The Fall of Ossard (47 page)

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.

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