’s priests held knives and daggers, but were poor in the skills of wielding them. Having to face the swords of enraged Kavists was an unbalanced contest, yet they didn’t shy away from it.
Anton’s voice rolled out again, “And with their wilting bodies and sour souls, let their minds be fouled!”
And Krienta’s priests, those who’d stayed in place during the slaughter of the lame, cried, “May the heretics taste of lunacy’s flower!”
Again, desperate to win the day, lest this be the first defeat in a long line that would leave his people, church, and ultimately himself vanquished, Krienta granted the request.
Kave laughed at his divine rival’s desperation. He’d never so lower himself, besides the world held more than one battle this day; wars raged in far off places where the stakes were greater. He wished his followers well, but left them to prove themselves.
The advancing Kavists spilled through the tangle of their blind and lame brethren to cut into the Krientan priests, but again their charge was to be stilled. Some of their number slowed, seeming to be struck down like their fellows, but they hadn’t – they suffered a different fate.
Instead of taking ill and coming to a stop, the newly cursed kept moving, but stumbled and blundered. Some left trails of drool as they wandered, others groaned and mewled, while some simply sat down and trembled. A few dropped their weapons, while others cut at themselves. One poor wretch stabbed at a lame fellow’s back, as if trying to cut a way through.
Baruna and I came into the square near the opera house. We climbed the grand old building’s front steps and surveyed the terrible scene. This was the bleak world promised by Death, a world of blood and war detailed with carnage and decay.
The Kavists continued their advance, passing their cursed and wounded. Some of their fellows managed to shake off their blights, only to reach for their dropped weapons and croak out renewed battle cries.
Left as it was, the Kavists would win through skill and numbers.
But it wasn’t to be left.
To balance the Kavist advance, more and more of the pious Heletians pushed past their priests’ breaking line. They charged with whatever weapons they had to hand, but also armed with faith and determination.
Already the cobbles lay thick with bodies and gore.
Blood and more blood…
Strangely, crowds gathered at the edges of the square to watch the macabre spectacle. Before long, some of their number also joined in.
Bloody chaos, and it only deepened…
Standing there with Baruna, I realised that it was the city that stood forsaken and not me. They just couldn’t see it. Even in the confusion of battle, people kept away from me.
They were crazy!
And above it all Anton watched.
Surprisingly, I could read his feelings. Like mine, they ran strong right now, making them difficult to shield. He’d also had enough of the fighting, but for so many different reasons.
He wanted it finished; not just the battle, but the whole uprising. The disgust on his face for the Kavists and Reformers was plain. He wanted them crushed, it setting his anger to burn and flare.
He cried into the celestial, “Enough!”
And I could feel him gather power as he bound it with his rage. He asked of Krienta a mighty blessing, and his god, so desperate to hold Ossard, gave him what he wanted.
His power deepened, then doubled, and then began to surge as though Krienta himself touched the Inquisitor.
Baruna looked to me with nervous eyes, her calm shaken. “I can feel something, something coming, something woven of shadow, anger, and fear.”
She wasn’t alone, many in the square also began to look about with unease.
The very air began to chill and become brittle, as if haunted by Death’s stale breath. The tension rose as more and more people stopped fighting to focus on a threat they felt, yet that remained unseen.
Nervous, Baruna shifted beside me, so I reached out to take her hand. Before they met, the gap between them blazed into life with a fat and flaring spark. She started, but I grabbed her hand.
I whispered, “Please Schoperde, I’ll give anything to save these people from whatever doom stirs.”
Power began to gather in my soul, seeping through into my body as it came into our world. I worked to control it, wrestling with it while the air around me buzzed and snapped.
Baruna turned to me. “Please, you must stop him!”
But I barely heard. I was lost in my efforts to manage the power flooding into me.
For the briefest of moments, I risked a glance at Anton to see if he was close to finishing his task. I could see his spell gathering in the celestial, some kind of fiery coil, it rank with power.
I called, “The Inquisitor brings death, get out of the square!” and my voice rang out over a sea of people looking for a threat they felt, but couldn’t see.
The Inquisitor replied into my mind, “You can’t save them!”
He was probably right, but I had to try!
Seig Manheim stood at the heart of the bloodstained square, his torn battle colours hanging limp from the pole strapped to his back. He could also sense the strength of Anton’s casting, seeing him call, “Retreat! Get out of the square!”
The disbelief was plain on his warriors’ faces: They were of Kave and had the skills and numbers to fight. They could finish this, win it, and take the city. There was no need for flight!
“Get out!” he demanded, his voice booming.
While some wondered at his wisdom, his fellow priests worked at breaking the curses still plaguing so many of their brethren.
He bellowed, “Retreat!” and something close to fear edged his voice.
His tone saw others take up the call, while the alarm on his face washed away doubts.
I realised that he knew what was coming; he could read Anton’s casting.
All the while, the Reformers of the new saints kept pushing into the square at the Kavists’ rear. Unaware of the coming danger, they were blocking the Kavists’best line of retreat.
My eyes began to sting, my stomach knot, and my legs cramp. There was going to be much death here, too much.
I had to do something!
Anton commanded from his belltower, “Rally to your priests, the heretics run!”
And the Loyalists charged to attack the Kavists in their confusion.
Anton grinned from above as his eyes came aglow with power.
Baruna begged, “Do something!”
I lifted my arms as the font within me boiled. “The Inquisitor brings death, get out of the square!” This time my message was powered by the energy that filled me. I didn’t just think it or hear it, but felt it thrum through my heart, bones, and flesh.
In a moment, thousands of eyes locked onto me.
Someone yelled, “The Forsaken Lady cries doom!”
Seig and his priests bellowed, “Retreat!”
And Baruna called, “She’s trying to save you!”
Finally, the Reformers pushing into the square behind the Kavists began to slow and the first of them turned and fled.
Despite all that was happening, the Church’s Loyalists continued to fight on. Unknown to them, their priests fell back behind them to head for the Cathedral.
The Kavists were mostly caught between the Reformers and the Loyalists. They were never going to get away.
I called out, “This way!” repeating the message in the celestial.
And every Kavist heard me.
Those with no better choice ran for me. They forgot the jammed streets, the mobs, and their foes and fallen comrades; they just ran for the opera house.
I clicked my fingers on both hands.
A wind rose up as a sudden squall to gust across the square. It knocked people over and tore at banners, before blustering past to punch open the main doors of the opera house.
The first Kavists came sprinting up the steps followed by hundreds of others. Sef was amongst them. “Juvela, you must come inside!”
I shook my head. “Go!” And my perception was lost to him.
I searched the Inquisitor’s gathering power, trying to understand its weave.
What was it?
I held my hands out, my fingers tingling. I was about to begin casting, but I still didn’t know what to do to or how to protect us.
And then the Inquisitor finished brewing his magic.
His words spilled across the square like a mountain’s deep rumble to make the ground shake and draw dust from buildings, “May they be cleansed by your fury!”
Silence…
The smoke-heavy sky started to flare and spark, as though the night’s stars had come out early to discuss the bloody events below. The white and yellow lights only got brighter, their heat growing.
I looked closely, my perception straddling both worlds. Something was up there working to nurture it, whatever it was.
Angels!
Krienta’s winged servants laboured without question, using their sacred swords to cut into the very fabric of our world. They opened a tear between it and the third; the elemental.
What I could see was elemental fire!
The anger of that primal place boiled through, and from there it spilled to begin its long fall to the ground. It let out a chorus of fiery screams as it scorched the very air.
I had to hurry!
I still didn’t know what I was casting, but I could feel the beginnings of its power flow.
Someone in the square yelled, “A miracle!”
The falling fire wasn’t a divine gift, it wouldn’t know friend from foe. It would incinerate everybody.
The Kavists continued to flood past.
Baruna said, “We should get inside!”
“Go, Baruna, I’ve got to cast.”
She looked to the sky. “We need shelter!”
“Go, I have to see this through.”
My fingers stung as though pierced by nails. I could feel the power, it invisible, yet rushing out.
Again from the crowd, “A miracle!”
And then the rising scream of the falling fire drowned out everything else.
The Reformers were now retreating, some even running up the steps and into the opera house. Many others stood to stare skywards in bewilderment. About them lay hundreds of injured and a thousand dead.
Anton’s casting howled louder, its light now blazing brighter than the sun. Those still in the open no longer spoke of miracles, instead they finally began to turn and run.
Too late!
I flicked my fingers to see the opera house doors slam shut.
It was time to ignore those caught in the open, and to concentrate on my casting: Whatever I was going to do, I had to get it right.
Baruna whispered, “Sweet Mother!”
Then all I knew was blinding heat, hot enough to redden my skin and draw sweat to dampen my clothes. It was madness! The whole square was going to burn, thousands would die, and the heart of Ossard would be scorched!
My grandmother hissed, “Any time now, dear!”
Nasty bitch!
The air filled with the stink of sweat and singeing hair, while the clothes of those still trapped in the open began to smoulder. A searing wind came up to squall about, its gusting blast seeing me go from being wet with sweat to being as dry as the brittle pages of my grandmother’s tome.
Thinking of her, I whispered, “Time enough, indeed.” And the power that had been running through me burst out tenfold.
What had previously seemed like a strong flow had just been leakage, now the real magic began. It left me gasping: It was ecstasy, orgasm, and childbirth, and so much more.
My spine arched back as my arms were thrown out wide, and my fingers lost to sparking jets of blinding blue.
My grandmother’s voice sounded, its bitterness gone, “Control it, but don’t slow it; just push it out. If it hurts, push harder!”
And I did.
The square about us became cooler as the power flooded out from me. It raced for the heights of the surrounding buildings, working as it weaved something between them. Long strands became visible that reached across the square to form a kind of arched web. The strands kept growing thicker and more numerous, until they joined to dim the light and ease the heat.
Another fool cried, “A miracle!”
I wove my casting by forcing it this way and that. I yelled, “Get out of the square!” And then the power in me began to stumble.
The elemental fire still fell from above, but was now seen through a laced roof of deep blue ice.
The crowd responded to my words. They ran and crawled, and did what they could to escape. Through a haze of exhaustion, I realised that I’d accomplished something; I’d bought them time.
The flow of power through my aching fingers slowed, and then came at last to a stop. My back straightened, but my legs just wanted to drop me. I opened my mouth to reveal a swollen tongue overcome by an unbelievable thirst, as I rasped, “Elemental water.”
And the threads of the thick weave joined to turn into a roof of rippling liquid, its cool bulk haunted by great shards of ice.
The temperature in the square dropped, as did the glow and howl of the falling fire.
I grabbed Baruna, pulling her to one of the opera house’s columns. “Hold on!”
A thunderous boom sounded.
The elemental fire flashed a blinding yellow, forcing us to close our eyes.
The next moment, the air was replaced by water, not a solid flood, but a thick spray that seemed more liquid than not. It blasted past us to knock us off our feet, and went from cool, to warm, and briefly to hot. Just as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
The sound of running water filled the square. It ran from roofs, facades, and steps, seeking the gutters as it made its escape.
I let go of Baruna, and together we left our shelter behind the column to take in the scene.
Above us the sky was clear, just as the square before us spread almost washed clean. It sat sparkling in the afternoon sun, flooded in places, as rivulets flowed to drain it away.
People cautiously appeared from buildings, streets, and laneways about its edge, their eyes wide with wonder.
The tops of the taller buildings – the Cathedral’s two belltowers, the roof of the Malnobla, and the heights of the Turo – all stood blackened. The stark burns made it clear where my watery shield had ended.
Baruna looked to me and laughed with relief. I could only smile. She said, “What a wonder, you saved all of us!” And then she glanced over my shoulder.
I turned half expecting to see the beginnings of some new outrage, or hopefully Sef, but it was just a man.
The Heletian stood at my side and of a similar age to Baruna. His face lit up as we turned to him, it carrying the dark weathering of too much sun – or perhaps too much grief. “I’m Marco, Marco Cerraro, and I’d very much like to help you, as you alone seem to be working to save the people of the city.”
Joy shone in his eyes, the same kind of honest happiness that Baruna shared, yet for him I could see that it also battled a deep sadness. There and then, I knew that the troubles of the city had already touched him.
He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it, and the thrill of being alive raced through me. “Welcome Marco, I’m Juvela, and this is Baruna.”
He smiled as though my words were a balm.
Behind us, a young woman skipped through the square. “It’s a miracle! Saint Baimio’s tears have washed the city clean!” She trailed a streamer of the Inquisition’s black, navy, and gold behind her, as the depths of the receding waters began giving up the bodies they’d hidden.
I shook my head. “It’s time to leave.”