I awoke in a cell, a place seemingly built of the cold and the dark. Before long I came to my senses enough to discover there wasn’t much more to it; just three stonewalls, a matching floor, and a run of rough iron bars. A passage beyond held the only light that dared illuminate the dim world I’d entered. Out there the glow of a candle flickered in a silence so complete that I could hear its wick choking on the cheap tallow that fuelled it.
I lay on my stomach as I tried to rally the strength to rise. My head hurt, it heavy and hazed, and my vision spun every time I blinked.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
With a deep breath, I began to move to sit up.
It didn’t happen. Just tensing my muscles earned me a feeling of nausea strong and almost complete. It convinced me that the chilling stones of the floor were comfortable enough for now, or so I thought – my movement had been noticed.
A Heletian man said, “She’s awake, send word.”
The sound of footsteps drifted away.
The nausea also waned, for my senses had found something else to distract them.
Something small hit my back, and again, and then another. Each impact, not uncomfortable or hard, came with the sound of a dry pitter patter. Whatever was hitting me was bouncing off to roll along the floor. A scent filled the air. I knew it. Even through my haze I made the connection.
Garlic?
A tense voice asked, “Are you sure this stuff will work?”
“Aren’t you?”
Nervous laughter.
The first voice said, “Don’t worry, he’ll be here soon. He’s been after her for a while, and you know how particular he is. He wouldn’t leave her in our care if he thought she’d get away.”
The Inquisitor?
“Yeah, but she’s a witch…”
So, it was the Inquisitor.
“…how’d we know she won’t just break the bars and walk out of here?”
“We’ll stop her with this.”
And another clove of garlic hit me on the shoulder before landing by my ear.
Pitter patter…
“You’ve heard how they talk about her. They’re frightened. They think she’s dangerous. I heard one of them call her a soul-eater!”
Pitter patter…
More garlic rained down. They were really beginning to irritate me.
Pitter patter…
“He’ll be here soon. If this stuff can’t stop her, at least he can.”
Silence…
…almost.
Pitter patter…
And my mind began to rise above its fog and find focus.
I really didn’t have time for this.
Again, so close to my family, only to have the opportunity stolen away – and this time by idiots.
Pitter patter…
With a clearing but aching mind, I passed into the celestial to spy on their souls.
Pitter patter…
Nearby, a heavy door groaned open, the sound followed by the stomp of several sets of booted feet.
I stilled my celestial work, but left my perception there, for at the same time that other world began to fill with a rising sense of menace.
In that cold void my grandmother roused. Her dark eyes dominated her sneering face, all of it surrounded by her skull halo. She hissed, “The bastard!”
Finally, I came to understand why her help had been so sporadic: She was a split person, a person of two halves, and such anger in her could only be caused by the arrival of one man.
His stern voice rang out in the real world, so I let my perception return. “Juvela Liberigo, I want to talk to you.” It was Inquisitor Anton.
The barred door to the cell squealed as it swung open. Rough hands then picked me up to stand me in front of him. The sudden movement made me gag, but none of the five men present seemed to care.
He stood there and held a wooden cup to my lips. “Drink, it’ll settle your stomach after the Moonroot.” And he tipped it to pour its liquid into my mouth. It was light and tasted of cinnamon.
“Can you walk?”
I nodded.
“Come then.” And he looked to the garlic scattered about the floor, and then with disdain at the guards. “Help her.”
By the time we rose out of the dark cellar my head had begun to clear and my stomach eased. Soon, after three staircases, we stood in a wood-panelled room with a curtained window; it was Lord Liberigo’s office.
The guards helped me into a chair while two goblets appeared on the desk in front.
Anton said, “The wooden goblet has more of the elixir, the other holds watered wine.”
He leaned back against the desk as he looked over my shoulder to the guards behind me. “Leave us.” A moment later I heard the door close.
“The elixir will free you up to cast again. Moonroot has many properties, and one is to stifle the flow of power from the celestial into this world. It will let you look into that other realm, but can confuse what you see. Even now, after you’ve had the elixir, it can for a good while afterwards befuddle your attempts to manipulate power.”
I nodded.
“Speaking of which, you’ve become quite strong.”
I slurred a little, my voice hoarse, “Not strong enough.” I reached for the watered wine.
His stern face broke into a smile. “What you did in Market Square was impressive.”
“I tried to stop a slaughter.”
“Yes, and you did.”
“I did what I had to.”
“And they say that you have followers.” And then he shook his head. “I’d hoped we’d got rid of the last of your kind twenty years ago.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He went to the chair behind the desk and sat. “We knew you were coming, that’s why we acted.”
“What are you talking about?”
His lips drew into a grim line. “I’m talking about you and your role in things.”
“What role?”
“Your role in the end of everything.”
Was everyone mad?
“Oh yes, everything. If only those fools downstairs knew, they’d have done more than pelt you with garlic.”
I shrugged.
His eyes flashed with Krienta’s power. “Everything. Don’t be shy, think about it: It starts with Ossard and then moves on; first the Heletian League and the Church of Baimiopia, and then the Ansilsae Prophecy of the Lae Velsanans, and all the others until the Divine Covenant fails. You are the start of it, and your actions would ruin it all – bringing every last faith of the established order crashing down.” He took a sip from his own wine and then looked back to me. “That’s why I have to kill you.”
“What?”
“I thought I’d done enough twenty years ago with your grandmother and the like, but obviously not.”
“The city’s falling apart, and you’re worried about me? I’m not the threat, the Reformers are!”
“Yes, they’re a threat, but one that’ll be taken care of when the fresh forces I’ve requested arrive. You on the other hand…”
I cut him off, “Your messenger won’t get through.”
He stilled and looked at me, taking my measure. “Why?”
“The Lae Velsanans told me, the ones recently in port. They said that out to sea, just over the horizon, the city is surrounded by an arc of diabolical storms. They’ve cut off Ossard!”
“A lie!” he snapped.
“Look into the celestial, you can see.”
He considered my words, but went on, “You won’t escape your fate, not this time. I’m sorry, but you must die so that the divine order can go on…” he stopped, his eyes opening wide. “By the Holy Saints, you’re right!” He looked to me. “There is a storm barrier, I can see it!” He paused, and then his voice softened, “My messenger’s bloating body is already surfing the squall’s damned swells.”
I slipped into the celestial to see for myself. There his messenger’s soul laid before us, the poor man’s life-light fading as it burnt out its final embers.
I whispered with a breaking voice, “The city is doomed.”
“What else did these Lae Velsanans say?”
“He said that it would be preferable to have the Inquisition rule Ossard than the Reformers, but if it wasn’t to be, that I should get out.”
“To abandon Ossard to the cults?”
“It would weaken them if I could lead enough away.”
He thought about it. “I see the truth of it.”
Silence.
He shifted in his chair. “It took until Market Square for me to be certain of you.“
“Why, the power I drew?”
“Yes, though I’d held suspicions since the kidnapping of your family. Then, at the end of that episode, you fell to your knees on the balcony and bleated out that heretical song. That’s when I first sensed your power.”
I nodded.
“Still, you’re not quite awakened, but it’d not be long now,” he grimaced, “and that would be the end of the world we know.”
“Help me, let’s work together. We can save Ossard!”
“Perhaps, but only for it to fall again because of you.”
“I’m not working to do anything but save my family.”
“Juvela, you’ve already started this thing, this assault on the divine order. It can’t be stopped short of killing you.”
“But what of Ossard?”
“It’s just one city.”
I was appalled.
He went on, “I’m sorry, but I have no choice: I must serve, and you must be stopped.”
And a breeze came to stir the curtains behind him, as the lamp-lit room began to feel chill and lonely.
I wondered; what kind of gods would let a whole city fall just to maintain their power?
Gods addicted to death.
He asked, “Do you lead many among the Flets?”
“Their numbers grow. When I left them this morning, there were about four hundred. They’re not all Flets, there are also Heletians.”
“Heletians?”
“Yes, they’re good people looking for hope.”
“Heretics!” And then he shrugged. “Oh, what does it matter! May they find what happiness they can before the end.”
I sat in silence, still confused by my apparent role in things.
He saw it on my face. “You don’t know your truth, do you?”
With reluctance I shook my head. “Not all of it.”
“Have it then, for in the end it’s all we have. You know you’re powerful, and that your power is divine?”
“Yes.”
“You know you’re an awakening entity; an avatar?”
“Yes.”
He studied my face, and I could feel him watching both my soul and filtering through the surface thoughts of my mind. I could shield myself from him, but not completely, a haze of feelings still escaped me.
“But you’re not to operate alone, and you didn’t know that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re an awakening god, an avatar, one of a whole raft of new gods that Schoperde birthed across the world to replace the old order.”
“Why?”
“Because she thought the previous generation had grown greedy like spoilt children.”
His words reminded me of what I’d read in my grandmother’s tome. “And I’m here to end them, the old gods?”
“Yes, to end their divine rule. You along with the others.”
“Others?”
“The other avatars. Juvela, this was not something you were going to have to fight alone with a sword, nor a thing of wars in the heavens. It was merely a case of Schoperde birthing a new generation; of trying one last time.”
“One last time?”
“Yes, she hadn’t the strength to repeat her actions.”
“And it will all fail if you kill me?”
“Like it did before.”
My brow furrowed.
He said, “Two thousand years ago she tried the same thing and nearly succeeded. The established order did finally suppress it, but at great cost; the Lae Velsanans’ Second Dominion collapsed and many died in the calamities that followed, yet our victory wasn’t complete. One of the new gods survived.”
“And still does?”
He smiled. “She can’t help you.”
“She?“
“Dorloth of the gargoyles. She’s too strong for any of us to do anything about, but she’s also isolated in her troith amidst the ruins of fallen Kalraith.”
Could she help me?
Anton went on, “As long as my counterparts in the other established faiths do their parts in removing emerging avatars from amongst their own kind, the divine order will be maintained.” A grim smile settled on his face. “It’s one of the few things we agree upon.”
“So you won’t work with me because it’d threaten the dark regime you’re trying to keep, even though that puts you in league with cultists?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Funny, isn’t it?”
“Even though Ossard will fall and become the province of the Horned God?”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane!”
“The Horned God is part of the old regime – not the new.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “You’ve enslaved the world!”
“Yes, and work to keep it that way.”
“It’s a crime!”
“Maybe, but not one punished by my god.” He shuffled, growing restless with the conversation.
I was running out of time.
“Is it true that we could have weakened them by getting out of Ossard?”
“Yes, but a hollow victory, the city would still have fallen.”
“The Lae Velsanans are carrying word to King Giovanni; Greater Baimiopia will know, and so will the Heletian League, Church, and Inquisition. They wanted us to leave if we couldn’t control the city, so as to weaken it for those who come to retake it.”
Anton nodded. “It makes some sense, but alas you’ll not have the life to see it, and I’ve sworn to my god that I’ll not flee.” He shook his head. “I can feel him turning from me already, he knows of my failure. Hopefully, when I hand him your soul in apology, he may yet offer me some kind of salvation.”
“You should leave the city and take your Loyalists with you. You could work to win it back when help arrives. We could work together.”
He shook his head. “They’ll sanctify the city, and they’ll do it soon. The kidnappings have climaxed. I’ve had word that the ritual is planned for as soon as tomorrow night.”
My family!
“Tomorrow night? Please, you must leave!”
“No, I’ve vows to guide me. I’ve planned to die tomorrow, but not until I’ve taken as many of them with me as I can. It’ll be a bloodbath, and if Krienta sends me his blessings to do it, there may very well be nothing left…”
And then another voice cut in, cold and female, purring from the shadows behind his chair, “This life I take for Mortigi!” Metal flashed from a silver blade suddenly at Anton’s neck.
He jumped out of his chair and spun about, but was trapped between it and his desk. His hands flew to his throat.
Too late!
Lady Death stepped out from the shadowed curtains and came into the light. She held her knife out with the blade’s edge bloodied.
Anton stood with his back to me, his hands still at his throat. Blood dribbled down one of them to run into the sleeve of his robe.
Lady Death chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “You’ve got your facts wrong, dear Inquisitor, but it won’t matter, not for you, you won’t be around to see it.”
Angered by such a brazen attack, but perhaps more infuriated that Krienta hadn’t intervened, he growled, “Get out of my rooms, bitch!”
She lunged forward to slap him on the cheek with the flat of her blade.
He tried to dodge her teasing strike, but couldn’t.
She mocked, “Soon enough they won’t be your rooms, the leadership of the Reformers are already coming for them!”
Anton put his bloodied hands behind him on the desk and launched himself backwards, kicking off of his chair. He pushed its heavy oak frame back into her, giving him the moment he needed to get away.
She pushed the chair aside as he jumped to the floor beside me.
I could see an ugly wound across his throat, the cut well placed, but not deep enough to kill.
Perhaps Krienta had intervened…
He yelled, “Men, to arms!”
The door burst open behind us, but neither of us turned. From it we could hear the Inquisitor’s call repeated.
A guard came up to stand alongside me with his sword drawn, another took up a position beside Anton. And all the while footfalls of reinforcements thundered from the corridor.
Anton sneered as he wiped blood from his neck. The arrival of another set of guards restored his confidence, seeing him growl, “Kill the bitch!”
Lady Death laughed, and with a snap of her fingers the room’s lone lamp died, plunging us into the dark. A weak light filtered in through the door behind us, but it was as good as nothing: We were in her world now.
Sound erupted all around me; from one side, a charge forward; to the other, scrabbling back; the thump of wood, screams, blows, swords ringing as they were drawn, and then the horrid gurgle of someone drowning in their own death. Something struck me across the stomach to send me stumbling to the side and deeper into the shadows. I looked about the room, it nothing but a foul mystery of dark potential.
Metal flashed as it caught the corridor’s light. It was followed by a meaty crunch and a gasp of agonised surprise.
I had to get out of here!
A circle of light appeared in front of me, and into it leered Lady Death. “Hello, Juvela, I’ll be coming for you; Mortigi has demanded it!” Then she was gone, her passing marked by the sounds of renewed fighting.
This was a place of carnage, a charnel house, a den of the cursed and damned. I sprung from the wall, and ran for the door, knowing this would be my only chance.
She yelled, “Run like the dog you are, I’ll give you a head start!” And I could feel the celestial surge as Mortigi gifted her with blessings.
I flew out the door, and into the corridor, passing a pair of stunned guards as I went for the stairs.
Their voices rang out in challenge, but they were quickly choked off.
“Don’t worry, Juvela, I’m coming!”
On unsteady legs, with a spinning head, I rushed and drew blindly on the celestial. Despite the Moonroot, I had to try and craft something. I was desperate; without such aid she’d catch me.
A crisp breeze rose to gust about and grow stronger, slamming doors, tearing at curtains, and killing the light of the building’s lamps. It took me into its wild weave, becoming more frenzied, until my world seemed to be built of only its roar, my blustering hair, and a blizzard of dust, leaves and stray papers. This strange gale, one I’d called of the very air elemental, only became harder and faster so that more and more my feet didn’t even find the ground.
I was riding the wind!
And so I reached the Malnobla’s entrance wrapped in the wind’s embrace. From there the squall blasted aside the doors and raced me to my freedom into Market Square.
Lady Death cursed from behind, but wasn’t defeated – she simply called on more power from her dark lord.
My heels found the cobbles more and more as the strength of my summoning began to fade, yet with each moment I moved further, passing the barracks, the rising silhouette of the Turo, and the university. The howl of the wind accompanied me on that empty avenue, one lit by the glow of distant fires. It was then that I heard the cry, “They’ve tried to kill the Inquisitor!”
Another voice yelled, “The Flets have cut the Inquisitor’s throat!”
And others took up the calls or created their own, “They’ve killed the Inquisitor!”
“The Inquisitor is dead!”
“The Inquisitor was murdered by the Flets!”
And then joined the bells of the Cathedral.
The wind that had travelled with me, helping me to such a good start, now faltered and fell away. I’d have to finish my trek on foot. I ran on, tired and short of breath, but desperate to get back to Newbank and the rescue of my family.
People began emerging from their homes or sticking their heads out of windows to listen to the cried news. Nearby, a voice growled, “There’s the witch, burn her!”
And behind it all rose the cold laugh of Lady Death.
I was only half way to Newbank!
As I ran I felt something rush past, a moment later a set of darts thudded into a nearby wall’s wood.
She was making her move.
Still weak from the Moonroot, I knew I’d struggle to outrun her. I needed a fresh advantage.
I grabbed a handful of gravel from the road, splitting it between my hands. In moments, with just a thought, each closed fist was lost to a blinding glow.
She mocked, “She’s scared of the dark!”
I turned towards the sound of her voice, and although I couldn’t see her, launched some of my fiery pebbles.
My effort was rewarded. The alleyway flared, and in the glare from the spray of sparks, I glimpsed her retreating form. Encouraged, I hurled some more. This time their blazing light revealed her climbing up a wall. I followed her progress by throwing yet more of my flaring weapons.
It seemed like the way to handle my escape, until I realised that I’d left a thatched roof smouldering. A moment later it burst into flames.
Being immune to their heat – and still dizzy after the Moonroot – I’d been thinking of them just as balls of light. Behind me, I’d just set a very short fuse for something at the heart of the Loyalist district, and that something would become a firestorm.
There was no time to think of clever plans, or how to deal with anything other than getting away. At least with the alarm being raised people could seek safety, and that gave me the seed of an idea; was this the way to get the Loyalists out of the city?
I was closing on St Marco’s.
Behind me the avenue crowded with Loyalists calling out abuse and launching a hail of uprooted cobbles, and somewhere between hunted Lady Death. Despite it all, my spirits rose.
I was getting closer to Newbank!
I saved a few of my flaring stones, throwing the rest into alleys and onto roofs. I didn’t want to create hardship for people, far from it, but I needed to sow confusion.
Finally, I reached the square to stumble past St Marco’s Church, the sad building standing blackened and ruined. I could feel the spectral gaze of the priests who’d perished within it upon me; they’d been marooned there. They offered no particular blessing or curse, now being of the celestial, they knew the truth of the city.
For them I whispered a warning of the darkness to come. I also shared my hopes, that in their own way, they might intervene to influence the Loyalists behind me.
I crossed the square, making for the bridge. Behind me the avenue flared and flashed as the new fires grew in their rage. The streets about filled with people, not just because of the rising flames, but also roused by the news of Anton’s apparent death.
The bridge ahead, despite the numbers of Reformers and Flets coming and going across the Cassaro, had yet to be repaired – even in a temporary way. I walked along what was left of it until I came to stand at its charred end. It left me looking across a wide gap to Newbank.
It was then that I heard her, “I claim this soul for Mortigi!”
And as I spun about, I felt a burning sting above my hip.
So close to home and now this!
Her intended stab became a cut, winding around my body with my turn. She lost her grip on the knife with my movement, its handle now slick with blood.
Somehow I ignored the pain, instead growling, “Why can’t you just let me be?”
She froze, surprised at my lack of response to the wound and taken aback by my rage.
Blood trickled down my side in fat lines. The wound hurt with all the venom of the Pits, but right now, under the waning influence of the Moonroot, my anger took precedence.
She taunted, “You’ll never see your family again!”
I didn’t need any more reasons to get wild with her, but she seemed determined to give them.
She went on, “The ritual’s at dawn, and the night’s already well past its mid. Before the sun clears the horizon they’ll be dead!”
I’d had enough, so I gave in to my fury.
Unarmed, I reached into the celestial to try and weave a casting to stop her, something that would leave me free to go. She was powerful – a favoured high priest – so I knew I’d need to draw a lot of magic through to overcome her. I began that task, that manipulation, but straight away I realised that something restricted my power.
The Moonroot!
What I’d done before – of igniting gravel and summoning wind of the elemental – hadn’t required much effort, but what I needed now demanded a whole lot more. Simply, the Moonroot blocked it.
Back in the real world, she drew a fresh blade.
I had to do something, anything, but I’d only have this one chance.
And so my power bucked!
I might not have been able to drag power through to stop her mortal form, but I could still work things in the celestial. Great tentacle-like limbs unrolled from my soul’s core lashing out to ensnare her own. With a violent jerk they sought to overcome her.
Back in the real world she started and gasped.
I raised my flaring fists to rest them on her shoulders, the light of the near molten stones held within them made my fingers glow red and showed the shadow of bones. Apprehensive, she tried to wriggle away from the heat, so I hissed, “She’s scared of the light!”
She whispered, “What are you?”
And for an answer, I unleashed myself upon her.
My celestial limbs tightened again, flexing and constricting to open tears along her soul’s core. I upped the pressure to send her soul-stuff to bursting out, spraying off into the chill depths of the void.
Some of it hit my own soul. It felt good; the taking of power. It reminded me of the high I’d gotten from my followers, but this came more intense and pure.
Lost in that rising rush, I found myself working to take in more of her soul-stuff as it escaped. Finally, overwhelmed by the euphoric sensation, I found myself tearing open her soul to sup at her – her very existence.
In the real world I sighed, it rising into a wail, and then into Schoperde’s Song. I sang it like it’d never been sung before, setting waves rushing out along the river, celestial sparks to flash and flare, and great coiling bolts of power to roll around me.
The Loyalist crowd coming into St Marco’s kept back, many screaming in fright. At the same time, Lady Death’s voice hissed out of her ruin as a long and mournful sigh. She’d be dead in moments, and not because of the lightning coursing through her and me, but because her soul was nearly gone.
Oblivion waited.
And then it was done.
Sated, I returned my perception to the real world.
It was hard to focus, to concentrate, to even breathe after experiencing such a thing.
So, I confessed to myself, that was soul feeding…
The taking of someone’s soul until they died…
Every sense in me sung, my body tingled, the knife wound had healed, and my head spun.
By all the gods, I wished I’d never done it!
Having tasted it, I knew I’d have the urge to feed again, and its lure would forever be hard to resist. What I faced was nothing short of the temptation of Death’s addiction. If I gave into it, I’d be failing not only myself, but also the cause of Life.
In front of me, Lady Death’s body fell crumpled and wasted to the scorched boards of the bridge.
I still sang the Song of Sorrow, but it certainly wasn’t to mourn her. I wondered at that; maybe it was because of my own loss of innocence.
What had I done?
That was when I noticed the crowds gathered in Newbank. Most of them were Flets seething with anger, riled by the accusations of murder called out by Loyalists.
In so many eyes – on both sides – burned a mindless lust for revenge. Their anger was fuelled by their bloody-minded gods, and for no good reason but to service their own divine addictions.
If I was to have a part in unseating them from their heavenly thrones, I’d be glad of it. I’d do it even at my own cost if it would bring their whole order crashing down so Schoperde could start afresh.
Above the roar of flames, yelled abuse, and my own singing, I heard others join my song. It reminded me that there was – as there always should be – still hope.
Hope.
I still had to save my family, find the innocent, and then lead them to safety. Despite all the hatred, some love remained.
The crowd of Loyalists in St Marco’s glared in anger, blaming me for Ossard’s ills, but I didn’t care. Further along the river towards the port, mobs of Reformers spilled into the streets, armed, and coming to meet them. I then turned to look upon Newbank where tens of thousands lined the riverbank. Over there were all sorts; some who hated me, others who feared me, and my own people led by Baruna.
She had them gathering at the other end of the bridge where she stood at its charred end. It was they who sang, joining with me to call me home.
I could see others standing amongst my enemies on all sides looking on in wonder. They were almost convinced.
To the roar of my people, I stepped out from the charred planks of the bridge to walk across the void to Newbank.
I knew without question where my power was coming from now; my people. I couldn’t deny it.
Today the world would change.
I whispered to Schoperde, “Your daughter is born.” And I prayed to her; may my family be waiting while Marco watches over them, and may Sef, my most loyal friend, also be safe.
Oddly, using my celestial senses, Marco didn’t seem to be there. In checking the bond I’d established between us, I realised that something was amiss.
I let the glowing stones drop from my hands to fall into the river below. With my crossing all but complete, I then took my first step onto the Newbank side of the bridge’s scorched boards to be greeted by fresh cheers.
Baruna took my hands. “It’s so good to have you back.” And my people parted so we could pass through.
Their happiness was uplifting, giving me another high. But the sensation reminded me of a new and aching hunger I harboured – for soul-feeding.