Heretic Part Three Chapter One

Heretic

Part Three

Chapter 1

“All white he was, like a corpse. Skin and hair, even his eyes was mostly white, but you could see a little color in them.”

“What color?”

“Hard to say, Blessed. Like I says, it were almost white. Maybe a hint of blue, like the sky behind thin clouds. Milky, almost. There were still some black in the hair, too, little bits here and there.” The elderly woman, nut brown skin wrinkled and tattooed with old ink, hunched back away as she spoke, as if afraid she would be struck at any moment. She kept her gaze down, but occasionally glanced up to reveal a glimmer of hot hatred and fear.

“Not an albino, then,” Kierna said.

“Blessed?” the old woman cringed in confusion.

“An albino’s eyes are pinkish. This sounds more like a miracle… or a plague.” A vague memory stirred in Kierna’s mind, some ancient thread of a story she’d heard as a child on her mother’s knee around the fire. Apostates or heretics of some kind, cursed by the gods with white skin that was always cold. She thought there was some terrible ending for those afflicted, though she couldn’t remember the details. But then, wasn’t there always some terrible ending?

“I wouldn’t know, Blessed.”

“It doesn’t matter. Please, continue. Any details you can remember, anything at all, would be greatly appreciated.”

The old woman continued her halting, anxious description of the man who’d spent several days in this small bush village, north of the great Hondarra grasslands region where Kierna had originally tracked down the Heretic Isaand Laeson. She was the fifth person Kierna had interviewed so far looking to shift the blame. Kierna had left her glaive and bow with her horse, stabled in the village square, and had kept her arms crossed, her hand far from the hilt of her sword. But despite her assurances that she was not here to harm anyone the villagers continued to look on her with terror. The local god was a small one, who slept for months only to occasionally awaken and demand sacrifice. This village shared a single cleric with the half-dozen other settlements in the area, the cleric traveling in a continuous circuit through them every few weeks to spread the word of their god. The arrival of a Paladin out of Ethka, representative of the most powerful divine empire, was treated like a bared sword no matter how gentle Kierna tried to treat these people.

The woman’s description matched the others of the villages they’d passed through in the previous week, since Kierna had picked up Isaand’s trail once more. Curiously, all the stories agreed that he was no longer alone. A woman and a young girl accompanied him, and though she had originally guessed them to be a mother and child, that was seeming less and less likely, their dress and hair indicating that they were from different tribes entirely. Had Isaand taken a wife, or concubine? The girl was more perplexing. What use would a heretic, threatened and hunted wherever he went, have for a child?

The more she heard about them, the more Kierna considered whether Isaand was seeding the beginnings of a cult to his Unbound god. Her fists clenched at the thought of an ignorant child being brought up in such an unholy way, forced into worship of a monster before she had the knowledge to know it was wrong.

Is that so different from how these villagers are raised, born into ownership of whatever god rules their land? Is it any different from how it is done in Ethka, where parentage decides one’s faith? A familiar voice niggled at the back of her mind, the voice of doubt. It put Kierna on edge, but she did not shrink away from it. Jehx taught that true justice could only be found through honest consideration and contemplation.

“Did this man threaten, or intimidate you at any point? Did he try to turn you away from your god, or perhaps warn you of some coming danger?” Kierna asked. Isaand had a goal of some kind. He had to be trying to influence these people in some way, whether subtle or overt.

“No, Blessed. He just asked for a place to stay for a bit. No one wanted to help. Strangers is rare, no one’s much sure what to think of em. So they camped out in the bush, down by the river. But he said that if anyone had any hurts, he’d help them…”

“And people came?”

“Not me, Blessed, no. I’ve got aching old bones, but I’m used to em and I doubt he could do anything about it anyway. But some did. Adesa had that broken foot from the hunting accident last week, he went and got it healed. And Magetta was getting a bad cough, she was scared it might be Red Lung, so I went with her to see the strangers. He didn’t ask anything of them, though a few gave them some food. They were trying to fish the river with spears, which is right foolish.”

The woman told Kierna little of value. Most interactions with Isaand seemed little different from a brief trading done with any traveler, except that Isaand provided miracles and took no payment. One detail did stick out though.

“He seemed angry when Magetta told him about how Urkhanna forbids us to trade with outsiders for medicine,” the old woman said, referring to the village’s god. “Got a right mean look in his eye, and he muttered something about… I can’t say-”

“Please. I’m not here to judge you or your people, and I am certain your god would not mind exposing any slander spoken against him,” Kierna said.

“Another god who doesn’t care. It’s the same everywhere we go,” the old woman quoted. “That’s what he said, to his woman. She smiled, like she’d proved something.”

So far, everyone Kierna had spoken with had painted Isaand as polite, calm, reasonable, friendly in a distant kind of manner. But more than one had noted that there seemed to be an anger burning inside of him, quiet but intense.

“Excuse me, oh Blessed lady of the sword!” Farrus’ flippant tone proceeded him through the hide-flap of the hut. He strode in in his scruffy plate and mail, long dirty-blonde hair hanging in a thick clump around his eyes. Kierna always wondered how he managed to fight with it getting in the way. He’d left his spear outside at her order, but his side-sword hung at his left hip, with a brace of daggers on his right. The thigh-high leather boots he preferred were covered in mud and brush stains from his trek through the bush.

Kierna acknowledged him with a nod. He delighted in poking at her authority with grandiose titles and shows of reverence, and she’d learned that chiding him for it only led to over-exaggerated displays of penitence.

“We’ve gathered everyone the Heretic used his miracles on, so far as we can tell. Garreth’s watching over them, in front of the shrine. At least I think it’s a shrine.” He paused, touching his chin and adapting the air of a philosopher pondering some great question “Come to think of it perhaps it’s an outhouse I’m thinking of. This far south, it can be somewhat hard to tell the difference.”

Farrus delivered his criticism in Ethkana, and the old woman showed no hint of understanding, but it annoyed Kierna regardless. Farrus had grown up in the city, where poverty meant squatting in ancient stone alleyways with daily visits to charity houses for a warm, if unappetizing, meal. He was most unimpressed with the poor conditions of the villages they’d visited in Hrana. It is not their fault they have so little, she thought. It is for their gods to provide for them, and it seems few bother to make the effort.

“Take me,” Kierna told him, waving a dismissal to the old woman.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Farrus said with a lecherous grin. Kierna followed, suppressing a smile.

They stepped out into the sunlight that filtered through the thick leaves overhead. Nearby, Kenth stood watching over their horses. He acknowledged her with a respectful nod of head, coppery red curls over dark green eyes. At any gathering in the north, there would be a gaggle of curious children gathering around him, perhaps a few young men inquiring about the life of a soldier, heads full of dreams of escaping their sleepy towns to serve their god with spear and shield. Here though, suspicion kept all the villagers hidden in their homes. The only visitors Kenth had were a handful of small feathered lizards that walked upright like chickens, pecking around his boots in search of food. He eyed them curiously.

Well the locals couldn’t be blamed for their concern. When Kierna had left Ethka, she’d ridden ahead of the massive army marching south in what was already being called the Grassland Crusade. For the first few days Kierna’s band had crossed paths many times with the army’s scouts and outriders. But though men may march, armies crawled, and Kierna had pushed their horses hard, trusting in Jehx’s miracles to keep them going, and they were now far enough ahead that it would be at least a month before the army caught up to them.

It would come, though. Master Kenly and the rest of the sword-priests marched with it. Before she’d left, Kenly had told her that he would do his best to sway the other officers and convince General Omdra to alter his plan, to avoid the scorched-earth campaign of slaughter that so many yearned for. Kierna had seen the pessimism in his eyes though. The crusade had too much momentum. It could not be stopped, but perhaps its violence could be contained. Unless…

It was for that reason that Master Kenly had agreed with her decision to hunt Isaand on her own. He’d offered her the use of as many priests as would be willing to ride with her, but she’d decided that a small team would be faster, and so she’d brought only the survivors from their previous foray into the south, experienced travelers who knew what to expect from the region. The last words Kenly had spoken to her echoed again and again inside her head. Bring justice to the Heretic Laeson, and perhaps all of this can be avoided.

The shrine Farrus spoke of was at the far end of the village, deeply shadowed in thick foliage. The path to it was criss-crossed with thorny vines and poisonous leaves stuck out from the trees to either side like grasping hands. At first she wondered if the villagers avoided it, but a myriad of foot-prints were visible in the mud of the path itself. The huts of the village all had a dense thicket of greenery growing around their sides and rears as well, so she chalked it up to some commandment of Urkhanna not to clear more brush than was necessary. As a result, the village was swelteringly hot and humid, crawling with centipedes and ants. Kierna knew that the majority of the people’s timidness and discomfort was a result of her presence here, but somehow looking around at the shoddy huts, rotting vegetable gardens, and piles of refuse shoveled just off the paths leading through the village, she couldn’t imagine the people here showing much happiness.

The shrine was a small, low open structure built of the same wood as the huts, rough branches and logs tied together with bundles of vines, the roof patched with dried grass and leaves. The foliage was so heavy in the area that it was almost hidden, the rough wooden carving kept within nearly invisible through the thick brush, leaving Kierna unsure of what it was meant to represent.

Past the shrine, the brush pushed close, thick, visibility shortened to a few feet, a green wall of plant-life beyond it. The smell of decay and sweat wafted out from it always. The plants constantly shuffled and shook as animals rushed through them, and Kierna felt a chill down her spine, imagining some beast lurking just beyond the bushes, watching them. They’d never know if it was there until it attacked.

Garreth stood off to the side, the heavy two-handed sword he carried strapped to his back, his thick arms bare except for a pair of steel gauntlets. A tall, broad-shouldered man with close-cropped dark hair and heavily-lidded eyes, Garreth projected the image of a strong, unbreakable pillar of solemnity, waiting for orders. Past him, gathered around the effigy of their god, were a gathering of three men, an old woman, and a naked boy of perhaps four years. The adults all looked wild-eyed, as though they thought they were being presented for execution. Kierna gave Garreth a questioning look.

“This is all of them, or so they say.” Garreth’s voice was a deep rumbling basso, like boulders grinding together. “Could be some they’re hiding from us, but I can’t figure why they’d show us these ones and hide more.”

“The Heretic was only here a few days. Even if there are more, it won’t be many,” Kierna responded in Ethkana, then switched languages as she spoke to the gathered villagers.

“You have nothing to fear from us, I swear on the name of my god. I am Kierna Sarana, Fourteenth Sword of the holy order of Tyre Ettha. We are priests of the god Jehx, Lord of Justice, a god of the Heavenly Coterie of the Holy City Ethka. We come here seeking only information. We mean neither you, nor your gods, any ill-will.”

One of the men, a stout-backed man in his forties with the look of a hunter about him, squinted in confusion. “Priests? What is this word?”

“It means that we are representatives of our god, like clerics, but we do not hold authority over anyone. Jehx’s followers are free to choose and act as they wish, so long as they do so justly,” Kierna explained. The men and women exchanged glances, looking as though she’d just told them that water would make good building material. Kierna suppressed a sigh. It was much the same across this land, people viewing any methods that differed from their own with suspicion.

“Why are you here, then? Why gather those of us who were healed, if not to punish us for relying on a Heretic’s powers?” the man said. His eyes were hard, and she could see his hands clenched into fists as though ready to fight, futile though such a struggle might be.

“It is not my place to condemn or condone your choice. I only wish to investigate the effects of the heretic’s miracles. Allow me a moment to look, and we’ll be gone.” The man nodded hesitantly. Kierna took a deep breath and opened her Godseye.

The world opened up, a thousand new sensations flooding into her at once. She felt a sharp jolt of energy and shock, as though she’d taken a sniff of smelling salts after a blow to the head. The greens and browns of the jungle were joined by a multitude of bright and clear colors she had no name for, colors she could never remember after closing her Eye. A thick musk of some beast filled the air, a sharp acrid scent that felt otherworldly, the marking of the god Urkhanna on the nearby shrine. The air filled with new sensations as powerful as the heat of the jungle, something between a vibration and a distant sound. Carefully, she narrowed her focus, shrinking the Godseye to a quarter its full circumference.

Before her, the villagers stood, their dull bodies of flesh and blood almost fading into the background, the way a chair or box becomes dismissed as a mere part of the scenery. Instead, the bright glowing orbs of their souls were clearly visible, spreading out from their middle of their guts like a ball of energy halfway between lightning and mist. The souls sent out streamers like little tendrils, tiny bits flowing off to connect to things that they’d left a powerful impression on. The hunter and a younger woman who stood close to them had their souls intertwined, multiple tendrils reaching in and grasping like a man and wife holding hands. The little boy’s soul was barely visible, a mere spark that was growing wildly, tendrils reaching out in every direction, like a plant spreading out roots to sink them into whatever soil would support them. All of the souls were one of the brilliant colors that went unseen in the material world.

Wrapped around the souls, tied in a tight knot, was a mass of glowing gray chains.

Farrus looked curiously at Kierna’s sharp in-drawn breath. As the only Lector in their party, only Kierna had a Godseye to open, so she explained for Farrus and Garreth’s sake.

“There are chains of some kind, hooked into their souls. It’s a miracle, certainly. I can’t… see anything different about it, anything that would identify it as Unbound power. But it must be. I’ve never seen a miracle before that could affect the soul itself.”

“What does it do?” Garreth asked.

“I’m not sure.” Kierna stepped closer, kneeling down beside the boy. The hunter grew more tense, his stance defensive. Kierna gave him what she hoped was a comforting smile, then looked closer at the boy’s chained soul. “It doesn’t seem to be doing anything right. It’s just there, coiled around itself. The souls look healthy, no different than yours or Farrus’, so I don’t think it’s hurting them in any way.”

“That’s the first time anyone’s ever said I had a good soul,” Farrus said, smiling.

“This boy,” Kierna said, addressing the hunter, who seemed to be speaking for the others. “What was his injury? Why was he healed?”

“His hand. He was bitten by a tree-snake. Poisonous. Not lethal, usually, but in one so young, we worried. The day the stranger came, his arm was swollen up twice as big as the other one, red and filled with pus.”

“Can I see?” Kierna asked, taking the boy’s arm. He looked at her with a slack expression, and she lifted his arm to look over the healing that had been done. Her eye was drawn to a scabbed pair of bites where two long fangs had pierced his wrist. But the injury looked weeks old, and his arm was unswollen and just as dark as the other, with no hint of inflammation.

“It’s not fully healed,” Kierna said. “But it seems to be beyond the need for healing. How much was this injury healed, after the stranger helped him? Has it changed since then?”

Grumbling, the hunter explained: the wound looked just the same now as it did after the Heretic had healed him. She had learned already from the other villagers that that had been twenty-three days ago.

“It should have healed by now. If the healing done by Isaand healed it this much, the bite should be unrecognizable now.” Standing, Kierna turned to the old woman. “Ma’am, you were healed because of your cough, correct?” The woman looked shocked that she knew that, but she nodded.

“I was coughing up blood, and my throat felt raw. I could feel something in me, every time I breathed, like something dragging inside,” she said.

“And after he healed you?”

“My throat was a little sore, and I still coughed sometimes, but there was no more blood, and it never got worse. It’s still a bit sore.”

Kierna spoke with the others, confirming her suspicions. All of their injuries were the same today as they’d been when Isaand had healed them. None had gotten any worse, but neither had they healed. They were now manageable, but they were still there. Thanking them for the information, Kierna turned back to confer with her men.

“I believe the chains are representative of a continuous miracle, something like what lord Jehx has placed on our horses. Instead of channeling strength and stamina to them, though, this seems to be keeping their wounds in stasis. If I’m right, I think these people’s wounds, small though they are, will never truly heal.”

“Why?” Garreth asked. “What good does that do for Szet? Is he just being cruel? Perhaps he considers it a payment for his aid? But as Unbound, he should have enough power to heal them outright, shouldn’t he? Or maybe…” Garreth trailed off, muttering to himself. The man was a slow, but dogged, thinker. He took thrice as long as most men to make a decision, but Kierna listened to him, knowing that when he finally made up his mind it was after long deliberation.

“Who cares?” Farrus said. “Szet is Unbound. His very being is unjust, a crime left uncorrected. He may be doing some small good, or he may be plotting something nefarious with all this. It doesn’t matter. What matters is stopping his Heretic. He’s something that shouldn’t exist, and we’re the ones to put him down.”

“That is our goal, but learning more about our quarry is never a waste,” Kierna said. “If we can discern what Laeson’s goal is, perhaps we can determine his destination, cut him off from it before he can get there. Following him around like this will take weeks to find him, even with our horses to speed things along. Besides, I want to know what will happen to these people after this is all over.” And Jehx himself wants to know what Szet is planning, she thought.

“Fine then. But we aren’t going to learn much from just watching them. Unless we spend days here watching to see if there is any change,” Farrus said.

“No, we don’t have time for that. We’ll press on, but when we find the next group of people, perhaps I’ll see something different. Little by little, perhaps we can-” Kierna paused, feeling something strange, a sort of quivering in the air. Her mind supplied the image of a taut string pulled released, vibrating as something stepped past it. Her Godseye was still open a crack, and she felt something approaching.

“Swords!” she cried, startling them into action, but both acted with instant discipline. The villager’s screamed as Kierna pulled her sword free, bright light weaving into being around her, the holy armor her god provided to keep her safe whenever she was threatened. She flared it out with force of will, sending a wave of soothing calm out with it, making the villagers pause in their fright. She stepped away from Garreth, giving him room to draw his massive sword. At her side, Farrus drew a pair of daggers instead, better for use in the close confines of the jungle path. He shifted, and she felt the steel of his back-plate tap against hers as they stood back to back, ready to protect each other.

Shouts rang out from the village proper, and she heard the high, ululating cry of Hamaarra shouting the detection of foes. Kierna turned in that direction and opened her Godseye wider, almost fully open. The jungle fell away around her, the mundanity fading behind the influx of information of the spiritual plane. The sensation was dizzying, but she held on and focused on the village. Souls stood out as bright lights in a sea of opalescent energy, and among them were several crackling shapes of golden-red lightning. Weapons barred, striking at the souls.

“There’s something here, two of them in the village, three behind the shrine.” Kierna turned towards the shrine, sword out before her in both hands. She could guess their strategy: strike first at the village, force Kenth and Hammarra to call for help, then strike at Kierna’s back when she ran to help them. Garreth followed her lead, spinning towards the shrine, off to the side where he could slash at anything that charged her directly.

The creatures launched out of the brush in one strike, two of them leaping straight for Kierna, the third flanking towards Garreth. Kierna got an impression of a long and lean body, low to the ground, with orange eyes burning like embers. Garreth swung down in a chopping motion, cleaving deep into the first on the path, then he was struck from the side by the one flanking as the third leapt at Kierna.

“Farrus, help Garreth!” Kierna commanded, then stabbed forward with her sword.

A wolf dodged the point of her sword, biting down on her arm bound in steel armor. Its body was made of woven grass, a deep green that blended easily with the forest, striped with bits of gold and dark brown. The eye sockets were holes that revealed a familiar orange light. The creature’s strength was remarkable, pulling and tearing at Kierna’s arm and throwing her off balance. She spun with the force of it, slamming into a tree, and the wolf danced away, sprinting a few feet and then turning swiftly about to strike again from an unexpected angle. Kierna whipped her sword up vertically in front of her face, and shouted a prayer.

“SHIELD!”

A glowing shield of pure white light appeared in front of her, tower-shaped and as tall as her elbow. The wolf launched into it and there was a great sound like shattering glass. An explosion of force bounced the wolf away, sending tatters of grass through the air, flattening the foliage nearby. Kierna stuck her left hand forward and the light-shield bound itself to her as if strapped to her arm. Turning, she jogged over to the gathering of villagers, taking up a defensive position. A short distance away, Garreth was on the ground, trying to get up as the second wolf nipped at him, but Farrus was standing over him with his daggers, warding it off. The first wolf, the one Garreth had cleaved in two, lay on the path in front of her, dead.

Her foe regarded her with angry eyes, then spun and dashed back towards the village. Kierna turned back towards the villagers and shouted for them to stay close to her.

The second wolf whipped around as she stepped up behind it, swinging her sword through the air and cutting vines in its path. The wolf ducked low and her sword bounced off a tree-branch, sending an ache up her arm. As the wolf dashed in low, she lifted her shield and slammed it down like a guillotine. The shield hit the wolf in its hindquarters, shoving it down, but it was close enough to bite. Its jaws opened impossibly wide and clamped down hard on her upper thigh. She could feel its teeth biting through the steel plate, only the silver glow of Jehx’s shield holding it back from her skin.

“Kierna!” Farrus’ voice rang out, and she looked to see a dagger spinning through the air from his arm towards her. Dropping her unwieldy sword, Kierna caught the dagger out of the air, shifting it to a hammer grip, and stabbed it down into the neck of the beast biting her. It struck deep, and she felt the fangs pull away as it retreated. Looking down, her armor was bent, with several holes pierced through it, but she only felt the dull pain of blunt trauma. Silently, Kierna sent a prayer of gratitude to Jehx.

Garreth was back on his feet, his greatsword held sideways. Farrus had moved opposite, creating a triangle with the wolf between the three of them. It will go for Farrus, she thought, as he was the least threat with only a dagger. The wolf backed up, growling and snarling, the tear in the grass of its neck revealing fur deep beneath, then it sprinted at Farrus.

“STRIKE!” Kierna cried, and stabbed her sword forward at the point half-way between the wolf and Farrus. A bright silver beam appeared around the blade of her sword, then extended outward like a lance. The beam caught the wolf in mid-jump, piercing through its entire body. It fell in a crumpled heap, the grass unraveling and spinning away in the air. An ordinary wolf corpse was left behind bleeding out, the orange light in its eyes slowly fading.

“Escort these villagers to the village,” Kierna ordered her men. “I’ll help the others.” Sword at her side, she dashed down the path towards the village.

The village was in pandemonium. Several men and women lay on the ground, bleeding from bites and tears. Hammarrra and Kenth were on horse back, riding back and forth with glaives slicing at the wolves that dashed around them. One was dead already, a short-sword left impaled in its forehead, but two remained. Hammarra looked well enough, but Kenth’s left arm was soaked scarlet from shoulder to wrist, the armor of his upper arm torn away entirely.

Come, Kierna commanded silently, and across the village her horse, Radiance, turned and obeyed, galloping towards her. Her glaive was strapped to its side, the blade behind it, and she pulled it free as the horse passed, her light-shield vanishing and her sword sheathed. With a two-handed grip, she spun the glaive overhead to give it momentum then charged forward. Hammarra saw her and turned her horse, suddenly striking at the wolf behind her, which leaped back to avoid it. Its leap brought it right into Kierna’s swing, the blade crashing down in the middle of its back. Across the village, Kenth finished the last wolf.

Breathing hard, Kierna cast about with her Godseye, looking for more danger. She could see nothing. But a flicker of the god who’d sent the wolves remained in the nearest corpse, puppeteering its body to turn and snarl at her one last time. She recognized Amauro, the wolf goddess who’d attacked the village of Tzamat, keeping her from capturing Isaand the Heretic.

“Everyone okay?” Kierna called. Hammarra and Kenth acknowledged, and soon Farrus and Garreth stepped into view leading the other villagers. Further examination showed the spindly form of Baako, their hired guide, peering out of hiding behind one of the hut’s flaps. A few villagers weren’t so lucky. Three of them were dead already. Killed to provoke us, she knew. Coward.

Kierna looked to Kenth. The wound was deep, but it appeared that his skin had been cut by the jagged piece of his armor being ripped off, rather than the wolf’s fangs themselves. That left a long straight line that bled a great deal, but didn’t expose the bone. It wouldn’t be too debilitating, but he would have to avoid using his glaive or bow.

“This wasn’t much of an attack,” Hammarra said, helping Kierna lower Kenth to the ground so they could bind his wound. “It was meant to surprise us, wound a few. Maybe get lucky and pick off one of us.”

Amauro had only expended a minute amount of energy in this attack. These creatures had only been ordinary wolves imbued with her power and sent to strike. Avatars, controlled by the goddess from afar. More would likely come.

“To weaken us. So that the next attack might succeed,” Kierna agreed. Amauro wasn’t through with her yet. More attacks would come. “We’d best press on quickly then. We’ll leave at dawn.”

 

Part Three: Chapter Two