The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (28 page)

“Allright ugly one, come get yer meal then!” Zen pounded his hammer down, hoping to scare it off as much as wake the others.

Just as it reached down, Dalliunn pounced on its back, four claws tearing, his sharp stone hammer pounding into its shoulder blades while he held the throat from behind for balance. Zen wasted no time, stepping in and smashing a leg below the knee, splintering it. Then the other before it fell, sharp bone popping out of the skin as it toppled forward. Black blood seeped like sap from a tree, Zen paid no mind. As it thrashed to the mountainside, the lewirja on top of it, Zen pounded his warhammer into the side of its massive skull. Once, twice, a fourth blow, it was still trying to get up. He almost vomited, the smell of the beast, its blood, or both, was worse than rot on a hot summer day. A fifth, seventh, nine times he hit the skull of this savage gray giant until it cracked, and its eyes closed. He hit it again for good measure, more black sticky blood splattering into his face and beard, all over him.

“What in Vundren’s mountain is that? And why does it smell so awful?” Azenairk tried wiping the blood off, but it had already dried, like glue. He heard the others coming, running toward him.

“Thanks little lion, I owe ye’ one.” Zen noticed that Dalliunn looked nervous, anxious, looking about the ridges and the valley below. He began to point to the west, then started to pad off as the others arrived.

“Its allright lad, we killed him, relax there, easy. Don’t be goin’ far then! Silly cat man.”

“Zen, Zen, are you hurt? Are there more?” Shinayne was the first there of course, her elven speed unmatchable by anyone save the lewirja, who must have gone to scout.

“No, no, we are allright. This one here has seen better nights though.” He kicked the starved giant.

“Did you kill this thing priest? It is twice as tall as me, nice work.” Saberrak huffed, patting Zen on the armored shoulder as he walked by to inspect the stench and the source of it.

“What in the world, Gwenneth, look at this. What is this Zen?” James looked the beast over along with Saberrak, covering his mouth with his blue sash of Chazzrynn.

“I killed it, with a lot of help from Dalliunn, he saved me from the spear in truth. Then, he run off. Likely scouting the perimeter for more. Stinks don’t it?” Zen wiped again, the blood would not come off. “I feel sick, I think…
rraaallllhhhh
”

“Do not touch the blood, there is something not right here.” Gwenneth concentrated, clenching the staff of Imoch, its green light illuminating the area, and her eyes glowing yellow with arcane vision. She gasped.

“What is it?” James drew his blade, turning and looking as Gwenneth turned and looked all around them. He saw nothing.

Shinayne helped Zen to his feet, dumping some water down his black beard to clean off the vomit, then on his hands and face. She took a her cloak and began scrubbing the dried black blood from his skin. “What do you see Gwenne, we see nothing.”

“What you do not see, I cannot describe.”

“Well you had better make an effort lass, you are scarin’ me with them words. Whats with the blood?” Zen began scrubbing as well, trying not to get sick again.

“There are spirits, small and large, all around us. Black ones, dark ones, it is some tribal spell, they are circling us now. Hundreds. They are still pouring out of the mouth of this giant you slew, and back and forth to---“

“The totems, see Saberrak, I told you.” Shinayne looked to the empty sky, seeing nothing.

“They are focusing, arriving here, rising from the bones all around this pass, and circling…circling Zen. They want the blood back, they reach for it.” Gwenneth let down her vision. “We are in a burial ground my friends. Let us hope there are not many of these giant shamans around.”

“They want the blood back? Here, tell them to help scrub it off then. It’s makin’ me ill.” Zen looked to his armor, his hammer, splattered with the stuff that was taking a lot of work to get off.

“No sleep tonight, let’s move ahead. Find Dalliunn.” Saberrak gruffed, sensing they were in a tight spot. He did not see their enemies, therefore he could not fight them. He did not like that feeling, not one bit.

Angeline III:II

Soujan Mountain, Harlaheim

“This is the spot, isn’t it Larens.” The question was rather a statement, for Angeline knew the answer.

“Eight years ago, I heard your cry from this very spot. I was deep in meditation, wondering why I was here. The Goddess had sent me to think, I was troubled, losing faith.
Larens of Guidance
, she said
, seek out something new if what you have before you is not of overwhelming joy to your spirit.”
Larens looked down the green covered mountain, restraining from looking to Angeline.

“And you heard me, and you came down the mountain and brought me to Ansharr. I cannot thank you, I do not know how to.” She turned to the rising sun in the west, still sitting face to face with her mentor, legs crossed and at peace.

“You cannot, and will not. I cannot thank the man who found me either, but I carry on as he would see me. As will you.”

“What are we, if not knights of Seirena and protectors of this mountain?” Angeline asked the question, it had been on her mind for some time.

“We, are a brotherhood, that is all. We come from the meek, we face our ends and faults to the point of death, some many times over. We begin cursed, damned if you will. We find something greater, at first it is the Soujan, then it is our atonements, then maybe the Goddess. Yet, we do not worship. We believe in the real, not the fiction. She is but a child of God, as are her children, despite men worshipping them and labeling them as Gods, they are not. They are powerful beings, immortal perhaps, but unlike God, they can die. Just like anything else.”

“Enlightening, but that did not answer my question at all.” Angeline listened, listened to her blade and her mentor and the quiet of the forested mountain in the morning hours.

“Could you imagine, if there were a group of warriors or priests devoted
against
Alden? Who knew he and his were good, and sought to train and protect his rivals through non-believing in religion at all?” Larens held up his hand to stop objections to his metaphorical lesson.

“Yes, I suppose so. That would be quite odd though. Atheist knights who do not believe
so strongly
that they form a wicked organization to stop a pure force of good?” She tried to follow his thoughts.

“Close. Now, think of God, Yjaros, as the most wicked and evil creator you can imagine. Think that he wants all life destroyed, and can see all but the most wretched, weak, yet saved beings in his realm. And we Soujan train to stop him and his actions, wherever they may surface.”

“He cannot see us?”

“No, the blessing of the Goddess prevents it. She told you about her eye, I am sure.”

“Yes she did. So why do we not find thousands of weak-willed suffering people and train them? We could have an army of Soujan---“

“No. They must get to the point they are called, that they seek us out, they must be at their last thread of life. You can only be reborn if you were about to die. It is the curse He placed upon us, thousands and thousands of years past when his demons destroyed our temples for protecting his children.” Larens closed his eyes, knowing that trouble lay on the other side of Harlaheim, he felt it.

“So we do not gain our powers from Her, then from where? I thought it was her voice, her energy, or perhaps a lost arcane magick.” Angeline was more confused than ever.

“No, it is from the stars, the planets and moons, yourself, Her, her brother, their children, all of it. None of it. It is a calling, from you to what is close by and answers your call, that is all. It is manipulation of natural things, animals, weather, for they secretly want us to remain and succeed, Angeline. They do. They just know what will happen if they do so on their own accord. Your will, your humbled will to ask for help is what they hear, and they answer us.” Larens opened his eyes, he felt the time to let her go was near, it was on the wind.

“What will happen if they try, if they fought?” Angeline stood, she felt it too.

“He will bring the fires of hell, the dead, the demons, and all his dark angels and forces upon them. He will banish, kill, torture, imprison, and punish with abandon. As he has done before. God is God, there are some things that are certain.”

“Then, I will travel on for what?”

“To find others, find lost temples, help those you can. There are fifteen of us now, fifteen blessed blades and reborn spirits that are as shadows to the forces of God. We must use that to help others, protect the Caricians, and always look where others do not. It is time.”

“I know.”

“Then be as if I saw you, as She sees you, and trust that which you have been given. Take care of Charity, she is a special blade I have been told.” Larens embraced his once pupil, his tears welling in mottled eyes under his full head of brown and thick graying hair.

“I will. What of love? Is that from God, can he take that too?” Angeline was crying as well, the time went too fast here.

“No, never. His children brought it into this world, he cannot touch it. Trust in that, Angeline of Charity, once Angeline Berren, now of the Knights Soujan
.” He let her go, turning to walk up the mountain alone.

She dried her eyes, the wind that blew her red hair all around helped. Her dark green robes and sacred crafted raiments covered her armor,
Charity
across her back, Angeline walked down the mountain, yet she did not feel alone.

The wind under her feet carried her through untouched forest, over hills where there were no eyes of men. Day and night she traveled as so few could, on the winds she called out to. The sun warmed her well into the night as the white moon watched her sleep. Fruit would sprout from trees before the harvest from her touch, offering her sustenance. The streams danced through the air into her waterskin, fresh and pure for Angeline to drink. Birds and animals showed her the way to the city of Harlaheim, the fastest route they knew as they sensed her coming. What would have taken four or five days by horse, she covered in less than two.

Where her senses were fresh and unimpeded, the opposite was true back in Harlaheim. The city, hundreds of thousands of citizens, buildings made by the hands of men, and a flood of feelings and emotion. It was with much effort that Angeline could separate them and maintain her senses to the earth and follow the little whispers for direction. She listened to her sword instead, hoping through
Charity
, she could concentrate better. The gates were as flooded as the docks, warm weather bringing trade, oxen, cattle, horses, carriages, and merchants selling everything from the rural to rarity.

The voices, not audible ones, but those hardened thoughts a person wants to say but only thinks instead, she listened to them as she passed the markets of the eastern city.

I would like to shank them clothes off of her, I would…

He will never make master carpenter, he is so useless…

I am moving to Shanador, to hell with this country…

Do they know about me and Tomas, I hope they do not…

Taxes on trade raised again, bloody thief of a king and…

The Cardinal is not the man who left here, I know it…

Angeline stopped, turned, and looked for the man that thought of the Cardinal. She saw a young man, a knight it seemed by his tabard with the rose and crown so well emblazoned over armor and shining rapier to his side. She followed, at a distance, concentrating on Charity who seemed to know where the man was going. She focused again, asking for the wind to let her hear his thoughts. It responded and graciously allowed it.

He does not act the same, the mannerisms, he repeats himself and avoids my embrace. He never did before, he looked right at me. I am going to the king, this is all wrong. The Crossguard Legion has done so little to restore order here, like they are waiting for something…

She followed more, deeper into the southern side of the city where towers loomed and old structures and cathedrals hung like old guardians to a realm that had vanished around them. The populace was less here as well, so focused on the merchant district and the piers. L’Herrim Castle stood before her minutes later, grand and giant, its spires and walls spread far and high as if it could protect the whole of the capital city. Before he got into the gates, Angeline strode abreast of him, to get a look. Young, with his tight cropped dark hair, a hint of a mustache growing, yet strong for his age with a troubled brow. She went to the side of the outer wall, at least half a hundred armored royal guard on post in the summer sun. Some stood round a covered cloth over a statue of some twenty feet, no one was allowed near.

My uncle could not even answer questions about Acelinne or which Bishop he favored for Harlaheim with Javiel dead. This man is not my uncle, the Cardinal of the Aldane, I am sure of it. The king must know, I have to warn him…or Kalzarius if he will not listen…

“Sir Sebastian of Harlaheim, good day to you Sir Knight!” The guard at the gates to L’Herrim saluted the young knight with a fist over his heart, receiving the same in return.

“Sir Sebastian then, wondering about his Uncle the Cardinal not being who he has known, your thoughts,
Charity
?” Angeline queried her hand and a half blade with the angel feathers and eyed hilt, receiving the affirmation to investigate without even looking over her shoulder.