Time ebbs and flows like a vast wide river. I stand on the bank and watch as it curves and cuts its way through the valley. I see the headwaters. I have stood in them. I see where the river ends. When all things cease to pass, even time, and I and the kin of Spirits who rule over this world will move on. The surface is smooth like glass, the overall outcome of events and choices, but I can reach in and draw a handful and there its deeper records unfold to me.
When we set these waters to their path long ago, we did not expect that mortal men whose lives are but fleeting moments, that they would use their lives to build up damns. To change the course of the river. One works feverishly as we speak. The Ruiner King. However, he is not the first. I stand in a canyon of what was to have been, the dry bed of cracked clay. There was punishment, of course, for these mortals who set to unmake my river.
This Ruiner King has but a few more trees to place and then my vast river will halt. All will be glorious for him for a moment as the water rises, as he holds his man made lake. But the river always finds a new path, it will cut into the ground. It will erode what was meant to stay.
And I fear that this time, retribution will be absolute.
Unless. Unless his brethren have the strength to see the danger and destruction he chances. Can they break the damn in time?
Prologue
It was a battle with the highland Lumur. They were particularly fierce in this war. But then, the Kindol had been battling the Lumur for centuries, and both sides had grown fierce as of late. They left none alive and the towns near the border were constantly decimated.
This was Prince Rune’s first time leading a legion to battle. He was young, yes, barely a man in the eyes of most. But he was their Prince and they knew he had fought on the fields of battle many times over with his father, the crowned King of Kindol. The boy had been studying the art of war since he could walk. They trusted him. He would not fail them.
Prince Rune galloped to the head of the line, his sword held high.
“Men of Kindol! Men of the North! The Lumur have encroached on your lands! They have killed your women and children. They have slain us, they have tested us, they have challenged our rule! It is time we make a stand today! It is time we show that these borders are strong and none shall tread through them lightly! None shall challenge the Kindol and go unanswered! Today we fight! Men of Kindol! Men of the North!”
He road down the line, all cheering. Chanting to Kindol.
He felt glorious.
He heard the whistle of the arrow and turned only a moment before it would pierce him.
It happened so fast, he saw the arrow and his heart called out. No, no not this day. I do not want to die this day. I give anything, I give all, please do not take this life from me. I can not die on this field!
The arrow burned to nothing in the air only a foot from Rune’s outstretched arm.
Then like a blossoming dome, the shower of arrows coming toward them all burst into fire and were nothing. Not one Kindol man was harmed.
A fanatical smile flew across Rune’s face. I can not die. I do not die. I feel a power surging in my veins. Those arrows fell because I asked them to.
“TO ME KINDOL! AND TO VICTORY!” he cried and the sword in his hand became a flaming pillar to which he would strike down his enemies.
Many Lumur would die this day at the hand of a Prince. At the hand of a God.
The Death Bryn Helkyrie of Elys
The dream was horrific.
Bryn startled awake with a gasping breath, clutching her chest. She felt disoriented, feeling like she didn’t know how long she had been asleep. Last she could remember she had fallen ill and her father had carried her to her bed.
It was unnaturally dark. Something wasn't right.
This was not her bed. She slid her hands down to the surface she was resting on. There were no blankets, no covers, not like she remembered lying down on. She let her fingers wander away from her body. It was then, as her nails scrapped across and down the sides of the dais that she realized she was on a bed of cold stone. The granite was cut smooth and only slightly wider than her body. Her body that seemed to be laid out among dead flowers. Bryn took the wreaths and bundles that were along her side and across her waist into her hands. They were dried and near decay.
As the petals fell from her finger tips, dust in her lap, the overwhelming fear broke over her.
She screamed and found she could not stop screaming, the terror coming over in waves.
She knew where she was.
This was a tomb.
She screamed for so long her voice failed her and she subsided into rasping sobs. Her only thoughts were that she needed to get out. There had been some horrible mistake. She was just sick, just taken ill, all she had needed was rest and the care of her mother. Not a tomb. Not a cold dark tomb. Bryn stumbled from the dais onto the marble tile ground. Her feet were bare and her clothes foreign, but these details were beyond her at the moment. She took quick steps forward, her arms out in front of her reaching into the blackness. Her legs hit something before her hands did, another dais most likely. Automatically her hands went down to it and were met with the fragile fragments of bones. A hand. She screamed once more, finding her voice. She started to run wildly within the dark, her arms flailing out trying to keep her from knocking into the bodies of her ancestors.
Finally, there was a spot of light ahead of her. A patch she could scramble for. When she reached it she discovered it was a door. Glass and iron. A door she had been on the other side of many times. This was her family tomb. The tomb of the Helkyries for centuries. The knowledge of this did not comfort her. Why in Ekaria was she entombed? Did she not breathe? Was she not standing now? The door was sealed tightly and Bryn found no way to open it on this side. She tried to hit it with her small weak fists, tears still streaming. The glass was thick and seemed to mock her with its bright colors and transparency. She could see the world outside but could not break out of the tomb.
Sinking to the ground, she dragged her nails down the door. Several of them broke on the iron pieces, smearing blood as she scratched and scratched. It was perhaps this last ditch effort that consumed what was left of her energy and she slumped against the frame, crying, pleading.
“Please, please, anyone… is there anyone outside? Mother? Please…” and she lapped into silence, her head resting on the cool glass.
How long she sat that way she did not know. She did not even know how long she had laid in this tomb taken for dead. Long enough for the funeral flowers to wither and die. The light had changed and she knew it was well past dusk outside.
She found herself standing and walking calmly to the nearest dais she could find. As the flesh on her arms rippled with bumps she felt the surface for something solid. At last her fingertips grasped what she had to assume was a skull. A grandfather. A great-great aunt. She couldn’t even think about it. She ran back to door flinging the skull as she neared with as much strength as she could muster. The skull shattered a frame of glass near where the two doors met. She wrapped her hand in the long sleeve of the dress she was wearing and thrust it through the opening. She scrabbled around trying to find a latch. There at last, she managed to unhinge the tomb doors.
The sweet smell of the sea air greeted her and she collapsed onto the ground outside the tomb and crawled as far as she could. Under the low light of the stars and moon, she could now see she was in a funeral garment. A long white dress, ornately detailed with lace and ribbons. A dress probably made by the women of her family.
Suddenly, the dress caught fire. She gasped as she watched the woman engulfed in flames. The woman began to scream in agony. She closed her eyes and covered her ears to try to drown out the sound. With her ears covered, it sounded more like a bereft wailing than an, “Oh God, oh God, I’m on fire cry of anguish.” The screaming stopped and she uncovered her ears. Slowly, she opened her eyes, afraid of what she would see. In front of her the woman stood, unblemished by the flames, and as naked as the day she was born.
It was several hours later that she awoke again, huddled outside near the base of an olive tree several feet from the doors to the tomb. The tomb itself was carved into the side of one of the mountains that surrounded the city-state of Elys. The Helkyrie villa was not far away. She knew she could walk the distance even without the protection of shoes. The road that led away from the tomb took her to the base of the mountain and the main road leading into Elys.
Bryn followed the road for a short time before she veered off over the grassy hillside, a shortcut to the vast villa her family lived in. As she rounded a bend in the foothills she saw the villa come into view. The sight of it froze her in her tracks. The windows and doors were all covered in burgundy cloth. Long drapes of it flowed from nearly every external bar and ledge.
Burgundy. The color of mourning.
She started walking again, her steps slower this time. Would they be overjoyed to see her alive and well? Would they tear the drapes from the windows and throw them to the ground in joy? She ran her hands through her hair, suddenly feeling self conscience about her ragged appearance. The white funeral dress, dirty and bloody from her escape hung on her as though it were meant for a girl larger in size. Had she thinned in the tomb? How long had her family been mourning her death? There were dry flakey rose petals littered in her hair and dried blood along her broken nails. She cried again, this time for her lost beauty. For the body and face she had before falling ill. Would she be able to return to that?
Bryn neared the entrance to the villa, which seemed all too silent. Where were her nephews? Why did they not run about the walls? Where were her aunts and sisters gathering fresh linens from the hanging lines? Why were her father and his brothers not out in the vineyards tending to the ripening grapes? The burgundy drape above the front door fluttered quietly in the wind.
It was then she heard a scream.
Along the side of the house a maid of the household had emerged, a basket of fresh bread dropped at her feet, her hands covering her mouth. Bryn recognized her.
“Verde! Verde! It is I, Lady Bryn! Verde, please!”
But Verde the maid had fled, screaming into the house.
Bryn attempted to follow, but the door was slammed shut. She stood outside her home and yelled to any that would hear.
“I am not dead! I am not dead! Mother! Father! Please! Let me enter!”
It was several minutes before her father emerged, his eyes cold, onto the veranda. He looked down at Bryn from the story above.
“Go away demon! Our daughter is dead! Leave us! Least your presence brings ill luck. We can take no more death in this home. Please, just leave us demon!” he screamed at her.
“GO BACK TO THE DARKNESS FROM WHICH YOU HAVE COME! DEMON! LEAVE MY FAMILY IN PEACE!” He was crying now as well as yelling himself horse.
Bryn started running away out of horror as much as fear. Her own family. They had abandoned her for dead. She had no where to go. She ran along the narrow road that led away from her home. The only home she had ever known. Born and raised on the Helkyrie vineyard, Bryn was only seventeen years. Or maybe she wasn’t now that she was dead. What was she that she had been so easily mistaken for a corpse?
Her feet carried her far along the outskirts of Elys and she realized then that she was going toward the home of the Vaangords. The home of Garen Vaangord, her betrothed. Garen would take her in. She was to be his wife, he would have to.
The day was still young and Garen was out doing chores on his land. Bryn could see him from a distance, hauling equipment. He paused to wipe sweat from his brow. Bryn stopped short of him her heart skipping a beat. She loved Garen whole heartedly for years. It was only now that he had taken over the Vaangord household that he had asked her to be his bride. It was at this moment Bryn saw that the crops had been harvested. It had not even turned colors when last she strode across the fields. Could she have been sick that long? In that tomb for that long?
It was as Bryn stood, her mouth agape that Garen saw she stood near. The young man froze solid to the spot and stared at her a growing look of fear spreading over his features. Bryn started to speak, to move forward toward him her arm extended. Garen let loose a scream and stumbled backward, tripping himself over the equipment he had just been holding.
“Garen! Are you alright?”
“S-Stay back! Stay away!” he stuttered.
“Garen?! My love, have I changed so you do not recognize me? It is your Bryn, your dearest!”
“My Bryn? No you can not be! My Bryn is dead. She is dead. I laid flowers on her head myself. I carried her. I—“ Garen began rocking, his hand ringing through his hair as though he would pull it out.
“I am not dead! I awoke! Look at me!” Bryn walked closer. “I am flesh!”
Garen held out his arm, warding her back. “No! You can not be real. A spirit! My own mind paying tricks! My dreams visiting while I am awake. You are not my Bryn.”
“Garen, Garen! Look at me, please! Look I am real! I am here! Your Bryn. I would be your wife.”
“Oh please, say that not, spirit! It is too much. I weep when I close my eyes, can not I have peace in the daylight?” He dropped his hand, as if giving up entirely. His face not only filled with sorrow, but also defeat.
Bryn took cautious steps forward. Tears streaming down her own face.
“Is this a punishment? Am I too be haunted by your face all hours of my remaining life? Bryn I am sorry. I am sorry a hundred times over. I would have given anything for the illness to take me instead, to leave you unharmed. I stood by your bedside. I did all that I could, and more. Your mother, she dragged me away from you for fear I would die myself. Would that I could have lain down next to you and had death taken me as well, but it would not. I still breathe. I have begged and pleaded, but yet I still wake every morning. Oh my sweet bride!”
Garen took her in his arms and she could feel the moisture from his tears soak her neck. They sat there like that in the field, sobbing together for the life and love that should have been theirs. Garen kept speaking disjointedly, asking for her forgiveness.
“Oh spirit, please. I can not continue this way. I can not see your dying body every night I dream. I can not keep coming back to your sickbed in my mind. What must I do? What do you ask of me? You’ve taken everything from me and leave me in torture. How can I go on?”
Bryn found she could only repeat his name and clutch him with all her remaining strength. It took him to pull her away from his chest and push her away again. Bryn searched his face, looking for a hint of hope. But there was none. Garen looked at her like she was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. There was no longer any chance to convince him that she there before his eyes alive, if not well.
“Perhaps this is what it is be dead,” she wondered out loud, fresh tears coming from her eyes. “Perhaps I was mistaken in trying to return. Am I to return to the tomb? Am I to lie there still thinking and feeling as I turn to bones like those before me?”
Garen could not answer her, his face became drawn and he retreated once more from her.
“Spirit, please, I must have peace. Do not make me think of her body there in the Helkyrie tomb when in but a few short months she would have laid in our wedding bed. Please leave me! Leave me my grief. Must I live my entire life without you?!” Garen was screaming again.
He sunk to the ground and pounded his fists into the earth.
Bryn pulled herself to her feet. She could think of only one thing to do for her love. Perhaps one day soon they would return to the tomb and see that she was not there, that she did indeed still walk on Ekaria and only then could she return to her family and her love.
“Garen, my sweet Garen. Do not cry any more. I forgive you everything I love you now as I loved you in life and will always where ever I am. But you must no longer be filled with sorrow and nightmares. We shall say our good-byes as we were robbed of them before.” She choked back tears and tried to control the shaking in her voice. She knew her love needed this and she could not stand to see him weep for her.
He looked up at her with a mix of relief and love.
“Bryn, my dearest! You will always in my heart be my wife though we never took our vows. I love you still and will always. Always, will there be pain that you were taken from me so suddenly and so early in life. Good-bye my darling. Good-bye…”
Bryn could but nod and choke out a good-bye before she turned and ran. A ghost. A demon. She did not know what she was when all the world thought she was dead.
Bryn found that she had started walking south. The closest city-state to Elys was Kasgard, which lay along the coast to the south near the great mining mountains of the Flame Coast. Elys itself lay in the fork of two rivers along the border to the Lumur Republic. No one in Kasgard would know she was supposed to be in a tomb, perhaps she could find help there.
She walked barefoot for hours. Well into the night. She felt both dazed and numb. Finally her feet would carry her no more and she found a small warm nitch near the riverbank to rest. She huddled down into the little spot.
It was the first moment that she had to inspect herself or do washing. She suddenly realized how dirty she felt. The chill and stench of the tomb was still on her skin and she wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. The dress came off her easily and she started to walk into the water. The river was cool, but not yet icy. She used river rock to scrub at her skin and hair.
As she bathed, she noticed something very wrong. Something that had not been on her body when she had fallen ill. On her chest, was red livid scarring. Like she had been cut deeply and allowed to heal long enough for the wounds to close. It was a symbol that she did not recognize. A long line that ran from her clavicle to where her breast met. On the right side of the line, near the top was a slanted box, making it look almost like a flag or broken reed.
Bryn ran her hands over the raised skin, sending chills down her back.
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND! WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? WHAT’S HAPPENED TO ME?!” she screamed into the night sky.
The stars shown brightly, but gave her no answer.
***
The Journey of Medora Penthesil of Heart
The stars were unusually bright this night.
Acacia Eppisyl reflected on the blanket of the night sky and silently praised Istar, the Spirit of The Starry Heaven. A particular jewel in the constellation Etern twinkled. Acacia smiled, Istar had a clever humor. The words were there. A clear message from her eyes alone.
“Your window will be there tomorrow. Will you not aide me?” a voice called from behind her.
Acacia stared off into the sky a moment longer before turning her pupiless gaze to Medora, who was attempting to organize her travel gear across their bed.
Medora tossed a glance up to her lover at the window and went back to folding a heavy linen robe. The candle light reflected off of the skin of her bare head. Black tattoos edged their way on to her face from around the back of her skull. Black – the color to signify her status as a warrior of the Felah of Heart. She picked up a length of silk rope and placed it next to the other tools.
“You won’t need that,” Acacia said quietly. Her voice lacking inflection as usual.
“Thank you,” Medora replied slightly sarcastically and tossed the rope on to the stone floor.
Acacia walked over to the bed and began placing the healing ointments and linen bandages into a small leather pouch.
“I’ll need those, however?” Medora asked.
“They will be useful.”
Medora looked over her lover. She was a strange apparition among the Heart. Her skin was pale and she had the same hairless body all Heart did, but her tattoos were unique. At any given time you could see many who wore the black designs that stretched from Medora’s spine out to reach around her body. Acacia however was the only Heart to have pure white prints creeping around her shoulders and head. The white of the seer. The white of The Oracle. Instead of the utilitarian leathers and skins most Felah wore, Acacia wrapped herself in sheer fabrics that had belonged to The Oracle before her and so on into the past for who knows how many generations. The fabric was almost unearthly. The white of her tattoos glittered silver in the dim light.
Acacia looked up and caught her gaze.
The Oracle’s eyes were not the normal for people of Ekaria, let alone of the Heart Islands. They had no pupils and were white and glassy. Yet the woman was not blind, on the contrary she saw far more than most.
“My Heart, I will return soon,” Medora said as she lifted the pack to her shoulder, more for her own assurance than of Acacia’s.
“You’ll be gone longer than you expect. And you will not return alone. She will need your help. There will be a moment you will wish to use your great strength, I ask that you do not. It will lead you to a ship you must return by,” Acacia replied softly.
“Can you worry not of the future for once?”
“Worry? I do not worry for the future or the past, as both outcomes have been sketched in me long ago.”
“Always you are the Oracle first, even now as we must say good-bye,” Medora said with a sigh.
“I will see you again.” Acacia’s voice was firm and her eyes unflinching.
“You spoil the adventure, Acacia. Can I never take leave of you without knowing the outcome?”
“I said you will not die. I did not say you would not have other hardships. It has been a great time since one of Heart has been to Ekaria. Your reception will not be a warm one. Legends have had chance to grow.”
“I will live up to them.”
“That you will, my heart.”
“Then I must trust your word. I go to do this task for our Chieftess, but I suspect you are giving me others along this road we must walk.
“It is not my taskings. You know that well. He who has Marked you as his own has many plans for your lifetime.”
Medora decided to leave the conversation there. She alone knew the aspirations Vim, Spirit of Strength, had for her. She knew she owned a duty to him and it must be her life’s work. Yet the desire for a simple life with the woman she loved was still there in her heart. Yet it would never be simple for them, not when they both bore The Mark. Unconsciously, Medora’s hand slipped to her chest. There, as clear as her tattoos, was a symbol etched into her skin like a scar. The ancient mark of Vim, two solid triangles pointing skyward, like mountain tops.
Mirrored on Acacia’s chest was the symbol of Etern, Spirit of Time. Two triangles pointed inward to one another. Like an hour glass tipped on its side. However, Medora’s heartbond choose to keep it covered by the folds of her strange robes. It did not matter, there was no one on Heart who did not know her as The Oracle, marked by Time herself.
“Will you walk me to the door, Acacia?”
“To the door, as the end of Ekaria. That is what this journey begins.”
“Too many riddles for a simple warrior.”
They walked down the spiral stone staircase leading to the main floor of the temple. Their small apartment resided in the top most level of the Felah Temple, a scared building that had stood on the islands long before the Heart ever inhabited it. It has long been the sanctuary of the Oracle.
The staircase was long and narrow but along its rails danced ornately carved designs. Designs the Felah’s own status tattoos were modeled after. At the base of the stairs were two archways. One leading out of the temple and the other leading into the room of worship. Medora knew Acacia would walk to further with her.
There were scuffles and voices outside of the arch. Other Felah warriors awaited Medora to escort her to the small ship she would sail to the main continent of Ekaria. Medora pulled Acacia into the center of the entryway to say her farewell.
The stared at one another for a moment. Warrior and Seer. Heartbonds.
“There will be fighting in the south. Do not land at Kasgard,” Acacia injected into the silence.
“No more visions, my love.”
Medora swiped a hand down Acacia’s face and kissed her softly.
Acacia brought her own hands up and pulled Medora into a deeper embrace. When they broke Medora saw that her lover held a necklace that had been on her neck only a moment before.
“This must stay here. That is my last vision for you. Your sisters in arms await,” Acacia whispered into her ear.
Medora slipped away, squeezing Acacia’s hand one last time.
Outside the temple, ten Felah warriors waited. They were all members of Medora’s party. They stood ready, armed with a variety of weapons. Medora strapped her pack to her back securely and check that she had all she needed. At her side were both a dagger and a battle axe, her choice weapon.
“Warrior Penthesil, are you ready?” an older woman asked.
The woman was covered in old battle scars, her black tattoos fading. She was the leader of the party, and indeed a leader who reported directly to the Chieftess. Her eyes were dark green, like the forest that surrounded them. Her body a deep shade of olive and hard from many years of fighting.
“High Warrior Gueron, I stand prepared.”
“Then this escort will take you to the shore. The ship has been made ready for you. All of the supplies you will need for this journey are there. The waters are rough tonight the scouts report. Be wary. Travel well, your Chieftess and kin wait for your safe return.”
Medora and High Warrior Gueron grasped wrists.
“May the Spirits follow your path.”
“May they watch over your days.”
The warriors exchanged salutes and Medora turned to join the Felah to lead her to the shore.
Inside the temple, Acacia watched her heartbond depart from behind solid stone walls.
“You may come out now, Highness.”
The Chieftess of the Felah emerged from the sanctuary.
“Oracle.” The Chieftess of the Felah nodded curtly.
She stood several inches taller than Acacia and her skin several shades darker. The tattoos the Chieftess bore were the color of dark blue. Before taking the leadership of the Felah she had been a great Silker, revered through out all of Heart. She wore her venom soiled skin like a trophy, burns up her arms and along her neck. The hunters of the Felah spent much of their days killing off the large poisonous spiders that flourished on their island. Over the years the blue tattoos of the hunters became sinuous with that of the Silkers. Now they did the job of both. Hunting for wild game and battling the creatures for the silky thread and poison sacks used in the city defenses. Chieftess Tynet had many great stories. She did not realize her greatest was yet to come.
“I thank you for your patience and for your service to the Spirits,” Acacia said, leading them back into the room of worship.
“The Spirits show us our path. I trust you Oracle to not lead me astray. But I must know, will Warrior Penthesil return to us on Heart? She is one of my best warriors… nay, she is our best warrior. Our Marked. I would be lying if I told you I did not fear for her safe return. It is highly unusual for us to send one of our own, let alone one of such great importance, off the safety of our lands. The Felah stir, they fear the outcome of this as well. I have not even sent an emissary to the Malor to tell them of this decision. Foolish, I know, but I do not look forward to their response. She belongs to all of Heart, as do you Oracle. It is selfish to send her on a fool’s errand on my behalf.”
“It is not a fool’s errand. You know this well. It was been foretold by my forbearers that Ekaria grows ever closer to its own destruction. How will the Marked of Heart know that it is time for their hands to come into play if we know nothing of what passes outside our islands? Heart has been too secluded for too long. We have discussed this before. Your predecessors were mistaken in ceasing the line of scouts. Once a noble endeavor for a young Felah, now unheard of. You are right in reestablishing it.”
“Yes but Medora? Marked of Strength? I could have sent anyone. It is only at your request I choose her.”
“A piece of knowledge I would like you to keep to yourself.”
“Of course Oracle. All conversations with you are privileged. You have not answered my question.”
“She will return.”
The Chieftess sighed with relief.
“Thank you Oracle. I will rest easier tonight knowing this choice was for the best and the will of the Spirits.”
Cheiftess Tynet nodded swiftly her good-night and started for the door.
“Highness,” Acacia said from the center of the room to the retreating form. “She will not return alone.”
Chieftess Tynet did not turn but paused a moment. Her figure tall and strong, yet Acacia sensed the shiver that ran through her body. The leader of the Felah continued her exit. Outside a personal bodyguard waited out of sight to bring her back to the High House.
Acacia stayed in the center of the sanctuary, standing stiffly and silently. Around her the alters to the fifteen Spirits of Ekaria stood in marble. The cuts were exquisite. As they should. No mortal hand carved any of this standing structure. Acacia could hear them on the edge of her thoughts. They wanted to speak to her but she did not desire council with them this night.
“Brother Vim I have done what was necessary. This you know full well. I trust you to keep my Heartbond safe as she walks the trials of this world. She serves you well.” Acacia left it at that and exited the room for her bedroom several floors above.
***
Medora found she was quite apt at sailing. She had only trained for a few days with the Fishers and they did not venture far onto open seas with their small boats. She had a map and a star heading that would take her to the main continent. The map was provided by Acacia, a simple drawing on leather that from the looks of it may have come over on the original ships that brought the first Hearts to the islands.
The little boat had only one mainsail, as most of the Felah watercraft did. The Malor used much larger shipping vessels, even if they did not travel far from the main coasts of Heart. They tended to favor deeper water fish for their cooking, whereas the Felah sought food sources into the woods that covered their island.
Medora’s lips automatically curled when her thoughts brought her to the Malor. She hoped she would not run into any of them while leaving the islands. They usually did not sail the seas around the northern Islands belonging to the Felah, but one could never be certain. She turned the small vessel into the wind and began sailing due north.
She glanced back at the coastline as it started to shrink in her vision. The Heart Islands we very large for small island nations. It consisted of three main islands and several very small that framed the larger. It was called Heart when the first settlers landed not only for its shape as it appeared to the lookout high in the sails, but also because of the great joy the people felt at finding solid ground after so many days at sea. The Felah, Malor, and Common temples had stood on the Islands before the arrival. How long they had stood, none of Heart knew, save Acacia. The natural choice for settlement had been on the center Island where the grounds were welcoming and there was space enough to flourish. The tribes that had been hunters and gatherers on the main continent could resume the life they had left. Of course, as the population grew so did the problems among the Felah and Malor. The intensity of their differences only increased on the Heart Islands and lead to their eventual separation. Medora was of the belief that it was better this way.
The height of the water waves were beginning to gain in size and Medora was beginning to struggle with control of the small ship. She felt like she was being tossed about like a leave on a wave. She would be happy once on dry land again.
The seas really suck at this point and she has a hard time and there are many nautical words that are thrown in here for fun and a taste of hardship. Medora is thrown off of the ship at some point and has to swim back, nearly drowns. It’s all very heartbreaking.
On the seventeenth day Medora leapt to her feet, nearly toppling the boat. There was land on the horizon. The night’s wind had brought her within sight of the main continent of Ekaria. Medora scanned the coastline looking for any sort of harbor or city life. It was still too far away to tell, but she did notice the landscape was completely foreign. It looked nothing like Heart, and this worried Medora. Would she be able to navigate this foreign soil?
Medora knelt in the boat and closed her eyes. She prepared herself for a prayer.
“Vim, my Spirit, I will need your guidance. Give me strength. Istar, Spirit of the Heavens, please let your stars continue to lead my ship to safe harbor. Windar, Spirit of Air, let your divine breath fill my sails so I may speed to my journey across Ekaria and do the will of the Spirits. Lumus, Spirit of Fire, I will need your warmth on this foreign shore. Dai, Spirit of the lighted hours, give me sun so that I might see my path. Lun, Spirit of Ice and Cold, I fear I will walk through lands governed by you that I am prepared not for. I ask you be gentle and let me pass without harm. Nigh, Spirit of the darkened hours, protect my sleep and let me dream only of my duty. Ekaria, Spirit of Land, I tread on the many places you have made. Help my feet travel to where they need to go. Wattarri, Spirit of the great waters, you have carried me far on your ocean, I ask you carry me but a little further. Gardene, Spirit of Nature, let your beauty in this world inspire me as I travel. Verity, Spirit of Truth, I ask that you do not shield the harshness of this world from me and let me see and know all that I must to help my people. Drake, Spirit of the beasts, I seek your protected to nourish me as I walk. I will take only that which I need to survive. Graven, Spirit of Death, I ask you not to take me before my duty is finished. Motha, Spirit of Birth, I thank you for this generous life you’ve granted me and every day I try to do it justice. Etern, Spirit of all Time, I ask you not to consider me but to watch over your own Marked, my Heartbond, Acacia. I must know she is well to keep my mind on the challenges that lay ahead.”
It was long and she spoke aloud so that her voice carried over the water. The fifteen Spirits of Ekaria were always addressed individually in prayer as they governed different aspects of the world and the lives of mortals. Medora owed her allegiance to Vim, who had Marked her as his hands in the mortal world. Her hands automatically searched for the necklace that she always wore. The necklace of Vim, passed down through the ages since the Spirits had left the mortal plain. It was only after a frantic search she remembered Acacia had taken the necklace from her for safe keeping. She reflected that it had probably been a good idea, considering the struggle in the water that nearly took her life. Still, its absence saddened her.
The coast of Ekaria grew larger and she was able to begin making out areas of the land. According to her map, she should be heading to an area south of Kasgard. Acacia had said that her best bet of help would be from the city-state of Malya which lay several days journey south along the coast line. The Malya were the last to retain their worship of the true Spirits, and perhaps they continued still. Medora could see structures in the distance that must be the outskirts of Kasgard. The mountain line was to the north and should lead directly to the heart of the city. But this was not important, as she would not be landing anywhere near to the city. Acacia would not forewarn her without good reason. Usually, her Heartbond was good about not divulging secrets of the future lest it change their outcome. However, as she once explained, the warnings and hints that she speaks have always been spoken in the tapestry of time and change nothing, nay not speaking them would change the future’s outcome. Medora tried to follow the line of logic but it was lost on her and she trusted Acacia to do as she must. The will of Etern. And she trusted herself to do the will of Vim.
Long ago, as a young girl she sought the Great Communion with Vim. It was not unusual to receive the Mark at birth or even at a young age. However, one was not usually able to commune directly with the Spirit of their Mark until a later age, one when they had the understanding of the commitment. Medora, oddly, expressed a clear comprehension for her purpose in life at the age of six years. The priestesses and council of the Chieftess, after much deliberation, sent her on her quest early. If truly Vim chose her, they feared no danger to the child. Medora set forth into the woods Heart, wood filled with dangerous creatures and The Dark Ones. It was towards them she walked. Naked and armed only with a dagger, it was the greatest test she would be put to.
She recalled that journey with bittersweet reflection. There were wounds that would never heal and scars that would never fade. But her fight was not unrewarded. There, deep in the jungle, she found herself in such dire circumstances that the very core of her being called in need to the Spirits. She vowed her very life to Vim and all that he stood for if he would lend his strength to spare her life. The trade was sealed and she was saved. A six-year old Felah gained the power and strength to fight off and kill four fully grown Dark Ones bent on spilling her blood. She had felt his power surge through her body. Her arms were like steal as they held off the attackers and threw naive punches that killed instantly.
Medora marched back into the city, covered in blood but bathed in the radiance of The Marked. She was tattooed that very night. A Warrior. It was predestined.
She felt him with her now. On the edge of her thoughts. But his presence was muted, as the Spirits had left the mortal grounds, empowering their chosen few. During her Great Communion, she was allowed to glimpse his thoughts. His plans for her and his will. It was then up to her to lead a life that would fulfill this glimpse. She hoped she was. This journey was not something the Felah Chieftess had ever asked a warrior to do. Though she was ever loyal to her tribe and her leader, she wondered if it perhaps ran contrary to the path Vim had set for her. Though Acacia seemed quite set on her going forth into the world outside their borders, which had to be a sign.
The land was quite close now and she began searching for a safe place to land her craft. The coast was very rocky and had many sheer walls in places. If she continued on a more southerly direction there appeared to be a small cove with a low cliff face. One she could climb and drag the ship from the water. She made her way there, the wind seeming to take her directly. She offered a silent thanks to Windar.
After another hour she was finally ashore and the small Felah sailboat hidden in nearby brush as best it could be. Medora kneeled and gave thanks for the solid ground Ekaria had allowed. She gathered her things, as it was yet only mid afternoon. She had plenty of time to continue walking. She pulled out the map and the dark linen cloak that was folded tight in the leather bag. She covered herself in the robe. Her sparse leather bindings and fur coverings were well hidden underneath. She did not know how the native people of Ekaria dressed, as she had never had chance to see them. But the ancient writings described them as being very different from those of Heart. All Ekariaians were descendent from the five Klans created by the Spirits themselves. The Heart were kin of the Lydor Klan, sent from the shores of Ekaria thousands of years ago. There was no record of how the other Klans dispersed, only of their origins.
The Kin were created from the bark of the birch. Their skins were light and their fur was like a fall forest. The Misyle Klan from river stones. The Lur. The Pae’la from iron. They were black skinned. The Malhyl from grape vines. Their hair twisting like vines and skin olive and deep. The Lydor from the many colored sands of the shore. Their skins in every shade but smooth and unmarred by fur or hair.
Medora did not know what to expect. None of Heart did. Perhaps Acacia, but she held her tongue on the subject. It was something Medora must find on her own. She pulled the hood over her bald head and tied the rest of her supplies on to begin her journey. She would walk north past the backside of Kasgard to observe the fighting there Acacia spoke of. From there she would walk a path leading around the northern coast of the continent. Generations ago, there had once been Heart Scouts who had made short trips to the main land. Little of their documents still existed, but it was said the great empire of the Kindol resided in the north. It was to them Medora made her way. Something in her heart told her there was the source of the unbalance.
Lots of walking described here.
Medora finally reached a village sizable enough not to raise suspicion of her origins. She bundled the robe tighter around her body and made sure the wrapping she had put on her head was secure. Somewhere she expected there would be room to stay. A common house of some sort. In the great Felah city, there were houses built and supplied just for the sake of travelers from the outlying settlements who would come to trade or seek worship at the temple. Perhaps there would be something of this sort in this outlier village of Kasgard? She walked slowly through the main thoroughfare looking at the pictures on the signs.
Half way down the street was a shabby looking building with a sign hanging crookedly picturing a goblet and grapes. Medora guessed it would be safe stopping in to see if this place had meals. It may also be a good place to hear the locals speak of the surroundings.
As she entered she noticed a wretch of a girl huddled outside the building along foundation. She was deathly pale and covered in a garment that had once been white. Her dark brown trusses were matted and hanging in her face so that Medora could not see her eyes. She looked away and continued into the building.
Inside it was far livelier. For looking so shabby outside, it was filled to the brim with merry folk. Medora looked for a secluded place to sit. Along the wall there was one open table and a stool not far away. Medora seized it and sat with her back to the wall. Few had noticed her entrance and with the low lighting even fewer could see her differences. For that she was thankful.
A serving woman dropped leather tankards onto the table next to her to the glee of the patrons sitting there. Then she rounded on Medora.
“Well? What can I get you?”
Medora concentrated on the words that were so similar to her own language.
“What can I get?” Medora said, repeating the words slowly.
The woman rolled her eyes. “We have the usual fare and wine and mead.”
Medora glanced around at the surrounding tables. A man was eating a plate of some sort of meat with red gravy. “I’ll have that,” she said pointing.
“Wine or mead?”
“Just water.”
“that’ll be 3 bronzes, then.”
“I’m sorry. I do not understand.”
“The meal, it costs 3 bronze pieces. Do you have any coin?”
“I… no I haven’t any of your local coin. Will you accept this?” Medora pulled a ring from her ear that was solid silver.
The woman held it a moment, flipping it once. “Alright then. Here, in fair trade.” She passed back several bronze coins from her apron pocket. “This is plenty to cover your meal and a room if you wish plus the change.”
“No room is needed, thank you. I will however take extra bread or dried fruits to travel if you have them on hand.”
“I can find you something, Lady.” The woman nodded and made her way back through the room.
She returned a few minutes later with a plate full of what looked like thin white ropes all covered in the same red gravy. On top was a chuck of meat that seemed coated in breading. Medora bent low to smell it. There was an acidy scent and an overpowering whiff of the garlic herb. The woman also sent down a mug of water that seemed fairly clean.
“There you go friend, and here is a small basket of traveling bread.”
“Thank you sister. May the Spirits bless your path,” Medora said almost automatically before she realized how odd it would sound.
The woman stared at her a moment, grunting something and walking away, throwing one glance back. Medora cursed herself and vowed to watch her words more carefully. Being a scout was much more difficult that being just a simple warrior. She took the cutlery and began eating the foreign meal. The meat she found was the breast some sort of poultry and the substance it was on tasted of wheat. It was not displeasing. Medora cleaned the plate and drank down the water in one gulp. She sat back to listen to the conversation of the room.
On her left two well traveled men were drinking and talking loudly.
“—Well, you can hardly get anything into any of the Misyle ports nowadays. There’s Kindol troops there helping to collect trading taxes. Ate up half my profit last time I was there. If the Misyles want to buy anything they’ll have to send ships themselves, I say,” the one with hair on his face said. The other was nodding in agreement.
On her right, two couples were eating together. The women spoke quietly to one another while the men were singing and thoroughly enjoying their wine.
“I heard there was a cave-in a few nights ago down in the Kasgardian mines. Nothing serious, a few were injured. I’m planning to head there on the morrow to visit the market. Do you need anything while I’m there?”
“Oh some new firestones if they aren’t running out. I hope that cave-in won’t ruin their supply!”
“I doubt, there are so many tunnels down there. Shouldn’t be short none. I’m going to look for some fabric…”
Medora turned her attention to the men on her left once more as the women’s conversation veered from important topics.
“Heard that Elys had a convoy from the Lumur Republic visit their royal house,” the one without the face hair said.
“What did they want?”
“Hard to say, I think they were looking for support against Kindol invasions. You know their western towns are all being overrun. Never cared for the Lumur myself, but it’s a pity they can’t hold their own against Kindol because I certainly don’t like them.”
Medora stayed to listen longer but they too eventually diverged into personal topics and drunkenness. At least she had discovered Kindol’s arms had spread to the west coastal lands of the Misyle traders and were attempting to take Lumur to the north as well. She’d be prepared to meet some of their aggression as she passed through the countryside. Medora stood and took her basket of travel provisions and headed for the door.
Medora exited the small inn. She slipped her hand into the basket and pulled one of the hard biscuits out. This she slid into her own pouch. The wretched girl was still huddled outside of the building looking terrified. Medora hunched down next to her. Something in the young woman’s face broke Medora’s stoic indifference to the people of the main continent.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
The girl was startled out of her daze and looked up to Medora’s face.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m supposed to eat now.” It was a very odd statement. Medora wished she could make sense of it.
“Why do you not have some of this bread? It is too much for just me. Take this basket, there is food to travel,” Medora said handing over the food.
“Do you think I ought to?” the girl asked, genuinely concerned about the rightness of the act.
“Eat? Yes. It has been given to you. And without it you’ll die.”
“Oh, it’s too late for that I think…” Again her words seemed strange. But she took the food anyway and began munching on a biscuit.
Medora stayed by her side while she ate slowly. The girl stared off as though she were looking out over the sea. Her eyes unfocused and spacey.
Medora thought it best to keep the girl speaking. Perhaps she would say where she was from or how she ended up on the street like this. “My name is Medora Penthesil. I am a stranger to these parts of the world.”
“As am I. My name was Bryn. Bryn Helkyrie. I think I have to change it now. Before I get to Kasgard. I think they take it away once… once…” she trailed off into silence.
“I would not travel that way. The future looks dark for Kasgard,” Medora confided. She did not want this disaster of a girl to be caught up in the fighting there, if indeed battle were to break out there in the near future.
“She doesn’t die. You should know,” Bryn said suddenly, looking directly at Medora.
“What? I do not understand--” Medora started.
“I don’t either…voices,” she raised a head to her forehead and pressed. “One voice….I can’t sleep…”
The young woman was obviously ailed in the head. There appeared no external injury but her speech was incoherent and meaningless. Was this the girl Acacia referred to in her vision of Medora’s journey? What has she said? A moment she would be required to use her strength but must not. There was a ship she was to return by. This did not feel right. She had not been challenged in anyway that would move her to fight or overpower anyone. And she was somewhat inland, besides it was far from her time to return to Heart. Medora hated that she should leave the girl along the side of the road but her journey must continue. At least she had some food to eat for the present time. Maybe a kinder person will stop and look out for her.
“I’m sorry I must leave you like this Sister Helkyrie, but my path lies elsewhere. I hope that the Spirits will guide you to yours.”
“They cross. The paths all cross. Kasgard. Things will be better in Kasgard,” the girl continued, her eyes back to that unfocused stare.
“Can I not persuade you from going to that city? It will go ill with Kasgard.”
“It goes ill in all places.” Her voice was disturbing, like it wasn’t even her own anymore. “Look at me. I was ill wasn’t I? I can’t remember.”
Medora walked a few paces and turned back. “Be well Sister. Look to the Spirits.”
She placed a hand on Bryn’s shoulder. The girl looked up at her again, the dark hair falling away from her face. Their eyes met and Medora felt something indescribable pass through them. Medora was again torn. Was Bryn the women she was meant to help? If she left her side now, would the opportunity rise again? She closed her eyes and reached into her heart.
Vim, are my feet to keep walking from this place?
There was an undeniable urge to step forward and her question was answered. Bryn Helkyrie had other directions.
“Good bye, Sister.”
She did not wait to hear if Byrn became coherent enough to say good-bye.
She had many miles to walk yet.
***
The Enslavement of Eskil Aud
Only a days ride away, in the City doomed by the vision of Acacia, a man named Eskil Aud buried himself into the corner of a dirty tavern. He frequented the place often after a hard day’s work, yet nearly no one there knew him. He sat covered thick in dirt and grime from the mines much like the rest of the men in the tavern, a mug of strong ale in his hand. The serving girl and one of her friends were speaking not far away. They were under the impression that Eskil could not hear them. This however, was a wrong assumption. He had very keen ears.
“There he is again. Brooding as usual,” the serving girl in the red dress said with what must have been a roll of the eyes.
The other one laughed quietly. “Ah, but it’s still a sweet sight isn’t it?”
The server sighed and continued. “That it is. Wish he come sit out in the middle somewhere. Have a better chance to hear him talk. Think I’d die if he ever said more than two words to me!”
“Ale, please?” her friend laughed. The girl joined in.
They were having a right good time on his behalf. Eskil narrowed his gaze and sunk lower into the chair. He just wanted a quite drink before returning him, was that too much to ask? The day had been difficult. It always was in the mines. Especially since only days before they had had a cave in not too many tunnels away. No one died, thankfully, but it was still a disaster for the company. He double checked that his pickax was still leaned against the side of the bench he was sitting.
“I can’t tell if it’s the dirt or if his hair really is that dark. Whatever the coloring, I’d not mind putting my hand through it,” the server continued.
“And those eyes! I saw them for just a moment as he walked in tonight. Like rich melted chocolate…”
“I did see him first mind you,” she replied a slight edge of curtness in her voice.
“I wouldn’t dream between coming between you and your fantasy,” the other girl said with a bit of a giggle. As if it was ridiculous to claim when her friend had barely spoken to Eskil. It was ridiculous, but Eskil didn’t mind hearing the jealous canter.
“I’m going to go talk to him,” she said resolutely.
Eskil dropped his eyes to his drink, least they figure out he was listening. The serving girl all flashy with her red dress sidled up to his table.
“Another ale, friend?”
“Yes, please,” Eskil said handing her the mug without making eye contact, careful to use only two words. He liked to keep his mysterious air.
“Of course, friend. Anything you ask,” she said with a very flirtatious voice.
Eskil watched the movement of her skirts as she walked away. Perhaps he would come back tomorrow and engage her in a real conversation. See how she’d like that.
He watched her fill his mug from the keg on the wall, smiling back at her friend, who continued to sit at the bar.
Watching the silliness of the girls nearly distracted Eskil from hearing the noises outside the walls of the tavern. Indeed, he seemed to be the only one who heard anything amiss. The rest of the patrons continued to eat and drink in merriment. Eskil was already on his feet when the door burst open.
A rush of wind and a flurry of noise stumbled in with the man who had thrown open the door. He looked ragged, out of breath and completely white with shock.
“Ships! Warships! The Kindol are attacking! The port is already lost… we need… we need every man and woman able to weld a weapon or the city will fall… warships, there’s so many!” he pleaded loudly into the tavern.
It took but a second for every man inside to be on their feet the same as Eskil, their tools already in hand. Eskil grabbed his pickax. The first man to the door helped to lift the messenger to his feet.
“Friend, I will continue to raise the alarm, you’ve done your part tonight,” he said, clasping the man’s shoulder and then ran out into the chaos of the night.
The rest of the tavern quickly exited, heading to the sounds of battle.
Eskil was as the tail end of the group, being farther back into the tavern. Before he exited he turned back to the girl in red, still holding his mug of ale.
He swept her up into an embrace and kissed her harshly on the lips.
“I doubt tomorrow there will be a chance for that conversation we’ve yet to have. Run home. You and your friend. Run home and lock yourself inside. If you have a weapon, hold it tight and strike true,” he spoke directly into her ear. He felt her heart beating so rapidly he thought she’d burst.
He released her and ran out into the night.
Outside, he could hear the sounds of battle coming from the port area of town. Men were running down the street holding swords and tools of every variety. Surely by now the cities defenses had been overrun and the fighting left to the working folk. There was screaming from many directions. Eskil followed the scattered crowds moving down the roads. However, he turned from the direct fighting and headed into the area that housed the cheaper dwellings.
The area the screams and cries could be heard from.
The Kindol warriors had made it this far into the city, at least some of them.
He ran past several homes on fire and several he knew there was struggling going on inside. He ran straight for his home. The little hovel he tried desperately to maintain.
He was within a hundred feet when he saw the door open. He slowed his pace, out of sudden fear.
Eka, his young sister, staggered out, her clothes torn and hanging loosely. She was balling uncontrollably and her face covered in blood. She ran right to him, her words were screams and unintelligible.
She was not the only one to exit the home.
A man in Kindol armor followed. He was a large brute and his face bearded. He was still buckling his belt. There were claw marks bleeding on the side of cheek.
Good Eka, made him feel some of the pain too did you?
Eskil knew instantly what had happened and was charging at the man even before the brute knew he was there.
The pickax slid through his skull quite easily.
Eskil stood there breathing heavily, the handle still in his hands as the body slumped to the ground. He then proceeded to step on the man’s face and pull his tool turned weapon from the Kindol’s bloody head. His sister was still screaming behind him.
He turned, the reddened pickax charged in his hand.
“Eka! Eka, pay attention! Get yourself to Madam Gault’s and hide in her cellar. Have her treat your wounds. Eka, are you listening?!” Eskil yelled over her cries.
She nodded, tears spilling down her face.
“Then get there, and I will find you when this is done. Many Kindol will pay for what he did to you, Eka. You can be assured of that at the very least. Now, go. Do not think of this until you are safe. To Madam Gault’s. Go, now.” He kept speaking until she was on her feet again and running away from the waterside inland to some of the better homes.
When she was out of sight, Eskil turned back to the row of homes he had passed up. He would not be passing any by on his way to battle.
***
Bryn Helkyrie dragged herself through the plains, well away from traveled roads, toward the great city-state of Kasgard. The words of the strange woman still echoing in her head, but she could not resist traveling to the city whose future was questionable. Something there was calling her.
When she rose above the hillside, she noticed the smoke first.
Kasgard was burning. Houses. Ships. Buildings and markets were going up in smoke. Why she started running toward it she didn’t know. As she neared the city walls, she could hear the screaming. People were dying in there.
***
Eskil was in the thick of it. Kindol men and Kasgardians were all around him, locked in brutal fighting. He had done quite a lot of damage up in the miner’s dwellings. His clothing was soaked with blood – his enemies as well as his own. He had been cut deeply on the arm but there was no time to think about it. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins and his heart was pumping as hard as the server girl’s was when he had his arms wrapped around her. His arms as red as her dress.
A Kindol warrior fell beside him.
Eskil raised his pickax to take another life. And another after that. The Kasgardians fought with ferocious self-defense while the Kindol systematically destroyed parts of the city. Eskil’s lungs were burning and the streaming cut on his forearm was paining him greatly. There was just too many of them. He looked around briefly, and could see they were loosing. At least they would go down taking as many of them with them as possible. He raised his pickax to strike again and felt the crushing blow to the back of his head. The last thing he saw was the ocean horizon. There were more ships coming.
Eskil knew no more.
***
“Eskil! Eskil wake up!”
Someone was shaking him.
Someone was shaking him very violently.
Eskil Aud drug himself into consciousness greeting the horrid headache that met him with a fair amount of cursing. It was dark out and the air was thick with the smell of smoke. The man who woke him was another miner with whom Eskil worked along side of most days. They weren’t exactly friends, but seeing a familiar face upon waking when he thought he was dead was welcome.
“Aden? Aden what has happened? Last I recall we were fighting down by the docks, and there were so many of them. So many ships…” Eskil said quietly.
“There isn’t much time for talking. They are rounding everyone up. Kasgard has thrown down its arms. We were no match, we’d all just be dead. Lord Bazan was the one to call us down from fighting. It seems he might be the only ruling class left alive. It’s all very unclear at the moment. All I can tell you is that we are being rounded up. The strong and fit men in one group and all the rest in another. This does not look well for us. You must pretend to have no injury. We will clean your head as best we can. They will kill you on the spot if they think you’ll fall invalid later. They killed Auztin because he was coughing up blood. We have to get you on your feet.”
Aden slipped his hands under Eskil’s arms and pulled him to a standing position. He immediately felt dizzy. He lifted a hand to the back of his skull and it was met with a wet matted mess he knew was his own blood. The thought made him even more light headed.
“Easy,” Aden reassured.
The other man walked him steadily toward another group of people. One of them ran up to meet them and shouldered Eskil’s weight as well. Soon a woman started washing his head but he could not see her, he kept closing his eyes. The fire light in the distance pained him something fierce.
“Here, smell this. It will make you alert. Keep it near so you will look alive when they come to take you.” She put something in his hands that felt like a clutch of weeds.
He brought it to his nose slowly, inhaling deeply.
It was a rush of sense and Eskil felt wide awake. His eyes shot open and everything lost the fuzziness it had only moments ago. The woman was elderly, and looked rather panicked. Aden was still standing at his side, as was the other man whom he did not know. Around them, Eskil could see small huddles of people. They were all standing at the bay. Buildings and ships were still on fire or smoldering into ashen ruin. Kasgard was a complete mess.
There were bodies all around. Kindol warriors and many Kasgardians. As if to answer his searching eyes Aden continued.
“We’ve been moving the bodies. They haven’t told us not to. But they will not allow us to carry them to the graveyards. Instead we’ve been laying them out in a line over there, near to the water’s edge. We don’t know what else to do.”
Eskil nodded and looked down to his feet. He began to wonder if Eka has made it through alive.
“I was going to move your body, when I found you alive still. Your heart beating, but your face, so bloody. You looked dead. Perhaps that is what saved your life. The Kindol who dealt you that wound must have moved on.”
“Yes. I am fortunate he did not deal a killing strike. What’s that? Listen—“
Their conversation was interrupted by the blowing of a low horn. Conversations ceased among those still at the waterside. A northern voice was heard loudly over them.
“Those of you able to walk come forward to the harbor master’s building. There you will be told what to do.”
Eskil looked around and saw that many started walking toward the door without question. He gritted his teeth. He wished he had fought to the death. This subjectaction was going to be worse that being dealt a killing blow. He walked with the rest of them. Aden still at his side.
Inside the harbor master’s building the Kindol had set up a small stage. A man who looked like he was of some importance to them was pacing about at its center.
“Is that all of them?” he asked a man to his right. A stiff faced warrior.
The warrior nodded swiftly. The man jutted out his chin and began to address the crowd.
“I am Lord Wargrave, and I speak on behalf of your new King. King Rune of Kindol. The King has decided that your mines are of great value to him, as the largest and only source of Flamestone. As you can see, a large and heavily armed contingent of the Kingdom’s army has taken up residence here. We will be housed in the north and west side of the city, taking what homes we wish. You will all be moved into the hovels and small domiciles that the miners had previously hibaitated. Those of you will skills or professions are encouraged to come forth and present yourself as such. If you do not, you will work in the mines along with your fellow slaves. The women and able bodied elderly and children will find their work in feeding and cleaning. The first tasks your King sets for you will be some rebuilding of his newly acquired city. I would have the men exit out the door to my right and the rest of you to the left where you will be examined for your usefulness. Continue.” Lord Wargrave finished without flourish. He simply walked off of the stage and out of the side door, his personal guards at his side.
Eskil looked around to the confused faces of the Kasgardians in the room with him.
“Slaves? Did he say slaves?”
“Are we to be prisoners then? What are they doing with those that can’t work? What of the sick or injured?”
“Can we go back to lay our fallen at rest? He said nothing of it!”
similar exclamations were heard throughout the room. Eskil pushed his way through the stalling group for the door to the right of the stage. Best to meet this fate head on. If he was to be a slave than he would be sure his captors knew just how he felt on the matter.
Eskil walked out onto the other side of the harbor and was met with a ferocious site. Men already who has been through the harbor house were working on building a fence. A fence to keep them in the cheep and run down side of Kasgard. Others were dragging and pitching bodies into great fires. There was no sigh of them women. Eskil had little time to figure the mess out before a Kindol guard ceased him.
“He looks well enough. Strong… Were you a miner?”
“I am a miner,” was all Eskil allowed.
“Join that working group there, they are bringing bodies from the city. Burn them all.”
Eskil flinched. They were burning Kindol bodies as well. No regard even for their fallen. It was disturbing. Eskil however, did as he was told.
“Wait, Kasgard, go first to that firepit,” the large man said, pointing to a pit of hot coals were a group of men were standing about.
Eskil turned and headed for it.
All around him were Kindol armed with large swords and trained bows. There would be no use to run. He walked to the pit. As he neared he saw a man thrown to his knees while guards held his arms out. He struggled, pleading and screaming. Another large brute pulled an iron from the fire.
Branding.
They were branding the captured Kasgardians. Eskil stopped dead in his tracks. By now there were men lining up behind him, following as he walked. He turned to look at them, seeing the realization register in their eyes as well. Eskil swallowed hard and kept walking.
He would not scream.
He met them with hard eyes and kneeled himself, holding out his right arm. They had branded the previous man’s right hand. A large circle with some sort of emblem on it. The guards grabbed onto his shoulders ready to hold him down or keep him from turning away.
Eskil said nothing but stared at the brute with the iron. He had fair colored hair he covered with a thick helmet. His armor was sooty and looked heavy. His arms showed many marks of burns. No doubt this was a job he did often.
He brought the iron down on to Eskil’s outstretched hand with relish. Eskil could see the glint in his eyes. He could see the small upturn of his lips. Eskil did not scream. He took in the sensation of the burning skin and the smell of it all. The burning bodies. His burning hand. He would remember this always, and when the time was right, he would make this brute remember too.
Eskil stood, his knees weak, but he forced himself to walk several feet unaided away from the guards as they grabbed the next man in line. He brought the roots in his other hand up to his nose once again. The scent of the marjoram and lavender awaking him once again out of the haze of pain.
The work group he was to join was walking back out to the street. There were guards escorting them, ordering them where to go. Eskil joined the back of the group, trying to ignore the searing pain of his hand and the dull roar in his head. This had not turned out to be a relaxing night. He was amazed at how one drink in the local tavern had turned into a night of darkness and death. How Kasgard, only yesterday had stood as a free city-state of the Flame Coast, and now it was nothing but another acquisition of the Kingdom of Kindol.
He supposed it was fitting, as the Kasgard Lords had sent the Emissary from the Lumur Republic away empty handed as he pleaded for aid against the wave of violence in his own country. Eskil shook his head of the thoughts. The Kindol would not hold this land for long. Surely the surrounding city-states and villages would come to their aid? Least they fall into their hands as well.
Eskil lifted a body and tossed it onto the ripped piece of mainsail the working group was pulling along. He spoke to no one. The pile of half burned carcasses was growing. The Kindol loved their flames didn’t they? Eskil found himself just staring, unable to move as a girl’s body in a red dress was thrown onto the canvas.
***
The Warnings of the Ghost Rider
Bryn was running.
She was running as hard as she had ever run before. It did not help that she had barely eaten for days. It did not help that she was barefoot and still wearing the rags she had made of her funeral gown. Yet she ran. She’d seen the faces of the dead. She’d seen the faces of the killers. She had to warn Elys. Kasgard had fallen in so much fire and blood. She had to warn her family. She had to warn Garen. Someone would listen, wouldn’t they?
Ran until the sun rose around her.
Her feet were raw and bloody and her lungs burned so hard she could not breathe. There was a village just up the way, she could see the tops of the roofs and the little towers of smoke from their cooking fires. The smoke made her gag. All she could taste on her lips was scent of the burning homes in Kasgard. She dragged herself further. She would have to warn this town too. She couldn’t just leave it to be burned to the ground.
Her running pace and dulled to a slow walk, it was all she could do to keep moving. Her limbs wanted to fall to the ground but she would not let them. There was a barn coming up with men working around it. Their bodies thick with sweat.
Bryn tried to yell, but her voice was failing her. No water. She hadn’t drunk water in what must have been ages. She hadn’t even noticed her lips were cracked. She put her hands to her face and hair. She must have been a sight. The men had stopped working and were staring at her. Some with looks of fear.
“Kasgard…” she choked.
They continued to stare at her dumbly. One started to approach, his shovel still in his hand.
“Kasgard has fallen!” she finally managed. “The Men with fire came. They’re burning everything!”
The man close to her looked horrified. She couldn’t tell if he believed her.
“There was so many people dying. So many fighting and dying…you have to believe me! Kasgard has fallen!”
She moved toward him and he stumbled backward, just like Garen had done.
“I must get to Elys. I must warn them, don’t you understand? They’ll be next. The Kindol Firemen.” Bryn looked back and forth to the eyes of the men, looking for some sign of sympathy. Some sign of understanding.
Her face hardened. They would let their village burn because of fear of her.
“GIVE ME YOUR HORSE!” she yelled at a younger man holding the reins to a plow horse.
One of the men started running for the farm house.
The others lifted their tools higher, almost threatening toward her.
“Give me your horse, NOW!” Bryn screamed taking several steps to the man.
He suddenly clutched at his chest. His face turning rigid. He dropped the reigns of the horse and fell over.
The other men ran to him. Bryn’s mouth dropped, but she didn’t have time to think of what had happened. She took the reins and pulled herself up onto the horse’s bare back. Her father had taught her to ride and she would do his lessons justice this day. She kicked its sides with her bloody heals and took off at a gallop.
The men were yelling after her but she paid them no heed.
She took the horse through the main street of town.
“KASGARD HAS FALLEN!” she yelled as she thundered past the market row. “KASGARD HAS BURNED!”
At least she would cause a stir if not convince them the great protector city-state had been taken over.
The horse was a good beast. It ran steady for her at a strong pace. She would reach Elys by nightfall hopefully. The road was empty as of yet, but she prepared to herself to call to them if they passed. Her dark hair flowed out behind her and the skirts of her dress mimicked it. She looked the part of a specter on the fly.
When the sun had sunk below the horizon she began to the dark silloettes of the mountains that surrounded Elys. She spurred the horse on harder. She knew it must be killing the thing, but they had a duty to perform. It could rest when they had called their warning.
It took her another two hours to reach the gates of Elys.
She passed under the archway leading in.
People on the cobblestone streets jumped out of her way, throwing themselves against the walls of buildings, gasping and crying out.
Bryn started screaming. She screamed of the dead on the streets. Of the fires. She yelled of the ships.
Finally she reached the gates of the Nobel house of the King.
Guards had already started toward her, their weapons drawn. But it was too late, her cries had stirred the occupants. She could see figures throwing back the windows above.
“Hear me Elys! Kasgard has fallen! Their mighty harbors have been invaded. Their soil runs red with blood and their buildings black with ash!” She scarcely felt like the words were hers. “Look! Look at me! I wear the dress I was buried in not far from this noble home! I beseech you! If I am demon! If I am an ill omen then here my ill news! Many have died in Kasgard and many will die here if you do not heed me! The Kindol Firemen come for you! Look for their ships on the water, they will bring with them your death! Elys! Arm yourselves!” She reared the horse and took off once more for her home.
----
The horse thundered with her strength, like some unseen force was giving them another wind enough to do their deed. She felt alive with purpose and the poor beast was an extention of her. She took it through the field that skirted the city and up the road that would lead her to the villa that had been her home. To the family that had forsake her. That had buried her.
She spurred the horse on. The home was coming into view. It was dark, but she could still see the waving of the morning cloths draped from the railings and windows. Though she was still so far away, she started screaming her warnings. It was like something else was driving her. It was like the strange little voice – it was like a voice but not as formed – that she heard in her head as she drifted to sleep was egging her on. It was commanding her now. Do this. Do this.
Bryn kept yelling until she saw candle lights appear in the windows. Until she saw a man with a torch appear in one of the doors. It was her father again, and she was close enough for him to see her. A white ghost. A white demon in the guise of his daughter once again bringing terror to his home.
“I come to warn you! Kindol makes war. They have taken Kasgard to your south and they will come here. Father! If you take me for dead, then know that so many others have joined me and I would not have you or mother, or any of our family lay in that tomb! Flee this place! Elys is strong, but they can not stand up against this force. Kasgard and its high walls and its hard miners fell. Elys will fall along side. Flee, father, flee I beg you!”
His face was so filled with fear and his mouth hung open.
“Your body is gone!” he yelled finally.
Bryn rode up closer. She knew that she must be a horrific sight. Her cloths in tatters, her face and body thin like a corpse. Her hair wild like beast and her eyes like those of demons.
“I went to look, I went to see that you laid how we left you. Strewn with flowers. But you were gone. They took your body. Is this why you can not rest? My daughter! I will not sleep until I return your body to his place, so you can be at peace!” He kept speaking, his voice shaking.
Had he not heard a word of what she had said? Kindol was coming to kill them all, what use was it to worry about her body now?
She leaned in close, and knew it was cruel to do so. “The glass was broken from the inside,” she said hauntingly. “I will rest when you and all my kin are safe from the hand of Kindol. Flee. Tonight. Flee to the mountains. To the Lumur. To anywhere that does not burn.”
This time he heard her. She was not yelling. She was speaking plainly, her voice horse and dark. If it was possible, he looked even more horrified. Bryn pulled the reins and took to the night. She had only Garen left to visit this night. The she would ride south. Malya. Lhyl. Arca. And every village in between. She would be a riding sign of death. They must all know. She felt alive for the first time since she walked from the tomb. Alive to keep others alive. She would move like a plague on the wind, faster than any fire. Faster than the Kindol warships.
***
A Feat of Strength
6th day of Lunara
Village of Copse, South of Misyle
Acacia,
I’m sure you are deep into the ceremonies welcoming Winter today. It is the sixth day of the eleventh moon. I have now been away from you, my heart, for ninety-six difficult days. Nearly four moon cycles! The time has gone quickly for me, as I travel a little nearly every day. As I have written before in this journal, my travels have taken me from the walls of Kasgard through to the Lumur republic. I will not go into the trials there, as I have already detailed the horrific battles and scenes there. The Lumur are sturdy people and they will stand the longest against Kindol I think. I have now made my way south west to the lands of the Misyle Traders. There are no battles here, it is however, disturbingly peaceful. The Misyles carry on as though these were normal days, but it is the life of a fallen tree. You have only to disturb the surface and you find the worms and the bugs eating away from underneath. The Kindol have spread their influence so deep into the leaders here that it is a wonder they do not consider themselves within the Kindol borders. I think there are few here who see that. They speak of their great Ally. Their great protector in the north. How good trade is now that they have backers and customers in the Kindol kingdom. They welcome the men of the Kindol army onto their ships and along their streets. I’ve heard them say they feel so safe now. What was it like before? Were there murderers and criminals running free? I do not think they remember. The traders are traders first, they never had a standing army to my knowledge. City guards perhaps. But now they leave security to the Kindol. I have stopped in the cities along the coast. Eventide. Gale. Celestial. And now I make for Misyle itself, near to the north border of the country. After I make my inquiries there I will cross through the western mountain into the lands of the Kindol themselves. I fear my differences in appearance will mark me as a target and I have spent several nights thinking of some way to let me walk among them unnoticed. Today I will hold my own welcoming of Winter, perhaps Lun will bless me with some insight on this cold day. I love you always.
M
Medora signed it simply and closed the journal. She could not afford to send these reports, she didn’t even know how she could. However, she continued to write them every day. They contained valuable information about the continent and how far it has strayed from the path of the Spirits. Medora herself could hardly believe how much had been forgotten. The Flame Coast spent their energies worshiping false gods and goddesses. She wandered into a temple in one of the northern villages and found a tall statue of a woman who looked much like the people of the area. In her hand she held a basket filled with grains and fruit. She was some goddess of harvesting and at first Medora thought she was a remembered version of Grassi, but it became quite clear that the people prayed to her for their own selfish purpose. She was a goddess of profit, not of nature. They could have cared less for the plants they reaped, just for the money it brought them. That was what that goddess represented, not the joy of the growing something from the earth. These were not Gardeners. At least not like the Felah Gardeners. There was no balance in them.
The Lumur maintained some of the structure of the faith, but they pledged themselves to the elements. Water, air, fire and earth. At least the great Wattarri, Windar, Lumus and Ekaria were in their thoughts. Medora, however, did not think it was enough. But perhaps their tribute to a few of the Spirits was enough to keep them strong in their fight against the Kindol. She had joined in along side them in many villages that she passed through. As she continued her travels she had heard of the tall mysterious stranger that had taken up arms with the Lumur. The woman in black. It had grown so much among the villages and cities in the East who were fighting the hardest to keep their homes that as she entered the gates of a place called Thicket the people there took her to the town’s hall and showered her with tributes. They did not take it well when she refused their gifts. Had they forgotten also? That was the path of the Marked of old. The Marked who waged wars under the pretense it was the will of the Spirits. It was their fault the worship of the Spirits had been abandoned on the main continent. She would not walk down that path, not for any prize. Although they were disappointed, they soon understood that her refusal did not mean she would not fight along side them. She stayed in Thicket for a week’s time.
Medora had then traveled through the mountains to make her way to southern cities belonging to the Misyle traders. Her travels here had been very enlightening into the way the Kindol was waging its war. They fought the Lumur Republic because Lumur would not treat with them. They would not ally themselves. They would not support the King there. However, the Misyle invited the Kindol into their homes. They sent lavish gifts to King Rune. They welcomed the armies and they did not bat an eye as statues were raised with the image of Rune. Perhaps it was because the traders had not a King of their own. Only status by success. He who was rich controlled the others and right now that man was named Verdan. Verdan had even taken a Kindol bride. Something that now seemed rather fashionable among the other well to do men of the Misyles. Medora reasoned they would have to fight the Misyles as well as the Kindol when it came down to it.
She neared the city of Misyle now, traveling by horseback. A hearty creature given to her by the Lumur. Riding it was much like riding the SOMETHING of the Heart Islands. Something she did on a rarity at home when they traveled to the center isle. She preferred to walk, but because there was so much distance to cover, she felt it was necessary at this point. It was easy to blend in with the other travelers on the main roads because of the growing chill in the air, many were covered thick cloaks and scarves. She kept her head and face wrapped and had thrown on another cloak, taken from a dead Kindol warrior. Without showing her hairless head she could walk among them fairly unseen. Her height was similar to theirs and she was thin and athletic very much like their trim frames. The only thing anyone seemed to notice was her lack of eye brows and eye lashes. She saw them glance up at her eyes. Some she could tell couldn’t place their finger on what exactly was different about her, but they still thought her odd. This was something she would have to figure out how to remedy before she walked into the kingdom of Kindol.
Presently, she was passing through the gates of Misyle. There were Kindol guards at the gates who eyed her as she rode in. She wondered if they recognized the make of the cloak, but she did not waste her time thinking about it. Inside the gates the city was a bustle of activity. It was said you could find anything in a Misyle market place. Medora found herself believing that it could be true as she looked over the tables and booths that littered the roads, not to mention the store fronts behind. There was nothing like this on Heart.
The city of the Felah was large and housed perhaps 5,000 in its walls. There were many small settlements on the island as well, but none of those had more than 100 Felah living in them. The Malor were similar, but their main city was nearly double the size with very few outside settlements. This city of the Misyle must have held 100,000 people and all of them seemed to be out and about trying to sell one another objects of uselessness. Medora kept riding.
“We have a fine selection of jewelry lady!” a boy called to her, holding out a small copper bracelet.
“I have no need for trinkets little one,” was all she said.
“Dried herbs! Three bunches of lavender for one bronze! Chamomile and Thyme…” a woman was singing.
Medora made her way toward the areas that held the larger manors and the more upscale shops. There she would look for lodging, and hopefully more gossip and news.
Medora finds out some tidbit of information and spurs on her ride to kindol. Perhaps that Rune claims he is a god.
Medora took the horse up the mountain pass. It was growing dark, but she did not care. She would ride on until she was too tired to move or the horse gave out under her. She must see the sin of the Kindol king with her own eyes to believe it was possible. Even the grave mistakes of the Marked of the past never tread on such blatant blasphemy against the Spirits. Never did they label themselves gods walking the surface of Ekaria.
It was perhaps her anger to this piece of news that caused her not to hear the highway men that shadowed her in the woods. The snap of one of their feet woke her out of her thoughts. She was careful not to change her pace or flinch her head in any manner. Now it was quite clear, there were at least six of them, three on each side. They would be armed, swords and perhaps bows. She wondered if there would be more ahead of her, waiting in the middle of the road and while she was distracted by their presence, the others would circle around her, some staying in the woods, arrows trained on her. She moved her hand slowly to the handle of the axe and slipped it out of the loop holding it to her waist. She kept it hidden under her cloak. They would see it soon enough.
She spied them ahead of her from a good distance. They were trying to hide themselves behind some larger boulders along the side of the road, ready to spring out. If she hadn’t been looking for them she doubted she would have noticed. She supposed many travelers never did. She was ten horselengths off now. They would step into her path at any moment.
Medora kicked the horses side and urged it into a gallop. The men leapt out, holding their weapons out, one with a sharpened long for piercing riding animals. He held this out to stop her. She pulled the axe from her cloak and as she turned the horse way from the spear at the last second she brought the blade down in to the crevis of one of the men’s neck and shoulder. He fell instantly. She turned the horse around expecting to meet the men trailing her in the woods. They had sprinted out, seeing that she had sped her pace. Four of them were on the road coming at her, the others she reasoned were still hiding in the woods.
In a flutter of robes and material she lept from the horses back, she could fight better on the ground. The animal was still foreign to her. Quickly after landing she brought her axe to meet the stomach of a man on her left. He doubled over, dropping his sword. Two down. They scrambled now. Surrounding her closely, blades plunging toward her. She moved swiftly knocking them away from her body. Medora knew it would be difficult to get a killing blow in now that they were all so close. From her other hip she drew a dagger and with practiced precision she flung it into the head of one of the assailents. He screamed once before stumbling backward and falling to the ground. Three left around her and two in the woods. They would begin taking their shots at once she killed another of these men, she didn’t doubt.
She continued to knock away their blades with increased speed. There was a moment of debate in her head. Was this the moment she was to lay down arms and strength? Every ounce of her told her she must continue to the Kindol capitol at all costs. And so they must feel the wrath of a Marked. And not just any of the Marked, one marked by Vim, he who lends his almighty strength to his followers.
A battle cry left her lips and the hood fell from her head. Some of the men swore, her appearance was almost evil. Black cloaked with nasty black tattoos over her head with foreign looking rings through her ears and her mouth opened in a vicious happy grin. She reasoned they had the first inciling that this traveling would not be easy to rob and they may have made a mistake in choosing her to attack.
To their surprise she dropped to a crouch bringing the axe. They had only a second to wonder why she did this as she sprang up so quickly, yelling terribly. With what looked like practiced ease she seized the blade of one of the men as it went to strike her and bent it right out of his hands. This she threw violently with amazing speed into the woods. The cry issued from there let her know she had hit the man hiding. She turned her wrath to the three men still near her, one unarmed. It was time to show them she was something to be afraid of.
The unarmed man pulled a small knife from his belt. They widened the circle around her, not knowing how best to proceed. She laughed a wicked deep laugh. There was a cutting sound in the air, an arrow. It missed her. Another followed, this one she did not move for, but simply brought her free hand up and snapped out of the air, throwing it to the ground. She heard a collective gasp. The moment was all she needed she flew at the man with the knife.
Her axe cut through him so quickly none of them had time to react. His body fell into halves and washed her with blood. She turned on the other two with a roar.
“Time for you to die, men of evil. Men of fortune. Robbers. Thieves. The Spirits have spoken and you will meet them shortly!” she screamed launching herself at one. The other ran to the cover of the woods, tripping over his own feet. She sliced threw his blade and straight into his neck, cutting the head off. He fell to the ground with his commrads. She ran into the woods, her strides long and powerful. She caught up to the two fleeing quickly. She grabbed them from behind and threw them to the ground. She threw her axe down as well.
“You two cowards I will kill with my bare hands because your blood does not deserve to touch the axe of Vim!”
They scrambled to stand but Medora leapt into the air and landed her feet onto their backs, a blow so hard they whimpered with crushed lungs.
One she kicked over and stepped onto his throat, crushing it so completely he died instantly, his head cut from the body. The other still trying to breath looked up at her.
He whispered, “Monster!”
She pressed him down with one hand easily, and pulled open her robe.
“Marked,” she replied. “Marked.”
He looked at the symbol unable to comprehend its meaning.
“And you have been judged unworthy. Vim tells me you are weak.”
She snapped his neck with two fingers.
Standing, she arched her head high and yelled, blood and venom serging through her veins. “PEOPLE OF EKARIA YOU ARE WEAK! VIM SAPS YOUR LIMBS OF STRENGTH BECAUSE YOU LACK HONOR! RETURN TO THE SPIRITS! RETURN TO BALANCE AND YOU SHALL NOT SUFFER! STAY ON THIS PATH AND I, AND THE OTHERS MARKED AS I AM WILL SEE THAT YOU FALL!”
She yelled once more and took the man’s fallen blade. She bent it into the shape of an “M” to mirror the upturned triangles on her chest. She threw it to the ground next to the bodies.
“Your will done my Spirit.”
***
Medora walked into the lands of the Kindol. On her body she wore the clothes of the fallen highway men. On her head, she wore one of their scalps. It was a horrific act, but the thought came to her as she lamented over arriving in the kingdom with no disguise. With a band tied around it, you could not see where the skin was cut and the hood up helped to further the deception. The hair was blonde and would blend in easily to that of the Kindol who were mostly fair colored.
Her skin she could do nothing about, she was darker than all of them, but oddly, the highway men were mixed. They were not Kindol, but not Misyle either. Men of the mountains. Men descended from the mixing of the five Klans. Some with hair as light as the Kindol, but skin dark like the Lumur or olive like the men of the Flame Coast. Another of the men had hair black like a Misyle but his eyes were clearly almond shaped and slanting, like the Kindol warriors she had seen. Men of the mountain, they had no allegiance.
Perhaps the Kindol would take her for a mountain woman. She did not know if they traveled into the cities, but there was a chance. Her bloody battle axe was strapped again to her side and the dagger retrieved from the skull of the fallen man. She raided their bodies for monies. On them she found a detailed map of the area, as well as several bronze pieces. She threw the bodies into the woods for the animals to eat. At least, Drake’s kin would be served by their deaths.
The journey to their capitol city would be long by foot but she intended to see just how badly the country had strayed.
It did not take long.
The first town she came to had at its center was a statue of Rune. It was much more ornamental than the ones in Misyle, covered in red and orange jewels. Flowers and offerings were strewn at its base. The sight made Medora sick. She turned her head and saw a temple had been built as well. A temple to a mortal man. It took great self discipline not to walk in and throw over the alter.
Some more stuff happens here.
***
A New Brand of Slave
Eskil Aud awoke to the drums as he did every morning now.
All of the slaves rose from the crowded hovels where they slept in groups trying to stay warm. The cold months had started and the Kindol army kept the firewood for themselves. Eskil and his sister had opened their small home to six other Kasgardians, a family who had lived on the other side of the city. They had lost three of their kin. It seemed no family had made it throw the take over without a death or severe injury. What was worse were the deaths after the battle had stopped. So many of the weaker people, the invalids and the elderly were killed not by swift blade but thrown into the fires that burned the bodies of the fallen. It was torturous to watch. The images of nights that followed the battle were forever imprinted on the Kasgardians. They had not love for their captures. It boiled under their skins.
Eskil stood and pulled on his heavy boots. He would travel to the mine with the other men and the women would be taken out in working groups to clean and tend to the armies needs. The women would be allowed to come back before the men were released from the mines to prepare meals for all of the slaves. The ate swill, not fit for animals, but it was all they had now.
The three brothers of the family followed Eskil out of the home and into the street. Many men were now there and they walked as a group. Eskil found Aden among the group. They had started to become fast friends. At least, as well as you could be under the circumstances. They attempted to stay together as they climbed the path to the mine entrances. The Kindol chained them together by the ankles and gave them their tools to work. If you stood next to one another in line you had a better chance to be chained together in the group of six. Aden did not say anything to him as they walked. They hoped it had not been noticed they preferred each other’s company. Many of the Kasgardians had adapted this. It seemed the only way to get through the days, to have your friends by your side.
They neared the entrance to the mine. Several Kindol were there, the chains on the ground at their feet. They moved silently, their faces cold and hard. The Kindol on the right had a mace the size of Eskil’s head, covered in sharp points. They had a good system for keeping the men working, that was for sure. Eskil stood while the chain was attached to him by a young boy. Not big enough to work in the mines, but he would be soon. He could see in the boy’s face he knew he’d be clamping these on his own legs not far in the future. Aden stood behind him, being chained as well. The four other men Eskil did not recognize today. On occasion they would be together with other men they had worked with at one time. But not all of the slaves had been miners. Many of the miners were dead and gone. Being some of the first to the fight. Many of these men were just average workers, sailors or the such. They had learned the mining skill very quickly after the enslavement.
They walked into the dark mine entrance all being given tools to dig. They followed the other chain gangs down into the depths. The small torches lighting their way. They passed many guards holding some of the most nasty weapons they’d ever seen. They’d seen them do nasty things to men’s faces as well. The Kasgardians were now not a very pretty group of people.
The reached their station and began to do the back breaking work of condemned men.
It had been this way for four moons now. They were into the month of Lunara, in fact, it was just past the first day of winter. Eskil had rapped his hands with bits of cloth to keep them warm as he worked. At least the mine heated up from the bodies and being cut from the wind. Aden groaned as he hit the wall with the pickaxe. Veins of Flamestone were extremely hard and took long hours to dig from the surrounding rock.
“Well you haven’t said anything about the new additions to the working class,” Aden whispered.
“The Lumurs? They’re a sturdy lot. I expect they will work just as hard as us,” Eskil answered.
The day before several ships had pulled into the harbor carrying more slaves to Kasgard. They were men and women from some of the Lumur villages. They said they were on the west side of the republic, close to the Kindol border. They had fought long and hard, but in the end their towns were swallowed up by the kingdom. Their Lumur brethren still fought in the north. It would be a long a fierce campaign to reach their capitol.
He had not spoke to them, but he did sit and listen to the conversation they had with the Kasgardian leaders and the evening meal. They spoke in low gruff voices that matched their smaller height and stocky bodies. Their skin was several shades darker than the Kasgardians, and their hair black and straight instead of the curly waves most of Eskil’s people had.
Aden glanced around for the nearest guard.
“If they keep pumping slaves into this place and sending the armies out to the surrounding cities, we may soon outnumber them,” he said very quietly.
“Elys fell and they did not bring them to the mines as did Malya.”
“But the Lhyl, they are here too.”
“True. I guess it will remain to be seen how many they expect to do this work. Perhaps enough to mine around the clock. I wish to know just what they are using all of this flamestone for. We never minded this much when we were exporting it. No one bought it in the quantities they take it.”
“they are lighting many more fires that just that of their home cooking flames.”
“That is true.”
“Hush…guard.”
Eskil and Aden worked silently for nearly an hour as a guard had come to stand just behind them. He started to move on to another gang just down the way from them. They picked up their conversation once again speculating on the deeds of the Kindol.
In four months time, the Kindol had turned Kasgard into their base of campaigns throughout the region. They first moved up the coast to Elys. Rumor was they found it nearly abandoned. But after careful search, they found many of the Elysians up the river and in the foothills of the mountains hiding out. Whether they were put to death or set to work there, they did not know. However, Kindol now had a second front to fight the Lumur if they so chose. Just after that they moved south and took Malya. Lhyl fell easily, its people simple folk who did not have the strength to fight. Arca had yet to fall to the Kindol. They fought hard, their battlements reinforced by some miracle of foresight, but the sheer numbers of the Kindol were overwhelming them. He reasoned in a month’s time their walls would fall and they would find themselves working along side the Arcians as well. The Kindol were now slowly moving through the countryside taking villages and farms as they pleased. It seemed that every day another ship full of fighting men arrived.
Eskil had no doubt that in a few months time, the entire country would be overrun. It was only a matter of time. He hoped the Lumur stood up to them as long as they could. After that the only hope was the Misyles, but everyone knew they pledged their alliance to the kingdom of Kindol well before their king started waging war. He wondered if the Escape Islands had been hit yet. The small islands far to the west that was the home of pirates and families descended from a group of persecuted people among the Kindol. They wore the faces of the people of Kindol, but in them dwelled a hate for the kingdom so strong they raided only ships flying the king’s flag. Kasgard had often traded with them, as they had avoided the Misyle cities for many years now. After that, well, there were only those no one knew even existed for sure. It was said there were peoples to the south on large island nations there. Fierce tribes of cannibals. Their teeth sharpened to points and their bodies tattooed with the blood of their victims. No ships strayed into their waters. Then there were the Pale. A legendary race far to the north who lived in ice and allowed none into their borders.
---
It was not practical to wish that these outside parties would come to their aid. There had to be some way to resist this. Eskil looked chanced a glance around at the miners. There faces were drawn, depressed and broken. The unfortunate thing about the battle was that nearly every lion hearted leader among the Kasgardians had fallen in the first wave. The military leaders were all gone. Almost all of the original fighting force that guarded the city were also dead. That left the miners – quiet hard working types and the nobler blood who were far in land when the battle began. Lord Bazan was a smart man, very cunning when it came down to it. But these last few months had broken his back. Eskil saw him at the dinner fires only a week ago and he looked like a wild animal. Starved. His cheeks hallow and none of the airs of the high class he was formally a part of. He still walked among them, checking on the health of his people and did what he could to lift their spirits, but there was no rebellious leader in him. His eyes were dead.
Eskil hit the wall with his pickaxe hard and groaned. Anger was rising up in him. He felt his skin growing hotter and his brow furrowed. They had killed Kasgardians. They had murdered the leaders. They had taken their city, a city built on the blood of their fathers. They had crashed walls put up by the first sons of Kas. They had burned buildings as old as the mines. And what did they care for? All they wanted was their precious flamestones. Dark red and black rocks taken from the veins of their mountain. Stones that had merely to touch one another to start sparks and fire. Valued to all on Ekaria. It was their livelihood and the Kindol had no right to it. Not one. No, these mountains, these rocks, these walls, these streets, this people belonged to Kasgard. It was time they remembered it.
Eskil was still fuming with anger as he walked out of the mines that night with Aden still at his side. The other man caught his eye and reflected some of the frustration shown on Eskil’s face. Aden was strong but he was not especially bright. He would follow though, Eskil believed. He would follow if asked. As they exited another boy was there to unclasp the irons. The tools were taken from them by the guards and they were left empty handed for their work. The path back to the slave dwellings was long and draining. They were exhausted from being overworked, but pressed on to eat that little bit shit food before they passed out into dead sleep. They passed through the newly erected fence around their own homes. A pen to keep them from going anywhere the Kindol did not wish. You left in a working group and you returned that way. Guards watching you constantly. Your body was checked over as you entered the prison, but oddly, not as you left. Eskil had made a note of this.
He stopped at his home to try to clean himself. The dust and dirt from the mine covered him. He felt like he had been coated in it for ages. Never clean. Eka was not there, neither were the women from the family living with them. The men entered shortly after him and did the same. Wiped what grim they could from their faces and hands. All four of them left together to get into the line serving food. He realized quickly they had gotten in line behind Lord Bazen. He was just and dirty as they, but his clothes were still of a higher make. Nearly tatters now.
Eskil ventured, “Good evening, Lord Bazen.”
He turned, his eyes haunted. He nodded. “Just Bazen now I think, lad.”
Eskil’s eyes darkened. “Always Lord, sir. Always. They can not strip that title from you sir, you were born with it.”
Lord Bazen’s mouth curved into a sad smile. “It is hard to remember that some days.”
“Yes sir. But remember we must.”
As they talked, a small boy came wandering through the group. He was carrying a letter and holding a hand to his forehead.
“Sir?” his little voice rose up to them.
Lord Bazen looked down at him and immeditalty dropped to his knee. “My boy, what is it?”
“A letter sir, I was sent to give it to you.”
“And your head, what’s this?” he asked, taking the letter and pulling the boys hand away.
“I said something out of turn sir.”
The boys head was bleeding from a gash that covered half of his forehead.
Lord Bazen gasped. Eskil watched as the lord ripped the cuff from his own sleeve. He pulled the button off and threw it to the ground and applied the makeshift bandage to the boys head.
“Here, come with me we shall see if we can get this cleaned up.”
“But the letter sir, they said it was important.”
“Nothing is more important right now that getting this cut looked at, alright?”
The little boy grinned up at Lord Bazen and followed him off to one of the houses. Eskil watched with awe. How could a man who cared so much for his people be so afraid to act? Perhaps he was so in fear of letting more of them die. Eskil would be more afraid to let a boy like that grow up a slave and know no life of freedom. The line was moving. Before he proceeded, he stooped and picked up the discarded button from Lord Bazen’s shirt.
He studied it as he walked, the little bit of firelight highlighted its embossed symbols. It was a family crest. A noble symbol, one that no doubt was still engraved on one of the homes to the west occupied by some Kindol general.
Always a Lord. He will remember that, even if it is up to his people to show him how.
Eskil flipped the button over a few times and walked forward to get his dinner. A woman handed him a bowl of a stew. There was little meat in it, but it would do. He also got a chunk of hard bread and moved toward the fire ring. Many stood around it chatting in low voices. Many would take their meal home to eat out of the wind. He ate, all the while twisting the button between his fingers and staring at the low flames. The coals were hot and glowing. Aden sat down next to him, already finished with his food.
“You look very contemplative tonight, Eskil.”
“I am through contemplating, my friend.”
“Oh?” he looked intrigued.
Eskil stood and found one of the long wooden shards that were being used as a fire poker. He used his nails to pry the end apart slightly. He jammed the button into the wood so the shank held it in place facing out. Aden was watching him closely, but saying nothing. Eskil thrust the poker into the coals. After a few minutes he pulled the stick out, the end of it was smoking and the button glowed red like. He grinned, slightly madly and handed the poker to Aden. Aden held it unsurely and stared at Eskil blankly. Eskil turned his branded hand over so the palm was facing out.
“Here, right here in the center.”
Aden’s eyes widened when he realized what was being asked of him, but he was quick to understand why. He pressed the heated button into Eskil’s flesh, burning a new brand into his hand. One side slave, one side Kasgard loyalist. He did not flinch, just has he had reacted when the Kindol burned their symbol into him. However, on this branding he took a fierce pride in, so much that a devilish grin was forming on his face. Aden pulled the poker back and put it back into the coals. Eskil looked over the mark. A perfect circle at the center of his palm with the Bazen coat of arms clear to any who saw it. Red and puffy, but it would heal well.
“Now me,” Aden said stiffly, holding out his own palm.
Eskil smiled. So it begins.
***
The Unsettling of Lysand Tryle of Heart
Lysand Tryle stood on the beach looking out over the pier where his ship was docked. It was a sleek vessel and he was quite happy becoming a crew member. He spent so many years on his father’s small ship learning the art of Sharking, but it had been time to move on. After one year on a real Sharker ship, he felt like a seasoned crew. They would be leaving again soon. They had come back to the City of the Malor for a weeks time to take on supplies and a few new hands, what with the accidents. It was usual that a Sharker ship would loose men on an outing. It wasn’t a very safe job. Not like the professions of those on land. Malor here in the city did such tedious useless things. The only ones he had any respect for were the Malor who stood guard and trained as warriors. Them and the few who tended to the healing rooms, he had had to be under their care many times. One felt safe when you knew the hands of the healers were taking your falling crew members.
Lysand slid his hands around the back of his head and stretched. He continued his lazy walk down the beach back to the hermit like dwelling her father kept. The bright blue of the water complimented his rows of tattoos that lined his back, arms and head. They followed his spine like tiger stripes stretching out around his ribs. In his ears he wore a few silver rings and one long piece of leather that was pulled through his lobe. On the bottom of it was a large shark’s tooth. One he had pulled from the mouth of the beast himself. He rubbed his hands down his bare chest and stomach. There were scars there. His upper body was riddled with them, but he wore them like badges of honor. They were something that earned him respect from the other Sharkers on the new crew. From the first day he stepped foot onto the ship, they knew he was a Malor who knew what it was to Shark.
The home he grew up in neared. It was sent back from the water some distance and buried in rocks like it wanted to be a cave. His father was a strange man. He did not like living closely to the other Malor, but he was not unsocial. Every day he would take his small ship out with his meager crew and Shark for hours on end and return before sundown. After all was put away and the day’s catch was cleaned and prepared for market he would hike up to the main streets of the city sit with the other elder Malor in the parlors smoking and drinking. At night he would hobble back down to his home and rest. He would wake and do the whole thing over again. The man was a creature of habit. True to form, he was not at the home when Lysand entered. It would be many hours after the sun and sunk below the sea before he would see his father.
Lysand, however enjoyed the quite and lay back on his small bunk. His hands automatically falling onto his chest and tracing the intricate veins of the scars. Most he could remember, but some happened so long ago as a child that their origin was lost to him. He knew he should be out with the other members of his crew enjoying their time on land, but there was some nagging feeling that had him upset. He found he could not enjoy himself in their company at the parlors or walking in the markets. There was something dark brooding at the back of his mind. However, he could not place his finger on it and resigned to not think of it any more tonight. Already he had walked the entire length of the Malor beach to try to clear his head. It had helped in some manner, but it was rising up once more. It felt like some piece of information that he was supposed to know, but could not quite grasp. Perhaps he had forgotten something of importance and it would come back to his thoughts if he ignored it long enough.
Lysand tried to remember that he was a simple man. There was nothing that he should find himself worrying about. He would wake in the morning and go about his business. He would join his fellow crew and head out onto the vast blue ocean and begin their hunt for the schools of larger deep water sharks. They would be out there maybe a months time and return again with their hull full of salted shark meat and skins and the whole process would continue. He was considering this, half a sleep, when his father entered.
The man was shorter than Lysand by a head and his skin was wrinkled with age. He was perhaps sixty summers to Lysand’s twenty three, but the man still moved with speed. His tattoos were a dusty grey, but very similar to Lysand’s. They tended to mimic family lines. They were long curved stripes, like tusks almost. One curved over his hairless head over his left eye, almost identical to Lysand. Around his neck was a string of sharks’ teeth separated by beads of various colors. Cinden Tryle was his name, but he went by Tryle only among the Malor. Tryle shuffled quickly into the home and lit a waxy candle, waking Lysand from his dreamy thoughts.
“Back so soon?” Lysand asked.
Tryle just grunted. He busied himself putting what possessions they had away in their proper place. Lysand always managed to mess the home up when he was back. He knew it fustrated his father, but he found it actually quite humourous. Lysand smiled sideways as he watched the old man stack dishes grunting all the time.
The candle light caught the flickering of Tryle’s light blue eyes. Lysand, himself had dark, almost black eyes, something he assumed he got from the Felah that birthed him. Tryle never spoke of her, and it was just as well. Lysand didn’t much care for those sorts of stories. He himself never ventured to the center island during the waning of the summer months when the Heart copulated. He had very little interaction with the Felah at all, really. It was not something he felt badly about either. Most Malor his age felt the same. They could be damned, for all he cared. The Felah were cruel and foreign. They hid in their forests, high in their trees. He personally assumed they were warped being so close to The Dark Ones on the north island.
Again he reminded himself he was a simple man and the goings on of the Felah really did not concern him. Those were topics for the High House to worry over, not he a low born Sharker.
“What is ailing you, boy?”
“What? Oh, I was just thinking about leaving tomorrow.”
His father grunted again.
“I am.”
“Your brow is furrowed. You do not furrow it when you think about being back onto the water.”
“There will be new hands. It will be trying to teach them how to do the job well.”
“You are a good teacher. This you know. Every hand on my ship has been guided by you. Some are growing old enough to join your crew. Perhaps I should persuade some of them to speak to your captain at the sunrise.”
“Perhaps, at least I would know they know what they are doing. Who are you thinking of sending?”
“Sidian. Or perhaps Artimis.”
“Sidian is keener. Bright lad. Artimis is strong though. Either would be an asset to us, and a great loss to you.”
“I can stand to send off my best when they are read. I sent you did I not?”
“Yes.”
“One day perhaps you will come back to this small sailing. I spent many years on the large ships too. But one day you may desire a simple life again. The ship will be yours one day to do as you please.”
This time it was Lysand’s turn to grunt.
The talked for a short time more of various things and then put out the candle to sleep. Lysand again had to push the anxious thoughts that were rising in the back of his mind away. If they bode something ill, he would deal with it as it came.
***
The sun was low in the eastern sky when Lysand strode down the pier. He wore loose linen pants that cuffed tightly around his calves. They were a fashionable set that he purchased some time ago in one of the nice parts of the city. They were of a good make and cloth so he knew they would be durable, yet they looked strongly of traditional Malor wear. He went bare-chested as he always did, but slug a leather belt around his waist holding a pack his set of curved knives. The rest of the crew was assembling outside of the ship, a few men aboard.
Sidian stood among the hopefuls waiting to speak to the captain about joining the crew. Lysand walked aboard and sidled up to the railing next to some of the others on the crew.
“What do you make of them?” one asked.
“The one with the green hash mark tattoos is a good strong lad, very smart and quick on the uptake. I taught him myself, from my father’s crew. I’d take him aboard in a heart beat. The others, I haven’t had the chance to size up. Do you know any of their background?”
“The one with black marks—“
“the curved thin marks or the thick blunt?”
“Thick blunt. He looks strong enough. Was a Fisher from what I can tell. Thinks he’s ready to move up in the world,” he said with a laugh. “The one with the light orange, he’s from an outside settlement. Don’t know anything about him, but he was well spoken and helped load the supplies yesterday if you remember.”
“ah yes, I remember noticing him now. And the one with the light blue?”
The Malor on his left laughed again, almost cruelly. “Son of a Scribe. From the High House.”
Lysand joined in his laughter. “He won’t last a week if he’s allowed on the ship. Has he even seen the water before?” They all laughed.
Lysand’s smile faded as he realized the man they spoke of was staring directly at him. His face was long and thin, his body lean but toned. He had only two silver rings through his ears and his tattoos were like sharp triangles reaching around his skull in even increments. His skin was pale like he spent little time in the sun. He wore a light sleeveless shirt over his upper body with thin leather straps over it to some bag or quiver on his back. His forearms were wrapped in fine leathers. Even from a distance Lysand could tell his clothing was expensive and of fine material. His pants were similar to the ones Lysand wore only in a bright blue color instead of the dull grey. He was still staring at Lysand and it made him uncomfortable. His eyes were grey and unreadable. His nose long and narrow and his mouth seemed almost nonexistent.
---
Lysand didn’t like the look of him one bit. He had a suspicious air to him. His demeanor was completely different from the men at his side who anxiously awaited the Captain of the Sharker ship. They spoke easily with the Malor around them and glanced to the end of the dock over and over again. Sidian was pointing to the sails and the masts of the ship, he seemed to be quizzing one of the Sharkers. The two with black tattoos were speaking to the one with orange, pointing back to the city. The Scribe however, continued his sizing of Lysand. He found it difficult to meet his eyes.
“I don’t much care for him.”
“None of us do either. Hasn’t said a damn word since he arrived. Arrived early too. Well before the sun was in the sky.”
Presently, Captain Holoquin made his way up the pier. He was followed by a small entourage of family and the second mate. The first was on the ship already, watching over the preparations to leave. Lysand recognized the captain’s son, Harmis, and his Heartbond, Lidar. He picked up the small boy and swung him in an embrace. Harmis laughed and hugged his father around the neck. The captain set him down and turned to Lidar. They said their good byes and Lidar took Harmis back down the pier. Captain Holoquin and the second strode up to the ship.
He was very tall with broad defined shoulders. His tattoos were a dark midnight blue that jutted out at many angles from his back. He slid a hand down his smooth head and smiled at Lysand and the men around him.
“Sizing up the new hands are you?” he asked casually.
“Aye sir. We were deciding just how they’d fair. Taking bets on how long the Scribe will last, sir.”
The Captain turned a crooked grin. “Well, I think I’ll bet in favor of him lasting out the tour. Spoke with him yesterday a good turn. Still, it will be an interesting change of moons, no? The boy from the settlements is a hunter… though I think he’ll find hunting shark is far different from jungle beasts.” The captain laughed and slapped Lysand hard on the shoulder. “Get them aboard would you? Show them the front from the back and everything in between.” He moved to walk away but Lysand grabbed his arm, pausing him so they could have a quiet word.
“Sir, I do not think it is wise to bring the Scribe aboard.”
“Do you now, Tryle? Well, lucky for him that I am captain, and you are not.” He did not say it harshly, but Lysand understood the barb. He dropped the captain’s arm and stood straight.
“Aye sir. I’ll bring them aboard.”
“Good, see that they all make it.”
“Aye sir.”
Lysand went with a gruff and walked down onto the dock. The group still stood anxiously, staring after the captain who was walking the length of the ship.
“You new hands, get aboard. All of you.”
Lysand could see Sidian’s wide grin. The boy was ecstatic. He ran aboard without a moment’s haste. The other three men walked briskly behind him. The Scribe, however, stood just a second longer to lock eyes with Lysand before he followed. There was something disturbing about the way he looked at him. Like he should know the man. Lysand felt an involuntary sneer cross his face before he turned to walk with them.
Lysand explains the ship it looks like some early greek ship or something, I haven’t decided. he introduces them around and to the second mate who tells them what their jobs will be while they aren’t sharking. And I’m tired of writing this section so we’ll come back to it later.
***
The Escape of Heather Verdure of Kindol
“Father! NO!” A young girl screamed running down the hallway of the large and beautiful home. “FATHER!” Her cry was piercing and high, like a child in a nightmare.
She ran after her father and the sobbing girl he carried, her sister. He stopped suddenly at the door to their great home. He turned, still wielding the crying girl in his arms. He held out a thick armor clad arm and stopped the other child as she ran into the foyer. He pushed her to the ground.
“Go back to your room, Heather.”
“FATHER!” she cried, tears spilling from her eyes. She turned her pleas, “Erica! Erica!” she cried after her sister.
Her father, Brucken Verdure, Lord Knight of Kindol, continued out of the home of his fathers dragging his eldest daughter and the youngest trailing behind screaming like a stuck pig. But he could not hear her. Nor could he hear the echoed pleading of Erica, as she struggled under his strength. He continued down the private road leading to one of the main roads of the Kindol capitol city. All of the Lord Knights lived close to the fortress gates. And all were exiting their homes at this moment bearing their first born children.
“Please, father, please let her go! Where are you taking Erica? Why do you do this?” Heather continued running close behind.
She reached out, clutching her sister’s hands. They were cold and shaking. The girl was in a panic, they both were. Lord Verdure continued on, cold and callous. A walking trance. Heather could hear the calling out of others now, other Kindol on the streets in the dark. Begging, crying just like her.
Outside of the fortress gates, outside the doors of the Temple of Rune a great fire burned. There was always a flame, but tonight it burned tall and hot. Heather was stopped in her tracks, she stared at the amassing of people, at the ceremonial fire and let her gaze drift with the smoke. High above, looking out of one of the fortress windows was the King. King Rune Aiden of Kindol. Walking God of Ekaria. Without thinking Heather knelled and bowed her head. The screams of her sister brought her back to the present. She jumped up and continued after them.
Lord Brucken joined a circle of Lord Knights surrounding the circle. Others stood on the outskirts, people of Kindol who had heard the noises and flooded out of their homes. Heather, though she was sure it was a sin against the Walking God, ran up behind her father and struggling sister. She latched her little hands onto his cape and pulled with all her might. If he would just turn, if he would just look at her and realize what he was doing was madness.
He lifted his great strong arm and backhanded her without even twitching his head. Heather flew to the ground several feet back, her face bloody. Erica cried loudly and reached out for her sister. Heather pulled herself to her feet and stumbled forward to clasp hands.
On the inside of the circle, just out of reach of the fire the High Priest of Rune spoke, his voice thundered through all that were present.
“Lord Knights of Kindol. Loyal and true to King Rune, Walking God of Ekaria, King of Kindol. It is to he that you show your alligence to tonight. It is to he that you make this great sacrifice, and in doing so you will be rewarded most high. Lord Knights! You serve Kindol! You are Kindol!”
The Lord Knights chanted together, “To Rune! To Kindol!”
The onlookers, now realizing it was a ceremony dropped to their knees in reverence. Heather still held her sister’s hand.
“Erica! I’m sorry!” she shouted to be heard over the chanting.
“Heather! I love you!” Erica said between gasping sobs, their fingers intertwined.
Lord Brucken twisted his eldest daughter forward so she was standing, facing the fire and he holding her arms from behind. Still chanting. She struggled to look back at Heather.
Heather tried to peer through the tight circle, the Lord Knights all standing shoulder to shoulder. Their children out ahead of them. Through the gaps in their arms and legs she could see that not all of them were being restrained. Several stood tall, their faces dry and their eyes dead, like the Knights themselves.
Then just like that, one by one they were dragged to the flame. The first was a boy, as young as Heather and crying as hard as she and her sister. His father carried him, as his legs had lost all strength. Without words, without anything he threw the boy into the flames. He was alive still. His screams were so horrible, Heather grasped her hands over her ears. The next was older, almost a man by right. He turned and grasped his father’s shoulder and turned bravely to his fate. He walked into the flames chanting to the Walking God.
Heather renewed her desperate pleading. She could not believe that her father would do the same as these men. Kill their children for King Rune. She could not believe that he would stand their and listen to her dying cries as she burned to death by his own hand. It just wasn’t possible. Again she tugged on his arm, pulled on his cape. Anything that she could grasp or hit she did. Her small fists pounding on his thick blackened armor.
“FATHER! NO!”
The man next to them dragged his fighting daughter by her hair as she kicked and clawed at his arms with her nails. For all her fighting did not matter. She was still heaved into the flames. He stood there a moment looking at her fading form in the blaze. He stumbled back into circle, looking momentarily stunned at his own actions. But just as quickly as the look appeared, it was gone and he recovered the stoic look of his fellow Knights. He began chanting once again.
Lord Bruken stepped forward slowly. Erica was exhausting herself, throwing her weight back and forth trying to break free. But their father’s grip was a strong one and she knew it was useless. She managed one look back at her sister.
“RUN! RUN HEATHER!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Their eyes met and Heather dropped her hands from her father’s garments and stood stock still as Erica was pushed into the flames. Tears evaporated on her face from the heat. Erica cried out in such horrid pitches that Heather couldn’t stay near. She couldn’t watch her sister’s last moments. It was too much. She turned and ran. The last request of Erica Verdure.
She ran.
***
The door of the Verdure Manor flew open, banging against the wall. The serving girl who stood near dropped the tray she was holding. Heather flew past her, her face and hands covered in dry blood. A look of suffering on her face. She climbed the main staircase to the second level. She pushed through her mother’s bedroom door. Inside her nurse and maid were in the parlor tending to what business they had there. Both were startled by Heather’s entrance, although they had heard her screaming before. They however dealt with the mother, not the children and did not have time for such things.
“Miss Verdure! You can’t come bursting in like this! Your mother is weak! She is sleeping, you’ll disturb what rest she can get!” the nurse said sternly.
Heather shot her a dark hurt look.
“Get out… get out of this room.”
The nurse, now seeing the blood on the girl’s face and the smeared ash in her tears.
“What is going on? What has happened?”
“I SAID GET OUT!” Heather commanded.
The nurse and the maid exchanged looks and scurried out of the room.
Heather ran into the sleeping chamber of her mother. Her bed was vast and covered with elaborate blankets and furs. Lady Verdure made such a slight disturbance in the surface of the bed. Heather collapsed along the side within her mother’s vision.
“Mama, mama? Can you hear me?” Her mother stared a head unflinching. “Mama? Please, Mama! He took her… He took Erica! She’s dead mama, your daughter is dead! Do you hear what I say?” She was standing now, hovering over her, shaking her shoulders.
Her mother’s eyes were glazed over, the glassy eyed of the drugged. She was always drugged. Why Heather thought this time would be different. Why she thought that hearing her daughter was dead would stir her from the recesses of her mind, she did not know. She was crying again, and shaking her mother’s fragile body.
“DO SOMETHING! DO SOMETHING SHE IS DEAD!” she kept screaming.
“Heather!” a voice came from behind.
She turned her tear stricken face.
Her grandmother stood in the doorway to the bedchamber. The old woman was covered in shawls and looked as if she had been sleeping. Heather dropped her mother back into the bed and scuttled off of the enormous resting place. Her grandmother embraced her tightly.
“What has happened, child?” she asked Heather.
Heather burst once more into fresh tears. As the old woman guided her out of Lady Verdure’s rooms and into the ones next down the hall. Her grandmother shut the door and set her into a chair near the fireplace.
“Tell me,” she said gently.
Heather launched into a recount of the night starting form hearing a commotion in her sister’s room next to her and finding her father dressed in full battle gear. She tried to explain the ring of fire and how the children of the Knights were walking into the flames like martyrs while many like her sister were forced in.
“They just kept chanting. She was burning and screaming and they just kept chanting!” Heather finished in a fit of sobs.
Her grandmother’s face was hard.
“So our King now required blood tributes?”
“He is the Walking God… but how can it be right?”
“It’s not child, and don’t you ever believe that it is. You’re poor dear sister… Oh Erica…” her voice faded. Then, louder without wavering she spoke, “Now is not the time for mourning. I will see to everything when you are safe. My daughter is useless with her addictions and ill health. She will be of no service to you. Truly, she died in her heart long ago. This city did that to her. You will be better the farther away from it as you can.”
“What? Leave? Leave Kindol?”
“Heather, my dearest, what will happen when King Rune requires yet another blood tribute for his Knights to show loyalty? To test the commitment of his followers? He will be dragging you next from this house and who will be able to stop him? I am an old woman, Heather. I can help you now, but I will not be able to still his hand when he is asked for his next child.”
“What of Heath? Do I take him with me?”
“Heath is but a baby yet. So few years in this world. Ah, but so are you… only thirteen and to be sent out alone? This world has indeed become dark. No, Heath I will hide. If he can not find the boy, he will assume you have taken him. To carry the little one with you will only hinder your path. They will find you and bring you back and not without punishment.”
Heather looked at her grandmother, a woman who usually found her peace resting in warm places and simple tasks. Now she looked full of fire and energy.
“Come dear, you must dress warmly.” She took heather off to her own rooms and began searching through the clothes there.
In her chests she found a thick plain cloak of dark blue. Her grandmother had scurried off to find a rucksack bag from the servants and to gather some food. Heather pulled off her dinner dress, one that had been very beautiful before being covered in blood and ash and sweat. She threw the thing to the floor and pulled on a linen chemise and a thick cotton shirt. Over that she pulled on a thick woolen harvest red dress. She was just lacing her boots when her grandmother reentered. She had a light leather bag that contained enough food to last her a week or more and in her other hand she carried something Heather couldn’t see what was.
“Here child,” she helped her on with the cloak and the rucksack. “Now take this… it’s not much, but it’s all I have to give you.”
She handed Heather a small silver spade.
“A spade?”
“Aye child, it has been in my family for generations. There, can you see the crest etched just there? I am the only child of my father and so it passed to me. I am giving it to you now, as my dear daughter does not deserve it. I hope that it will bring you luck. And not only that, but I wish you to head south, toward the mountains. There you will find the village of Torid, where my many cousin still live. Find their homes and show them this, ask for asylem and tell them what has happened here this night. They will shelter and clothe you my child. Now you must go. I must hide your brother before you father returns. I fear it may cost me my life, but this must be done. I will take one of the serving girls into my confidence. The girl Amy, she is bright and quick witted and detests your father. Though it may be difficult going against the will of King Rune, but she never came across to me as one of the Fire Faith. Now go my dear. You must run.”
For a moment Heather heard her sister’s last words echoed in her grandmother’s voice. She had to run.
***
Kasgardian Night
Eskil passed a gang of men in the mines. They walked slowly, hindered by the chains. Although it was very dim, Eskil could still see all of them flick the palms open, revealing a small circular brand in each of the centers. They all locked eyes with Eskil and nodded, their faces firm and their eyes narrow.
It had started small. Eskil and Aden and brought a few others into the fold. Mostly men who had a tendency to be in the same work group as they. Men they had a few stolen moments to speak to during the day. As they spread to other working groups by chance, the word of Eskil Aud went with them.
Like a ripple in a pool, the silent resistance to the enslavement spread to near the entire population of Kasgard. The other peoples in their mix took note and organized them selves in a similar fashion. The Lumur all tied braided leather around their right wrists. The Elysians cut an ‘E’ into the bottom of their forearms. The Malyns branded their palms in a similar fashion with a symbol that Eskil did not understand. The Lhylians devised a gesture that they would recognize as they passed one another. The Arcians burned the image of the Arca Queen into the meat between their thumbs and first fingers using a coin.
Eskil set to work in the mine and set to thinking about what they would do now that they had some sort of organization. Now that their lines of communication were sealed. Now that each sect of slave had leaders within. They had figured out how to sneak extra food into the prison walls and were even able to make some improvements to their living arrangements by stealing what they could from the homes the Kindol had taken over.
Eskil hit the wall with a grunt.
Aden was not beside him today. They kept to every other day so that messages could be passed back and forth to the new captains under Lord Bazen. Of course, Lord Bazen had had little to do with the organization of the men, but he conversed with Eskil every night now and there was some semblance of a ruling lord and his faithful general. Eskil would have it no other way. The people need to rally under a name and a face of the old Kasgard. Who was Eskil Aud? He was just a miner. Now however, he was Bazen’s man. And as such he could do anything.
Well, anything that did not draw the guards.
A loud ringing of bells sounded and their working shift was over. He turned to the mine entrance and walked with the rest of the men out. They took his pickaxe and the child unlocked his chains. Sweat was pouring down his face and stinging his eyes. The sun was setting and for one of the few times Eskil was on a duty that allowed him to see it he turned to take a little pleasure in it. However, his eyes splintered with pain and he shut them immediately. Perhaps some dust or the sweat was bothering him. He turned his head away from the sun and blinked them open. He found he had to squint the rest of the way back to the prison fence.
Once inside he joined the other men in the communal bathing homes they had set up. This way they could keep water warm always for each working group as they returned. Eskil washed his face and hands, sure to get every speck of dirt out of the Bazen brand in his palm. He glanced over to the men next to him and he saw their brands as well. He locked eyes with one and up turned the corner of his lips. The man grinned and walked out.
Eskil made his way to the cooking fires for some of the gruel they had been served for the last few weeks. It was mushy and unfilling, but they would have to wait until they were in the cover of their own homes to eat the smuggled food. He found a spot near the warm fire and sat unceremoniously with his leg hooked over one of the arms of the chairs. He began eating.
A few moments later Lord Bazen sat down next to him. Sitting stiffly and upright. He held his bowl of gruel out before him and took small delicate bites. Even in the disaster and darkness of slavery, the man held to his ediquette.
“Aud.”
“Lord.”
“Several ships arrived today.”
“Supplies, armies or slaves?”
“Some supplies, not many from what I was told, and what seems like the entire population of the Escape Islands.”
Eskil looked over to the lord. “How many?”
“Two thousand at the most. More likely closer to one. Our unloaders are not the best at estimating. However, they have settled into the southern quarter with the Arcians and Lhylians.”
“Have you sent any one through the fence yet.”
“I have not.”
“Do you wish me to go, Lord.”
“Someone should speak to them. If they are anything like their reputation, they will be fierce pirate fighters ready to spill Kindol blood if given the chance. It would be nice to know they are on our side and willing to help us should the need arise.”
“I will make the journey after it grows darker.”
“Are you well Eskil?”
“What? Yes. Why do you ask Lord?”
“You are shying your eyes from the fire light and your color is poor.”
“I am fine. Thank you, however. For asking.”
“If you are getting sick you must take care of yourself, Eskil. If you are lost… our careful knitting comes undone.”
“I beg to differ, lord. No one man holds this together, we all do our share. The knots will stay tied no matter. I am sure of that.”
“I am glad you are, at least.”
“Speak to me at first light and tell me what you make of these Escapees.”
“Yes sir.”
Lord Bazen finished his meal and rose. He left Eskil with his thoughts.
Another two thousand men. If they could hope that many. Half would probably be women and children, that is if the Kindol let them live. As long as they could do their part when the time came he guessed it didn’t matter weather they were women and children. Word had come to them a few days ago that one of the divisions would be headed to the northern border soon to engage the Lumur in a second front. If they could get organized by then, perhaps they would have a chance at reclaiming the city. The question was, could they keep it once it was reclaimed?
Eskil sat by the fire and contemplated this for a good portion of the evening. Eka came from their home to stir him from the dying embers.
“Eskil, the hour is growing late.”
“I know. I know. I much to do tonight still.”
“You looked more tired every day. It is good at least you are on a later working shift this week.”
He rose and walked with her back to their hovel down the road. He would set to work on some of the rope he had been braiding until it was late enough to engage the Escapees. Eka went immeaditaly to sleep, as she worked in the early hours preparing the breakfast for the Kindol men. Eskil set himself to his tasks. He worked in the dark, as the others were asleep and he could see well enough to braid the rope. Actually he felt much better without the light of a fire, or candle.
The hours passed, and Eskil reasoned it was late enough to make the venture to the other compound. He slipped on a black scarf to cover his face and head and stepped out of the door. Eskil had learned to move like a cat. Silently, he picked his way across the courtyard of small huts and shacks to the side wall that they shared with the compound the Aracians and the Lyhlians had claimed for themselves. There was yet another compound on the other side of them that hosted the Lumur and the Elysians. Slowly the slaves were covering the parts of the city along the bay. The cheap homes and the lower class shops and inns. As each section grew, walls were erected around them, making the entire city a series of ghettos.
Unknown to the guards, the slaves had been working on a series of tunnels and holes in the walls to access one another. Eskil made for one of these tunnels now. It was through the small cellar of one of the homes near the edge of the wall. He slipped around the building, pressing himself against it as well as he could. He wrapped on the window swiftly, four short knocks, a pause and two clicks of his nail against the glass. It was answered with two knocks on the inside. He slipped around to the door and found it ajar.
Once inside he was greeted by several men, all showing their palms. Eskil raised his.
“I’m here on a task for Lord Bazen. I must get to the other compound as quickly as I can.”
“Of course, of course,” one of the men replied. He showed Eskil down to the cellar, though he knew the way.
Eskil helped them to lift the floor boards that concealed the entrance to the tunnel. He jumped down into the dark hole.
“Do you need a candle?”
“No, I will be find. I can see well in the dark,” Eskil told him and disappeared into the tunnel.
It was very small and he had to crawl to the other side. It was very long, as they had to cross under a road to get to the compound. He arrived and found the small rope latter that would take him into the home occupied by one of the Lumur families who’d been in Kasgard for a very long time. They were not the leaders, but they had very close ties to them. Eskil wrapped on the underside of the entrance. After a few moments the reply came and the hatch was opened. It opened into the bottom of a wood bin. Eskil climbed out with their help and they all replaced the coverings.
“Mr. Aud,” the Lumur said, recognizing him at once.
Eskil nodded, “Aros. I came to speak with the Escapees. Have you or Uli treated with them?”
“We have. We spoke this evening over the dinner. Theirs is a tragic tail, I’m afraid. But there are many good men with them. Mostly strong farmers.”
“And their pirates? What of them?”
“One ship sunk in the bay, the other still at sea, their fate is unknown. The ship sunk in the bay took many lives with it, but some of their fighters were spared. Right now their leadership is scatterd. They are still recovering in their heads from the attack. Many of their elders have been slain. No one has stepped forward yet. I can take you to one of the houses the houses several of the more prominent citizens.”
Aros walked to the front of the house where many Lumur slept in makeshift bunks. A few stirred when they heard the men travel through the room. However, they said nothing, one of them raised his wrist to show his braided band to Eskil. Eskil flashed his branded palm. Every little bit of encouragement among the slaves was important. Eskil followed Aros out of the house.
They crept along the sides of homes and crawled low between them. It seemed like they had been sneaking through the compound for a great distance when Aros finally halted them. There was a small building across the road that he silently pointed to. Eskil nodded. Crossing the road was a difficult take to do unseen, but they would have to trust the night’s darkness and their own quiet steps. Aros made the first dash. The little man was very quick. Lumur were built for short quick movements, Eskil reasoned.
Once Aros was safe on the other side and hidden in the shadows, Eskil made his move. He left the cover of the building and tread out onto the cobblestone road. He did not run, as Aros had, but instead made very careful quite moves, tip toeing along the road. This had been a market street, back when Kasgard was free. It was one of the ones always bustling with people and wagons. Tents were erected in the middle to sell passersby various wares. As Eskil crossed it now, he could only think of the times he had run down it as a child, of the times Eka and their mother had brought knit wares down to sell. His face grew harder and harder with each step. The time to overthrow this oppression was nearing. All he wanted at that moment was to kill one of the guards. Just one. Sneak up and break his neck. But Eskil knew that would tighten security on the slaves, something they had been working very hard to lull the Kindol into thinking their will to fight was broken.
He slipped in next to Aros against the wall as the man wrapped on the window softly. They heard shuffling inside. Eskil and Aros exchanged looks. The Escapees would need to learn their systems quickly. A man’s face appeared out of the side door. Aros quickly climbed in and pushed the man back. Eskil followed.
Hushed Aros began lecturing him on the tapping code and to just open the door slightly so visitors could slip in. Eskil laid a hand on Aros’ should.
“Enough friend, they will learn.”
Aros fell silent and nodded.
“I am Eskil Aud of the Kadgardians. I wish we were welcoming you into our city under better circumstances. I understand that you have had a very hard journey and the Kindol have attacked your home islands very brutely.”
The man held out his hand to shake Eskil’s. “I am Sebastian Grainreaper. This is my wife, Lucine.” A woman stood and took his hand as well.
The other men and women stood to introduce themselves. “Sion Swordforger, Mr. Aud, pleasure to meet you.”
“Ionna Sunswimmer.”
“Nyura Henfeeder.”
“Jerm Quicksilver.”
“Gregory Gullkeeper.”
“It is a blessing to meet you all. Against the Kindol, it is a wonder you have made it here.”
“We were blessed by the Spirits, Mr. Aud. They saved us from the fires that claimed most of Escape and spared our lives during the sea voyage. However, they also brought many of our kin into their fold. We have lost so many,” Ionna Sunswimmer said.
“We have all suffered losses, Ionna. The important thing is that we are all here together. Is there someone who claims your leadership?”
The Escapees looked from one to another, uncertainty clear on their faces.
“Mr. Aud—“ Sion Swordforger started.
“Eskil please, or just Aud.”
“Eskil,” Sion continued, “We have but one of our council of elders left. He entered a fever this morning and has only worsened since we came on land. He was badly injured during the invasion on Escape. He sleeps in the back room of this home. Eznik Windglider is his name. We do not know if he will pull through this or not. The rest of us, well, I guess we’re to be the new council. We’ve spoken with the other Escapees during the afternoon and evening. And those before you, we are the oldest of the survivors. Most of us were settled on the main island, in Sevensport.”
“So you will be making decisions for all of the Escapees?”
“I think we need a few more days to discuss that, Eskil. If Councilor Eznik dies…” Nyura spoke.
The Escapees all looked at one another again, it looked like they still debated with their eyes.
“Eskil, Aros, you have to understand we still hold out hope that our last ship roams the waters free. On it is one of the most prominent leaders of Escape. Though we are the rest of the Escapees will follow our lead under the circumstance, we know that their true allegiance would go first to a leader of the Temple or a leader among the pirates. The captain of the Avenging Angel was killed in the battle, as was our high priest, Soren XX. There is a young man who was learning the priesthood, he still lives, but he is very young and not ready to take the reins of a leader. He still has so much to learn. We must take council among ourselves more. We feel utterly lost at the moment, with only our faith intact. The Spirits will guide us, and they will give us authority to act,” Jerm Quicksliver said very quietly. The other Escapees all nodded.
Eskil thought for a moment. “I understand. It took us many months to come to terms with the enslavement and move to act. However, you must understand that the time to rebel may be nearing, as we have heard the Kindol will be moving armies to the northern borders to fight the Lumur.”
“Out people will fight to the bitter end, we can count on distraction from the North.” Aros cut in.
“Yes. The Lumur have been most resilient to the Kindol. Perhaps because their county is so vast and because they have been warring with them for years. The cities of the Flame Coast fell very quickly because of the surprise of attack. The number of people entering Kasgard as slaves has grown very significantly, and although that means more villages and cities have been burn to the ground and Kindol has spread its fire, it also means we have grown in our advantage. They may be strong, and carry heavy weaponry, but they thin themselves out too much because they believe we have accepted our lot in life. We must catch them while they are the weakest if we are to have a chance. Am I wrong in thinking the Escapees would like to see the Kindol fall?”
“No. You are not wrong, Aud. We would like to see them suffer. Kindol dogs,” Sion spat. “You can count on our arms in the fight, we just have some internal sorting to do for our own. That is all. You may continue to speak to any of us in this house and we will make sure the Escapees know, even if it takes all of us to make a choice for the time being.”
“Thank you Sion. Thank all of you. I will leave you to your sleep tonight, and to the tending of your Councilor. We will speak again. Good Night.”
“Safe passage, Eskil Aud, and you as well Aros. May the Spirits guide you.”
Eskil nodded.
He followed Aros out and back to the safety of the Lumur home. There they said their goodbyes and Eskil slipped back into the tunnel to make his way home. He had much to think about.
***
The next morning he spoke briefly with Lord Bazen detailing the accounts of the Escapees and his thoughts on them. They appeared strong, but their hearts were weak at the moment. They needed some time to digest all that has happened to them. He assured the Lord however, that the Escapees still had a strong hate of the Kindol, he could see it in all of their eyes with Sion spat out the name.
Lord Bazen silently considered all that he was hearing. “Well, we shall give them time. In the meanwhile, we need to start considering how this rebellion will happen. How we are to get weapons strong enough to fight the swords of the Kindol. This may take us time to plan. Consider this today, Eskil, and we will talk more tonight. Perhaps, we will see more ships arrive in the hours we are in the mines.
“Yes, Lord.”
Eskil rose and joined his working group as the cued to leave the compound.
***
The day brought them good fortune so to speak. Another ship arrived and with it came several Arcian slaves and more Escapees. Eskil heard through the network that these Escapees had been captured on the sea, that they were indeed the Pirates who were on patrol. The network also informed him that their captured had jarred the Escapees out of their sullenness. More so, the Captain of the ship had spurred them into action the second he arrived. Eskil looked forward to speaking with this man. The network informed him that the pirate would sneak into the Kasgardian compound this very night to speak with the leader of the city. Of course the Lumur must have directed him to Lord Bazen, but Eskil would find where they treated.
He found a place by the fire to eat the gruel that was again served and waited to see if Lord Bazen would join him as he had on pervious nights. But before he had even taken a bite, he noticed an odd figure looming off to the side of the crowd. The man stood there for awhile, listening to the conversation unnoticed by the other Kasgardians. He looked like a large man who had lost a lot of weight recently. His face was worn, but he had on a hard look. His head was shaved and shined in the fire light. His ears were pierced several times over and his clothing looked half burned. He was dressed completely in black. He had a black cotton overcoat with tarnished silver buttons. Under that was a pair of black serpent skin pants tucked into leather boots that went to his knees. His face was like that of any Kindol, almond shaped slanted eyes with fair skin, although he was well tanned in comparison to the Kindol fighters. However, he had the distinct differences of the Escapees, tattoos and piercings the Kindol would not allow to touch their bodies.
Eskil found he was staring at the new comer before their eyes met. He hadn't noticed the other man standing just behind him. Stooped a bit and covered in random clothes and what looked like an apron. He had a fair colored beard, twisted with beads and such.
The first man sat down next to him and stared into the fire. The second came to stand behind him once again. At first they said nothing to each another. Then the bald one spoke.
"A lot of new bodies here, it seems."
"Yes, it looks like the Kindol have cleaned out your Islands, Escapee."
"Afraid they have," He said very curtly. "Still, at least we're all here together. It's seems to be getting crowded, don't you think?"
"A bit."
"Feels like a change in the wind is coming."
"If you've something to say you should treat with Lord Bazen," Eskil said plainly.
"We both know that you are the real leader of the Kasgardians, Aud. I’ve been told everyone here looks to you first. If I am to treat with Lord Bazen, I know I need to treat with you first," the Escapee said.
"You their chosen leader then?" Eskil asked.
"All of the Council of Elders are dead. I know you visited yesterday and Councilor Eznik was in a fever. He did not pass the night. He has joined the Spirits now. So yes, I think that makes me the Escape Islander's leader. The others are wary of taking the job because they do not believe they were given the authority, I however was given command long ago by the anointed high Priest of the Spirits."
"You’ve not given me your name, and yet you know mine."
"Adder Swiftstream is the name I was born with. I captain one of our ships. Even if that ship has been burned and sunk, I will build another when this is all over and captain her."
The man at his back grunted a bit and then said in a low growling voice, "I want a bigger galley."
Adder Swiftstream chuckled slightly, "Of course, my friend. Of course. Now, what say you Mr. Aud, can you and I have words?"
Eskil thought a moment, staring hard into the fair eyes of the pirate. "Speak plainly then."
"I see there is no subtlety with you. That suits us fine. May I introduce my long time friend and crewmate, Simon Sparrowsinger."
The other man nodded silently to Eskil.
Eskil began, "There are a few things we have noticed in the time we've been among the slaves here. One, that our numbers grow every day. Two, the number of Kindol armies staying in the region decreases as they are employed farther away. As I’m sure you’ve been told we have learned they will be moving a division north. This may be one of our best opportunities to stage something. Three, our persons are not checked as we leave the compound. Four, the will of the slaves grows only harder as the days pass. These are things we can use to our advantage, Captain Swiftstream. If we were to say, start some sort of resistance. Do you not agree, that it is in our best interest as well as that of Ekaria to put up some sort of fight against the Kindol?"
"I do," the Escapee said. "My question to you Mr. Aud, is whether there is some where in this city the Kindol have yet to infect? Some cavern or store that they do not know of? You are masters of these mountains, is there no where to sneak off to? It seems to me that we have the means, and the minds to do this, but we have no where to turn to our stronghold when the fighting begins. We will needs somewhere they can penetrate until we can push them out of the cities walls."
Eskil thought about this for a long time. It was true the Kasgardians knew the mountain passes and the tunnels of the mines better than anyone but there were no secret hiding places he knew of.
"Let me speak with a few of my kin, Captain Swiftstream. There maybe an answer to that question that I am unaware of. Be sure to be next to me in line tomorrow as we enter the mines. We will speak more then. May I say that you are very brave traveling between compounds so early in the evening. You risk our secrecy."
Captain Swiftstream stood, he looked down at Eskil and nodded. "The guards eyes are elsewhere this evening. It has been arranged my new friend. I would not risk the network you and your kin have built. Until the morning, then. Good-night, Mr. Aud. May the Spirits guard you tonight." With that he and his man were gone into the night.
Eskil turned and found that Aden had taken a seat across the flames from him and was finishing his dinner.
"Aden?"
"Hm?"
"Do you know if old man Rendle still lives?"
"I don't know... I have not seen him recently. I'll make some inquiries."
"Thank you, Aden."
Aden walked off briskly. Eskil could hear him speaking in hushed tones to various people around them. Then he was gone, off to another fire. Eskil waited, staring at the fire and considering what the Escape Islanders had in the works. In the time they had been enslaved Eskil had worked hard to organize them in some fashion and return to them their identity. Perhaps the time was right to start planning this resistance in a true form. The Escapees seemed keen on it and they'd been here for a very short time. They were still filled with the fire of hate, a passion that would be an asset. The Kasgardians and the Lumur had a long steady hatred he knew would fuel them in a long drawn out battle for their homeland. He had no doubts the other captured of the Flame Coast would be the same. Perhaps it was time, yes.
***
Eskil had the distinct feeling he was dreaming. He was on the deck of a ship he had never seen before. It was of unfamiliar make. Kindol men were all around him, fighting and beating down others. They looked like Escape Pirates. Eskil spun around, trying to see what was going on. It looked like the end of the battle. He saw two large Kindol men bring Captain Swiftstream to his knees. They were questioning him. The Kindol leader was hitting him about the face harshly. Past the Captain, he saw the young ships boys peer out at the battle. Their faces were wide with shock and fear. One had brilliant red hair, the other was fair and curly. They disappeared into the room, shutting the door without notice of any of the Kindol. It was then, Captain Swiftstream, face bloodied looked up directly at Eskil.
“This is not your nightmare Eskil. Why are you here?”
He woke suddenly. Morning already.
Eskil shielded his eyes from the sunshine that came pouring into the room. Eka was already gone, same with a few of the other women. The brothers had risen and were making haste to get ready. Eskil joined them and walked out into the chilly morning air. He kept his eyes down on the ground, squinting. The light was causing him such a headache this morning.
There was a meger breakfast for them to enjoy before heading to the mines. Eskil did not expect to hear back from Aden so soon, but as he ate he saw the man speeding toward him with an old man in tow. Old man Rendle. He was one of Kasgard’s oldest miners. The man was legend. Hard as the rock he dug and more steady than any mountain. Eskil was amazed he was alive. He figured the old cadger would have been on the front lines killing Kindol with his bare hands. Undoubtably, he had killed many Kindol the night Kasgard fell. Eskil wondered why they let him live.
Eskil stood as they approached.
“We have little time. Let us talk while we head to the mines. Rendle, if you would, stay with me in line so that we might be chained together and speak while we work.”
Rendle wiped the side of his face, clearly flashing the inside of his palm. As if Eskil had any doubt the man wasn’t loyal to Kasgard and the falling of Kindol.
They walked most of the way in silence because one of the guards was close at hand. Rendle kept giving Eskil meaningful looks. He was sure the old man wanted to break the neck of the guard just so they could speak. Eskil felt the same and smiled maliciously, but shook his head. Rendle sneered, crunching all his dark wrinkled skin together.
They reached the line and found the Escapees had made their way up behind them. Eskil did not make eye contact with the captain nor did he glance back to assure they would be chained with their group. The young boy slid the shackles on to his ankle and he walked forward to get his pickaxe. Once they were inside and out of earshot of any of the guards.
“Have you found an answer to my question Eskil Aud?” Captain Swiftstream asked quietly.
“I have yet to ask, but I brought the only man who has a chance of answering it with us today.”
Rendle seemed to gather they were speaking of him.
“What is it you want to know, Pirate?” he asked in a deep low voice.
“In all of these mountains, in all of these mines, is there no secret store? No hidden pass? Anywhere men can hide? Somewhere we can turn into a hidden fortress… I do not know, but there is a plan in my head and the Spirits guide my asking I think. As I lay in fury on the Kindol ship that brought me hence, my mind’s eye brought me to the thought over and over. I have seen Kasgard a number of times in my trading along the coast. But I have never seen the inside of these mountains, yet clear as any memory I dreamed of passages. So I must conclude that there is something here the Spirits wish us to do, wish me to find. And so I must.”
Eskil found it rather interesting the pirate was so very religious. But then, that was the story wasn’t it? The Escapees left Kindol many generations ago because they held to the old religions. It was the same reason that broke the Flame Coast into separate city states. They all pursed different gods now. Eskil, however, never had much time for it.
Rendle was quite for several moments. He seemed to be pulling at his memories with great effort. They worked steadily, cutting into the mountain wall with their tools. The Escapees learned quickly how to do the work. Simon had said nothing yet in the day, but his grunting spoke volumes as to what he thought about all of this.
Rendle finally spoke.
“There is no tunnel or cavern that I been in that can play host to what you speak.”
Eskil saw the disappointment cross Captain Swiftstream’s face.
“That being said, there is but one tunnel I have never entered into.”
For a moment they all stopped and looked at him. Then hastily, they all began to work again.
“I would have thought there was no where that you have not stepped.”
“For the most part, that is true. I could guide you through these mountains with my eyes closed. I can lead you in and out of the oldest tunnels ever mined here. But there is one. There is one that was closed off when I was only a child. I do not know where it leads, but it is the only chance I can offer you.”
Eskil asked, “Where is this pass?”
“It branches from one of the very old mines. It has long been shut down because the veins have run out there. Eskil, it is a dark path.”
Eskil looked into Rendle face and saw something that shocked him. It was fear. There was something terrible he was not saying.
“Rendle…”
“No, do not ask. I can show you where it starts but I will not enter there. I will not take you down it. Ask anything else of me. That path is blacker than any night…”
Eskil’s face hardened. He looked over to Captain Swiftstream who had a perplexed look to his face.
“I will go down it. I will see where it leads. Rendle I will need you to take me to there. I do not yet know how we can escape to the old mines. They are far from here.”
“Yet they are close to the south compound walls, Eskil,” Aden reminded him.
“That is true. Perhaps we can devise some way to get there… two men over the compound wall? That can be done, I think. How is it guarded there?”
Swiftstream glanced at Simon, who shrugged and kept working.
“I have not been here long enough I think, to know their schedule. I will watch the walls and make a judgment as to whether they can be scaled in secrecy. And it will be three men to go over,” he said firmly.
Simon grunted.
“Four,” Swiftstream amended.
“Why don’t we invite everyone?” Aden said under his breath.
Eskil grinned.
Nothing more was said on this the rest of the working day. They mined hard, as they had found a deep vein of red Flamestone. Eskil slid his hand down it. Although they mined it now as slave, it did not take away his fondness for the job and for the beauty of the stone.
As they exited the mines, Eskil turned to face Captain Swiftstream. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to tell him of the dream he had been woken from at daybreak.
“Captain.”
“Aud. I will see you in the morning, perhaps we can formulate better plans then.”
“Yes… wait.” Eskil leaned in closely, so that the others around him would not hear. “I dreamed of your ship last night. I saw it as the Kindol destroyed its mighty masts. You asked me why I was there.”
Captain Swiftstream’s brow furrowed. He stared at the Kasgardian for several moments.
A guard was approaching them as they lingered outside the compound walls.
“I confess, Aud, I do not yet know what all this means. You saw my—?”
“Move along scum!” the guard yelled at them, brandishing a large club.
Eskil started walking back to his gate, he threw a look over his shoulder. The Escapee still stared at his retreating form. There was something odd about the look on his face.
Once inside the compound Eskil hunted down Old Man Rendle once again.
“Rendle, please, I must speak with you again.”
“What is it Aud?”
“Why…why do you fear this passage? I can see it in your face. What is the whole of the story, Rendle. If this is our only hope, I would like to know what it is I am getting myself into.”
Rendle sat down by the cooking fire.
“Eskil, no light can be shed on that path. Stories of it filled my childhood. Men would venture in and they would get to this tunnel… this tunnel that was there long before the mines… and all torches would go out. There was no wind, Eskil. No reason for the lights to dim, but dim they did. Even the largest flame, even shielded by the glass of a lantern, there would be only darkness. Men would pursue it still. They would start down that tunnel and… and come back changed. Scared so much they became witless. They would scream at night instead of sleep. There was no cure for it. Then one day, a small boy thought he would be clever and venture down. Perhaps he was dared to. It was common at that age, I remember being dared to go once…” his voice faultered. “Anyway, this boy. He walked through the mine that lead to this ancient tunnel and his torched went out. He dropped it and climbed down into the tunnel. We never saw him again. He never came back. They tried to search for him, his parents mad with grief. After that, they closed the tunnel. They blocked it off and it was never spoken of again in good company. Many forgot it even existed. But I remember. I remember it.”
He turned and Eskil could see the fear and sorrow on his face once more.
“Eskil Aud, I know these are desperate times and there is nearly nothing I wouldn’t do for Kasgard. I could fight the Kindol until I fell dead. But I will not venture down that path and I implore you not to as well. I do not know what lies at its end, but whatever it is, it most certainly is dark and evil. I fear it will drive you to madness if you enter there.”
Eskil swallowed and nodded. “I will take your warnings in good faith, Rendle. But I feel this is something that I must do. If we have hope of fighting the Kindol, we need somewhere to start, as the Escapee said. I feel there is more to this than I know, some sort of choice I can not escape. I feel drawn to the man, and as you spoke of this tunnel earlier today I felt something in my heart stir. I must walk down this path, Rendle. I must see where it leads. I do not fear the darkness.”
“You should,” Rendle said and stood. He walked off into the night, away from the fire ring.
***
The Kindol were dragging Simon Sparrowsinger up from the depths of the ship’s holds. He was bloody and holding a cleaver. They beat his arm and hand against the railing of the ship until he dropped it. He was thrown to the ground along with the rest of the Escape Island pirates who were still alive. Captain Swiftstream was still being held down on the ground by two Kindol men, while the Kindol leader stood over him. The ship was burning around them.
“WHERE ARE THEY?” the man screamed at Swiftstream, hitting him across the face with his thick armor gauntlets.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Swiftstream replied.
“DON’T LIE TO ME, PIRATE! THEY WEREN’T ON YOUR PATHETIC ISLANDS SO THEY MUST BE HERE. YOU HIDE THEM HERE.”
“I said I don’t know!”
“Lord, there is glass broken in the Captain’s cabins.”
“Is there now… well, well, well…” the Kindol Lord began.
However, the scene was interrupted again, as Captain Swiftstream turned his head and caught sight of Eskil.
“Eskil, I have told you before. This is my nightmare, not yours. You do not belong here. YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE!” he bellowed.
Eskil woke in a cold sweat. It was yet dark and he allowed himself to sleep once again. Thankfully, it was dreamless.
The next day, Rendle did not join them in their mining group. Aden and Eskil were again chained with the Escapees and another man who was Lumur. They spoke little, and Eskil noticed Captain Swiftstream would not meet his eye. The morning passed and after the tasteless lunch of salted meats and stale bread, the pirate captain finally spoke.
“Eskil Aud, you were in my dream again last night, where you not?”
“Your dream? I dreamt of you last night again yes.”
“No Eskil, you did not dream of me. You entered my nightmare… my memory…”
“That is not possible, Captain.”
“Isn’t it? Last night I dreamed of being beaten by the Kindol lord who took my ship. He was asking me where two members of my crew where. One of his mean approached and told him of the window broken in my cabin. As they spoke I looked up and there you were. Standing on the edge of the deck, looking down on me and my men. What did I say to you Eskil? Do you remember it? I do, very clearly.
“You said, ’Eskil, I have told you before. This is my nightmare, not yours.’”
“You do not belong here. You do not belong here. That is what I said after that. Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Eskil gasped.
“What does this mean, Swiftstream? I do not understand.”
“Nor do I, Aud. A Dreamwalker. I have not heard stories of those for many years, Eskil Aud. They are an ancient sect of the Priesthood of the Spirits. Like the Dainor Healers, their talents used so long ago, but the practice has been lost. How you reclaim it, I do not know. Even the talents of the Dainor Healers have been mostly lost, fallen to mostly herbal remedies.”
The captain was again lost in thought.
“This is most strange Eskil, but I think there is a reason you and I have met. That this talent of yours has developed in my presense.”
He shot a meaningful look at Simon. The man nodded.
“Eskil, tell me of what you saw in the first dream of mine you entered. I confess that the night my ship was captured has weighted heavy on my thoughts, as there is much I do not recall in my waking mind.”
“I dreamed you were thrown to the ground. They were hitting you like before. However, I looked past you, and your ships boys, they were watching as well. Peering out of the door that lead to your cabin.”
“You saw them? You saw Rory and Azar?”
“Azara,” Simon corrected.
The two men stared at one another.
“What?”
“Azara. The Starcatcher was a girl.”
“And you haven’t told this to me until now?!”
Simon shrugged. “Didn’t know myself until we went past Escape. They came down to the galley, both were a wreck. Poor kids, Rory was sobbing about his family. He called her Azara by mistake. But I heard it.”
“But the Starcatcher girl… Hark’s daughter? How could I not see… I thought, I assumed she was safe on the islands… But this is fortunate isn’t it? The hand of the Spirits works in mystery. That means neither of the Marked of Escape were on the islands as they were attacked. And they were not captured on our ship, as Eskil has seen. They must have jumped the ship through the cabin window. So they roam free! Why this is a blessing indeed.”
Simon grunted.
“They don’t know it though.”
“That is true. Curse the temple for that decision. The Elders pleaded with them, but they stood fast by the tradition that they should not know their purpose until it was nessessary. Fools. The may have doomed us. We can only hope they will learn somehow.
Simon stopped dead in his swing.
He was staring as Eskil. His eyes wide.
Eskil had taken off his shirt, as the mine was warm today. He did not like the way the Escapee was looking at him.
“I understand our purpose here now, Captain,” was all he said.
The captain turned and looked as Eskil as well. The man fell to his knees.
“A simple Dreamwalker, I have been a fool. Eskil Aud, you are Marked,” his voice reverent.
Eskil looked down to the spot on his chest the man was staring at. A scar that he had had for almost all his life. The dark circle on his chest. Eka had been right, even though it had been healed as long as he could remember, it looked almost infected. Red and inflamed. He slid a dirty hand down it.
“Marked, I don’t understand. It’s just a scar…”
“No Eskil Aud. That Mark was given to you by the Spirit of Night. You are his hand on the mortal plane. Do you know nothing of this?”
“I know nothing of the old religions. I barely know anything of the gods the Kasgardians worship now. It has never seemed important to me.”
“Oh, Eskil,” he said, almost in pity. “You have much to learn. You have much to do. Thank the Spirits that we have been put here with you. It all makes sense now. We must do our duty to the Spirits and teach you. And you must do your duty to all Ekaria. The Marked. The Marked must stand Eskil Aud, of this I am sure.”
Eskil shook his head, he did not understand what any of this met. However their conversation as cut short as a guard came up from behind and found them with their pickaxes down. He flayed them with the whip in his hand and put them back to work in silence right away.
Before they exited for the day, Swiftstream grabbed Eskils arm.
“I will find you tonight. I will come to your compound. We must speak.”
Eskil nodded slowly and left the Escapees.
***
That night Eskil stood outside of the fire ring to eat his meal. It was to bright tonight. He felt them come up from behind him. Adder and Simon. So he greeted them before they spoke.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said quietly.
“Aud, Marked of Night.”
“Let us go to my home. I do not feel free to speak to you out here.”
“I think that is a good idea. We have much to say.”
They followed Eskil back to his small home. The other men where not back yet, still out at the dinner fires. Eka was also missing. They took seats on the small bunks Eskil and his lot slept on.
“Do you know anything of the Spirits, Eskil?”
“No, I know very little of the old religion… only that it existed really. It has never been my concern.”
“I’m afraid it will have to be your concern now. You are part of it. You are descended from a line of power, a line chosen by the Spirits themselves to be their hands on Ekaria while they can not walk the mortal plane.”
“Please, you’ll have to start at the beginning. This is all too hard for me to grasp.”
Adder sighed and leaned back, ready for a long telling.
“I do not claim to know everything. There is much that was lost to my people as we fled the main continent. Already truths had been lost to our forbearers even before they took to the ships that would lead them to Escape. However, we knew that our path must have been right because on the Islands a temple already stood. A great temple of stone so ancient and so beautiful. We build our main city around it. It was destiny for us to find those islands. We only know what we could gleam from the art on the walls there and what our collective memory still held in stories and songs.
“The Spirits who created this world were numbered fifteen. The Spirits of Water, Land, Heavens, Air, Day, Night, Fire, Ice, Truth, Strength, Birth, Death, Nature, Beast and Time. They built Ekaria, and created the five klans. There was some sort of great upset. It is hard to understand from the drawings. But we think its origin is in a disturbance between the Pae’la and the Kin that spread to all of the five klans. They were sent away from the mountains that had been their home. The Kin to the north west, the Pae’la to the north east, the Lur to the north central, the Misyle to the south west, the Malhyl, from which you are descended, to the south east and the Lydor to the sea. From there it is hard to tell what has happened but I think it is at the same time the Spirits decided to leave the world, and so they endowed fifteen mortals with their powers, on the condition that they carry out their will in the world. And so they left the mortal plane, never to walk among the people again. The Marked, as they came to be called for the symbols of the Spirits they bore on their chest, slowly took over rule of the great nations of the world. Sadly, power and greed entered into their hearts. There was great wars, and great sadness. People rose up against the Marked. For if the Marked were allowed to carry out such evil deeds, how can the Spirits still watch over them? And so the greatness of the Spirits fell from the hearts of mortals. The Escapees, still loyal left the continent under persecution of the Kindol who had developed such a vehemently hatred of the Spirits. Although now, I doubt any of them remember why the Escapees seceded from them. They have fallen very far from the path of the Spirits, I fear. I can not tell you much more, Eskil. Only that I believe the time is right for the Marked to rise again and do what they had been intended to do. To keep balance of the world. To hold their allegiance to all Ekaria, not just one nation. Eskil, you must get out of here. That is our top priority now. We will do what we can to resist the Kindol here, but you must escape. You must find the path that the Spirit of Night has laid out for you. I do not know, where or how. Those are answers you must learn for yourself. But I will do all that I can to help you along the way.”
It was a lot for Eskil to take in. He wasn’t even sure he believed it. How can his life be predestined by a Spirit or God he knew nothing about? Cared nothing about? All because of a mark on his chest. Unconsciously, he began rubbing the spot.
Presently, Eka entered looking wary. She was carrying with her a lit candle. Eskil’s hand flew to his eyes. She noticed and shielded the light.
“I’m sorry, Eskil. I did not mean to intrude.”
“It is alright. Eka this is Adder Swiftstream and Simon Sparrowsinger, of the Escape Islands. This is my sister, Eka Aud.”
“Good Evening,” Adder said rising to his feet and bowing slightly. Simon followed suit.
Even in the dim light, Eskil could see she blushed. “Oh, hello.”
Eka turned to work on some small tasks and give the men privacy.
“Eskil, how long has the light been bothering you?”
“What?”
“You, you can’t even stand candle light. I don’t think that’s normal, even for a miner. Your friends do not shy away from the evening fire.”
“I don’t know. Lately, it seems worse. The light gives me a headache, hurts my eyes.”
“Eskil. The Spirit of Night governs not only the absolute darkness of night and the dreams of mortals, but also the darkness of our hearts. Anger, fear, hate. It is up to you to use the darkness of night to return balance to Ekaria, bring the world back to what the Spirits intended. What better way to prepare you for this than taking you away from a life where the light of day touches your skin? To make you a miner? And now your eyes can not stand the light? Eskil these are all signs from the Spirit.”
Eka was looking at him now too.
“I don’t know what I think about all this, Adder. I just need some time to think.”
“I understand. Then let us talk of other things. We have been watching the guards the last few days now. I think we have a good chance of getting over the walls and to the mountains. They change over every night near midnight. As they do the walk out to the corners of the walls and it takes several minutes for them to go and for the next set of men to come out along the wall. If we hit it at that time we should be safe. They do not switch guards again until near sunup. We can risk coming back then, or attempt to slip into the line of men going to the mines. Or wait out the day and come back the following night.”
“The old mines are a good distance from the mines we are currently working in. it would be of great risk to try to slip into the working groups. However, I fear we would be missed if we don’t make it to our working shift. They keep a count.”
“Yes but they do not keep our faces. We can switch with another group perhaps?”
“We’d return too late to make one of we wait out the day.”
“The women aren’t counted.”
“What?”
“They don’t keep count of the women who go to cook and clean. As long as the job is done.”
“What are you saying?”
“We get women to disguise themselves and go into the mines for us. As long as they stay close to Aden and myself, we’ll take care of them. Just three then,” Simon said gruffly.
“Do you really think that will work? They will have to work just as hard and as long as you. The mining is brutal work,” Eskil asked.
“The women of Escape are hardy folk who have welded farming tools for many years. Some will welcome the hard labor over traditional women’s work. I will ask tonight. We should be able to find three to join the lines tomorrow,” Adder said.
“Then I will inform Aden to be on the look out for you in the morning. I will come to your compound tonight before the hour of midnight with Rendle.”
“Agreed.”
“Good night, Eskil Aud, Marked of Night.” Adder nodded to him and slipped out of the door.
Simon grunted and nodded as well.
***
Rendle and Eskil climbed out into the home of the Lumur leadership. Aros was there as well as Uli. They must have been in deep discussions. Eskil took a few moments to explain to them what it was they were doing and promised to bring back news if indeed there was a place for them outside the walls of the compounds. Uli took all of it in silently.
Then he said, “this would be most advantageous, Eskil. We will pray that you find this tunnel.”
Rendle, next to him breathed heavily. He could tell the man was not looking forward to revisiting this place. However, it was necessary. They left the Lumur and made their way slinking past the homes to the building that housed the Escapees leaders. Eskil assumed Captain Swiftstream and Simon had taken up with them, or at the very least they would know where to find him.
When they entered, they found the pirates waiting for them. The others Eskil had met previously were there as well. They greeted Eskil warmly and introduced themselves to Rendle.
“Come it is almost time,” Adder said.
They followed him out the door and made their way across the compound. They waited in the shadow of a building for nearly and quarter of an hour, watching the figures on the walls.
“Eskil, are they still there?”
“Yes. Can you not see them?”
“Not as clearly as I would like. Though I was sure your night vision would be perfect.”
Eskil did not say anything.
“There, are they moving now?”
“Yes, it looks like they are both headed west on the wall. Now is the time to go I think.”
Adder made the first move, he scurried out into the open, keeping his body low to the ground. Rendle followed and Eskil took up the rear. They reached the wall quickly and flattened themselves against it. Adder had brought a rope and threw it over the wall. Somehow they climb over and are all safe and stuff.
Quickly, they darted off toward the safety of the mountains and the foliage that covered its base. The old mines had grown over from disuse but Rendle was still able to find the entrance easily. They pulled aside the wood blocking it easily. The nails had rusted and weakened now.
Eskil turned to Rendle. “You said that you could lead us through the mines with your eyes closed. Now is your chance to prove it, old man.”
Rendle walked forward into the dark mine with his hand outstretched. He walked at a good pace, leading them down into the darkness. Eskil was able to make out the walls and supports as they passed. He was sure he could see better than both Rendle and Adder, but he did not know where these mines went. Rendle seemed to be doing a good job and then suddenly, he stopped.
“Here. It’s around here I think.”
Eskil looked around while Rendle and Adder felt the walls for a blocked entrance.
“It’s over here, just ahead of us,” Eskil told them, walking over to the wooden barricade. He began pulling at it and found it fell just as easily as the block over the entrance to the mine. The other men grabbed at the wood too until it was completely clear.
“There now. If you go straight in you will come to where it drops into the ancient tunnel. But this is as far as I go. I will wait for you here,” Rendle told them.
“Suit yourself old man,” Eskil said with a grin and walked into the dark passageway. Again he was able to see the walls very clearly and lead them straight down the tunnel easily. Adder had placed a hand on his back, allowing himself to be led.
“I see it coming up. The back wall just ends, but there is a dark hole on the floor. It does not look deep.”
“Your eyes are very keen, Eskil.”
“Well, that should not be a surprise to you if you believe what you do.”
“It is not, my Marked.”
“Please, Adder, I do not wish to be treated differently by you know that you’ve seen an old scar on my chest. I have not yet embraced this vision of yours.”
“I have a feeling that you will. It is your destiny to do so.”
“We have a different idea of destiny, pirate.”
Eskil stopped them as they reached the lip of the hole. He turned to look at Adder, but the captain could see nothing. He did not even know Eskil was looking at him. His eyes were wide and pupils dilated, he stared forward.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, let’s go.”
Eskil hopped down into the hole and found it was a little higher than waist deep. He touched Adder’s ankle and helped him jump down into the tunnel as well. He got down onto his hands and knees.
“It extends out a head of us at an angle. I think the other direction must go to some sort of entrance out the side of the mountain. I’d like to explore that as well, but let us keep going forward.”
After the first few feet into the tunnel, Eskil felt noticeably different. It was colder and there was a strange steady breeze coming out at them. He kept going at as strong a pace as he could on his hands and knees. Adder followed, now and then reaching out to touch Eskil’s legs.
As they progressed, Eskil could swear he heard a distant voice. Something was ahead of him. Something was out there in the darkness.
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Like a calling. Far off ahead of us. I hear something like a voice, maybe music. It is hard to decipher.”
“I hear nothing Eskil.”
Eskil began to get anxious. The noise made his heart pound. He could feel himself sweating, but he was filled with an insaciousable urge to keep moving toward it. He knew he was scrambling faster and faster.
“Eskil! Eskil slow down please I am far behind!” Adder’s voice came from behind.
But Eskil could not, he had pulled himself to his feet and was running as best he could down the path, hunched over.
“We are close Adder, we are close I can feel it!” he shouted back.
And then he was there.
He stopped so suddenly and stood straight on the other side of the tunnel opening that Adder, finally running after him slammed into his back.
“Where are we? What have we found?” Adder asked.
“It is… it is magnificent,” was all Eskil could say.
He dropped to his knees in a sort of reverence. Even in the blackness he could see the absolute beauty of the cavern and what it held.
Adder, who had been carrying a torch to light, pulled it out and sparked a flame with two bits of Flamestone. The torch lit easily. And just as suddenly as Eskil had reacted, Adder dropped to his knees.
“A temple…A temple to the Spirits! Here inside of a mountain? Oh blessed Night. You have led us to this wondrous place!”
There at the center of the large cavern was a stone structure so ancient it looked like part of the mountain itself. Rock had grown up around it, shiny jeweled rocks that glimmered with the light from Adder’s torch. The temple itself extended all the way to the ceiling. Before them was the elaborate entrance.
“It looks just as the temple on Escape, Eskil. It has been built by their great hands.”
Eskil stood and walked toward the door. He could barely hear Adder speaking, it was like he felt a pull. A trance. He could not stop walking to the temple entrance. Adder was close behind him but stopped over and over to comment and take in the enormity of the cavern. Eskil reached the door and found the wood in perfect condition. It was like it was preserved some how. It was carved with symbols Eskil did not recognize. He placed his hand on the metal latch and pushed it open easily.
It was like being welcomed home. That’s the only description Eskil could use to say how it felt to walk into the temple. It was like a mother’s embrace. Like a father’s warm words of praise. It was like walking into a place you’ve known your whole life and found you’ve achingly missed for ages. Tears fell down his cheeks unchecked.
It was such an overwhelming feeling.
“Eskil? Eskil you must see the sanctuary!” Adder called from an adjoining room.
Eskil walked forward into the hall he knew would be there. The circular room that sectioned itself off into fifteen partitions. One for each of the Spirits. His feet automatically brought him to where The Spirit of Night’s symbol stood. The solid circle.
“Do you believe me now, Eskil? You are Marked. And your Spirit has guided us here. It will be our saving grace.”
Overcome, Eskil fell onto the alter before him, stinging tears rolled down his face.
“Is this what you ask of me? Are all of my days from here after to be nights? Am I never to feel the warmth of the sun again?”
Eskil could only think about running down a grassy hill with Eka at his heels. The pair of them. Laughing in the afternoon sun shine. The feel of summer as a child. It would all end. But then, as slaves he doubted they’d ever enjoy days like that again.
“If that is what you ask to allow me to save my people, then I give it freely, my Night, my Spirit! I am your tool!”
Eskil did not fully understand the word communion and its use to describe when a Marked met their Spirit, but this is what he entered into as he spoke those words on the Alter of Nigh, Spirit of Night. Before him was not the alter or the temple walls, but a great blackness even he could not penetrate with his keen eyes. A shroud. And then He was there. Before him in an unspeakable glory.
“My Spirit!” Eskil called. “Your will… Your will I understand now.”
And he was utterly and irreparably changed.
***
Hours later, Eskil emerged from the sanctuary to find Adder sitting in the entrance hall along the stairs that lead high into the tower, the man had lit all of the torches going skyward. He stood immediately.
“Adder.”
“My Marked?”
“We will move all of the enslaved into this cavern. We will build a city around the temple. It is vast enough to house all. Supplies must be brought in first, here we will live until we can take back the city.”
“Sir, you should see the upper levels of the temple.”
Eskil wordlessly walked up the temple stairs. On the upper floors he found the rooms were filled with weapons. Hundreds of swords and axes. There was even armor. Every floor was packed nearly solid with supplies for war.
“We have been blessed. This was always meant to be.”
“Yes,” was all Eskil said.
“How are we to get everyone into the cavern?” Adder said as he drew a sword from the wall.
“In one fell swoop, in the late hours. We arm a good number of men to take out the guards in one section the walls in each compound. We overwhelm them. We take down the wall, we flood out in such a mass they will be powerless to stop us. And the eyes of the armies will be blind to what happens in the slave quarter. I will see that a darkness so deep fall on them that no light will aid them. Gather bows and arrows and weapons that are easily carried. There must be a bag of some sort around here.”
The pair of them got to work gathering the weapons they would need. Eskil packed several quivers full of arrows. And a good number of bows. He slung them all over his shoulder. Adder had packed two bags full of swords and daggers. They were quite heavy, but if they could get them back to Rendle, he would be able to carry one. They slung the weapons onto their backs and made for the exit. It would be a difficult walk back with all that they carried, but they had much time yet before they would be able to break back into the compound.
It took them the good portion of two hours to get back to where they had left Rendle. The man and lit a fire with the broken wood from the entrance. He sat huddled across from them staring at the gaping hole of the tunnel. They could see they startled him when they reemerged from the darkness.
“Rendle, we have found our fortress,” Eskil said as he set down the bag of weapons.
***
They made their way back to the wall under cover of darkness. It was easier this time, going over the other side since they had the advantage of height. However it took several more minutes to hoist the weapons over after them. Once over they ran as fast as they could with the heavy bags on their shoulders. The made it back to the house of the Escapee leadership. Uli and Aros were waiting there for them there as well. Eskil dropped the bows and quivers on to the floor as the others gasped.
“I want all of the leaders of the enslaved here as quickly as we can get them. We have much work to do and news to share,” he commanded and the others in his presence jumped to do his bidding. Uli and Aros headed out to gather the people needed from the other compounds.
Eskil barely noticed the reaction of the Escape Islanders when they saw him. His shirt was open and the Mark stood out from his chest in a brilliant blaze of red.
Sion looked to Adder quickly. “You were right, you were right. He is Marked.”
“Not only that but he has communed with the Spirit this night. I was in his presence when he slipped into their realm. It was… it was a moment I shall never forget. And a moment I expect, Eskil will never either.”
“I did not know I was broken until I saw what it was to be whole. I wish all to feel as I do now. The mortals of the Flame Coast have gone astray. It is time one and all step through the temple of Spirits and reclaim their faith.”
Sion and the others dropped to the floor. “Lead us in their will, Eskil Aud.”
“I can not speak for the other Spirits, but I can and will do as the great Night asks of me. Right now it is to bring one and all out of slavery and into the darkness of the mountain. The cleansing darkness.”
The spoke more and within an hour the leaders of the slaves showed up. Lord Bazen, Uli, Aros, NAMES OF OTHERS HERE. Lord Bazen approached Eskil he slid a hand over his should.
“Eskil? What has happened to you? You are changed….”
“He is Marked,” Sion answered for him.
Lord Bazen looked around uncomprehending. Few others in the room understood besides the Escapees. The Mayla leaders gasped and leaned forward, seeing his chest.
“Lord, mortal men have strayed far from the path of the Spirits. I have been shown how to right that path tonight. I would share it with you all if I could, instead you will have to trust my word. In the mountains south of here there are mines that have been abandoned for many years. Inside there was uncovered a tunnel that, until tonight, was shrouded in mystery. Captain Swiftstream and I followed it to its end and found a great cavern large enough to house all of the enslaved and serve as a base for our rebellion. There is no other entrance that we have found. At the center of this great cavern, protected by the walls of the mountain is an ancient temple built by the hands of the Spirits themselves. It has stood dormant, waiting for us for eons. It has been filled with every type of weapon imaginable. Some of which we have brought with us to aid in our escape.”
“In one weeks time I ask that you have all of your people prepared. Smuggle as much food as possible, carry as many supplies as you can hold. Each compound will have a set of bows and arrows to take out the guards high on the walls. You will have swords and daggers to arm yourselves just in case we run into guards on foot. At the hour of midnight, we will break the walls down and let all flee. We will prepare the entrance for all to enter. Allow no guards to raise the alarms. I will trust you all to organize this among your people. The mountain is there. The entrance is just past the center of the wall.”
The leaders were dumbfounded, they stared at Eskil and then down to the weapons.
“So soon…” Uli said, almost awed.
“It must be so. One week, friends. The Kindol will soon pay for their crimes. And once they have been cleansed of Kasgard, we will win back your cities and countries. Balance will return. The Marked will rise, brothers. And I will see that those who oppose us will be covered in a cloud of fear and despair. They will not see a night that is not riddled with dreams of their death.”
***
The preparations for the escape were made quickly. Word spread through the communication network that Eskil had helped the slaves develop. They began being more risky with the food and supply smuggling, however the Kindol armies were too concerned with other goings on than disappearing food. In fact, many of them found they were unable to sleep lately. Horrific dreams plagued them, yet they would not speak to each other what they had seen. Perhaps if they had, they would have realized sooner what was going on.
The week passed very quickly and Eskil could feel the anxiety in the slaves. There was excitement and there was fear. There was a lot of fear and he felt oddly energized by that. Eskil walked amongst the Kasgardians normally, but he could tell that he was causing somewhat of a stir. They didn’t know whether to welcome him as this changed thing. To believe that he controlled some new power, that he was some extension of an old god. Even Eka was at a loss on how to treat him.
It was better this way, he reasoned. He would have to leave them all just as Adder had said. The rebellion was important, killing the Kindol was important, but not as important as getting himself out. There was somewhere he had to be. Some meeting place. There was something calling him from the west and he would have to answer it. He spoke to very few during the week, the other leaders were set to the work of the slaves, he had done his part already. They would continue it after he was gone. They would have to.
The Kasgardians had their shooters ready. Men with very practiced aim. One had been a hunter and trapper before the Kindol came. The other had been taught by his father as a sport. Both were young men and would be useful to the rebellion he was sure. They were moving into position. There were others armed with the swords and daggers. Eskil himself was one. Although he had a much more powerful weapon, one that was in the works now.
The hour was nearing. Eskil could feel the wild fear and exhilerations overtaking the crowd around him. They wanted so desperately to be free and they wanted so much to personally repay the Kindol for branding their hands and taking away their lives. It would be so very bitter and full of venom. Eskil was on the verge of it. He felt his own anger rising. He wish he could just climb the battlements now and slit their throats. The bowers were ready. A few more moments and across all of the compounds this night Kindol guards would reach for the arrows in their hearts and gasp. Their last thought the realization that their King would fall before the end. They would know this because Eskil had been filling their heads with the thought. That and their own deaths that would come true.
The arrows were knocked and drawn.
The bowers eyes squinted as they took aim. All this was very clear to Eskil in the darkness and the men chosen to shoot felt an unnatural ability to see through the night. All the better.
The arrows flew in unison.
Four guards on the Kasgardian walls fell.
Eskil hissed and raised his sword high and led them.
He led them to the wall.
As quickly as they had been put up by the hands of slaves they were pulled down, board by board. Stone by stone. A small opening was made and they began to pour out of it into the wild, into the outside of the city. Aden took the lead and the freed slaves ran after him toward the entrance to the mine where Adder awaited all. Eskil would bring the rear. He watched as hundreds of men and women escaped into the sweet glorious black night. One they would all remember for their lifetime.
All over the city, Kindol men were locked in their nightmares, sweating with fear and despair.
Welcome to the night. Welcome to my night.
***
Heather Verdure found herself on unfamiliar roads. How strange that she should live in a city her whole life and yet know so little of it. She knew she was as scared as she had ever been in her life, but there was nothing she could do about it. She had sat huddled in a corner of a few buildings for a time just shaking. Scared and full of sorrow. In her mind, she kept replaying images of her sister dying. It had been a number of days now, but still she could not shake the horror of that night. The madness of it all made so little sense. Why would the King ask for blood? Why would he take that from his Lord Knights? It was inhuman, it was ungodly. But Heather was just a girl, she did not understand the ways of rulers. The ways of kings and castles.
She shook herself and pushed on. The weather was terrible and she was cold and wet. In her hand she clutched the spade she hoped would somehow lead her to where she was supposed to go. Find her mother’s family. Her people were old Kindol. Not of the new lords and ladies, not like her father.
She didn’t even know what direction she was running. It felt like south, but maybe it wasn’t she wasn’t even sure where the city gates were. How was she to leave? She wished her grandmother had given her more instruction. She wished she had told her how to go. Or have gone with her. They could have all left. Her, her grandmother and her little brother. Hid somewhere in the city until all of the madness had passed.
Heather could feel that she was sniffling. But tears wouldn’t come, she had been crying them for days now. She felt like such a horrible wretch. People stared at her. The pitied her, but none would help. None would take her in at night. She was left on the streets with only her little spade.
“Well well well, what do we have here?” came a dark voice from behind her.
“A little orphan out in the dark?” another said, in a high pitch like nails scratching glass.
“You shouldn’t be out here little girl, don’t you know these are bad parts of town?” the first one said.
“That’s right, little orphan, people just disappear in places like this. Stolen, just like that.”
“One more body to the slavers I think.”
Back and forth they spoke as the closed in on her. She could hardly stand it. They were evil men. Raggedy and poor. Their faces smeared with grease and dirt. In the deeper thicker one’s hands he held a truncheon. The other a knife.
“They started taking little Kindol rats too you know that, little girl?”
“Little low born rats who aren’t loyal to the king.”
“Are you loyal to the king, little rat?” his voice was grating it hurt her ears.
Heather found she couldn’t say anything, her voice was caught in her throat. But her treacherous head was shaking back and forth.
“Not loyal are we? Don’t care what the King thinks do you? Well, guess that means a few pennies for us then doesn’t it? A little coin in our pocket, you’re worth.”
Heather’s mind snapped back on and she realized she had to run. She turned, but they were already so close. She started off in some random direction, but the thin man caught her quick. He was holding her shoulders tight and slipped a hand over her mouth before she could scream.
They hadn’t seen the little spade yet and Heather hoped she could hide it from them before they took it and sold it for scrap. The thick one was already going through her bag, taking food and the little coin her grandmother had managed to put inside. Her hands were still free and she brought one up to claw at the man’s arm. As she did so she slipped the spade down the front of her dress, where it rested against the belting, hidden in the folds.
Soon she was so restricted by the men that she felt herself loosing consciousness. Darkness ringed her vision and she slipped away.
***
When she regained her mind she did not know how long had passed. She was near the wharf. The thin man was still holding her tightly, but her mouth was gagged now, with a strip of fabric from her cloak. The cloak itself was gone, one of them had taken it. But she felt against her stomach the side of the spade. At least she had that.
The other man was coming back toward them with another hulking figure. The huge man, dressed in poor armor bearing the Kindol seal, looked her over, he pulled at her chin some.
“Yeah she’ll do alright. She’ll make a fine whore for the men. They’ve been getting sick of the slave women. Where’d you say you found her?”
“Wandering around cheap side. Orphan.”
“You sure? You didn’t steal her form a good home did you? We’ve been given orders not to touch the-“
“No no, she’s a lovely little wretch. Parents died of the plague. She’s just the sort you’re looking for. Nice enough face, a bit bruised up but nothing that won’t heal. No scars.”
“Alright then, here’s your due. You’re lucky, we’re about to leave port.”
The brute gave them a sack of coins and Heather found herself being hauled away toward a ship. Heather struggled against the man’s strong hands, but he clasped her wrist tightly and would not let her go. He pushed her forward onto the deck of the floating vessel. Heather could see it was filled with a variety of Kindol Army men. Some looked like sailors, others like land army officers. None as high as her father. If they would only take the gag out of her mouth, she could tell them who her father was and then they’d be sorry.
But would he come to help her? And if he did, what would he do to her? Should she take her chances with the brutes? Maybe she could get off the ship when it was a little bit south, or wait until they were out of Kindol to tell them who she really was. Then they couldn’t contact him. Yes that’s what she would do, once they were a safe distance, she would reveal her linage and demand to be put off the ship as she was on her way to visit relatives in the south.
While she contemplated this, the man dragged her down below decks.
The inside of the ship was lined with cells. Heather tried to look inside, but could hardly see. She could tell there were several bodies inside, but could not make them out. There were guards roaming the tight corridor as well. The man pushing her around stopped to speak with one.
“Where you putting her? We’re most filled up now.”
“Heh, there’s one cell that’s not quite full yet.”
“You’re putting her in there?”
“I’m sure she won’t harm the little one. And if she does, it’ll be fun to watch, won’t it?”
The pair of them laughed and Heather got the sinking feeling she was the joke. She tried to struggle free again. Perhaps waiting to tell them was a bad idea. But the last thing she wanted to do was see her father again.
The man dragged her down the rest of the ship’s length to the last cell on the right.
“Hey!” he yelled into the bars. “Got company for you! Heh.”
Inside, Heather could see a figure sprawled out in the center of the cell. The second the figure heard the guard speak she began to writhe and kick. Her arms looked clearly bound but her feet were kicking something fierce. Heather was immeaditaly afraid. The guard heard her whimper and laughed even harder.
“She killed one our men with just her two feet you know. Haven’t been able to get near to her since then. Hope you two have fun getting to know each other,” he laughed and threw Heather into the cell and slammed the door shut as fast as he could to avoid being hurt by the woman on the ground.
Heather threw herself against a wall as far away as she could from the flailing woman. She could see now the woman was barely clothed. She had one some strange leather garments and lashings around her arms and legs. And what was worse were the horrible black tattoos she could see covering the back of her legs and arms. She looked like a savage. A woman of the wild.
The guard’s heavy foot falls disappeared down the ship.
Suddenly, without any preamble the woman ceased her wild behavior and sat perfectly still, straight backed and stared at Heather.
She had very odd hair, it was light, like the Kindol but her skin was many shades darker than anyone Heather had ever met.
“I would ask that you untie my wrists. Do not worry, you have nothing to fear from me little Kindol girl. I have been waiting for you.”
Heather gasped. The woman’s voice was so eloquent. It was deep but felt almost like she were singing instead of speaking. Heather still did not dare to move.
“I know you are scared right now. You have every right to be. My name is Medora Penthesil and I am a warrior of the Felah. Please, tell me your name.”
“Heather… Heather Verdure.”
“Sweet Heather, it is a beautiful name. Heather if you would please untie my arms I will see to the injuries you have.”
Heather looked at the woman once more. There were emptied bowls all around her, like they had shoved in the food and ran away, afraid to come back for them.
“You must have hurt those men badly, for them to be so afraid.”
“I am very strong and trained well. However, I only use my talents when it is needed. Those men are an ill breed.”
“they’re going to sell me as a slave!” heather burst out and then into tears.
“Shh shh, little one. It is not our fate to be slaves. You are with Medora now, you have nothing else to fear.”
Heather calmed a bit and then slowly walked forward. She bent down and untied the leather lashings that held Medora’s wrists together behind her back. The woman let out a sigh of relief and rubbed her reddened wrists. She slid her hands up to her head and before Heather’s very eyes, she pulled the mess of hair off her head. It was wig!
Heather looked closer. She gasped, it was not a wig. It was a scalp.
“It is from an evil man. One who killed and robbed for pleasure. I’m sure you see that I needed a disguise.”
Heather looked back at the woman and noticed that she was completely hairless. That was what was so odd about her face, she had no eyebrows to speak of. No eyelashes either. Her head was smooth like an egg and covered with the same black swirling tattoos. In her ears she wore many hoops and earrings.
“What are you?”
“I am from the Heart Islands, they are many miles south of here. I have come to see the state of Ekaria and report back to my Chieftess. She has entrusted this important task to me and I will see it through. I have learned very much of your world, Heather Verdure. And it does not look bright. There are many dark and evil things here. Please sit, sister Heather. Let me look at the injuries you have. I am very skilled at healing even without supplies. You learn much out of nessessity.”
Heather sat down next to her. Already she was feeling better. For some reason, the rough and fearsome woman made her feel safe. Medora looked over her face and hands, inspecting all of the cuts and bruises.
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
“My side and should ache badly. I… I fell many days ago. It is hard to breath sometimes.”
“You may have broken a rib or bruised it some. Please I will have to ask you to pull back your dress and let me see.”
Heather at first was worried about the spade, but felt like if there was anyone she could trust at the moment it was Medora. So she untied the beltings and let the woolen dress top fall from her shoulders and arms. Medora saw the spade tucked away.
“Clever girl. We shall have to keep that hidden for now.”
Medora took it and slid it under the folds of Heather’s skirts. Heather pulled off the cotton shirt and shivered. All she had on under was the chamise, which was very thin. Medora was reaching for her ribcage but stopped suddenly.
“My Spirits!” she whispered loudly, a look of utter shock on her face.
“What? What is it? Am I that badly injured? I did not feel blood…” Heather began, but then noticed Medora’s eyes fell on the birthmark she had on her chest.
It was just three lines. Like the bottom of an arrow. Or the toe of a bird. Heather always joked with her sister that she had been stepped on by a great crow when she was a baby.
“Oh my child, you are Marked!”
And saying this filled Heather with a very strange feeling. Medora sat straight and pulled back the leather and fur top she wore. On her chest, in similar cuts were two upturned triangles that were raised and solid, they looked like drawings of mountains on maps. It was undeniable that they were similar in form and placement. Heather found she could say nothing.
“Of course, I should have known. Why else would we be destined to meet? She said you would need my help, and so you do, but not in the way I first thought. We have much to discuss little Kindol, you have much to learn of your origins.”
“Medora, I wish I knew what you are talking about. Why, from such different places, do we have birthmarks like this?”
“I was not born with this. It did not appear on my chest until I was past the age of two. It is not a scar or birthmark, Heather. It is a symbol, a mark, that means you have been chosen by the Spirits to carry out their bidding on Ekaria. Have you never seen these symbols before on anything?”
“No, never.”
“It is a shame Ekaria has strayed so far from the Spirits. There are hints here and there, but I have found none who still worship the Spirits as we were meant to in my travels here. Heather, the symbol on your chest, it is the Mark of Gardene, the Spirit of Nature. The one on my chest, it is the Mark of Vim, the Spirit of Strength. There are fifteen of us who walk the surface of Ekaria at any given time who bare these marks. Two others reside in the Heart Islands, Acacia who bares the Mark of Etern and there is a Malor who bares the Mark of Verity, who I have not met. I have seen no others besides you as I went through all the lands here. I thought, perhaps that was another task I was meant to unfold. That I would find the others, but at least I have found you and that is very fortunate. We will travel together south. This slaver ship intends to take us to the Kasgard mines. Before we are allowed to be taken captive there, I will ensure we escape, have no fear, young one, I will take care of you. But you are so tired! We will talk more in the morning. It is a long journey to the south, I think. We will have plenty of time to discuss our future and our past. Sleep now, Heather.” Medora slid back against the wall of the cell and patted the floor next to her.
Heather curled up next to her and felt the woman’s arm wrap around her the way her grandmother did when consoling her. She felt the undeniable urge to cry. The stinging tears came and she found she was sobbing into Medora’s arms.
She did not ask why Heather was crying.
She did not pursue the topic when Heather started calling for dead sister, Erica.
Instead she just held her and let her cry and mourn. There would be time for an explanation later.
***
They had been on the Kindol ship for many days now. Medora had done her best to explain the worship of the Spirits and the creation of all things. She spoke of how her people came to the Heart Islands and why they had to leave the main land.
“Medora, I’m sorry. It still is so odd to me. Can you please tell me again. It’s such a beautiful story,” Heather said quietly into the night.
They waited to talk of more serious things in the evenings when the guards ignored them more often.
Medora smiled, “It is not just a story, little Kindol, it is our story. The story of the people of Ekaria. Sit now, you have stood for very long today in this tight encloser.”
Heather did as she was bid and sat with her legs tucked under her. Medora began in the same way that she had before.
“In the beginning there was only time. From it was born Etern, the Spirit of time. She was able to see all things from then until the ending of all worlds. Out of the emptiness her siblings emerged. Her sisters and brothers played there in the existence she created but soon wished to partake in the enjoyment of creation themselves – as all gods do. Istar created the heavens as a home for the Gods, the house of Spirits as they took their name. He decorated with the jewels from his eyes. Windar, dreamed of a realm to which they could create life and soon made it a reality by making a pocket in their own realm. He filled it with his breath, giving birth to air and wind. Lumus, a middle sister, crafted the sun with help of Dai, so all could see the light of the Spirits and bask in their warmth. Lun, her twin brother, wished for balance and asked Nigh to help him build the Moon so the darkness would not be alone. Ekaria, the stubborn and immovable of the Spirits, cut from her body earth and rock and buried it in the realm Windar had created. Wattarii spit forth the oceans and covered half of the realm to balance his younger sister’s lands. Gardene, your governing Spirit, was overtaken with the urge to walk the lands and swim the seas and everywhere her feet and fingers touched sprang forth with growth and green life. Strands of her hair left in the waters grew into colonies of seaweeds. But nature did not stay lonely for very long. Drak, the great brother, crafted animals and beasts of every type. His crowning glory were the beasts he created out of his own image, the Dragons. For a time, they ruled Ekaria. Then the Spirits began to create mortals who could think and speak as they themselves did. There was failings but then, in the midst of despair, the Spirits created the five families. The Malhyl they created from the grape vines. The Lydor from the many grains of sands from the shores. The Pae’la from the blackest of iron. The Lur from the hard wood of mahogany. The Misyle from the stones of the great river. And the Kin from the beautiful northern trees in their fall colors. The five families lived in peace in the paradise of the valleys in the central mountains of Ekaria. The Spirits had built their home there in the center of the world. From the heavens they would descend to the tops of the mountains and walk among the mortals. However, the Spirits did not know what effect this would have on the mortals. To be so close to divinity. They began competition among the mortals. They would make great sacrifices to the Spirits. Larger and larger, more and more until the excess was so great there began a bloody rivalry. The Pae’la, in their great passion for the Spirits killed men of the Kin and took the sacrifice that was meant to be laid at the temple by their hands and gave it to the Spirits as their own. Of course, the great Spirits, there is nothing they do not see. They knew that the Pae’la had spilt blood in their name. The wise Spirits called forth the great leaders of the five families to a pilgrimage into the heart of the highest mountain. There they bid unto each an exodus that would take them to the farthest parts of Ekaria. Their they would make their homes apart from one another and continue to live in peace. For their act of violence the Pae’la were to be sent to the far reaches of the north where their passions would cool and keep them from violence. Dishearted and shamed the Pae’la leader began to exit. However, he was given one last bidding by the great Drak himself. He was told, ‘this is not a banishment my fine youth, I have a job for you that will require you to be both strong and mighty. I leave you as the charges of my most great of creations. This is your bidding, go forth now Pae’la and do good things.’ The Pae’la leader made his journey down the mountain feeling that he had been given a great gift, this chance to serve the Spirits. The Kin were sent to the north west to rule over the planes there. The Lur were to travel north and east, to the low hills that would be called the XXX mogals. The Misyle were to follow the great river south west to the coasts there to make their way. The Malhyl were to travel the mountain range south and east to find the vineyards from where the Spirits took the vines to make them. The Lydor were sent into the seas. They walked far to the edge of the lands and learned to make ships. All of the Lydor departed the great lands of Ekaria to find the path the Spirits had laid for them. There was a great storm, and the ships were parted. Half turned east and found the lands of Heart. There they made there home, and their they still dwell. The Lydor, my ancestors. And now we are Felah and Malor. Our kin who turned west, or perhaps continued south, we have never seen again,” she finished sadly.
“But this was long ago, Heather. Long, long ago, the making of the world. For many centuries the Heart would send agents back to the main lands to learn of what happened there. But every time we returned, we found the world veering farther and farther from what the Spirits had intended. There was war, and famine. They were dark times. Seeing their creations fall into darkness saddened the Spirits so. The devised a great plan. Because the wars and violence was called in their names they decided they would leave the mortal plane. But they did not want their influence to be comepletely gone. So they created the Marked. From all over Ekaria they hand picked mortals to be their hands in the world. The Marked entered into a pact with the Spirits, high in the mountains where the Spirits had previously brought their ancestors. The Spirits gave each, not only the symbol forever of the Spirit they served but also they gave them a necklace. The necklaces carried in them a portion of the Spirit themselves. It was in this giving and acceptance that sealed the mortal world from the Spirits. They would never again walk the lands of mortal men, but through their Marked they could help their people realize greatness. And so the Marked spread into the world. They spread the word of the Spirits. They taught many how to tap into the greatness. The Dainor Healers. The Dreamwalkers. The XXX. The Priesthood sects began small but soon many wore the robes and preached the word of the Spirits. All was once more brought back to peace. The world was as the Spirits had intended. However, we are never far from dark times are we? The Marked on Ekaria grew powerful. They welded the powers granted them with selfishness and greed instead of the goodwill of service to all. They gathered men and legions to themselves and wars once again broke out. It was a sad time. But the fighting they insisted upon became their downfall. They created enemies so strong and hateful that eventually they were overthrown. The Marked of Ekaria were lost to the world. Killed, murdered, gone into hiding. Their lines hidden from all eyes who would seek to destroy them. That was the last time the Heart traveled to the great lands. We stayed hidden on our Islands, away from the evilness of the world. I can see now that may have been an unfortunate choice on our part. The world has forgotten the Spirits and all they stood for. The temples have been lost. The Marked do not even know themselves! You Heather, you poor girl. From such a noble line, serving the people of Ekaria. But that line can be noble once again, Heather. You will have to be brave. You will have to be strong. It is time that we Marked stand up for what is right, for what the Spirits have taught us. We must do their will Heather.”
Medora spoke with such vigor that Heather was caught up in it all and found herself agreeing.
And then the reality of who she was came crashing back to her. “I don’t think that I can be brave like you Medora… I am not strong. I am just a girl.”
“Just a girl? What kind of thing is that to say? You allow your men to beat you down to much. It is not a weakness of heart or body that keeps you in your place, it is a weakness of mind. The men have poisoned you to think you are lower. Wait until you are in Heart, you will see what power there is in being a woman.”
“I do not understand? I know you are a great warrior, Medora, but you have been chosen to be, have you not? By the Spirit of Strength.”
“There are many Felah who are warriors, Heather. I am not alone. When the Lydor landed on Heart so many years ago, we spread. Tribes moved everywhere on the islands. And then we began to unify, but there was a great stir between the Felah and the Malor. The division grew stronger until tribes started becoming wholly Felah or Malor. Males born to Felah tribes were allowed to wean and then they were given over to the Malor. Some were much more fierce and would kill Malor children. We lived this way for many generations. Then the first chieftess came, she began to unite the tribes of the Felah into one strong tribe. We built a city, and since then we have grown many in number and strength. The Malor also united under a Chieftan and claimed the lower island as their home. And that is how we have lived for generations well past memory. We are better for it I think. I would not wish a daughter of mine to grow into a world where she felt the same as you, that she did not have it in her blood to be strong and to be brave and to be great. Being on Heart will do you well Heather Verdure. Being with the Felah, we will teach you to be one of the Marked.”
Heather felt reassured and found it easy to slip into sleep even while her belly groaned.
***
Eskil Aud helps Adder to lead the people in a great rebellion against the Kindol who enslaved them.
They start a long campaign where they take back portions of the city and put it under rebel control.
They take back the harbor and sink the Kindol warships.
Then, on the night they plan to take back the last section of city Eskil knows he must make his escape. He says his good bye to Eka. She is upset but understands that it must be this way. She says that she thought he was dead once, the night he rescued her from the Kindol rapist and disappeared into the night with his miner’s pickaxe. She confesses that she is in good hands, as she is winning the love of an Escape Islander man.
Eskil readies his gear. He packs food and supplies and many weapons. He then gets into the line of men ready to make the last push. They charge and push the Kindol out of the city walls. Eskil follows and uses the cover of darkness to flee into the mountains. The slaves, under the leadership of Adder, rebuild the cities walls and defenses so they are stronger than they were before. The Kindol know the city is lost to them.
Eskil travels far, not knowing for sure where he is to go.
One night he hears the distant howling of wolves. They get closer and closer to him. He embraces the fear he feels as they hunt him. He finds himself surround, but they do not attack him. Instead, he finds he is being herded by them in some direction. The wolves lead him to an open clearing.
Inside the clearing at a rise in the landscape are the silhouettes of a boy, a griffin and a rider.
Medora and Heather’s slaver ship pulls into the Kasgard port before realizing that the city has been retaken by the slaves. Before they can leave, the slaves over run the ship and Medora rips the door of their cell from the wall and frees the slaves on the inside. Together, all of them take the ship and kill the Kindol oppressors. Medora and Heather speak with the leaders of the rebellion. She speaks a long time with Adder and discovers that another Marked has just left the city and at least two others are young children near the age of Heather and their location is unknown. Medora tells Adder that she must return to Heart to rally her people.
Medora and Heather take a small ship and leave Kasgard for Heart.
We find ourselves back on the Sharker ship with Lysand and Owen. Tensions are growing between the two of them. Lysand will not give Owen any room for mistake. He treats him unfairly in compared to the other new hands. Sidian and Owen are becoming good friends much to Lysand’s dislike. Sidian and Owen discuss the situation. Sidian claims that Lysand is acting very against his character. There are several instances where Owen and Lysand come to blows. Finally, the Captain become outraged at their behavior. He berates them in front of the whole crew. He then sends them below and has them locked in one of the shark salt chambers where their kills are barraled. There is little room. Lysand and Owen fight until they are both exhausted. It is brutal and both are left bloody, bruised and with broken bones.
They lie there in misery until they hear commotions above them. Something is going wrong. Both of them pound on the door trying to get themselves released, however it seems the crew has forgotten them there. They hear fighting and crying from above. They assume the ship has been boarded. Suddenly it becomes very quite. They listen to the footsteps as whoever is left above decks searched the ship. Eventual they are found. They are surprised to see that it is Kindol Warriors who greet them. Lysand immeditally tries to fight them. He is brutally beaten down. Owen sticks up for him and is taken down as well. They are bound tightly to one another’s back.
“I do not understand why you fought for me back there. It is no secret we hate each other. I would have thought you would have loved to watch them beat me,” Lysand said viciously over his shoulder.
“You mistake my actions,” Owen said quietly.
Lysand sniffed loudly. He could not believe that they were fighting even now, bound and certain to die at the hands of these men.
“We are Malor,” Owen said and was silent.
So he did not stick up for him out of anger but out of loyalty to their people. Lysand wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not. No matter, it did not matter what Owen’s intensions were and his reasons. They’d be dead soon.
The Kindol interrogate them. Beat them and threaten to kill them.
Then they decided they will take the pair of them to the Kindol capitol to show to the King. The ship makes to Kasgard to resupply. However they see that there has been a slave up rising and instead the ship veers off toward the Misyle Traders to restock instead.
Owen and Lysand begin to plan their escape.
Eskil approaches the boy and the griffin. On the griffin, there is a young woman, she is asleep on its back.
“Who are you?”
“Men called me Freki.”
“What do you call yourself?”
“I do not.”
He noticed the boy was bare-chested, and on his chest is a Mark. Eskil recognizes it as the Mark of the Spirit of the Beasts. He tells him so.
“I speak to the animals. I spoke to the wolves. They found you for me. They know you are The Nocturnal. They found her for me as well.”
Eskil turns his attention to the girl on the griffin. “who is she.”
“They found her easily. She smells of carnage, rot and decay. She is dead.”
Eskil steps back.
“Not her body. Her soul. Her soul is dead.”
“The Marked of the Spirit of Death?”
“She bares the dark side of the gate on her chest.”
At first Eskil does not understand but remembering the shape of the symbol he understands that the line in the center symbolizes the wall between the living and the dead. The girl has a flag up on the left side, it is solid. The Mark of the Spirit of Birth has the flag on the right side and it is open. The girl wake and her and Eskil meet. She tells him of how she came to be there.
The three start traveling.
Eskil asks where they are going.
Freki says the animals are leading him. They are going to the mountains at the center of the continent.
There is some conflict between them. Freki and Eskil have obviously communed with their Spirits but Bryn remains distant and disbelieves. She is constantly sorrowful for the death and destruction that the Kindol wreaked on the Flame Coast and she could do nothing about.
They are plagued by birds. The black birds follow them.
“The crows are angry,” Freki said mildly, burning Eskil with his stare. “Death will not take them. He is angry because his Marked is failing him.”
“What? What do you speak of?”
“Do you know feel it? She is ignoring his path. The crows are angry. If we are to fight, if we are to survive, Little Death must find her way.”
Eskil understands that they must do something to spur her. He is angry also because the girl has become very annoying in her sorrow. He screams at her and tells her that her life is lost. That it was never meant to be. Whether she was Marked or not she would have died of that illness and she would never have been married. She would never have become a great lady of Elys. She would have rotted in the tomb. Instead she has been given this chance to be something great. She has been chosen.
Bryn screams at him. She looses her mind. She sobs and slaps him.
“You’re cold! You’re callous and cruel! You’re a nightmare!”
“That’s what I’m supposed to be! Give it up, that life is lost. It’s lost for all of us. You better figure that out quick so the rest of us can get on with our jobs!” He cries back at her, full of rage.
Bryn flees into the woods. They can hear her weeping out in the early morning dimness. Eskil is fed up and goes to sleep. Freki is already asleep nearby with his griffin.
When they wake toward the evening they find that Bryn has abandoned them. They are hot on her trail, as Freki and his animals can pick up her scent. They follow and find themselves outside a small village. The village is being attacked by a band of Kindol warriors who have been ejected from Kasgard. Eskil is keen on revenge. It is dark and hard to see. He asks Freki if he will be able to fight in the dark.
“I do not need eyes to see my prey, Nocturnal.”
There are wolves howling. Eskil realizes they are speeding their way to Freki. They attack the Kindol men who are terrorizing then village. Eskil fights with his pickaxe and Freki with his hands and the wolves join them.
Soon all of the Kindol men are dead and the village is saved.
They continue their hunt for Bryn.
Meanwhile Bryn has found a clearing some distance off. She lays down in the center of the clearing and here she makes a confessional. She gives up her life and accepts that she should have died and wishes only to be dead at that moment.
When Eskil and Freki find her, she is changed. She has communed with the Spirit of Death. Her hair has gone grey and she has a quality to her that frightens even Eskil.
Somehow they are able to get off of the ship as they near the pass between the Escape Islands and the Misyle Traders lands. Owen and Lysand wash ashore on the Escape Islands. They find there are only a handful of people there, as most of the islands have been burned to the ground and destroyed by the Kindol. The Escapees tell the Malor men about how the Kindol came and took many of the people away on a ship. The survivors all came to the temple which would not burn and are living inside. Owen and Lysand live among them until they are well and able to build a small ship that will take them back to the Heart Islands. While on Escape the pair find they are hating each other less and becoming better friends. Lysand begins to take the time to get to know Owen instead of just judging him.
There is a moment they discuss the scars on Lysand’s body. He talks about the injuries he received sharking.
Owen respectfully disagrees.
“I am curious as to the burn scars.”
“Burn scars?”
“Yes, you speak only of the scars on the surface. The deeper ones I see, those are from flames.”
Lysand ran a hand on his chest.
“How do you know?”
“I have seen many burn scars. I know how they heal. I worked for many months in the healing rooms of the Priests.”
“You… you worked as a healer?”
“Yes. Why does that surprise you?”
Lysand gains a new respect for Owen as he has always respected the healers. He begins discovering that Owen is much more than a scribe. Owen confessed one night that as a child he visited the Oracle. He asks if Lysand had ever been to see her. Lysand says no, that he has never put much stock in the visions of the oracle. Owen says that she told him he would know truth, and it would give him great satisfaction. That prophesy lead him to follow in his father’s footsteps. That he believed it was his duty to show all Malor and indeed all Heart the truth of things. To dissect the speeches and decisions of the Malor councils in the high house and share that information with all. He confesses that it is something that he did for a very long time. However, he realized that instead of being content or even happy with the work that he did, he was very disappointed. It was that feeling that lead him on his trail of various jobs and eventually lead him to take up as a Sharker.
Lysand finds this all very interesting but foolish. He says that he always wanted to be a sharker. There was something about being able to get away from city. Get away from the people that appealed to him.
They sail for Heart.
**
Heather and Medora have returned to Heart. They make their way to the great Felah city. Medora is welcomed back by the guards and her fellow warriors. All of the Felah are shocked to see that she has brought with her an outsider. Heather is very shy and awkward among the women of Heart. She begins to understand all that Medora has told her about heart. The Felah are all female. The entire city holds only women. Medora takes her straight to the temple where Acacia awaits them. She greets them and takes Heather under her care. Medora goes to report to the chieftess.
Medora’s report is very long. She details all of the terrible things she has seen. She talks of the rebellion in the south and that the marked are making appearances in the world. She speaks of heather and how heathers meeting her means that it is time for the heart to rejoin the rest of the world. That if they are to defeat this great evil, they must rally with the rebels at Kasgard. The chieftess says she needs time to consider everything. Medora departs back for the temple.
Heather is already asleep in one of the lower level rooms. Medora joins Acacia in their apartment high in the tower. We witness a romantic interaction between them. Medora falls asleep. Acacia descends down to the sanctuary.
We flash to a scene between the gods.
The Spirits all question Acacia’s ambitions and choices.
They try to convince her to tell them what will happen.
Then they begin questioning her about Medora and why she is so much more important than the other mortals she has loved.
Because when their life is over their essence returns to me. And because they become part of me, they are in the sense always of my soul, of my body, for all time. Medora is different. She is not of me and will never return to me when her life is over.
No she will not. She is mine. Her brother responded.
Spirits do not love as mortals, and I love as neither. Should not you all be elsewhere? Your Marked need you. You Lumus, yours moves ever away, this you know. Hope is lost in him. Temper your anger in the grooming of another.
Acacia returns to their bed and lays down.
The next day Medora begins her instruction of Heather. She shows her around the city. She brings her to the training areas and confesses that she would like to teach her how to battle. They spend the majority of the day there. When they return to the tower, acacia is waiting for them outside. She tells them that she would like to take Heather somewhere. She brings heather to the gardens outside of the temple. Heather is attracted right away. She begins working in the garden using the small spade she has carried with her this entire time.
All is well in Heart for a few days. Heather enjoys her lessons with Medora and in the temple garden. Medora awaits the Chieftess’s decision. After a few days time, the Chieftess moves to call a meeting with the Malor Chieftan and his council. A messenger is sent. The meeting will be held in a week’s time. Acacia’s mother is dying. We learn that the Oracle has always been virgin or fatherless births.
--
“Where do you go to?” Medora asked her lover. The woman hardly ever left the temple for any reason. It was strange to see her wrap herself so completely in the fabrics of the Oracle, as though the outside air would wound her.
“I must go to my mother. She will die this day.” Acacia said quietly.
Medora stood, her project forgotten. “Do you wish me to come?”
“No this will be our last moments as we are. I must go alone.” She paused at the door and turned back to her Heartbond, ‘I will need your help preparing the funeral rite.”
“Of course, anything you ask of me.” Medora replied somberly.
“Thank you.” Acacia left.
--
“Eldelra? Is that… oh Acacia…forgive me… You grow to her more and more. Such a different child but over the years there becomes hardly a difference between you. I suppose that is the way of it. To see her mannerisms and words in a different face, one that resembles my own. Of my flesh. But you are my daughter. You attending to me this day must mean it is my last.”
“Yes.”
“As I suspected it would be. And your Medora? Is she well?”
“She teaches our young charge. It has been positive for her.”
“She will loose you so young won’t she? Ah but, I guess it was the same for us all? Though Medora is many years my junior when Eldelra left me. She will understand in the end as I do not.”
“I give you the same choice as I have given before. When you leave this mortal body would you be welcomed into my Spirit or enter into the Spirit of Death?”
“You ask, but already you know my answer, as you’ve known these last words before I ever took my first breath.”
“I have.”
“Will you walk the Path with me as I know I must do?”
“I will.”
“Down there… will you, for me one last time, wear her face so I may see you again before I am nothing but time?”
“Of course. Are you ready?”
“I am, good bye my daughter. My Acacia. My Spirit.”
Acacia’s mother dies. There is a funeral rite that is very extravagant because she is the mother of the oracle. It is more of a celebration, as they know she has been welcome into death. At the end of the ceremony, Acacia and Medora are invited to a heartbond ceremony. It will occur in three weeks time. They accept. The woman is a close friend.
At some point Heather notices a woman who has a red hand painted on her face. Medora explains that it is because her Heartbond has been killed out on a silking run. She says that the woman’s heartbond was a very brave Silker, who deserved much honor for her life. She was very strong in more ways that just physical muscle. Heather continues to work in the garden.
Finally the day arrives that the Chieftess, Medora, Acacia, a band of warriors, and the chieftess’s council head to the center island to meat with the Malor. They arrive and formalities are observed. There is much tension and coldness between the Malor and the Felah. The Malor has brought his council and his personal guard. However, it is noticeable that the Marked of Verity is not among them.
The chieftess tells of Medora’s journey and the things that she has seen. She highlights the coming of Heather to the Heart Islands and that it must be a sign from the Spirits that they are to rejoin the world of Ekaria. They ask of the Malor Marked, why he has not come.
The chieftan, after much arguing with his council divulges that their Marked is missing. They fear he was aboard a sharker ship that has long been overdue to return. They fear he has been lost at sea. Medora explodes into anger. She is livid and at first excuses them of failure for allowing their Marked to become a Sharker. A Marked of Verity has a higher calling and should have been working in the high house, in the courts, or in the temple. How dare they allow him to work a dangerous job that does not require his skills as a Marked.
They accost her and explain angrily how they do not think the color of tattoo or the line of blood defines your future, that every Malor has the choice to pursue what it is they wish.
Medora still angry, threatens the Malor speaking.
“How dare you! How dare you speak of your choices and disconcern for the choices of the Spirits! They who’ve decided for us who is chosen, who will walk the path they have set. How can you speak of destiny so flippant when she is right there?! The Oracle! She who’s seen our future and our past. Destiny is at hand and the Marked of the Malor should be here to meet it. You have failed the Spirits.”
There is more arguing until finally Acacia silences them. She abrashes all of them and says there are larger things to discuss. The Marked of the Malor has a path and how dare they assume he is not following it at this moment.
The chieftess brings up that they must discuss how they will proceed. The Heart must go to war. They must join the rebels at Kasgard and fight the Kindol foes. This is not only the will of the Spirits but it is also their only chance at saving Heart, as she is convinced that the Kindol will not only stop at the borders of the Ekaria mainland but will come to claim their lands as well. If they do not stand as one, they have no hope of ever standing separately against the mighty Kindol.
The Malor do not agree. They believe that the main land is being punished for its stray from the path of the spirits, that the Kindol war will bring destruction to the entire main land, including the Kindol. And it is deserved. He thinks they should stay out of the fray, and let the land tear itself apart. The Heart will be spared because they are loyal to the Spirits.
The meeting ends with the chieftess saying that they don’t understand that if they do nothing they are denying the spirits and will be as far from the path as the Ekarians. Medora storms away from the meeting in disgust. The chieftess vows that the Felah will join the war with or without the Malor.
Preparations for war are being made. Medora is very involved, but still takes time out to teach Heather fighting skills. Ships are being built. Weapons and the like are being stockpiled. Heather is afraid and spends much time in the temple and with Acacia. The woman calms her for some reason. That and working in the gardens keeps her at peace.
The three of them attend the heartbond ceremony they were invited to earlier. There is a beautiful ceremony and then a celebration involving dancing, bonfires and very good food. Heather is asked to dance by another girl who is of similar age to her. She is a Gardner among the Felah. Her tattoos are a rich green. They get along well and Heather has found a friend. They promise to meet the next day, so that the girl can show Heather the gardens she works in.
As the preparations are made and the chieftess decrees that warriors and silkers will go to battle. Acacia tells Medora that she and Heather must leave before the rest of the Felah. There is a meeting she must attend in the mountains. Medora tells this to heather, who is distraught because she is not ready to leave. The discuss things for a long time and finally heather, proving she is strong says she will take a spirit walk and goes into the forest.
In this time she communes with the Spirit Gardene and gains her powers as a Marked.
When she returns she tells Medora that she would like to become tattooed as the Felah are. Medora asks if she is sure. The girl is vary animate about it and asks her to shave her head as well. Medora shaves Heather’s head so that it is smooth like the Felah’s. There is a tattooing ceremony. We see that there is a special ink used and it is painted onto the body of the Heather. it covers her back and as the ceremony progresses, the color emerges. It is a vivid green. Heather is a Gardener, which is no surprise. Once the ceremony is over, Heather dresses herself as the Felah warriors and makes preparations to leave with Medora.
Her friend and her have a heartbreaking departure, in which the girl confesses that she loves Heather. Heather is unsure of how to respond and avoids the topic. Heather and Medora depart.
They take a small ship to the main lands once again. They land in Kasgard and inform the men there that the Felah will join them shortly. They depart for the place of meeting as foretold by Acacia.
Bryn says the animals that are leading them are straying back and forth over a straight path that mirrors one of the White Roads. She says they must walk the path straight if they are to arrive on time. Freki is wary of this plan. The White Roads are the roads that lead to death. He does not like the idea of traveling on one that mirrors it. However, they know they must get to the summit. The road they take, following what Bryn sees in her dying eyes leads them to the Temple at Daipi. It is the temple of the Spirit of Dai. Eskil is awed by how opposite it is from the Temple in Kasgard. However, they are not the first to arrive, Master Shin Tag meets them at the entrance with a small group in tow. Eskil and him have a strange greeting in which the seem like old friends, however it is just because the are Marked by balancing Spirits that they have a different sort of connection. He explains that all Marked will feel the pull to be there, but he expects not all will make it. He reveals himself as Marked by Day, the young group with him as marked by the Starry Heavens, Water and Land and one who was formerly marked. They all go inside to clean up and rest. Soon another woman arrives, she is much older and Marked by Birth. She is a Lumurian and her name is Chriselda. She is accompanied by one of her sons.
Late in the night, before they are to sit down for dinner, two more of the Marked arrive. One is a Felah warrior, complete in her tribal tattoos. She looks very tough and mean. The girl she brings with her dresses as if she were Felah as well, but her facial features clearly mark her as of the Kindol race. She introduces them as Medora of Heart, Marked of Vim, Spirit of Strength and Heather Verdure of Kindol, Marked of Gardene, Spirit of Nature. The others introduce themselves as Eskil Aud of Kasgard who is Marked of Nigh, Bryn Helkryie of Elys who is Marked of Graven, Freki born in the wild who is Marked of Drak, Chriselda of the Lumur Republic who is Marked of Birth, Rory Breezerunner of Escape who is Marked of Windar, Azara Starcatcher also of Escape who is Marked of Istar, Fin a creature from the Southern Seas who is Marked of Wattarri, a young boy named Demak of the Misyle Traders who is Marked of Ekaria, Master ShinTag of the Mountains who is Marked of Dai.
Master Shin Tag is both happy and disappointed at the turn out. At first he was not sure if anyone would even come. However, now that there were eleven of the fifteen here he knows that the Marked are becoming stronger. He admits that he did not expect King Rune to come. That would have been too easy. The other Marked could have overpowered him at this time and balance the world as they intended. It is then all learn that King Rune is Marked of Lun, The Spirit of Fire. That is why he uses fire to conquer lands. Heather Verdure, who has become very upset explains to them all how Rune claims he is the Walking God on Ekaria and how he uses fire to inspire fear and loyalty in his people. She tells them of how the Lord Knights were all required to burn their first born children in a sacrificial flame to Rune. She confesses that her own father burned her older sister alive. All agree that Rune has strayed far from the path of the Spirits and needs to be punished. Master Tag worries that the Marked of Truth is missing, as Medora reveals. She also says that the Marked of Time, her heartbond could not make the journey. This leaves the Marked of Ice, who Master Tag says he did not expect to come either, but they will discuss her more later.
A ritual is preformed.
Medora has the opportunity to speak with Fin, the creature of the Southern Seas. They connect right away, knowing that they must be both descended from the Lydor. They are Kin. Fin speaks of the Atoll that he comes from. It is in this conversation that Medora understands the deeper issue. If they do not defeat Rune and he is allowed his destructive path the Spirits will destroy the whole of Ekaria as once they did to the failed mortals long before the time of the five families. Medora speaks of the Dark Ones.
Eskil speaks with the girl, Azara of Escape. He tells her that there were Escapees who helped him get out of Kasgard. He tells her of Adder and Simon, who he knows she was a ships boy for. The girl is elated to learn that many of her kin are still alive. They discuss their purpose as Marked. Azara seems not to really understand why and what she is supposed to do. Eskil tells her that she is Marked of Istar. The Spirit of the Starry Heaves. They look out onto the night sky and he points out that each star shows them the light behind the cover of darkness. That the stars are holes that allow us to see the world of the divine, of the spirits. It is also how they peer through and watch us. He tells her that it is up to her to show the people of Ekaria how to see divinity not only in the world around them but also in themselves. She asks what his purpose is. He says that all people are both light and dark, that they feel a wide range of emotions. He is to remind them that they must accept the darkness in themselves if they are to ever be at peace. That they must cope with fear and anger and hate. He tells her this, but he is not quite happy about it himself. He feels he is loosing his light.
Azara leaves him and Eskil finds that Master Tag has been eavesdropping. They speak and he reminds Eskil that there is still light in him, but that he must embrace the darkness because it is his destiny to do so.
The Marked spend a week with one another there in the Temple and they devise a plan. Eskil, Freki, Bryn and Chriselda will travel to the North, through Lumur to The Pale Realm to enlist Queen Moswen, Marked of Ice, to help them, as she is King Rune's match and is the only one strong enough to challenge him. Medora, Heather, and Master Tag's daughter will go to Kasgard to join the rebels there and the Felah as they arrive. They will help to organize the armies there to fight. Azara, Fin, Rory, Demak and Arlene, Demak’s mother will travel to the Blue Infinity Atoll to bring Fin's people to join the war as well.
They all part ways.
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