Fate's Pawn 19

 

Chapter 19

 

Having refreshed themselves at the spring, they ate some of their trail rations, and pushed on, and were glad to be in lightly-wooded foothills not long after sunset. There was a rough shrine to Solos, and a rude hut for the shelter of travellers, as well as one for the Monks of the Sun who dwelt there, praying for the souls of those who had lost their way. They might be expected to be happy to accommodate the Alethosi, who felt strangely reticent about sharing their experiences, and the passing onward of the ghosts.

“I don’t think we should discuss what happened with the dead,” warned Harkon, as they approached the log-built complex, with its rude stockade.

“It’s too personal, isn’t it?” said Lelyn. “It’s like sharing cult secrets with outsiders, or… or talking about small family doings which are wonderful with the right people but embarrassing to put on display.”

“Besides, it would be discourteous to them to say we achieved what they’ve been praying for, for hundreds of years,” said Kaz.

“I expect they have managed to achieve some effects,” said Svargia.

The monks were welcoming.

“We are always glad to welcome visitors,” said the chief monk. “I am Brother Krysandos, and we will happily give you succour overnight, whilst our prayers keep this enclave safe from the Unquiet.

“We are always pleased to be in the hands of those whose aims of truth march with those of our own god,” said Kaz, gravely, as Harkon fought not to make tart reply to a fatuous speech, given with a most patronising smile.

“Indeed; even creatures of darkness like yourself are welcome,” said Krysandos.

“It is a mistake many make, to equate Death with darkness,” said Kaz, smiling brightly. “But we Alethosi celebrate death as a way to the ultimate light of truth.”

“Er, quite so,” said Krysandos.

 

 

“My trógling is the soul of tact,” said Alethos to Pollonis. “Especially considering how patronising your priests are being to my young champions.”

“I confess, I am astonished at the outcome,” said Pollonis. “And chagrined. You are not hurt at all to have so many extra worshipers.”

“I was not complaining when Kaz had the idea,” said Alethos.

“You will not complain either if she succeeds in stealing every trógling for you,” said Pollonis.

“She will need her own followers,” said Alethos.

“But you will receive their worship through her,” said Pollonis. “I am impressed, cousin, and I am not averse to it weakening both the Toróg gods and that unspeakable little upstart.”

 

Daze was aware of a hole in his power. Something was not right; a cluster of anguish which was his by rights for having caused it had vanished. Tens of thousands of wailing ghosts wailed no longer! Someone would pay...

 

Kaz was unaware of her god’s discussions, but she was pleased to bask in his approval, which she felt wash over her. She was glad that he was not angry at her urge to follow the ghosts and go to him willingly.

Apparently, she was supposed to visit him at some point in her questing.

What did one do when visiting the gods? Take a small but personal gift, as with the human customs of visiting in this land? Talk about the weather? Was there even any weather in the Underworld? There were tales of one of the daughters of Solos, stolen by Tor as his bride, and tricked into eating a snack in the underworld, thereby forcing her under his thrall; and heroic rescuers could do more than force an agreement that Mycota might come to the surface once a year to regenerate the fungi on the earth, and must spend the rest of the year growing mystical fungi for the feasting halls of Tor. She must ask Harkon what humans called their daughters, Zhargul and Ekzynn, goddesses of poison and decay. Would she have to stay if she took a cup of mead with Alethos? Would she care? She would miss her friends… she would miss Alathan… her heart jolted. She would miss Alathan if she pre-empted the curse and, essentially, died before she could be cursed to be undying. And he would be disappointed in her.  But the love she felt for Alethos was in some ways very similar, and his Presence drew her to him. But he had sent Alathan. He believed in her; both believed in her, and it was her duty to go through with it all. And how could Alethos or his hand, Alathan, love her, if she reneged on duty?

Life would never be simple since that prophesy.

 

The enclave was simple; there was a circular temple to Solos and Pollonis, a dortoir for guests, divided into two for male and female visitors, with rough bunks pegged into the four corners of each of the two rooms, with second bunks above, so a provision of up to sixteen beds in total, all roughly strung with rope for comfort, and palliasses which each visitor had to fill for themselves from a barn for housing riding beasts, where the hay kept to feed such also provided mattresses with filling. The monks presumably had similar accommodation, but with a bunk in each corner of their dortoir. A refectory with storage in both roof and a cellar, and with the cookfire in the eating room provided the simple fare for both monks and any who passed through. Water was plentiful, and came from a well, and no alcohol was offered. 

“I see you prevent rowdiness by adventurers by refusing liquor,” said Harkon, to Krysandos.

“It seems the easiest way to prevent trouble,” said Krysandos. “It is, however, our rule, so we will make no exception for less… boisterous… visitors.”

“Very wise,” said Harkon. “Exceptions have a way of multiplying.” 

The evening meal consisted of a thick and tasty vegetable soup, with bread and cheese to supplement it. The goats kept by the monks presumably provided the cheese.  The small party washed in the washrooms next to their dortoirs, and turned in. Svargia, Lelyn, Kaz, and Rinn had no need to use the upper bunks, though Harkon cheerfully demanded the right to an upper bunk to allay argument between Protasion, Evgon, Kuros, and Zon. They slept well after the previous day’s exertions.

 

The Alethosi made their morning prayers, and breakfasted with the quiet, saffron-clad monks, who looked surprised when Harkon laid down several coins to pay for their stay and feeding.

“Thank you, good warrior,” said the Krysandos. “It is useful when we have to purchase such things as a new ploughshare.”

“Your hospitality was generous, and it were churlish not to pay for it as we have the funds to do so,” said Harkon. “Tell me, do you have a Sun Seer?”

“No, warrior, we have not that felicity; it takes the four of us much of our time to tend our small plot of land, see to our animals, and record the weather as part of our religious duties,” said the monk. “We cannot support a blind man who does nothing but See. But one need not be a seer to see the light of the god-touched on your faces.”

“You see, I think, further than most,” said Harkon. “May Solos smile upon you. I believe you may find that your prayers have been answered.”

“I beg your pardon? What can you mean?” asked Krysandos.

“We stopped for the night in the midst of the Ghostlands, and we were granted a vision, that they had all but a very few departed, and found a way to eternal rest,” said Harkon. “We do worship the god of Death, after all, who knows about these things; and they came to him at the Place of Shades.”

“Praise Solos!” cried Krysandos. He looked suspicious suddenly. “But you had something to do with it....”

“Why, surely the prayers of devout monks time out of mind must be efficacious,” said Harkon. “Though we should like to build a temple to Alethos and a waypoint at the point where we received the revelation that the Unquiet had moved on.”

“Of course, of course!” cried the monk, fulsomely. “It is only fitting.”

“Pollonis and Alethos have ever been friends,” said Harkon.

 

Protasion waited until they had left before airing his thoughts.

“Why did you give Solos or Pollonis the credit, when it was Alethos?” he asked, indignantly.

“Are we not supposed to protect Kaz and enable her quest?” asked Harkon.

“Well, yes, obviously. But what has that to do with playing down our lord’s freeing of the souls of the Unquiet?” asked Protasion.

“And whose idea was it?” asked Harkon.

“Kaz’s. But it was the power of Alethos.”

“Yes, you know that, and I know that.  And who has been feeding on the magic of the misery of the Unquiet?” asked Harkon.

“I… I don’t know,” said Protasion. “They must worship whoever they worshipped in life?”

“If they had done so, they would have been drawn to the Place of Shades, where Alethos sorts souls to their disparate gods,” said Harkon. “The Unquiet were those who fell into the habit of accepting the existence of all the gods, without having a personal god to worship – or so I conjecture. It is said that before the coming of the Blood Moon, the life of the civilisation of the Ghostlands, which is used to describe the valleys in which they dwelled as well, had become very secular.

“Well, that… I suppose a lot of people do worship in a rather day-to-day way, whoever is convenient, with most, I suppose giving most worship to Solos for the legislation of the city….”

“And there you have it; they may give sacrifice of worship, the transfer of their magical energy through ritual sacrifice at public ceremonies, because it is expected… what, twice a year at the big public celebrations of Sun Ascendent and at Sun’s Returning, the Solstice celebrations. Is that enough to be drawn to Solos after death, especially if those sacrifices are performed half inebriated?”

“Er, no,” said Protasion. “Well, who does benefit, then?”

“The Trickster,” said Harkon.  “And blame Alethos for inserting that piece of knowledge in my head.”

“So, the Trickster has just lost a huge amount of magical energy…,” said Protasion. “Oh. And that means he will be very angry. And you diverted the direction of his anger….”

“To keep the gaze of the Trickster off our Kaz as long as is possible,” said Harkon. “I told no lie. They pray for the ghosts to go; they have gone. Some of their prayers may have helped some of the ghosts, so they are efficacious, so that is also true. We received a revelation, but not from Solos.”

“You’re remarkably devious for a Glyph-Lord-Priest of a truth god,” said Protasion.

“Truth is in perception,” said Harkon. “We know. That is what matters. And Kaz has more time to work below the gaze of the Trickster.”

“Why do we call him the Trickster, or the Riddler, not use his name?” asked Kaz.

“Names are power,” said Harkon. “When you speak the name of a god, even a demigod, they can hear it on the winds of power which bind all beings together. If you think of it, this must be so, or how can a god accept worship and sacrifice? But for most worshippers, their use of the name of their god is formulaic, and his interest in them peripheral, and the formula enacts the passage of their magical energy to him without personal interaction. He can, of course, choose to open his mind to any one, but for most deities, most of the time, this would be a waste of time and energy. But the more the core of energy in any being grows, the more they… shine, is the only word I can think of, and those touched by prophesy are also marked with a blazing light.  Our Kaz is therefore at risk if any one of us, especially herself, uses the riddler’s name directly.”

“Why do his followers ask riddles??” asked Kaz.

“To try to throw people out of the habit of thinking straight,” said Harkon. “Riddling used to be a harmless pastime, but now, there are the potentialities of hidden traps, to make people let their thoughts approach a question in a way of free-association; you know how many riddles rely on puns to solve the answer, and that involves a degree of chaotic thinking. At such moments of chaos, one is vulnerable to his snares.”

“The way you diverted attention, then, is important,” said Protasion. “To trick a trickster by using truth creatively. Are we on a schedule?”

“More or less,” said Harkon. “Kaz will be eligible for Glyph status in a little over a year, assuming she meets the requirements. Alethos may bend his usual rules; it’s generally to give someone time to settle towards their quest for mastery of various cult skills rather than a requirement as such. After that, she must be at a particular place at a particular time for the Twisted One to curse her.”

Fate's Pawn 18

 

Chapter 18

 

Outside the city, the dark earth was rich. Small farmsteads clung to the city walls like children to the skirts of their mother, taking advantage of the good farmland, but extending no further than a mile from the city walls, even if some fields straggled over the line. The farmers stopped work to stare at them, and some made the sign to ward off evil. Some spat in the soil. Some just turned away.

“What have they got against us?” asked Protasion.

“We’re going into dangerous places, so we must be dangerous people,” said Harkon.

“Hardly fair,” said Protasion.

“Since when has being fair been in any wise the province of the average person?” said Harkon, amused.

“Good point,” said Protasion.

“The ghosts come this close?” asked Kaz, frowning. “I thought you said they were further away.”

“No, but the farmers won’t tempt fate,” said Harkon. “Honestly, the line is closer to the mountains by a long way. There’s a ridge across the land, which is where the whole mountainside slipped down and flowed like water, by such accounts as I have read. It sounds incredible, but then, it was the coming of chaos, and for earth to behave like water, and air like fire sounds chaotic to me.” He shrugged. “The ghosts aren’t too bad. I’ve seen worse in these regions. There’s the site of a city; it sank below the earth, they say, and when you are on top of it, it’s as though thousands of voices cry out in fear, and are suddenly stilled. Over, and over, and over again. Not somewhere I’d like to spend a night, though the voices cannot harm you, and no spirits attack. It’s just uncanny.”

“Why haven’t the ghosts gone to their gods?” asked Lelyn. “Surely when they died, they would go to the place of waiting to be sorted by Death.”

“I don’t know,” said Harkon. “Too shocked to go when the death-urge should have dragged them to the place of waiting? It’s said that sometimes when a soul is severed from its body unexpectedly, the soul is disoriented, and fails to recognise death for a while. The spirits in the Ghostlands were fleeing danger, and all engulfed at once are still seeking a way to freedom, without taking the obvious choice of prayer to their own gods. But then, there is some suggestion that the reason the Wolf of Chaos was able to come and rape Luna in the first place was because the gods had weakened, because many people gave no more than lip service to them, pleased with their own efforts in making their wealth, and unwilling to give credit to the gods. If so, they had no god to whom to pray.”

“The easterners claim what they call ‘rationality’ and deny the gods,” said Protasion. “Their version of events is that a wandering body in the skies struck the Blue Moon, breaking it in two, to make a secondary, Red Moon.”

There were gasps of horror.

“They cannot have souls, to think like that!” gasped Lelyn.

“Oh, they have souls, but they don’t know how to use them,” said Protasion. “They consider magic to be a means of manipulating the energy of the universe, but of course, they will never have God Magic.”

“Just as well; such beliefs are dangerous,” said Harkon. “But it’s their loss.”

“Can’t we pray to Alethos to give them relief from their sufferings in taking them?” said Kaz.

“I don’t know,” said Harkon. “I suppose I never thought of it; and there are so many.”

“We should construct a huge death-rune in the middle of the region, and pray there,” said Kaz. “If we dig away the grass, it will reveal the earth beneath which can be seen from above; and if we pray, then Alethos will be with us to extend his invitation to them.”

“It is worth it, even if only some take the invitation for peace,” said Harkon.

They trudged on until Harkon called a halt.

“It is getting hot; we should rest,” he said. A spinney provided poles to set up the canvas under which to rest in shade, using such shade, too, as the spinney itself afforded. Harkon took first watch to let the younger members of his party sleep, then wakened Kaz and Protasion to take an hour’s sleep himself. The hour turned into two, but Harkon was much rested for it. Kaz and Protasion might sit to watch over their fellows, for the traffic on this road was but little. Any iron from the Anvil came down the upper Red River; this road was basically used only by those seeking to try themselves in the lost lands in the mountains.

“You should have wakened me before,” said Harkon.

“You were sleeping deeply and peacefully, and it was a judgement call to make sure you were fresh,” said Kaz.

Harkon conceded the point.

They ate before moving on, the greyish line marking the true edge of the ghostlands coming closer, and becoming clearer.

“I’d like to get into the ghostlands before we lose light from the sky,” said Harkon. “That way, we can get out again, if you cannot take it.”

“We worship a god of death; the dead are not to be feared,” said Kaz.

Harkon halted at the base of the cliff. The path they had taken rose up it, the way worn down to be easier by the feet of countless adventurers and explorers, treasure-hunters and the like.

“Let us pray,” said Harkon.

This they did, gladly, putting forward any secret fears in their own hearts, or pledging to aid the ghosts, with their god’s aid.

And then, Harkon went before them, over the rocky scramble, and Kaz’s eyes widened as they descended into what she could only describe as an insubstantial crowd, filled with cries and moans, sobs, and what were almost, but not quite, prayers.

“How far does this extend?” asked Kaz.

“Another twenty or thirty miles, into the foothills,” said Harkon.

“Were there so many people living here?” wondered Protasion.

“The road was packed with refugees. They were fleeing the heaving mountains,” said Harkon. “If you move away from the road, there are fewer.”

“Then we should move off the road to camp, if need be,” said Protasion.

“I was planning on so doing,” said Harkon.

“We need to be at the heart of the throng,” said Kaz.

“It will bring us into darkness,” warned Harkon. “And without much light from the moon.”

“So long as we can see to dig out a death glyph, we need no more,” said Kaz. “I know what to do. We make a death glyph on the ground, and we each bleed a drop of blood into each of its ends, and where the side pieces meet the main upright. Then you plant your iron sword there and pray to Alethos, and those ghosts who want peace can flow through the sword into the earth and directly to the underworld, where Alethos will open up a way.”

“How do you know this?” asked Harkon.

“I suppose Alethos told me,” said Kaz. “I just know.”

“I’ll not argue with the Daywalker, as the seeress named you,” said Harkon. “I heard the chime.”

“Me too,” said Kaz. “Fate is really very noisy.” She absently brushed away a ghost, gibbering at her. “So are these poor souls.”

“Four hours march should see us near the centre,” said Harkon. “Three if you can keep up a good pace.”

“Come with us, ye spirits, for we seek to give you rest,” called Kaz.

The spirits flickered; wavered; and started to fall in behind Kaz, following her. It made for a strange procession, and several of Kaz’s companions shivered. Indeed, the presence of the ghosts made the atmosphere distinctly chilly, and the shivering was not entirely in fear, but also from cold.

“As if going through them milling about aimlessly wasn’t bad enough, having them line up and follow us is not what I’d have asked for, given a choice,” muttered Svargia, pulling her cloak tightly about her. “I do not like this one bit.”

“They will not harm you, my friend,” said Kaz. “We bring them hope.”

There was, indeed, a strange atmosphere of, if not jollity, at least an air of cautious eagerness to those who followed. Kaz turned to smile into the vacant, filmy eyes of a small girl.

“Soon, little one,” she said. Alone of her companions she seemed not to notice the cold, but had a fey light in her eyes as if looking at their strange travelling companions from, as Protasion later described it, both far away, and yet inside and under their skins. Lelyn looked on her friend, and was glad of a hand that Kaz reached out to grasp hers; for she saw on Kaz’s face the instrument of Alethos. But Kaz was also still Kaz.

 

The light went slowly from the sky, the sun sinking before them, dragging all light and colour with him, save for the vivid hues of the skirts of Dysis, goddess of sunset, as she followed her father into the underworld for the night. And still the ghosts came on. Dysis herself was followed by Astros, the dusk, her own son, bringing the strange, blue-grey which is neither light nor darkness after sunset, adorned by the Evening Star, Hespa. And the ghosts came on. Polaros, the north star, stood above them to their right, and then as Astros crept almost unnoticed into darkest shadow, the faint red glow of the waning blood moon made the ghosts shiver in fear. But still they came on.

“She cannot take you if you are pledged to Death,” said Kaz. “He is god of Death before he is god of war, and though warriors sup at his own table, he has also peaceful lands for those who belong to nobody else. Pray to Alethos, and let him feel your supplication as we set up a means for him to aid you to freedom.”

There was a moan through the ranks of the ghosts, and as the pitiful sickle of the blue moon struggled into the sky, competing with the depleted blood moon, still they came on.

And Harkon called a halt; he and Protasion marked out a glyph using twine pegged to the ground with carven sticks, to show where to dig, and though they were tired, the travellers fell to using the spades with a will, taking turns to dig and to rest. Zon was shivering in terror, but he took his turn like anyone else. And then the Alethosi slit open their palms and dripped one drop of blood into each of the four ends of the glyph, and into the centre; and Harkon plunged his sword into the centre.

And the glyph lit up as if with blue fire.

The younger Alethosi knelt as Harkon, himself now knowing what to do, stood by his sword, Kaz kneeling the other side of it.

“The way to worship is thus,” said Harkon. “Place two fingers to your forehead, and then to your heart, and present your hand outstretched, saying, ‘Take my sacrifice of worship, Lord Alethos, Lord of Death and Truth.’ And when you have done so, you may pass down the way.”

Magic hung in the air; the sacrifice of worship heady in its intensity, such as Harkon had rarely felt. So many souls! And where his sword stood, now there was a pathway, a road directly to the underworld, which should be a pit, but somehow twisted to be a way to travel.

And past Kaz the streaming thong of spirits flowed down that pathway.

It took hours.

The light of dawn touched the sky before the last ghost had fled these cursed plains, the little girl Kaz had spoken to, who was joined now by parents. She looked up at Kaz, who stumbled to her feet, and started to follow.

A large, armoured figure blocked her way.

“It is not your time, yet, dear one; but I will permit you to use this path another time to quest, if you need to.”

“I am sorry, Alethos. I was caught up in emotion.”

“I know. But now, you have much to do.”

Kaz fell back to her knees, weeping; not even sure why she was weeping. And Harkon too collapsed, exhausted.

It was as well, perhaps, that the party lay in a most unconventional temple, hidden to the eyes of others, for they slept where they fell until the sun’s zenith woke them with its intensity.

Harkon woke, and sat up. He had the sort of headache which usually requires a day’s round of dedicated drinking to achieve; and his sword was back in its scabbard. A stone stood where once his sword had acted as a channel, with the glyphs of death and truth on it, and the death glyph cut into the earth was still limned with a flicker of blue light.

“We need to build a proper temple here,” said Kaz, knuckling her eyes.

“Yes,” said Harkon. “There is, at least, plenty of stone around, but we shall need a cart, which will need to be taken apart to get it over the barrier mound.”

“Leave it to Evgon, he’s good at that sort of thing,” said Kaz.

“Was that real, or was it a dream?” asked Svargia.

“What is a dream but a different perception of reality?” asked Kaz.

“Now that sounds like the sort of thing The Riddler would say,” grumbled Svargia, using a soubriquet which avoided naming Daze outright.

“Wash your mouth out,” said Kaz. “When I have dreams I can remember, they have usually had Alethos in them; I expect we can’t cope with his presence with fully aware souls.”

“We worshipped, and slipped into the fugue state of touching the god-plane which is usually the province of initates and above, but is experienced by the most devout lay members,” said Harkon. “In doing so, we aided Alethos to take those souls to him.”

“We have all been through the sort of profound experience it is rarely given to anyone to be a part of,” said Protasion, with deep reverence. “We have been blessed to be a part of this quest, and this is the start of the mending of the damage wrought by chaos.”

They all heard the chime of fate at these words.

“There will be no question but that you will all initiate on our return, I think,” said Harkon. “I felt the power of Alethos in me; and I know that I am now his priest as well as his lord, geased to fast on holy days to help me return to the holy state we reached, and be ready for his instructions. And I know I will also now be able to sense undead without difficulty, for I have been gifted.”

He lifted his vambrace and short sleeve, to see that next to the glyph of control that he had as a glyph-lord, there was also the glyph of magic, stamped into his skin in fine, silvery lines almost like a scar.

The others saluted him, in awe. And then Kaz hugged him, and so did the other girls, and the lads shook his hand.

“I don’t want to spoil the mood, but the ghosts haven’t all gone,” said Rynn.

“Those who were afraid to go are doomed to wander forever until they dare to ask,” said Harkon. He drank deeply from his water canteen, and felt better.

A spring bubbled up just to the west of the dug glyph, forming a bubbling pool, and flowing back down into the earth.

“That’s new,” said Svargia.

“Our lord has gifted us,” said Kaz, kneeling to scoop up fresh spring water to drink, and then to wash off the streaks of tears from her face.

“You’re supposed to be wary of water until tested,” said Svargia.

“Why? It’s from Alethos,” said Kaz.

Svargia could hardly argue with that.