Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

“You could’ve saved some lives if you killed Mariel that first day. The boy wouldn’t be hurt right now.” Single eye glinting, the mayor’s scarred face puckered with the accusation. “How’s he doing?”

“He may yet live,” Ryne answered. He continued as Bertram muttered a thankful prayer, “And to be honest, Bertram. I think we’ve saved more lives by not killing her.”

The mayor grunted his disagreement. “I’m telling you, those murders, and now this. She’s responsible.”

The innkeeper’s potbelly threatened to burst from his sweat-stained shirt as he leaned forward. “For all we know, them bodies could be the work of lapras. Or this other golden-haired woman Ryne saw. Or the Alzari mercenaries. They be more ruthless than any.” Holding up his pipe to the lamp, he used the meaty thumb on his other hand to knead giana leaves into the bowl.

“Or they could be her work,” Bertram retorted. “You shouldn’t be so willing to rule her out.”

“And you shouldn’t be so willing to condemn her,” Hagan admonished. “Not without proof.” Lighting a tinder stick in the oil lamp on the table with one over-sized hand, he stuck his pipe into the corner of his mouth with the other.

“Because what Forian said isn’t proof enough?” Bertram’s eyebrow arched.

“You put him up to that nonsense,” Hagan scoffed, touching the tinder stick to the giana leaves and puffing.

“I may have done many things, but that wasn’t one of them. People do have a mind of their own. Her preaching that Streamean puke doesn’t help much. How many of them worship Ilumni’s light will always be tainted by those who sacrifice bawling babes and animals to appease Amuni’s black heart. I wonder how many within their own Tribunal partake in that blasphemy.”

“There you go again.” Hagan rolled his eyes. “It be shit like that makes our people act the way they do. You say what you want and refuse to think of the consequences. What if it is that golden-haired woman and not Mariel?”

Bertram grunted. “The golden-haired woman that no one besides Ryne and Sakari have seen?”

“It sounds like you be saying Ryne didn’t see what he saw.” Lips curled into a tight smile, but his watery eyes deadly serious, Hagan puffed on his pipe once more. When he exhaled, perfumed giana smoke spilled into the air.

Bertram fidgeted when he eyed Ryne. “I’m not saying that, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone had visions deep in the woods.”

Ryne shrugged. “She was real enough. I have Sakari keeping an eye out for her and Mariel.”

“All I’m saying is there’s been six corpses since Mariel showed up,” Bertram argued, “And eight of our own have went missing. I would think that’s enough proof. Been what? Six years since the last killing in Carnas?”

“Could just be coincidence that an infected lapra decided to hunt in these parts,” Hagan said.

Bertram gave Hagan a sidelong glance. “Not even you believe that. And I would bet if we allowed your regulars in, they’d agree with me. The old prophecies say-”

“Yes, yes.” Hagan waved his hand dismissively. “I know what they say. What I believe be something different.”

Ryne let their argument wash over him. “No lapra could shred bodies in such a way. If you bothered to look at Kahkon’s wounds, you would know what attacked him didn’t kill those strangers we found. Neither did the Alzari.”

“See,” Bertram began, as if Ryne’s words confirmed his suspicions about the woman. “That means she-”

“I found the missing eight.”

The two men gaped. Smiles began before they turned into frowns at Ryne’s grim expression.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Bertram asked, his voice soft.

“I was forced to kill them.” Ryne’s shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment. The memories of what the villagers looked like when he found them swept through him. You freed them from their suffering. Death is a better place than what life they did have. When he opened his eyes, both men’s faces had their horrified thoughts written all over them.

“Why?” Bertram finally managed to whisper.

“Someone was feeding them to wraithwolves. Amuni’s Children have crossed the Rotted Forest.”

Hagan snorted. “Foolishness. The remnants of Amuni’s Children be gone. Dead. Dust. Over twenty-five years.” Despite the apparent confidence in his voice, sweat bloomed on Hagan’s forehead, and his pipe hung limp in the corner of his mouth.

Ryne’s expression remained impassive.

“Are you sure?” Hagan asked, his eyes round and fearful.

“As sure as the sun rises and falls.”

“But how?” Bertram’s question was a mousy squeak. “How could they pass your wards? How could our scouts miss them? I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t know,” Ryne answered. “You can believe what you will, but extra scouts will need to be posted. I suggest you abandon Carnas. Make your way to-”

“I’m not abandoning all we’ve built here. We fought them once, we can fight them again,” Bertram said, a stubborn set creeping further into his jaw and chasing the color back into his face.

Removing his pipe, Hagan turned to the mayor. “We fought them, but at what cost. Bertram, don’t-”

“Don’t speak to me of costs.” Bertram’s eyes glittered. “I paid my price several times over.” He wagged his stump for an arm and shifted his head so he could show his ruined face and eye on the same side. “They cost me these and my family. I told you all we should’ve killed this Mariel. This can only be her precious Tribunal’s doing as it was then.”

“You always forget this same Tribunal saved you,” Ryne said. He glared at Bertram. “And you’re quick to talk of costs. Our people have paid quite a price already. When will it be enough?”

Bertram met Ryne’s angry eyes for a moment before he looked away. After a moment more of tense silence, the mayor asked, “How many shadelings did you find?”

“Four.”

Hagan expelled a sigh of relief and tucked his pipe back into his mouth.

“As I expected.” Bertram’s tone was triumphant. “No more than a handful of the beasts could have survived.”

“Maybe,” Hagan said, “But what of Amuni’s Children?”

Bertram waved his gnarled hand in dismissal. “They are but men. They can die as easily as any other. With there being so few shadelings, we should be able to muster enough divya between the elders to defend ourselves.”

Hagan shook his head. “We should do as Ryne says and leave.”

“You would think like that,” Bertram snickered.

“This be about the safety of all,” Hagan said. “Not just your personal vengeance.”

Bertram began to reply, but stopped as Vana and Vera brought three cups and two flagons to the table. One flagon contained wine and the other juice, both drinks made from kinai. Ryne acknowledged the sisters’ fond expressions with a nod and a smile of his own. After quick bows, the women returned to arranging the furniture around the room with practiced efficiency.

With a sigh, Ryne reached for the kinai juice, chair creaking under his weight. “Listen. As much as I despise the Tribunal for my own reasons, not all of them are bad or intend harm. However, if you hurt Mariel in any way, no good will come of it. And as for fighting against Amuni’s Children.” He waited impassively for Bertram’s one-eyed gaze to meet his. “Not everyone in Carnas fought in the wars, Bertram. You have women and children here. Don’t let your hate continue to blind you. You may be willing to cross the doorway to death, but plenty others here still want and deserve to cling to life.” He filled a cup and took a sip. A tingling sensation followed, quickly spreading from his gullet through his body. “To be safe, head south to Berin, it’s the fastest and the safest path. The Bana won’t turn you away. You might want to consider sending some scouts to cross the Black Reaches and take word to Castere too.”