Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

The Book of Truth…

There was nothing in the book about how to use magic, let alone anything to help me understand what talent I might have. In that regard I felt disappointed, but it did speak of the cost of utilising such gifts.

It said that a responsibility came partnered with working magic, something that touched upon more than oneself. The passages concerning this were brief but grave and also warned of being greedy for power. It gave me a premonition, it rank with dread, and I knew that a day would come when that cost would weigh heavily on me. Still, I told myself, such worries were for another time. Fatigued and distracted, such a thing was easy to believe.

The beginning of my illumination came through the book, but it was only the start. The ancient tome wasn’t what I’d expected, neither a listing of spells, lessons of the magical, or a guide to a witch’s art. Instead it was a record of the world’s history, its true history, it holding the divine truth.

It left me shocked, but also exhausted and confused.

Astounding as it was, I just didn’t have time for it. I mean, all I really wanted was to find Maria and Pedro, but these new revelations, I wondered; could they help me in my search?

“Yes!” my grandmother whispered.

I couldn’t see her, but I sensed her as the air chilled.

The feeling didn’t sit well though, not after all that I’d read. From where I sat by the window, I looked back to the tome where it lay on the bed. It set me to shiver.

The divine truth…

It was unbelievable and so well hidden, yet obvious all at the same time. And it had already touched me, but until now I’d never known.

A war was raging, one that was being fought right around the world. It was a secret war, a divine war, and it pitted the goddess of life against the god of death. Sometimes it was a war of bloody battles, other times bandits and raiding pirates, or plague and famine, or even cultists stealing children from dark and dirty slums. Each of those happenings was another victory for Death and the bleak world he promised.

Unknown to most, this war had been going on for thousands of years, and only now was coming to a close. And that was the worst part, for Life, Schoperde, had all but lost.

Now was a time for the last empires to fall, sanctuaries to be overrun, and for peace to choke on gore. In the end there would be nothing left but ruin and whatever Death chose to build upon his bloodily won ground. That was why Ossard had become a place of abductions and murder with only worse to follow.

And here I was with so many burdens weighing down on me, and no idea of what to make of it. I wondered if it wasn’t my problem, but with my family stolen away that simply wasn’t true.

With a grim face, I turned back to gaze out the window. The sky above the city was busy with long grey clouds moving in from the west. By the light of the rising sun, something that should have painted them gold and amber, they only looked ominous.

Drifting in my thoughts, I eventually found myself lost. It was a sanctuary of sorts and led to another; daydreams, in particular, the dream that had given me respite from the lustful fevers inspired by my mother’s lotus.

It returned as before, with me passing like a bird over the steep and narrow valleys of the coastal sounds. Eventually, I arrived at an area of rolling hills, green and spotted with herb-brush that climbed from behind rocky bluffs and beaches. Nearby, but back from the water, and amidst the heights of those hills, a canyon opened wide. Its sides fell away deep into the soil with small streams of water seeping out to trickle down until they found its bottom. There, half hidden by mist, they watered a wondrous fern forest.

The images of my sanctuary left me feeling settled and content, but I had to drag myself away from it. It was an indulgence, and such daydreams weren’t going to save my family.

My family…

I felt confident that they were still alive. With so many people taken in the past few days the cultists had to be building to a ritual beyond anything they’d already run. Simply, I had to find Maria and Pedro before it was enacted.

A knock sounded at my door.

I got up and went to it.

Sef stood there taking in the sight of me, his eyes wide with surprise.

I smiled. I was changed, not only did I feel it, but from Sef’s reaction he could see it.

He said, “I came to check on you.”

“I’m good, the night has agreed with me.”

“So it seems.” His surprise faded, replaced with a cautious smile.

“At noon I’m going to go to Market Square.”

“For the proclamation?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll accompany you.”

I shook my head.

“Juvela, you’ll be in danger. They may try and take you.”

“Sef, I know I’m new to this, but I also know that I’ll be safe. It would be better if you went with my father and found out what the Guild is doing about searches. I’ll need to know when I return.”

He nodded, reluctant, but willing to trust me.

For the first time in my life, I walked from Newbank to Market Square. I passed under grey skies, dawn’s dark clouds having moved in to smother the sun and lend the city a sombre air. The tight streets about me were again busy with traffic, but all of it subdued. It was as if everything held its breath waiting to see what would come, waiting for the Inquisitor’s unveiling of the new.

Before long I was crossing the wide way of the Cassaro Bridge and leaving my home district for Ossard’s Heletian heart. Here the streets ran thick with late-morning crowds, many also making their way to Market Square.

Oleander hung from many doors, twigs of its long leaves tied with bunches of the shrub’s wilting pink blooms. Some homes even hosted braziers or pots that sat in windows or doorways from which the bitter stink of their smouldering offerings arose.

The crowds grew thicker, but moved aside for me. I saw their sideward glances and heard their whispers, some from their lips, and others escaping their thoughts, “The Forsaken Lady!”

I pitied them. Yesterday I was their hero, but today I was their villain. They’d changed so quickly, yet in that they weren’t alone. Not so long ago I’d been an innocent girl, but now I was a learning witch, an angry mother, and also a lonely wife trying to avoid being widowed.

And the voices had changed with me.

Their whispered messages came clearer now. It wasn’t as though they sounded out any louder as they offered their advice, instead they came on a different level. I no longer heard the thought to beware or to look with celestial eyes, now it instinctively happened.

In much the same way, I found myself sensing the thoughts of those that I passed. Those mixing their thoughts with strong emotions came easy to sample, yet most were lost within confusing veils, and then there were others who came across as simple voids.

Those that hid their thoughts so completely turned their knowing faces away. To read so many startled me, but to be refused by so many others was unsettling. The Inquisitor was right; the city was riddled with cultists, cabalists, and the Sisterhood.

How could we have missed it?

The thoughts I did read ranged from anger and disgust, to sorrow and fear. They combined to create a stinging bitterness in the celestial, the scent of souls turned sour.

They hated me.

The followers of Santana believed my denunciation of the new saint had endangered the whole city. In penance they’d rededicated themselves.

I shivered. The city was a whore willing to sell itself for yet another turn of luck.

Others pitied me. To them I’d become a mourning widow and mother, the very thing they so desperately wanted to avoid.