Gail Martin - The Sworn

Jair nodded, uncertain whether he would be able to answer them, and he let the warriors guide him. The smoke closed around them, but a new vista opened up, and it seemed to Jair that they were walking among the hillsides of Margolan in the desolate countryside where barrows stood. He had no way to know whether they were still within the ceremonial tent or whether his spirit guides had taken him far beyond its canvas walls. They passed over the road without any sound of footsteps, and though Jair could see wind blowing the branches of the trees around them, he did not feel a breeze on his skin. The landscape seemed drained of all color, but the details were crisp, as if everything were washed by moonlight.

Jair followed his warrior spirits to a large barrow. He saw the wardings that were set by the Sworn long ago, protections most passersby would not notice, like the four oak trees planted at the quarters and the holly bushes planted at the cross quarters. High on the trunks of those trees, runes were cut deep into the bark. Belladonna, basil, and cowslip were planted around the barrow and over its mound to strengthen the magic. But as Jair approached with his spirit guides, he could see that something was terribly wrong.

The holly had been knocked down, and the trees viciously slashed. Where the bushes or the trees were too sturdy to fall, counter-runes had been carved into the bark to negate the magic. Bits of hellebore and black willow were strewn around and over the mound to cancel out the protective plants. A hole had been hacked into the side of the barrow, and above it was a rough wooden door frame. From the top of the frame hung the butchered body of a goat. Blood from the offering pooled at the entrance to the hole. In this spirit realm, Jair could feel the hidden energies roiling, and beyond them, a powerful dark presence that was hungry and searching.

“Who did this?” Jair asked his spirit guides.

The taller of the two men led them backward, and it looked as if everything around them moved in reverse with them, from the direction of the wind to the motion of the moon overhead. The barrow was now untouched. Jair and his guides watched as four men in black robes approached the barrow. One of the men lifted his arms and his hands began to move with the spell he cast as another of his companions withdrew a live rat from a bag and impaled it with a large knife into the ground at his feet. Jair watched as the four men carried out the desecrations he had seen, ending with the offering of the goat. Their heavy cowls hid their faces, but in the moonlight, Jair glimpsed the amulet that hung from a chain around one man’s neck, and he glimpsed the same amulet on the silver cuff of another. It was the three-bone charm, sacred to the Shrouded Ones, Peyhta, Konost, and Shanthadura.

Jair started toward the figures. Both of his spirit guides drew their stelians and blocked his way.

“Let me stop them!”

“What you see has already happened. It cannot be undone,” the shorter warrior said. “We show you what has already come to pass.”

They stood alone now in the shadow of the desecrated barrow. “Can the damage be repaired?” Jair asked, keeping a worried eye on the darkness that stretched down from the large hole hacked into the barrow’s side.

“If your shaman has the power,” the tall warrior replied. “This is but one barrow among many. But beware, blood calls blood.”

With a roar, something dark streaked from the opening. It blotted out the moonlight where it passed, stretching out like the flow of a black river. The two spirit guards moved to block it, and the taller guard turned to Jair.

“Return to your body. It knows you’re still alive. Go back among the living and it can’t follow.”

Jair fled into the smoke, hoping that he could find the path back to rejoin his body. Suddenly, he found himself in the ceremonial tent again, facing his body. Jair couldn’t tell whether Pevre and Talwyn had returned to themselves or whether they, also, faced danger in the paths of smoke. He ran at himself, and as his smoke spirit passed through his living flesh, his body jolted awake from its trance. Moments later, he saw Pevre and then Talwyn rejoin themselves as well. Talwyn took a final handful of herbs from the last of the containers, and the strong smell of rosemary and clove sealed the working. Talwyn shook her head as if to clear it, and then bowed toward the brazier before she stood. Jair and Pevre climbed to their feet beside her. The two guards opened the tent flap and a cool night breeze dissipated the last of the smoke.

Judging by the position of the moon, the ritual had taken several candlemarks. Talwyn motioned for Jair and Pevre to follow her back to their tent. Kenver was asleep on his mat. She poured wine for each of them and then brought out a tray of sliced apples, mint, and cheese to ground them once more in the world of the living. After they had eaten and finished the wine, Jair looked to Talwyn and Pevre.

“What did you see?”

Talwyn drew a deep breath. “I walked with the shamans to understand the binding of the barrow, long ago. They showed me how the protections were made, and how to re-bind the wardings.”

Pevre drained the last from his leather cup and laid it aside. “I walked with the chiefs to the last time the Dread were in the world. They’re neither good nor evil, but their power is far greater than ours. We wake them at our peril. They serve us best watching the gateways to the abyss.”

Talwyn turned to Jair. “And you?”

Jair nodded. “I didn’t have nearly the adventure you did. I probably saw only a week or so ago, when the barrow was desecrated. But there’s no doubt: The Durim are the ones who broke the wardings, although I don’t know what they thought it would do or what they were after.” He shivered. “Even so, something bad nearly got out. The spirit warriors blocked it, and they said if I returned to my body that whatever it was had no power over me, but it was like a large, solid, black shadow and it felt evil.”

Pevre looked thoughtful. “There are worse things than dimonns,” he said quietly. “The old stories say that, long ago, monsters walked the world. Things that look like the magicked beasts you’ve fought,” he said with a nod toward Jair. “But worse. Much worse. In those days, it didn’t take a blood mage to conjure the monsters, and they preyed on all living things.” He poured another draught of wine and settled back to continue the story. Jair guessed it was for his benefit, since he was certain Talwyn knew the old tales as well as her father.

“Long ago, the Shrouded Ones ruled the night. Peyhta, the Soul Eater, Konost, the Guide of Dead Souls, and Shanthadura, the Destroyer. They called the monsters and the monsters did their bidding. Some of the monsters were beasts. Some were like the shadow you describe. Some were dimonns, but dimonns with much greater power than those that find their way to the world today.”

“How were they defeated?” Jair asked, leaning forward.

“The Shrouded Ones are the Old Gods, as are the animal spirits: the predator-cat Stawar God in Eastmark, the Wolf God of the vyrkin, the Bear God of Trevath, and the Eagle God, still the patron of the Sworn. They were worshipped here long before the Winter Kingdoms were formed, when there were just bands of tribes wandering these lands, and later, when the first warlords began to bind those tribes into fiefdoms. But raiders came from the east and from the south. They worshipped a new goddess, one with eight faces. The Sacred Lady.” Pevre paused.

“The Light Aspects of the Sacred Lady-the Mother, the Childe, Chenne the Warrior, and the Lover-took the animal gods as their consorts. But the Dark Aspects-Sinha the Crone, Athira the Whore, Istra, the Dark Lady, and Nameless, the Formless One-fought the Shrouded Ones. Through their mages and shamans, they broke the power of the Shrouded Ones,” Pevre said. “Athira lured the Shrouded Ones to their downfall, and Sinha bound their monsters and sent them to the Abyss. Nameless scoured most of the followers of the Shrouded Ones from the lands. Istra called to the Dread to guard the Abyss, and she charged her best warriors to become the Sworn protectors of the barrows, to guard the Dread and keep the wardings.”