I shepherded Baruna, Marco, and the others across the meandering waters of the river. It was surprisingly easy. I offered to vouch for the Heletians amongst them, but the Flet ferrymen were happy enough to take them – for a fee. To get them across took a while as their numbers had again grown. By the time we’d finished it was dark, but at least we were home.
We returned to find the district celebrating. The streets about the river were busy with people, many dancing, laughing, and drinking by the flaring and ruddy light of the city-side fires. People cheered the blazes as they did each departing boatload of warriors crossing to join the fight.
It was sickening.
These weren’t my people, not those who could revel in such misery and death. I turned my back on them in shame only to find myself facing Baruna, Marco, and the others.
I realised that these were my people. They were the ones seeking peace, not the blood-lusting fanatics and opportunists fighting over the ruins of Market Square, or the cruel people behind me who claimed loyalty through a coincidence of common heritage. My people stood before me; those loyal to life for its own miraculous sake.
Baruna asked, “What of your family?”
While I’d not found any trace of Maria and Pedro, the day’s events had left me exhausted. I needed to rest.
I looked to those gathered, and for the first time I saw them in both this world and the next. They shone before me, their pure souls flaring, all good people caught in a tainted and dying place. About us raged flames, hate, and madness, yet between us nested hope.
An unusual green light sparkled within them, almost hidden away in the depths of their souls. I noticed it also shone out from my own, pulsing like a heartbeat. Seeing it in the dark void of the celestial, a place normally disturbed only by blues, violets, and life-lights of white, made me realise how unique we were.
We did have a link, a common purpose…
I smiled. “We have to get you settled, all of you.”
Their faces lit up, and to my surprise I realised that many of them were also confused as to why they followed me.
I continued, “We’ll go to my home where there’ll be room for all, though it will be cramped. Once there we can prepare for what comes next.”
Relief flooded their faces. They were glad to have direction amidst Ossard’s chaos. Beside me, Baruna and Marco grinned.
A young man called out, “Please my Lady, what does come next?”
It was a good question, and left me only too aware of their eyes upon me. I began unsure of what to say, but with an intention of only sharing the truth. “I won’t give you false comfort, for the upheaval about us is only the first flicker of the flames to come. Doom is approaching; the very fall of Ossard. You can either join the madness or turn from it. The fall’s hunger for power and death surrounds us, but what of peace and life? That’s what I seek. If Ossard can’t host them then the city is twice damned and I’ll leave.”
He asked, “Where will we go?”
“There is a place where we’ll find sanctuary, and from there we’ll look for an opportunity to stop our home’s final fall.”
Hope sparkled in their eyes and smiles settled on their faces. They were reassured, and with that reassurance came a strengthening of their feelings towards me: They had faith.
Two thirds of those following me were Heletian, seeing me wonder if they’d be safe in Newbank when it spread so aroused. I hoped so. “Please follow close, we’ll talk more when we reach home.”
They nodded and left me to lead the way.
We got to my home to find it secure and quiet. I unlocked the door and led them in, directing them through to the courtyard; it was the only place I’d be able to talk to all of them when gathered. I hadn’t counted, but I guessed that they now numbered about two score or more.
A voice exclaimed from the kitchen, “What’s all this?” It was Sef.
I laughed as I got Baruna to lead on the others, telling her, “Kurt’s in the stables, tell him you’re my guests.” I rushed into the kitchen to find Sef standing over the cooking fire where he tended a stew.
He smiled, but gestured to the parade of silhouettes passing behind me. “What’s going on?”
“They followed me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It started at the square.”
“One of them was with you at the opera house?”
“Yes, Baruna. I’ve asked nothing of them, and they just want to follow me – ever since my casting.”
“Yes, the casting…” he sounded troubled.
“What’s wrong?”
“Didn’t you sense it?”
“Sense what?”
“The strangeness of the casting, of the blessing Schoperde gave you?”
“I don’t know what you mean?” But my doubts began to stir.
“Well…” he began, but his voice faded as he looked over my shoulder.
I turned to find Marco.
He said, “They’re gathered.”
“I’ll be out soon.”
He left, so I turned back to Sef. “What?”
The Kavist stepped forward and placed his hands on my shoulders as he met my gaze. “Juvela, for a while you thought you were to be a witch like your grandmother, today you thought you were a daughter of Schoperde, but now I suggest that you are in fact something else.”
I began shaking my head from side to side as I stepped back and pushed his hands away. “Sef, I am of Schoperde. I handled her blessings. I know that I’ve never known a lot of her or been particularly devout, but today I felt her grace!”
“Juvela, I don’t doubt you felt something. She’s a god, the god of life, and the one who also oversees the birth of new deities.”
I tensed as my apprehension grew. “What are you saying?”
His eyes sparkled as the big Flet struggled to hold back tears. “Juvela, someone has to shepherd in the new.”
“But I feel a link to her!”
“Juvela, I’m just a mortal priest, but you’re an avatar; the seed of a god yet to be born. You know that and so do I. Your soul is too old, textured, and layered for it to be anything else. It’s strong, so strong that none in this city who’d have reason to harm you prior to your awakening have been able to.”
“But Schoperde gave me the means to save all those people?”
“Your blessing did save many, and it was good and pure, but it wasn’t of Schoperde.”
I shook my head in anger at these new questions and the confusion they brought. “If not of Schoperde, then who?”
“You.”
I was a god?
He went on, “Sweet Juvela, your soul’s awakening. Now and in this life-time you’re going from an avatar to the divine!”
I snapped, “Stop it! I’m sick of this! And in the end what does it matter?”
He dropped to his knees in front of me. “Juvela, think of it: The city is dying, just like cities have died before amidst upheaval and bloody chaos – and from the greatest of those ruins always have arisen new gods.”
I shook my head in disbelief at the connection he was making. “Are you saying that people are dying because of me?”
“No! I’m saying that when cities the size of Ossard, cities rich in souls, fall, that it can uplift avatars to see them awakened into godhood. Who knows how many avatars walk the world, but right now you’re the strongest in Ossard. During the coming soul harvest, when all that gathered power begins overflowing, it’s going to find you.”
I was horrified at the very notion.
He went on, “Look at the Heletians’second god, Saint Baimio…”
I laughed, a harsh sound in my upset. “The Heletians only have one god, Krienta!”
“Yes, they don’t call Baimio a god because of their dogma, they call him a saint, but they raise him above all others by naming him the son of Krienta, their creator. Well, once he was mortal. We’ve heard their Church’s tales, and not all of them are lies. He came into his power during the fall of Bar-Mor, the mountain city of the giants.”
Was he comparing me to Saint Baimio? “Sef, this is crazy…”
“And the gargoyle god of Dorloth, she arose from the fall of Quersic Quor of the Lae Velsanan’s Second Dominion of Kalraith.”
“Sef, this is too much! Some of what you say makes sense, but linking it to me? I don’t want to be a part of it. You’re saying that I’m going to profit from the death of the city.”
“I’m not saying you’re responsible. I’m just saying that as an avatar all that’s going on in the city might see you awakened.”
“No, it can’t be true!”
“Look at the people who’ve followed you here. Look at me!”
“What do you mean?”
“Juvela, I’m a priest of Kave with my soul and service vowed to him, yet here I am serving you! I want to. No, I need to! To be here to help, to see you through this.”
“I don’t need your help,” my voice broke as I spoke, disturbed by my surging emotions. Was I having such an effect on people? What a sickening thought, yet the courtyard stood full of proof.
He shook his head, “Juvela, you must understand; myself and those in the courtyard follow you because our souls demand it. Your mere presence has broken our old allegiances and replaced them with something new.”
I was frightened by his words – and that they stank of an uncomfortable truth.
Damn it, what did it matter?
What mattered was that the good people in Ossard survived the coming turmoil – and we had more chance of doing it together. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. “I’m changed, it’s true, but all I can say is that I’ll try to do the right thing. I’ve heard you, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
He nodded and got back to his feet as he gave me a grin.
I hugged him, sensing his love and devotion. Those feelings had been a part of my life for so long. They gave me courage as they flooded me with reassurance. I giggled, for a moment again that little girl who loved his stories of adventure and his bawdy songs.
He chuckled and said, “You should go to them now.”
I nodded and turned for the courtyard. Despite the moment of warmth, it seeped away as quickly as it had come, dragged under by thoughts of a city dying so that I might be a god.
They waited in silence, some standing around the edge of the courtyard while others sat on the cobbles. Kurt was amongst them. He gave me a knowing smile and a quick nod.
I walked to the centre of the yard, it ruddily lit by the flaring amber glow reflected from the pall hanging above. Again I hadn’t planned what to say, but this wasn’t a time for flowery speeches.
I looked about at their faces, taking confidence in their souls’pure taste. Whatever I might be, at least I knew that these people were good and true. Finally my gaze came to rest on Sef where he stood in a doorway. I said, “I want to welcome you to my home, though it seems we’ve already outgrown it.”
Some of them laughed.
“I want to speak to you of many things, but one foremost: Of working to keep each other safe in a city falling apart…”
I talked to them for a good while, including some of what Felmaradis had told me in hushed Flet. As I spoke others joined us, shown in by Sef. Where they came from I didn’t know, yet their purity also shone through.
It was the beginning of something; it was undeniable.
There was good left in the city, maybe not enough to save it, but certainly enough worth saving.
I spent the next part of the evening organising the household to cope with so many guests. The arrangements were temporary and we all knew it. One way or another we wouldn’t be here in a few more nights, for in time Newbank would also be consumed by the fighting.
Before long bedrooms became dormitories, along with storerooms, and much of the living space. The kitchen bustled with the making of bread and the stewing of broth to serve close to a hundred. The cellar was emptied and aired, and then prepared as a serving space for meals. Only the stables remained free on the far side of the courtyard. If I had to, I’d give them over for more sleeping space, but for now I planned to use them as a store for what we gathered for our escape.
Amongst all this activity I watched two Heletians struggle to lift a heavy chest; one stumbled as they carried it, seeing them drop it after only a few steps. It fell to the wooden floor with a great crash to leave a gouge across the boards. Mortified, the men cried out.
I forced a smile and told them not to worry. Inwardly I shuddered as I thought of what Pedro would’ve said. Still, my husband’s biggest stir wouldn’t come of scratches on the floor or from scores of strange guests; it would be because of the changes wrought in me, and my unexpected fate.
People settled in as best they could as I retreated to the only sanctuary that remained, my bedroom. I asked for Baruna, Marco, and Sef to join me. There was still much to discuss.
As we gathered, I said, “Please sit.” And gestured to the bed.
Sef and Marco hesitated with embarrassment.
I laughed. “I think we’re beyond polite niceties, please, there’s nowhere else for us to speak.” The two men looked to each other before finally sitting down. In the meantime I pulled across a stool for Baruna. She gestured for me to take it, but I waved her offer away. I felt the need to pace.
Sef said, “So where do we begin?”
I looked from him to Baruna and Marco. “Well, we’ve all met this day, but neither Sef nor I know much about yourselves. Why don’t you share with us how you came to be here?”
Shyly, Baruna looked to each of us, her nerves showing.
Marco offered, “I’ll go first if you’d like?”
Baruna shook her head. “Please, I need to tell my story, and now that I’m given the chance I feel I have to grab it.”
Marco nodded.
She took a deep breath. “My life started simply enough. I was raised by my family, large and loving, deep in the valleys where we lived in a poor farming hamlet.” And her eyes softened along with her nerves. “You know the sort, it struggling on amidst the ruins of an old and abandoned mining town. There wasn’t a lot of good land up that way, just slivers alongside the river, but it was enough. Besides, those abandoned towns might have run out of silver and been poor in farmland, but they’re still rich in one thing; well-crafted buildings. Mining towns grow quickly and die faster, but while they live their hearts know how to beat. Those old stone halls, taverns, and merchant houses just sit there waiting for families to come and warm them.
“When my family arrived there a few generations back they managed to settle into one of the larger buildings that needed some work. It was a great home, solid against the valley winters, and one envied by many of our neighbours after we’d re-roofed and mended it.
“It’s much the same across the Northcountry; hundreds of poor farming villages, some born-again mining settlements, and a few small towns – all there to serve this city’s hungry markets.”
She smiled with her memories. “Growing up in such a place, in our big stone hall, surrounded by terraced fields while tending our goats was a blessing.”
She paused to look at each of us, her eyes now sharp; she was going to share her pain. “But, it ended.
“One summer, my grandmother took sick with a fever, it wasted her body and filled her lungs. She died after a long season of agony, one where the sickness seemed to peak and then fade, only to come back stronger before finally dragging her away. Yet the fever hadn’t finished with us. My twin brothers and mother also fell ill. They tried to fight it off, but also failed. It left my father, a brother, and myself to bury them.
“We couldn’t handle our land, not when we were down four sets of hands. It became a struggle, one that drained us. All the while our neighbours, who might have otherwise helped, had begun to shy away; the local priest had spread rumours about us.”
I asked, “What did he say?”
“He said my grandmother dabbled in the old ways, in green witchery. He even suggested that she’d ruled over our household and conducted rituals to win our family favour.”
Sef cursed; as Flets in Ossard we’d all seen the hard face of the Church.
Baruna said, “Some of our friends told us of his words – and others.”
“What others?” I asked.
“Our home had an unused wing that we’d walled off inside its wide and high roofed frame. It was huge, almost like a small noble’s house, and the most impressive building in the village. Some said the priest wanted it to use as a new home, and the vacant wing as a church.”
Marco said, “There was a time when I’d thought the men of Krienta were noble and just…”
Baruna snapped, but not at Marco, “Noble and just? Our priest stood as a dishonourable man. He managed to have three sons despite his vow of celibacy, all to a Flet woman who lived not as his wife, but as his slave. He offered us no help or comfort, just threats of damnation!” She stopped to calm herself.
“We relinquished some of our fields and sold some of our goats, yet we still struggled from chill dawn to cold mountain dusk.” She shook her head, her eyes glinting. Tears built there, getting ready to run.
Taking a deep breath, she continued, “A season later, when we’d settled into a new routine, my younger brother also came down sick.”
Marco sighed, but he wasn’t alone.
I asked, “The same fever?”
“Yes.”
Sef shook his head.
“It got worse. My brother died not long after, leaving my father and myself behind. The morning after we buried him, my father awoke with a chill, and by sunset was burdened by the same fever.
“The priest offered no comfort, only more whispered words of dark curses and that he’d long suspected my grandmother of heresy.
“My father’s sickness progressed quickly. He was dying, taxed by trying to manage our farm and broken by grief. A few days before the end, the priest came into our home saying it was important for my father’s salvation that he be close.
“While he waited for my father to die, he counted our goats and checked over our fields. He made me cook for him, only to berate what I served and anything else I did. Finally, as my father lost his mind to the fever over one long, last night, the priest dared sit between him and me and slide his hand into my blouse. He told me he’d need to check me for corruption.” She looked to me, fierce in her anger. “I hated him!
“Father died to leave me in a home I couldn’t hope to hold. The priest never left, and his sons settled themselves in before my father was even buried. I awoke the next night to find his eldest on top of me, trying to get me with child. Through my struggles I landed a knee to his manhood, giving me a chance to flee, so I fetched my family’s hidden savings and took to the road.
“I had enough coin to get to the city and try and make my way, but it wasn’t easy. Once here, people saw me as young, unmarried, and without family, thinking me a thief, whore, or runaway. They never understood or believed what had happened, and never showed any interest in wanting to. So many years have passed since then that I’ve now spent as much time in Ossard as in the valleys, yet I’m still mostly alone.
“That’s the way things have gone, with me doing odd jobs to earn coin and get by. Until I saw you.” She looked to me. “Straight away I felt some kind of kinship, like you were alone too.” She fell into an embarrassed silence.
I stepped across to be beside her, putting a hand to her shoulder to offer what comfort I could. As my hand touched her, power began to flow. It passed from my soul, through my body, and into her own. The feeling made me giddy.
She smiled. A look of contentment came across her face, as if she’d slid into a warm and perfumed bath on the coldest of winter days.
I patted her shoulder again in wonder at what had just happened.
From Baruna came a feeling of thanks and trust. She had faith in me, in my care and compassion.
Marco and Sef both whispered their own thanks for sharing her tale.
She smiled anew, it something shy at first, but blooming with her natural beauty. I could also feel her spirit lighten, it euphoric with relief. Most of all she revelled in the knowledge that such lonely days were over.
I said, “Thanks, Baruna, the more we understand each other the better we can work together.” I turned to Marco. “And you, Marco, tell us how you came to be here?”
He looked about the room, his shoulders tensing as he gathered his thoughts. He began quietly, “I’ve lived all my life in Ossard, but also travelled much of the Northcountry as a child. My father was a merchant dealing in silks, cloth, and leathers, which he sold from the back of his cart. While he had some coin it was never enough to stop the valley rounds. He worked hard, but was always too ready to help a friend or do a special deal on a bolt for a needy widow or new bride. In the end, he was a generous man, but no Merchant Prince.” Marco looked to Baruna. “We went everywhere, so I imagine we passed through your valley and perhaps your village.”
Her eyes showed shadow as she remembered her home. “Minehead it is. A place that births such memories is never known by a good name.”
Sef laughed, a hard and rough sound. “You’re so right! Have you ever heard of ill tidings from Paradise? It’s always the gloom of fever in Minehead, the failing of the Second Dominion of Kalraith centred in Quersic Quor, or the fall of the city-state of Ossard – also known as the Whore.”
I gave a grim smile. “It’s true, isn’t it, there’s strength in names.”
Baruna added, “And power.”
I nodded. “Yes, but let’s get back to Marco, for we can’t let Baruna’s woe hang idle.“
He smiled, but it was weak.
“I’m sorry, I‘m not jesting at your expense, but so all of us can share our burdens.” I leaned forward to put a hand to his shoulder, and something passed from me to him. It was like when I’d touched Baruna.
What was happening here?
His smile filled out; he’d also felt it.
He looked up and nodded, yet waiting tears made his eyes sparkle. “Let me finish, for my story also holds something of use.”
We all nodded.
“We often travelled the length of the deep valleys, and as a young boy I used to love playing in the abandoned mining towns. I’ve seen many such places, most of them far inland and closer to the heart of the mountains. Those are of no help to us…”
I wondered at what he was saying, but then remembered Felmaradis’suggestion.
“…they’re all too cold in winter and far away. Without good preparation such a trek would be the death of us, still not all of the ruins are found in the interior’s high valleys. I can remember the roads we took and that some abandoned towns lay in the lowlands. There are four such ruins in the valleys to the north; three nestled amongst rolling hills, and the last a strange place half drowned on the coast.”
Sef asked, “Strange in what way?”
“The buildings, or what’s left of them; they’re solid and huge, and have room to shelter hundreds upon hundreds. The local shepherds keep clear of them because they believe that they’re haunted. My father wasn’t so cowed, instead he was fascinated – as were my brother and I.
“We’d camp there whenever our rounds took us near. Father thought that the ruin was old and crafted well before the silver rush and even the birth of this city. He was certain that it wasn’t worked by Heletian hands.”
Sef raised an eyebrow. “Then who?”
“My father thought that they were Lae Velsanan ruins, perhaps a fort from one of their fallen dominions. You see, the steps, windows, and doorways were all usable, but oversized for people like you and me.”
The story was intriguing. I was also certain that he was talking about the same site Felmaradis had suggested.
Marco continued, “Only a few shepherds live on those wind-blasted hills with little protection from the squalls that blow in from the sea. Anyway, we can talk more of it later.”
And we would; it sounded interesting.
Marco went on, “I had a good childhood. I helped my father on his rounds and was happy. Eventually I left his business to him and my older brother, knowing that my sibling planned to fill it with his own children.
“I went on to work as a tailor, and sometimes even as a merchant myself. I made some coin, never much, but enough, and then I met someone and fell in love.” And a tear slipped from his eye.
“That was Atalia, a lovely woman, and one who tried so hard to keep me happy.” He shook his head. “Well, we married and built our lives together, and then waited for the coming of children to complete our family.
“That wait went on, stretching through the seasons and into the years. It left us with nothing to show for it despite all our love and efforts. Our local priest offered to pray with us and happily took our coin in return for blessings, but in the end, after spending a small fortune, we still had nothing but our unfulfilled dreams.
“We resigned ourselves to our fate, but then she…” and his voice broke, only to return hoarse a moment later, “…but then she told me that she was expecting.” His hands trembled in his lap.
“She seemed so well as she carried through that first season. She’d had some sickness, but she took herbs for it and used balms on her spreading skin…” he stopped again as his words trailed off. After a deep breath he said, “I’d never known such happiness, yet my feelings were eclipsed the day she took my hand and put it to her belly so I could feel our babe kick.” He shook his head in wonder.
“Our neighbours, a young couple, also came to be expecting. So, as is the way of things, her husband and I talked of raising sons while the women talked of daughters. Amidst the chat of babies and such my wife shared some of her balms and a brew for morning sickness, something she’d bought in the port from an Evoran herbalist.
“Alas, for their household, it wasn’t to be. After only a season the babe slipped from our neighbour’s womb. It made things awkward between us.
“For Atalia and I, all seemed well until five days ago. My wife had begun to have dreams, strange dreams, dreams that showed her a sanctuary that was unknown to her. She told me of it even though we both thought it just some sort of fancy. She described it as a gorge with its sides greened by ledges that stepped down into the soil’s depths. More greenery could be found about a beautiful pool at the bottom, something bubbling with mist and heat.” He looked at us as he shook his head. “I’m not doing it justice, she made it sound wonderful.”
I stared at him, all the while trying to soften my gaze.
How’d his wife shared my dream, for I needed to hear no more to know that she’d seen the same fern-forested place?
Sef asked, “And then the city began to give into chaos?”
He nodded. “Our home and our lives seemed peaceful enough despite the changes swirling about. Whispers of the new saints came, of course, then the extra kidnappings, and then the arrival of the Inquisition. Through it all our home remained a place of calm.” He looked to me and said, “We were in the square when your husband and daughter were taken. We saw it, all of it, and cried out and mourned with the crowd.”
I nodded, but kept quiet, not wanting my own misfortune to distract from his recount.
“That night we went home as the criers declared the Inquisitor our saviour, yet sleep came hard, but not just because of the chaos: It was Atalia, she was restless and close to birthing. Still, eventually, we both drifted off.
“I awoke not long before dawn to find the city quiet and Atalia dozing, but later she began to stir. She seemed upset, telling me of another dream she’d just had, insisting we needed to leave Ossard and that the only safe road would be through Newbank. She said that it had something to do with that poor lady, the Flet on the balcony who’d lost her family.
“I began to wonder if she was unwell as she just wasn’t making any sense. And that’s when it happened…” Tears began to run down his cheeks.
We waited.
“The front door smashed open, it startling us against the silence of the night. I jumped out of bed to find the front room filling with men, too many to stop. Three of them grabbed me and pinned me against the wall. I called out a warning to Atalia, but I was too late; they’d already found her.
“The men who had me stared with blank faces, but I could see hate in their eyes. I asked what they wanted, but they wouldn’t answer me.
“A man yelled at my beloved, so I began to struggle, causing them to beat me until I blacked out. I roused on the floor to the sounds of the same man, his voice hard as he spat his venomous charge; witch!”
Marco took a deep breath as he wiped at his tears. “I could hear Atalia cry out for me, and I answered that I was there, yet the man’s charge kept ringing in my ears.”
Witch!
“With the Inquisition in the city, we both knew what that would mean.
“I began to beg, calling out that she was innocent and heavy with child. Finally, one of the men watching over me hissed of witnesses. I turned to see our childless neighbours standing outside in the street, lit like shades in the dim grey before dawn.
“Atalia screamed afresh, making me struggle anew. I watched a man stride out of our room, past me, and into the street. He opened a leather pouch and showed it to our neighbours; on seeing it they nodded. He turned back to the house and called; we have it! It was Atalia’s balms and herbs.
“Atalia was led out and past me, towards the door. Grazes marked her body and tears her face, but they were nothing compared to the fear in her eyes. They had a gag about her mouth, and behind it a clove of garlic.”
Garlic; many believed it could break a witch’s spells.
“I cried out that she was innocent and had done nothing wrong, yet all they did was beat me again until I blacked out.”
He sat there and looked to each of us. “That was the last time I saw her alive.”
Sef said, “Maybe she’s alright. She could be locked up somewhere, perhaps in the Turo?”
Marco shook his head. “No, I found her later that morning. She was tied to a stake in Market Square, burning along with half a dozen others. She was already dead.”
The three of us sat in appalled silence.
His seemed accepting, but he’d barely had time to come to terms with Atalia’s death. He added, “It’s a sad story, and only finished by me telling you that I returned home to find it looted and burning. My neighbours chased me away, cursing me and the bad luck I’d brought them.”
“Bad luck?” I asked.
He nodded. “At first I thought they spoke of their own lost babe, but there was more to their taunts.”
“What?”
“Something about a sickness.”
I looked to Sef. “Kurgar spoke of a rising sickness?”
Sef nodded.
Marco added, “They claimed it was from the new saints, and that only the Loyalists were falling ill with it.”
Poor Marco, I felt for him. I’d suffered and still went on suffering, but Marco’s wife and dreams of family were well and truly dead.
I stepped close to him and put my hand on his shoulder. Again something flowed between us, a kind of transfer of power. I could feel it, it running from me to him, yet it also left me sated.
He smiled as his tears stopped, and then he whispered, “Thank you for your blessing.”
I stood back trying to ignore the reverence in his eyes, but it was a look shared by Baruna and Sef.
This was too much…
Looking for a distraction, I grabbed at the first thing to come to mind. “Thanks for sharing your story, Marco.”
He gave a grateful nod.
“We’ve all suffered, it’s true, and we need to protect ourselves and any who join us from the coming chaos and perhaps even the rise of plague. I also need to find Maria and Pedro – I’ll not leave the city without them.”
They agreed.
I went on, “It seems that to be safe from both plague and madness we have to leave Ossard. While that’s unpalatable, it makes the question; where should we go?”
Marco nodded. “The ruins I spoke of.”
And I agreed, “Call it fate or coincidence, but Marco’s ruins have suggested themselves…”
Sef stopped me. “Hang on, we’ve only just heard about them. There are countless abandoned villages and towns across the Northcountry, how can we be certain that this is the best place to go?”
I had no trouble answering him, “Sef, while you were with your Kavist brethren this afternoon, I saw the Lae Velsanan officer again in port. His name is Felmaradis Jenn, and he spoke of what sounds to be the same ruin. It’s too much of a coincidence. If Marco thinks it’s a good place to shelter then I’d be prepared to go and have a look, but having also agreed to meet Felmaradis there a season from now seals it.”
“Can you trust him?” Sef asked.
What he meant was; have you forgotten that he’s Lae Velsanan?
“I trust him. He’s good-souled if complicated, and in truth a mystery.”
“How so?”
“He’s comfortable with me and Flets in general. At one point he even spoke in fluent Flet.”
Sef raised an eyebrow. “He is a mystery then, unless he learnt it on some sprawling estate from a downtrodden slave.”
“Sef, he was fluent and without accent. He’s a natural. That’s not the hallmark of someone who’s learnt a language just to order about slaves. If you want me to accept one thing, then I ask you to accept another. There’s something about him, something honest and powerful, and he says he’ll return to the ruins in a season to help.”
Sef nodded, and while he was intrigued, an air of reluctance haunted him.
Marco said, “It’s been years since I travelled those roads, but they were good enough back then. In fair weather it was a day’s walk up the Cassaro, then a day’s zigzagging climb up the valley-slopes and over into the neighbouring sound, and from there a day east along the sound’s shore, and then you follow it round for half a day.”
Sef asked, “Three and a half days?”
Marco nodded. “By foot.”
“And food?” I asked, “How do we feed a couple of dozen when we’re fleeing a doomed city?”
Sef said, “Juvela, it’s not that we shouldn’t plan and work towards it, but we will be able to feed them. We take what we can, mainly grains and root vegetables, foods that will keep. We’ll also take some seed and livestock and buy more from the farming hamlets along the way.” And then he smiled.
And gave me comfort.
He was right. It would work out, and not because we left it to fate, but because we’d look for opportunities along the way. We’d settle ourselves down and wait for Felmaradis, and in the meantime we’d make the most of whatever presented itself.
The city was doomed and we all knew it, if not by strife, then by cult ritual, or rising plague. We needed to get out.
“Well, let’s get organised. Let’s talk to some of the Flets downstairs who know Newbank well enough to round up some carts and food. We’ll also need water, blankets, and so much more. We have to be able to move, and quickly.”
They agreed and left me.
From the celestial, I could hear my grandmother stir, a mournful sound. I slipped between worlds. “What’s wrong?”
She stood there, her eyes lit by the flames that had claimed her, and thankfully naked of her halo of skulls. “Such sad stories.”
I nodded, almost overcome by a rising sense of grief.
Why did the world have to be such a hard place?
I said, “It’s terrible what they’ve gone through, and poor Marco so recently bereaved.”
She answered, “Yes, poor Atalia. At least she knew that he loved her and never harboured any doubts. Even their daughter, unborn and unnamed, knew of their love for each other.”
A daughter…
Hot tears marked my cheeks.
My grandmother shared my grief, yet something menacing stirred in the void nearby.
She said, “Juvela, I have Atalia here, and she wishes to see you.”
And another form stepped forward.
She was spectral like my grandmother and painted in wisps of blue. She had a thin face and long hair, and in her arms she cradled a plump babe, her unnamed daughter.
“Atalia?”
She curtsied, her eyes shining with pleasure – or was it the spark of her own murderous fire? I also sensed the stink of smoke and noticed her daughter’s shawl was woven from it.
I asked, “Should I tell Marco? I could bring him here.”
Grandmother said, “I think it’s best he doesn’t know, at least not for now.”
Atalia, all aglow in spectral blue, reluctantly nodded.
Grandmother said, “Don’t worry, Juvela, you’ll find your own family. I haven’t seen them pass this way.”
Her words strengthened me.
She went on, “Your hope and compassion are strong things, they’re your things. Use them.”
“Thank you. I should go now, I have so much to do.”
They nodded.
I began to shift my perception back as I moved between worlds.
And at the same time, that lingering sense that something watched us grew, as if it circled and was about to pounce.
Grandmother gasped.
I paused in my leaving.
And the sparkling fires in her eyes dimmed to become the dark pits that had marred her the first time we’d met. When they finished deepening, as if on cue, the halo of skulls sprang out from behind her.
Atalia and her babe faded away, yet I noticed that their skulls remained. I could see them as I left that world, anchored to my grandmother and also enslaved to her fate.
I left the celestial.