Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“A man canʼt hold to a lie.”

“The Faith was never a lie. Confused in some regards, overly wedded to dogma in others. But having seen what the rest of the world has to offer in regards to the divine, I find it suits me well enough.”

“When we first met you said you had no choice but to follow the Faith. When I came to understand who you were I thought you meant the legend was true, the Departed had cursed you for denying the Faith.”

“Cursed? I thought so for a long time, when I was driven from the village of my birth, still seemingly a man in his thirties whilst those I had grown up with became ever more stooped and wrinkled. My wife was chief among my persecutors, grown bitter with envy at my continued youth, hating me for the grey in her hair and the absence of lust in my gaze. I had never been particularly observant of the Faith, mouthing the catechisms without real thought as to their meaning, occasionally muttering caustic words at the brothers and their tedious moralising. ‘Denier!ʼ my hating wife called me, desperate to find reason in this mystery. ‘The Departed have cursed you.ʼ I suppose thatʼs where it all began, a bitter old womanʼs insult birthing a legend.”

“So you never heard their voice? You were not denied the Beyond?”

Erlin paused, breath misting as his face became sombre. “Oh I heard them, but not until many years later. Despite appearances, brother, I am not in fact immune to death. I do not age and I do not sicken. But without food I starve, and if cut, I bleed the same as any man. I can die, and once, long ago, I did. Or at least came so close it makes scant difference.

“I travelled far after the villagers drove me away, the length and breadth of the four fiefs, for there was no Realm in those days. I suppose I was searching for something, an answer to the enigma of my unending life, but had little notion of how to find it. Mystics and charlatans were not hard to find, all promising wisdom in return for gold, and all proving themselves mad or dishonest in time. One day I paused in a Nilsaelin tavern and heard a minstrel sing of the strange ways of the Seordah, how they preserved their forest home with Dark enchantments. It seemed a good place to seek answers, I was just one man after all, and certainly no warrior. What threat would they see in me? I think I walked for half a day beneath the trees before a Seordah put an arrow in my belly.

“He came to watch me bleed, a tall fellow with a hawk face that betrayed little reaction as I begged for aid. In time his face faded and the chill blackness of death came for me. It was then I heard them, the voices, whispering, shouting, pleading… There were so many. ‘This is the Beyond?ʼ I thought. ‘Just a void echoing with the voices of the dead?ʼ No endless serenity and wisdom. No eternity of calm. I must say, it was quite the disappointment.

“I realised the voices had faded, taking a collective breath as if suddenly muted in fearful expectation. Then one spoke, it was not like the others. They were thin, like the last echoes of a whispered song. This was the full, strong voice of a complete soul, but old, so very old.”

“The Ally,” Vaelin said, recalling the ancient chill in the voice he had heard as Dahrena dragged him from the Beyond.

“A name I didnʼt hear until much later. But yes, it was he. And he had an offer to make. ‘I will return you,ʼ he said, ‘if you will be my vessel.ʼ I was awash in terror, not only of him but also of the prospect of eternity in this terrible void. The fear was such I might have agreed in an instant, but for something I heard in his voice: a boundless, desperate hunger, a need for what he sensed in me. It was overpowering, sickening, and I knew then there were worse fates than death.

“He felt my refusal, my repulsion, and I felt his will. The Beyond is a place that is not a place, a place of souls, but a place also of pain, if you know how to inflict it, and he did. I could feel him tearing at me, stripping away shreds of my being as his will lashed at me, not in hate but in precise, agonising flares. ‘Serve me,ʼ he said again, ‘Whilst you still have a soul capable of service.ʼ There was no hate in that voice, for I think he was beyond hate by then, formed by the ages into a being of purest purpose.

“I thrashed, I screamed, I wept… I begged. But still, I refused. It was then I felt another surge of will, but not his. This was something else, something not so old, but in its own way just as powerful, powerful enough to rend me from his grip. I could feel my soul re-forming then, though still much had been stripped away, memories of childhood and friendship lost forever. Even today I cannot recall my motherʼs face, or the name of the wife who grew to hate me.

“My rescuer spoke to me, a womanʼs voice, her will so different from his. Soothing where he hurt, banishing the terror he sought to instill. ‘You are not done,ʼ she told me. ‘I have seen your end, man of many lives, and this is not it. Seek out those like you, preserve all you can, for when you return, it is their strength that will sustain you, and bring the end you will come to crave.ʼ Then she said just three more words before casting me from the void and back into my body. The Seordah was still there, starting in surprise as my eyes flew open. From the blood seeping through my fingers I judged I had been gone for only a few seconds. The Seordah said something, sounding faintly annoyed, and drew a knife from his belt… then dropped it when I spoke the three words I had last heard in the Beyond, ‘Nersus Sil Nin.ʼ”

“The blind woman sent you back,” Vaelin murmured. “Sheʼs there, in the Beyond. She fights him.”

“She fought him then, but now…” Erlin shook his head. “Now it seems his power grows unchecked.”

Vaelin pushed the myriad questions aside, long accustomed to the realisation that any answers would be slow in coming. “The Seordah healed you,” he said.

“Yes. He brought others and they took me to their camp. My wound was grievous and it took many months before I could travel again. I learned their language, their legends, the truth of how our people had taken their land from them. I also learned there are no Dark enchantments protecting their forest, just great skill and fierce courage birthing enough fear to keep us at bay. In time, I said my farewells and went forth to fulfil the mission she gave me. I have not always been assiduous in my duties, given to distraction and sometimes wearied by the often-repeated mistakes and cruelties that beset humanity. But, I think I did what I could”—he glanced up at the misted steps above—“in the end.”

The mountain top lay under a vast silence as thick as the mist that covered it, only vague shapes visible in the swirling haze as they crested the final step. Erlin sagged a little from the effort of the climb, leaning hard on his walking stick and eyeing the shadowy forms ahead with naked trepidation. “I hate this place,” he breathed, voice soft as he straightened and started forward. “But then, so did those who built it, I imagine.”

They started forward into the mist, the shadows resolving into a cluster of buildings, all showing signs of having been crafted by the same hands that had built the ruins at the base of the mountain. They were mostly one-storey dwellings and smaller structures Vaelin took to be storehouses, forming a miniature echo of the Fallen City. But these were not ruined. The silence became ever more oppressive as they moved through the buildings, each empty doorway and window an uncaring witness to their passage. Despite the lack of damage Vaelin knew this to be an ancient place, the corners of the buildings smoothed and rounded by the elements. Also, in contrast to the Fallen City there were no statues here, the only decoration the faded motifs carved above doorways or windows, robbed of meaning by centuries of wind and rain. Whoever had built this place seemingly had scant time or inclination towards art.