The Fall of Ossard (49 page)

It had taken Marco!

I cried out in anguish.

I needed that soul!

I turned my perception to search for the thief.

And there she was; my grandmother.

The dark pits of her eyes lay cold, but somehow smug upon her pallid face, and about her floated hundreds of skulls in her macabre halo.

Back in the real world, I slumped into the filth of the alley while crying out. Sef and Baruna both reached for me, thinking I’d been overcome by my mourning for Marco’s passing.

I realised then how much I’d already come under Death’s sway. I had to stop it, to resist the addiction - while I still could.

If I could…

I also had to break the bond between my grandmother and me.

Steadying myself, and aided by Sef and Baruna, I rose out of the alley’s dirt, muck, and Marco’s blood.

A cool chuckle then sounded from the shadows.

Sef’s hand tensed on my shoulder, for we both knew who stalked us. “Easy, Juvela.”

Tears ran down my face to fall into Marco’s ruin. I was disgusted with myself: Marco had died serving me and suffered afterwards, and all I’d been able to think of was gorging on his soul as if I was at a banquet. He deserved more than that; at the very least respect, love, and my own service. I vowed to save him, not just from my failure, but also from my grandmother.

If being a god meant I received people’s faith, surely
I
had to give something in return. My disgust at myself saw my need to feed fade, yet the hunger remained, but was no longer so urgent.

A voice again drifted from the darkness, cool and smooth, “The hunt isn’t over. You may have beaten Mortigi’s lady, but we’re many and still coming to claim you!”

Damn them and this plague of madness!

Angered, I growled, “Don’t bother, I’ll come to you.” And I stepped over Marco’s body and deeper into the lane. “I’m coming, and I hope you, your fellows, and your filth-eating god are ready!”

And all about me the darkness opened with surprised eyes. Some of them gasped, others hissed, the lead calling, “How dare you!”

“You won’t believe how much I dare!” And I offered my hands as power surged through them to flare as though a dozen suns had risen in the alleyway.

The cultists screamed as they ran, half-blinded and dazed. One of them stood frozen in terror, his eyes melting to leak from their sockets while the skin on his face reddened to peel as his clothes smouldered.

I hurled the light from my palms, it flaring as it flew. It split as it chased them, each blazing ball finding dark robes to burn through and flesh to quench them.

And then I was done.

“Juvela?” It was Sef.

I lowered my hands and what remained of the hot light died away.

“Juvela, such power, where has it come from?”

I nearly laughed, but this was no time for mirth. Still, I wasn’t going to admit that my newfound strength came from feeding on the soul of Lady Death. Instead, I said, “I must get to my family.”

Baruna stared, until finally she said, “We’ll come too.”

“No, please, you must lead the people out of Ossard before sunrise.”

“She will,” Sef said, “but I’m coming, and there’ll be no argument.”

I smiled. “You know what you’re going up against?”

“I know,” and his voice wavered. If he intruded on the rituals of the Reformers, he’d be working directly against the wishes of Kave.

In the celestial, I could feel the perception of a god looking our way, noticing something of what happened here. Quickly, I set layers of soul-stuff about my life-light to hide its glow. My soul, as powerful as it threatened to become, was still no match for the likes of Mortigi.

Sef asked, “Can we stop the ritual?”

“Too many stand against us, and they’ve too many souls to feed it. The city is lost, and nothing can stop that - but we
can
weaken it.”

Hope lit his eyes. “Let’s go then!” He began to turn.

“There are quicker ways.” I spread my arms, my hands beginning to glow, but this time with a softer light. “Come to me, Sef. Baruna, please, see to the innocents and get them out by sunrise.”

She nodded, smiling at my blooming power.

With just a thought, Sef and I rose from the blood-soaked dirt of the alley and up into the night. Sef laughed, a sound that became louder as we climbed to pass above the slum’s uneven rooftops. The blue light from my hands mixed with the amber and gold of the city’s fires to expose Mortigi’s cultists as they fled across roofs of shingle, slate, and tile.

Sef lashed out at one with a sword as we passed. “And that’s for Marco!” It seemed only a flesh wound, but the cultist slipped from his perch on the roof’s ridgeline to fall to his death on the streets below.

And from our vantage point, as we rose higher, we beheld the doom of the city - the very fall of Ossard.

The rooftops about us ran alive with the followers of Mortigi. The black clad murderers swept across the heights of Newbank like a plague of rats centred on the slums, but not exclusively; they were everywhere. They numbered close to a thousand, the only things more common the roofs themselves and the fires eating the city.

Below, someone called, “Get Mortigi’s marked!”

Darts, throwing knives, even arrows and crossbow bolts flew at us, but nothing struck. I refused them all.

The missiles slowed as they neared, only to stop and then be returned with greater force. Cultists screamed and cursed as their fingers were sliced and their bodies pierced by their own weapons. Some died instantly, while others slid from rooftops unable to grab onto handholds with now fingerless hands. And in the celestial, I reached out and burst each of their souls, remembering Marco as I let their essence dissipate and sent them on to Oblivion.

Such action denied them an afterlife, and their foul god a feeding.

I refused to take them despite my aching hunger. I had to be strong; for that was the path to Death’s addiction.

We rose above Newbank, all of it illuminated by spreading flames. Along the roofs moved packs of thieves and cultists, and in the streets below Flets, Reformers, and Kavists. They banded together under many banners, fighting for their newfound or - in some cases - long-hidden faiths.

Loyalists also attacked on several fronts, both in the city and now in a freshly established beachhead in Newbank. They marched, charged, and died under the Inquisition’s black and gold, pushing on despite their losses as they surged into Newbank to claim revenge. Behind them, down the main avenues of the city, I could see Heletians fighting each other; Loyalist against Reformer.

Slipping my perception between worlds, I could see the reptilian eye above the city. Power grew there; a dark dream of what was to come.

I shivered.

We were high enough now that we’d cleared the tallest rooftops and towers, and passed over the heart of Newbank to head towards the river. To the east, at the Newbank Gate, I could see a gathering of coaches, carts, and people.

Our people!

The sight lifted my spirits.

There were so many, thousands and thousands, and they hadn’t gathered for me, but for hope and life.

I sent a thought, it not something they’d understand in a word-for-word way, just a sense of what they needed to do to survive.

Get beyond the wall to safety!

Beneath us, the Loyalists continued flooding across the river. They’d advanced from their landing to reach the steps of the Guildhall and work their way into the district’s streets. With flaming brands, they pushed into Newbank’s main square, the area of my own home and that of my parents. Two forces fought in that open space, Flets and Loyalists, and behind them I could see my own people still heading for the gate.

In the celestial I warned, “The Loyalists are in the square!”

And fires sprang up in the surrounding buildings.

My parents weren’t at home - I could sense it - yet I still felt sickened to watch the first signs of flames. By their flaring light, I watched looters spill through their house and courtyard, trampling the rose garden I’d planted during my season of shame. I knew I could stop it, but as soon as I moved on it would only start again. It was pointless. Like the city it had grown from, its fate was to be razed.

A flash of light from below marked the beginning of the Guild’s magical defence. Great waves of red power rolled out of the building to strike the bands of storming Loyalists. The attack only incited the mob, drawing more of them. Half a dozen died in a moment, while a score fell wounded.

Sickened by the sights about me, and already fatigued by a catastrophe that was far from peaking, I wondered; perhaps they deserved each other, these people in love with their barbarous city.

My own home lay behind us already aflame. I hoped everyone had got out and that someone had taken my grandmother’s tome; regardless, I couldn’t worry about it now. It was just too late.

I turned from the fighting in Newbank. For my people I could do no more. It was time to focus on my family, perhaps – with all that was going on – an indulgence, but to me it was a symbol of hope.

Finally, I was strong enough to get them.

Damn it, I was an awakening avatar!

We rose higher, having passed the worst of Newbank’s fighting to now be above the Cassaro. Hundreds still rushed across to join the battle, but increasingly the Loyalists were turning about: Their vengeful charge had left a flank exposed.

The Reformers had been ready, heading straight for Ossard’s undefended heart. They surged down the alleys of the poorer districts, to the avenues that had for so long marked the boundaries of wealth and class.

The city heaved with the desperation of thousands of separate life and death struggles. Fires flared and chaos swept its streets. Crowds fought, looted, or in some places celebrated victories. In many places buildings burnt, not just homes or businesses, but also whole blocks.

Sef gasped, “The Turo!”

The mid-level windows of the high tower flared with blinding flashes of light. After a moment, more came from the next level up as an unknown spell caster advanced.

I said, “The fighting’s spread so quickly. The Reformers were ready.”

As they had been all along
.

The casting continued in the Turo, making its way up floor by floor. Whoever led that charge stalled on the second highest level, before unleashing another series of spells, each followed by rumbling booms.

A final flare lit up the night. The brilliant light shone from the tower’s top level to roar angrily and blow off part of its roof. For a moment it drowned out the rest of the city’s fury, before sending a rain of burning timber and rock to shower down on the streets below.

“Sef, keep an eye on it, they can see everything from up there - including us.”

A pulse of power flew from the top of the Turo, screaming as it zoomed across to hit one of the Cathedral’s towers at its base. It was lost in a ball of blue flames, the writhing fire dying quickly, but not before its stonework fractured to bring the tower down. The rumble of its collapse snuffed out the screams of those it killed, the sight of it quickly smothered by a great cloud of billowing dust. A shocked silence came to settle over the square.

More pulses of power shot out to eat into anything the Reformers considered a threat. The flurry of attacks targeted the dust-shrouded Cathedral and other church-owned buildings, most of them near or edging on to Market Square.

I slid my perception into the celestial where I could watch the amazing pull and tug caused by so many users of magic dragging power from that other world. It moved with huge tides and eddies, the energy passing from and through it, leaving me to wonder; could the boundary somehow tear?

How strong was the barrier between worlds?

In the celestial, lost spirits, shades, and feeders all gathered, eating at the fragments of soul-stuff left over from so many deaths. They also waited for another kind of opportunity; for the chance to slip back into the realm of the living.

Elsewhere, other practitioners of magic took up the fight. For the Loyalists, that meant the senior priests of the Church, and for the Reformers, both the Cabal and priests of the cults. From a dozen different locations jets of energy and crackling bolts of lightning flew. Fires sprang up, bursting into sudden life, explosions blossomed, and buildings collapsed amidst a hail of red-hot stone and rubble.

Amidst the chaos, a pulse of power burst out from the Turo to scream towards us.

Sef cursed in surprise.

As quickly as it was cast, my celestial reflexes worked to diffuse it, stripping its energy away. So empowered, I could defend easily - but not forever. We all had limits.

I gathered myself for something final.

A bolt of lightning crackled out from my hand to flash across the sky. It set the pall hanging over the city aglow, before blasting the top of the Turo off to send stones flying. When the smoke cleared, it revealed the tower still standing, but crowned in ruin.

Beside me, I could sense Sef as he wondered: From where has all this power so suddenly come?

With guilt on my mind, I ignored him.

To the west lay the Port district, in many places it also burned. The air over there swirled about to gather the countless smoke plumes and weave them together. At its heart glowed a pillar of sparks of a deep violet hue. I didn’t have to check to know that it rose over the previous ritual’s site.

Sef yelled above the noise of the wind, fighting, and roar of Ossard’s countless fires, “Look at the River Gate; others flee the city!”

Crowds gathered there, many marked by the white and yellow or black and gold of the Loyalists. They were leaving, ushered on their way by the ghostly priests of St Marco’s.

Passing over the Loyalist district, my excitement soared. For the first time I could sense that I was closing in on Pedro and Maria.

My family!

Sef’s thoughts again fluttered through my mind: She’s so powerful, could she somehow stop all this?