The Fall of Ossard (29 page)

We moved from alley to alley, only crossing streets and never taking to them, and hoped with our quick and twisting progress to be too hard to track. After a while, it began to seem like we were trapped in an endless maze from some dark nightmare.

Over time, a change became apparent in the districts we passed through, from the ramshackle buildings next to the flood-prone river to the well-built stone of more prosperous areas. We were getting somewhere. All the while the sounds of riot and flame continued, but remained distant. Finally, like all things, our journey came to an end.

Sef stopped us and gathered us about. He pointed ahead to where the alley we were in continued after crossing a narrow street. Before long its worn cobbles finished in a dark dead end surrounded by the glum walls of a tall but tired building. He touched a finger to his lips and whispered, “The opera house.”

We were there!

I didn’t recognise the building, yet I’d never seen its rear, and certainly not from a back alley after midnight. With a grim smile I savoured how appalled my mother would be.

It loomed four floors high, with walls marked by missing render, the lowest level, windowless, hosted generous clumps of moss. One thing was certain; the back of the building lacked the grandeur of its front, giving off a more honest air to resemble the bankrupt theatre that it was.

The cobbled lane wasn’t empty though; it held a timber platform at its very back. The loading dock stood waist high, with crates piled underneath, it backing onto two solid doors chained shut.

We stood in silence, watching for any sign that the building might be occupied. After a while, one of the Kavists whispered, “Nothing, no guards, not even a candle’s light. No signs of anything.”

He seemed to be right.

I slipped my perception into the celestial and searched for Maria, sensing here and sensing there.

Nothing…

Deeper and deeper I went, through seas of blue and voids of black.

Nothing…

My worries stirred. What if she was asleep, would she be able to sense me? I could only try again.

Nothing…

Sef whispered, “Can you…”

I was already shaking my head.

He turned to the others. “We’ll be back.”

Sef led me down the alley and onto the street, it heading to an avenue that would end at the square. It was the same avenue that I’d been on when I’d last connected with Maria. He took me to the same spot, and then checked for anyone watching. “Try again.”

I did.

Nothing…

“Get down on the cobbles like this afternoon.”

I dropped to the road and gripped the cold stones.

Nothing…

My tears came.

Sef asked, “Might she be asleep?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try again. Call out to her soul, call out with everything.”

I did as I tried to use my power.

Nothing…

I stood up and shook my head.

Sef said, “We’ll still go in.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, but grew tense as he searched the surrounding shadows. “We must be careful, the night whispers; we’re not alone.”

We hurried back to our band.

The Kavists stood eager and ready. They knew tonight might deliver a fight, but they were also aware that the kidnappers of children would be less than honourable. Surviving such an adversary would require caution.

Some of them stretched their limbs, while others whispered prayers, yet all tried to hold the quiet that luck had so far allowed. With relief and weapons drawn, we began our advance.

Though they were warriors who’d shed blood and taken lives, my upbringing made me see them as more than bringers of battle and death. To the Flets of Ossard, Kavists were the defenders of Fletland, and for that we were grateful. We felt we owed Kave a great debt.

We crossed the street and tried to keep to the dim night’s shadows. Leading us, Sef soon discovered a door halfway along the short alley’s length. We gathered about it, while a young Fletlander dropped to his knees to check the lock and work at it.

He was about to force it when we heard something behind us; a chuckle from the dark.

The Kavists turned with raised swords, but there was nothing to see besides the alley and its shadows.

Sef hissed, “Juvela, get your back to the wall!”

His tone wiped the surprise from my face. “What is it?”

“The followers of Mortigi.“

The God of Murder!

I found the wall, and planted my back against it.

And again laughter sounded, this time from the loading dock.

Sef said, “The light is poor, we must be careful
and have faith.
”

The Kavists broke into a chant.

In the silence that followed the air grew chill, my breath icing up in front of me.

The coming of magic…

The alleyway began to brighten under a weak but rising light. The smoke haze cleared to reveal the moon, the great orb’s blue face marked by swirls of white.

The Kavists uttered a chorus of thanks.

In answer, a woman’s voice sang a slow counter-prayer, it coming from the dark.

Sef hissed, “Lady Death.”

Again laughter sounded from the shadows.

The moon’s light began to fade, the haze returning to cloak it like a shroud.

Mortigists killed for pleasure, and to offer the stolen souls as morsels to their cruel lord. They were the antithesis of Kavists who fought out of necessity. They were bitter rivals.

Damn them, I just wanted my husband and daughter!

Lady Death purred from the advancing dark, “We’ve been hunting since dusk and claimed many, but I can see blessed Mortigi has saved the best sport for last!”

Sef spat in her direction. “Sport you can’t handle!”

Laughter greeted his retort.

To be so near my goal, only to be delayed fired my anger, and with its stirring my soul’s power began to churn.

Damn it, my family was so close, but Death’s servants closer!

It just stoked my fury, yet it wasn’t focused on anyone else, just my powerless self - and that fury began to burn.

Where was my damned witchery?

The Mortigists came forward cloaked in the dark that they’d called, the lack of light tilting the balance in their favour.

I was useless!

Yet my trapped power boiled inside of me.

I didn’t need much of it, just a bit, just a taste of its searing heat and shadow-killing glow.

Please Schoperde, I just wanted my family
-
was it too much to ask?

My power bucked as it mingled with my anger, the two painfully merging as they tore at the very fabric of my soul.

The agony!

Hot and rampaging, it threatened to consume me.

Then it happened…

Under all that pressure something finally gave.

The barrier stopping my power was no longer whole!

It began to leak through. It came as a trickle and was only a start, showing in the real world as a flourish of sparks.

I groaned at the pain.

Was my soul going to burst?

A new round of agony shot through me.

I gasped, “Sweet Schoperde!”

And then came relief.

A wave of green light rushed out from me. For a moment, the lane flared while I slumped to the cobbles, listening to the deafening thump of my heart.

Something had broken.

Something was free.

And that something was
me
.

My mind felt like it was spinning, and my heart kept drumming out, finally the power in my soul was ready to use - if only I knew how.

My vision drifted from the celestial to the real world, fading between one and the other as it cycled round and through. In that collage of images I saw the Kavists ready themselves, movement in the shadows, and two gods face each other through their followers and their truths.

And amidst it all I heard my grandmother gasp, “Oh, I thought they were all gone?”

Back in the alley, I began to lift myself up as my hand grabbed at a loose cobble.

Sef called over his shoulder, “Juvela?”

“I’m… I’m alright.”

And then the last of the sparks faded to let the Mortigists renew their advance.

Without thinking, I lifted my hand that clutched at the cobblestone, opening it so that it sat in the flat of my palm. With a sense of wonder I could taste the coming of magic -
my magic
.

I was going to cast.

It stirred as a cool sensation in my belly, and then deepened to grow wild. It spread to my chest before surging along my arm, to my hand, and then to set the cobble’s dark surface to sparkle. Within a heartbeat its surface became covered in a skin of frost. My palm tingled with the flow of power, but I seemed otherwise immune to its bite.

Wisps of mist began to rise from the stone and lazily drift about. The glimmering ice crystals didn’t last though, they melted to become short-lived beads of water that were then turned to steam. When the steam began to fade, the water gone, and the ice only a memory, the rock came to glow.

A soft red light bathed the flesh of my hand, but I still felt nothing of it. The stone went from red, to orange, and then to yellow, giving me light enough to see. I lifted it above my head as it brightened to illuminate the alley.

The Kavists cheered.

And in a dozen places about us, the black clad cultists stood revealed. They fell back, but not before the closest of the Kavists stepped after them to strike. Two warriors cried out as they landed hits.

One of their victims dove to safety in the dark, but the other fell. The cultist landed on his back, exposing a deep gash to his shoulder that showed bone and gushed blood. My flaring light lit his head and chest, but the rest of him was lost to the murk of shadow.

The warrior who’d struck him stepped forward to finish the job, but a whispered prayer from the dark caused him to slow.

Sef called, “Stay in the light!”

The warrior snapped, “The kill’s mine!”

But Lady Death challenged, “No, the kill is mine.” And two black-gloved hands slipped from the edge of the dark, one brandishing a knife. She hissed, “I take this for Mortigi!” And then slit the cultist’s throat.

The Kavist was already lunging forward with body and sword, his swing ending in the doomed man’s chest - but his soul had already been claimed.

Sef growled, “There’s no honour in this!”

But the gloved hands stayed there, not even flinching as they sat on the cultist’s chest as it was cleaved. Then, like a striking snake, they darted forward to fly up the Kavist’s bloodied blade, the darkness following to keep Lady Death hidden.

The warrior’s own body blocked the detail of what happened next - and for that I’m glad. I saw him stumble back, but too slowly, leaving himself open to her attack. He grunted in shock as the cobbles about him took the spray of his lifeblood, the noise tapering off into a sigh.

In an instant more gloved hands appeared to grab at him, them dragging him into the dark. A brief silence followed, only broken by the horrid sounds of stabbing, tearing, and the wet thumps of butchery.

Sef hissed, “He was a fool!”

Something landed on the cobbles in front of us - a severed hand.

A moment later, the warrior’s body loomed up at the edge of my circle of light. He’d been stabbed and carved, his armour and clothes shredded, and his lifeless face marked with Mortigi’s five-pointed star. The body then fell forward to land with a sickening crunch. His own sword stuck out of his back, standing straight and bloodied.

A silence followed, it broken by Lady Death, “An eye for an eye.”

I reached up and split my molten cobblestone, hurling a gob of the white-hot stuff after her. It hit the cobbles to spray flaring lumps and a galaxy of sparks. Robed figures spun away, giving us a moment to gather ourselves, yet still the lane wasn’t safe - it was time to move into the opera house.

Sef turned to the big warrior next to him. “Cherub, force the door.”

He then looked to me with a wry smile. “Thank you, Juvela.”

I grinned as I marvelled at my flaring light. Finally, I’d cast something, and been able to help by gaining us some time. But my pride was short-lived.

Lady Death hissed, “Curse you!”

And I thought they were just words…

Sef’s face lost its colour as fear filled his eyes.

But my perception had already taken flight.

And in the celestial, Mortigi came to put his mark on me, him incomprehensible and immense.

His attention shot through me like cold shards of ice, hurled by a gusting gale built of nothing but sleet and death.

Pain stabbed and slashed, and at the same time his anger burned into me, all of it leaving me squirming under its volcanic heat.

His hate torched my soul, working to extinguish my life’s light, yet somehow, through some miracle, I managed to last through it and survive.

I found myself slumped on the ground.

Someone began lifting me, holding me under the arms and pulling me into the opera house. I wanted it to stop, to get back on my feet, until I realised I couldn’t move.

I watched one of my hands, the knuckles being rubbed raw as it was dragged over timber boards. Somehow it still gripped the blazing stone. All the while, lost in shock, I drooled and dumbly hummed. It took a long time for my sluggish mind to recognise what; it was Schoperde’s song, a song of sorrow, but also hope.

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