The Fall of Ossard (48 page)

Liberation

The crowd parted so I could move ahead, many held torches, others lanterns, and even a few clutched at candles that dribbled hot wax. My people; they’d waited for me, knowing that I’d return.

They had faith.

But with my return came the city’s fall, and our exodus could no longer wait. By sunrise Newbank would be swarming with Loyalists and be at the heart of the city’s woes. The city of Merchant Princes was gone, as was the Inquisition’s short-lived pious empire, for now came the dark days of Death’s Ossard; a bleak and ruined boneyard of violence and decay.

Beyond my people stood so many more. Most of them cheered at the sight of fresh fires across the river, some with wicked grins, but there were others who prepared to face the Loyalists with all the dignity that our ancestors had mustered to meet the fury of the genocide.

So this was Ossard’s end …

I said, “Let those who want peace and to survive the fall of the city follow, for soon we’ll be ready to leave - after I’ve attended to my family.”

Baruna nodded.

Sections of the crowd whispered about us; word had spread of the link between the kidnappings and Kurgar. I could see groups arguing, some not quietly. The news seemed to have split Newbank. Some didn’t believe it, but others did, remembering a slow stifling of the peaceful faiths by a Guild always blaming the need for secrecy.

My own followers crowded deeply around, perhaps as many as a thousand. About them thronged many more who’d come to see me for themselves. It was these souls, I realised, that I had to win over to make a difference, to salvage something from the coming fall of the city.

With every step, using my footfalls as a rhythm, I burnt a little of my power; that which I’d gained in consuming Lady Death. Pulses of it rolled out through the celestial to break upon the crowd’s souls like the surf on a beach. For my followers it came as a blessing, for those unsure of their allegiance, a whisper of truth. To the remainder, who’d already given themselves to Death’s gods, it washed over them as if they lay under the waterline, buried beneath slime and weed.

I walked along to feel a returning flow. Most stood strong in faith, others like Baruna thrummed with extra illumination. This was the beginning of something; not just hope, but a new age.

I said, “The Loyalists are claiming the Inquisitor dead and blaming the Flets for it. They’ll try for vengeance by coming into Newbank, but it’ll leave their backs unprotected.”

“And you think the Reformers will take advantage?” Baruna asked.

I nodded. “They already are, and then they’ll move onto their ritual. We must be quick.”

She said, “We have a lot to take.”

“I still need to get to my family, and what of Sef; I saw him attacked?”

“Sef lives, but is wounded. He’s waiting at the crowd’s rear.” She smiled. “Almost everything is arranged, for now the only thing we need to do is fetch Marco and your family.”

“Thank you.”

My followers formed a path, and at its end waited Sef with one of his arms bandaged.

I smiled. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine; they got some steel into me, but it was the club to the head that dropped me.” His own smile softened, “I’m glad you’re back.”

I nodded.

He looked to the other shore as the warmth drained from his face. “And now comes the fall?”

I followed his gaze. “Yes.”

Our coach waited with Kurt atop it; I got in, Sef beside me, and finally Baruna. She said, “Marco hasn’t sent any word, and people are talking openly of Kurgar’s involvement. If the Guildmaster has heard, he may’ve tried to move them.”

He would’ve heard. The master of the Flet Guild could hear any of Ossard’s gossip, and this was certainly a matter close to his heart. I said, “We’ll go straight there.”

Sef gave the panel a knock, seeing Kurt get us started.

Baruna said, “Others will follow to help, while yet more will see to getting our people out of the city. I’ve told them to get beyond the gates by dawn and to take any who are willing with them. I’ve also sent some to collect your parents and their maids.”

“Thank you, Baruna.”

Sef looked to me. “Your power has grown; what happened over there?”

“I’m awakening. They’ve all spoken of me as though I’m something to fear - and for the first time I believe them.” And, I sensed, the effects of the Moonroot had finally waned away.

Baruna smiled.

“Anton told me some things of note.”

Sef asked, “And you trust him?”

“Whether he meant to help or not, he told me some truths thinking I’d soon be dead. I’ll tell you the details of it later, but the core of what he said was why they want me destroyed and the consequences if they failed. He also told me of the only other to survive their hunt.”

Sef asked, “Another avatar?”

“No longer an avatar, but awakened.”

“Who?”

“Dorloth of the Gargoyles.”

Both of them stared.

“I don’t know how, but maybe she can help.”

They looked to me, too stunned to answer.

“Anton also told me that I’m not a power like those above, I’m something new. Schoperde birthed me, and others like me, to replace the old generation who’ve been overcome by their greed for souls. I’m part of a second chance.”

Baruna asked, “What second chance?”

“Life’s second chance - and its last.”

Sef’s eyebrows arched.

I explained, “Schoperde birthed the old gods to look after the races of man, but they’ve become addicted to feeding on the souls of those they’re supposed to protect. Together they’ve grown so strong that they’ve blocked her attempts to raise new gods, gods that won’t succumb to that same addiction. It’s a battle that’s gone on for thousands of years and left her drained.”

The coach slowed as we moved deeper into the slums. The afternoon and much of the night had passed since the Inquisitor’s men had mounted their raids. Some of their fires burnt on, but the smoke wasn’t as thick. The bulk of what now drifted about was being blown from the growing inferno raging across the river in the Loyalist district.

The streets of the slums held a scattering of traffic and also some crowds. True, it was late, but there were relatives to check on and also news wanted of the chaos unfolding across the river. An undercurrent of fear, bitter and sharp, also haunted the night; it came from the rumours concerning Kurgar.

The road only grew narrower the deeper into the slums we went. Soon enough we had to leave the comfort of the coach and take to the dirt lanes on foot. All about us people hurried, many openly wearing the symbols of their true faiths; those first subverted by the Church, and then by our own guild.

Taking in the atmosphere, I imagined that the Flets living in Old Wair-Rae had once also gathered in such a nervous air on the eve of Def Turtung. Then, the Lae Velsanans had turned against their former slaves after a generation of granted freedom, scared by my people’s growing wealth and success.

For all of us, either living two centuries ago in the Fourth Dominion or today in Ossard, we stood at the cusp of our judgment. It was time to stand for our truths.

We hurried on through the slum’s alleyways heading through the maze. After passing a few more turns we’d be at the tower, and I could feel my power rising with my expectations.

We were so close!

My concerns also rose. I couldn’t communicate with Marco; his soul felt
wrong
.

I led, then came Sef and Baruna, and behind us walked a dozen of my followers. Unlike the streets we’d just passed through, the deeper we went into the heart of the slums the more deserted they’d become. The dark ways narrowed more and more to stand tall and ominous.

I whispered, “Let’s be careful.”

The alleyways lay quiet, even the open sewers dared not sound a trickle or gas a bubble.

I slid my perception into the celestial to search for Marco.

His soul was there, yet something was wrong. It glowed alive and beaming, but from it stretched a luminous trail that raged like billowing smoke in a gale-caught fire. Sparks also leapt after it to add to his shed soul-stuff, all of it burning off into Oblivion.

I hissed, “Wait!” And we stopped only one turn from the tower.

Nothing seemed to be lurking about his soul, and it didn’t seem to be ensnared by any kind of casting. I also looked to the tower where its celestial presence loomed dull and lifeless. I reminded myself that it’d looked that way before, no doubt masked by some kind of magic.

Sef asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t see them.

“They may be hidden.”

I shrugged as I resumed our march. “Perhaps.”

“Is Marco there?” asked Baruna.

“Yes, but something’s wrong.”

After another turn we entered the small square, it now occupied only by shadows and the echoes of distant riots. We passed through it to ignore the tower, and turned down the alleyway opposite.

“Where’s Marco?” Sef asked.

In the dim light it was hard to see anything in the alley except that it lay thick with rubbish and filth. The refugees who’d huddled in it were gone.

I slipped into the celestial to look again. There his soul was glowing with life right in front of us, but still shedding energy. It didn’t make any sense.

“Sef, look into the celestial, he’s right there.”

He looked and cursed, “By the gods, what’s happening to him?”

I took a hesitant step forward, to where - in my perception’s view of two worlds - his soul lay. That glowing sphere of life, the seed of his being, seemed to be right before me, yet all I could see was a pile of dirty rags. I stopped in the dim light, finally recognising the robe we’d bought. It lay there tattered, twisted, and heavily stained. I reached down and drew it back to unveil his bloodied remains.

Sef hissed, “The bastards!”

Poor Marco, he lay there twisted and torn with meat spilling through his shredded clothes. He was dead.

Baruna gasped, “Oh, Marco!”

Sef said, “But his soul, it’s as if he lives?”

Baruna began to cry.

I slid into the celestial to try and connect with him. “Marco?”

He was waiting for me. “Oh, Juvela!” he sounded desperate.

“Marco! What have they done to you?”

“Juvela, I’m trying to hold on, but I can’t for much longer!”

“What happened?”

“They came, cultists, I didn’t see them approach, but they attacked…” his voice broke, trailing off in a mix of anguish and disbelief.

“Marco?”

“…they killed me!”

“Oh, Marco…”

“Wait Juvela, I don’t have long.”

And I could see what he meant: It was taking an immense effort for him to hold out against his soul’s urge to rush back to his god.

…to rush back to me
.

The realisation distracted me, stirring my deep hunger.

I could feed again!

He said, “They taunted me, saying that they were going to take them away.”

“Both Pedro and Maria?”

“Yes, and others, including the Lord and Lady.” His soul began to shiver.

“Was there any clue as to where they were going?”

“Nothing for certain. I tried to connect with Maria, but I couldn’t, - and then… then the cultists started to… to…”

“Marco?”

“…to cut at me.”

I shivered. “It’s alright Marco, you’ve done well to hold on.”

My hunger was growing…

Soon!

“I wish I could’ve done more. I wish I could’ve stopped them or got word to you. I tried, but I mustn’t have been strong enough.”

“Marco, it’s alright. When did it happen?”

“Not long after sunset. They teased me, saying the ritual was set for daybreak.”

I would’ve been unconscious when he’d tried to send his message.

He moaned with pain.

And the thought of him dying made me shudder. I could let his soul return to me on its natural path, coming home to roost, from where one day it would be reborn, or I could snatch it up to feed upon, absorb the power, and deny him his future.

I tried to calm myself: He trusted me. He’d have his time of peace, and when ready, his rebirth. “Marco, it’s alright. You’ve done well and I’m grateful. You can rest now.”

“Wait; the cultists became frenzied when they attacked, and I could see things as if they were thoughts spilling from their minds. There were visions of them rallying at Market Square. I think they needed to take it, that they’d been ordered to.”

That made some sense, for where else should the sanctity ritual be completed but at Ossard’s heart and seat of power?

After all, Lady Death had been there…

And with that thought my hunger grew, beginning to give me deep quaking cramps. So pained, I became impatient. “Thank you Marco, but you can rest now, please.”

I sensed him relax.

He said, “It’s been a joy.”

I almost snapped at him, wanting him to let go and end my agony. I restrained myself. “Rest, Marco, please.”

And then he let go.

I knew that I should let his soul rest, it was my intention, but my hunger roused so painfully that I worried I’d not be able to resist.

His soul began to break into a glowing trail of soul-stuff, finally free to begin its race home.

Its race home to me…

I braced myself. This would be a different sensation, part of a natural cycle, as he was one of my own. I doubted it’d feel as intense as soul-feeding, but nonetheless my hunger for it and the power it would give me saw me oblivious to all else.

And then, just as I thought I had myself under control, my dark hunger bucked. It cut through me strong and vicious, each extra moment drawing me further into its agony.

I yearned to feed, to end the pain - and to take the high it would give.

And what was left of his soul flared and rushed for me.

I tensed and waited, bracing myself.

I should let him rest, but I needed to feed…

I needed the power…

I needed…

Then, just before he reached me, something blue and spectral passed between us in the void. It flared with new power, crying out in triumph before circling away.