​​​​35 Just Making Sure

CRIES ERUPTED AROUND Wither and Myral as they reached the sandstone arch. Bronze-skinned turbaned men lowered spears in their direction, blocking their exit from Mourn. Several charged past, yelling as if to scare off the reflections. There was a clash and Wither turned to see three of the newcomers fall at a touch from the apparitions.

The others held their ground. Instead of weapons, they held small thin slabs of obsidian. Wither gasped in disbelief. The reflections, confronted with the polished volcanic rock, faded. He realised they had become trapped within the volcanic glass.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ said a voice behind them. Wither smiled, and turned. His old friend wore a white turban on his head, and his pale face bore new scars. The look suited Raze, making him near unrecognisable.

‘I should’ve known you’d be in these parts.’ Wither laughed feeling at ease for the first time in a long while. ‘You never like missing out on the fun. How did you find me?’

Raze grinned back. ‘I didn’t know it was you. Spotted you from afar heading this way. Since we knew what resides here, we assumed you might need help. What are you doing in Mourn? No one comes here.’

‘We need to talk,’ said Wither with a grimace. He gestured at Myral, and introduced her as his companion. He wasn’t certain of her, but he didn’t want to complicate matters. He did note a certain rigidness in her as she stared at Raze. Too late, he realised she knew him. For his part, Raze grinned wickedly at her. Wither’s ease vanished, for he sensed in Myral one emotion. Terror.

A commotion caused them to turn. Four men struggled with an odd-looking figure. Wither recognised it as the viral who’d attacked them.

‘This one’s solid enough,’ said a spearman, dragging the prisoner closer. ‘Dead by the looks of it, but solid. Should I cut its head off?’

The spearman was looking to Raze, but it was Wither who answered, ‘No, leave him be.’

The spearman ignored him, ‘I’d feel safer with its head cut off. Burn the body too. You know what Plagueborn are like. We’ll all be dead of some sickness or other by morning if we let it alone.’

Wither said, ‘Not all virals spread disease. It’s not how it works.’

‘Who’re you?’ the man snapped, finally acknowledging him. ‘How would you know?’

‘I said, let him go.’

Raze glanced at Wither, and then nodded at the spearman.

Wither reached out and lifted the viral’s face towards him, revealing the ravaged visage. Weathered bone, some flaps of leathery skin. Dark sockets, the eyes sunken deep or rotten away. ‘What is your name, undead one?’

‘Skelet,’ it hissed between the two front teeth it had left. ‘You breathers are trespassin’. You’ve no right to walk the sands of Mourn, messing up my streets. I keeps a tidy place, I does.’

‘Your streets?’ Wither felt amusement, which was unexpected.

‘This city isn’t for breathers. You walk upon your own graves.’

‘You attacked us. Why?’

The viral began to mutter to himself, before he said, ‘Thought you was someone else, didn’t I. Too late, now. It’s all done.’

‘I was Aidari, once,’ said Wither. ‘Have you heard the name?’ When he got no answer, he added, ‘I was injured by viralic magic, an attack by one of your kind. My spectralic magic has since faded. I was told someone in this place could help. Are you the, someone, or should I let him cut your head off?’

‘The name of the one who told you this?’

‘Striga.’

The viral stared at him for a long moment. He seemed to be mulling it over. Wither’s hope began to fade until Skelet nodded. ‘Hoary ol’ bitch told you the truth. Few else knows I’m here. Yes, I believe you. Had to be her. Associating with a Torment. Yes, you’re an odd one.’

‘What is this?’ asked Raze. ‘What is he talking about?’ When Wither ignored him, he turned his attention back to the prisoner. ‘Can you help him or not,’ Raze demanded. ‘What he says about his power is true. I know, because I was there when it happened. I also suffered in the attack,’ he said pointing at the scars on his face, ‘but at least my magic survived.’

Skelet spat something black and nasty at them. ‘Like I gives one whit about either o’ ye, but yes, I can help,’ said Skelet, looking murderously at his guards. ‘It will be painful. Yes, it is the price. Pain is purity, it is.’ The way the viral said it, suggested pain wasn’t necessary but desired.

‘What were those things,’ asked Wither. ‘Those reflections who attacked us? Were they ghosts? Are they yours?’

‘Wards,’ Raze answered instead, ‘set by this Guardian of Mourn. Contained within the Darklight.’

Skelet growled.

‘Darklight?’ asked Wither, wondering how his friend knew so much.

Raze held up a piece of obsidian. ‘An ancient and obscure form of magic, it has several mundane uses too.’

‘None o’ your business,’ Skelet snapped. ‘Mind yours and I mind mine. I is the Guardian o’ Mourn, and these are my streets.’

‘Wait,’ Wither whispered, a knot of fear sticking in his throat. ‘Guarding what, exactly?’

‘Death,’ said Skelet. ‘You would leave if you had brains, which you don’t.’

Wither detected a touch of fear in the viral. His heartbeat thumped in his ears. Striga had said the vampires were in the desert, buried. They were beneath his feet, beneath Mourn.

‘Take him away,’ Raze ordered. ‘Chain him up for now.’

The ancient viral danced left and right as though looking for an escape. ‘You shouldn’t be here. Leave or have your flesh ripped from your bones. It’s not blood they want, oh, no. They don’t need it. Stripping you of flesh is for pleasure. You can’t stop what’s a comin’.’

Wither turned to Raze. ‘I want him in one piece. I will need him to help restore my magic. Besides, we might have need of him. After all, what happens to the prisoners if you kill their guardian?’

‘Don’t worry,’ his friend said with a tattooed hand to Wither’s shoulder. ‘I have it all under control.’

‡

AS THE SUN SET AND the cool of dusk offered relief, they sat on the floor within one of the buildings. They lit fires and Raze’s people shared water and food, and coffee. Their single humped camels remained hobbled outside the city. The camels, Wither was told, would refuse to enter anyhow and so they were left to nibble the sparse growth beneath the mesquite trees, and the trees themselves no doubt.

Sat on the floor, Wither watched Raze eat. He was worried. Something didn’t fit. ‘I thought you’d returned to Pethram?’

‘A ghost city, now,’ said Raze.

Myral joined them, although she appeared reluctant. She avoided looking at Raze. Others of the group remained outside, or had chosen other buildings not filled with sand.

‘So is Shamar,’ said Wither, with a nod for Myral. He saw her flinch. Something was very wrong.

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘You said you happened to be passing,’ Wither noted, ‘and no one ever comes to Mourn.’

Raze ate a piece of bread dipped in olive oil. He nodded absently.

‘Why then do you have obsidian? Seems like you were prepared to come here. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying, old friend.’

‘And, I always knew you were the one,’ said Raze, setting the bread aside, ‘but a part of me had hoped you would refuse the call. You are a stubborn bastard.’ He smirked. ‘Never taking the easy path. Always the hard one. Now, you’ve gone and forced me into this position. So be it.’

Wither realised he’d walked into a trap, and it’s too late to escape. ‘What in the Grim’s unholy name are you—?’

‘Oh, his name is holy. You’ve no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into do you? You should’ve gone elsewhere. Anywhere else.’

‘I go where I please as I’ve always done.’

‘What lies beneath these sands is a vast cavern system. Stretches for leagues, although few know of it.’

‘Vampires,’ whispered Wither.

Raze smiled. ‘Oh, yes, said to be the worst of all virals. The only undead to be imprisoned in such a manner. They couldn’t be controlled or easily destroyed. Highly intelligent, vicious, and strong. Not to mention, fast. They possess no morality, making them efficient killers. An endless thirst for souls. Magic trapped them and magic holds them.’

‘You came here for them, didn’t you?’

‘They slumber unaware.’ The other man’s gaze narrowed on Wither. ‘There were several guardians, once. All long gone for reasons I won’t go into. Did you know your blood calls to them? Perhaps it is fate. I’ve always spat at fate.’

‘What are you talking about?’ He recalled Striga’s words about his inheritance, but he had not believed. He had come to reclaim his powers, but not this. Raze had to be lying.

‘Nalrost created the vampires,’ said Myral in a shaky voice, ‘an experiment he lost control of. They wiped out an entire continent to the east. When they turned their attention to Adalalcas, he captured and imprisoned them. To create them, he murdered one of his closest friends; your direct ancestor, Wither. He used all her blood mingled with some of his own for the spell. Only her descendants can claim the vampires and control them, or Nalrost himself. The Fetch is his servant, and it will claim the vampires for him if you don’t.’

He stared at her, stunned. ‘Back in Shamar, you knew who I was and where I was going. You were waiting for me.’ How many times would he trust, only to be betrayed? How many times?

‘Myral speaks the truth,’ said Raze, with a glint in his eye as he looked at her. ‘In name, a highest within the Faith but actually an imperial spy with certain gifts. We have some unfinished business, don’t we, Myral. I warned you what I would do if you crossed me.’

‘You should be dead,’ she whispered.

‘There is pleasure in pain, Myral, remember? You refuse to learn this simple truth; pain or death is nothing to a true servant of the Grim.’

Wither felt his blood run cold. The Grim? That’s what she’d meant about him still existing. Rasnal Nalrost. He stood and backed away from the fire, but too late he noticed the guards outside the door. They were looking in, not out. Watching him. ‘Who are you?’ He wasn’t certain which of them he was asking.

‘My name is now, Seth,’ said Raze, removing his turban, revealing a bald scarred head. ‘It was my name before the Aidari took me. I am the Sword of the Faith.’ He gave Myral a disgusted look. ‘A title the highests attempted to steal from me. It was not their place, and not theirs to steal or bestow. Only the Grim has that pleasure.

‘The master’s servant is coming isn’t he, Myral? Soon, all will be right. Too late for you, I’m afraid. I have exposed your treachery, and the Faith will hunt you down. Run, if you wish. Live in fear but know they will find you. You know what happens then.’

‘What is he saying?’ Wither looked to Myral. ‘What is going on here?’

‘The Fetch is not of this world,’ said Myral in a rush, trembling, while Raze, or Seth, grinned like a madman. ‘It is a combination of reflections stolen and bound by the power of Darklight. It is the will of the Grim. It will enter this world as a physical being, as flesh and blood, by stealing the flesh of whomever it finds here. Until now it has been able to briefly touch our world. It will pave the way for the Grim’s return. To do so, it will use the vampires to Cleanse this world, ridding it of all unbelievers.’

‘You seem unwell, friend,’ said Seth with mock concern, before laughing. ‘It is clear you had no idea. How interesting. All this time, I had thought you stuck up, full of yourself and the knowledge of your inheritance. You see, the zorasts found me when I was quite young. They had me infiltrate the Aidari for them. Those fools cling to the old magic of Nalrost or Astra, Fakir or Adal. They do not understand: when Nalrost died, he became the Holy Grim. He died so the Grim could be born.’

‘What is it you want from me, Raze?’

‘I told you,’ he snapped, face contorted in rage. ‘My name is Seth.’ Calm restored in an instant, and he continued. ‘The path of the zorast is a difficult one, but I’ve found it rewarding. I didn’t know what the Grim required of me. I believed Todder was the one to lead us at first. I soon saw my error. Scatter’s teachings about the return of virals were correct, but not as she believed. That Age is about to be ushered in, right now.’

It all meant nothing to Wither. Fanatics, whether Aidari or zorast. Why had Striga led him to this?

‘If you attempt to run, his men will kill you,’ said Myral in a low voice.

‘She does not lie,’ said Seth, smiling.

‘The Torment female seeks to use you,’ Myral went on. ‘She’ll discard you when she’s done. You can regain your power. Your blood calls to them. Can’t you feel it?’

‘It is the master’s servant who must command them,’ said Seth in a low voice, reaching out and striking her a blow to the face. Blood dribbled from her nose. ‘Be silent.’

‘We cannot control it,’ she mumbled, ‘but he can—’

Seth struck her again.

‘Why did you not kill me?’ Wither demanded, trying to distract him. The guards were watching. If he attacked Seth, they would kill him. Perhaps, it would be worth it?

‘Old friendships are not easily cast aside,’ said Seth. ‘I would have you by my side for the Cleansing. Besides, I had to know who was plotting against me. Striga is a problem, but one the master will solve. Myral, however, does make a good point. Forget the Torment and her machinations. She is nothing. You could command them yourself on behalf of the Faith, if the master would allow it.’

‘Threadfin Todder,’ said Wither in surprise. ‘Yes, it’s who this Fetch reminds me of. It has his face.’

Seth rose, awe filling his eyes. ‘You’ve seen it, haven’t you? The Holy Servant.’

‘Threadfin Todder is a part of this, isn’t he?’ Wither had wanted to believe it had been an accident. An accident, which had shaken his faith, his loyalty. Now a friend had become an enemy in the space of heartbeats. He could never join Seth and his zorast cult. No more than he could follow Todder or his sister. He would forge his own path. First, I need my inheritance. This is the reason I came. I lost my magic for a reason, to find a power greater than anything I’ve known.

The zorast priest laughed. ‘The Fetch has stolen Todder’s reflection, yes.’

‘What happened to you?’

‘Make your decision.’

Wither shook his head. ‘I am no traitor.’

Seth raised his hands. ‘You owe the viral nothing.’ His fingers turned a molten hue.

Wither felt sorrow rather than fear. ‘I did not mean him. I meant I cannot do what you have done. I cannot betray my humanity for this Grim of yours.’

Seth snarled and let loose his power. As he struck, something leapt at Wither across the fire. A weight crashed into him, hurtling him backwards. He landed with a grunt, struggling to fend off whoever was on him. Teeth bit into his ear, and he cried out in pain. Then a voice whispered, ‘Too late, breather, too late. I said you shouldn’t be here, messing up my streets. It’s come. They awaken, now. Too late! They are yours now, Guardian. Take good care of them for me. This would’ve made a fine story, Toads.’

Flames enveloped the viral. Skelet howled. Wither kicked him off and rolled aside. He was about to get to his feet, but stopped when a blade touched his throat.

‘I am sorry for this,’ said Myral from behind him, as she forced him upright. ‘I didn’t mean it to go this way. You should have been less honest.’

‘No!’ cried Wither watching Seth roast the old guardian in short bursts of liquid power. Soon, there was nothing but smouldering ash.

When Seth next looked at Myral, his eyes glowed. ‘You wish to regain my favour? I have missed your company, but it will take more than this to appease me.’

‘You will deal with the highests for me?’

‘Making demands?’

‘I have no wish to suffer at their hands. Kill me now if you wish, but not that.’ Wither felt her shivering. She was terrified. Fear made her unpredictable. He felt heat and wetness where the blade bit against his throat. If he tried anything, he might not survive.

Seth’s face took on a calculating look. ‘I knew you would come around. However, you had better please me. No more escapes. Oh yes, I know of your ability. From now on, you will give me your full attention.’

A pause, before Wither felt her nod.

Dismissing her, Seth turned his attention to Wither, stalking towards him. ‘I wish it could have been different.’ He raised both glowing hands to grasp Wither’s skull.

The slender blade entered Seth’s left eye and into his brain, before Wither noticed it wasn’t at his neck. The zorast priest and former Aidari fell. Myral jumped on top of him, stabbing furiously, until nothing of the face remained. One leg twitched before going still.

‘I think he’s dead,’ Wither mumbled, glancing at the vacant doorway. He wondered what had happened the guards.

‘Just making sure.’ Myral rose, and grabbed him by the shoulders.

He was so numb he didn’t think of resisting. All he could say, was, ‘Who are you?’ This time, he meant it in a whole other manner.

‘We must stop the release of the vampires, and the Fetch’s arrival too. If we do not, civil war will be the least of the imperium’s problems.’

‘I care nothing for the imperium.’

‘Do you not care about everyone else? About yourself? What of this world?’

He placed his head in his hands. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t stop them.’ The faint sound of fighting came from outside, a clash of weapons and cries.

‘I know what the Torment told you.’ Myral grinned. ‘I’m a spy, remember? She didn’t lie and neither did I, but she seeks to use you for her own ends. You don’t need her. Take control of them yourself. Without anyone else interfering. It is in your blood, Wither. Face them, and you will know what to do.’

He glanced up at her. ‘What is it you get out of this?’

‘You can use them to protect this world from those like her, from the Fetch, from the zorasts. You can join with the viral mage. He will have need of an army to counter the Grim.’

He stared at her, anger welling. ‘Why should I join with him? If I can do what you suggest, if I want to—’

‘Of course, you want to,’ she snapped. ‘Your power is the reason you came this far. You can still have it. It’s a different form of power, but it is yours by right of birth. The zorasts have known of you, if not your identity. It’s why Striga, Seth and others have sought you out.’

Wither put a hand to his head. ‘I think Striga did find me, many years ago. I was ... not yet a man.’ Something was in his memories, but he couldn’t grasp it.

They heard a commotion as others entered the building. He wasn’t surprised to see Davard Tystrus. Slither was with the fat conclavist looking sheepish. Behind them he spotted several imperial soldiers in green cloaks. He did not think anything could surprise him tonight.

‘Sorry for being a bit late,’ said Slither with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘In fact, it looks like we’re too late. We should be getting out of here.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Myral stepping forwards, the gore-smeared knife in her right hand.

‘The bloody vampires, what else?’ Davard snapped, swiping at his sweaty face. His breathing came in laboured gasps, not that it fooled Wither. ‘You hapless ignorant half-bred halfwits, they’re breaking free as we speak! I don’t like vampires breaking free. Do you like vampires breaking free?’

Silence greeted the question.

‘I thought not.’