Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

Worse would come, I was sure of it.

Sef and I left my parents’ home, passing through streets abuzz with news and rumours from across the river. We headed to my own household barely a few hundred paces from where I’d grown up. Both homes were in the good part of Newbank, a small elevated area without the chronic overcrowding that marked the rest of the low-lying district.

I noticed, as we walked, that even here some people kept their distance or stared at me. The city might be divided three ways, but it seemed it could still breakup further. The realisation left me wary.

If they thought I was forsaken, then they were most likely followers of the new saints or somehow aligned.

Flet followers of the new saints?

My pace quickened as I waved Sef up to my side.

“Yes?”

“I need you to be honest with me.”

“Of course,” he said, but his tone was guarded.

“You’ve been to Fletland and survived its battles.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve also seen its many faiths.”

“Yes?” and his voice grew tight.

“I need you to tell me about them.”

“What do you want to know?”

“It’s the cults that I need to know more of.”

He merely grumbled, “Hmmm?”

I whispered my question, “The cults of the Horned God; I’ve heard that they come in many different forms, but all follow the same power?”

Sounding relieved, he said, “Yes, but you need to understand that while they follow the same power, they’re aligned to different aspects. That’s what I’ve heard and on occasion even seen.” And his eyes clouded over to be darkened by grim memories.

“So in my understanding, it’s not unusual to find followers of the same form or aspect that are knowingly worshipping the same god, but also using different names?”

He nodded. “Yes, despite how confusing it sounds. Generally the larger cults have gained some uniformity in their rituals and terminology, but there are always splinter groups. For example, some may follow Rabisto the god of bandits, while another group may owe allegiance to Tabiro the god of thieves, and yet another to Ranndolf of the footpads. In the end they’re all following the same god and similar aspects despite their differences.”

I asked, “And their dark lord doesn’t get angry about such a thing?”

“About them getting his name wrong?” He smiled and shrugged. “Apparently not. In the end only one thing matters; their souls and his true name.”

“His true name?”

“His true name is the only name that holds any real power over him.”

I smiled, realising my next question was unlikely to get an answer, but asked it anyway, “And that is?”

He grinned, “A well guarded secret!”

We both laughed, relieving some of the afternoon’s tension.

When we’d settled down, I asked, “So, do you think it’s possible that these two new saints, Santana and Malsano, might just be different names for different faces of the Horned God?”

“It’s possible. You know Santana is similar to the Southern Heletian word for blood.”

I stopped and met his eyes. “What, Sanjo?”

“No, the word from the southern cities, in Vangre and the like.”

“What word?”

“Sanjana.”

“I suppose it is.” To have my theory supported sent a chill down my spine, but it wasn’t solid proof. “Alright, but what of Malsano?”

“Malsano, well, I don’t know…”

I shrugged. “Well, I guess that would have been too easy.”

“Well, maybe it is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Malsano is obviously a Heletian name, it rolls and is soft, coming with long and rich sounds.”

“So?”

“Well, you’re never going to find a Flet word that sounds the same. Our words are short and sharp, some might even say harsh.”

“It doesn’t have to be a Flet word.”

“I know, but there’s an aspect of the Horned God in Fletland known as Malssarcht.”

“Malssarcht? I’ve not heard of him?”

“A bringer of disease, one you might invite to visit your enemies.”

Such a horrid thought had never occurred to me.

He went on, “I’d have thought that you’d know him in Ossard; Malssarcht, the night angel?”

“Why?”

“Because of Maro fever.”

“You mean the dark angel, Tykarcht.”

“Yes, well, there you have it.”

“This is only making me feel worse about things.”

He laughed, but his face was grim. “So, Santana might be some kind of blood power and Malsano just another name for Tykarcht – perhaps.” He frowned. “You might be right, and the Inquisition must be aware of it too.”

“I’m sure they’d know.”

By now we stood only steps away from home.

“Juvela, do you still want to go to the warehouse?”

I nodded. “I have to. I need to look into anything that might give me an idea of where Pedro and Maria might be. I can’t stay home and wait.”

He turned for the door as he pulled out his key. “I’ll see to Kurt and the coach. It won’t be safe for us to do this, but if we must, let’s do it now while we still have light. I don’t want to get caught on the other side of the river after dark, not tonight.”

I didn’t have a good plan, I’m not even sure that you’d say I had a plan at all, but I knew I had to go and check the ruined warehouse. I reasoned, if a chapel was going to be built there, then perhaps my family was being kept nearby.

In truth, my only real hope was that I’d be able to hear Maria’s mind voice. If I couldn’t, I didn’t know what I was going to do.

We set out in the coach. Sef was watching me, but I ignored him as I lost myself in the rolling drum of the coach’s wheels. There was peace in that repetitive rumble. After a while I couldn’t help but notice something else, and it was wondrous, a subtle but almost overwhelming power. It radiated like heat from a failing bonfire as if made of a million glowing embers. Individually they could barely be sensed, but together they combined to give off something incredible: It was the gathered life force of the city-state’s people.

A million souls from the city and surrounding valleys!

It was a revelation.

I shook my head to stop myself as I tried to settle my thoughts. I had to focus on Maria and Pedro, if I kept losing myself to these distracting discoveries I’d never find them.

I forced my attention back to the window and the real world outside.

We’d reached the Cassaro Bridge and were crossing out of Newbank. It ran full of traffic, most of it Flets leaving the Heletian districts of the city.

Sef broke the silence. “Are you alright?”

I turned to him as my vision slipped between two worlds, both in the real and the celestial. “I’m well, but you…”

His eyebrows raised as my words trailed off.

He asked, “Yes?”

“You have your own loyalties?”

He leaned forward. “Only to our own people’s gods, nothing more.” Then he sighed and straightened his back. “At the moment, with the Inquisition taking over the city, the less we know about each other’s business the better.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Juvela, you can trust me. I’ll make any vow before all the gods, that’s if all my years of service aren’t enough.”

I nodded, feeling bad that I’d pushed him on his loyalty, and so clumsily. “I trust you, Sef. I’m sorry.”

We passed through streets filled with confusion and a growing haze of smoke. The sound of trouble rumbled in the distance, coming from the direction of Market Square at the city’s heart. Behind us in Newbank, the Guild raised a red flag atop the Guildhall – the flag of assembly.

I hoped Kurgar wouldn’t announce the Guild’s closure. If the Guild went underground, it would only leave our people lost. Right now we needed leadership, not to be left directionless.