Heretic Part Three, Chapter 11

Heretic

Part Three

Chapter 11

Kierna crawled, one-handed, the stump of her arm bleeding profusely into the ground. With her increased awareness she could feel the strength of her soul ebbing with each gush of blood. Without thinking, she shaped what little of her shield was left into a tight, thin covering over her arm, forcing the bleeding to stop. The pain was an enormity, but there was too much happening for it to take up most of her attention.

The ground was shaking and rumbling beneath her, and she collapsed against it, unable to keep her balance. The grass writhed back and forth like it was trying to tear itself free, while the wind howled and roared overhead. A harsh pressure seemed to push down against everything. She felt heavier, barely able to drag herself forward.

The wolves were collapsed. Had Abeini’s attack been purely physical, Kierna would surely have been killed. But she had struck out through the Godsrealm in her true form, and Abeini and Amauro were warring even now in the world all around her, behind the veil of mundanity that made up the material realm.

But she couldn’t expect that to last. She hadn’t known what the exact reaction would be, had only hoped that she wouldn’t immediately be killed by Abeini’s attack. With her Dea depleted, her soul once more small and insignificant, she hoped she would be ignored for a few more moments.

The boundary was before her, a short distance away. Just a crawl. She tried to raise up on her hand and knees, but the pressure and the shaking earth made her fall immediately. Fine then. Gritting her teeth, Kierna reached out and took a handful of grass, and dragged herself a foot closer on her stomach, pushing with her feet. Just a bit more.

The sky overhead had begun to clear, the open blue pushing the dark clouds across the heavens. In the gray sky, Eitia hung unmoving, shining bright like a crimson star. Her power shone down like a curtain of light, clearly delineating the boundary between Abeini’s lands and the wilds. She wasn’t sure if she would be safe when she reached it, but that was the only goal she could focus on now.

She was clamping her Godseye closed as hard as she could, but despite her efforts she couldn’t shut the spiritual world out entirely. Flashes of the Godsrealm appeared across her perception as though illuminated by lightning streaking across the sky. The great golden wolf Amauro rose up on her hind legs, snarling and snapping at the massive squid-like entity of Abeini wrapped around her. Their souls were burning and growing dark where they touched each other, fizzling away like water flowing into lava to become steam. Great holes had appeared in several places on their bodies already. The battle was going exactly as Kierna had hoped. Both beings were too powerful, and too fully committed to their fight. They were destroying each other.

A deep, guttural growling grew behind her. She tilted her head back as much as she could and spotted one of Amauro’s grassy constructs struggling to lift itself up. It only vaguely resembled a wolf now, flickering and twisting as bright pink energy from Abeini coursed through it. A golden glow surrounded it, the two powers warring for control. It shaped itself into a gigantic wolf’s head, lying on its side, and lunged forward at Kierna. It managed a yard or so of movement, then began to struggle again. There wasn’t much room left between them. Kierna shivered, and dragged herself further. Even as Amauro was fighting with Abeini to the death, she still would not give up the hunt.

When Kierna crossed over into the light shining from Eitia, she felt the pressure fall away. She breathed deep, her lungs aching from the weight of Abeini’s power. The wolf’s head continued closer, moving on the end of a serpentine like mass of grass. Kierna turned over and tried to struggle backwards, looking for her sword to protect herself. Where was her sword? Feeling cold, she realized she’d left it back in Abeini’s territory where she’d lost her arm.

Help me! she thought, and only realized after that she’d called forth into the Godsrealm. Amauro snapped towards her, her godly form eclipsing the sky, but Abeini bore her down, slamming her to the earth with force that flattened trees for a mile around.

An answer came. The voice was tinged with Ganiza’s calm, strong tone. Kierna looked to the sky and saw Eitia glowing there. The Godsrealm flashed into being, and for an instant Eitia appeared like a window to another place. Ganiza watched through her, reaching out a helping hand.

Kierna stretched, taking the offered aid, and felt it as their souls touched. She gasped as the white-hot energy flowed into her. It burned, but unlike with Amauro and Abeini it did not melt to nothing, but continued to push up against hers, like a reassuring hand holding up her head. Kierna took the offered Dea and drew it into herself.

All pain fell away. Her arm was still gone, her flesh still bruised, bones cracked, but the blood of the gods filled her body and rendered it all meaningless. Pulling free of the earth’s pull, Kierna rose to her feet. The wolf-head construction across the boundary gaped at her, growling nervously. Kierna drew in more and more power, and her wings appeared around her again, a shining halo that held back the wind and left her steady in the air. More, she thought, I need more.

The Godsrealm opened up before her. Abeini was wrapped so tightly around Amauro that their bodies were blurring together, streaks of silver Dea leaking off of them like blood from open wounds. Amauro was turned away from Abeini, still focused on Kierna, still roaring with fury. Kierna felt the full force of her hate wash over her, conveying in full detail what a million spoken words could not explain. Kierna rocked back, shocked by what she felt. Deep inside, she felt a sadness as acknowledged an uncomfortable truth.

Her power was returned, Ganiza’s Dea fueling her, giving her greater strength than she’d even held at the start of the battle. Looking through Eitia she could see the massive form of Ganiza’s soul, still shining tall and strong, and realized how much greater she was. How far Kierna still had to go.

Focusing all of the Dea offered to her, Kierna shaped it into a single great blade. She took a deep breath, and shot up towards the heavens on wings of light. Farther and faster she flew, the cold air whipping by her, until her vision turned gray as she flew into the clouds. She flew higher, and burst out of the clouds into the open blue sky, the sun shining down brightly on her. She hung there for a moment, weightless. And the she plummeted.

Her wings pushed her downward, growing faster, the great blade of her soul readied. Amauro and Abeini were just beneath her. She hit the boundary of Abeini’s land and cut through it in less than a second. Just long enough for the goddess’ great eye to flick towards her in surprise.

Then she struck.

The ground shook with massive impact, the stone hill of where the sword-priests camped cracked down the middle. A huge cloud of dust exploded upward, propelled higher by a stem of debris.

The Godsrealm shook.

Kierna’s soul sang.

Two goddesses died.

———————————————————————————————————

Kierna opened her eyes to see dark clouds. The dust churned up by her final strike blocked out the sky. Pain ebbed and flowed across her body with slow, tentative pushes. She groaned and rolled over, reaching out with her left hand to hold herself up on the ground.

She slid and fell, and her arm went hot with pain. Tears stung her eyes, and when she opened them she could see the stump there before her. Its end was capped with a silvery glimmer of light gone dark, her power shaped like a bandage to keep the blood from flowing. The sight of it hit her like a hammer blow. She just stared at it, unable to comprehend what she was going to do now.

“Kierna!” She turned slowly, the distant voices finally reaching her. Towards the stone hill on which they’d camped a plume of dust blocked much of her sight. The grassland between her and it was torn and shredded, with great craters and fissures dotting its surface. There was more bare dirt than grass covering it now. It looks like… Her thought trailed off, unable to think of a metaphor that could account for such damage. It looked like a battlefield of the gods.

“H- here!” Kierna shouted, choking, and devolved into a coughing fit. Should have held back some of that Dea. Shaking, she managed to get to her feet. From her new height, she could see two figures moving through the battleground towards her, turning side to side in searching. She lifted her arm and waved.

———————————————————————————————————

The next time Kierna woke, the sun was setting in the west, a full day having passed while she rested. Vaguely, she remembered waking a few times, eating, drinking water, drifting back to sleep listening to Farrus and Garreth’s hushed conversation.

Now, she heard nothing but the crackling and popping of the fire near at hand. Her first thought went to her arm. She moved, surprised at how strangely light it was. She wondered if she would ever get used to it, or just continue to be surprised that what she expected to be there was gone.

Rising up, she saw a huddled form lying wrapped in a cloak beside the fire. Her first thought was that it was Hammarra, lying as quiescent as always. Then she looked closer, and saw the cloak lit by the warm fire. Deep green, with maroon and orange patterns woven throughout it. Yellow tassels all along the edge. Ostentatious and attention-seeking. That was Baako’s cloak, of course. She looked around, saw no one else within sight, and panic gripped her chest.

She stood, held herself still, and considered. She was tired, and ached, but she felt capable of moving around. There was none of the grinding sensation inside that would hint at broken bones. Aside from the lost arm, she’d made it through the fight with Amauro relatively well. Her miracles—her Dea—had protected her from serious harm.

She caught Baako’s eye as she passed by. He was awake, eyes watching her like a serpent slithering close to his resting place. There was no warmth in him now. He was only frightened of her. She could not blame him. As she passed, she had to step over a three foot fissure in the rock shelf, a remnant of the blow she’d struck to the two goddesses.

Voices led her onward, and the sound of water splashing. For the first time in nearly a week, Kierna felt her heart grow lighter, a smile breaking free on her face as the sight came into view. Garreth was sitting on a rock at the edge of the pond, fishing with a pole made from a cut tree-branch. Farrus stood back behind him, his lean form relaxed for once. And Hammarra, looking old and thin and very tired, sat between them, grinning as they talked.

“Hammarra,” Kierna started to rush over, then grew dizzy and had to slow down. “You’re awake.”

“Yes, well, I’ve slept long enough haven’t I? At least, that’s what everyone says. For some damn reason I can’t remember much. Don’t even remember the fight I got hurt in.” Hammarra grimaced, as though she felt she was missing out by not remembering nearly killed.

“You don’t remember…?”

“Kenth? No. I’m sorry. All this time, waking up, confused, I thought he was around her somewhere. Things could have been a lot worse though. We’re still here,” Hammarra said.

The four of them soon returned to the fire. The fish in Abeini’s pond were plentiful, and Garreth caught enough for them to feast on. At first they talked about nothing, reminiscing on Kenth and the Sword-Monastery. But there was a tension there, unspoken, visible in the way Farrus and Garreth looked at Kierna when she was turned away, like they were still trying to determine if it was really her. As the food ran out and the conversation died, Kierna sighed.

“There’s some things I need to tell you all about. You saw what happened yesterday. You know I’m no longer the same as I was when we started this journey. It’s time you learned why.”

Kierna didn’t hold anything back. She explained the talks she’d had with Ganiza, her fledgling practice at utilizing her Dea, her turning away from Jehx’s miracles to take up her own power. After everything that had happened, Kierna was able to look at it honestly. She saw the shock in their eyes, and knew that she was now as much a heretic as the man she was hunting.

“Lord Jehx has done nothing to make me doubt him. I still believe in him. But… when I was fighting with Amauro, in the final moment when I saw what she was, I realized something. Jehx is not representative of our creators. For every truly good god, there are a hundred more like Amauro. Vain, merciless, cruel, with no love for those they rule and no one to whom they must answer. Gods are singular in purpose, and without being forced, they won’t change. We, priests of Jehx, fight for justice. But what justice can there really be when the gods who create injustice are spared from reprisal? All that we do is like sprinkling water on a wildfire. Something has to change.”

“What are you saying, Kierna?” Garreth asked. Kierna looked up into the night sky. In the darkness, she couldn’t see anything, but when she slipped open her Godseye Eitia’s glow shone like a bright star overhead. Ganiza was still on her way. She would be there in a day or so. And then…

“Tomorrow, I want you three to return to the army,” Kierna said. They started to object, and she held up her hand. “There’s no choice. It’s wonderful that Hammarra is conscious now, but she’s still hurt, and we don’t know the extent of her injuries until she is looked over by a doctor or Lector.”

“But you’re not coming with us?” Farrus asked. Hurt shown in his eyes, and she gave him a sad smile that she hoped would soften her words.

“I can’t. I don’t belong there anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. I’m going to continue though. The quest Lord Jehx gave me, it was never about Isaand Laeson. It’s his god Szet that is the danger. If he’s planning something that will ruin this land, then Isaand may know the details. And now… there’s so much more I think I need to learn. I’d very much like to talk with him.” One heretic to another.

———————————————————————————————————

Twenty-three miles away, shrouded in darkness, a thick tangle of thorns covered a hillside. The locals called it cursed, unholy, claimed by none of the gods whose lands bordered it. Stakes topped with antelope skulls ringed the thicket, warning all good men and women to stay away.

Ganiza had left Malerax and Aeshena outside. She did not expect to be gone long. Though her conversation may take many hours, it would take place outside the bounds of time as it flowed on this material plane. Nor did she fear danger. The goddess she planned to speak to was far more powerful than she, but the two of them had an agreement.

As she knelt and picked her way through the thorns she tapped into the strand of her Dea that connected her to Eitia, her familiar. She floated over the ruins of Abeini’s land, watching as Kierna said her farewells. The warm feeling of pride burned inside Ganiza’s chest as she looked down on her protege. Her first flight had been rough, but the woman had grown faster than she could have ever expected. Already, she had lifted her sword against the gods who had demanded her servitude, and slain two goddesses. Kierna was rigid, stubborn and skeptical. She would push back against any attempt to manipulate her, but she’d shown herself receptive to the honest revelation of truth. Soon, perhaps she would be willing to look further.

Once this meeting was concluded, Ganiza would know where to find Isaand Laeson. Alone, she’d have been concerned at confronting him. Szet was unknowable, and the thousands of gods who had believed him harmless had been proven just how much they’d underestimated him when the shackles of his Pact had snapped shut, trapping them all in his will. With such a warrior as powerful as Kierna protecting her though, Ganiza thought approaching him was worth the risk. If he was the threat she thought he was then stopping him was worth the danger. More importantly, if he proved half as pliable as Kierna Sarana, then the benefits of an alliance with him could far eclipse any peril he might represent.

Emerging into the middle of the thicket, Ganiza stepped carefully forward. The thicket was almost pitch-black, but she could feel a carpet of bones crunching beneath her feet. Kneeling in the midst of the space, she opened her Godseye wide, leaving her body behind and stretching her Dea out around her. The darkness was illuminated, the bones beneath her became a swirling mass of souls, reaching at her and begging for mercy, crying out in torment. She shivered at their cries, but steeled herself. They were beyond saving.

Before her, an immense presence lurked in the shadow, waiting. Ganiza called out to it.

“Unbound One, Awlta of the Suffering, please hear my call.”

End of Part Three

Part Four: Chapter 1

Heretic Part Three, Chapter 9

Heretic

Part Three

Chapter 9

A complex mix of emotions warred inside Kierna. Confronting Ganiza was something she desperately wanted, but she was completely unprepared for her appearance out of nowhere. And she was no longer certain what sort of relationship they had. Was Ganiza still a friend and mentor, or a malevolent trickster who’d led her to abandon her faith and poison her mind with delusions of grandeur? Was Ganiza responsible for the death of Kenth and the wounding of Hammarra, or was that Kierna’s burden to bear?

And the strangeness of the Godsrealm pushed in on her from all sides, a crushing, overwhelming sensation of too much sensory information. She couldn’t feel her body any more, but her mind was lagging, frustrated and anxious.

How are you here? Kierna asked, blurting out the most pressing question without conscious thought.

There is no ‘here.’ You have opened your Eye far enough that it has stretched to encompass the whole of your mind, your soul. Your body’s physical location is irrelevant. The Godsrealm is a world of concept and impression, its geography formed by the thoughts of those who impose upon it. How do you think gods are able to hear the prayers of those beholden to them? Those few who care to listen, anyway.

So you can contact me anywhere?

Only if both of us are completely open to the Godsrealm. It is different for the Bound. They have rules in place, restrictions, as in all things. An oversight, perhaps. I don’t believe any of them considered how powerful humans could become, once their limits were removed. If they had realized it, they surely would have taken steps to restrain them.

Though Kierna’s mind seemed to shake at the power of her words, Ganiza spoke with the same calm, measured quality as she always had. The thoughts Kierna had of her being some cruel trickster who would laugh at her for falling for her ploy began to unravel. Ganiza didn’t seem to be vindictive, but neither did she seem apologetic.

Why? Kierna realized she was parroting Abeini’s single-minded questioning, and forced herself to explain. Why seek me? Ganiza’s soul-form flickered and twisted slightly, a movement that Kierna somehow parsed as a quizzical stare.

We are traveling together, are we not? I stayed behind to defend your party from Kwovo’s warriors after you won your duel with Munashe. The danger was significant, but I escaped unharmed. I have been following in your footsteps. But I lost my mount in the attack, and have fallen behind. I am several days travel away from your position.

That’s not what I- Kierna cut herself off in frustration. The last thing she’d expected was for Ganiza to waltz back and act as though nothing had ever happened. How can you come back and act like nothing happened after what you did to me? Kenth is dead!

You are angry with me, Ganiza said. I did not kill your friend, Kierna. If I had not acted, at considerable risk to my own self, it is likely you and the rest of your companions would all have died as well. So, why exactly is it that you are filled with such hostility?

You knew what would happen, didn’t you? When I gave in to the Dea, used its power. It changed me. Made me a murderer. And because of that, Kenth died.

If I handed you a sword with which to defend yourself, and you managed to cut yourself instead, would the fault be mine? I am sorry for what happened, Kierna. But you are blaming the wrong person. Worse, you are holding yourself back. I see that your soul has grown small and weak once more.

You think I’d make the same mistake again? Anger flashed through her. As if in answer, the realm around them shown brighter with silver light.

I do not believe you are a fool, Kierna. Cutting yourself off from your true power is an act of childishness, hiding the mess you’ve made instead of cleaning it up. You haven’t faced it yet, have you? What happened that led you to make the choice to kill Munashe.

Was it a choice? Kierna tried to shake her head, but felt nothing. The nausea was rising. This world of emptiness and ephemera was overwhelming.

All thinking creatures make choices, regardless of how little information they have with which to make them. The actions you make define you.

Do you deny that the power you taught me to take hold of changed me?

No, I would not deny something so self-evident. Power changes the wielder, but that does not remove the reality of choice. You seem to believe me to be possessed of foresight. I knew only that helping you to remove your limiter would grant you power, the power you admitted you needed to accomplish your goals. I could have had no way of knowing what you would do with it.

Then why? I have never enjoyed combat. I have never been one to grow angry with a sword in my hand, or to kill anyone when it was not necessary. So why would this power change me so greatly?

That is a question you can only answer yourself, but I will attempt to help you see. You have just spoken with a local goddess, did you not? Tell me, what was she like?

Kierna sighed, though she could neither hear it nor feel it. Ganiza was falling into the same old patterns. Her question seemed irrelevant. What could she have learned from a goddess with such a meager attempt at communication. But she had a habit of following a strange train of thought, leading Kierna to whatever conclusion she meant to imply.

I couldn’t say. She barely spoke to me. She didn’t even seem to comprehend speech. She only sent me feelings. She had no interest in communication, and refused to even consider my attempts at negotiation.

Appropriate, wouldn’t you say, for a goddess of solitude?

What are you saying…?

As paladin, you have certainly met your fair share of gods and goddesses. Surely you have seen similar qualities in them. Resolute. Uncompromising. Unshakable in their adherence to the qualities they represent and the purposes they work towards. This is what makes them worthy of worship, is it not? How unlike humans they are. We who war with our own thoughts and feelings.

Your saying, what, that the Dea makes them unchanging?

Absolute conviction is the natural state of the soul, Kierna. It is the human brain, with its limits and contradictions, that allows us to think from other angles. When you have a difficult decision to make, do you talk to yourself, consider multiple options, feel pulled more than one way by the possibilities? Gods have no such complications. They are what they are. The Exemplars, gods of concepts and beliefs, did not choose an attribute to embody, nor did they come into being that way. Their own natures, over time, led them to become reliant on a single method of action, or several related ones.

So yes, when you opened yourself to your Dea, it changed you. It lessened the influence of the material form your soul inhabits. The brain that allows your soul to perceive the material plane. The blood and bone that renders you so vulnerable to that same reality. Unrestriced, your soul made the decisions then, and your soul is so much more pure. Stripped of all the habits you’ve built to control yourself, you chose to do what you felt was right. What you felt, at that moment, was just.

Ganiza’s words seemed to echo in the emptiness. The memories of the duel with Munashe, the ones she’d been trying to avoid, flashed rapidly through her mind. When she’d begun the fight, she’d had a single, simple goal. Defeat Munashe, and be given the prisoners so that she could see them safely away. An act of charity and compassion. Not an act of justice. Munashe and his fellow murderers would have been left to walk free, unpunished for the evil they’d committed. She would have left with the choking taste of defeat in her mouth, even if she’d won. With the survivors under her protection, she would have been forced to abandon or postpone her pursuit of the heretic, further moving away from the mission of justice her god had given her.

She’d known it was the right thing to do, logically. She’d made the decision long ago that protecting innocent lives was worth almost any cost, even if it meant failure in other duties. But what she thought was not what she felt. That failure would have taken root inside of her, festering, drawing her into darkness and depression. The same thing had happened when she’d returned to Ethka with the refugees Amauro had tried to murder. She’d saved lives, but that hadn’t made her happy. She’d longed to return to the grasslands and continue her hunt for Isaand. And again, she was going to have to give it up.

As the battle had raged on and she’d stoked her Dea, allowing it to consume and transform her into a sort of half-goddess driven by pure conviction, those logical considerations had swiftly fallen aside. Anger, which she’d worked all her life to hold down and lock away, had leaped to the forefront. Without the complications of all her thoughts, a simple quandary had become apparent. She could put aside justice, and save those in need. Or she could leave the powerless to the fate that had been dealt them, and punish the man that she despised.

Had she a body, Kierna would have shrunk in shame. Thinking now, she could remember how good it had felt to make that decision. To throw everything aside and finish it all with a swift strike of her sword, the consequences be damned. For an instance, she had been a goddess of vengeance, passing judgment on the wicked from on high.

Then the moment had broken, and she was just a woman again, crying out in pain as her friends were killed and injured around her.

What will happen to me now? Kierna asked. My soul is in tatters. Did I ruin it? Will I stay sick and weak like this forever? If I can’t return to normal, my friends are as good as dead. Whatever mistakes I have made I will pay the price for, as is right. But they should not have to die for my failures.

The soul is not flesh, to be battered and broken. So far as the divine is concerned, nothing is permanent. You turned your back on your Dea, afraid of what the power taught you about yourself. You can undo it in the same manner. It is simply a choice.

You make it sound so easy. How can I trust myself again?

It is not easy, Kierna. Self-reflection never is. The physical world is transient, easily destroyed or reshaped, but the soul is far more stable. But it can be done. You should be grateful that you were split from the great Dea and given human form. It is easier for us. The true gods do not even consider how set in their ways they are, and those few who try to change may spend centuries or millennia in their attempts.

I don’t have millennia, Kierna said. In a few days, Abeini will destroy us for remaining in her land, or else we must flee. The instant we step outside her border, Amauro will attack. Without that power…

You will die. I am sorry. If there was some way for me to hasten my pace and reach you in time, I would take it. But that is not my Nature. Bonds and clear-sight are the miracles at my disposal. I will do what I can in that regard at least. I will send Eitia to meet up with you. Secure in the sky, she should be able to reach you without being attacked by the wolf-goddess. She will do what she can to help you.

Will she? A suspicion had formed in Kierna’s thoughts long ago. She hadn’t asked, not wanting to offend the shaman. With things in such disarray, she couldn’t see the harm in asking now. Eitia is a goddess as well, isn’t she? Just as stubborn as all the rest. How is it that you find it so easy to gain her assistance?

Eitia is a goddess, yes. The swirling pillar of energy that was Ganiza flickered with a flash of heat, the trio of eyes narrowing. But she is mine to command. I embraced my nature long ago, Kierna, and my nature is Dominion. I have kept my powers subtle in respect of your beliefs, your faith in the gods as your rightful masters. But I do not adhere to them. Eitia, Malerax, and Aeshana have bowed to my will. To them, I am the goddess and they are the servants.

Kierna felt the pull of the great pit again, an emptiness opening to swallow her up. For a time, she’d thought she could consider Ganiza a true friend.

You’re a heretic. Just like the one I hunt. Worse, maybe. At least Isaand is only a servant of a god in rebellion. You would make yourself an equal to your creators?

Equal? No. The gods made a grave mistake when they wrote their Pact, and again when they chose to meld soul and body into humans. Seizing on that mistake, we have the potential to become greater than the gods, Kierna. You cannot claim that the idea doesn’t appeal to you. Think about all you have seen since you joined the army of the gods. The suffering in the world, the disparity, the injustice of it all. You could change that.

Maybe I could, Kierna said. But-

She tried, but she couldn’t find the words. She was too tired, too distracted by the torrent of information rushing through her head. She couldn’t argue against Ganiza’s words, not now. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe she wouldn’t live long enough to have to make a decision.

Before Ganiza could say anything else, a thunderclap broke through the silence. Kierna’s soul flickered like a candle-flame in the wind, almost sputtering out, bringing with it a cold ringing pain. She gasped as the landscape shifted before her eyes, the sky shattering and then reforming into a vast image of an endless plain of golden grass that extended around them in a massive inverted sphere, so that she saw its surface wherever she looked.

Two orange suns burned in the sky. They coalesced into the eyes of an enormous wolf created of flickering green flame and wind. The world shook with the growling of her throat, and distant howls echoed in the sky. Kierna shrank back, tiny before the vastness of a true goddess.

TRESPASSER. POACHER. I’VE CORNERED YOU AT LAST. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE THIS TIME.

Amauro’s words crashed against Kierna’s soul, rocking it and forcing out gasps of pain. The great beast growled and opened her mouth wide, teeth wider than mountains, stretching down to devour her. Kierna screamed.

Do not be afraid. Ganiza’s voice cut through the sound of howling. The Pact restricts her. Gods and goddesses cannot harm each other directly in the godsrealm.

SHE IS NO GODDESS. SHE IS A PITIFUL PRETENDER.

It doesn’t matter what she says Kierna, you are safe here.

Shaking, Kierna tried to pull herself together. She’d learned even as a child that the only way to defeat fear was to look it in the eye. So she desperately latched on to what Ganiza told her and threw herself defiantly towards the great wolf.

The massive goddess vanished in an instant, reappearing distantly as a smaller image, snarling in rage.

HUDDLE IN ABEINI’S DEN WHILE YOU CAN, LITTLE PRETENDER. YOU WILL COME OUT SOON ENOUGH, AND MY HUNT WILL END.

Kierna coughed, her chest wracking in pain at the sound of the words that echoed across the sky. Someone’s hands were on her back and shoulder, and she heard voices calling in desperation. A wheezing, agonizing breath ran through her, her lungs burning. She felt like her body was about to burst. And still she could see the godsrealm, superimposed over the reality her body lived in.

You have to go, Ganiza told her. You are not strong enough to stay here like this. Return to your body, nourish it, regain your strength.

And ready your soul to take up arms again. Or you will not survive.

Kierna realized Farrus was looking down at her, concern turning his boyish face into a mask of terror.

“Kierna, please, can you hear me?” he said. It sounded like he’d been speaking over and over again for some time.

“I-” Kierna was interrupted by a cough that felt like a stab in her chest. She took a breath, her very lungs feeling bruised. She tilted her head back drunkenly, seeing Garreth behind her, holding her up. “I’m not okay. But I will be. I know what to do now.”

Part Three: Chapter Ten

Heretic Part Three, Chapter 8

Heretic

Part Three

Chapter 8

“We should light a fire,” Farrus said.

“What good will that do? A fire might scare off normal wolves but…” Garreth said.

“Who said anything about scaring them off?” Farrus snapped. “They’re coming for us. When we have to fight them, it’d be helpful if we could see what we were doing.”

“But the goddess of this land won’t let us cut any wood. There’s not much up on this hill.”

Farrus and Garreth’s arguing continued as Kierna stared out into the darkness, her heart clutched in a tight and painful grip. Amauro the wolf-goddess had come for her and her men, and she was unable to protect them. She felt light-headed, dizzy standing on the edge of the cliff. She was bone-tired already just from riding all day. If it came to a fight, she would likely collapse after a few swings of her sword. And even if she could fight, what use would she be without her miracles?

“There could be a dozen of them out there and we wouldn’t know,” Farrus said. “These ones could be distracting us while the others sneak closer.”

There was a way to find out how many foes there were, of course. All she had to do was open her Godseye, and she would be able to see the immense force of Amauro’s Dea controlling the wolves sent to attack them. She’d done it a thousand times before, learning through diligent practice to keep her Eye slit, so that she could avoid being overwhelmed by the vast sensory overload present in the Godsrealm.

Tentatively, feeling like she was going to be burned at any moment, Kierna tried to open her Godseye. She half expected it to fail, her power lost to her forever. She half expected it to open wide and swallow her up, her Dea spreading and engulfing her, transforming her again into an uncompromising killer. Neither happened.

Her Godseye opened with no difficulty. Her senses of the mundane world dwindled in comparison, Farrus’ and Garreth’s voices turned to background noise. Her awareness of her own body lessened as well, the pain and nausea she felt falling away, bringing a sort of bliss from the absence of discomfort. The dark world became alight with a thousand points of life. She stared out in amazement at the beauty of the plains, with hundreds of spirits floating above the grass, swirling and swarming in great swaths of color. Its like Ganiza’s land, she realized. The land was some kind of sanctuary or nursery for spirits, the infants of the divine. That must be why the goddess had rules in place to keep people from settling there.

Focus, she told herself. She swept her gaze out across the field, looking for something larger than spirits. Opening her eye a bit further, the shapes became sharper, seeming to grow as her vision became wider and deeper. Amauro’s wolves stood out clearly, her Dea appearing as long tendrils of golden light streaked with orange. They appeared out of nowhere, flickering from one point to another, but always striking the same place. With her vision so focused on the Godsrealm, she could only see vague shadows that made up the wolves material bodies, wolf-corpses wrapped in grass.

There were six of them, out in the plains ahead of the cliff where they were camped. She turned, and found three more of the covering the other sides of the cliff. She felt the urge to draw her sword, but then she realized they weren’t advancing. They moved restlessly, slinking back and forth, occasionally raising their heads and howling in the night, but they moved no closer to the high ground. They let us know they were here, and they aren’t moving any closer, she thought. She looked then towards the center of the camp.

Beneath the pool of water, deep down in the heart of the stone, she saw it. A great god of white and pink light, wrapped around itself like a coccoon, tendrils reaching out the spread throughout the land. A few of them were spread towards the wolves, following their movements slowly, like a snake guarding its territory. She focused, and she could feel the goddess looking back, an enormous eye opening languidly and narrowing its gaze upon her.

Kierna took a step back as it moved, a tendril of its Dea reaching up through the earth and slowly flickering around her. Kierna held her breath as the goddess enclosed her in her grip, the touch of soul hot and electrifying. Deliberately, the goddess squeezed, just enough to make the threat obvious. And then the tendril fell away, the great eye closing.

That touch made her feel sick, and without intending it, her vision turned inward, focusing on her own soul. She gasped. Her souls should have been bright, silver-white, like a cold flame brighter than the sun. But it was small and seemed fragile, bruised with a darkness across its surface. Here and there spots of brightness would flare up for a brief moment before vanishing again. Something was very wrong with her.

Her Godseye snapped shut, an unconscious decision. The emptiness of the dark night ahead of her was comforting in its lack of detail. Farrus and Garreth were both staring at her, Garreth leaning forward with his hands reaching forward as if to catch her. She blinked, swayed a bit as a wave of nausea ran through her, then cleared her throat.

“I’m fine. Go ahead and light that fire, Farrus. Amauro already knows we’re here. Be ready, but I don’t think they’ll be attacking so long as we hold this ground.”

“Because of the goddess?” Farrus asked. “So once we leave-”

“We’ll be ambushed, yes,” Kierna said. “Hopefully, that means we’ll have time to recover. Excuse me. I need to ask some questions.”

Kierna shuffled past the priests and back towards the main camp. Hammarra lay still on the ground, breathing softly. Kierna shuddered as she thought of the goddess lingering just beneath her.

Baako lay next to his slyzeer with his back against a pair of large boulders. He’d balanced a stave atop them and thrown a cloak over it, making himself a snug little cave. He was snoring loudly as she approached, but the sound had a desperately false quality to it. When she kicked at his leg, he yelped and sat up immediately.

“Blessed! You’re awake and up and, uh, glowering…” In the darkness Kierna couldn’t see his face, but he seemed to be cringing away from her. “Can I help you?”

“You guided us here, correct?” Kierna said. Her vision blurred as she suppressed a yawn. Gods, she was tired. But she did her best to sound as composed as ever.

“That is what you pay me for, ah?”

“Why here?’

“Is safest place around. After your esteemed self destroyed your foe with such magnificence and, ah, retired to recover, we found ourselves pursued by angry men with many weapons. Garreth ordered me to find a safe place they would not follow, where you and the old woman could rest,” Baako said.

“Why is it safe?”

“Ah, that is because the land is uninhabited, claimed by the Goddess of Solitude and Tranquillity, Abeini. She protects those who shelter her, for a time.”

“Please tell me about this goddess,” Kierna said. Sighing, she knelt and sat before Baako, too tired to keep standing around for no reason. He slid back even further, pressed up against the walls of his shelter.

“Certainly, blessed, ah… what do you want to know?” Kierna just stared, and he continued on his own. “Well, she doesn’t have any clerics or anything to speak for her, so word is light on how she actually feels about things. But she’s talked to people before, travelers passing through, warning them not to stay. Certain rules have to be observed. No cutting of live wood, no preying on the animals, no fouling the water.”

“What happens if her rules are broken?” Kierna asked.

“Death and destruction, ah? I can’t say I know the details. No one I’ve ever spoken to has been stupid enough to break the rules. There are plenty of tales of people who disappeared after traveling into the land though. And there is a story, from about three years back, of a group of hunters who strayed into Abeini’s territory without realizing it. They killed a quozo and knelt down right there to butcher it, but a great tremor ran through the land. Two of the hunters were further off, and hadn’t crossed into Abeini’s land yet, so they were able to watch. Supposedly a huge swarm of creatures appeared, every kind of animal that lives in the area, and attacked wildly, with no concern for their survival. The two hunters from afar fled, but when they returned they found blood on the ground but no sign of the bodies of the other hunters, or of the quozo that was their prize.” Baako’s voice faded out with a mysterious lilt, falling into the habit of a storyteller.

“Has anyone tried to talk with her before?”

“Talk with a goddess? I do not know how it is in your big city, Blessed, but these things are not done here. Gods and goddesses make their will known. We obey, or else try to stay out of their sight.”

“Okay,” Kierna said, sighing. She forced herself to stand, yawning again. “Thank you for the information.” An idea was forming in her head, but she was too weary to trust her thoughts for now. If she was right about Amauro having the patience to wait for them to leave, then she would have time to rest.

Kierna passed by Farrus attempting to start a fire from a few pieces of old dead wood. She told him to wake her if the wolves advanced, then returned to her bedroll and passed into oblivion.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

When she woke the next morning, Kierna felt a bit less horrible. She lay awake for several minutes, not thinking about what she needed to do. Then, like pulling an arrow out of her flesh, she gritted her teeth and opened her Godseye again.

Inspecting her soul was distressing. Despite it being something she normally never saw, had no awareness of, when she was looking at it she felt an unmistakable sense of connection. It hurt to look at it just as it would to look down and see a bleeding hole in her gut.

The soul was still dark, still wrong looking, with the same flashes of occasional brightness from within. She couldn’t tell if there was any difference from the day before. Would it heal over time, like a bruise? Or would it stay damaged forever, pain her new equilibrium?

No way to know. Nothing you can do about it. Don’t worry about what can’t be helped. Focus on what can.

Kierna got up, walked over to an exhausted looking Garreth sitting and watching out into the gray pre-dawn. In the thick grass, the wolves controlled by Amauro couldn’t be seen, but occasionally they moved through the undergrowth in wild bursts of speed, drawing the eye. Distracting, threatening. Garreth reported that they hadn’t moved in all night, and now agreed that they seemed likely to hold off until matters changed.

Garreth argued, but Kierna insisted on relieving him. There was barely an hour left until his shift ended anyway. He was too tired to argue for long. He was asleep in minutes, and Kierna divided her attention to using the tiny fire Farrus had started to cook them some breakfast. It had been days since any of the had had a hot meal. It would do them good.

Farrus and Baako swiftly woke to the smell of the meal. Baako accepted his with a nervous glance. He muttered something about keeping watch and took it off to the edge of the cliff, out of earshot. Garreth snored lightly from his spot next to Hammarra. Farrus watched Kierna with concern.

“You are doing better, then?” he asked.

Am I? She wasn’t sure. She was up and about now, certainly, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she could have done the same days ago. The fever and lethargy affecting her was real, but she had a feeling that what had kept her asleep while they traveled away from the storm god’s land had more to do with her mind than her body.

“I’m getting there,” she said. “Though I can’t know how long it will take. I don’t know what is wrong with me, exactly.”

“This is… because of something Ganiza did to you, right?” Farrus asked. Kierna could tell it was an effort for him to broach the subject. Kierna considered them all friends, but there had always been a wall between her and the sword-priests. Its bricks were propriety and authority, but the mortar that filled it was made of her own melancholy. She wanted to retreat behind that wall, to tell Farrus that as his captain she appreciated his concern but that she had everything under control. Where did that get me? I listened to Ganiza, because she was different. She felt like someone I could trust. Would that I had listened to those who’ve already earned my trust.

“It is. And it isn’t.” Kierna’s words were halting, but she found it easier to speak with each short sentence. “She didn’t do anything to me. I did it. At her behest, following advice. But it was my choice.”

Slowly at first, but then faster and more frenetic, the story poured out of her. The theories Ganiza offered that flew so close to heresy that Kierna was uncertain if they crossed the line or not. Certainly her own actions, arrogantly molding her soul with no regard to what might be changed, crossed that line. Possession of the soul was one of the most basic tenets there was. Your body was your own, material and temporary, but your soul belonged to your god. The spiritual was their realm in entirety, and to reach into it and meddle in things humans could not comprehend was an act of rebellion. Gods offered those they thought were worthy the power to enact miracles, unshackling their souls to allow them to draw upon the power of their faith, or of the great Dea, but that was all.

It would have been harder with Garreth. Garreth would have sat quietly, meeting her gaze, nodding and soberly listening with no interruptions. Kierna would have been lost in her wondering, uncertain how to explain things, drifting off into vague unfinished thoughts. Farrus didn’t have that patience. He snapped and interrupted, demanding elaboration. He challenged her ideas, quoted doctrine at her, criticized Ganiza’s words. It forced Kierna to be more assertive, to decide what she really believed and to try and explain it.

“So now you know,” Kierna said, when Farrus finally went silent. He stewed in anger, teeth gritted and shoulders hunched, not looking at her. “It’s my fault Hammarra is hurt. It’s my fault Kenth died. And it’ll be my fault if Amauro kills us all.”

“Enough of that,” Farrus snarled. “You sound like one of the new recruits back at the monastery, sulking. You needed a weapon to beat Munashe, so you picked it up. You just didn’t know how to use it yet.” He glanced at her, seeming to want to say more, but whatever it was, he gave up the effort. He stood, throwing the last crumbs of bread in the fire. “I don’t trust Baako to keep watch on his own. I’m going to keep an eye on those wolves. You need to rest and get better. You’ll be back to normal soon, I’m sure of it.”

He left. Kierna sighed, wishing that she could have the Farrus from Ethka back, with his flippant smirks and casual insolence. It was a sign of how bad things had gotten that he displayed his anger so apparently. It was always there of course. Farrus had come to the monastery furious, and only through years of training and meditation had he tempered and hidden his animosity behind a smile. He had to let it out sometimes, or it ate him from within.

Kierna felt a little lighter. Sharing her story with Farrus left her feeling more restful than her night of fitful sleep. Ever since she’d killed Munashe she’d felt as though someone would see through her at any moment, seize on her weakness and let their disappointment be known. It felt good to have someone know how she’d failed. Now she could at least try to make up for it.

Kierna carefully unwound Hammarra’s bandages and checked her wound. It looked no different than before, but she cleaned it again to be sure. Hammarra slept through it this time, her breaths deep and relaxed. She didn’t know if that was a good sign, but she could hope.

When Garreth woke, she spoke to him briefly, asking him to join Farrus and to not disturb her until she asked for them. That she was ready to try something. He looked pensive, but didn’t argue. “Godspeed,” he told her, before leaving the camp with his sword slung over one shoulder.

Seated with her legs crossed together and her hands on her lap, Kierna breathed deeply, in and out, thinking of nothing. Minutes passed, and she felt calm, disconnected from the troubles of their situation. Then she opened her Godseye. The world shone through her closed eyes, the slumbering soul of goddess Abeini spread out below her. Breathing deeper, Kierna opened her Eye fully, letting her body vanish in the overwhelming spiritual sea. Nausea took hold of her, followed by the sharp panic of a loss of control. She could see in every direction now, not relying on any physical senses. She could see inward just as well, the dim glow of her injured soul grounding her in place. Below, Abeini opened her eye.

The goddess uncoiled like some great sea creature with a dozen long arms, reaching up to surround Kierna’s soul and draw it in closer. Fear shook her as she descended, the goddess spreading to fill her sight like a massive predator about to swallow her whole. But when she paused. But the goddess let her come to a rest before her single huge yellow eye.

Who? The goddess’ voice shook Kierna’s soul, making it vibrate in time, accompanied by a harmonic sound like a singing glass.

I am Kierna Sarana, Blessed One. Paladin of Jehx. I beg your mercy.

Why? The question echoed through her. The goddess’ speech was simple, but immensely deep, carrying the weight of eons. It was less words than a blunt and powerful sensation of emotion. Raw questions in the form of the concept of the question.

My companions and I are pursued by the goddess Amauro. She means to kill us. We are weak and injured, and cannot defend ourselves. I-

NO. The question struck her like a blow. It carried with it an ultimatum. No bloodshed on Abeini’s land. No violence. No mercy.

Please. I know that you do not approve of violence. I do not wish to fight. But the goddess will not rest until we are dead. You desire peace. Please, help us.

NO. The same response, but stronger, buffeting Kierna’s soul so that its flame flickered for a moment. Concern flashed through her. Could the goddess snuff out her soul like the spark it resembled?

Why protect this place then? Why insist that no one be harmed here? No beasts hunted, even the plants unharmed?

Peace. Solitude.

The feelings washed over Kierna. They were not words. They were like songs, incredibly complex but repeating around a simple motif. Like thick books elucidating on their subjects at great length. Exhaustive studies of concepts far to simple to be reduced to mere words.

Kierna saw. Abeini did not care that Amauro was a hunter, a killer. She didn’t care that Kierna and the others would be killed just outside of her borders if they left. She did not care about their lives lost if they chose to stay and be obliterated by her power. She didn’t care about the animals she demanded be left in peace, the growing plants, the clean water. She only cared about that the land remained silent and calm. There was no morality in it. No consideration for circumstances, no judgment. Against the absolute certainty of the goddess’ feelings, Kierna knew there was absolutely nothing that could sway her mind. Her soul radiated out a flare of frustration like a silent scream.

Abeini, knowing that she had made herself understood, knowing that Kierna’s wishes were of less significance than a drop of water in the ocean, closed her massive eye and returned to slumber.

Kierna did not close her Godseye. Though she felt unnerved, she took comfort in the absence of her physical body. Everything beyond herself fell away. She could stay like this as long as she liked, with no concerns and no needs. She wondered if that was how gods felt.

I knew you were the sort to run before you tried walking. It’s good to see you’ve decided to try things differently.

Shocked, Kierna instinctively spread out her awareness. There, just before her, was a familiar sight, one she’d seen only once before but had been burned into her memory. A great pillar of swirling orange substance that was half smoke, half light. Three golden eyes at its apex, cold and composed. A silver ribbon of light wrapped about her, ending in shimmering emerald bursts of light.

Ganiza, her Dea unfurled like the banner proclaiming ownership of a hilltop.

How? Kierna’s word was filled with immense context, a thousand unspoken questions behind it.

You seem to be in danger. We should talk.

Heretic Part Three: Chapter Nine

Heretic Part Three, Chapter 7

Heretic

Part Three

Chapter 7

A bottomless pit gaped open beneath Kierna, waiting patiently for her to give in. The pit echoed, reflecting back her every self-flagellating thought. You’re a failure as a paladin, as a warrior of justice. You killed those people, killed Kenth. Hammarra is injured because of you. She may still die. You betrayed your mission. Your beliefs. Did you ever truly believe anything to begin with?

Kierna shivered, her skin clammy with sweat. She felt horribly cold, but when Garreth or Farrus touched her hand or forehead they talked to each other in grim, concerned voices, saying that she was burning up. You should burn. You deserve it.

She swayed, riding on Radiance, but her balance faltered and she began to drift to the side. Vertigo swept her up, adding to the churning nausea in her gut, and she began to fall from the saddle. She was too numb to feel any fear, and she felt the pit beneath widen hungrily, waiting for her to fall. She slid sideways, but remained in place. Confused, she blearily opened her eyes and looked around. Ropes were tied around her legs and waist. They tied me to the saddle, she realized. I’m too weak to ride. She considered that thought, and found she had no opinion regarding it. Too weak. Had she ever been strong?

She rode for hours, following Baako on his plodding lizard. Hammarra was beside her, riding on her own horse, tied to the saddle in the same manner. Her armor was removed, and there was a thick cushion of cloth wrapped around her head. She didn’t seem to be conscious. The sky cleared overhead, the storm left behind. At some point, she heard shouts from behind. Garreth drew his bow and leapt from the saddle, taking position at the top of a ridge, and began to fire back arrow after arrow. Farrus, glaive readied, galloped back they way they had come. Battle, Kierna thought dully. Someone chased us down. The stormlanders? Farrus was fighting, all on his own, supported by Garreth’s arrows. Baako spurred his slyzeer on, and Radiance followed eagerly, leaving the sword-priests behind. A hint of concern for them stirred inside her, but it fell away almost immediately, swallowed up by the abyss beneath her. It didn’t matter. None of this mattered.

When she opened her eyes again, the sky was black. There was no firelight, only a glint of a half-moon shining down from above. She heard familiar voices: a snap of Farrus’ anger, Garreth’s cool plodding tones. Then someone was before her, touching her head. A cup was lifted to her mouth, cool water. Her lips were dry, her throat ached as she gulped it down.

“Who-?” she asked, coughing out the words like dust. “Ganiza?”

“Not here,” Garreth said. He spoke softly, as one would to a horse about to bolt. “She stayed behind, to hold back the enemy. You… you told us to find a safe place to wait for her. Do you still want that?”

“Wait for…” Kierna’s mind worked slowly, so slowly. Why do I want to see her? Ganiza’s last words rang again in her memory, as painful as a twisting knife. All I did was set you free. Slaves do as their rulers require. Gods make their own choices.

I’m no god. She did this to me. For the first time, she felt herself pull away from the pit that threatened to swallow her up. A hot loathing was growing inside her, like a swallow of whiskey warming her heart. SHE did this. A vivid image of Ganiza with Kierna’s sword laid to her throat appeared in her head. She’ll tell me what happened. I won’t swallow down her lies this time.

“Find a secure camp,” Kierna said. She tried to sit up, but her body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. “Somewhere she can find us. I have to talk to her. I have to know.”

“Okay, Kierna. We’ll do that. You and Hammarra need time to recover, either way. Drink some more water, then sleep. Farrus and I will handle everything.”

She wanted to say something else. An apology? A plea? Before the words came out she realized he was gone, back into the night. She fell, down into the gulf, blackness swallowing her.

The sun was out, high in a cool sky. Grass rose to Radiance’s barrel on either side. She swayed back and forth in the saddle as they rode. Memories of her duel with Munashe kept flashing through her head. She reviewed them with numbly, unable to feel any strong sensations. Kenth died again and again in her mind, and she felt despair grow. So she tried to reach for the anger again, to hold onto it like a rope suspending her above despair. Ganiza caused all of this. She’ll answer for it. I can’t give in until then.

The moon was out again. She was lying on a pile of blankets, Hammarra beside her. The woman had never looked so old and frail. Her head was bandaged, her breath shallow. Each time she breathed out it was accompanied by a reedy whistle. Kierna imagined her body full of tiny holes, air escaping from them with each breath. She didn’t look like a soldier now. Was that a lie too? I’m no paladin, no god, and she’s just an old woman close to death.

That night she felt a bit stronger, the veil of numbness briefly lifted. She heard a slow, rhythmic rasping, and saw Farrus nearby. He was squatting a short ways away, sharpening a dagger over and over. His eyes were lidded, shoulders tight with anger. Farrus. She tried to speak, but her mouth was too dry and she coughed instead. He froze, turning towards her.

“Kierna. You awake?” he said. His knuckles were white where he gripped the dagger. He must hate me, she thought. He could avenge Kenth right now, easily. I’m helpless. Useless.

“I’m here,” she said, choking on her words.

“Good. Thank Jehx. Garreth says you’re getting better, but…” Farrus let out a long sigh. “He says you want us to wait for her. The shaman. You can’t be serious.”

“Ganiza… yes, I need to talk to her.” Kierna was surprised how strong, how normal her voice sounded. Maybe she shouldn’t be. Hadn’t it always been a front? Confidence masking uncertainty, with the ever-present pit of despair just beneath.

“Hasn’t she done enough talking? I don’t know what happened back there. I’ve never seen you so amazing, so powerful… or so furious. I’ve never seen you kill in anger before that night, Kierna. That wasn’t you. And I heard what you said. You blamed her. She did something to you. Why give her a chance to build on it?”

“She did. She told me…” How to explain? Farrus couldn’t understand. He knew he had a soul, took the word of her and Lector’s like her that said they could see it. But he had never felt it, never wielded the power of miracles, the power to change reality as he saw fit. “It doesn’t matter what she told me. But I have to know. I have to talk to her again.”

“I know I make a habit of scoffing at orders, but I’ve never doubted you,” Farrus said. He gingerly put a hand on her shoulder, leaning close. She saw past the anger in his eyes. There was love there as well, and fear. “But you’re not thinking clearly right now. You’re sick, and we’re weak. Kenth is dead, and Hammarra took a bad blow to the head. She’s addled from it, speaking nonsense, and I don’t know if she’s going to get better. Garreth and I are the only ones who can defend you. If that woman comes back, who knows what she’ll do? She has power, she proved that back at the storm. More power than I’ve ever seen from one Lector. With you down, we can’t fight her. Please, Kierna, listen to me. We should just run. You’ll be better off if you never see that witch again.”

Could I run? Could she find me? Kierna considered. Ganiza had claimed she was interested in Isaand Laeson, but she hadn’t stirred from her land until Kierna had come along. Would she pursue them if they fled, or be content to let Kierna escape as her failed apprentice? It all depended on what her actual motivation was, and Kierna had no idea what it might be. She had thought she was being genuine, that she only wanted to share her knowledge with Kierna, show her the way to take hold of her potential. But now…

And Kenth is dead because of her, she reminded herself, seizing onto her anger with all her will.

“If I don’t speak with her, I’ll never understand what happened to me,” Kierna said. “And if I decide that she’s to blame for those people’s deaths, for Kenth… then there is justice to see to.”

Farrus hesitated, but she could see the appeal reach him. The need to avenge his friend. “I don’t know if she’s someone we can preside over,” he said.

“We have to try. It’s what we do.”

Farrus sighed, sheathing his dagger. “We’ll talk about it more once you’ve had more rest. We think Kwovo’s soldiers have stopped following us. Baako says there’s a place we can hole up for awhile, a couple day’s travel north. High-land, defensible, uninhabited. Once we’re there, we’ll see about getting you and Hammarra back to normal. Maybe she finds us there, maybe not. If so, at least we’ll have our backs to a wall.”

The next day, Kierna told them not to tie her to the saddle. Garreth argued, but she insisted. The day was long and hard, and she kept drifting off, eyes closing, swaying with Radiance’s gait. But she woke every time she started to slide, and she never fell. The land around her started to come into focus. The grass was darker here, almost gray, and the sky was clear but chilly. Autumn was here. They startled a herd of antelope alongside a river, and once caught sight of majestic family of elephants passing by on a nearby hill. But they met no other men, no threats.

Slowly, bit by bit, Kierna’s strength started to return. She didn’t know what had happened to her to make her so suddenly sick, but it had to have had something to do with how she’d used her Dea. Had she pushed it too far, too fast? Without Ganiza’s expertise, she had no way to know. The numbness didn’t retreat so easily though. Dimly, she realized that she was holding her feelings at bay, keeping herself from being washed away in grief. Neither Farrus nor Garreth seemed to blame her for the death of Kenth and the wounding of Hammarra. Baako, though, never spoke a word to her, and she saw him shooting nervous glances at her from time to time. The same kinds of looks he’d given Ganiza.

She thought a lot about the duel. The sheer power she’d displayed, the sensation of overwhelming strength. It had felt so alien, like someone else was in control, someone a hundred times more certain, more confident. But she felt echoes of herself as well. The way she’d turned away from the men and women in need to slay Munashe in a ruthless act of punishment… Looking back, she knew that she’d never truly believed the villagers had much chance of survival. Even if she’d won the duel, what would she have done with them? She didn’t have enough rations to feed them all, and they’d already been exposed to the elements for days. She recognized the familiar sense of fatalism, of feeling like there was nothing she could really do to help. Usually when she felt that way, she ignored it, and did what she felt was right anyway. At first she’d been imitating Kenly and the older sword-priests, the paladins she’d trained under in Ethka’s army. Over time, it had become second-nature.

But that pessimism was always there. And so too, the desire to take the simple path. A stroke of a sword, a splash of blood, and justice was done. Complete, with no loose ends to tie up. There had been other sword-priests who’d followed that path. Who’s personal brand of justice followed cold logic and draconian measures. She’d avoided following in their footsteps. But more than once she’d considered how comforting it would be, how easy it would make all her decisions. Hammarra and Farrus had that steel in them, that willingness to kill and turn away, certain that they had done what they could. She loved them, respected them, but that casual leaning towards violence had always unnerved her a bit.

She had thought that wasn’t her way.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

They camped upon a tall rock formation that jutted up out of the grassland. The stone was striated in different shades of reddish-brown, with a long natural ramp spiraling up to its top. The summit was dotted with acacia trees, surrounding a natural bowl-shaped pond. Baako informed them the land was uninhabited, claimed by a goddess who allowed travelers to come and go unharmed, provided they did not hunt any prey, cut any living wood, or stay beyond four days and nights. A colony of meerkats lived all over the rock, popping in and out of holes and chirping at the group as they made their camp. The odd little creatures had no fear of them, coming up a dozen or so at a time and sniffing at their belongings, though they steered clear of the horses and slyzeer.

Kierna rested while camp was set and dinner prepared. Afterward, she forced herself to go over to Hammarra. She changed the bandages on her head herself, carefully peeling them away and cleaning the wound. The injury looked negligible, a thin line of split skin along her left temple. It was healing clean, with no sign of infection. But her skin was hot and clammy, her body wracked with shivers. She looked very fragile, almost skeletal. When Kierna finished cleaning the wound and drew out a new set of bandages, Hammarra opened her eyes. Kierna froze. The old woman’s gaze wandered, not seeing her, moving back and forth as though following movement only she could see.

“Hammarra, can you here me?” Kierna asked. Hammarra shuddered, but showed no hint of recognition, her mouth opening in slack confusion.

“Emi?” Hammarra said. “How are… how are you here?”

“Emi? It’s Kierna,” Kierna said, taking Hammarra’s hand. “We’re in the grasslands. Hunting for the Unbound heretic, remember?”

“I don’t… you shouldn’t be… Emi, it’s dangerous here,” Hammarra said. She spoke further, but her when Kierna leaned down to better hear her she realized she was speaking another language, some guttural grasslander cant that sounded vaguely familiar. Not knowing what else to do, Kierna sat back and held her hand, listening.

“She’s done that before.” Kierna jumped at the sound of Garreth’s voice. He was looming over her from behind. Despite his huge size, he always moved quietly. “No language I’ve heard. Baako understands a few words, but he says it’s just raving.”

“Head wounds are bad, but after this much time, shouldn’t she have improved?” Kierna asked. As a paladin and sword-priest, Kierna was no stranger to injury. But the heavy armor her men usually wore, combined with her miracles to protect them, had usually kept casualties to a minimum. She’d lost people before, especially when they’d fought Amauro to protect the village of Tzamet. But lasting, serious injuries were rare.

“I don’t know,” Garreth said with a sigh. “She hasn’t had a good resting environment. Now that we’re away from Kwovo’s lands, in a safe place, maybe we can give you and her some time.”

“We can only stay four days,” Kierna said. Would she be any better by then? They couldn’t keep spending each day on horseback and expect Hammarra to recover. Bitterly, Kierna recalled that they had only been a few days behind Isaand when they’d come across the slaughtered village. Who knew how far away he would be by the time they were finished here?

The thought of the heretic made her think of all the villagers she’d interviewed over their journey. All of them had retained slight injuries from the wounds he’d healed… but they had been healed. Even in Ethka, where hundreds of Lectors lived, healing miracles were rare. Why was that?

Could I heal her? Kierna asked herself. The thought made her pull away as if from a hot stove. Using her powers was what had caused all of this mess in the first place. If she’d just remained faithful, followed Jehx’s will, then no one would have been hurt.

Would you have let those prisoners be killed without a fight? Kierna could hear Ganiza’s questions as if she were standing right beside her, looking down with an implacable stare. Wouldn’t you have fought to save them? Without the power you used, how many more of your men would have died?

Kierna realized her grip on Hammarra’s hand was too tight, and let go. She started to rise dizzily, planning to go get a drink of water. Then a hissed whisper cut through the darkness like a shout.

“Garreth, be wary!” The voice was Farrus,’ coming from the edge of the cliff where he was keeping watch over the darkening land, lit only by the last rays of the sun disappearing beyond the horizon. Kierna heard a rattle as Garreth drew his long blade and rushed over to join Farrus. Aching and tired, Kierna forced herself to join them.

“What is it?” she asked. Farrus looked at her in concern. His sword was drawn, a strung bow and quiver of arrows lying on the stone before him within easy reach.

“You should be resting-”

“How can I rest if there is danger?” Kierna asked. Her voice cracked like a whip, the result of so many years of habit. “Report.”

“Movement,” Farrus said, gesturing towards the plains back the way they had come. “I’ve seen something, several times, moving in the shadows, each time a bit closer. It could be local wildlife. But the way they’re moving… it looks like it’s stalking something. Like maybe they’re closing in on us. And somehow, it looked familiar.”

“Familiar?” Kierna asked. Farrus started to respond, but he was cut off, face growing pale, as a sound echoed over the plains from below. A harmonious sound, adding together in several distinct tones layered to form a single song.

The howling of wolves.

Part Three: Chapter Eight

Heretic Part Three, Chapter 6

Heretic

Part Three

Chapter 6

Kierna woke at the sound of a particularly loud crash of thunder. Her body tensed immediately, hand going for the sword lying at her side, a miracle litany whispered on her lips to bring up her armor of light. Then recognition came to her, and she slowly settled back, breathing heavily. Her heart was racing, sweat beading on her skin. She must have been dreaming, though she couldn’t remember it.

The sky was black, dawn not yet come. Even if it had, only scant illumination would pierce the storm that rumbled overhead.

Kierna was too nervous to sleep. She sat up and took a look around their meager camp. Garreth and Farrus lay on either side of her, their heads even with her knees, giving her a bit of space. Both seemed to still be sleeping. They slept shirtless, the air too humid to want covering, though both had cloaks wrapped around their faces to darken the flashes of lightning. Baako was sleeping past them, using the side of his slyzeer lizard as a pillow, hands clasped across his stomach. Ganiza was further off, surrounded by her godly beasts. It was Kenth’s watch, and she saw his tall silhouette off to the west, facing the lightning god’s village. Hammarra always got up early, and there she was, tending to a pot hung over a small fire.

Kierna got to her feet, breathing in the thick air, her shirt sticking to her back. The savory scent of stew wafted up from the pot as she stepped up behind Hammarra, who lifted up a ladle for Kierna to taste without comment. It was almost too hot, but its spicy flavor, mixed with peppers, onions, and pork helped to wake her. Kierna sighed in appreciation.

“Good. What time is it?” she asked.

“More than an hour till dawn,” Hammarra said, stirring. “So no point in trying to get you back to sleep, I suppose. Are you rested?”

“As much as I could hope to be, I suppose.” Kierna turned her gaze to the hilltop where the prisoners were strung up, but in the darkness she couldn’t see them from afar. “What do you think of this whole duel situation?”

“It’s a good opportunity. Plays to your strengths. But don’t underestimate this cleric. He has the look of a warrior. And perhaps his god claims to leave it up to the two of you, but we’re still on his land. He’ll skew things as much as possible to aid his champion. You’re not thinking of wearing your armor, are you?” The older woman gave Kierna a side-eyed glance.

“No,” Kierna said, shivering. “With all the lightning flashing around, that would be just asking to be fried. My miracles should be enough to protect me, hopefully.”

“Well, I’m less worried about the duel and more about who set it in motion.”

“Ganiza? Why? She’s been a great help to us. Without her intercession, we would likely have had to fight that whole army. That wouldn’t have ended well for any of us.”

“And you think she’s doing it out of goodwill? Everyone has a motive, Kierna. And I’d trust Baako before I trust that one,” Hammarra said, glaring towards Ganiza’s sleeping form. “You might have noticed she hasn’t spoken more than a few words to any of us. You’re the leader, you’re the paladin, and so it’s your ear she’s got a hold of. She’s trying to manipulate you. Maybe she’s helping you, maybe she’s doing it for a good reason, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t manipulation. Think about what she actually wants if you can figure it out.”

Kierna stared out into the dark, remembering the awesome image of Ganiza’s soul bared to her, a towering, crackling figure of light and power. She’d burned like a bonfire, a great light shining to show Kierna the path to her own unclaimed power. But as useful as fire was, it was dangerous as well. She’s been nothing but honest with me, Kierna told herself. All she wants is to help me grow and wield my Dea the same way she does. Or was that just the first step towards an unknown goal? Why was it she wanted to meet the heretic Isaand, anyway? She claimed to want to protect her land, but she’d left it defenseless, taking her gods with her. If she were an ordinary Lector, it would be a simple answer. She would only have to say that her god willed it. But with her making the decision, it could be anything.

“I need to loosen up,” Kierna announced. “Spar with me?”

“Sure,” Hammarra said with a hint of a smile. “This just needs to simmer now. Swords?”

“I’ll use my sword. You use your glaive.” Kierna was much younger and fitter than Hammarra. The polearm would give the older woman an advantage, make it an uphill challenge.
They walked a hundred feet to the east, so as not to wake anyone. Both of them stretched, then Hammarra swept her glaive in a few quick loops around her, ending in a forward guard with the long blade stretched out before her at above eye-level. Kierna took a breath and started automatically to chant the words of her usual miracle, which would weave armor of light around them and their weapons, enough to make them non-lethal. She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. Ganiza had told her that the miracles she’d been taught, which she believed to be the channeled power of Jehx himself, was actually only her flaring her Dea to exert her will on her reality. Jehx had done something to her, when he’d named her Lector and later Paladin, that opened her soul and allowed her to wield its power, but the power was still hers. If that was true… why would she need to pray for it?

Kierna closed her eyes, breathed deep, and imagined the burning soul within her. She purposefully kept her Godseye closed. She’d never needed it open before to use her miracles. She focused her mind on the memory of the village, where she’d expanded her Dea for the first time. A wave of emotion shuddered through her, part exultation and part melancholy, the phantom memory of the incredible experience that had shaken her so hard. Then she thought of her miracle, not the words but the power itself, the cool silver light that would flicker and shimmer in time with her eyes.

The flame within her roared, leaping higher. A pleasant ringing chime rang out in her ears, barely on the edge of her hearing, a sign of her power manifesting. She opened her eyes and saw the light weaving around her and Hammarra, leaving mottled shadows like sunlight seen through a clear body of water. Unbidden, a slight smile came to her lips.

This is mine. The power is mine, and the justice I bring with it.

Hammarra and she fought back and forth for several minutes. Neither of them tried to push very hard, instead switching back and forth from aggressor to defender every so often, communicating with the silent ease of their long partnership. Hammarra had been the first one who’d taught Kierna how to fight. And though Kierna’s natural talent with the sword had led her to surpass Hammarra shortly, Hammarra had continued to teach her the more general ways of war for many years. Philosophies of violence, dogged determination and reckless assault against an overpowering foe and the cold killer instinct necessary to remove a threat before it could claim the innocent. It was common amongst Jehx’s sword-priests to grow more calm and withdraw from conflict as they became more comfortable in their roles, more certain in their convictions. Hammarra would never be that kind of priest. She was a soldier to her core, and when she was too old to fight she would likely spend her days at the monastery training the next crop of just warriors.

By the time they were finished Kierna was sweating in earnest, her muscles aching with a dull sweet pain. She felt more relaxed than before she had slept. She thought she could feel the soul within her, in a way she had never imagined before, shifting and flickering like a well-tended fire. Sometimes it burned low, and she felt calm and reflected, and then it would burn hot and she would be flooded with a rush of energy, and the hard need to use it. Now she felt voraciously hungry, her stomach growling and quivering.

When they returned to the camp the others were up, eating around the little fire. Kenth was standing a bit further away, watching them approach. Hammarra moved on past him into the camp, but Kierna slowed as he saluted, serious as ever.

“I spotted movement from the village while you sparred, Blessed. A group of warriors, formed up the same as yesterday. They moved north, to the foot of the hill. It seems they are ready to begin,” Kenth said.

“Good. The sooner this is finished the better.” Kierna felt the power in her urging her onward. An image of Munashe’s face appeared in her mind and she gripped her hilt tight enough to make her fingers ache, anger flushing through her. That bastard murderer believed himself justified, but she would be the one to judge, here before his god. “After we eat, we’ll move out. We should arrive just before dawn. You see anything else out there?”

“I saw a bird,” Kenth said, eyes distant. Kierna blinked.

“A bird?”
“Hmm? Yes, well, I didn’t see any yesterday, ever since we crossed into to Kwovo’s lands. It’s this storm. Birds avoid storms, whenever they can, and if this one is always here, then they probably learned to stay away a long time ago. This one though… it was huge, with a wingspan of ten, maybe twelve feet. Oddly colored too, dark gray or black, but with flashes of blue. It was flying in and out of the clouds, unconcerned about the lightning. I wonder what kind of bird it could be… maybe one of the villagers will know about it.” Kenth started, realizing he was rambling, and smiled at Kierna. “It’s not important. Good luck in your duel today, Kierna. We all believe in you. Jehx will grant you strength.”

Jehx… can he even see me, this far away? The question made her feel guilty, so Kierna just returned a quick smile and went to go eat.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kierna stood with her priests at her back, a sloping hill before her rising to six jagged pillars of glassy stone. Seen up close, the rocks were crystalline, shiny, and they reflected the lightning with each flash as though a ripple of fire were sweeping across the ground. Tied to those stones, stark against the wall of clouds behind them, were eight captives: three men, two boys, two women, an infant girl tied to her mother’s chest. The ropes that secured them were looped in several places, distributing their weight so that their captivity was not torment. All of them were alive, eyes wide, staring down at the tableau before them. Whenever lightning flashed and thunder roared, they would flinch, each time wondering if it would be their last moment. Each of them wore a collar of iron, with a long spike of metal stretching upward towards the sky, a lightning-rod for a god’s judgment.

Standing in their martial rows just as they had the day before, Munashe’s soldiers stood ready to defend the hilltop. Each of them held themselves with complete control, unnerved by the storm’s fury. They might as well have been carved from marble. Munashe himself stood amongst them, his face hidden in the shadow of his jackal’s cowl. The sight of him brought back Kierna’s coldness. She felt as though there were an executioner’s axe raised high over his head, waiting for her to order its fall. She ached to see it.

No, she told herself, surprised at the vehemency of her animosity. I’m not here to kill him. I’m here to save the ones he took. Justice for the slain… it was out of her hands now. The most she could do to protect the survivors. And what of Isaand, then? Would she take the survivors and go back to Ethka, escorting them like the refugees from the village Amauro had ravaged? She’d had to give up her mission then, and had left Isaand free to commit his continued villainy. She couldn’t do that again. He had to be stopped. Her own god had told her that. I’ll find some other way, she told herself. The others can escort them back, find a village who will take them in. I won’t turn back again.

Munashe held up a hand, and his men stood down, lowering their weapons in a single smooth motion. He strode confidently forward into the open space between them. Kierna took a deep breath and followed suit, walking forward with her glaive resting on her shoulder. She was dressed in dark-green padded clothing, her armor and surcoat left behind as Hammarra had suggested. The only metal on her was her belt-buckle, her sword, and the blade of her glaive. They came to a stop with about twenty feet between them, with their respective followers more than three times that distance away. Kierna noticed that their positions gave Munashe the high-ground advantage. It was just as Hammarra had suggested. This ‘fair’ duel would be tweaked as much as possible to put Munashe in favor.

“Are the terms of the contest understood?” Munashe asked, his voice booming like thunder.

“Yes,” Kierna called back. “We fight to surrender, not death. Whosoever wins may decide the fate of the survivors of the village you slaughtered.”

“Neither of our allies will intervene, under threat of Kwovo’s judgment. Are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Then, I call on the gaze of Kwovo Above, look down and look upon our struggle. Let he or she whose cause is just be granted victory on this day.” As he spoke, Munashe lifted one of the metal batons he carried towards the sky. Kierna tensed, closing her eyes, but even through her eyelids she saw a flash of brilliant light, followed by a shocking boom.

Any other words Munashe might have said were lost in that deafening sound. Kierna opened her eyes and saw a dizzying field of rainbow-colored afterimages across the hill, along with a few dark shadows that she couldn’t clearly identify. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears. She didn’t know if the duel had started officially, but she was nearly deaf and blind, and she’d make an easy target.

She swept her glaive vertically before her and slammed its butt down on the ground, calling on her power. She felt her Dea burst forth from her heart, liquid fire filling her veins and pouring out, unrestrained by her mortal flesh. The ringing sound transformed into a clear clarion call. Silvery light burst out around her in a halo, and where its light penetrated her vision cleared to pure stark black-and-white.

Her eyes widened as she realized Munashe was right in front of her, loping forward on long legs with his weapons trailing behind him. She could feel the crackling energy of the lightning held within them. He jumped off from a spot about six feet away, the height difference between them making him soar overhead. Both maces came crashing down towards her.

She dodged to the side and felt the air whip by as he landed with both maces slamming down into the ground where she’d been. Another flash of lightning discharged from the weapons. She felt a red-hot streak of energy scatter across the armor of light surrounding her, a brief pain swept away by her power. Then came the thunder.

A massive shockwave burst out from where Munashe had struck, throwing her off her feet and spinning through the air. She landed with a crash, her breath knocked out of her and lungs burning. She struggled up to her feet, trying to hold the glaive before her. Munashe came in swiftly, stabbing out with one of his batons.

She parried it with the tip of her glaive, but lightning shot between them instantly, a snapping serpent of hot white energy. The wood at the end of the glaive cracked and shattered, the blade dropping to the ground and leaving her with just a pole. Fear rose up in her for the first time, her emotions catching up with the mad pace of the attack. Munashe kept coming, lifting his other mace. The ball on the end of it was blue-white, bright as a tiny sun, with arcs of electricity curling around it wildly.

Hammarra’s training saved her. When you were outmatched and outmaneuvered, sometimes the best chance you had was to do something, anything, that would take the enemy by surprise. So rather than retreating from the lightning, she threw herself straight at it. As she stabbed, she drew in the light of her miracle around her, wrapping itself about her so that she shone like a star, layering itself into a denser shield. She had no time to swing or reorient her pole, so she dropped it and went low, slamming her shoulder into Munashe’s gut.

She felt the surprise in his motion as he fell backwards, tottering on his feet. One of the maces collided with her shoulder, a glancing blow, and agony consumed her as her armor shattered away in scales of light. Her whole right arm went numb, hanging limp, but she could still feel the pain radiating out from it, her teeth gritting so hard she thought they would crack.

She managed to get her left hand around his wrist, pushing his other weapon up and away from her. Then she slid her foot between his legs and swept it sideways, knocking his legs out from under him and spilling him onto his back. Then would have been the best time to try and finish him, but the pain was immeasurable, and she stumbled backwards, away from the lightning. She touched her arm gingerly, afraid that she would find burnt, cooked flesh. Instead she felt wetness. Blood? It was only then she realized that the storm had finally unleashed its tears. Rain was pouring down around them in thick sheets, soaking everything. Her steps were slick on the glassy rock, and she went down hard on one knee, gasping.

An image flashed in her mind. Jehx, telling her that she had to stop Isaand. Ganiza, eyes staring into her own with such certainty. The dead village, burned and rotting in the cool wind. No, she thought. I can’t. I can’t stop here. The Dea burned inside her, consuming her pain, and she fed it into it, crying out as the pain burned away. She could feel the fire burning higher and higher. Her Godseye was shut, but she could see it anyway, the towering pillar of silver flame rising up into the sky. The rain bent as it fell around her, avoiding her like minnows giving way before a larger fish. Mad laughter bubbled out of her, ecstasy replacing the pain. She still couldn’t feel her arm, but that didn’t matter. The flesh was weak, but she had plenty of spirit.

Munashe was back on his feet, approaching cautiously. The silver light around her had grown even brighter, and she could see his eyes squinting, unable to make her out within its hidden brilliance. His own trick turned back on him. That was exactly how it should be. Those who sowed destruction would reap it in turn.

She swept out with her good arm, a wild gesture, and the light coalesced into a sweeping scythe blade ten feet long. It flew across the field, straight towards him, and she saw in her mind’s eye how it would slice through him cutting through his human shell and into the soul at his core. He would pay for the lives he’d ended, he would-

We fight to surrender, a voice said within her. I’m not supposed to kill him! She frowned, confused. She was a paladin of justice. The man she fought was evil, and ending him was her only goal.

A crack of thunder roared as Munashe blocked the blade of light with both of his weapons, lightning flaring around him. He slid back on the wet ground, ten, fifteen feet, the light leaving streaks of debris rising up from its path. The light faded out as he twisted and fell, one of his weapons falling to the ground with its ball cracked open, the lightning all leaked out.

Kierna half-turned away, looking to the army arranged on the hill behind her and the six pillars atop it, where the survivors of the village were tied up. You’re supposed to be saving them, she thought. The thought was strangely irritating. Would saving them do anything to punish the people who’d killed their families? Would it discourage any further slaughter? What justice would come from that?

The pain was returning. She could feel something wrong in her arm, something jagged and broken. Her breath was ragged and uneven. She’d never fought like this. She’d always been cold, composed, striking with surgical precision. Focused foremost on defense, on protecting the others around her, the ones who were weaker, who didn’t have a god’s miracles to protect them.

There was no one here to protect. She had no reason to hold back. She focused, remembering Ganiza’s words. Know what you want. Fuel it with your emotions. Will it to happen, make it happen.

What do I want?

Justice.

Her vision cleared, the mundane distractions of rain and lightning and darkness fading away as the Godsrealm, all of reality in its millions of myriad layers, appeared around her. Munashe’s soul was bared before her, a crackling ball of heat pulsing with thunder. It was released, burning brighter and larger than an ordinary human’s. But still, it seemed so small, so weak.

She could see him ready to defend himself. The lightning was gathering, a clear channel forming for it to flow down from the sky towards him at his command. It would be invisible to ordinary eyes, but to her it was as clear as day. He would be ready for her attack from the front.

She willed the earth to release her, and her boots lifted inches off of the ground, pieces of broken rock and dust rising around her in the same cocoon of power. They flew as fast as an arrow, not towards him but in a long loop to the side. Surrounded by light, she appeared as a silver comet in flight. He spun, confused, and she came from the side. She pulled her sword from its sheath and struck. Blood splashed across the wet stones.

“Surrender!” Munashe cried, coughing up blood. He had one hand clasped around his shoulder, where she’d sliced off half his arm. “I yield, you’ve won.”

Kierna stood above him, shining, burning with righteous anger. Her eyes flashed to the men and women on their pillars, hers to take. To take and crawl away in search of safety, abandoning her goal? How was that justice?

She tried to sheath her sword, but her arm wouldn’t move. She could feel her soul trembling, wracked with pain and nausea. She was trying to do two things at once, pulling her soul apart. Shocked with the pain, she gave in.

Her sword parted Munashe’s throat. He died with confusion in his eyes, thick dark blood pouring out of his neck. There was stunned silence for a moment, as even the storm grew quiet.

Then the sky flashed, as six simultaneous bolts of lightning arced down. Kierna’s eyes widened as she saw them strike the pillars holding the prisoners. Their skin glowed with light.

No! The sight of the captives deaths shut off her churning emotions like a switch. The power fell away, her shield vanishing around her, and Kierna fell to her knees, shaking. What did I do?

Screams roared as men charged down the cliff towards her, forty soldiers with weapons drawn. Kierna knelt stunned, recognizing only sparse images, flashing one at a time as though illuminated in flashes of lightning.

Hammarra and Garreth mounted before her, swinging their glaives around them against a dozen men.

Farrus grabbing her by the shoulders, shouting in her face.

Kenth leaping in front of her as a spearman got past Garreth’s blade. Beside him, Hammarra took a blow to the head.

A spearhead protruded from the chest of Kenth, red with blood.

Then a hand touched lightly on Kierna’s shoulder, and she looked up.

Ganiza stood there quietly, calm in the storm that raged around them. Malerax was at her side, growling, his tendrils whipping out. She gestured, and he leapt into the crowd, a blood-curdling scream following his attack. Ganiza reached up and stroked one of the heads of Aeshena, whispering something Kierna couldn’t hear.

The snake transformed, growing larger and larger until it coiled around them both like a great white wall, shimmering with cold light. Warcries gave way to screams of horror. Kierna impotently grabbed at Ganiza’s hand, trying to get her attention. The woman looked down at her with an inscrutable expression.

“What did you do to me?” Kierna asked. “That wasn’t me… you changed me-”

“I did nothing, Kierna,” Ganiza said. “All I did was set you free. Slaves do as their rulers require. Gods make their own choices.”

Part Three: Chapter Seven

Heretic Part Three Chapter 5

Heretic

Part Three

Chapter 5

Lightning forked in the clouds overhead, followed shortly by a deafening boom. The further west Kierna’s party had traveled the darker the skies had grown. The storm seemed angry, boiling and churning with a slow rotation. The blasts of lightning and thunder were shockingly loud and close, each detonation following only a second or two after the bright flash. The wind whipped strongly at them, fluttering their capes and surcoats and Ganiza’s airy robes. The grass here was short and sparse, evidence of that this was no freak storm but a regular occurrence of the land. They’d passed dozens of scorched craters left from lightning strikes as well as burned and broken trees. The shaman’s companion Eitia was coiled around the barrel of her slyzeer lizard, just behind its saddle, unwelcome in the turbulent sky. Yet there was no rain. The air was thick with humidity and a strange, acrid scent that put Kierna on edge.

Ahead, directly west, a village lay huddled in the midst of a series of tall boulders that sheltered it from the wind, just where Baako had told her it would be. The boulders looked unnatural, rising up out of the flat plain with nothing like them for miles around. Their shapes were gnarled and twisted, made of some glassy black substance. They rose like frozen waves, with houses built beneath their overhangs, arranged in a rough circle around the village. In the center was a wide open empty space, a roughly flat surface made of the same black. Huge markings were drawn on it in white chalk, visible even from a long distance by their great scale. They spread out like wings to four sides, a great circular glyph in the center.

“It is a prayer of protection,” Baako said, nervously glancing up at the sky as he did every time the lightning flashed. He had warned Kierna not to approach this land in his usual flippant manner, hinting that he would happily accept her horse as a gift if she perished in the process. As they’d come closer his cavalier manner had slowly leaked away, leaving behind a jittery anxiety. If he’d had a mount capable of moving faster than a slow and plodding waddle she suspected he’d have fled by now. “The circle represents the eye of their god, Kwovo, who dwells in the sky. Those jagged lines are his lightning talons, aimed to strike away from the center, their home. Kwovo is a powerful god, Blessed. We should not come here, at least not with weapons drawn. Offer them your good northern silver, and maybe they will sell a few of these captured villagers as slaves, ah? Everyone will walk away happy. No one will be turned to a pile of ashes, least of all loyal guide Baako.”

“You are merely a hired worker. Surely a just god would not strike you down along with us,” Kierna said. She paid little attention to his concerns, scanning the nearby village with a tactical eye. The village had no walls, though those stones ringing it could serve as an elevation advantage for archers or spearmen.

“It is said that only rich men and corpses bet on where lightning strikes, ah?” Baako said, cringing again as thunder boomed behind them.

“Maybe this will be your lucky day. I presume that protection does not apply to them?” Kierna pointed to the north end of the village, where the stone formation rose to its highest point, more than a hundred feet high. A series of six pillars of stone rose from it like fingers on a misshapen hand. Tied to the pillars were a series of captive men and women, exposed to the rushing wind and the threat of lightning.

“Perhaps it is an act of faith, ah? A willingness to put oneself at the mercy of the god, knowing in faith that he will not abuse them. These people believe such strange things, you know,” Baako said. “You cannot truly know that the ones you seek still live. You saw how they slaughtered everyone back at the village. Why would they leave these ones unharmed? We should go, before we are noticed.”

I do know, Kierna thought, accompanied by a clenching in her gut. Her heart seemed to be filled with as much turbulence as the storm, her mind just as cloudy. The crystal clear sense of purpose and certainty she’d felt after Ganiza had helped her expand her Dea had held for a time as they’d pushed west. She’d felt light as a feather, smiling at nothing and marching with a song in her heart, looking forward to saving those she’d chosen to save. The cessation of the melancholy that had plagued her for so long was so noticeable that she’d felt like a new person, barely able to comprehend how she’d lived for so long with that darkness hanging over her. She’d never really recognized it before, how rarely moments of joy or simple pleasure came to her, how she’d had to mentally whip herself into action just to gain the willpower to keep moving forward. Tearing it all away, if only for a time, made it so much clearer, as though she’d looked in a mirror for the first time and only just noticed the heavy collar around her neck.

That confidence had slowly faded. No second thoughts, she told herself. She’d chosen this path, and it would be well worth it if she could save the lives of the eight people condemned on that cliff. Still, the thought of her last conversation with Jehx kept rising up in the back of her mind. Jehx gave me my powers, she thought. What reason would he have to disapprove of this?

Whatever she’d done to herself—she couldn’t quite bring herself to think of it as ascending to godhood, whatever Ganiza believed—she had expected that it would have made her feel different. Not only were her thoughts as tangled as ever, but her body hadn’t seemed to have changed at all. She was tired from the two hour ride from the ruined village, her backside aching from the long stretch in the saddle. Surely that was proof of her lack of divinity, whatever Ganiza would have her believe.

“Here they come,” Hammarra said, pointing with her glaive down towards the village. A double column of men had formed up between two of the stone ramps and had begun to march in their direction, flanking a smaller group of men in the center. Kierna counted them out and saw there were a little over thirty men, vastly outnumbering her own forces. And they were on their own god’s land. “Bows won’t be much good in this weather. Our best bet is a wedged charge. Cut right through the middle of them and get to the prisoners before they can stop us,” Hammarra said. Kierna accepted her martial knowledge, but shook her head.

“They have at least a hundred soldiers in that village, and most likely a Lector. We’ll avoid a fight if we can help it. Don’t do anything to antagonize them. Baako, head back about half-a-mile. If you see us go down, you’d better run. Ganiza…” Kierna hesitated. Ganiza wasn’t hers to command, and even if she was, she wasn’t sure what she wanted her to do. A civilian’s best place was out of the way, safe and free from causing distraction. But Ganiza was a Lector as well, and perhaps a more powerful one than any Kierna had met.

“I will stay with you, paladin,” Ganiza said, watching calmly as the men approached. “Perhaps my voice may reach them where yours will not. If there is danger, my companions will protect me.” Aeshena was coiled more loosely around her neck, both heads up and sniffing at the air alertly. Malerax was lying on the ground at her side, huge paws folded beneath his head, barbed tail idly flicking back and forth.

“Very well,” Kierna said. The tension of watching the columns slowly approaching was too much to bear. “We’ll meet them. Keep weapons lowered unless I give the order.” She put her heels to Radiance’s flanks and the horse began down the slight incline towards the village. She heard the hoofbeats of horses as her men followed her.

The warriors of Kwovo the storm god came into clear view as she approached. They were young and lean or else older and hard, all marching with experienced discipline. They wore long capes of dyed hides. Each was different, but most seemed to be colored in some approximation of a storm-torn sky, slashed through with bright lines of lightning painted in white, blue, or violet. Wooden armor made of interwoven strips was strapped down over thick padding both on the chest and over the short leather skirts they wore. Their legs were clad in leather sandals that laced up to their knees.

The lines of men at the forefront carried twelve-foot long spears tipped with dark iron points. The middle section behind them carried tall wooden shields painted dark gray with a circular eye in the centers, along with shorter one-handed spears they could wield from behind the shields. Behind them was a small force of young men barely out of boyhood. These carried light round shields and long thick v-shaped pieces of wood in their other hands. They looked to be very smooth and aerodynamic. Kierna had seen some of these “boomerangs” at museums in Ethka. Though they lacked the puncturing power of an arrow she guessed that the men here were well trained at throwing them along the swift winds that never seemed to cease.

In the middle of the two columns of men was a small honor guard, four spearmen with shields protecting a tall, powerfully built man. He was thin with limbs that seemed almost exaggerated in their length. His skin was deep black, his chest bare as though he had no concern for mortal weapons, but he wore the same armored skirt and cape as the other men. On his head was a hood made from the hide of a smiling jackal, its mouth gaping open to reveal his bearded chin, his own storm-gray eyes piercing out through the empty eyes of the hide. He carried an odd pair of tools: two bars of plain dark iron, about the length of a longsword, that extended out into iron balls a bit smaller than a human head. From the manner in which he carried them Kierna guessed the balls were light and hollow, making them fairly ineffectual maces. He came to a halt and rested the rods on the ground before him, his palms pressing down on the hafts so they stood upright.

The warriors around him halted at once, then let out a single booming shout and transitioned into a battle formation, forming two squares to either side of the honor guard, shields up front with long spears angled through their defenses from behind. The young men with the boomerangs fell back and turned outwards, guarding the flanks of the defensive squares.

Farrus and Hammarra flinched, half-raising their own weapons before calming themselves. Kierna urged her horse forward, trotting a few paces out in front of her allies, her helm’s visor raised to let them see her face. If the sight of their shared heritage mollified their leader at all, he didn’t show it.

“Well met, Blessed,” Kierna said. “If I am correct in presuming you to be the Cleric of Kwovo, I wish in all respect to treat with you peacefully.” A hint of that cold distaste was welling up in her again. When she thought of the memories of that slaughtered village she now had faces to place as their murderers, with this man in the hooded cape front and center. But her best bet in saving the last survivors was to avoid any bloodshed, so she would suffer her misgivings until forced to do otherwise.

“You are correct,” the man in the hood said. His voice was raspy with age. She saw that his beard was salted with gray, his face lined, though he was still athletically built. “My name is Munashe. I speak for Kwovo when the god of storms,” he was interrupted by an enormous flash of lightning and a deafening peal of thunder. He waited through it calmly, unsurprised, then continued. “does not feel the need to speak for himself. And you are the paladin I’ve been warned of.”

That was unfortunately ominous, but she would not deny it.

“I am Kierna Sarana, sword of the god of justice Jehx, of the Heavenly Coterie of the city of Ethka. My companions are fellow sword-priests of Jehx, and the shaman Ganiza.” She put out a hand and Ganiza stepped forward, having dismounted from her slyzeer. Malerax kept pace beside her, his tentacles flowing in the wind behind him, and Aeshena flickered out her tongues. Munashe looked them over, an eyebrow raised at the oddness arranged before him, but he showed no signs of intimidation.

“You’re a long way from Ethka, paladin. We don’t have a lot of travelers in these parts, but Kwovo keeps his followers well informed. I know of your army approaching from the north. Is that why you’re here? Some kind of scout, or perhaps an emissary? I have no interest in fighting you or your companions. Our people are peaceful. Cause us no harm, and you’ll be treated well. I have much respect for the Thronelands.”

Kierna blinked at that. A man of peace? After slaughtering an entire village, children included? And it was strange enough to find a local cleric who didn’t outright despise the north, and those who represented it.

“As for you, shaman,” Munashe said, nodding towards Ganisha. “I don’t particularly know what to think of you. Let me ask you directly: do the gods you serve have designs on the lands of Kwovo?”

“We are only passing through, and my gods have no desire to rule over men in any fashion,” Ganisha said smoothly. “I am accompanying the paladin on her mission, which has no bearing on your land or god directly.”

“We are hunting an Unbound Heretic, Isaand Aislin Laeson,” Kierna said. Munashe smiled wolfishly at that, and gave a booming, thunder-like laugh.

“Ah, so we’re on the same side after all. With you riding up all armored like this, can you blame me for bringing out the men to defend my people? Well I’m afraid I can’t help you in your quest. If the heretic were here, I’d have him strung up there with the rest of the folks he defiled, but they all agree: he left four days ago, heading north. I plan to take out a squad tomorrow in search of the border, make certain he didn’t loop back into our lands. So long as you’re willing to plead for Kwovo’s hospitality, I can let you stay here the night and come with us in the morning. Honestly, I’m not sure if I wish to find him though. I lost enough of my men last night.”

The more he spoke, the more the cold fury grew in Kierna. This man thought she would agree with his actions?

“We are not on the same side,” she said icily.

Munashe froze. The men surrounding him, who had begun to relax, lifted their spears straighter, readying themselves for a fight. Behind her, Kierna heard a light rattle of metal and leather as her followers shifted. Tension filled the air, cut only by the continuous thunder.

“Are you threatening me?” Munashe asked. “I meant what I said. I’m a man of peace, but I am always ready to defend my people from harm. And as Kwovo has taught us, the best defense is a single swift strike that leaves your enemy dead and yourself unbloodied. Be careful what threats you spout on my land.”

The coldness in Kierna warred with her desire to see her friends safe, and the captives freed. Starting a brawl here was the last resort. But no response came to her immediately. Now that she knew this man for a murderer it was hard to see the possibility of negotiating with him. She floundered for a moment, the knowledge of her newfound power urging her towards releasing it. Old words brought her back, the simple tenets she’d decided on following for herself after studying with the older sword-priests, learning from their philosophies of justice. Justice cannot be uncompromising, or it becomes a sword with no scabbard. Always strive to do good when possible. When it is not, do not dwell on the lack of opportunity. She longed to punish the wicked for their slaughter of the village, but doing so was not within her power, not while they had over a hundred soldiers and a Lector on their side. She would have to settle for getting the captives freed unharmed.

“I cannot condone the extremes you have gone to in your pursuit of the heretic,” Kierna said. “But that is over and done. I have hope that I can prevent the deaths of any more innocents. I ask that you turn the captives from the village over to me.”

Munashe regarded her warily. “You think us monsters, I suppose. It is horrible, what we did, I’ll not deny. But surely you of all people understand the necessity of rooting out heresy wherever it can be found. The Unbound are the single greatest threat to the Fifth World that exists. A million human lives spent to resist their machinations would be worth it, to prevent the horrors they would spread. The heretic spent nearly a week in that village. When I learned, I prayed to Kwovo to brighten the skies and show me what I should do.”

“And he told you to kill them all?”

“He did. I brought only volunteers, those who knew what grisly task awaited them, and I led the attack myself. My dreams will certainly be filled with terrible memories for years to come, but I do not regret my actions. Kwovo has proven himself to be a wise master. I trust his will, and through me, the rest of our people do the same.”

“Why bring the others back then? You killed children, infants. Why not kill them all?” Kierna asked. She looked past him, off to the right where the survivors were chained to their pillars. Munashe followed her gaze, then turned back to her with a stubborn expression, grown more resolute by the reminder of his duty.

“You hunt the heretic, do you not? You have a Godseye. Surely you’ve seen what he does. The villagers had to die to prevent whatever manipulation the Serpent had planned for them. These creatures… they are too far gone. Their very souls have been captured, wrapped in chains. If I killed them, what would happen? Would they pass on into the Churn, and be reborn cleansed of the corruption within them? I think not. They are claimed. Simply killing them would be a cruelty beyond what we did to that village. Their souls would be taken by the Unbound, theirs to torment for all eternity. I do not know how to help them, so I appealed to a higher power. The stones you see are holy, the work of Kwovo to shield us from his wind and lightning. We await his judgment. Perhaps if they are cleansed by Kwovo’s lightning the chains on their souls will be melted away, freeing them to move on. So you see, paladin, I cannot give them up to you. I am the servant, and my master holds them now. It is out of my hands.”

No one else spoke, though there was no silence. The winds continued to howl through the land, buffeting them and blowing dust and detritus against them. The warriors of Kwovo swayed easily with the gale, comfortable with its fury. Radiance kept pulling to the right, following the flow of the wind, forcing Kierna to rein her in. She looked again to the distant hill, where six pillars rose against the sky.

It made a horrible sort of sense. As a paladin of Ethka, Kierna had read many a report of the atrocities of the Unbound across the known world. Some, like the Dark Mother Awlta, were known to claim the souls of those who served them, even unwittingly. After death, they remained in the Unbound’s power to be tortured or used, stuck back into corpses to create a kind of undead Sendra with which they terrorized the living. Once claimed, so far as she knew, there was no way to free them. Not for a paladin. Those matters were the realm of the gods.

But maybe I could do it now, she thought. The concept a disturbing one. Ganiza said the powers we wield come from our strongest desires. The whole reason I’m here is to help these people. Could I do it? Break the chains and free their souls? There was no way to know, except to try. And this man would not let her do so.

“We have the same desires,” Kierna said. “I can see now, that you are not an evil man.” Surprisingly, she realized she meant it. Munashe seemed to be entirely honest in his excuses. She believed he thought he was doing what was best, not only for his own people, but for the world as a whole. That sort of altruistic thinking was exceedingly rare for a cleric, who existed to represent his god and his people alone. “But still, I can’t accept your decision. It is true that sometimes a wound is so egregious that the patient cannot be saved, and must be given mercy to end their pain. I understand that. But such a decision can only be made when all other options have failed. If your god could have helped them, he would have done so already. What if mine can help? Ethka is home to a hundred gods and goddesses, some of the most powerful of those among the Bound. They have a chance there. Would you consign them to death without considering that possibility?”

The more she spoke, the more conviction filled Kierna, burning away the coldness and uncertainty that weighed heavily on her heart. It was hard to see the right path, always hard to handle the unforeseen consequences that stemmed from her every act. But whatever logic used to justify her actions, she couldn’t believe that acts of mercy to those in need could ever be wrong. The wider she opened her mind, the more complicated everything seemed to get, but she had to remind herself that some things were very simple. These people needed her help. So she would give it to them.

Munashe sighed. “If you strike as forcefully as you speak, I hope to never be your foe. It would be so much easier, I suppose, to turn these people over, out of my sight. Let them be someone else’s problem. Doing so would be hypocrisy, though. In faith, I have entrusted them to my god. How can I take them away from him and hand them over to another, expecting them to do better work than the one I serve? I would never insult my liege so.”

“Perhaps, then, your god should speak for himself.” Kierna and Munashe both turned in surprise as Ganiza spoke. “This land is his. He is aware of everything happening within it. Why sit by silently and let your cleric speak for you, Kwovo the Turbulent?”

“Silence your arrogant tongue, shaman,” Munashe said, slamming one of his weapons into the earth before him. “You split your faith between multiple gods, as fickle as a child. What would you know of servitude? Speaking for Kwovo is my appointed duty. I will not second-guess his decisions.”

“Then you will not free them, and you won’t even ask Kwovo for confirmation?” Ganiza said. “I have traveled with the paladin for some time. She is absolute in her convictions, once she has made a decision. Paladin, am I correct in guessing that you will not be willing to leave without the captives? Even if it means violence?”

Kierna hesitated, but Ganiza was certainly working towards something. She’d never known her to act without good reason, even in mundane tasks. “Yes. I don’t desire it, but Munashe, I will fight you for this if you force me.”

“You would lose,” Munashe said. “I have four times your number, and Kwovo has granted me the power to smite his enemies. You would not find me an easy foe.”

“I wonder, Munashe, how many of your volunteers died at the fallen village,” Ganiza asked. Munashe didn’t show much reaction, but his eye twitched a bit, and Kierna saw some of the soldiers around him stir. His forces had won the day, but striking at a walled compound was bound to have taken a toll. He’d probably lost dozens of men. Kierna thought she saw what Ganiza was trying.

“Even if you win, my men will kill many times our own number,” Kierna said. “We are mounted, armored in full steel, with two Lectors to match your one. Do you want to return to your village and console another dozen families because their loved ones died at your command?”

“I told you before,” Munashe said, his voice a growl. “Threats will not work here.” With a roar, he suddenly lifted his two metal rods to the sky. A flash of lightning erupted, turning the world to white light and black shadows. A pillar of brightness descended among them, leaving an image burned on Kierna’s vision. Lightning hit the rods with a sound like a mountain cracking. Violet lightning crackled around Munashe, collecting in the balls of steel on the end of his rods, but flaring and flickering erratically around him in every direction, almost far enough to reach his honor guard. The lightning made his skin glow, the faint outline of bones visible within. The thunder echoed across the land, and slowly the light faded away.

“Kwovo gives you much strength, I see,” Ganiza said, unconcerned. “Perhaps you’d be willing to prove it. Protect your men. Face the paladin in single-combat, champions of your respective gods. That way no matter who loses, no harm will come to your men. You have little to lose, only the lives of those who are beyond saving anyway. Wouldn’t it please Kwovo to end this without any unnecessary killings?”

Munashe blinked at her suspiciously. “I—”

Before he could respond, the entire sky turned white. The thunder that followed hit Kierna’s chest like a physical strike. It was surprisingly quiet, until she realized that her ears had been overloaded and all she could hear was a distant high-pitched droning sound. Nauseated, both blind and deaf, Kierna clung to the reins of her horse as she felt movement. Radiance bucked, but she held on, and as the thunder ceased the horse slowly began to calm, though she could feel her shuddering between her legs.

Bit by bit, the world returned around Kierna. Her first sight was of Munashe on his knees, kneeling in the midst of a crater of blasted earth. His guards had all pulled away, a dozen yards or so to the side. The image spurred a sudden ferocity in her, and her hand was drawing her sword before she realized what she was doing. All she had to do was urge Radiance into a trot, swing her sword, and the Lector would no longer be a threat.

She stilled herself. That wasn’t her way, the way she’d determined she would live her life. As the aftereffects of the lightning strike faded away, she realized her men had arranged themselves in a circle around her, protectively positioned with glaives stretched out to ward off attack. Kwovo’s soldiers were less hostile though, staring as one at their cleric in awe.

Munashe blinked and slowly stood, shaking slightly. A flicker of electricity ran up his arm and sparked off of his shoulder, and his eyes and teeth still had an opalescent glow to them. He faced Kierna.

“My god has commanded me. Meet me on the hill to the north, before the captives you seek. We will duel as you wish, and the winner will decide their fate. There is one condition. I am the chosen speaker for Kwovo among his people, and he would not leave them with no one to speak on his behalf. The duel will be to surrender, not death. I pledge, before the storm above and all witnesses, that I will not try to kill you, so long as you agree to concede when you know you are beaten. Do you agree to these terms?” Munashe asked.

“I do. Jehx as my witness, and Kwovo as well,” Kierna said. “I will not kill you by choice, and you will have my surrender if I do not think I can win.”

“Good. Meet tomorrow, at sunrise,” Munashe said. “You and your companions will sleep on the plain. Do not approach my village.” He shouted, and the soldiers all turned around as one. They began to march away, towards the village. Kierna looked towards the captives to the north, a familiar uncertainty returning. They’d already been up there for hours, and now they would have to wait the entire night to be freed, even if she won. It was possible they would not survive.

“You have a chance now,” Ganiza said, stepping up and laying a hand on Kierna’s shoulder. Kierna sighed, and reminded herself of her principles. Do not dwell on what can’t be helped. She would save them if she could, on the morrow.

Part Three: Chapter Six

Heretic Part Three, Chapter 4

Heretic

Part Three

Chapter 4

Kierna’s steps kicked up little puffs of ash with each step. The smell and taste of smoke was thick in the air. The village had been raised along the side of a bend in the river, atop a rise that commanded view of the local plains, miles away from the closest island with their dangerous packs of Threshers. Even so, they’d been wary. The charred remains of wooden post wall ringed the village, now collapsed into smoke-stained piles of wood.

The attackers hadn’t rushed the job. Seeing how thoroughly the village had been destroyed, each house transformed into a pile of ash and tinder, they’d likely lingered for hours, tending the flames and making certain that nothing remained. The air was still warm from the smoldering wreckage. Kierna’s eyes watered as floating grit was blown into them from the wind.

However long the ravagers had stayed, they hadn’t bothered to bury the dead. More than a hundred bodies were scattered around the village, most of them clumped up together in large groups where they’d obviously tried to pack together for protection. That hadn’t saved them. The bodies hadn’t begun to seriously rot yet, being freshly slain, and so for the moment the smoke in the air blocked out any scent of decay.

Kierna stood at the center, atop the highest point where the larger houses had surrounded a circular stone shrine. Here the bodies were mostly of women and children. The men had fought at the wall and its gates, holding the enemies back. They’d stepped over a line of corpses at the entrance to the village. Here and there a few men with broken spears and shields lay among the women and children, where they’d fallen back when the walls broke.

The sight weighed on Kierna, pushing her down into the darkness of apathy. It didn’t matter what she did. She defended the weak and innocent, saved people from being killed, hunted down killers and brought them to justice. Yet no matter how often she sought to change the world, things like this kept on happening, every day, all over the world. Put two people within reach of each other, and eventually one of them would be moved to violence. An army was bearing down on the grasslands, and still they fought amongst themselves.

Isaand hadn’t done this, she was certain. She’d heard the tales of his destruction of the villages in the Clearlake, where he’d unleashed his Sendra beast, so she knew he was capable of it. But Isaand traveled with only the woman and young girl; he had no armies at his disposal. And she knew well enough to detect mundane butchery where she saw it.

The signs of warfare were evident. The ground was trampled with the boots of the warriors who’d fought, perhaps a hundred of them. That would be a large band for these grassland villages, where the populations were kept small by a lack of interaction with other villages and the esoteric demands of their ruler gods. Most likely they came from a village of five or six hundred, with only a small percentage of the population trained in the art of war.

Not everything was so clear, though. Though fire had been spread uniformly through the small village, she saw no sign of built bonfires. It was unlikely the attackers could have approached the village, fought through the guards at the gate, and broken across the wall all while carrying lit torches in large enough numbers to get the blaze going. And in several places, most clustered around the gates themselves, she’d seen oddly shaped craters left in the ground, smoking and smelling of sulfur. Bodies clustered around these craters were badly burnt. And the battle seemed overly one-sided. She’d counted at least sixty dead warriors so far, and she hadn’t been to the northern end yet, where signs of more battle were visible. The defensive advantage of the hill and wall should have made it an extremely costly victory, the kind no sane commander would attempt unless they had no other choice. But all signs pointed to a relatively easy victory.

Following a thread of thought, Kierna approached the stone shrine. It had been carved intricately, the remnants of faces visible across its surface, the ground around it paved to elevate it from the dirt. But there wasn’t much left to see. The stones were blackened and cracked, a huge hole in the ceiling. Looking around, she could see where stones from the breach had flown and scattered all across the hilltop, some as far as fifty feet away. That wasn’t done with conventional weaponry, she thought. They had a Lector with them.

As though summoned by her thoughts, Ganiza stepped out of the ruined remains of the shrine, Aeshena wrapped around her as usual. She looked somber, eyes clouded.

“Was Isaand here?” Kierna asked. So far, Ganiza had been able to accurately follow the heretic’s trail… at least, that was what she claimed. Ganiza insisted that she was capable of speaking with the myriad tiny spirits that lived everywhere, and that they had all been affected by Isaand’s passing like a storm blowing through, making it an event they could remember despite their limited mentality. But Ganiza, conveniently, was the only one who could manage this thing, meaning that Kierna was forced to simply take her word for it. She was not at all certain she trusted her that much, not yet.

“I cannot tell,” Ganiza said, shaking her head. Her eyes swept across the killing field with a grimace, and she looked a bit gray, as though she were struggling not to be sick. “Too much chaos, too much turmoil. The spirits are swarming, confused and frightened and angry. The villagers who lived here would have appeared as a thick mass of Dea to the spirits, a warm and inviting light to live by. Now they are all gone, and the spirits are left without that anchor. If Isaand passed through quietly, having nothing to do with this destruction, they would have taken no notice of him. Could he have done this?”

“Possibly. He’s done something like it before, but the damage was much smaller, and I haven’t heard any reliable accounts of mass deaths. Either way, most of these people were killed in battle. No, he’s not responsible, not alone at least,” Kierna explained. Ganiza nodded along, looking lost. That, oddly, made Kierna feel a little better. Ganiza had seemed so certain, so in control, that she was hard to approach. Seeing her out of her element, as unnerved as anyone who hadn’t witnessed such atrocities before, made her human. Kierna was the one in control here.

“I do believe a Lector was involved though,” Kierna continued, pointing to the broken roof. Ganiza eyes widened as she took in the sight.

“I’ll see if I can learn anything else,” the shaman said, moving away swiftly, pulling her snake tighter around her like a shawl. Kierna blinked as she watched her leave, surprised at Ganiza’s lack of composure. The warnings she’d received from the surrounding region of Ganiza’s land had painted her as a dangerous devil-woman, one who’d slaughtered dozens if not hundreds of people who’d provoked her wrath. A deadly, merciless force of nature. It would appear that, however dangerous she might actually be, Ganiza was not used to stepping directly into the muck and blood of direct violence.

“Captain,” Garreth said, drawing Kierna’s attention. He’d climbed the hill from the west, a cloth wrapped around the lower half of his face to help with the smoke. Behind him, Kierna saw Farrus at the bottom of the hill, on his knees inspecting something closer.

“What is is, Garreth?”

“We’ve followed the path to the west a ways. From the tracks, it looks like that’s where the main attack force came from, though they sent attackers to the north and south as well. It looks like they went back that way as well, dozens, maybe as many as a hundred. They’ve trampled the grass in a wide swath, so we could easily follow it. If that is what you command.”

“This looks fresh. Perhaps a day has passed. They could have taken prisoners,” Kierna said.

“What for?” Garreth grimaced. “They killed everyone else, even the children.”

“Hammarra and Kenth are looking for survivors…”

“There are none.” Hammarra appeared out of the smoke, a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face like Garreth. “There’s not many hiding places left, but we’ve checked everything that hasn’t collapsed completely. The sooner we leave this pyre behind us the better, whereever we ride.”

Kierna looked from one to the other, noting the tiredness in their eyes, the slouch of a warrior with no foe to strike, no one to protect.

“Take a rest, then. We’ll leave in an hour,” Kierna said. Garreth and Hammarra nodded and saluted. As usual, it seemed that so long as Kierna spoke like she knew what she was doing, her followers believed in her. She turned away and climbed back towards the damaged shrine, the only building around that still mostly stood, wondering where she was supposed to go now.

Her goal was singular, to capture the heretic Isaand Laeson. But with no idea of what had happened here, she had no idea which direction to go. He could have been captured and carried back west to wherever the attackers had come from. He could have continued on to the north, passing by before the attack ever happened. He could have seen the threat and looped back south or southwest. There were a number of small boats at the bottom of the hill on the banks of the river, their bottoms smashed by the attackers to make them useless, but he might have been able to use one before the attack and cross the river to the east.

Kierna had followed Isaand’s path with relative ease, as he tended to stand out wherever he went and people were always willing to talk about him, whether out of fear or interest. Once Ganiza had joined them her esoteric methods of tracking had sped them up considerably. Both Ganiza’s powers and the local rumors seemed to agree that he was close. The slyzeers slowed them down somewhat, but they still covered more ground than one would on foot, and the heretic was reportedly stopping regularly to heal people as he traveled, dozens of them so far. She could feel that she was close, a powerful conviction that spurred her onward.

The village of dead awoke a familiar feeling as well. With every corpse she stepped carefully over, every pile of burnt wood she passed, a coldness seemed to well up in her, starting from her extremities and slowly growing inward until it began to tighten around her heart. Armor for her soul, protecting her from the pain and disgust that came from walking amongst the horrors of war. And with that coldness came a sharp clarity, something like the rush of combat that urged her to fight or flight. A clarity that told her that evil had been done here, tipping the scale, and that she was the one who could tilt it back.

The shrine smelled strongly in its confines, but it was dark and quiet and secluded, and that was what she needed. Kneeling, Kierna sat on the floor on her knees and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She spent several minutes in meditation, emptying her mind, concentrating on her breathing, until she reached that wonderful state of silence, freedom from the constant questions and confusions of daily life. A single beautiful sound rang out in her head, a chime that held back all the darkness of her environs.

Jehx, she prayed. Lord Jehx, Justice. Please hear me. Please help.

She prayed for nearly an hour, but received no answer.

Soft footsteps announced Ganiza’s entrance. Kierna sighed and stood. Her legs had gone numb, and they began to ache after a few seconds. She turned to find the other woman regarding her solemnly.

“Learn anything?” Kierna asked.

“No, I’m afraid not. The spirits are too upset. I can’t get anything coherent out of them,” Ganiza answered.

“You said the spirits see the souls of the people who lived here as their home. Would they be able to focus on those?” A flicker of surprise crossed Ganiza’s face.

“I hadn’t thought of that… but no, I don’t think so. Under ordinary circumstances, perhaps, but as scattered as they are… besides, you don’t think there are survivors do you?”

“Yes,” Kierna said, surprised at how convinced she sounded. “This attack didn’t happen for no reason. This town has existed for a long time. It had strong walls, a good location, a lenient god who allowed them to thrive. Evil though it may have been, something provoked the killers. The heretic’s passing is the natural explanation. Perhaps they took him, and murdered the village for harboring him. If only there was a way to know for sure…”

“Perhaps there is.”

“What do you mean?” Kierna asked. Ganiza stood straight-backed, idly running her fingers down the back of Aeshena.

“You want to find them, don’t you? These hypothetical survivors. It burns in you, stronger even than your desire to capture Isaand, the need to save them. To punish the killers.”

“Not punishment. Justice.”

“Then use that desire. Focus it, wield it, and find them. There is a connection between you and them, created by the strength of your feelings. I couldn’t do it. When I look around here, all I feel is sickness and fear, the desire to escape. But you could do it.”

“You’re talking about a miracle?” Kierna asked.

“Of course.”

“I told you, it’s not possible. Jehx grants me his miracles. I cannot simply pull a new one out of thin air.”

“Have you tried?”

Kierna hesitated. She thought back to her training, when she’d first learned how to perform Jehx’s miracles, how easily they had come to her, how perfect they felt, as though they had been designed just for her, like a suit of armor built to her exact measurements. Kenly’s miracles, and those of the other sword-priests who’d been so blessed, had all been different. His instructions had been vague, drawing out miracles meant for certain circumstances. The miracles had started less focused, more open-ended. A field of protection had become a shield, a strike of light became a blade of pure power. The more she had used them, the more exact her powers became, until they felt like distinct tools. If Ganiza was correct, where had they truly come from? Had she created each miracle on her own?

“I’m not a god, Ganiza. I’m just a woman with a sword, failing at my given task.” The words poured out of her in a rush, the coldness inside of her turning on her, a stark mirror reflecting all of her inadequacies in undeniable light. “I’ve accomplished nothing here. My presence spreads grief and turmoil wherever I go. Even if I find the heretic, will it stop the crusade? My god would seek to stop it, I believe that much. But the others won’t listen. Not enough of them. Call me paladin, but I may as well be just another grasslands village girl for all the power I have to stop what’s coming.”

“Can your god help you then?” Ganiza asked, undeterred.

“No. This isn’t his place. He’d be breaking the Pact to manifest his power here. I’ve prayed, hoping he could send me some message, some hint that would at least point me in the right direction, but there’s nothing. I’m on my own.”

“What can it hurt to try then? Are you frightened of the possibility? The thought of all you’ve been taught, all you believe, might only be one small piece of the truth? You are a fish in a small pool, with a stream leading the way to a lake; all you have to do is swim it.”

“I…” The coldness in Kierna faltered, and a wave of anxiety hit her, blowing her words away.

“No, that isn’t it. You’re not so dogmatic as that,” Ganiza said, eyes thoughtful. “You barely manage to conceal your disgust for the other gods of your holy city. The warmongers, the power-hungry, those who support this crusade for no reason other than to benefit themselves. And you listened, truly considered what I had to say. You aren’t afraid of the truth.”

She shook her head, a hint of pity touching her expression.

“You’re afraid of the power. You’ve spent your whole adult life forging yourself into a loyal tool for your god, working for his purpose. You’re a good leader, your men respect you, but you’re clearly not comfortable with the responsibility. If you were to accept your divinity, to truly embrace your potential, then you wouldn’t have anyone else to look to for guidance.”

“It would all fall on me,” Kierna said, quietly. “I’d be… all alone.”

“Only as alone as you are now. Your men care for you. Your god believes in you, enough that he broke the shackles on your soul, to free your Dea to shape reality as you willed it. I have walked this path, and would be there to help guide you.”

Ganiza’s footsteps rang out in the silence of the shrine as she stepped closer, right up to Kierna’s chest to look her in the eye. Kierna leaned back, uncomfortable with the invasion of her space. Everyone in her life was careful to keep a respectful distance. She was rarely touched. Even Baako’s lecherous advances came from a wary distance, never expecting any chance at success. Ganiza put her hand on Kierna’s shoulder, tilting her head back to look up into her eyes. The twin-heads of Aeshena turned and regarded Kierna with inscrutable eyes, tongues flicking out.

“Don’t think so hard, Kierna. Ask yourself a simple question. You know no help is coming. If you, with the power inside you, could find who was responsible for this, and help those who still need it, would you? That’s the only choice you’re making.”

Kierna sighed. Memories flashed through her mind, another village so long ago, the corpses of her brother and sister left behind on a burning pyre as she marched sobbing out into the grass. No one had helped her then, not until years later hundreds of miles away, when it was already too late for most of her family.

“What would I do?” she asked.

“Open your Eye.”

She did so, slitting it so that a hint of the divine filtered in all around her, filling her senses. Then, acting on instinct, she widened it, throwing her eye open to invite in the spiritual world in all its glory. A million sensations pressed in on her, rocking her on her feet, and her body seemed to burn away like a candle flame snuffed out. She couldn’t feel the ground, and felt as though she were sinking, falling, drowning in a substance that was part air, part water, part earth, part smoke. A scream started in the back of her throat but she held it back, gritting the teeth she could no longer feel.

Kierna

Ganiza stood before her. Her body was gone, but where it had stood was a swirling maelstrom of orange light and smoke, shot through with flickering bursts of golden light. Three dark eyes burned in a triangular pattern atop the pillar of light, eyes that somehow conveyed the same calm and certainty the shaman showed in her material form. Dozens of little spirits, amorphous forms of gelatinous light, crawled among her, clinging. A silver thread of light looped around and around Ganiza a thousand times, stretching away into infinity, each end coiling back in on itself, reaching two identical faces each with three glowing eyes of emerald.

I hear you, Kierna thought, shocked.

You should

This is your world

Show me what to do.

Look upon yourself

A Godseye was no ordinary organ, constrained by physicality. Focusing inward, she looked down and down, into herself from all angles. It was like diving through a thick layer of clouds, until they peeled away and she saw it: a spark of bright white light, slowly churning like a ball of smoke. It was small, but it crackled with immense power. She felt that if she touched it, it would explode in a burst of lightning that would echo across the world.

This is me, she thought.

Yes

It’s not any different than any of the others. It’s just a human soul. Tiny and insignificant.

No

The cage has been opened

You have space to stretch out

Push

How?

The same way you breath the same way you move your muscles

Will it

Kierna breathed in, though she could no longer feel her body. The soul did not change. She focused on it, chanting under her breath the words she used to call on Jehx’s miracles, but the soul did not change. She imagined it growing, stretching wider, burning brighter like a bonfire fed more fuel. The soul did not change.

A flash of anger ran through her, a silent shout of frustration.

The soul flickered, silver lightning flashing from one side to the other.

Emotion is the language of the gods

You’ve worked so hard to enslave yourself

To keep yourself calm in all situations

Let it flow, but USE it

Kierna opened up, letting down the armor she used to bottle in all of her doubts and fears, a wave of mixed feelings choking out of her like the beginnings of a sob.

The soul exploded with brilliance, lightning flickering through it, stretching out in every direction, eclipsing the tiny, insignificant vessel of her body. She screamed inside her mind, overwhelmed with the sense of power, the electric force that rushed through her veins. Her vision changed. The Godsrealm coalesced before her, losing none of its immense detail, thousands of dimensions of interwoven reality, but whereever she focused, she could understand it clearly. She wasn’t an invader here, anymore. She felt like she belonged.

Laughing, she rose up over the village, looking down on the six shining souls of her men sitting in a circle before the shrine, Ganiza’s towering soul looming above them all. Countless spirits swarmed throughout the village, a pattern a million times more complex than a brightly woven tapestry, but she could discern each individual one, look closely and see them for what they were, staring down into their nature. Predator. Prey. Force. A few Authority, not yet grown to their true nature.

She turned her Eye west, though she could still focus and see, hear, feel, smell, touch, taste, every piece of the hill around her. The sensations were overwhelming, and she felt a deep sickness, a growing pain, as though she’d been running for miles and could go no further.

You can’t keep this up for long

You want to find them

Look for them

Kierna’s presence swept to the west, flying across the plain, cresting through waves of power and sweeping spirits up in her wake. As she swept over them, she could feel their Dea touching, mixing in tiny sparks that left alien emotions echoing inside her, each spirit speaking their thoughts without words to her as she passed. The west grew dark. An enormous face appeared on the horizon, glaring down at her with eyes of purple lightning, but it did nothing to stop her. Ahead in the distance, white lights appeared like distant campfires. She swept towards them, and their light illuminated the space all around, burning through the brightly colored shapes and images as though pushing away darkness.

Souls. Hundreds of them, some dim, some bright, some quivering with sharp edges, others rounded and soft. And there, in the middle, surrounded and isolated from all the others, was a familiar sight: eight souls, with silvery chains wrapped tight around their flames.

I see them, Kierna said.

Kierna emerged from the shrine light-headed, stomach roiling, hand on the wall to keep from tipping over. Sweat covered every inch of her body. Her throat was dry, gasping for breath, in need of water. Ganiza followed at a discreet distance. Hammarra, Kenth, Farrus, Garreth, and Baako were gathered around in a circle. They looked up in shock as she stepped forward, and Kenth and Farrus leapt to their feet to help her.

“Captain!” Farrus shouted. “Are you well?” His eyes flickered over to Ganiza, mistrust aimed like the dagger he pulled from his belt. “Did she do something to you?”

“No,” Kierna said, laughing. They stared in surprise as the unaccustomed sound boiled out of her. “No, she didn’t do anything. I’m well. I’ve been…” She hesitated, uncertain what to tell them. Were they ready to know that the woman they followed was no longer the loyal servant of their god they thought her to be?

I’m sorry, Lord Jehx, she prayed. I believe in you. I won’t abandon you. But if you can’t help me here, I have to take things into my own hands.

“We’re riding west. There are prisoners there, taken from this village, people healed by the heretic Isaand,” Kierna told them. A smile broke out across her face, despite her exhaustion. “We’re going to rescue them.”

 

Part Three: Chapter Five

Heretic Part Three, Chapter 3

Heretic

Part Three

Chapter 3

The air smelled faintly of smoke, mixed with the wet, thick odor rising up from the slow muddy river to Kierna’s right. She rode along it’s banks, the ever-present plains of grass stretching away to the left. With the river bolstering them on one side, Garreth was riding rear-guard behind and Farrus ahead. The left side was slowly rising hills, so Kierna had opted not to post an outrider as they would be in danger of sudden attack from the far off top of the hills unless they rode atop them, in which case they would be too far away for the rest of the group to assist them. Ganiza claimed they had no need for watchers anyway. High overhead, circling like a massive vulture, was the third of her creatures, Eitia. From below, it looked like an eel slivering in invisible water, a long but thin serpent-like creature with numerous bladders across its back, filled with some gas that kept it afloat. Kierna was skeptical that it could fly for so long with such a method, but as it was an avatar of one of Ganiza’s gods it was likely to be relying on supernatural endowment.

Her panther-like creature Malerax was ranging somewhere off in the grass, often miles away. He would return when they reached camp, another line of forewarning in case of attack. Ganiza’s twin-headed snake Aeshana was still curled around her shoulders, next to Kierna where she rode on another slyzeer lizard like the one Baako had. After Ganiza had ridden double with one of her men for the first two days, they’d purchased the lizard at a village outside of her lands. Actually, the people had insisted on giving it as a gift to the shaman, showing a deferential mix of fear and respect. Kierna had left them a gift of silver to make up for it, though the looks she got were far more hostile.

Kierna didn’t know what to think about traveling, not only with a self-proclaimed Lector who considered herself a partner to her gods, but with three physical avatars of those gods themselves. So far, they hadn’t shown anything beyond ordinary animal intelligence, deferring to Ganiza like well-trained pets, though she always couched her commands in the terms of requests. It made Kierna uncomfortable. Was Ganiza a heretic? True heretics were rare, and the term fairly fluid, but she thought she knew Ethka’s Council of Grand Clerics would determine the matter. Serving an Unbound was the ultimate heresy, but Ganiza was nearly as blasphemous, with her three gods she did not seem to see as her rulers. Calm, always relaxed, amiable, Ganiza made an ideal traveling companion. Still, there was an undeniable tension about her, a wall of belief between her and Jehx’s priests that made true friendship impossible. Baako, motivated by his usual self-preserving nature, kept the farthest from her. He was riding up ahead with Farrus now, the two of them no doubt swapping frequent complaints about Hratha’s rustic nature.

Kierna’s gaze kept wandering back to Ganiza, who rode along with a serene expression, her lips turned up in the hint of a smile. Under the bright sun, away from her alien home, Ganiza looked shockingly ordinary. A bit diminutive, narrow-hipped and small-chested, Ganiza had an androgynous look. Her deep brown skin, eyes, and hair were common all across the grasslands. With her mouth framed by laugh-lines and her deep eyes shadowed by her brow, she had an aged look to her. But while her body lacked the tight muscles of a practiced soldier, she had a fitness to her that told of many leagues walked daily, living a rugged lifestyle alone in her land, and she was clearly still young, whatever she claimed about her age. Feeling Kierna’s eyes on her, Ganiza turned and smiled at her, tilting her head in a slightly questioning fashion. Kierna turned away as though she’d merely been glancing past her into the hills.

An in-drawn breath of surprise distracted Kierna, coming from behind. “What are those?” Kenth asked, his voice tinged with wonder. Curious, Kierna turned and followed his gaze.

In one of the many large islands that dotted the river they followed, several creatures had crept out of the brush onto the shore, watching them from across the span of water. They were nearly as tall as a man, sleek two-legged lizards with bodies covered in brightly colored feathers. They had no beaks, but long narrow snouts filled with sharp teeth. Thick, long tails stuck out well behind them, balancing them into a long position, and they crouched low, tilting their upper bodies forward like spears about the thrust. The two short, chicken-like arms that hung in front of their bodies seemed vestigial. But their legs were clearly powerful, their feet tipped with sharp talons. One toe in particular was three times larger than the others, featuring a long scythe-like claw as big as a dagger. They watched the passing horses with cold, predatory eyes shining with intelligence. Kierna didn’t like the look of it, and reached for her bow, preparing to string it in case they decided to approach.

“They have many names across the grasslands, but we mostly call them Threshers or Reapers,” Hammarra answered. “People call lions the queens of the grass, but Threshers are more like armies. Deadly, smart, they work in large packs. I’ve heard stories of them attacking groups of armed men and winning.” Kierna saw Hammarra already had her bow strung, watching the bird-lizards with an arrow knocked. “We might want to move away from the shore, Captain.”

“There’s no need to worry.” Ganiza’s confidence cut through the tension. “So long as I am here, they will not attack.”

“You’re certain about that? Even if they pose no threat to you, how could they know not to try?” Kierna asked.

“Beasts lack mankind’s rebellious nature. They know well enough not to try and hunt a god. With just a shift of attitude, you too could dissuade them with your presence, Paladin.” Among the others, Ganiza rarely called Kierna by her name. She was not quite certain whether the honorific she gave her was a sign of respect or a subtle condemnation of her position.

Hammarra bristled at her words, glaring. “Claiming divinity doesn’t make you a god, and animals aren’t smart enough to recognize a Lector just by looking at them. Pretend to power all you want, shaman, but don’t mistake us for some backwater clods who will bow and scrape in fear of your mysterious nature.”

Ganiza only went on smiling, the words washing over her like water around a stone.

“Best keep our bows strung anyway,” Kierna said. “Hammarra, ride back and stick with Garreth, in case those things decide to jump the river and go after a lone target. Kenth, inform Farrus of the threat as well, just in case Baako doesn’t know about them.”

Hammarra took a steadying breath, composing herself, then saluted and turned her horse to ride away. She recognized the dismissal, undoubtedly, but Hammarra was wise enough to know when to follow a commander’s attempts to smooth relations. Kenth rode forward, nodding to Ganiza as he passed, then turning his curiosity back to the Threshers across the river. After what the shaman had said, the beasts looked less threatening and more apprehensive, as though they were keeping an eye on a superior predatory encroaching on their land.

Kierna’s gaze wandered back to Ganiza and found the woman meeting her eyes. Kierna stubbornly kept staring. She was not some blushing girl sneaking glances at the object of her interest and hiding away.

“You’re not what I would have expected in a paladin, Kierna,” Ganiza said. Now that the others were gone, she spoke more softly, casually.

“I don’t see how I’m especially unique.”

“You’re a thinker. I can an almost see the words turning over and over in your mind, picking away at the tangle of the questions you can’t put down. You don’t have to, you know. I am happy to answer any questions you might have.”

Kierna didn’t deny her assertions. The things Ganiza had said that first night at the camp, her strange relationship with her gods, and the obscure references she made to her powers, all of these things were rarely far from Kierna’s mind.

“The night I met you, I said that we are not gods. You implied that you disagreed with that statement. And now, you seem to do the same. Claiming divinity is undeniable heresy, but it doesn’t seem to concern you that you might offend me,” Kierna said.

“The truth shouldn’t be offense to anyone. You are a woman of faith, are you not?”

“Yes. I believe in my god. He has proven himself worthy, time and again.”

“Faith should not be so weak that it folds at the slightest contradiction. A person who hides from dissenting opinion out of fear that they might be proven wrong is coward. Their ‘faith’ is like armor made of straw, that will blow away with the first rough wind that buffets it. I don’t think you are so weak, Kierna.”

“So, you do believe you are a god?” Kierna asked. Ganiza didn’t answer immediately, idly petting one of Aeshena’s heads as her smile faded, replaced with a pensive look.

“God is just a word, Kierna. Language is a human thing, an imperfect system for transferring thought that can never truly express what we mean. One woman might call that water blue, while another insists it is more brown, but it is not that either is lying. They know what they see. It is the words that let them down, because there are infinite shades of color between the common words we use to describe them. You are called soldier, priest, paladin, Lector, woman, Ethkan, grasslander, saint, protector, killer. Which of these epithets is true?”

“All of them, more or less.”

“So then, what is a god? Your Jehx is a god, certainly, and so is the Unbound demon of the man you hunt. You worship one and abhor the other. Three gods travel with us, worshiped by no one, closer to that horse you ride than to the lord you serve. What of the little ones you saw on my hill? Tiny flashes of feelings and soul, with little thought between them. You respect them, I am sure, as you would any god. But in your mind, deep inside where no one can hear, I would be shocked if you kept them on the same level as the gods of your grand city. Would one of the little creatures to stand at your feet and squeak up at you, would you bow to it in reverence? The thought is ridiculous, is it not?”

“They are like children. One day they will be gods, and have worshipers of their own, or else exist in the wild like your gods. But they are divine, even so. Same as the ones who made this world, made us in their images. They still deserve respect.”

“I do not mean to imply that they don’t. If I serve anyone, it is them, after all. I keep their nursery safe and comfortable, so that they might grow to outsize us all. I only mean to make you question the definitions you so readily deal in on a daily basis. You see my point?” Ganiza gestured back to her.

“Yes. You would say the word god is meaningless, because everyone has different ideas of what they are. That some gods are more powerful, some gods more basic than others. I do not see how that makes you and me gods, just because we wield some of their power. Should Jehx decide he no longer has faith in my service, he would cut me off from his miracles, and I would be just a woman again. A god cannot lose their godhood, surely.”

“Surely? What, then, was the Pact? The gods of this world are tiny, compared to what they were before. The difference is as large as the gulf between them and us. Always, there is room for change. Tell me, what are we? Humans, I mean. What makes us different from those Threshers over there, or the horse beneath you, or the beetles under all this grass?”

“Physically? Nothing.” Kierna shrugged. “We’re flesh and blood, material like the rest of the Fifth World. The difference is the soul. Animals don’t have souls. And that’s not a matter for debate. I have a Godseye. I’ve seen it. People are different.”

“Of course. But now we are back to the matter of definitions. We don’t agree on what constitutes a god, but what of the soul? I won’t deny its existence, I can see it as well as you. What is it, though?” Ganiza asked.

Kierna didn’t answer. Ganiza wasn’t being coy. She wasn’t arrogant or argumentative, trying to browbeat Kierna into adopting her views. She seemed truly thoughtful, interested both in Kierna’s views and explaining her own. Kierna didn’t want to cheapen the discussion by throwing out the first dogmatic answer that came to her head. What was a soul? It was what they were, wasn’t it? The brain, the vehicle for thought, could be damaged, crippled, turning a person into a husk. But the soul was untouchable. No matter what happened to the body, the soul would eventually return to the Churn, to be purified, the pain and sadness of life cut away to leave the soul fresh and innocent, to be reborn. That thought was comforting. No matter what happened to her, no matter what mistakes she might make, in the end the same outcome came for all people. The gods might be harsh, even cruel in the case of some, but those who had designed the system cared. They had made it so that even an evil person would be remade anew when they died. Everyone got another chance, and another, on and on until their world ended, some distant day.

But what was it, precisely? That was like asking what blood was. Kierna knew what it did, what purpose it served, how to keep it from leaking from a wound, what to eat to encourage it to thicken faster, to heal, what it meant when the blood became poisoned by injury, how to keep it clean so that it eventually purified itself. But what was it? How could anyone really know except those who had created it? And that was something that was ever-present, physical, able to be touched and tested. The soul couldn’t be touched by anyone. Except, apparently, by Isaand Laeson.

“I don’t know,” Kierna said. Ganiza’s eyes widened, surprised.

“You impress me again, Kierna. Most woman prefer not to admit ignorance. It is a sign of wisdom to acknowledge that one knows nothing.”

“It would seem wisdom is about as useful, then, as a sword with no blade.” Kierna said.

“Oh, I’m sure you would be able to find some use out of such a thing. Resourcefulness is the essence of humanity, it seems to me. Let’s return to the subject of words, briefly. Tell me, Kierna, do you know the word Dea?” The word took her by surprise. She’d heard it on occasion, but only from the scholarly sort of priests and clerics of the most solemn and intellectual pursuits in Ethka. It wasn’t the sort of term one would expect to hear from a grasslander shaman.

“It’s one of the First Words,” Kierna said. “From the language gods gave us, the first time they created humans. It’s another term for the soul, the term gods use, though like you said, they wouldn’t actually speak amongst themselves. I’m not certain how it differs from the common word.”

“It differs because it describes not the soul itself, but its purpose. We are different from the common beasts because we were made as reflections of our creators. That’s not a figure of speech, Kierna. Inside of each human, from the old to the newborn, is a tiny sliver of divinity, a piece of god. Dea.”

“And when we die?”

“The Dea returns to the pool of souls, that which new humans are drawn from, a pool of power set aside by the gods when they decided to make us. The Dea. It is the very substance the gods themselves are made of, outside of our material plane. Just as humans are more than flesh and blood, gods exist without it entirely. They are Dea. And so are we. So you see, the difference between us is not a matter of fundamental substance. It’s only a matter of degree.”

Kierna hesitated. Nothing the woman said clashed irreconcilably with the teachings of the Sword Monastery. Nor did they contradict the Tenets, the collection of basic truths recognized universally by all clerics of Ethka’s Heavenly Council. As she said, the difference was mostly in the definitions. But the implications…

Men, women, children, all of us are gods? The soldiers under her command, the refugees she’d protected, the people of Ethka, the villagers who would be slaughtered in droves when Ethka’s crusade made its way to the grasslands? Was even Isaand Laeson a god as well? How, then, could he be a heretic? How could anything be heresy? If people were divine, then what mandated their absolute obedience to their makers? A child might be expected to obey their parents, but when they became an adult, they were free to make their own choices. Would humanity ever be free to do the same?

The implications loomed over her like a mountain about to fall. Kierna’s chest tightened, and she realized she was holding her breath. She let it out, breathing heavily, mind roiling even worse than before. Ganiza hadn’t given her any answers, she’d only provoked more questions. Are there ever any answers? Does anyone really know what to do, what is True?

“Captain!”

Kierna’s eyes shot forward, to where Farrus was trotting over on his horse. She drew an arrow and knocked it to her bowstring at once. Past Farrus, Baako and Kenth rode side by side, unharmed, so there was no threat that she could see. She tried to relax, but her muscles felt tight and hard, and she found herself almost longing for an attack, for the simplicity of battle.

“What is it?” she asked, surprised at how composed and calm her voice sounded.

“We’ve found the source of that smoky smell,” Farrus said, a grim look replacing his usual smirk. “Saw it from the top of that rise. Burned village, about two miles north, right alongside the river. I didn’t see any sign of movement.”

Kierna shot Ganiza a glance. The woman was serious, eyes distant.

“Isaand’s trail continues north, I am certain of it,” Ganiza said. “Szet hides him from the sight of gods on high, but the local spirits could not help but notice his passing. It may have been his doing, this destruction. I can learn more if we get closer.”

“We’d investigate anyway,” Kierna said, trying to shrug off her anxiety. “We have to see if there are survivors in need of help. Farrus, take Kenth and scout ahead. Talk to Baako first, see if he knows anything of value about this particular village. Tell him to wait on the ridge, the rest of us will join him. We’ll enter the village together, ready for danger. This could be it. If Isaand is found, do not antagonize him. Let me speak to him, first.”

“At once, Blessed.” Farrus saluted with his fist, then turned and galloped back towards the burned village.

 

Part Three: Chapter Four

Heretic Part Three, Chapter 2

Heretic

Part Three

Chapter 2

The sun shone down on a familiar sight, a wide field of golden grass waving in the wind, the horizon broken by the occasional rise topped with spreading trees with bristly leaves that grew more horizontally than vertically. Off a half mile to the south, a herd of some horned creatures passed across the fields in a loping, hopping motion. The only sound was the rushing of the wind over the plains and the flapping of the massive carrion birds circling overhead. The steady swaying of Kierna’s horse lulled her into a drowsy state, closing her eyes and letting Radiance follow along the path forged by Baako’s plodding slyzeer lizard.

“Ah, and here we have quite a sight to see, Blessed!” Baako’s peppy voice stirred her back to attention. “I am willing to bet you have never seen anything like this in that big pretty city of yours, ah?” Baako’s accent was extremely thick, his speech always exaggerated and inviting attention, reminding Kierna of the grasslander caricatures common in Ethka theater. Considering that he spoke half-a-dozen languages and had traveled over nearly every inch of the lands between north and south, Kierna suspected it was an affectation.

She opened her eyes to see that they had climbed to the top of a small rise, giving them a view of the tall hill looming up ahead. The lower portion of the hill was covered in the same ubiquitous golden grass, but a third of the way up it gave way to something Kierna had indeed never seen before: the hill was covered not in any plant, but in some kind of thick pale substance, spongy and almost fleshy in appearance. It was shorter than grass, perhaps six inches high, but at regular intervals large clumps of it grew up like shrubs, spreading out scarlet fronds with strange radial symmetry. Here and there spots of other colors rarely seen in the wild could be spotted: orange streaks of some slow-moving liquid that ran in long lines spiraled around the hill to pool at the bottom. Pink tendrils hung in clumps on the ground or stood up straight like fingers grasping towards the sky. And at the top of the hill, a massive tree-like fungus reached a hundred feet into the air, spreading wide crimson fronds like awnings that left the summit of the hill in its shade.

“So, that’s worth a bit of a ride to see, ah?” Baako kept saying, leaning so far over off the saddle of his gigantic lizard that she thought he was about to fall off, reaching out with his long bony arm to tap her on the shoulder.

“It’s a sight. But we’re not here to explore. You’re really certain the Heretic came this way?” Kierna asked. Her eyes crawled over the hill, looking for any sign of movement, but the landscape was so strange her brain couldn’t seem to parse it. She kept thinking she saw shadows like a tall man climbing, only to focus and only see one of those large fungi swaying in the wind.

“I am not seeing any tracks, no, but he is coming this way or he is a fool. Maybe a dead fool by now, in which case you have much cause to celebrate!” Baako gave her a wide toothy grin. “To the west is the Tiger’s land; his people are vicious, angry, they murder outsiders and carve their bones for tools and such. I think I still have a femur knife from the last time I passed through, I will find it for you. East is swamp. No one lives in swamp, the goddess Reluga, she does not tolerate it. Anyone who tries to get through is sucked down into the muck and slowly drowned over years. And south, of course, ha, you know what is south.”

Indeed she did. Three days ago, Kierna had passed through the village of a warrior tribe south of here. She’d discovered several more people there who’d been healed by Isaand, but when she’d inquired about him she’d been told he was ran out of town by a group of warriors and pursued north. Yesterday, she’d caught up with the men, fierce soldiers who wore iron bracers and greaves, a rarity in these parts, and wielded spears and heavy clubs blessed by their god of war. She’d wanted to talk with them, but they’d seen only foreign soldiers and attacked immediately.

Kierna had been forced to kill a dozen of them before the last three surrendered. She well remembered the look of impotent fury on the bloodied face of the warrior sitting in the dirt before her, the glaives of her men leveled at him as she asked her questions. His face had been painted, a jackal’s face worn atop his skin.

“We found you coming south, not north. Did you find the stranger? Is he dead?” she’d asked, her heart tight in her chest. She could not bring herself to wish death on this man. Though he’d been viewed with universal suspicion and concern, no one she’d spoken with could deny that he had been kind and charitable, healing any who asked for it and begging nothing in return. According to every villager she’d spoken with, he’d never even spoken the name of his god, so he clearly wasn’t proselytizing. Jehx suspected that Szet’s plan for him was dangerous, but that did not necessarily mean that this man Isaand was privy to its workings. Could it be that he was really what he appeared to be, a peaceful man using his power for the good of others?

And yet, if he was dead, if she could find his body and bring it back to Master Kenly, the Jehx himself might intervene on behalf of The Coterie. It was hard to imagine the great army of Ethka simply turning around and going home, but it was all she had to hope for. And so she found herself hanging onto the warrior’s words with trepidation, uncertain of whether she wanted confirmation or denial.

“If we’d found him, he’d be dead,” the Jackal said. “We tracked him to the lands of the shaman. We turned back there.”

“Surely a brave bunch like you don’t fear this shaman?” Farrus asked. The Jackal snarled at him.

“We fear nothing. A shaman commands respect. The Otherlands are her domain. To force our way onto them is an act of war. Not that you foreign gurhashaa would understand.”

“Gushashaa is very colorful insult,” Baako cut in for Kierna’s benefit. “Roughly translated, it means something like ‘pigs who shit on everything.’”

“I don’t care what his insults mean,” Kierna said, annoyed. “Tell me please, and we will let you and your men leave here unharmed. This shaman, would they be a threat to the stranger? If he made it into these lands, do you think he still lives?”

The Jackal spat out a mouthful of blood and answered her with a shrug. “The shaman’s ways are her own. You’ll have to ask her. You’ll find out if she suffers intruders to live first-hand.”

It sounded to her as though the Heretic had a dangerous path to take no matter which way he went, which of course meant the same for her and her men. So far they’d been lucky, their armor keeping them from any serious injuries, though everyone had bruises and scrapes from the battle with Amauro’s wolves and the warriors from the south. If everyone was so concerned about this shaman she must be a Lector. Kierna hoped her own powers would be enough to protect her men from her if need be.

“What is it?” Kierna asked, shaking herself out of her thoughts. The alien landscape on the hill ahead was eerily beautiful, and threatening at the same time.

“A memorial. The gods of this land, they are small, not very powerful, with no people, no clerics, only this supposed shaman,” Baako explained. “The stories go, the gods of this place are very young, very homesick for the place they remember. One of the old worlds, before the Pact. So this place, it was put here by some god, a little piece of another world. You will not find another like it anywhere in the wide world. I should no, I’ve seen it all.”

“No man can see the whole world, Baako.”

“Well yes, but saying ‘I have been to sixty-percent of the world,’ this does not get the women to spread for you, so I exaggerate, just a little,” he said, leering at her again. She did not respond, though she noticed Kenth glaring at the man from the other side of her horse.

Kierna turned, as she did every few minutes, to check on her outriders. Farrus ranged off to the left, about five-hundred yards away, the openness of the plain allowing them to keep in sight at the great distance. Hammarra mirrored him on her right, riding atop a small ridge, bow strung and readied. Behind, Garreth rode after them at a slower pace, keeping an eye on their trail, urging his horse into a gallop every few minutes to ensure he did not get left behind. Though there had been no further sign of Amauro since the attack in Urkhanna’s village, Kierna did not believe they had escaped her attention. More attacks would come, and she hoped to see it coming this time.

The landscape grew stranger the closer she got to it. From a distance the hill looked smooth, white, as though it was covered in dirty snow. Up close, she could see the rough striations in the ground, spotted with ridges and cracks, chasms inches long through which she could see the bare soil underneath. The ground rose and fell irregularly, like waves on a frozen ocean. And that ground moved. She thought her mind was playing tricks on her, but when she focused on one spot and held her gaze, she saw the substance clearly shiver. The shudders moved through the ground in patterns, sometimes ruffling their way in a huge line from one side of a ridge to the other, sometimes only shaking a small circle a yard or so across. When these shudders happened the waving frond-like structures, things she didn’t feel comfortable calling plants, shook roughly, their fronds waving back and forth like pennants in a breeze. The pink tendrils lying on the ground would bounce with the vibrations that passed through, each time extending a bit further in the same direction.

Radiance shied when they reached the edge of the growth. Baako’s lizard clomped casually onward, lifting each foot horizontally even with its body before stepping back down again, a strangely dance-like method of locomotion. Kierna swung out of the saddle and tapped the toe of her boot against it. A second later, one of those shudders radiated out from the spot she’d stepped, reaching only a few inches before it stopped. Looking closer, she saw shudders radiating out from every step of Baako’s slyzeer. He turned halfway around in his long saddle, grinning at her trepidation.

“A paladin is of course not frightened, I am sure. No doubt you are caught up in the spirit of scholarship!”

“The paladin is cautious,” Kierna said. “We don’t know what sort of threats this place contains. Hold here. I’m calling everyone back together.” She nodded to Kenth, and he raised the signal horn to his lips and blew two short blasts, with a pause between them. Farrus, Hammarra, and Garreth prodded their horses into a trot to catch up. While they waited, Kenth swung down as well, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

Carefully, he pulled off the glove of gauntlet of his uninjured hand and reached out to touch the substance. Kierna felt a pang of worry, but Baako was paid to warn them of dangers. He would have intervened if the substance was toxic. Kenth pressed his palm against it and it began to vibrate, the surface wrinkling like skin after a long bath.

“It’s warm,” Kenth said. “Not just from the sun. It really feels alive.” He pushed down harder, then pulled away, leaving a faint impression of his hand in the pale white ground. “Thank you, captain.”

“For what?” she asked, surprised. “You’re injured because of me. We’re pursued by a vengeful goddess, and we may be about to confront a wild Lector on whose ground we trespass. If it weren’t for me, you’d be riding safely in the midst of a whole army.”

“I wouldn’t get to see much of the land that way,” Kenth said. He took out his dagger as they spoke, carefully cutting into the ground until he had a palm-sized disc he could tear up and inspect closer. “Just tents and campfires, and grass turned to mud under marching heels. This is better.”

“And our quest?” She’d told her men what they were about, of course, but none of them had questioned her about her decision to range ahead of the crusade. “Do you think it’s truly worth it?”

Kenth was silent for a long time, turning his piece of whatever around, feeling both sides, scraping at it with the knife to see if anything came out. Kierna was used to his slow considerations. Kenth never answered casually.

“It’s odd. We’re supposed to be priests of justice. Righting wrongs, protecting the mistreated. Hunting a man who has done no more than heal others… I will admit it feels wrong.” Standing up, Kenth met her eyes, a rare event. “But I believe in you, Captain. If you think this man is a danger to the world, then our quest is worth pursuing.”

“I told you it was Jehx himself that said so.”

“Aye. I like Jehx’s ways. I love the monastery, and the people he attracts. But still, I don’t know him. Not like I know you. So it’s you I trust, Captain.”

Kierna turned away, her gut twisting at his words. He listens to me, over the god he’s sworn to? What have I done to earn such loyalty? Again, the doubts assailed her, striking from within, a buzzing hive of concern within her mind that never fully quieted. What if she was wrong? What if she led them all to their deaths for nothing? What if she captured Isaand, but the crusade went on undeterred, a slowly crawling genocide across her homeland? These questions were only distractions, a volley of arrows to soften the foe before an all-out charge. The true question was never far from her thoughts.

What if Jehx himself was wrong?

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

With all of her men returned to her, Kierna climbed the hill, leading Radiance up cautiously by foot, allowing the horse time to get used to the alien terrain. With the six of them moving as a single group, the vibrations on the ground became wilder, flowing out for a hundred yards or so before fading out. Walking on the stuff was soft and springy, their steps sinking several inches into it. The horses, weighing far more than the men, sunk deeper, and occasionally stumbled, shaking their manes and whinnying in distress. Where the ground rose or fell the horse would pause and scratch at it with her hoof until Kierna urged her on with a whisper and a brush of her neck.

Aside from Kenth stopping to cut more samples every few minutes, they made it to the top of the hill without incident. It was dark under the shadow of the giant mushroom-tree growing from the summit. The trunk was about twenty feet wide, and its canopy spread out ten times farther, throwing them into a deep shadow. It was surprisingly warm as well, as though the fungus was breathing out a continuous flow of warm breath.

The sun was beginning to set in the west, the golden grass of the plains turned brown in the fading light. To the north, more grassland stretched into the distance, with a dense forest just visible on the horizon. Kierna would have liked to push on, but she thought it was unwise to try to travel this land in dark. If the stories of this shaman were true, it was best to be prepared for her arrival. Though the strangeness of it put her on edge, this hill was the most defensive position she’d seen all day.

“Baako, have you truly been here before? You can boast to impress women as much as you want on your own time, but I’m not paying you for lies,” Kierna said. Baako affected a look of shocked offense.

“Blessed, how low do you think I am? My word is as good as your silver, and your silver has been proven to be very good indeed. I look forward very much to obtaining more of it, ah? Three times, I have crossed this land, with many in tow, and every time I made it out without so much as a hair harmed on my head.” He rubbed his bald scalp with a thoughtful expression. “Of course, that was back when I had hair.”

“You were unharmed. What of your companions?”

“Ah, you strike at the heart of the matter, ever the warrior. I confess, once I was forced to flee, leaving my employers behind. The shaman, you see… she is a fair person, much like yourself. My employers did not have her leave to travel these lands, but the shaman is not so cruel as to punish a guide for doing his job. She allowed me to escape.”

“You know, when half of your stories end with you running away from your employees, fleeing for your life, it doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in your expertise,” Garreth said.

“The purpose of a guide is to make it home alive. Everything else is just good showmanship,” Baako said, flashing a grin.

“How long would it take us to get through the shaman’s lands, if we moved swiftly?” Kierna asked.

“Swiftly? My lizard, she is not one for moving swiftly I’m afraid. But at our usual pace, perhaps we could make it in four or five hours in daylight. At night though, we would have to go slower. I would not recommend it.”

“Light isn’t the issue,” Kierna said. If need be, she could provide more than enough light for them to see their way. Of course, doing so would reveal their location to anyone on a high-point within miles. “But I think it best if we camp here for tonight. Is this substance safe for us to sleep on?”

“Ah, yes, it is not the ground we should be worried about,” Baako said, already whipping his pack off of the back of his slyzeer.

“You don’t seem worried at all. Are you not concerned this shaman might find us?”

“Oh, she will, Blessed. I told you before, she knows everything that happens in her lands. We were never going to make it through without attracting her.”

“And you think she’ll let us pass?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. I do know that you are very dangerous people with very sharp swords, and I do know that she has already shown her capacity for mercy towards the souls of innocent guides, so…”

“So you really don’t care if she attacks us or not?” Kierna asked.

“Oh, I care, Blessed. I’d much rather we all make it out of here together. Then you can keep paying me your good silver.” Baako chuckled to himself as he spread a blanket on the ground, right at the edge of the fungus’ trunk.

Farrus looked annoyed and Garreth angry, but Kierna wasn’t surprised. Baako had played the role of the amoral rogue since she’d first met him. And defending her men from danger was her purpose. She would keep this shaman at bay, if she came.

“We’ll post a double watch tonight,” she announced. “Kenth, it’s your turn for first watch. I’ll join you.” Lately, Kierna hadn’t had an easy time falling asleep.

Not wanting to draw attention, they went without a fire. Hammarra passed out dried fruit and meat, and Farrus surprised them with a bottle of some strong local alcohol he’d traded for at the last village. It tasted gritty and greasy, but the warmth it spread through Kierna’s chest was a welcome distraction from the night. As the others sat around quietly talking and eating, she turned back to the giant fungal tree spread out above them. Taking a soft breath, Kierna slightly opened her Godseye.

The tree was full of life, hundreds of little spirits scrambling about on its branches and across the great fronds it spread overhead. Their forms were amorphous and shifting, a dizzying array of myriad colors and shapes, never lasting. Kierna had only seen so many in one place before: the Temple of the Unborn in Ethka. Kierna had always found it strange, the sight of the very gods who ruled every aspect of their lives as mere infants, no more sapient than the scrambling carrion creatures that burrowed in the allies of every city. Where did new gods come from, anyway? Humans and beasts gave birth to more of their kind, but did gods follow the same methods? Were there gods who were lovers, married? Were there bastard gods, unwanted and unloved? And for men, all clerics agreed on where their souls came from. When a person died, their soul returned to the Churn, to be washed clean of their mortal trauma and reborn fresh. And yet more people were born every day, the world’s population ever increasing. If the souls were recycled into new ones, where did all these new people come from?

You never used to question so much, Kierna thought. When Kenly proved himself to you, showed that you could have a place to live where you would not be exploited, you were happy to accept what they said. Gods created men, men lived to worship them. As a follower of Jehx, Kierna’s purpose was to administer justice. This was all she needed to know. It was all she should have needed. Questions brought nothing but sleepless nights.

Is this how you started down your path, Isaand? she wondered. In her mind’s eye, Isaand was an imposing man, a sharp featured figure of white and black shadows, eyes hard with fanatical certainty. He must have had a god before he decided to follow Szet. There must have been some time when he was happy in simple ignorance.

Kierna slept fitfully, her dreams invaded by images of her soldier’s souls, clamped tight by chains that she knew belonged to Lord Jehx.

When she awoke, she felt the comforting warmth of a campfire, the air filled with the sound of its peaceful crackling. There’s not supposed to be a fire.

She jolted upright, eyes open. All around her, her soldiers slept, with no one on watch. Baako snored, head propped up against the belly of his huge lizard. Garreth and Farrus, who should have been on watch, were lying uncovered on the spongy ground, weapons at their sides. For a terrifying instant Kierna’s mind filled in pools of blood beneath them both, but no. They were breathing easily, fast asleep and unharmed.

The fire was built just before the trunk of the great fungus, turning everything beyond it into darkness. Kierna focused, and just outside the pool of light she saw a dark figure standing beneath the fungus tree. She grabbed the sword lying at her side and drew it out in a smooth motion as she got to her feet, putting the fire directly between her and the figure.

“Show yourself, shaman,” she challenged.

“Show respect, and you need not fear me, Paladin.” The voice was soft, feminine. Shadows shifted as she stepped forward into the light. The shaman was a short, composed woman wearing a scarlet robe-like garment that left her arms and legs bare. In the high contrast of the firelight her skin looked jet black, her eyes and teeth as white as bone. Her features were delicate, rounded, more child-like than curvaceous. Her scalp’s roundness was accentuated by hair trimmed to little more than stubble. Her arms and legs were covered in tattooed markings, complex symbols and imagery fading together into single sleeve-like images.

A thick snake was wrapped around her upper body, its head peering over her shoulder with eyes reflecting light, its forked tongue extended to taste the air. From her opposite hip, the tail rose, and with a start Kierna realized that it was actually a second head. She looked closer, but there was only one snake, pale-white underneath, black and gray on top, with a mouth at either end.

Another figure padded slowly up next to the woman, sinuous, cat-like. It was hairless, its body slick and scaly, almost like a fish, with a silvery shine that grew the closer it got to the flames. It walked on four paws, and its tail curled up and over like a scorpion’s, tipped with a barbed hook. Four long tentacles, thin and muscled, protruded from the back of its neck, jet black and oily. The top of its head was black as well, the coloration continuing along its back to contrast with the silvery color of the rest of its body. Its limbs were striped with black as well, and its eyes were dark and featureless. It was much larger than a wolf, but smaller than a lion or a tiger.

“What have you done to my friends?” Kierna asked.

“They are unharmed. I wished to approach without provoking you to violence. So few pass through my lands without weapons bared, filled with fear. Even now though, I smell no fear in you. Are you fearless, Paladin?”

“No. There is much I fear.”

“But you don’t let it rule you. Sit, and we’ll speak. When I have determined you are no danger to me, I will awaken your companions.”

“You’d have me disarm myself, trusting in you?” Kierna asked, tightening her grip on her weapon.

“Yes.”

She stood silently, meeting the smaller woman’s eyes. Kierna had been asleep when she approached, and she’d made no move to harm her when she drew her sword. Even now, surrounded by her monsters, she did not seem threatening. Intimidating, dangerous, yes, but not directly. Kierna could feel the power pouring off of her, and with her Godseye slit she could see the air roiling around her, twisted by her aura. The woman simply stood and waited, poised and inscrutable.

“Okay,” Kierna said. Taking a deep breath, she sheathed her sword and placed it on the ground, then knelt and crossed her legs to sit before the fire. A flicker of surprise crossed the shaman’s face, then her wide lips broke into a smile.

“You’re more trusting than I’d expect, Paladin.”

“I don’t trust you,” Kierna said. “But I am the intruder on your land, and the only way to avoid a fight when both sides feel threatened is to be the first one to back down.”

“Wise. I think I will reward your politeness.” The woman waved at the panther-like creature with the tentacles. It took a few steps back, turned a few times in a circle, then laid down and curled up on the ground. The shaman herself stepped up to the fire and sat opposite Kierna. The snake around her neck settled down and tightened itself around her, laying both heads across her breasts in a slumbering posture. Kierna breathed easier.

“Will you wake up my companions now?” Kierna asked.

“If you insist. I’d prefer to have a moment to speak with you first. What is your name?”

“Kierna Sarana, paladin of Jehx, god of justice.”

“My name is Ganiza,” the woman said. A single name. So she no longer had any tribe she called her own. “And as you have admitted, you are on my land. I think a few questions are to be expected, no?”

“How, exactly, is this land considered yours?” Kierna asked. “Gods own land, not women.”

“And do we not acknowledge clerics in their right to rule, the right that has been passed down to them by the gods they serve?”

“You’d have me consider you a cleric?”

“A cleric rules in the name of their god. I have no human subjects, this is true. The Creators desired that this land be preserved as a memento, and as a nursery for the little ones. The gods not yet True, the ones who haven’t discovered what they are yet. But while I may not rule over anyone, I have been appointed by those I speak for. Granted, it took me forty years to convince them that I was the right one for the job, but convince them I did.”

Kierna raised an eyebrow at that. Ganiza didn’t look like she was much older than thirty.

“You speak of multiple gods. It is common practice in the north for multiple gods to share territory, dividing the citizens of a city or principality among them as worshipers. But here in the south, every land I have come across has been ruled by a single god. And they rarely seem to be on good terms with their neighbors.”

“There are exceptions to every rule, Kierna. The gods you have the most experience with are the Rulers, the ones who have chosen the mantle of Authority. These are the gods humans will usually come to know, because they are the gods who have chosen to focus their attention on humanity. But there are many more who have found their purpose elsewhere. There are gods of nature, gods of strife, gods of thought and emotion. There are even gods far above, beyond our stars. This land is home to many small gods, still growing, which I am sure you can see around you if you open your eye. Someone has to watch over them. The three gods who claim this territory have no interest in humans, but when has that stopped humans from encroaching on their land? Someone has to deal with trespassers. The simplest method would be to slaughter anyone who dares to intrude, but none of my gods are cruel. They prefer my methods.”

“You serve three gods?”

“It is not servitude, not truly. Aeshena, Malerax, and Eitia gain no sustenance from Authority. They consider me more of a… partner. I act as intermediary, protecting their lands so they do not have to, and I help them to accomplish their own tasks.”

“But you are a Lector, are you not?” Kierna asked, remembering the stories she’d heard. “That means the gods have granted you miracles, given you power.”

“Is that how you gained your powers?”

“Of course,” Kierna said, surprised. “How else would I be able to use them?”

“The same way you swing that sword of yours. Because you will it. The power is yours. Your god has only granted you the permission to use it.”

“That is not so. We are not gods, only their tools.”

Ganiza shrugged. “Put any two men or women together, and they will find something to disagree on. Let us move on to my questions. You are crossing my lands. Why? I believe I know, but I would hear it from you.”

“A heretic, a servant of the Unbound, passed through here more than a week ago. I am hunting him. It is imperative that I find him quickly, and so I must follow.”

“And why do you seek this man?”

“Because he defies the gods, our own creators, and worships a devilish betrayer. My god fears he has some nefarious plans for the region. I will take him back to Ethka and-”

“No, no, no.” Ganiza cut in quietly, shaking her head with a smile. “Why do you pursue him, Kierna Sarana.”

“I serve Jehx. Isaand operates outside the rule of gods, his very existence is unjust.”

“I didn’t ask for a justification, Kierna.”

“I answered-”

“Your reason, the true reason, please. Or you can turn around and go around my lands.”

Kierna’s hands clenched into fists, itching to take up the sword beside her. She sighed instead. “I want to stop a war.”

“That’s better. Fortunately for you, I wish the same.” Ganiza smiled, petting the snake tangled around her. “Your heretic passed through here, just as you guessed. Unfortunately, I am only one woman, and these lands vast. I was away, meeting with a group at the western border, a woman who’d been cursed and wanted my aid. By the time I returned, he was outside of my reach. But the more I have thought about it, the more his presence concerns me, almost as much as the approach of your grand crusade.”

“I have no wish to wage war on this land, my own homeland,” Kierna said. “Please, let us continue on. If I can capture Isaand Laeson, I may be able to stop them from coming.”

“I have little faith in gods or men, to believe such a thing, and yet… a small chance is better than none. I will escort you through my lands, Kierna Sarana, and you may continue your quest.” Ganiza smiled a predatory grin. “And, if you wish it, you will have my assistance. I am most interested in this heretic.”

 

Part Three: Chapter Three

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