Heretic Part Two Chapter Nineteen

Heretic

Part Two

Chapter 19

Hahmn raised his arm towards the sky, the tendril of blood lifting and shaping into a scythe-like blade. It fell like a guillotine as Isaand rushed forward to meet it. Holding his staff at either end Isaand held it up before him and the scythe bit into its center.

“What are you doing? You shouldn’t be able to stop this with just a staff,” Hahmn shouted in frustration. Isaand’s arms ached as he held onto the staff, and from where the blade met it a bright white geyser of sparks sprayed out along with a harsh grinding sound.

Isaand felt Szet’s power draw his awareness inward, down into the wood of the staff, letting him see closer and closer till the individual grains of wood stretched out like thick ropes bounded together by the thousands. The blood-blade sliced through them, but Szet’s power repaired and tied them back together almost as fast as they were cut.

Isaand spun in a half-circle, letting the weight of Hahmn’s weapon slip past him to slash deep into the ground. At the same time, he lashed out with the end of the staff closest to Hahmn, stabbing it towards his stomach. He heard a grunt and Hahmn bent double from the blow, his head lowered and his left shoulder blocking Isaand from the rest of his body. Isaand grabbed out with his hand, reaching for Hahmn’s right arm where the blood flowed from.

Hahmn barreled into him with his greater bulk, shoving Isaand backwards, and swung his arm. The blood-scythe tore across the sandy surface, sending a spray of grit into the air. Tapping into Szet’s power Isaand dove to the side, and time seemed to slow as his awareness quickened. The blade swept by slowly, missing him by inches, and Isaand rolled up to his feet. Hahmn started to swing around again, but the weight of his blade overwhelmed him and he stumbled back, just as Isaand fell back to one knee.

The righteous anger Isaand felt was still there, but fear, and a wild panicky realization that he was out of his depth was threatening to take over. A warrior, a trained fighter of any kind, would probably have managed to follow up on that blow. Isaand was no warrior, and he didn’t have any weapon other than his blunt staff with which to fight. Now that he’d gotten so close, he realized how stupid it had been to charge in at Hahmn while the man had a superior weapon with greater range. I should have made him come to me, Isaand though, I should have gotten my knife off my belt, I should have had a plan.

His one advantage was that he was hardly the only one so inexperienced. Hahmn had been a small-town cleric, a speaker and a mediator. Isaand doubted he’d ever been in a fight before today. Though Awlta had given him a great weapon, he did not have any knowledge in its use, or he would have easily bypassed the flimsy protection of Isaand’s staff and slaughtered him by now. He’s worried, Isaand reminded himself, thinking back to the man’s visual anxiety at the start of their conversation. He doesn’t know how to do this. I have to use that.

“Sendra!” Hahmn’s voice cut through Isaand’s thoughts, as he began to back away towards the cave, his weapon held high and ready to defend. “Kill him!”

A jolt of fear ran through Isaand as he cursed. Of course, if Hahmn didn’t have the desire to kill him, he’d take the easier option.

Vehx roared in warning and Isaand turned towards him just in time to see the massive golden-light serpent darting towards him with his jaw gaping open. All thought that the Sendra was sworn to him vanished under that terrifying sight, and Isaand tried to run. Vehx was much too fast. The golden fangs snapped shut around him, tearing through the ground to either side. Isaand huddled there, realizing he was suspended inside of Vehx’s translucent mouth. A second impact shook the ground immediately after, and Vehx whimpered as a piece of his neck the size of an elephant was torn and crushed, sending a spray of golden light bursting out like blood, to float slowly away in the air as little globes of illumination. A multicolored shimmer hung in the air, and the single massive eye of the Lsetha became briefly visible, staring mockingly at Isaand from the other side of Vehx.

Instinctively, Isaand reached out and touched Vehx, willing him to heal. He felt the spark as the energy pooled inside of him began to flow out. It was no good. The power Szet had given him was limited by the size of Isaand’s soul, and he could see at once that he could empty every drop of it into Vehx and not be able to heal the wounds he’d taken so far. The Sendra had too much mass, made of the ephemeral substance of the soul.

Vehx pulled away, rearing up and slamming down into the lake a hundred yards away, sending a huge spray of water up into the air and leaving Isaand behind. Hahmn was edging closer, and lashed out with his blade the moment the Sendra was gone. Isaand batted it aside with his staff clumsily, feeling more of his power drain away as the staff was kept from being destroyed. Eyes no more than slits of red light, Hahmn advanced upon him.

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

Dozens of voices warred for dominance in Ylla’s head. Scared minds cried out to run, to hide, to beg for mercy. Angry voices wanted her to shout and stamp and waste her energy lashing out at everyone around her. Clever thoughts urged strategy, practical ones watchfulness, and madness suggested the impossible.

Letting it all bounce around inside of her, Ylla stood and smiled and calmly considered it all.

The little-girl soul that the rest of her was bound to was frightened, ignorant, useless, so she pushed it down and drew out a few that might be worth considering. The soul of a proud soldier looked out of her eyes, judging the tactical situation, noting the positions of higher ground and poor footing and places that could be easily defended. He was of little use though. What was left of him saw his commander in Isaand, and thought only to follow his orders and stay out of the way. Ylla dismissed him, slipping the thread of his thoughts back into the intricate weave of her mind. The next was a cruel and vicious street-killer, hands stained with the blood of the innocent and pockets stuffed with stolen wealth. That one saw her enemy and sized him up, and gave her the ideas she needed.

Ylla’s head ached at all the thoughts filling it, so she pushed them back down, having learned what she needed. She felt at her belt, but the curved knife Isaand had given her was gone. Taken by someone after she’d collapsed, or lost somewhere along the way, she didn’t know. She’d have to get a weapon somewhere else. Her eyes swept over the shore and locked on the figure of the slim, fit woman crouching at the other side of the godspool. She held a short spear in her hand, small enough that it would fill Ylla’s hands well. Good, she thought.

The woman turned towards with a jump, holding her spear defensively as Ylla stepped up beside her without speaking.

“Ylla!” the woman said. “This is very dangerous, you need to come with me. We’ll… get over on the edge of the island, as far out of the way as we can get-”

You know her, a voice in Ylla’s head said, and she considered. Memories flashed. The woman who’d thrown the rope on the ferry, helping Isaand back aboard. She’d talked to the others as well. Ylla hadn’t known what was going on, but now she realized she’d been discouraging them from asking any questions about Isaand’s healing powers. Protecting them. The thought made Ylla tired. It felt like something that had happened months ago, not just a few days.

“Give me the spear,” Ylla said, trying to grab it. The woman pulled it away instinctively, confused.

“What? Why? Come on, let’s get further away-”

“I need the spear. Isaand can’t win by himself. No one will expect me to do anything, I’ll take him by surprise.” A memory flashed, of creeping up behind a drunken man and sticking a cloth over his mouth while she stabbed a dirk up into his kidneys. Her hands felt sticky, but she blinked it away and held out her hand again. “Give it.”

The woman objected, and Ylla opened her thoughts to suggestions. One of the men’s souls attached to hers gave a vivid mental image of wrapping his hand around her throat, squeezing while he kept the other on the spear, pushing her to the ground until she ran out of breath. No, that won’t work. I’m much too small. There was an idea, though. Another soul, a mother of young children, supplied an idea, and Ylla seized on it at once.

“Please, I have to help him!” Ylla shouted, her voice wavering as she faked a sob. She flung herself into the surprised woman, grabbing her hard around the stomach and shaking as though terrified. The woman hesitantly put her arms around Ylla, murmuring words of encouragement. Ylla slipped one of her feet under the woman’s leg and hooked it around her ankle, then pulled back as she pushed forward, throwing her off-balance. They both went down in a tangle, and Ylla leaped up with the spear in her hands.

Not that way. Both hands, towards the back end of the spear. Angle it forward, and turn your body sideways to make a smaller target. The words were delivered gruffly, the remembered training of some old soldier. Ylla adjusted her grip as necessary and began to jog across the sandy island, hunched low. She ignored the shout of the woman behind her, and smiled once more.

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

Isaand started chanting under his breath as Hahmn came forward. The miracles he had available were limited, but maybe one of them would be of use. Hahmn flicked out his hand and the blood retracted, shaping from a great scythe into a smaller, narrow pointed blade, wrapped around his arm many times like a coiled rope. Isaand took the opportunity to rush in, swinging his staff.

Hahmn grimaced and thrust forward with an open hand. The blood flew outward like an arrow loosed from a bow, crossing a dozen feet in an instant. A gurgling cough escaped Isaand’s lips as the weapon pierced his chest. With the same awareness he’d had before, time slowed as Isaand felt the point slip between two of his ribs and penetrate muscle and lung. His breathing wheezed as the lung deflated, and the point carried through to stab out his back.

Isaand tasted blood in his mouth, but he managed to wrap his fingers around the slick bloody spear protruding from his chest and finish his chant. Szet’s power flowed into the spear, the same miracle he’d used to shatter the weapons used by the warrior of Amauro. The blood bubbled and roiled as though boiling, then lost its solidity all at once, splashing down into the ground. While Hahmn stared in shock Isaand staggered forward. His chest was healing, lung filled with air and the muscles knitting back together, but the skin remained broken and his own blood was leaking in a thick line down his bare chest.

“AWLTA UHN TARMA!” Hahmn shouted, raising his hand again. The blood soaked into the soil hardened and sprang up in hundreds of thorns an inch or so long, stabbing into Isaand’s naked feet. The miracle took him completely by surprise and he fell sideways. Hahmn stabbed his dagger into his hand again, down into the wrist, and blood spurted upward again, shaping into a new weapon. This one was axe-like, only a few feet past his fist, with a fat blade two-feet wide. He’d learned, Isaand realized. His earlier weapon had been intimidating, but its length and size unnecessary. Hahmn had a heavy weight and strength advantage, and Isaand had no lethal weapon on him. All Hahmn had to do was get close and not let up, and he’d win.

Isaand struggled upwards as Hahmn came forward, slamming his axe-hand down on Isaand’s staff over and over. Szet’s power kept the staff from breaking, but as always, it did not repair the total damage, and splinters rained with every blow. The staff cracked, splitting in a thick crack down the middle. Desperate, Isaand swung it in an attack, slamming it sideways into Hahmn’s leg. It was like hitting a tree-trunk, and the staff snapped in two at the impact. Hahmn ignored it and slashed, opening a deep cut on Isaand’s thigh. He felt the bone crack and fell forward, unable to support his weight. His hand flicked out.

Hahmn struggled as Isaand managed to grab hold of his bloody, slashed arm. With a familiar glow, Isaand poured Szet’s miracle into him. Not one of the defensive powers Szet had given him to protect himself, but a standard healing. Hahmn flinched, shocked, as the miracle closed his wound, the blood flowing back into his arm, his weapon lost.

Isaand had no time to celebrate. Hahmn shoved him, and he fell back onto his back, helpless, his staff falling away to the side. Hahmn loomed overhead, holding his triangular dagger with both hands and raising it to thrust it down on Isaand.

Quickened, Isaand slid aside and the blade only scratched his shoulder as it past, but Hahmn fell hard on him, holding him down on the ground. Isaand struggled, dropping his staff and grabbing Hahmn’s head with his free hand, gripping his hair and pulling. Hahmn’s wide face fell forward and Isaand’s saw a starburst as his head bounced back into the dirt. He tasted more blood, and his nose felt squashed and cracked. He made a fist and swung it again and again against the side of Hahmn’s head. How did it come to this? The thought came to him as if from another person, and he felt as though he could look down and see himself struggling not to die, to kill another man. He’d never have believed this was his future. I was supposed to be a bard, a teacher, a healer. I wasn’t made to kill.

Then don’t, the voice said.

“Szet et era no kuur-” Isaand stammered out. Hahmn head-butted him again, and he felt something crack. He spat out blood and kept speaking.

“-et ko vamma-”

Pain flared as Hahmn drew the dagger across his arm, a shallow cut at a bad angle, but enough to make him bleed once more. He felt Szet’s power in a dozen places across his body, the strangely prickling itch of regeneration, and he knew the well of power he’d been giving was swiftly draining.

He didn’t have enough. Too many miracles, too much healing, too much exhaustion after two days of struggle. Szet had given him what he could, but he didn’t have the reserves to hold it all. Isaand reached out, trying to find something more, and realized he could feel something outside of himself, a connection, through the air, like distant fires seen through fog. Two of them were here, on this island, another to the south where the ruined village stood. He had a brief image of ghostly chains coiling through the air. With no time for questions, Isaand seized on one and pulled out all the power it could give him.

Across the island, Ratha gasped, writhing in pain and collapsing to the ground. A gray ethereal chain stretched from Isaand’s hand to her hip, where Isaand’s bandages covered the bite she’d received from the Lsetha. Blood spread across it, and red light spread up through the chain and into Isaand. He felt it invigorating him, along with a brief shocking connection to Ratha’s mind. An image flashed in his mind of himself, a cadaverous white-skinned figure with limp hanging white hair crouching overhead, chanting the words of a prayer as he healed her.

Power filled him. Isaand used it, channeling it into the miracle he was continuing.

“-istana pes-”

Understanding, he avoided the closer chain, fearing what would happen if he drew upon it, and reached for the one that led south. He took its power as well, an image appearing in his mind of the fisherman Tokaa, lying bleeding on the deck of the ferry as he healed him. He felt him in the south, cold and scared, holding his son and speaking words of encouragement. He cried out in sudden pain, and his wound began to bleed.

“–istanna Szet-”

With a wordless cry of rage, Hahmn pulled back and raised the dagger once more.

“-isa Szet… ettarra kau!” Isaand stammered out the last words, and pain flared in all his wounds as the miracle burst into being. Thunder boomed overhead along with a flash of lightning, and the water of the lake rippled out from the island in every direction. Hahmn’s face twisted, a hideous mask of warring emotions. Isaand felt the miracle within him, struggling to burrow through and reach his brain, but he could feel the insidious red substance of Awlta’s miracle within him, holding it back. The miracle was a pacification, meant to shut down any hostility and render its target unable to harm another. It wasn’t going to work, Isaand realized. Awlta’s power kept it from affecting her Lector.

But Hahmn could tell what it was meant to do, and Isaand saw the doubt within him. He hesitated.

“Look at us,” Isaand said, chest heaving. He was covered in blood across most of his body, aching, weak. Hahmn was likewise splattered with gore, his arm red from shoulder to fingers, the bloody stripes of Awlta’s power grown larger across his body as though it was straining to burst open. “All I want, all either of us want, is to help people. Why, Hahmn, why do you want to kill me? Not her. You.”

“I have to,” Hahmn said, as though speaking some terrible certainty. A divine proclamation, unstoppable. “I have to.” There was pain clear on his face, the beginnings of tears wetting his cheeks.

A voice cut through their stalemate, the Lsetha’s mental speech like a knife scraping across glass, leaving cracks in its surface.

“Kill him. Without Awlta you’re nothing. You can never go back to Merasca. Your followers will burn on the shore for The Child. The lake-folk will hate you as soon as they know it was you who poisoned their god and ordered their fishermen killed. They’ll blame you for the village’s destruction as well. Without Awlta, you’re nothing but a pauper. But she’ll make it better. There is a place for you still. A place prepared for you, her greatest servant. Kill him, and we’ll leave this blighted lake and you’ll go to a new place, a place worth living.”

“Why does he have to die? We can just leave. He can’t stop what’s done with Ulm-etha. We’ll leave, and Awlta’s work will be done, it’ll just be slower-”

“No, you sniveling idiot,” the Lsetha interrupted. “He serves SZET. Awlta’s greatest enemy, OUR enemy. Kill him, or he’ll hunt you down and never let you live in peace. Do it-”

The Lsetha’s words cut out as a massive crash rang out to the north where Vehx slammed the other Sendra down into another island, sending the stones spinning through the air. Isaand saw a brief, confused image of the two Sendra wrapped around each other like two snakes, fighting and tearing. Hahmn paused, looking down at the knife in his hand as if he wasn’t sure where it had come from.

“I have-”

He was interrupted by a wet, sickening sound. Isaand’s eyes widened as he saw the point of a short wooden spear protrude from the center of Hahmn’s throat, coated red with blood. Ylla stood behind Hahmn, a wide grin on her face, hair swirling in the wind. She held the haft of the spear with both hands, and twisted it hard, wrenching it back and forth.

“You’ll be okay, Isaand,” the girl told him with an eerily calm voice. “I won’t let anyone kill you.”

Hahmn slumped forward, his throat working to suck in air and failing to do so. Isaand pushed his way out from under him and rolled him over, pushing both hands to his throat to slow the bleeding. His hands shook as the blood welled up between his fingers.

“Don’t die,” he told the Lector. “You fool, don’t die. I’ll heal you, and you can come with me. You can make up for all of this.”

He started a healing miracle, but he felt the numbness spreading throughout his body. He concentrated, and more chains appeared in his mind, spreading out far into the world, to the dozens of people he’d healed since Szet had saved him, all across Hrana. He called on them, feeling a connection as each of their old wounds began to flare up and ache. The power within him swelled like a bright sun within his chest.

His hands glowed with the light of Szet’s healing, but it would not go into Hahmn’s wound. Cracked, manic laughter sounded in Isaand’s mind. Awlta’s power was still within Hahmn, and it would not let him be touched.

Isaand felt it when Hahmn’s soul was gripped in Awlta’s talons and dragged away into the darkness.

Isaand felt a light weight hit his back, and then a dozen more. Rain began to fall all around him, light and cool. As it began, a trumpeting sound burst out across the lake, where Vehx still struggled in the air with the Lsetha. Pain and panic mingled as the Lsetha screamed and pulled down, dragging Vehx under the surface of the lake.

“It doesn’t like the rain,” Ylla observed, staring off into the distance with a blank look. Isaand knew what it meant. She’d opened her Godseye. “It’s… burning it? But it’s just water.”

“The bane,” Isaand said. “All Sendra… have a bane. Rainwater. That’s why it fled, when it had us before.”

The spot where the Sendra fought was hundreds of yards away, but through the clear water Isaand could see Vehx’s massive form glowing underneath. It was shredded, whole chunks torn away and left to float in the water, slowly disintegrating. The Lsetha didn’t seem to be harmed by the rain so long as it stayed under the surface of the lake. Isaand took a deep breath, and stretched his hand out towards Vehx, reaching for the chain that connected him as well.

Using his connections to all the people he’d healed, Isaand poured all of their power, everything he’d wanted to use to heal Hahmn, everything he had left, into Vehx. Vehx’s body flared with new golden light, shining twice as bright, and his roar swelled in exultation. He turned and flew upward, cresting the surface of the lake and leaping a thousand feet into the air.

Where the rain hit the Lsetha its invisibility was torn away, leaving its long thin body clearly visible in the night sky, pieces of it tearing away as the rain pierced it like arrows. It roared and screamed in pain, growing higher and higher pitched until it sounded almost like a scared child. Suspended high in the air, Vehx gripped its throat in his fangs and bit down, severing its head.

Isaand slumped and slowly lay down on his back, letting the rain wash over him and his wounds slowly heal. Ylla stared down at him, smile fading in confusion, then she knelt down beside him and took his hand, waiting.

Heretic Part Two Chapter Eighteen

Heretic

Part Two

Chapter 18

Isaand emerged from the godspool to find clouds overhead with the scent of rain in the air. Bright golden light shone down from overhead, illuminating the island and over-saturating everything so that colors became faded and shadows became black as pitch. A deep rolling roar like thunder echoed across the glassy lake, the familiar growl of Vehx’s released form. The white-and-gold giant serpent floated overhead, his long body coiled protectively around the godspool, translucent enough that Isaand could see through it.

Two figures stood on the shore. Ratha was the first to draw Isaand’s eye. She stood with her shoulders slumped, a short hunting spear held in one fist, her eyes lost in shadow. She was turned half-towards Vehx, muscles coiled as though ready to dodge, and half towards the other figure.

Hahmn stood as tall and wide and solid as he had when Isaand had first seen him, here on this island. His eyes were open no more than a slit, his hands were clasped peacefully behind him. He’d lost his vest, and stood with his chest bare, but ugly red lines stood out across trunk and arms, like deep cuts at the start of infection. Awlta’s red energy glowed within them, staining the sand around him in a bright pattern. When he opened his eyes wide at Isaand’s arrival, they too glowed scarlet.

“Is the Lsetha here?” Isaand asked, quietly, tilting his head to direct his attention to Ylla. The girl stared, eyes trailing across the island, and she nodded.

“Yes. It’s here, all around the island, coiled many times. Its head is sticking up right there, ready to strike.” She pointed a finger at the space about twenty feet above Hahmn, never breaking her eerie smile, as her eyes shifted from blue to green. Isaand quietly cursed himself again for not having the skill to utilize his Godseye. He would have to rely on her, regardless of his wishes.

“I could have told you that,” Vehx growled, his voice booming in Isaand’s head. “If you look, you’ll notice he’s already taken a few bites out of me. The bastard is strong. Something tells me his goddess didn’t take quite so much care to ensure that his power was limited.”

“Stronger than you?” Isaand asked.

“Of course not. I’d have had this all cleared up by now if you hadn’t ordered me not to kill. Still… some assistance would not go unappreciated.”

That gave Isaand a chill. If Vehx, as arrogant as he was, needed help it certainly meant that he was concerned he couldn’t defeat the Lsetha himself.

“I still hope that won’t be necessary. Hold for a moment, unless one of them attacks.”

Isaand walked forward, taking a breath as he passed through the shimmering form of Vehx’s body, its energy crackling against his. Hahmn stood about twenty feet away, the small fire Ratha had built crackling behind him, his shadow flickering on the walls of the little cave.

Hahmn’s eyes blinked repeatedly as he met Isaand’s gaze. Though he stood as still as ever, there was a distinct tension in his posture that hadn’t been there before. If that meant what Isaand hoped, then maybe this wouldn’t come to bloodshed. If it didn’t… maybe it meant he would have more of a chance.

“So you’ve gone from telling horror stories to creating them, is that the way of it?” Isaand asked, his voice ringing out across the distance between them.

“Only in service of the greater good.” Hahmn’s voice did not betray him, and in fact as soon as he began to speak his body relaxed, his eyes slipping into his usual half-lidded look. Something about that bothered Isaand. He realized he’d seen that look before, on the faces of the sick and injured, when the effects of the medicine given to them took hold, the cessation of pain a powerful drug all its own. “I told you before that Awlta strives to free us from bondage and tear away lies. Our gods hold us to their lands, corralled like cattle waiting to be milked. The gods lie to us with every breath, through their cowardly clerics. I should know. I was a cleric for many years, and spoke the meaningless platitudes and assurances the Child of the Shore passed my way, when they bothered to do so. More often, I made my own lies, whatever I felt would serve the community, would make them happy. Never did I pause to consider that they might desire the truth.”

“How does death and torment serve these people, Hahmn? What greater good does Awlta claim to be planting here?”

“The people of this lake have lived here for centuries, living quiet, dull lives with no purpose or stimulation. Any who choose to leave are harshly punished by the outside world, apostates without the protection of a god. Ratha made it out in the world, and returned, and now she is shunned and spat on by her own family and friends who remained loyal to their own gods.” Hahmn raised an arm in Ratha’s direction. Isaand saw a harsh nod as she confirmed his words. “Ulm-etha provides nothing for them except the stones on which they build their huts, and yet has the temerity to demand they give up their own lifeblood to fill his gluttonous gullet. Mother Maesa cares only for her lake. She tolerates the men and women who fish in it, but otherwise pays them no heed. I think she’d prefer if they were gone entirely. Awlta says she never did agree with the need for us.

A life lost to sickness or violence is a tragedy, but a life lost at the end of a long, empty existence is worse. A waste. This entire community is a dead limb, slowly rotting away to nothing. Alwta would give them a purpose, and in doing so, chip away at the tyranny of the Hranis gods. You yourself stood against Amauro and Tzamet, so do not claim to find their like faultless.”

“So you’d have me believe that when the stones fall they’ll be better off? What of the ones who won’t survive the chaos, the ones who’ve already been killed by your Sendra?”

The certainty in Hahmn’s eyes faltered, and he looked away. “I don’t enjoy any killings. But some sacrifice is always necessary to make a change. And the number here will be tiny, compared to the great shift that is coming. You don’t know Awlta’s plans, what she’s told me… I’m only a part of this… I need only to do as she tells me, and the others will do their part-” Hahmn shook his head, pulling himself together. “I told the Lsetha we should only hurt a few people, perhaps a killing here and there, just enough to put the fear into them. Awlta said that if we drive them away from Ulm-etha they’ll only run into Maesa’s arms, so we must also destroy their faith in her as well. But the Lsetha has done this before. He knows what needs to be done. I told him to handle it as he sees fit. I did not know how many had been killed… but I cannot change that now. If I stop here, then would good have I done?”

“What good have you done?” Isaand asked. “It sounds like you’re only doing what she orders you to do because you don’t want to admit you’re being used. You’ve heard all the stories of Awlta, Lady of Lies, Mother of Genocide, you admitted it. You’ve seen firsthand that at least some of what is said is true, you’ve helped to make it happen. What have you seen to make you think there will be any good to come of this? Did Awlta even tell you what the ultimate goal of all of this is?”

“She’s told me enough. She’s told me how to do what I need to do. That’s more than the Child ever taught me, more than Ulm-Etha or Maesa bothers to impart to their clerics. Awlta speaks to me, values me. She cares, she’s made that clear,” Hahmn said.

“As an executioner cares for his blade. You told me before that you had no clear plans for the future, that you hoped you might journey with me from this place. Awlta has given you no idea of your future because she has none for you. You’re a disposal tool. Open your damn eyes Hahmn, think!”

The uncertainty grew clearer on Hahmn’s face… until the red light of his wounds and eyes began to shine brighter. Then once more he became the image of satisfaction, a manic smile spreading across his face, too wide, like a rictus grin.

“I’ve always had weak faith. Worries have eaten away at my mind since I was a boy, but Awlta helped me put a stop to that. Her power… you have no idea how it feels. She’s made it all clear, yes, I can hear her now. Yes, Lady, I do. I know-”

He’s raving, Isaand thought, saddened. It was not only Awlta’s godly power within him, granting him miracles. She’d given him all the things he’d never had before in his life: purpose, certainty, validation, the bone-deep feeling that he was someone special, that he could change the world. I felt the same, when Szet gave me my mission. What good was logic against such gifts? He’d have a better chance arguing with a mirror. Once more, Isaand felt the heaviness of exhaustion pulling at him from within, and all he wanted to do was turn away and let Hamhn get on with his misdeeds. The people of this lake had treated him no better. They didn’t want his help, would not care if he gave his life to save them.

Isaand felt as though he were teetering on the edge of a deep pit, but something swelled up from within his heart, saving him from despair. He felt his hands curl into fists, his teeth bared as he gritted them together. Anger filled up the empty spaces within him.

“I don’t really care why you’re doing this,” Isaand spat at Hahmn. “Your excuses are worse than your goddess’ and she didn’t even try to justify herself. Szet was right about just how broken this world is, but he’s sent me to do something about it. Are you going to get out of my way, or are you going to keep being part of the problem?”

Hahmn’s eyes widened at his change in tone. “Well, it seems the healer has some backbone after all. What are you going to do? Szet the Indolent is a known coward and bystander, not one with the spine needed to arm his servant with the power truly needed in this world, the power to defend or destroy. You yourself confessed to me that if we faced the Lsetha, you would leave the combat to me.”

“You gave me a message, when you came out of the godspool this morning. ‘ The wound cannot heal until the bad blood has been drained,’ that’s what you said,” Isaand answered, leveling a finger at the Lector. “The fool I was, I read wisdom into it, thinking she was advising me to put aside my anger so that I could accept the world for what it was. But there is truth to it. You and your goddess and your Sendra are a sickness in this land. And I’m the one to cure it.”

Taking one more step forward, he slipped his foot under the bonewood staff he’d left on the edge of the godspool and flipped it up into his hands, leveling it like a spear at Hahmn’s heart. The Lector only laughed, but Ratha rushed towards him, breaking her silence.

“Don’t do this, Isaand! You’re throwing your life away, you’ve seen the things he can do.” Her expression was twisted with myriad emotions. Isaand glared at her.

“Afraid for the life of your conspirator? You’ve been in on this all along, haven’t you?”

“It’s not like that,” Ratha said, stomping at the sand. “The Free sent me, since I knew the area, because they knew one of the Unbound was active here. But my goal was to observe. There are still people here I care about, but I serve a higher purpose now. When you arrived, and talked with Hahmn, I hoped…”

“That everything would end peacefully? Why help us hunt the Lsetha then? Why try to convince me to come with you? You said it before, right here, that it was easier to trick a man than to trust him with the truth. You’ve just been using me… and Hahmn is well. I think I see now. Your Free wanted to know what happened when two Unbound crash up against each other. Well you’re about to find out.”

“A trick is not a lie,” Ratha insisted. “There was plenty of truth in what I said. I want you to come with me to Kelylla still. There are people there you should meet, so many things you could learn. Things about your god, things you’ll never hear from his divine lips. We can still go. Leave now, Hahmn will let you go if you don’t try to stop him. What happens here… if you’d chosen to go somewhere else, you’d never know about any of this. It wouldn’t be your responsibility. It’s not your responsibility. Just walk away, and you don’t have to die.”

“Listen to the woman, Isaand,” Hahmn said evenly. “I like you. I’d rather not murder you. That’s the truth.”

“What about Ylla?” Ratha asked, pointing past Isaand to where the girl waited. Against his judgment, Isaand glanced back. The girl stood on the edge of the godspool, bathed in the golden light of Vehx, a meaningless smile wide on her face. She looked entirely calm, nothing like the swirling vortex of emotion roiling in Isaand’s gut. “If you die here, what happens to here? You saved her life, twice now. Don’t throw it away for nothing.”

“Shut up,” Isaand snarled. The energy Szet had given him still filled him, electric, urging him to act. He took a deep breath, felt it flow through his body, violence uncoiling and ready to act. It felt good, like how powerful he’d felt when he’d unleashed Vehx on Ulm-kanet and watched that sanctimonious cleric’s face turn to horror at what her stubbornness had wrought. It made him feel certain. This was not his end. “You say you’re here to observe, nothing more. If you aren’t going to pick a side, stand back and make sure you don’t get caught in the fire. And when you get back to your ignorant ‘Free,’ tell them that Isaand Laeson, the Lector of Szet the Peaceful, does not stand by and let others die in his sight.”

“It’s coming!” Ylla’s shrill voice cried out, and Vehx roared overhead. Isaand saw a flash of light on the invisible scales of the Lsetha, and then light blinded him as Vehx leaped forward.

The two massive Sendra collided with a sound like an avalanche, and sand erupted in a geyser from the spot five feet in front of Isaand, almost throwing him off his feet. He teetered, then felt the energy Szet had given him rush through his body and turned his momentum into a sideways dash, rushing around the body of Vehx towards Hahmn on the opposite side of the island, shouting a command as he went.

“Keep the Lsetha off me!” Isaand knew if Vehx struck at the Lector and was disabled by the Lsetha in the process, Isaand would have no chance facing them both. All he could hope for is that he would be able to stop Hahmn on his own. No, not on my own, he told himself. My god is with me.

Across the short beach, Hahmn had a knife in one hand, and he swiftly sliced it across his forearm, baring it open from elbow to wrist. Blood spurted out, and began to shape in the air around his arm, a massive bladed tendril that could slice Isaand in two with one blow.

Part Two: Chapter Nineteen

Heretic Part Two Chapter 10

Heretic

Part Two

Chapter 10

“Any who discover your purpose will endeavor to end you. The path you walk is too dangerous to walk alone, yet I cannot be with you.” Szet’s voice drifted up from below, from behind, from within, a whisper and a cry. “I am far more powerful than any of my brethren of the Pact, yet if I were to act too overtly, their restrictions allow them access to their full power for the purposes of rebuffing mine actions. The miracles I have given you will grant you the power to perform your purpose, but they will avail you little in battle. For that, I give you a Sendra.”

“A Sendra?” Isaand asked, the word unfamiliar to him. “Is it some kind of weapon?”

“Oh, aye, that is well said. Sendra is an old word, used by humans of the First World. In your tongue, you would say ‘slave.’”

“I… I would never refuse your gift, holiness…”

“But you are repulsed by the idea of owning a slave? Fear not, this one comes willingly to his servitude. Sendra are gods, bound once by the Pact, bound now again by another. The terms of his slavery are a mere human’s lifetime, nigh inconsequential to a god, and when it is complete he will have his reward. Cry no tears on behalf of Vehx.”

“So I will have a god accompanying me?”

“Sendra must be sealed within living things, chained by the soul. This one will seem nothing more than an exotic pet, until you command him to act. Your word to him is law, yet you must be wary. Commands given unwisely leave room for mischief, and the Sendra will have no cause to love you. Think carefully before speaking.”

“Yes, my master.”

“In addition, all Sendra have a specific substance from which they claim their power. Vehx will have no need for mundane food or water, but must partake from a freshly slain creature if he is to remain sealed within his worldly shell. There is also a bane for each Sendra, some substance which will cause it great harm. You would do well to carry some flower petals on your body, should your Sendra ever seek to turn against you.

Finally, remember this: the terms of a Sendra’s contract supersede the Pact, for the time in which they are bound. Released temporarily from their bonds, there is nothing else on this planet with as great destructive power.”

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

Hahmn, Ratha, and Isaand huddled close together, each looking a different direction, searching for some sign of the invisible monster. A flash of distant lighting lit the grey clouds sweeping in from the east, and the wind swept the lake into small choppy waves. Otherwise there was no movement to see. Even the clear lake seemed empty, fish fleeing before the arrival of the Lsetha.

“Is it still here?” Ratha asked, her voice tight with fear.

“It must be,” Isaand said. It has nothing to fear, and no reason to flee.

“I see… something,” Hahmn said, then swayed sideways, his weight pushing Isaand to the side. “Ugh, I cannot keep my Eye open. It is too disorienting.”

“Nor I,” Isaand admitted. If only he hadn’t left Ylla and Vehx behind. Vehx should be a match for this Sendra on his own, and his Godseye was practiced enough to keep track of it with no difficulty. Even Ylla would have been a great help. For reasons he still couldn’t explain, she’d taken to the use of her Godseye with greater ease than Isaand.

“Where was it?” Ratha asked.

“Circling. Under the water, so it shows no wake on the surface,” Hahmn said. “Isaand, you wished for a chance to speak to the beast, did you not…?”

I did, though I had hoped for a less hostile encounter. Isaand focused on his breathing, tried to counter the burst of adrenaline flowing through him, driving him to flight. Leaving the questionable safety of their little huddle, he stepped up to the cliff-side. Below, boats and bodies floated in the water, but all else was still. In his head, Isaand began focusing on the words of the chant Szet had given him, preparing himself to use the miracle that might be able to keep them safe if this all went awry.

“Lsetha, please hear me!” he called out. “I know what you are, and I name you: Sendra. A god, bound in the body of an animal. And bound in servitude of a mortal, are you not? Is your master here? I’d like to have a talk.”

The Lsetha’s voice was like sliding silk, soft and cold, and it seemed to come from the water beneath in every direction, a whisper as loud as a boom of thunder.

“Slave, you name me. How arrogant. You humans are our children, made in our image, so perhaps it is our fault you tend so strongly towards insolence. You would be wiser to beg for mercy, however. Sendra I may be, but I have met no mortal fit to call my master.”

“What’s going on?” Isaand heard Ratha asking behind him. Hahmn began explaining what the Lsetha was saying. It’s excluding her, speaking only to us Lectors, he realized, though why he could not say.

“Then if it is as you say, please tell us what you want. With your power, you could have easily killed a lot more people by now if you wanted to. There must be a purpose to this. We’d like to settle this peacefully.”

“Peace? Only creatures so pathetically short-lived as you could believe in such a thing as peace. There is no such thing. Living things must struggle and kill, or be killed themselves. Peace is only the delusion that your suffering is at an end. Well there’s only one way to end the struggle, and that’s death.”

Lightning flashed again in the distance, this time accompanied by the quiet roar of distant thunder. The lake was getting choppier as the wind picked up, but Isaand saw no sign of the Lsetha on the move. For the moment, it was at least content to talk with them.

“So this is part of some struggle to you, some way to achieve your end? Or are you just killing for fun?”

“What does it matter? Even in this little lake land there are more humans than it is worth the bother to count. Even if I slew every last one of them, the number lost would be so miniscule compared to the total that the world would not even notice. And the same goes for you, Healer. You saved the life of one of my victims. Does it make any difference? Millions are suffering still, across the great wide world. Men are being slaughtered, women raped, children starving. Do you think your tiny gestures of charity changes that one bit? You’d have a better chance of drinking the ocean dry.”

“The people I save have loved ones who care. Their lives are changed forever. The same goes for your victims.” The Lsetha only laughed at that, and Isaand turned away, angry. He looked back towards Hahmn, and the Lector strode forward to stand by him at the cliff.

“This water is claimed, by the goddess Maesa. The rocks we stand on are owned by Ulm-etha, the father. By what right do you intrude on their domains?” Hahmn asked.

“Ah, but sweet Maesa does not mind my presence, does she? She feels only a beast a-swim within her waters, and all creatures who dwell in the lake are her children. A god cannot spot a Sendra so easily, and Maesa is far from perceptive. As for Ulm-etha, you would do better to beseech a corpse for aid than to turn to that one.”

“What do you mean-” Isaand started to ask, but Hahmn’s large hand gripped his shoulder roughly, pointing downward with his other.

“It’s moving!”

Isaand looked, and saw nothing at first. But then he spotted it, a wave breaking that defied the pattern of the ones around it, moving sideways around the island. Then the water burst up like a geyser. A flash of light glimmered briefly in the air, and then he lost sight of it.

“Get back!” Isaand pulled on Hahmn but the man was too big and solid, and he lost his grip and fell. Water from the lake sprayed down on them like rain, and the air split with the sound of a high-pitched roar.

Ratha was running forward when the impact hit. Something large and heavy slammed into the ground beside Isaand, sending up clumps of dust and dirt. Hahmn was falling, and Ratha tripped. For just an instant, Isaand saw another flash of light, this time long enough for him to spot the form of a gigantic serpent with scales of myriad colors, like a rainbow with teeth. Its tail was flat across the surface of the island and its head was raised high, a dozen feet overhead, opening wide to strike down at one of them. Hahmn was too far away, but Ratha was falling next to him. Isaand reached out and grabbed her ankle.

He felt the shock of godly energy burst out, up his arm and into Ratha’s body. As the quickening power took hold she let out a cry of mixed distress and exultation, and her forward fall turned into a graceful roll across one shoulder and back up to her feet. She swung the great spear, quick and precise, but hit only air. The light was gone, and when Isaand stabbed towards the spot where he’d seen the tail his spear hit nothing.

The Lsetha struck silently. One moment Ratha was whirling on the stone, spear jabbing out in every direction. Then she was flying sideways, struck hard, with blood spraying out from her hip. Even so, she managed to slide her hands up the haft of the spear and grab it near its point, allowing her to stab it down into the invisible head holding her. The spear’s point writhed and seemed to turn translucent as it pierced the Lsetha’s scales, and it hurt Isaand to look at it.

“No! Don’t hurt her!” Hahmn shouted, the anger in his voice making him sound twice his size. As if in answer, the Lsetha seemed to release her. She fell and rolled to the side, her clothes torn and her leg and hip studded with deep puncture wounds. Isaand found himself on his feet, and stood over her with a short spear in each hand. He looked from side to side but saw nothing. It’s not good, he thought. If I don’t see it coming it could strike from behind and kill us both.

He opened his Godseye.

His stomach dropped out from under him, bile rising in his throat. He swayed as the stone seemed to shift and buck beneath him, then vanish entirely. Lights and pools of darkness mingled before him, and strange creatures flew or swam through the strange aether that surrounded him. Gritting his teeth so hard he thought they might break, he tried to force his eye closed, to narrow its view so that it would not overwhelm him. He tried to turn, but how could he tell if he’d managed? He had no body anymore, no legs to move or neck to turn.

Then he saw it, hanging in the air before him, a giant serpent of rainbow light, crackling with colored lightning. Its body coiled around and around itself in a complex knot that could not be undone, thousands of feet long, no, stretching into forever. It was all around them, its body surrounding the island, but the head was moving behind-

He closed the Eye, gasping for breath, and turned to thrust out with both spears. He struck nothing, but he heard the hiss of an in-drawn voice and a gust of warm breath as the Lsetha pulled away.

“Here, try me!”

Hahmn had gotten to his feet, and was holding a small triangular-bladed dagger in one hand, holding it in a hammer-grip with the blade turned downwards. To Isaand’s shock, he put its sharp point to his own wrist and dug inward, drawing the knife down across his forearm from wrist to elbow. Blood began to gush out from the severed artery. He’ll die, Isaand thought, but no. With a loud, ululating voice, Hahmn was calling out a rousing chant, a prayer to his goddess. And she answered.

The blood spread until it painted Hahmn’s arm red, covering every last bit of skin, and then it kept coming, forming around his arm like armor. It floated outward, wafting through the air like a grasping tentacle, four, five, six feet long and growing. There’s not that much blood in a whole human body, Isaand thought. The shape began to change, transforming into a serrated saw-blade ten feet long, whip-like and thick.

Hahmn swung his blood-blade, and it extended as it swept forward, slicing through the air. Isaand felt the impact, along with the keening roar of the Lsetha. “Get her back!” Hahmn shouted, striding forward to perch on the edge of the cliff. Isaand felt something grab his arm and almost stabbed, then looked down to see Ratha pale and grimacing in pain, weakly pulling at him. He dropped the spears and grabbed ahold of her. He winced as he tried to lift her, and barely had the strength, but he managed to get her up and half-drag her across the island into the doorway of one of the huts.

Hahmn was swinging his blade back and forth, though he seemed to be able to see no better than Isaand. He flinched, and turned back as if he’d heard some sound, and for a moment his squinting eyes met Isaand’s.

Then a huge mouth clamped down on him from above. The Lsetha flashed its colors, giving Isaand a clear view of its huge eye and the set of long dagger teeth biting into Hahmn. His whole head was within the gullet of the beast, his bloody blade going limp and loose. Rain drops began to fall, and where they struck the beasts scales they sent up wisps of steam. Then the creature heaved, and the whole of its bulk splashed down into the lake, carrying Hahmn with it.

Part Two: Chapter Eleven

Heretic Part Two Chapter 9

Heretic

Part Two

Chapter 9

A shudder swam through Isaand’s mind, sending chills through his body under the cloak he was wrapped in. Do not… truth… sacrifice… The voice was familiar, but through the haze of wine and sleep Isaand couldn’t place it. He felt his shoulders tense, his mind struggling as though through a deep mire to reach his thoughts, but exhaustion won the battle, and he drifted back down into oblivion.

He woke later, in warm darkness. The smell of smoke hung in the air. He rolled sluggishly, stretching his arms, trying to remember what he had been dreaming about. It had felt important, he could remember that much. But no, dreams always felt significant to the dreamer, even if they were filled with nothing but nonsense.

The floor of the cave was soft sand, covered in a thick blanket to cushion it, and he’d slept beneath this thick cloak with his arms beneath his head. They tingled and ached as he drew them out now, numbed, but that was nothing he hadn’t felt many a time before. The cave was surprisingly comfortable, though the dull spike in his head was making itself felt now, a remnant of the wine he’d drunk well past midnight. Fortunately, he felt it fading away as soon as he noticed it. Szet’s blessings were upon him, and they dealt with hangover as easily as they did with violent wounds, for which he was duly grateful. When he threw off his cloak and struggled to a seated position, he was left with only the slight pangs of the tail-end of a headache.

The cave was empty. Sunlight streamed in from outside the hide covering the exit, and from beyond it he could hear soft muffled voices. Most like, that was all his dream had been, ascribing some urgency to the conversation of his fellow heretics. He wobbled a bit as he got to his feet, but the sun drove him back when he first tried to push the hide aside. It’s past dawn, nearly noon, he realized. I’ve slept far too long. Ylla is back at the village. Panic gripped him for a moment, until he remembered he’d left Vehx with her, ordering him to keep her safe.

Outside, he found the island much changed by the light of day. In the moonlight it had seemed remote and mysterious, mystical in it’s defiance of the lake’s uniform appearance. Now it just looked ugly, a rough circle of sandy soil covered by sparse grass with a pool of murky water in its middle. The tall and magnificent pillars that rose all around them drew the eye away, as did the schools of fish and eels swimming round the island in clear view beneath the water. It was small wonder the lake folk shunned the place.

Ratha sat at the edge of the pool, soaking her feet in the water. She’d left her vest off, leaving her smooth rounded shoulders bare. She turned as he stumbled out, flashing a tired smile that hinted that she had also perhaps had too much to drink the night before. She raised her wineskin in salute and took a quick draw from it. A pile of white clothing was beside her on the shore.

“It’s much too late,” Isaand said, coming closer. “I’d intended to be back before dawn. I must have drifted off…”

“So you said, many times last night.” Ratha got to her feet, brushing dirt off her clothing, and shrugged in an apologetic manner. “I’m afraid we may have tricked you a tiny bit, Isaand.”

“A trick?” His brain didn’t seem to be working as swiftly as it should.

“You couldn’t have known, but today is a special day back at Ulm-kanet. A sacrifice is to be carried out at noon, to Ulm-etha, as is done once a year under normal circumstances, though lately they’ve been far more regular. The older folks blame Gauadan, saying he’s much too young and inexperienced to carry out the rites properly. Others believe Ulm-etha has become more discerning, requiring sacrifices who are younger than the usual crop, more full of life. Either way, the sacrifices haven’t been taking, and Ulm-etha himself isn’t saying why. We have little reason to suspect anything will change this time.

So let’s imagine that you were there, in the village during the sacred sacrifice, at the festival that is typically forbidden to outsiders, and something were to go wrong. How do you think the villagers, and the clerics, would react?”

“You’re saying they’d blame me,” Isaand said.

“Everyone wants a scapegoat, when they can’t blame the gods. An outsider is the logical place to look. Most like, nothing would happen, but it cannot hurt to be careful. I suggested to Hahmn it might be prudent to keep you out of sight until the danger had passed, and he concurred. Besides, you seemed like you needed a good night’s rest.”

“You could have told me,” Isaand hissed. Ratha stepped back at the venom in his voice, shocked, a hand going to the wooden medallion at her breast.

“Would you have listened?” she shot back, tone icy. When he didn’t answer she rolled her eyes and loosed all her tension in a laugh. “Oh, Isaand, you are not so different from others as you think. Stubbornness must have been a curse set upon us by the gods. It is truly easier to corral a herd of goats than to lead them to sweet water.”

“A goat cannot comprehend your words; I can. All you needed do was explain.”

“I apologize, as will Hahmn. We are new to all this skulking and intrigue, you know. Perhaps we went about it the wrong way. Here, you must have a thirst by now. We have a bit of wine left.” She shook the wineskin before his face, and he took it, tenderly so he would not seem overly upset. The wine was sour, the last dregs of last night’s revels, but it served to loosen his throat.

“What of Ylla? I am not the only outsider. The child I brought with me-”

“Is just a child, and a sweet and innocent one from what I saw. No one will look to her for trouble, I am sure. And Tokaa is a good man, one blessed with more sons than daughters. He will dote on her, and keep her out trouble. But if you are concerned, we can be away and perhaps reach the island by noon.”

“I… no, what you did makes sense. I’ve made a habit of avoiding towns in the midst of festivities, and clerics in general. I’d have begged off intentionally, I suppose, if I’d known. I just don’t… like being lied to.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Ratha said.

The silence stretched on awkwardly, and Isaand hated to see Ratha contrite, so he gestured to the pile of clothes and broached a question. “Where is Hahmn? I see he has left his garb behind.”

“He swims below.” Ratha nodded to the pool of water beside them, which was a dark greenish color and too dark to see more than a few feet deep. “I’m not sure I understand it, but Hahmn claims it is one of the rare unclaimed places, where the gods of the Pact cannot tread, and so he can reach his own goddess there. While beneath, she fills his lungs with air, so he has no need to come up for breath. He has been down an hour already, seeking guidance.”

“I will be glad for some guidance. Though… I had a thought.”

“About our little plan?” Ratha asked.

“Aye. We wish to stop this Lsetha from harming the people of the lake, but if Vehx is correct, it is a Sendra like him. That means it is a servant to someone. Even if we were to discover its bane and slay it, the master will remain. And just now, you said that Ulm-etha’s sacrifices have not been effective? Perhaps the same master is responsible for that, some kind of sabotage.”

“So if we don’t find the master, things might just keep getting worse,” Ratha said.

“Exactly. Therefore, I think our first attempt should be to open a dialogue. We need to find out who this master is, and what they want. If the Lsetha is a Sendra, it is no beast. It can speak, provided we can convince it to do so.”

“You want to talk to that monster? What will you do when it tries to drag you below the lake?”

“As to that, I suppose it depends on what miracles Awlta has blessed Hahmn with. Mine own are powerful, but not well-suited to combat.”

As if on cue, Hahmn appeared with a great splash, rising up from the center of the pool, taking a deep breath of air. He strode out onto the shore naked, dripping water, with a satisfied look on his face.

“My lady goddess has spoken to me,” Hahmn announced. She has given her blessing to our alliance, and wishes us well in our endeavor to defeat the Lsetha. Good morning, Isaand. We will break our fast once I’m dressed, and then we can be on our way. Ratha knows what waters the Lsetha frequents.”

They ate quickly, a sparse meal of flat-bread and charred fish as long as Isaand’s finger, and finished what was left of the wine. While they ate, Hahmn answered Isaand’s questions regarding his goddess’ miracles.

“Awlta may be slandered as a cruel and bloodthirsty one, but her true focus is the protection of the weak and the punishment of evil. She has granted me some small abilities to allow me to overcome those who would use their strength to exploit others. Even a paladin would have a hard time facing me with Awlta’s protection,” Hahmn boasted. “You’ll see, if it comes to violence, goddess forbid. The Lsetha may be deadly, but it’ll not find me an easy victory.” In return, Isaand told him of his idea to speak with the Lsetha, and begged him to stay back until he had a chance to try.

As they crossed the island towards Ratha’s tied up boat, Hahmn had one last thing to say. “The goddess spoke of much to me in her holy pool. Messages were given, to each of you.”

“To me as well?” Ratha said. “I’d not have thought the holy goddess would even know my name. I bear her no ill-will, but I’m no follower either.”

“We are all children of the gods, no matter how the Pact would try and slice us all up into separate peoples. The Unbound care for all their children. Awlta would have me tell you this: you will witness much here in the Clear Lake. Do not forget what you’ve seen when you next meet with your friends.”

Ratha looked curious at that. “I shouldn’t think I would. She’d have me sings praises of her servant’s actions, I would guess, but I’m afraid I’ll have to reserve my judgment. Though aye, I’m sure I’ll tell the tale whatever it turns out to be. I have many friends, and they enjoy a good tale.”

“And for you, Isaand.” Hahmn turned to him, smiling wide, eyes narrow slits that barely showed his pupils. “The wound cannot heal until the bad blood has been drained. I confess, I know not what she meant, though I suppose a healer would understand at once.”

Isaand felt his hands curled into fists, a sharpness in his chest. He forced himself to take a deep breath, and nodded, though he could not bring himself to return Hahmn’s smile. “Aye. I know what she means.”

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

Midday came while they were on the lake, turning their boat south-by-southeast. Ulm-kanet, the village where Isaand had left Ylla waiting, was almost due south, but Ratha claimed that the majority of the Lsetha’s attacks had come near waters to the east, where smaller villages of four or five houses clung to each small island. They would return to Ulm-kanet an hour before sunset, they had decided, to allow Isaand to reunite with Ylla and Vehx, while Ratha took Hahmn back to his island. Isaand wished that he had some way to send the girl a message, but a few more hours shouldn’t be any cause for concern, not with Vehx with her. It was unlikely they would come across the Lsetha so soon, but Hahmn saw no reason not to try.

The trip was lively. The boat sat three easily enough, though Hahmn was large enough he must sit in the middle to keep his weight from throwing off its balance. Isaand sat at the prow, rowing to keep up speed, while Ratha sat at the rear, steering to keep them off the rocks. Hahmn hummed constantly as they rowed, singing lightly under his breath, local folk songs that oft praised the gods of the lake and stone and beach, which Isaand did find a bit strange. The day was warm and bright at first, but soon after midday the sky began to grow darker, clouds sweeping in from the east to block the sun and turn the black stone pillars to a dull gray. The wind picked up, and Isaand was glad to have his cloak wrapped snugly about him. From time to time he glanced back at Ratha, wearing only her light clothing, and wondered if she was cold. Had he been closer, he’d have offered her his cloak.

As the day went on, they passed numerous other boats out, but always Ratha steered clear of them once Isaand pointed them out. “The lake folk are a tolerant people, slow to violence,” she said. “But that’s no good reason to provoke them. Hahmn was known in Merasca, and to some hereabouts. And you’re an obvious outsider. If we’re seen up close we’ll be remembered, and that could cause problems down the line.”

They passed plenty of houses as well. The islands here were small, the largest seeming to have perhaps seven or eight huts clinging to them. Some islands they passed were large enough only for a single household. One house or many, though, every single inhabited island they passed had its own ring of stones honoring their god, though most of the ones here were only knee-high and a few feet across.

Two hours past midday, after they’d eaten a few quick bites of fish and bread to keep them going, Isaand spotted a boat up ahead as they rounded the corner between two uninhabited islands. “Boat ahead,” he called out, bored, as he’d done before. Then he realized he could see no one onboard, and began to scan the waters around it for swimmers. A couple of dark spots caught his eye, off to one side, but something about it was strange. He began to paddle faster.

“Isaand, hold on, I’ll steer us away,” Ratha said.

“No, there’s something… there,” he pointed with the oar. “What’s that in the water?”

“It looks like…”

“Blood,” Hahmn said, maintaining his serene tone of voice. “A good deal of it.”

They paddled closer, watching for others. Another island was a stone’s throw away from the empty boat, with three huts nestled down close to the waterline. No women could be seen cleaning fish on the shore, no children climbing the cliffs. Isaand soon spotted a second boat beyond the first, and another dark spot near it.

They rowed in silently, with no hue and cry at their approach. The spots in the water began to fade by the time they approached, the blood thinning out, but a number of bodies were left floating in their wake. Isaand saw a man a few years older than himself, a fishing spear clenched in his fist with its head snapped off. He was floating face-down, guts and viscera hanging out of his torn belly. A school of fish was gathered around him, nibbling at his corpse. A woman floated near one of the boats, occasionally bumping against it, her eyes staring wide and empty, her throat torn open.

And in the midst of it all, three children floated, their small bodies mangled. Ratha gasped at the sight of them, and Hahmn was silent. Isaand felt a sickness in his stomach that had bile climbing up his throat, but he held it back and reached with his oar, pulling one of the children in towards him. He grasped a foot and pulled it closer, turning it over. It was a boy, perhaps eight years old, and expression of tear on his face, one leg torn off and a deep bite in his side. Blood poured out in small gushes into the lake from each wound.

“These people… they haven’t been dead long,” Isaand said, his voice choked. “This just happened. If we had been here sooner-”

“If it just happened, then the Lsetha could still be around,” Ratha hissed, quietly.

“That’s true,” Hahmn said. “Make for that island. We should see to the survivors. No doubt they are hiding in their huts.”

“We should gather the bodies…” Isaand started.

“We give our bodies back to the lake,” Ratha said. “Not without properly treating them first, of course, and normally we sink them, wrapped in cloth, but… if the monster is near, we have no time. It could be under us right now.”

They found no survivors in the three huts. There were a few tools and things scattered about here and there, but whether that was a sign of a struggle or simply the ordinary detritus of daily life Isaand could not say. There was no blood though, nor any bodies. Three more small boats were tied up outside the huts, but whether there had been more that were taken was unknown.

“Did either of you know the people who lived here?” Isaand asked. Hahmn only shook his head, while Ratha answered.

“Not really. I’d seen them around, I’ve passed through here before. Maybe we’ve talked before, out on the lake, but I can’t really recall. They were just people, like all the rest around here. This makes no sense though. The Lsetha has never killed more than one or two people before. And if it attacked the fishers, what happened to the ones who lived here? Did they flee?”

“What do you think, Hahmn?” Isaand asked. When he received no answer, he stepped out of the hut to where Hahmn was standing at the cliff-side, looking down on the bodies of the children still floating in the water. “Hahmn?”

“I- I- I need just a moment,” Hahmn said, his voice thick with emotion. Isaand was surprised to see that his shoulders were wracking with silent sobs, his body slumped. Up until now, he’d always seemed so calm, so optimistic. It was a shock to see him so heavily affected. Isaand clapped him on the shoulder, then turned away to leave him to his grief.

Ratha, by comparison, was standing strong, her eyes dry. That was good, he supposed, though he found it a bit surprising that she could act so unaffected. She was sifting through some belongings in one of the huts, though what she was looking for he couldn’t say. Giving it up, she tossed a comb back onto a sleeping pallet and turned towards him.

“It must be worse than we thought,” Ratha said. Whatever the Lsetha wants, its speeding things up. We need to warn everyone to stay off the lake. The only way to do that is to get word to Ulm-kanet.”

“Of course. I should return anyway. Vehx will be invaluable in helping us deal with the Lsetha. Going back out on that lake though, I can’t say it won’t make me nervous.”

“Agreed. We should be ready for danger.” That said, Ratha walked around behind one of the huts. Curious, Isaand followed to see her pulling a spear from a rack. Longer than the shorter fishing spears he’d seen around, this one was four feet long with another foot of sharpened bone at the end.

“Heavy spear, for the big fish,” Ratha said. “They don’t often carry them, but it makes a better weapon. Here, you should take one as well.” Isaand helped himself to two of the smaller spears, figuring he could throw them if need be. He paused before taking them, wondering if they should leave a note for the villagers should they come back. No, no one here was likely to be capable of reading, and besides-

“Ratha, Isaand! It’s here!” Hahmn’s voice was high and quavering, back at the cliff. Isaand rushed around, adrenaline flooding his body. He looked past where Hahmn was backing swiftly away from the cliff, and saw nothing. But then he looked down, and saw the waters sliding and breaking as though some long creature was swimming through them, all clear and empty. It vanished, but then he heard a voice in his head, cold and cruel, that made him shiver.

“Well met, little heretics. You should have stayed off my lake.”

Part Two: Chapter Ten

Heretic Part 2 Chapter 1

Heretic

Part Two

Chapter 1

Never before had Isaand seen water so clear, so deep, and so brimming with life.

The lake stretched out ahead of them in every direction, broken up here and there by small islands, little more than large rocks, rising up out of the water at dramatic angles like fingers thrust towards the sky. They were more vertical than horizontal, rising ramp-like from a low point, a mere twenty or thirty feet above the water, to towering cliffs three or four hundred feet high. The islands were starkly beautiful, inhospitable cliffs of black basalt bearded with thick green moss. Hundreds of birds wheeled around their crests, nesting in the many crevices and jutting platforms of stone that studded them.

The islands seemed to tower overhead, an illusion created by the lake’s utter clarity. As far as Isaand could see, the water was as clear as perfect glass, allowing him to see down to its sandy depths two or three hundred feet below, and so could see where the islands began, doubling their height. Looking over the edge of the ferry, Isaand could see whiskered fish as big as pigs swimming a hundred feet below, sleek blue eels undulating alongside the boat, schools of hundreds of tiny fish no bigger than his finger, and brightly colored graspers with their long capes of tendrils trailing thirty feet behind them.

Ylla was staring at it all wide-eyed, bare wonder clear in her expression. Before coming to the lake town of Merasca, she’d never seen any body of water larger than the Settel stream that flowed past her village. The lake would be an inspiring sight for anyone, but so much more so to a girl who’d never seen a world beyond hills and grass.

“Why is it all so clear?” Ylla wondered aloud. “The Settel was always murky, brown or blue.”

“Good question,” Isaand said with a smile. With a careful glance around the ferry to make sure none of the other passengers were looking at them, he leaned over and spoke low over her shoulder. “Why don’t you open your eye and see if you can figure it out?”

Ylla’s smile vanished as she put on that sober look she got when concentrating, and she gripped the ferry’s side hard and leaned forward. On the bench beside her, Vehx opened one eye where he was curled in a round shape. Isaand felt it when she opened her Godseye: the barest hint of power brushing against him, like a puff of hot breath from some enormous beast.

“There’s something there… shimmering? All along the surface of the water. Spirits?” Ylla said, quietly. She knew better than to draw attention to her abilities.

“Look a little closer. Vehx, why don’t you instruct her?” Isaand said. He dreaded the idea of opening his own Godseye and being swallowed up in the vast power he knew was present beneath them. He tried not to let it show, but he felt it was unfair that he couldn’t use his own Godseye as easily as a little girl who had only received hers three weeks ago. Fortunately, the Sendra had no problems with his own sight.

Vehx sighed dramatically and uncoiled, sticking his long body over the edge to hang down towards the water, watching the fish swim by hungrily. “Focus your vision girl. Look deeper, not wider. Narrow the lens, and try to take in everything within an arm’s span, but all the way down to the bottom. Block out everything to either side.”

While Ylla concentrated, Isaand took a look at the ferry. The boat was long and wide, but flat on the water, with benches built into the sides, with a crew of four, three young brothers with sun-browned skin and their father, all going shirtless in the warm air. Seven or eight other passengers were scattered around the deck, most of the with the same coloring, island folk on their way back from Merasca, along with a couple of paler merchants from the town. All of them seemed at ease, smiling or sprawled out in relaxed poses, and there was not a single weapon beyond a belt-knife in sight. Maenis was a peaceful land, it’s people poor but well-fed. They had nothing of value but fish, and no one who wanted to take it from them. It seemed the perfect place to get away from the troubles of Warana for a bit, and to figure out exactly what he was going to do with Ylla at his side.

“I see it,” Ylla said, wondrously. “Like tentacles, all through the water. It’s a god’s power, right?”

“Goddess,” Vehx said, yawning. “Maesa, the goddess of pure waters. She rules these lands.”

“Not quite,” Isaand said. “Maesa blesses the people here with the clear and pure lake, which is always clean and good to drink, and it’s clarity makes fishing easy. But Maesa does not actually rule. Take a look at those islands.” He pointed to one of them, a mere hundred feet away. A couple of huts were perched atop the precarious cliffs, with long rope-ladders hanging down to the surface of the lake. A woman was hanging fish on a board beside her home, far above them.

“I don’t see anything…” Ylla said.

“It’s quite faint, but I see something there. Another god?” Vehx asked.

“Ulm-Etha is the protector god of these islands. If you look, you’ll see rings of standing stones on most of the islands. Those are to honor him. He’s on good terms with Maesa though, and the people here worship them both.”

“Look, swimmers!” Ylla pointed. As they rounded the island, they came across a deep open area where a dozen small fishing skiffs were floating. Each of them had a number of fish piled on them, along with the clothes of their owners. The fishers themselves were in the water, swimming naked in the clear water with short spears in their hands. A boy nearby speared a five-pound fish, pulling it in to toss it up onto the boat. Ylla leaned further over, entranced.

“Do you know how to swim, Isaand?” she asked.

“Well yes, but I wouldn’t say I’m very practiced at it. My homeland was a lot like yours, though we had a few small watering holes here and there,” Isaand said. He found himself just as focused on the swimmers as Ylla. Half of them were women, and they showed no more modesty than the men. One twenty-something woman with long brown legs caught his gaze and turned over, floating on her back and smiling at him.

“Oh gods, you’re blushing,” Vehx said. Isaand pushed him over the side of the boat, sending up a splash. Ylla giggled as he climbed his way back up, growling.

“HELP!” The cry shattered the peaceful mood like a stone through a window. Isaand leaned forward and saw blood in the water, swimmers quickly fleeing the area. The people on the ferry pushed over to the edge, frightened or fascinated, and many voices were shouting, people pointing or calling out advice. Isaand scanned the water but no sign of anything dangerous. Had there been an accident, a clumsy fisherman spearing a fellow instead of his prey?

Ylla shrieked in dismay, and Isaand thought it was only from the blood until Vehx growled in answer. “That’s a Sendra for certain, and far more powerful than I.”

“What-” Isaand started to ask, then realized the crowd around him might take it amiss if he started talking to himself. He kept looking, but saw nothing… until the water began to rise in a crested wave, bobbing the ferry and splashing a few inches over the edge, soaking them in spray.

There, where the wave had begun, Isaand saw something in the air, rising as it broke the surface of the water, then vanishing in a dive that sent ripples through the lake. What it was, he could not say. He got an impression of a long and sinuous body, long and thick, coiling its way through the water. But despite the utter clearness of the lake, he couldn’t see anything but the most vague impressions of movement. Within seconds, he’d lost sight of it and was left wondering if he’d only imagined it.

The fishers were in their boats now, all but a few stragglers pulling themselves up as he watched. They all clutched spears and had their eyes on the water, watchful and shaking with fright. Isaand turned back to the blood.

A man was hanging limp in the water, the blood trailing off behind him. He would have sunk but for the child, a boy of perhaps twelve, holding him up by one shoulder, swimming in a panic towards an empty boat more than thirty feet away. The water around them seemed strangely empty, and Isaand realized all the fish had fled.

“It’s coming back around,” Vehx said. Ylla turned up at Isaand in mute appeal, clutching her little dagger with white knuckles. Isaand leaned low and whispered to Vehx.

“Can you do something?”

“Well I could snap the beast up in a heartbeat if you released me, but it’d be hard for all these folk to miss it,” Vehx said. “Aside from that, we’d need to know its bane, and I can’t tell that with just my Godseye.”

“Very well,” Isaand said, sighing. He took a deep breath, threw off his cloak, and drew out his knife. The people on the ferry looked at him as though he was mad as he put a foot up on the railing and threw himself overboard.

He was shocked as the water surrounded him, but it was as warm as a hot bath and when he opened his eyes he could see as easily as he had above, though everything had a wet and shiny quality to it. He oriented himself towards the blood, the only murky spot in the lake, and began to swim towards it in long overhand strokes, kicking with his legs.

Its turned towards you now, he heard in his head, Vehx’s link to him allowing him to hear him even beneath the water. Isaand looked back and forth, cold fear gripping him, but still he saw nothing but empty water and spires of rock rising from the sandy floor. You fool, he told himself, you should have used the quickening miracle first. He dove suddenly, trying to move unpredictably, but had no idea whether or not the beast was still coming for him. He could see it if he opened his Godseye, but he’d probably drown if he did.

That’s curious. It’s slowing down, Vehx said. Maybe it senses your power.

Nothing tore into him or pulled him down into the lake, so Isaand found himself before the fisherman, a terrified boy looking down at him with pleading eyes. Isaand grabbed ahold of the boat, numbed fingers slipping on the smooth wood, and fell back into the water with a clumsy splash. He cursed and reached up again, felt the boys hand grab around his. Together they got him up into the boat. Isaand unceremoniously shoved him aside and took hold of the injured man, pulling him upward so that he could get an arm under each of his.

The water began to jump and shift around them, almost as if it was coming to a boil. Isaand didn’t need Vehx to tell him the monster was near. The boy jumped forward and got the man’s legs, and together they hauled him into the boat.

The water parted. Something rose up before Isaand, four or five feet above the surface. Water dripped and slid off it it in a constant stream, and Isaand could see sunlight glinting off its scales, but he could also see straight through it to the ferry where he’d jumped from. Isaand found himself shaking, an impression of pure predatory menace pouring off the invisible beast. He held his knife before him in both hands, wishing he had his staff.

A rainbow of colors shifted across the creature, there and gone in a moment, but giving sight to its shape. It was a serpent, perhaps three feet wide, with wing-like fins spreading off six feet to either side. Two long tendrils like a catfish’s whiskers spread off its face, twelve feet long and tipped with sharp barbs, and long crests flared from its back. Beneath the surface, Isaand caught a glimpse of its body shimmering, more than a hundred feet long, narrowing to a tail only inches wide. The color coalesced, revealing a single eye as wide as a drinking horn, pale yellow with a strange black pupil split in two.

The boy began to scream in helpless terror, cowering against his unconscious father, but the beast did not attack. It held Isaand’s gaze for several seconds, and he could see it thinking, and then the eye vanished and water splashed as it sank beneath the waves.

It’s going. I guess you scared it off. Vehx’s voice was quiet, too far away to be heard well, but Isaand noted his sarcasm all the same. Isaand turned to the man sprawled over his lap and the crying child.

The fisherman was about forty, strong and fit, but the Sendra had savaged him horribly. A shallow gash spiraled all the way around the man’s calf, where it had gripped him with some tentacle and pulled him off balance. Worse was the man’s side, where a semi-circle of deep teeth wounds were gushing blood, as though he’d been stabbed with a knife over and over in a long line. A chunk of flesh had been torn away, and from the rate of blood loss, Isaand guessed he had no more than three or four minutes to live. Isaand shook him, looking into his eyes. They were open, but confused, unseeing.

“HEY! HERE!” The voice shocked him and he looked up to see a girl waving from the ferry, standing almost out over the edge with one foot on the rail and the other on the bench. She was waving a coiled robe in one hand, and when she saw him look, she pulled it back and let it fly, holding the other end.

The rope splashed down into the water a foot away from the boat, and the boy seized it quickly. Three men on the ferry grabbed hold and pulled them in.

Everyone gathered around the man, laid out bleeding and dripping on the ferry’s deck. “He’s dying,” the boy was sobbing. “Help him, please.”

There’s no way I won’t be seen, with all these people, Isaand thought, but pushed it away almost immediately. Szet had not given him his powers to slink and hide. He shoved his way through the crowd and knelt beside the man, shaking him and forcing him to look.

“Listen closely. I am a Lector, a physician who can heal your wounds. You don’t have to leave your son alone in the world. But you have to agree. Will you let me heal you?” Isaand asked. It grated him to waste time, but Szet had made himself very clear. Isaand was to heal no one who did not assent to it. He need not explain every detail, but they had to agree.

Fortunately, this time the man did not hesitate. He gave a weak nod, and Isaand immediately clapped both hands over the bite wound.

“Szet nah ereh ta naru,” he began chanting, his voice low and sing-song. A few of the passengers leaned in close, but he ignored them now, focusing on his chant, calling on the power Szet had blessed him with. He saw it the moment the first miracle took hold, the pain going out of the man’s face, replaced with wonder and then an exhausted smile, the cessation of pain transforming his features. The men and women around them began to mutter.

“Szet nah emma to mahra feth.” His second miracle began. A light golden glow spread across Isaand’s hands, like they were covered in shining luminescent pollen. He chanted, and the light flowed down into the wound, spreading out in a circle around the man’s entire torso. The blood flow slowed to a trickle, then halted.

“He really is a Lector,” someone said. More of them began to talk, in hushed voices as if they were at a funeral, and Isaand heard the word ‘apostate’ on several lips.

“Szet nah ferrah, Szet kahsa morrow tehn, Szet el senna.” The crowd gasped as if one entity. The flesh beneath Isaand’s hands began to knit back together, leaving small punctures. Isaand switched over to the leg and repeated the same process, the crowd watching silently now, every eye focused on his work. The man began to talk in a shaky whisper to his son, who was looking back and forth from his father to Isaand in wonder.

“Ylla,” Isaand said. “My bag. Get the bandages, and the recovery paste.” His shoulders sagged, and his sodden clothes seemed to drag downward on him, heavy as lead. The sun over head still shone bright, but for Isaand it was as though he was in deep shadow. He began to shiver, teeth clattering together with the cold, and his legs had gone numb beneath him. The power from his miracles had to come from somewhere, Szet had warned him. Szet would not reach through him as a local god would through his clerics or shamans; to do so would light a signal flare for every god within a hundred miles, and they would send their servants to find the heretic in their midst. Isaand always felt drained after a healing, but he couldn’t help but to smile. A man lived, who would have died. A boy had a father, who would have been orphaned. The price for that was inconsequential.

Ylla brought him his things, and he began to spread the thick orange paste across the man’s wounds. It held no godly power, but was an ordinary medicine that would fight infection and keep the wound clean while it healed. That finished, he wrapped clean linen bandages around the man’s wounds, and tied them off. Only then did he raise his gaze to those around him.

A dozen people surrounded him. Most had reverent looks, but the sideways glances they gave each other were clear. They were all locals, save maybe the two merchants, and they would know what their own god and goddess’ Lectors would be capable of. Isaand was either an apostate, or a heretic. Neither could expect a warm welcome. One of the crowd moved towards him swiftly, and he flinched, half expecting a blow.

“Thank you,” a woman said, kneeling in front of him. It was the girl who had thrown the rope to reel them in. She was perhaps twenty, with the same slender build as the fisherwomen he’d seen, though she was very tall, as tall as his chin. She wore a simple brown dress with a sash belt, the fabric thin and airy, and a wooden medallion around her neck that looked oddly familiar. She had hair tied in a long braid hanging across her chest, eyes of a light honeyed color, and full smiling lips lighter than her skin. Isaand found himself distantly wondering if she swam naked in the lake as well, and hoped he was not blushing again.

“You’re welcome,” he said warily. Shakily, he got to his feet, stumbling as one leg gave out in a brief spasm. Ylla took hold of his waist, glaring daggers at the crowd around them.

“This man saved one of our own,” the girl said, whipping around to face the others. Though young, she had a voice that commanded attention. The others seemed to shrink back unconsciously. “And he was brave enough to face the Lsetha, when no one else did. He’s done none of you any harm. So we’re all grateful, right?” A few of them murmured in response, and she bowled over them immediately. “So we all agree none of the clerics need to hear about this, isn’t that right? Show’s over, give the poor man some privacy.”

The crowd broke up, half of them going back to their spaces, the others kneeling around the wounded fisherman, helping him to sit up and talking about what had happened. Amazed and grateful, Isaand stumbled back to his bench and leaned back, shivering. “Dry clothes, please” he muttered, and Ylla began to rummage in his bag. Cold as he was, he felt it when a shadow fell over him, and opened his eyes. The girl was standing there again, wearing a mischievous smile with catlike eyes.

“I can’t thank you enough for your assistance. With them, and with that rope,” Isaand said. “My name is Isaand Laeson, of the wandering Aislin tribe. I am happy I could help.”

“I’m Ratha, Maesenna tribe, though my da was Merascan. Gotta say, I’m glad you jumped in when you did. I was working up the courage to do the same, but I doubt I’d have found it.” Casually confident, she sat down at Isaand’s side, leaning her shoulder against his. He wished he could feel it properly. Her face leaned close, smile widening, and she spoke in a whisper as soft as the breeze.

“I thought you might want to know, Isaand Laeson: you’re not the only heretic in these parts.”

Part Two: Chapter Two