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.”