Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

I lay on my stomach as I tried to rally the strength to rise. My head hurt, it heavy and hazed, and my vision spun every time I blinked.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

With a deep breath, I began to move to sit up.

It didn’t happen. Just tensing my muscles earned me a feeling of nausea strong and almost complete. It convinced me that the chilling stones of the floor were comfortable enough for now, or so I thought – my movement had been noticed.

A Heletian man said, “She’s awake, send word.”

The sound of footsteps drifted away.

The nausea also waned, for my senses had found something else to distract them.

Something small hit my back, and again, and then another. Each impact, not uncomfortable or hard, came with the sound of a dry pitter patter. Whatever was hitting me was bouncing off to roll along the floor. A scent filled the air. I knew it. Even through my haze I made the connection.

Garlic?

A tense voice asked, “Are you sure this stuff will work?”

“Aren’t you?”

Nervous laughter.

The first voice said, “Don’t worry, he’ll be here soon. He’s been after her for a while, and you know how particular he is. He wouldn’t leave her in our care if he thought she’d get away.”

The Inquisitor?

“Yeah, but she’s a witch…”

So, it was the Inquisitor.

“…how’d we know she won’t just break the bars and walk out of here?”

“We’ll stop her with this.”

And another clove of garlic hit me on the shoulder before landing by my ear.

Pitter patter…

“You’ve heard how they talk about her. They’re frightened. They think she’s dangerous. I heard one of them call her a soul-eater!”

Pitter patter…

More garlic rained down. They were really beginning to irritate me.

Pitter patter…

“He’ll be here soon. If this stuff can’t stop her, at least he can.”

Silence…

…almost.

Pitter patter…

And my mind began to rise above its fog and find focus.

I really didn’t have time for this.

Again, so close to my family, only to have the opportunity stolen away – and this time by idiots.

Pitter patter…

With a clearing but aching mind, I passed into the celestial to spy on their souls.

Pitter patter…

Nearby, a heavy door groaned open, the sound followed by the stomp of several sets of booted feet.

I stilled my celestial work, but left my perception there, for at the same time that other world began to fill with a rising sense of menace.

In that cold void my grandmother roused. Her dark eyes dominated her sneering face, all of it surrounded by her skull halo. She hissed, “The bastard!”

Finally, I came to understand why her help had been so sporadic: She was a split person, a person of two halves, and such anger in her could only be caused by the arrival of one man.

His stern voice rang out in the real world, so I let my perception return. “Juvela Liberigo, I want to talk to you.” It was Inquisitor Anton.

The barred door to the cell squealed as it swung open. Rough hands then picked me up to stand me in front of him. The sudden movement made me gag, but none of the five men present seemed to care.

He stood there and held a wooden cup to my lips. “Drink, it’ll settle your stomach after the Moonroot.” And he tipped it to pour its liquid into my mouth. It was light and tasted of cinnamon.

“Can you walk?”

I nodded.

“Come then.” And he looked to the garlic scattered about the floor, and then with disdain at the guards. “Help her.”

By the time we rose out of the dark cellar my head had begun to clear and my stomach eased. Soon, after three staircases, we stood in a wood-panelled room with a curtained window; it was Lord Liberigo’s office.

The guards helped me into a chair while two goblets appeared on the desk in front.

Anton said, “The wooden goblet has more of the elixir, the other holds watered wine.”

He leaned back against the desk as he looked over my shoulder to the guards behind me. “Leave us.” A moment later I heard the door close.

“The elixir will free you up to cast again. Moonroot has many properties, and one is to stifle the flow of power from the celestial into this world. It will let you look into that other realm, but can confuse what you see. Even now, after you’ve had the elixir, it can for a good while afterwards befuddle your attempts to manipulate power.”

I nodded.

“Speaking of which, you’ve become quite strong.”

I slurred a little, my voice hoarse, “Not strong enough.” I reached for the watered wine.

His stern face broke into a smile. “What you did in Market Square was impressive.”

“I tried to stop a slaughter.”

“Yes, and you did.”

“I did what I had to.”

“And they say that you have followers.” And then he shook his head. “I’d hoped we’d got rid of the last of your kind twenty years ago.”

I raised an eyebrow.

He went to the chair behind the desk and sat. “We knew you were coming, that’s why we acted.”

“What are you talking about?”

His lips drew into a grim line. “I’m talking about you and your role in things.”

“What role?”

“Your role in the end of everything.”

Was everyone mad?

“Oh yes, everything. If only those fools downstairs knew, they’d have done more than pelt you with garlic.”

I shrugged.

His eyes flashed with Krienta’s power. “Everything. Don’t be shy, think about it: It starts with Ossard and then moves on; first the Heletian League and the Church of Baimiopia, and then the Ansilsae Prophecy of the Lae Velsanans, and all the others until the Divine Covenant fails. You are the start of it, and your actions would ruin it all – bringing every last faith of the established order crashing down.” He took a sip from his own wine and then looked back to me. “That’s why I have to kill you.”

“What?”

“I thought I’d done enough twenty years ago with your grandmother and the like, but obviously not.”

“The city’s falling apart, and you’re worried about me? I’m not the threat, the Reformers are!”

“Yes, they’re a threat, but one that’ll be taken care of when the fresh forces I’ve requested arrive. You on the other hand…”

I cut him off, “Your messenger won’t get through.”

He stilled and looked at me, taking my measure. “Why?”

“The Lae Velsanans told me, the ones recently in port. They said that out to sea, just over the horizon, the city is surrounded by an arc of diabolical storms. They’ve cut off Ossard!”

“A lie!” he snapped.

“Look into the celestial, you can see.”

He considered my words, but went on, “You won’t escape your fate, not this time. I’m sorry, but you must die so that the divine order can go on…” he stopped, his eyes opening wide. “By the Holy Saints, you’re right!” He looked to me. “There is a storm barrier, I can see it!” He paused, and then his voice softened, “My messenger’s bloating body is already surfing the squall’s damned swells.”

I slipped into the celestial to see for myself. There his messenger’s soul laid before us, the poor man’s life-light fading as it burnt out its final embers.

I whispered with a breaking voice, “The city is doomed.”

“What else did these Lae Velsanans say?”

“He said that it would be preferable to have the Inquisition rule Ossard than the Reformers, but if it wasn’t to be, that I should get out.”

“To abandon Ossard to the cults?”

“It would weaken them if I could lead enough away.”

He thought about it. “I see the truth of it.”

Silence.