David Dalglish - A Sliver of Redemption

Hemman stood, but when he turned to go, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. His deep voice dropped lower in volume, possibly the quietest the man could whisper.

“They know we have left,” he said. “All our families are in danger. Our name is nothing without you. Will we win? Tell me, Antonil. Let me hear the words. Can we win this fight?”

Harruq looked to Antonil, and he was not the only one. Tarlak crossed his arms and waited. Bram’s eyes narrowed, as if ready to judge the new king by his answer.

“Both the grave and the throne await me,” Antonil said. “And by my sword, the wings of Ashhur, and the magic of my friends, I will seek them out, and run from neither. Let the priest-king fear my name. I come for what is mine.”

Hemman nodded. Worry still filled his eyes, but the answer seemed acceptable. He turned to the other lords and let them introduce themselves as the thousands crossed the river. As they bowed to their lord, Tarlak took his Eschaton and left.

V illage after village fell. At Thulos’s insistence, they made for the Corinth River, seeking an entrance into Mordeina and meeting with the rumored priest-king.

“If his allegiance is true,” the god told Velixar, “then the last of the angels stand no chance. At worst, we find them already dashed upon the walls. It would be a shame, though. My sword desires blood, and this world has proved rather elusive in providing worthy opponents.”

“At least you killed the daughter of the whore,” Velixar said, stepping out of the large tent.

“Just one of them,” said Thulos. “Another remains.”

Velixar glared but kept his mouth shut.

On and on they travelled until they reached the Bloodbrick. Thulos led the way, and he stopped before it to survey the area. On both sides he saw communal graves burned with fire. Blood soaked the bridge. High above hovered a legion of crows, no doubt having feasted well the week before. Many bodies still floated, caught against the rocks, their bodies pale and eaten away by the fish and the birds. Distressingly few bore the wings of Ashhur’s angels.

“Who fought here?” he asked.

“It must have been Ashhur’s men, for I see wing bones among the pyres. But against who? I don’t know. Perhaps an army from Mordan marched south, hoping to subdue Ker and her king.”

“Then they were defeated,” Thulos said. “An ill sign. We must continue on. If Mordeina has fallen, then our task grows that much greater.”

Their supplies thinned during the weeks following. The villagers who surrendered instead of joining Velixar’s dead told of how an army had come from Mordan and taken much of their food, and then even more on the way back. Ashhur’s army had given chase only days behind. Thulos’s mood soured at that, and they rushed after with even greater speed.

Through it all, Velixar poisoned the night with his words. Through it all, Tessanna brought Qurrah back from the edge during the day.

“You know he lies,” she told him while they travelled yet another day north toward Mordeina. “What is it he says to you that tortures you so? What lies could he possibly have that you cannot outright dismiss?”

Qurrah didn’t answer immediately, but Tessanna was used to this. Often now Qurrah took a moment or two to think. It seemed every question he felt duty-bound to answer truthfully, no matter how terrible it might make him seem. She waited him out, part of her dreading the answer, part hoping she might help him in any way.

“He sends me into my past,” he said. “He forces me to live the life I would rather forget existed. You say I am not my past…but how can I deny what I must endure every night? I feel the pleasure in the kill. I remember my pride, my power. All the guilt I feel, it vanishes as I hold myself above the wretched that I murder. It’s so heavy, Tessanna. So heavy…”

She took his hand in hers as they walked. It was cold, but she had grown used to it, as she had his awkward pauses, his deathly pale skin, and the horrible silence in his chest. His eyes, though, they still had life. His voice might be a hollow reminder of what he had been, but his eyes told her how much he still loved her. As long as she could hold onto that, as long as she could cling to it so tightly that pulling them apart would spray blood and kill them both, then she felt hope.

“After Aullienna died,” she said, hesitant. She had never told him this before, but perhaps it might help. “After…you know. I dreamed of it. I saw her plunge into the water. I could even see what she saw, these little faeries dancing about her in a world so beautiful. Every night I watched her die. It was peaceful, in a way. She never knew the danger, not even at the end. She saw something I could only see the faintest glimpse of, something golden and wonderful. And then all would go dark, her body just a shell floating in the water. Every night, Qurrah. And when I’d wake up I’d hate you for casting the spell, and hate myself for ever asking you to do it.”

Qurrah’s lower lips spread tight across his teeth. She knew that meant he was struggling to keep his emotions in check. If he still had a living body, perhaps he’d even be crying. She kept going, needing to tell him. Needing him to know.

“I nearly killed you while you slept,” she said. “I tried to convince myself I didn’t need you. I’d lived without you before, and while it was lonely, I never hurt. But you hurt me, so bad, so deep. I held my dagger in my hand and imagined your blood on my fingers. It didn’t excite me. It didn’t ease me in any way. I hated you so much, Qurrah, but I couldn’t do it. Despite the dreams, despite my horror, despite being afraid and lost and clinging to you so desperately…I couldn’t. I loved you too much. I tried to imagine my life without you, and I couldn’t.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

She clutched his hand in hers and stared up at him. A deep ache swelled in her chest as she wished to kiss him but could not. She couldn’t even stand the thought of feeling his lips against hers, now dry, cold, and lifeless.

“Because now you endure the same. Velixar forces you to relive the hurt. He tries to glorify what you regret. I held on because of you…and you…can’t you do the same? I thought, just maybe, you could love me. Maybe if you love me enough, you’ll endure. Can’t I help? I want to help, Qurrah. I want to feel that I’ve at least helped one life, because all I do is ruin. All I do is destroy. Mother made me broken, and all I do is break.”

She was crying, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. She felt she had a thousand things to tell Qurrah, to ask him, to beg for forgiveness or understanding. But instead she pressed her head against his bloodstained white robes and sobbed. All around them the soldiers of Thulos marched on, giving them strange looks but not daring to speak.

As she cried, she felt his hand gently rest atop her head. Part of her tensed, afraid of what he might say, afraid that he might be angry at what she had once thought. The other part was glad she no longer hid it from him, even if he had never known the secret existed.

“I don’t know if it will work,” he said. “But I’ll try. For you.”

“I love you,” she said. “Even like this.”

“I know,” he said. “How, I will never understand.”

She smiled and wiped at her tears with her palms.

“Maybe because I’m insane.”

Qurrah laughed. It sounded so warm, so alive, that she laughed with him and momentarily forgot the army about them, the demons above them, and Velixar marching ahead of them, just waiting for night to fall.

T hat night, as she lay down for bed, Velixar came to her.

“Come with me,” he said, his red eyes barely visible underneath the hood of his cloak. “Tonight, I want you to see what I have always known.”