Sam Bowring - Soul's Reckoning

‘If he is not offended enough by your presence to blast you to motes where you stand,’ said Fahren, ‘then I am sure he will not care a jot about your hood.’

Battu shot him an odd look, his hood hovering halfway up his neck. Then he let it fall, back from his uncovered head. Fahren raised an eyebrow at him.

‘It seems a shame,’ said Battu, ‘to travel so far, then not to see. Besides,’ he added, ‘perhaps, if I am to avoid a blasting, it would be best to look him in the eye.’

As the sun rose, its rays strengthened, finding their way across the valley to the ledge where the two mages waited. Here was the first place the sun touched every morning, so shaped by the mountains that it seemed as if a bridge of light hung suspended high above the ground.

Arkus hear me , prayed Fahren. Please receive us.

He took a deep breath and stepped onto the bridge. He was almost surprised when his foot found solidness, though of course he had been counting on it. Beneath he could see through to the valley floor, but he forced his eyes up, back to the glowing path that lay ahead, all the way to the sun. Battu hesitated between the posts, seeming stricken, and Fahren felt a moment of sympathy for him. This was probably the hardest thing he would ever do.

‘Come,’ Fahren said kindly. ‘There is nothing to fear. Arkus will forgive you.’

He held out a hand and, tentatively, Battu edged onto the bridge. Fahren placed his hand on Battu’s shoulder and together they moved forward, step by step, out over the valley.

‘How far do we go?’ said Battu. There was something of the child in him then, a quiet fear and awe that touched Fahren’s soul. He smiled.

‘I don’t know.’

A crackling voice came at them from all sides at once, making them flinch, booming from the mountainsides, echoing its own echoes …

‘Throne Fahren,’ said Arkus. ‘What do you come seeking?’

Fahren licked his lips. Even though he had spoken with the god before, it was still a daunting experience.

‘My …my great lord,’ he called, his own voice tiny in comparison. ‘I come seeking advice. The shadow marches –’

‘Yes,’ said Arkus, drowning him out, ‘and you bring one of them with you. Lord Battu, once the Shadowdreamer, sworn enemy of the light – step forward.’

Squinting fiercely, his eyes watering, Battu haltingly obeyed. As he did, it seemed as if the sun itself pulsed.

‘Oh great Arkus,’ called Battu hesitantly, ‘I come to serve you!’

‘You,’ said Arkus, rumbling tremors accompanying his words, ‘who have killed my people for the sake of conquest …and killed his own as well, a beast amongst beasts …who sought the blue-haired boy, so you might destroy me …’ Rocks tumbled from cliff tops as the air reverberated with the god’s fury. ‘You, Lord Battu, stand upon the very bridge of morning and entreat me to find you chastened ?’

Battu flung his arms wide, forcing his eyes open, tears streaming as he stared into the sun. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, my lord.’

The mountains ceased their trembling.

‘Then receive my messenger,’ said Arkus.

A twitter sounded from above. A small bird swooped down and landed on Battu’s outstretched hand, transparent save for the glowing lines that defined its body, and its distinctive blood-drop eyes. Fahren felt his stomach lurch as he realised who it was.

‘Iassia,’ he murmured.

The weaver cocked his head. ‘The very same,’ he said. ‘And I must thank you for this brief respite from my cage. For reasons known best to himself, our judicious lord has granted me the honour of binding Battu to his word.’

Battu stared at the tiny creature in horror, his arm frozen as if a venomous spider sat upon it. ‘But I have already betrayed the Dark Gods,’ he said, ‘and can never return to their service. I have journeyed here, to the light’s most sacred place, forsaking all that I once was. Why,’ he shouted to the valley, ‘must I be bound?’

‘Because,’ said Iassia, ‘as your death comes creeping, your fear of what lies beyond may overpower all else. What does Assedrynn have in store for you, should you return to him? Perhaps he’ll lock you away forever in a place containing nothing at all but your own thoughts, only letting you out to serve as a reminder of what can happen when we lesser beings incur the ire of gods. Or perhaps he will be more creative.’

The sun seemed to flare behind him, and Iassia gave a fearful twitter.

‘Faced with such punishment,’ he continued, ‘who knows what changes of heart the future brings, when grand examples can already be seen in your past, Battu. And, since you are required to retain your shadowy aspect in order to be of use to us, we cannot simply “cure” you of it and welcome you to the fold. You remain a hugger in the hen house, and hence require muzzling.’

‘If you’re true to us as you say,’ added Fahren quietly, ‘then such a binding changes nothing.’ Internally he felt the hypocrisy in his words – there was no reason, however noble, why he would enjoy sacrificing his free will to a weaver.

Iassia’s eyes flicked to his. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Look whose tongue’s worn smooth as a river stone. Thank you for your help, Throne Fahren, but I do not need you to put gloss on my words.’

Fahren felt tangible hatred from the bird then, and he realised that Iassia’s return to Arkus had not changed him a bit. Why did the Sun God not simply destroy him, and return his soul to the Great Well?

‘But,’ said Battu slowly, ‘in order to bind me to your will, you have to make a deal with me.’

‘Correct,’ said Iassia.

‘Which means you must do something for me.’

‘And so I will. Now, submit.’

‘But –’

‘Submit, Battu! Open your mind!’

Battu’s eyes snapped shut, and he snarled. ‘Do it, then.’

Iassia took off to hover before Battu a moment, then tapped his brow with his beak. Battu flinched. As the bird set down on the bridge before them, Battu slowly opened his eyes. Fahren noticed that, as the sun continued to rise, the bridge was growing less defined.

Not much time left, and I have not even asked what I came here to.

‘It seems we have an accord,’ chirped Iassia. ‘And as your favour to me, you will help the light achieve victory over the shadow until your dying day.’

‘Only that?’ said Battu. ‘And what favour will you do for me, not yet agreed on, and unasked for?’

‘I shall remove the foreign threads from your mind,’ said Iassia.

‘What?’

‘Did you not know? You spent too long with the sharks, Battu.’

Iassia spread his wings low, and Battu gave a jerk. From out of his forehead emerged shadowy lines, twitching like worms. They floated away, fading from the world. Battu blinked, and frowned.

Fahren wondered at the wisdom of the move – such a strong influence the sharks had been, on Battu’s single and bloody-mindedness, on the way he focused on his goals. There would be time to ponder it later, however, for more important was his question.

‘Oh Arkus!’ he called. ‘The bridge fades with the coming of day. I beg you to hear me.’

‘Speak, Throne Fahren,’ said Arkus. ‘The weaver’s work is done. Return, Iassia, to your cage.’

The bird gave an alarmed chirp, and disappeared instantly.

‘The shadow marches,’ began Fahren, ‘with a terrible creature, not of this world. A shadowmander, many times larger than any seen in nature. None can stand against it, lord, for its scales turn back all spells and blades.’

‘You were right,’ said Arkus, ‘when you guessed it was legacy magic.’

‘But how?’

‘Built from the souls of our departing dead, captured when Holdwith fell.’