Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

“The what?”

I looked down at my hands, to where they sat in my lap fidgeting with the fabric of my dress. “I don’t know.” I was embarrassed.

“Juvela, who is the Soul Eater, who was feeding off all of us?”

Finally, after my confusion, another moment of clarity came: It hadn’t been the Lae Velsanan officer, but his senior, that’s what the strongest voice had hissed. I took a deep breath and said, “The ship’s captain, but I can’t say any more.” I shook my head. “I don’t know any more, I just know it was him. He was the one who drained me, though I don’t know if he meant to, or even if he knew that he did. There’s something hungry about him.”

“For souls?”

I looked to Sef, helpless. I didn’t know what I was talking about, I wasn’t even sure I was communicating my jumbled thoughts clearly.

A knock sounded. It was Kurt.

Sef opened the sliding panel at the front of the cab to talk to him. At the same time the coach slowed.

Sef asked, “What’s happening?”

“We’re at Market Square, but there seems to be some kind of problem ahead. We’ll get through, but not quickly. I just thought you should know seeing as our lady is ill.”

I spoke up, “I’m much better, thank you, so you needn’t hurry.”

“Good to hear, my lady.”

Sef said, “I’ll come out and have a look. Give me a moment.”

“Right you are.”

Sef turned back to me, his expression serious. “Are you alright, really?”

“I’m well enough, really. Have a look at what’s happening and let me know. If we’re going to be stuck in the markets for a while we might as well get out and have a look around.”

He nodded, smiled to Maria, who grinned back, and then opened the door and jumped down to the cobbles. I could hear him talking to Kurt and people in the crowd. Some spoke gravely of the latest kidnappings, others about the commotion ahead, but he got no straight answers.

I opened the door and called to him, “Help me, we’re coming down.”

He frowned.

“It’s safe enough.”

He grumbled, but helped me before turning for Maria. Looking up to Kurt atop the coach, I said, “Work your way through this mess and wait for us on the other side. We’ll go through the crowd.”

He glanced at Sef, but nodded.

I took Maria by the hand. “Let’s go.”

The three of us began passing through the crowd, the square abuzz with gossip and the sounds of relief. Spread amidst it were a few tightly packed mobs centred on weeping women and distraught men; the relatives of the missing. They headed for the Cathedral. The Church of Baimiopia’s head in the city, Benefice Vassini, would be waiting within to bless them and then join them in prayer.

Market Square would be busy on most days, but this day the area seethed under the crush. I said to Sef, “We’re not going to be getting anywhere quickly.”

“Are you sure that you’re well?”

“I’m fine. Let’s have a look at what’s causing the problem.”

He grudgingly nodded.

Maria walked between Sef and I as we headed towards the heart of the crowd. I still couldn’t see anything of what was happening.

Sef looked about, he seemed nervous.

I asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’d rather we were getting you home.”

I thought he was being silly, after all I felt fine and the bells had tolled their full count.

We continued on.

To my surprise, the fuss was over nothing being sold, nor the theatrics of a street troupe, just a lone monk. He wore a sash of red tied around the waist of a faded grey robe with his ruddy face crowned by a scalp of stubble.

Through yellowed teeth and waving arms he spoke while a small metal amulet bounced about on his chest to catch the light. “Dark days require strong protection, the protection of the saints! And nothing gains a saint’s attention and protection more than prayers. To them, prayers and the swearing of devotion earn favour, and favour is protection. Such sanctuary is salvation!

“In evil times all seek sanctuary, and prayers earn sanctuary. If a curse is upon a city, one such as we bear, surely one should seek the favour of the Saint of Children. Is there such a saint you ask? Of course; the most-holy Saint Santana. Offer her your prayers!”

He lifted a small wooden box, its sides lovingly carved and polished. “Behold, a relic of the mortal remains of our most holy saint! Pray to it, kiss it, or buy a blessed amulet of Santana’s Seal for you or your child to wear. It will secure safe passage through this life and the next!”

A table behind him held a pile of amulets and an assortment of boxes.

While I was not overly familiar with the Church, I knew I’d never heard of Saint Santana. It looked more like a way to get wealthy. I turned to Sef, unconsciously tightening my grip on Maria’s hand.

He grinned at my unspoken thoughts.

I nodded; it was time to go.

He led the way.

We left the monk behind us. He looked to be a Heletite, one of the missionaries the Church set loose upon the world. I found it hard to believe that the Church had sanctioned his actions. Yes, it was greedy, but this was just shameless.

We headed through the market’s bustle towards our coach, still a good two hundred paces away. The sea of people going about their business seemed so normal, so ordinary, but above it all lay a simmering tension.

The city couldn’t go on like this, not with the kidnappings, nor with charlatans profiting from such misery.

And that’s when it happened.

A voice whispered, “It comes!”

I turned to look for the speaker, only to realise it was one of the voices in my mind. The rest of them then rose loud and clear as a chorus, all becoming frantic, “It comes! It comes!”

They cried out within me, repeating again and again, “It comes! It comes! It comes!”

Then the strongest hissed, “Beware, it comes!” And the others fell into wailing.

Distracted, it took me a moment to realise that everyone about me had stopped and that the square stood silent – but for the tolling of the Cathedral’s bells.

Dong…

Sef tensed, placing a hand on Maria.

Dong…

I again tightened my grip on her hand.

Dong…

The very air chilled.

Dong…

People about us looked to each other with growing fear.

Dong…

Then silence.

Complete blessed silence.

Just five as it should be…

Dong…

And thousands of voices arose as women wailed and men groaned to drown out the sixth tolling of the bell.

Sef picked up Maria and put his other arm about me to shepherd us towards our coach. The square surged with people, and as we hurried, we passed a woman who’d dropped to her knees amidst the panic to clutch at her young daughter. She cried, “Only five, not six, you can’t take any more!”

As if in answer, the daylight dimmed about her. Black sparks danced and snapped on the cobblestones, and then in a swirl of chill darkness, a vortex opened up beside her to leak a celestial shadow. The form took shape; it was a man robed in black.

The woman cried out.

He stepped forth on to frosted cobbles, reaching out for her daughter’s hand.

No one stopped, no one even seemed to notice – just me. Then I realised that no one else could see him. They were blind to the truth.

My accursed witchery had returned to burden me with yet more guilt!

Her daughter, with eyes sparkling amidst gathering tears, reluctantly reached out. She trembled with fear. Still, as if she had no will of her own, she moved to fulfil his unspoken command.

I couldn’t witness this, not again, not after the red-haired boy.

I had to do something!

I slipped out of Sef’s grip and snatched the knife from his belt.