What Remains of Heroes (35 page)

He thought of all the things before him, all those impossible deeds needing doing.

His shoulders drooped and he made ready to leave the room.

Is this how heroes are
born?

22

The Awful Past

Z
andrachus Bale picked
his way through the mountain pass, his hastily made walking staff wobbling precariously with every uneasy step. He averted his eyes from every vista and every cliff’s edge, terrified the heights would cause him to swoon with vertigo. His feet ached, his knees creaked, and his back was bent with exhaustion.

“How much farther?” he said, as much accusing as inquiring.

“Dunno,” said the wild-haired, spindly-legged woman walking half a dozen paces ahead of him. She smelled terrible, like a cheese several days too old, but she was the only person in the mountainside village he’d found who was willing to guide him to the ruins of the ancient city of Cirak. That was five days prior, and he surmised this was the first word she’d spoken since.

“Well,” he said, trying to sound curious rather than concerned, “how can you be sure
where
it is if you don’t know how
far
it is?”

“Dunno that, neither,” she said curtly, squinting at him with sea-green eyes. Her face was wrinkled and caked with dirt, and her shoulder-length hair gray in places and red in others. Yet, Bale suspected she was younger than she appeared.

Bale followed her up a narrow gully full of loose gravel, struggling with his footing. “You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”

“I ran away from home a lot, sometimes to there. I’ve snooped around a few times. Lots of dry dirt and old bones. A dead place. Last time was years ago, and I knew better than to come back.”

“Years ago? Do you remember exactly how
many
years ago?”

“Dunno. I forget.”

Bale tucked a long strand of his gray hair behind his ear and shook his head. He’d read of Cirak, knew vaguely of its supposed mountaintop location, but the Southwall Mountains were a vast and dangerous place. Without knowing the location precisely it was very likely they would become lost and then die. “But,” he asked, “you
do
know where it is, yes?”

The woman stopped abruptly and wheeled about, a bony finger leveled at him. “Dead gods be damned, yes! Everyone knows where it is, so we can avoid the place! If you don’t believe me, then good luck finding it yourself!”

Bale threw up his hands. He realized he had no choice but to trust the woman, and having her dislike him probably wasn’t a good idea. Not when she could send him plunging to his death with a simple nudge. He smiled weakly.

They continued on for a while in silence, through tight, winding passes and across an old switchback path carved into the side of the cliffs. Bale found himself shutting his eye closest to the path’s edge in hopes of ignoring the sheer height. Invariably, though, his gaze would wander to the edge and he’d see a valley thousands of feet below. His stomach lurched and would have emptied had there been anything of substance within it.

“So,” he said, trying to distract himself, “what is your name?”

“Lorra,” she said gruffly.

He paused and bowed awkwardly, “Lorra, I’m Zandrachus Bale, Acolyte of the Sanctum of Illienne the Light Eternal.”

“Good for you, whatever that is.”

“You haven’t heard of the Sanctum?”

“No.”

“We’re students of the Old Faith. Guardians of truth and seekers of wisdom.” He pulled at his chin and thought for a moment. “Perhaps you’ve heard of us referred to as ‘spookers.’”

“Ah. Loony wizards.”

“A common misperception. Our works are derived from the ancient wisdom of the goddess Illienne. They are divine in nature. The works we perform aren’t ‘magic,’ but rather divine methods of seeking truths. We are also well versed in curing ills of the body.”

Lorra stopped and looked at him suspiciously. “You can heal the sick?”

“We have methods. Is there something I can help you with, when we reach Cirak? Or perhaps your family? I’m thinking your help has been worth far more than the few silver crowns I’ve promised to pay you. I could help.”

She paused for a moment. “I have a lot of bad memories. Bad feelings from the awful past. My brothers and father.” She sniffed and looked skyward. “Rape and some things even worse. Can you help with nightmares?”

Bale regarded her sadly and then looked at his feet. “I’m afraid I can’t help with that.”

They made camp for the night near a mountain stream, finding kindling for a fire near a few scraggly trees. Lorra turned out to be a capable cook, making a pleasant-smelling stew of onions and leeks she’d brought from her village and herbs she found near the stream. Bale graciously accepted a wooden cup and sat near the fire to eat.

“It’s delicious,” he slurred through a mouthful before swallowing. “But you may not like me by the time morning comes. Onions tend to make a trumpet of my, well, you know…”

“You’re sleeping downwind, then.”

“Very well,” Bale said, giggling. He’d always found farts to be a source of tremendous amusement, particularly in the solemn, poorly ventilated halls of the Abbey. He wondered briefly about the acoustics of the mountain faces and laughed a bit louder, imagining the echo of a hearty baritone playing across the Southwalls.

Lorra looked at him with something resembling disgust and resumed eating in silence. Bale felt mildly embarrassed and shifted away from the fire, focusing instead upon the night sky. The moon and stars were brilliantly bright, casting a silvery glow upon the mountains. It was a serene, beautiful place, and seemed a whole world away from the Abbey. Bale smiled, amazed he’d made it so far from home.

Lorra stood and retrieved Bale’s empty cup. “Why do you travel to Cirak? It’s just a jumble of old, ruined things. A place only of death. A frightful place.”

“Old and frightful to some, but a most sacred relic to those like me. Cirak was once a great city, a majestic place. It’s said to be the site of the first battle between Illienne the Light Eternal and Yrghul the Lord of Nightmares. And it was home to a grand temple to Illienne.” He lifted his chin. “Yrghul defeated Illienne there, more than a thousand years ago, and cast the city into ruin. It’s said that after the War of Fates a group of architects and masons went to Cirak and built a new temple atop the ruins of the old, and erected glorious statues to honor the Sentinels. It was considered a holy place, at least until the Sentinels were banished.” He rubbed his nose. “You’ve heard of the Sentinels and the War of Fates, haven’t you?”

Lorra waved a hand dismissively. “Never.”

“Never? Well,” Bale said, pulling his hair behind his ears and settling closer to the fire, “eons ago the Elder God made ready to depart this place, and upon doing so He gifted dominion of the world to His six children. To Illienne He granted dominion over Rune and lands nearby. One of her brothers, Yrghul, was given a land far to the south, in a place now known as the Bowl of Fire. For a time Yrghul’s kingdom thrived, becoming like a glittering jewel. But then, in a terrible instant, a great ball of flame from the heavens obliterated his realm. Yrghul grew mad with grief over the loss of his people, and he cursed the Elder God for the tragedy. In his rage he sought fell powers in old hells laid bare by the devastation, those dark places left buried by the Elder God when He turned from this world. With those powers he set out to exact a misguided vengeance, a desire to lay waste to all the lands of his siblings. The struggle that followed became known as ‘The War of Fates,’ and it happened a thousand years ago. It—”

“I didn’t say I
wanted
to hear about it.”

“But—”

“No,” Lorra said firmly, her green eyes narrowing.

“Oh,” Bale said, lowering his head, suddenly reminded of how different people were outside the walls of the Abbey.
Most people find comfort in
ignorance
.

They sat quietly for a time near the fire. Bale stirred the embers occasionally with his staff, warding away the chill of the mountain air.

“You’re an odd one,” Lorra said abruptly. “By the looks of you you’ve traveled far, and you don’t seem to be much of a traveler. Couldn’t you have picked an easier place to meet this person?”

Bale thought of the Spell of Recounting, of the feel of the wet, withering piece of flesh in one hand and strange movements of his other as his body mimicked the Lector’s own. His hand had jerked and swirled as though writing invisible script, until at last Bale’s mind had caught their pattern and recognized the words. “
And, thus,
Lyan, I summon you,”
were the words.
“I implore you to honor once more your most sacred vow. I will come to the Sacred Place at Cirak, and together we must return to Rune, before He does
.
I have sent summonses to the others. The very fate of the world is in jeopardy, and only we can save
it.
”

The ‘sacred place’ had to be the ancient Temple of Cirak. Bale grimaced, for the words still frightened him as he wondered what, exactly, he would find in the ruins of Cirak.
Perhaps I’ll find the awful past, as Lorra called it
. He shivered and pulled his heavy robes about him.

“Well?” Lorra asked impatiently. “Why are you going there?”

Bale glared at the woman. “For someone who doesn’t care to hear my answers, you certainly ask me a lot of questions.”

Lorra took the cups and her pot to the stream and set about washing them. After doing so she splashed water on her face, removing some of the thick layer of dirt caked upon it. At least in the flickering firelight, she looked far more comely than she had earlier. Her features were hard but still womanly and, if Bale dared think it, attractive.

Bale stared at her for a long moment before heaving a sigh. “It’s a long story. Probably not something you want to hear.”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“It’s about those Sentinels I mentioned earlier.”

“You said that stuff was a thousand years ago. You’re going to see a dead person? A tomb?”

Bale chuckled. “In a manner of speaking, I am going to something not unlike a tomb. The Old Faith was rejected as blasphemy after the Sentinels were banished, and symbols of them were forbidden by the High King. But as for the Sentinels themselves, they are immortal.”

Lorra looked at him quizzically, her brow curling above green eyes.

“That means they cannot die by mortal means.”

“I know what it means,” Lorra said sharply, splashing Bale with a handful of water. She then fixed him with a penetrating stare. “So the person you’re going to meet is a thousand years old?”

Bale looked skyward again and studied the stars. “That’s my hope. There was one among them named Lyan the Just. I don’t know what became of her after the Sentinels were banished, but it’s my hope she has not… faded away. It’s my hope she is still at Cirak. Still waiting.”

“And why is it you would want to meet this… person?”

Bale pulled his robes closer. “Perhaps she can help me save the world.”

At dawn they found themselves again on a path cut into the side of a mountain, this one narrower and more treacherous than the last. A thunderhead rolled atop the nearby sky and the wind whipped at them and howled in their ears. Bale was desperately afraid of tumbling off and crept slowly along with both hands pressed against the rock face.