The Fall of Ossard (34 page)

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…