Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

My grandmother’s voice sounded, its bitterness gone, “Control it, but don’t slow it; just push it out. If it hurts, push harder!”

And I did.

The square about us became cooler as the power flooded out from me. It raced for the heights of the surrounding buildings, working as it weaved something between them. Long strands became visible that reached across the square to form a kind of arched web. The strands kept growing thicker and more numerous, until they joined to dim the light and ease the heat.

Another fool cried, “A miracle!”

I wove my casting by forcing it this way and that. I yelled, “Get out of the square!” And then the power in me began to stumble.

The elemental fire still fell from above, but was now seen through a laced roof of deep blue ice.

The crowd responded to my words. They ran and crawled, and did what they could to escape. Through a haze of exhaustion, I realised that I’d accomplished something; I’d bought them time.

The flow of power through my aching fingers slowed, and then came at last to a stop. My back straightened, but my legs just wanted to drop me. I opened my mouth to reveal a swollen tongue overcome by an unbelievable thirst, as I rasped, “Elemental water.”

And the threads of the thick weave joined to turn into a roof of rippling liquid, its cool bulk haunted by great shards of ice.

The temperature in the square dropped, as did the glow and howl of the falling fire.

I grabbed Baruna, pulling her to one of the opera house’s columns. “Hold on!”

A thunderous boom sounded.

The elemental fire flashed a blinding yellow, forcing us to close our eyes.

The next moment, the air was replaced by water, not a solid flood, but a thick spray that seemed more liquid than not. It blasted past us to knock us off our feet, and went from cool, to warm, and briefly to hot. Just as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

The sound of running water filled the square. It ran from roofs, facades, and steps, seeking the gutters as it made its escape.

I let go of Baruna, and together we left our shelter behind the column to take in the scene.

Above us the sky was clear, just as the square before us spread almost washed clean. It sat sparkling in the afternoon sun, flooded in places, as rivulets flowed to drain it away.

People cautiously appeared from buildings, streets, and laneways about its edge, their eyes wide with wonder.

The tops of the taller buildings – the Cathedral’s two belltowers, the roof of the Malnobla, and the heights of the Turo – all stood blackened. The stark burns made it clear where my watery shield had ended.

Baruna looked to me and laughed with relief. I could only smile. She said, “What a wonder, you saved all of us!” And then she glanced over my shoulder.

I turned half expecting to see the beginnings of some new outrage, or hopefully Sef, but it was just a man.

The Heletian stood at my side and of a similar age to Baruna. His face lit up as we turned to him, it carrying the dark weathering of too much sun – or perhaps too much grief. “I’m Marco, Marco Cerraro, and I’d very much like to help you, as you alone seem to be working to save the people of the city.”

Joy shone in his eyes, the same kind of honest happiness that Baruna shared, yet for him I could see that it also battled a deep sadness. There and then, I knew that the troubles of the city had already touched him.

He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it, and the thrill of being alive raced through me. “Welcome Marco, I’m Juvela, and this is Baruna.”

He smiled as though my words were a balm.

Behind us, a young woman skipped through the square. “It’s a miracle! Saint Baimio’s tears have washed the city clean!” She trailed a streamer of the Inquisition’s black, navy, and gold behind her, as the depths of the receding waters began giving up the bodies they’d hidden.

I shook my head. “It’s time to leave.”

The three of us left the square – I couldn’t stay, not in a place so marked by death. I led us towards the port to leave behind emerging crowds that wandered in shock, spoke of miracles, or who simply stared after us.

To some of them I was still the Forsaken Lady, but for others I’d become something else. I didn’t notice it at first, but some of them followed.

Now seemed as good a time as any to walk the streets sensing for Maria and Pedro, as I didn’t think anyone would stop me. I felt tired, and doubted I could stand any more casting, but time for finding my family was running out.

Such thoughts reminded me of how I’d looked after the magic at the opera house. I lifted my hands to examine them, expecting to find them marked, stained, and wrinkled like a hag’s. With relief I saw that the skin hung a little loose, but it was barely noticeable.

My grandmother whispered, “You pushed it out, the gathered energy. You pushed it all out and didn’t let it wear you down.”

I slipped my perception into the celestial to answer her, still stung by her mockery as I’d been casting.

She was there waiting for me.

Her spectral form smiled with sparkling eyes as she welcomed me to the cold and dark void. There was something comfortable about her, about the way she carried herself. She seemed different to the way I sometimes saw her; the form marked by dark and empty eye sockets, and haunted by her skull halo.

I wondered at that. Her mood often seemed to differ, swinging easily from one extreme to another. Right now she waited to be warm and helpful, but at other times she’d been stubborn and bitter. I’d have to watch her. She was complicated, as if she came with two faces.

Regardless, this was no time to linger. I thanked her and returned my attention to the real world, to my new companions, and the search for my family.

Back on the cobbled avenues of Ossard, I walked with Baruna and Marco, along with a few others who shyly followed behind. They trailed in calm silence, not like the mob that had come down from St Marco’s, or the hateful crowd that had waited to meet them.

Those with me seemed to be gentle souls looking to bring Ossard back to peace. They’d been changed by recent events, shaken from their own complacent lives, to realise that they had a part to play in halting the city’s death.

Beyond any doubt, I was no longer forsaken, but that being the case; what was I? Of Schoperde, certainly, but the power I handled seemed to be more than priestly – after all I’d just bested an Inquisitor.

Every day only brought more mysteries.

Quite a few of the buildings we passed had been looted and some razed by fire. The streets were thick with rubble and ash. Scavengers picked over the ruins; rodents, birds, cats and dogs, and even people. Increasingly, the townsfolk weren’t after valuables, just food.

What had happened to my city?

The streets seemed deserted, but if you stopped and listened you could hear the movement of looters as they rifled through the rubble. More often, drowning out all else, came the mournful sobs of those left bereaved or homeless.

All of it dared me to consider that perhaps the city was too far gone, but I refused to accept it. I thought I could still have the old Ossard back and Pedro and Maria too. I had to believe it.

By the time we’d reached the waterfront, the numbers of those following me had tripled. Two dozen walked behind me, a mix of Heletians and Flets.

Thankfully, something distracted me from that uncomfortable realisation; the Lae Velsanan ship that had been in port only four days ago was again moored. A full score of its soldiers stood on the wharf, armed and barring access, while they eyed the smoke rising over the city.