《Heretic: Unbound》


 Chapter One

    Heretic


    Part One


    Chapter 1


    Isaand walked the sunlit road in search of a dying girl.


    The sun was high overhead, shining gold in a clear blue sky broken up only by periodic flocks of distant birds wheeling in intricate patterns through the air. The road was hard packed earth with an orange cast, his footsteps leaving little puffs of dust trailing in his wake. To either side the road sloped down to fields of golden-brown grass that swept back and forth in the constant breeze, and when he looked out across the endless fields the grass seemed to flow like the waves on the ocean. Hills popped up here and there, cresting the horizon, with strangely bent trees atop them covered in leaves like bristling needles.


    Isaand wished he could feel the sun on his skin, the hot air that poured off the road like it was a skillet. His bleached skin felt only the same vague, prickling numbness as always, shot through with occasional flashes of sudden pain. His royal blue cloak was wrapped around him tightly, its hood covering his white hair, and yet he shivered, unable to banish the constant chill he¡¯d felt ever since he¡¯d been afflicted. His footfalls landed with a strange floating sensation, clumsy, but he had his trusted bonewood quarterstaff to help him keep his balance. Even if he could not feel the sun, the day¡¯s warmth and beauty touched something in him, and he felt a hint of contentedness.


    ¡°This is good land. My mothers and fathers would have loved it here,¡± Isaand said, sweeping his free hand sideways to encompass the horizon. ¡°It¡¯s so open, so free, and empty of any judgmental eye but those of the gods above.¡±


    ¡°Except for all the gods that are of this happy land of yours. There¡¯s a great deal of them. I itch at all the attention they¡¯re giving me. The spirits scurry away like mice into their burrows and the gods are watching like hawks, uncertain if they see prey or foe,¡± Vehx said, from his spot on Isaand¡¯s shoulder. The sendra had the claws of his forepaws dug into the thick cloth of Isaand¡¯s cloak, and his lower serpentine body hung over Isaand¡¯s back, wrapping around his gut like a belt, his wings tucked away. His voice was proud and laced with arrogance, and far deeper than ought to belong to a four-foot winged serpent covered in tawny fur.


    ¡°These lands are lightly peopled; the young and weaker gods are pushed out from the more civilized areas. Even old Teraandis would have a hard time keeping track of what gods call these fields home,¡± Isaand said, speaking of the old master-bard who had trained him in godly lore.


    ¡°They could do with a good deal more civilization if you ask me. Three days I¡¯ve gone without a proper meal. If you spy a farm let me know so I can go snatch a chicken,¡± Vehx said with a bit of a growl.


    ¡°You¡¯re a predator, aren¡¯t you? There ought to be plenty of prey in that grass: go hunt.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s just that simple, is it? This body is a kettha; they live in jungles and climb trees to eat eggs out of nests and glide down on sluggish sloths. Does this look like a jungle to you? This dumb animal¡¯s brain looks out at all that grass and panics, looking for a tree to climb.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, all I heard was ¡®I am a stupid animal,¡¯¡± Isaand said with a grin. On his shoulder, Vehx hissed and dug in his claws. Isaand barely felt it.


    ¡°I am no animal, as you well know. It is hardly my fault that glorious Szet chose the body of a dumb rodent to be my vessel. If it at least had a bigger brain, I¡¯d have something to work with.¡±


    ¡°Next time I do something stupid, that will be my excuse. It¡¯s not me, it¡¯s just that my brain is too small!¡±


    ¡°Tch, you humans¡¯ brains are just fine, it¡¯s your own fault you don¡¯t bother to use them properly,¡± Vehx said. The fight seemed to go out of him all at once, and he slumped against Isaand¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Keep your eyes out for that farm, Lector. I¡¯ll not be of much use to you if I don¡¯t feed soon, and my pact will be broken. If you let that happen, it will be on your head that my contract is ended, and you¡¯ll have no company for the rest of your foolish journey.¡±


    ¡°You cannot starve, can you?¡± Isaand asked, curious.


    ¡°No, nor will I sicken. Sendra have no need of ordinary sustenance, otherwise I would simply share your meals. But if I do not fulfill my ban, my connection to this beast weakens, and my power shrinks. Think on that before you get yourself into danger.¡±


    Vehx fell into sullen silence, and Isaand continued down the road. He carefully scanned the horizon, not for a farm but for any sign the party he searched for. The road ran northward here, and the Settel stream flowed northwest. His quarry would have followed the road, then turned off it eastward at some point, if his suspicions about their intentions were true. He hoped it were not. He would have liked to believe that the people of this tribe were decent folk, charitable and empathic, not the opportunistic jackals he had so often come across before. But he did not think it much likely. One did not drag a plague-ridden child towards danger for benevolent reasons.


    Up ahead, where the road rose slowly to curve along the side of a hill, Isaand spotted a change in the landscape, some shadowed object against the flat blue sky. But approaching, he saw it was not his query, nor even a farm. His knuckles gripped tight around his staff as he slowed his tread to stop before it.


    ¡°Ah, a shrine,¡± Vehx said. ¡°Some kind of dog?¡±


    ¡°A wolf,¡± Isaand corrected. A small hut of woven grass and sticks sat on the side of the road, four foot high. It was open, empty except for a wolf-shaped effigy of woven grass, sat on its haunches with its gaze turned out on the road, watchful and protective. ¡°I know this one. Her name is Amauro of the Golden Breeze, protector goddess of the fields of Hondarra. She¡¯s the only god with a large following in this land, even has a few Lectors of her own. She blesses her people with bountiful harvests so long as they supply her with a bloody carcass each half-moon, and watches over travelers who show her accustomed respect.¡±


    ¡°Ah, very good. What should we do then, leave a sacrifice?¡± Vehx asked.


    In response, Isaand raised his staff.


    ¡°What are you-¡±


    He swung, and the point of his staff stove in the wolf¡¯s head, sending puffs of grass flying in every direction. Isaand swung again and again, smashing the idol to pieces until he was left breathing hard, leaning against his staff on the road.


    ¡°Are you an imbecile? Do you want to bring the bitch¡¯s wrath down on you?¡± Vehx demanded. ¡°If you¡¯re not going to leave a sacrifice the least you could do is show some respect.¡±


    ¡°I have no respect for slavers and incompetents,¡± Isaand said. He forced a smile to his face, turning away from the wreckage.


    ¡°You¡¯re a trained orator, surely you must know the concept of irony, right Isaand?¡± Vehx said.


    Isaand continued on without a word, eyes watching the horizon.


    They caught up with their quarry within sight of the Settel, though the men had not yet reached its banks.


    Four of them there were, short but well-built and muscled, with sun-bronzed skin and neatly shaven heads but for fringes of hair that ran down the center of their scalp to the back of their necks. The men were bare-chested and wore woven-grass trousers, their chests and backs adorned with red and yellow and blue tattoos. Each carried a short spear and a long wicker shield, along with slings and pouches of stones hanging from their belts.


    The girl marched between them, at the center of a diamond formation, each of them keeping their distance at least ten feet away, spears angled slightly towards her as if warding away her disease. She stumbled along slowly, weak and suffering, head down with her chin almost to her chest. Isaand had heard her hacking, tearing coughs from hundreds of yards away, and had followed it to the group. She was clearly at the end of her strength, struggling along by sheer force of will, with no one willing to lend a hand. The sight touched something in Isaand, awaking some fatherly instinct to care for and protect the young and helpless.


    ¡°Hold,¡± the closest spearman said, ¡°and name yourself.¡± He was somewhere in the middle of his second decade, and the oldest of the girl¡¯s escorts. Isaand spotted the triple bands of crimson around his upper arms. Thinking back to what he¡¯d learned of the grassland¡¯s customs, he was fairly certain it signified some warrior¡¯s rank. The other men had only a single band apiece.


    Isaand planted his quarterstaff in the grass beside him, put his fist to his chest, and bowed low and gracefully. Rising again, he swept off his hood to give them a look at his face. The three-bander held a stoic gaze, but two of the others gasped. In the clear light, Isaand knew he looked ghostly pale, his skin bleached with pale blue veins standing out clearly beneath. His hair, though still full and feathery, was a creamy white, except for the occasional strand that remained his natural jet black. His eyes, too, were strange: his pupils were smaller than they should have been, leaving the whites too-large, and what color remained was a pale icy blue, barely distinguishable against the white.


    ¡°Greetings and blessings upon you, warriors. Before you stands Isaand Laeson, bard, traveler, and most importantly, healer. Might I have your own names?¡± Isaand said. Upon his shoulder, Vehx fidgeted. He hated being left out of introductions.


    ¡°I am Marilk. I walk the grass by the grace of Amauro,¡± the three-banded warrior answered. The others muttered their own names, repeating the mantra about Ahuaro in an obvious ritual.


    ¡°Well met. And you, child?¡± Isaand took a couple long strides toward, causing Marilk to lift his spear cautiously, but Isaand only dropped into a crouch, the better to meet the eyes of the ailing girl. Slowly, as though unsure whether the effort was worth it, she raised her head.


    The girl was ten or eleven years old, stick thin though surprisingly tall, coming up almost to chest height of Marilk. Her skin had an ashy, grayish cast to it, and black spots stood out here and there on her bare arms and shoulders, like old bruises but much darker and strangely shaped. Her head was half-shaved, the opposite side grown long and brushed over in an asymmetrical style. Isaand suspected she had had lovely hair, long and dark and straight, but now it had gone patchy and thin, and was graying as well. Her eyes were unfocused, and at their edges a dark puss was slowly leaking out, covering her cheeks in a substance much like old blood. She swayed slightly in the wind, and Isaand believed that if a strong enough gale rose up she would be blown over.


    ¡°That¡¯s no business of an outsider,¡± Marilk cut in, before the girl could open her mouth. He swept his spear up, one-handed, leveling it¡¯s point at Isaand¡¯s face. ¡°All travelers are welcome and protected in Amauro¡¯s grass. Nonetheless, I must ask you to withdraw. We are about the business of the Mau-ret tribe, and you have no place interfering.¡± Behind him, one of the younger men was whispering to another, trying to guess what the bizarre creature clinging to Isaand¡¯s back was. Vehx stood up a little straighter, puffing out his wings.


    Isaand ignored the warning, continuing to speak only to the girl.


    ¡°That¡¯s alright, I already know your name. It¡¯s Ylla, isn¡¯t it? A pretty name. I spoke to your parents, Hratha and Eessa. They asked me to find you.¡± At the sound of her parent¡¯s names, Ylla¡¯s eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath, trembling.


    ¡°Stop talking to her,¡± one of the men said, marching forward angrily. He closed within spear range, but stopped as Marilk held up his fist.


    ¡°Listen closely, Ylla. I am a healer, a very, very good healer. I can heal the plague that has afflicted you, and make you as good as before. I will heal you, and take you back to your parents, but you have to agree to it, do you understand? You have to tell me it¡¯s okay, or I can¡¯t help you.¡±


    Marilk made a series of clicking noises, along with a single hand signal, and his three warriors fanned out, circling around to surround Isaand on all sides, Marilk remaining before him guarding the girl. Vehx hissed, but Isaand kept his eyes on Ylla. Still, she did not speak.


    Isaand stood at their approach, fingers tightening on his staff. Vehx slid down his back and disappeared into the grass. Marilk met his gaze, and delivered an ultimatum.


    ¡°No one believes your claims, charlatan. Take your false cures elsewhere. If you do not withdraw, I will call upon Amauro to revoke your protection.¡±


    ¡°Why so hostile, friend? I am only here to help. What harm could there be in letting me try? Or is it that you have some need of the poor girl¡¯s suffering?¡± Isaand¡¯s voice changed, becoming steely and sharp enough to cut. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me where you¡¯re taking her? No, let me hazard a guess. You¡¯re going to march the sick girl down to that little stream right there, the one that flows straight to the fields of the hated Toh-ret tribe. Then you¡¯ll set her down in the middle of that water and slit her throat so her malignant blood flows downstream to decimate your enemies. Do I have it right?¡±


    Marilk¡¯s eyes narrowed, but Ylla gasped. She reached out towards the warrior, pleading, but he pulled away as if from a fire, only disgust in his gaze. Ylla stumbled back as if she¡¯d been struck, and fell to her knees.


    ¡°You have no idea what you¡¯re talking about. The girl¡¯s already dead, anyone can see that,¡± one of the warriors behind Isaand shouted.


    ¡°I see her standing and walking. Most corpses I¡¯ve seen have difficulty performing those tasks,¡± Isaand said.


    ¡°It¡¯s as you say,¡± Marilk said, sadly. He had the decency to look ashamed, at least. ¡°What will you do about it? We need the curse she¡¯s been given, to right the greater wrongs done to our people. You cannot be allowed to cure her, if such a thing is even possible. You are one man, and no warrior from the look of you. Will you fight us, force us to spill a traveler¡¯s blood?¡±


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.¡°I¡¯d rather not,¡± Isaand said. ¡°I abhor violence.¡±


    ¡°Then move along.¡±


    ¡°Not without Ylla. I¡¯m still waiting for your permission, girl.¡± Isaand watched her nervously. She had opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Perhaps she couldn¡¯t speak. That would make quite a mess of things.


    ¡°Then we are done talking,¡± Marilk said. He reached to his belt and drew a long curved knife, then held it to his own palm and began to slowly draw the blade across it, chanting. The other warriors tensed up, as if expecting Isaand to leap forward and attack.


    ¡°Oh great Amauro, your servant calls upon your wisdom. By this show of fealty, I ask you to revoke your protection of this traveler, who I name Foe.¡± Palm slit and bleeding, Marilk reached down and tore a hand-full of grass from the earth, then threw it bloody into the wind.


    Though the sky remained clear and cloudless, a great boom of thunder roared.


    Isaand spun into motion, turning to swing his staff at the man to his side, all three of them charging in at him. A spear-point came straight towards him, but he managed to get his quarterstaff under it and flick it off target. He crashed into the warrior, bounding off his shield and getting on the other side of him. The other warriors were already repositioning, moving as a team to keep him pinned on multiple sides.


    Isaand never saw Marilk move. One moment he was facing off against the three warriors, the next he felt a sharp crack against the back of his skull and found himself lying in the grass, dazed. He tasted blood and spit, his tongue stinging where he¡¯d bitten it in the fall. Grass shifted as Marilk stepped closer, the point of his spear angled down at Isaand¡¯s head. ¡°I think we are done,¡± Marilk said.


    ¡°Szet nah ko teriz nau,¡± Isaand said, and quickly tapped the spear¡¯s shaft with his hand. Marilk pulled it away before he could get a grip on it, rearing back to stab it downward, but he paused as he heard a high-pitched buzzing. Isaand flipped his hood over his head and turned his eyes downward.


    With a loud crack the spear exploded into splinters. Marilk stumbled back, bleeding from dozens of small piercings. Isaand climbed to his knees, found the three warriors watching warily.


    ¡°He¡¯s a Lector,¡± one of them said.


    ¡°Keep our distance then. Jarik!¡± the other said. The two warriors placed their shields in front of them, their spears angled outwards, while the third dropped both. He drew out his sling instead, fitted a stone to it, and began to swing. A shock of fear ran through Isaand, and he leapt up and backpedaled.


    The slinger screamed, his missile flying wide as Vehx leapt up from the grass and grabbed hold of his bare torso with all four claws. He sunk his small needle-like teeth into the man¡¯s neck, and kept the bulk of his body behind him out of easy reach. The slinger grabbed Vehx¡¯s body and drew out a knife. Just before he could cut into the Sendra¡¯s snake-like body, Vehx transformed, turning into a dimly luminescent outline that passed through the man¡¯s body like it was gas. One of the spearmen turned to stare, and Isaand took the oppurtunity to plant his staff before him and begin chanting.


    ¡°Szet et era no kuur, Szet et naru tessa ver, Szet ko vamma-¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s calling on his god! Gut him!¡±


    One of the spearmen hefted and flung his weapon forward expertly. Isaand watched it come on a direct course for his gut, but a few seconds before it hit Vehx appeared out of his light-form and snatched it out of the air. It was too heavy for him to carry, but it fell to the ground at Isaand¡¯s feet instead of impaling him.


    ¡°-istana ean, istana pes, istana Szet-¡±


    Marilk was on his feet again, his curved knife in his hand. All four warriors charged straight towards him in a wild rush. No matter what he tried, there was no avoiding all four of them. Isaand held his ground, continuing his prayer.


    ¡°¨CISA SZET ETTARA KAU!¡± Isaand shouted the last of his chant, lifting and slamming the butt of his staff into the dirt.


    As though a burst of wind had erupted from him, the grass flattened in all directions. The four men slowed, expressions bewildered, their grip on their weapons going slack and falling to their sides. Marilk was closest, and he actually bounced off of Isaand as his momentum carried him forward, then stepped quickly back, staring in utter confusion.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, none of you are in any danger from me,¡± Isaand said. ¡°Szet wishes peace between us.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you pacify them right from the beginning?¡± Vehx asked.


    ¡°How do you think they would have responded if I¡¯d walked up to them and started chanting?¡± Isaand said, annoyed.


    ¡°What did you do to me?¡± Marilk asked. His tone was hopeless, like that of a prisoner facing an execution he could do nothing to stave off.


    ¡°Nothing harmful. Though I can¡¯t say the same for you.¡± Isaand gingerly touched the back of his head. His hair was sticky with blood, and he could feel a split in the skin. He winced, but felt the pain beginning to vanish already, the wound swiftly knitting itself back together. He¡¯d have a lump for a few days though. Szet never healed a wound to nothing, a fact that filled Isaand with much irritation. ¡°My god has touched your minds, and taken away your hostility. You are still fully in control of your actions. You¡¯re just going to have a hard time hurting anyone for a while.¡±


    Marilk glared, glanced down at the knife in his hand, then raised it threateningly. After a second though, he dropped it again, looking tired and defeated.


    ¡°Good man. Maybe now we can settle things like gentlemen,¡± Isaand said, patting him on the shoulder as he walked past the four warriors. Ylla was on her knees now, hair hanging over her face.


    ¡°Ylla, are you okay? I will heal you now¡­ but you have to say it¡¯s okay, do you understand? Szet does not heal those who do not accept his aid.¡± He touched her bare shoulder, feeling the terrible heat of the fever within her. Slowly, Ylla turned her head up, breathing heavily. Her mouth moved, slowly forming three syllables.


    ¡°Please¡­ help¡­ me¡­¡±


    Isaand smiled. ¡°That will do.¡± He clapped his hands, and paused to consider the words he would need.


    A cloud passed in front of the sun, its shadow falling over them and making him shiver. Hadn¡¯t the sky had been clear all day? He looked up-


    An enormous wolf, nearly twenty feet tall, loomed over them. Her fur was made of golden grass, waving constantly in the wind, and her eyes burned with orange light. A low growl was rising in her throat, and as it grew louder the earth beneath them began to shake.


    ¡°A-Amauro¡­¡± Isaand stammered out. ¡°Great goddess, how pleased I am to look upon your majesty¡­¡±


    The wolf snarled, then glanced around at the four warriors who had fallen to their knees, kneeling in reverence. Amauro raised back her head and howled, the sound flattening the grass to the horizon in all directions. As the howl reached its high point, Isaand felt Szet¡¯s miracle break. The men snatched up their weapons once more.


    ¡°Run!¡± Isaand grabbed Ylla and fled. She was skin and bones, hardly any weight, but she made an awkward burden, and the warriors easily cut her off. He found himself hemmed in by the warriors, the goddess wolf behind him. Ylla tightened her grip around his neck, and he could feel her heart beating in her chest, slowly, out of sync. She did not have long to live.


    YOU DARE TO TRESPASS ON MY LANDS AND SPEAK THE FOUL NAME OF AN UNBOUND?


    The goddess¡¯ words were not within his ears, but in the wind and the grass and in his head, suffusing everything around him. His knees shook and his gut dropped at the mere sound of it. Isaand turned, Amauro staring down at him with burning eyes.


    YOU HAVE ONE CHANCE. DEFY YOUR BLASPHEMOUS GOD AND I WILL SLAY YOU SWIFTLY AND ALLOW YOUR SOUL TO GO WHERE IT WILL.


    Vehx crawled onto Isaand¡¯s shoulder, and he took comfort in his presence. The sendra reminded him of the choices he¡¯d made. The path he¡¯d been shown, and decided to follow. The path his god Szet had offered him, without the constant manipulations and restraints that crippled the common worshiper. Isaand may die here, but he would not apologize for his choices. He stood taller, holding the sick girl against his chest, and narrowed his eyes, meeting the goddess¡¯ gaze directly.


    ¡°I will not. I am Isaand Aislin Laeson, chosen Lector of Szet the Peaceful. I will break the chains your kind has forged to shackle the whole world, and I will not bow to slavers and tyrants.¡±


    HERETIC.


    Isaand smiled. ¡°Aye, and proud to be one.¡±


    The wolf¡¯s growling rose, until the ground shook so strongly that Isaand could barely stand. She bent her legs, tensed to pounce. Deep within his soul, Isaand felt the power Szet had entrusted to him. He took a deep breath, reaching for it, and spoke.


    ¡°Vehx.¡±


    Amauro leapt like a boulder loosed from a trebuchet.


    ¡°RELEASE.¡±


    The sendra leapt forward to meet the wolf. As soon as he cleared Isaand¡¯s shoulder, he exploded into light so bright that Isaand had to close his eyes, and doing so, was still dazzled by his brightness. A hearty roar let out, a match for the wolf¡¯s howl. A great shockwave exploded from the point where they met, and Isaand was thrown to the grass.


    He opened his eyes to see a massive golden dragon made of light, a mile long, fierce and serpentine, coiled around the wolf made of grass. The wolf sunk its fangs into the dragon and tore away a chunk of light, and within it could be seen a dark sky filled with stars. The dragon¡¯s claws shredded the wolf, sending streams of grass flying into the air that burned into ash.


    The battle raged for an hour as Isaand huddled in the dirt. The warriors all fled within minutes. When the air stilled and the ground calmed, Isaand climbed shakily to his feet and looked around. Huge furrows had been torn in the earth, and the stream Marilk had set forth to defile was choked with dirt and dust. A sharp scent of burnt hair filled the air, and the sky overhead had become overcast and gray.


    Isaand found Vehx huddled over the corpse of a thin old wolf. Its fur was gray and patchy, and faded scars marred its skin. The furred-serpent Vehx inhabited was busy tearing at its flesh, ripping off small chunks and swallowing them down. This sendra must feed regularly on the raw flesh of a freshly slain beast, or his power will fail you, Szet had told Isaand. The avatar of a goddess was a far better meal for a predator spirit than a farmstead¡¯s chicken.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re still here,¡± Vehx said, in between mouthfuls. ¡°I thought we¡¯d flattened you at some point.¡±


    ¡°Still in one piece,¡± Isaand answered. ¡°As are you, I see.¡±


    ¡°The wolf made a good show of things, but I don¡¯t think she¡¯d had a true fight in centuries. She abandoned her avatar and fled back into the grass. I would not suggest we stay in these lands one second longer than necessary, though. Given time, she¡¯ll come back stronger than before.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be on our way in a moment, then. A few miles across that stream, and we should be quit of her domain.¡± Grunting with exertion, Isaand lowered Ylla to the ground, carefully. The girl lay bonelessly against the dirt, eyes turned up at nothing. Vehx froze.


    ¡°She died? You didn¡¯t heal her?¡±


    ¡°Her heart let go, after the first shock of the battle.¡± Isaand sat beside the girl¡¯s corpse, softly brushing the hair away from her face. Twin faces, a little boy and a girl with jet black hair, smiling mischievously, flashed in his mind like daggers in his heart.


    ¡°Ah, well. Can¡¯t say you didn¡¯t try,¡± Vehx said, failing to sound sympathetic.


    Isaand hesitated, his mind working slyly, considering without bringing its arguments consciously to bear. Szet required consent to work his miracles. But the dead had no will of their own.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Vehx asked. Isaand placed both hands on the girl¡¯s chest, over her heart, and began to chant low and steady, feeling his god¡¯s presence within him. A bright thread appeared in his Godseye vision, linking the body to his. Distantly, he felt Szet¡¯s attention, and what might have been a nod of approval.


    ¡°Rise,¡± Isaand said simply.


    Ylla¡¯s heart beat beneath his hands. Her mouth opened and breath wheezed out.

 Chapter Two

    Heretic


    Chapter 2


    Walking back to the inn through the town, the very place Marilk and his warriors had been hoping to curse with their human sacrifice, Isaand felt a thousand eyes upon him. Huge totem poles towered over the town from a dozen spots, the highest of them a hundred feet high. Each were topped with a carved winged figure with a head consisting only of four large eyes, one turned in each cardinal direction. As if that wasn¡¯t enough, there were eyes carved into walls, over the threshold of each house, painted on the pathstones beneath his feet, and even embroidered into the clothes of the villagers he passed by. He knew the local god, Tzamet, was a harsh and judgmental god, and the villagers evidently felt it was worth ensuring that no one ever forgot he was watching.


    Let him watch, so long as he is not watching me, Isaand prayed. Not for the first time, he reflected on the irony that he, a faithful priest, put no stock in his own prayers. Most people never left the territory of their own gods, and knew that there was at least a possibility of divine intervention in their favor. But Szet had been honest with Isaand. The Unbound had no power in another god¡¯s land, not unless he wished to draw a thousand gods¡¯ wrath down on him. Szet had given Isaand the power to help himself. That would have to be enough.


    Isaand nodded and smiled at the villagers as he passed them by, but while Tzamet¡¯s eyes were always watching, his followers did not seem to follow his example. Each of them kept their eyes downcast, avoiding him only by his shadow on the ground before him.


    In Isaand¡¯s hands he carried a bundle of clothes and a chicken from a farm on the edge of the village, still slowly bleeding from its cut throat. The farmer had raised her eyebrows when Isaand asked if she would be willing to slaughter it for him, and no, he didn¡¯t need her to pluck it. Isaand had a good long traveler¡¯s knife at his belt, but blood and pain made him squeamish. Just as well Vehx hadn¡¯t come along. He would have teased him about that.


    The inn had its timber walls painted with wide blue eyes every few feet, with an enormous vertical eye on the flap of hide that served as a door. Isaand pushed it aside and ducked into the low, dark building. He began to shiver as he stepped within. Most like it was a pleasantly cool place to drink out of the sun, but Isaand¡¯s white skin felt only cold. Isaand nodded to the inn-keep, a fat dark-skinned man with his hair in braids and eyes tattooed on his eyelids. He was leaning hard against his counter, eyes closed tight so that his painted gaze seemed to follow Isaand around the room. We can¡¯t leave this place soon enough, Isaand thought.


    Isaand opened the door to his room and saw Vehx sunning himself on the windowsill, his snakelike body tightened up in a spiral with his wings and legs folded up beneath him. He opened one lazy red eye and perked up when he saw the chicken.


    The room¡¯s bed lay to his right, next to a small chest, and another was across the room, currently out of sight. A woven cloth was hanging from a pair of pegs on the ceiling, blocking off half the room. On the other side of it, Isaand could hear water sloshing in the big copper tub. Though he¡¯d been gone over an hour, Ylla was still bathing, it seemed. Well, he could scarcely blame her. No doubt she wanted to wash off any lingering touch of her death.


    ¡°How long has it been since you killed it?¡± Vehx demanded.


    ¡°Four or five minutes. I assume that counts as ¡®freshly slain,¡¯ or do sendra bans quibble at words like a Mekhar merchant?¡± Isaand asked.


    ¡°It will do. Give!¡± Vehx launched himself across the room and onto Isaand¡¯s chest, snatching at the chicken. Isaand pushed him off where he fell to the floor with a graceless thump.


    ¡°You¡¯ll make a bloody mess in here. Take it outside.¡±


    Vehx grumbled, but took the chicken and flapped out of the open window to eat his fill in the lawn outside.


    Isaand turned to the curtain. ¡°Girl, I brought clothes. I¡¯ll leave them here for you.¡± Blindly, he reached past the curtain and set them on the floor beside the tub. Her own clothes had been so fouled and tainted by the plague she¡¯d died from that they¡¯d left them on the plain, Ylla wearing one of his extra cloaks until they¡¯d reached the town across the river. The sloshing of water was the only response he got. He kept his other gift in his inner cloak pocket. He hoped he wouldn¡¯t have to give it to her so soon.


    Sighing deeply, Isaand lay on the bed and wrapped cloak and blanket around him, trying to get warm. He was tired, and aching, and anxious.


    A while later, he heard movement, and turned over to see Ylla push the curtain aside, dressed. He¡¯d bought standard attire for the young girls of this grassy region: a hand¡¯s-span wide cloth strap that covered her chest, a long skirt of soft white doeskin with a woven grass belt, and a pair of tough leather shoes for traveling. He¡¯d also bought her a simple wooden armband. Isaand had grown up with five younger sisters, seven if you counted the Garrsa twins, and they had always insisted on wearing some kind of accessories to differentiate themselves from each other. He hoped the cheap jewelry would raise her spirits.


    Ylla herself looked like a new girl. Her skin was no longer gray, but a warm brown color, and her hair had regained its luster, though it was browner than he would have guessed. She stood straight and energetic, but her expression was guarded.


    Isaand sat up, the blanket still wrapped around him, and thought how he should speak to her. He had awful news, and no desire to burden her with it after all she had been through, but it had to be said.


    ¡°Ylla, child, I¡¯m afraid we need to talk. There are some harsh truths you need to know. We¡¯ll leave this inn today, and where we¡¯re bound¡­ well, you see-¡± he started.


    ¡°I can¡¯t go back home,¡± Ylla said, soberly. Isaand was taken aback.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s correct. But why do you suppose that is¡­?¡±


    ¡°Marilk and Jarik and Kennen were going to kill me. They called on Goddess Amauro to stop you from healing me. By living, I defy her. If I go back, they¡¯ll be angry.¡± Ylla¡¯s voice cracked a bit as she spoke, but her expression remained stoic. She seemed practiced at speaking unpleasant facts.


    ¡°That is all true, but that¡¯s not actually the reason why. I¡¯m afraid I have some things to explain. First of all, I didn¡¯t heal you, not precisely. The curse upon you ended with your death, expiring on its own. I revived you, and so you were well. But Ylla, you were dead, and now you¡¯re not, and that is not the way things are supposed to be. There are repercussions.¡±


    ¡°Am I going to get sick again?¡± Ylla asked, face scrunching up in worry.


    ¡°No. Your body is healthy and normal. No problems there.¡± Isaand sighed. ¡°The effect you¡¯ll face is on your soul. I¡¯m not sure where I should start in explaining. I assume you¡¯ve probably heard about the Unbound?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re demons, who oppose the gods and tempt people to do bad things,¡± Ylla said with the easy certainty of youth.


    ¡°That is what most churches teach, yes. The truth is more complicated. This world we live in is a young one, the fifth such world created by the gods and populated by us, the humans they made to observe and revere them. What happened to the previous four? They were all destroyed, torn asunder by the warring gods who couldn¡¯t agree how they should be ruled. With each world shattered, millions, perhaps billions, of men and women died, along with all manner of strange and unique lands and creatures we will never know.¡±


    As he spoke, the cold seemed to fall away from Isaand as his focus became the tale he told. Old master Teraandis¡¯ lessons were still within him. He began to speak in the low, clear, lyrical style taught to him as an Aislic bard. Ylla sat on the floor and leaned forward to listen to him, attentive.


    ¡°The gods may demand our fealty, but their actions have shown that they are no less petty, no less violent, and no more wise than common man. Gods and goddesses command great power, and they have grown to expect respect and deference. When one defies them, they lash out, consequences be damned. And so again and again, they destroyed everything they had worked together to create, leading to an endless cycle of pointless waste. Finally, they realized it could not go on that way. The oldest, wisest gods came together and put forth a proposal.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.¡®The only way we can ensure our beautiful world survives is to maintain restraint of our power. Those among us who are rash cannot be trusted to do so, so we must all be bound as one.¡¯


    And so the gods came together, and for a thousand years they argued and debated, until at last the details were decided and the Pact became written. All gods of the Fifth World would limit themselves, giving up the bulk of their power and restricting their influence to a specific region, or creature, or thematic ideal. All agreed, and so it was done.


    But there were a few who did not accept the Pact. They withheld themselves at the last moment, and by the time the others realized what they were done it was too late for them to do anything, for they were already weakened. Those gods who maintained their strength are the Unbound, free to spend their influence anywhere in the world they choose, to watch over and protect any who dares pray to them, regardless of where they happen to have been born or forced to live. The gods despise the Unbound, because they represent freedom. Freedom to use their power as they believe is right, and freedom for the few men who espouse them.


    Demons they are called, but the Unbound are no more cruel or capricious than those who follow the Pact. I do not praise them all. Elgaea the Wild believes humanity is a mistake, a blight on the natural world, and sends forth plagues, famines, and vicious beasts to slay them by the tens of thousands. Tyrqa, the Temptress, plays with men as if they were toys, turning whole nations and tribes against each other purely for her own amusement. Khazdan is mad, and in his violent outbursts has sundered mountains and sunk islands.


    But my god, Szet the Restorer, the Peaceful, the Cultivator¡­ he is different. He gave me a purpose when I was meant to die pointlessly and painfully like my parents and siblings and cousins. He has given me the power to heal and to prevent harm, and the freedom to use his powers as I see fit. That, I think, is the true difference. The bound gods might grant miracles to their paladins and Lectors and even their common folk on occasion, but it is always for their purpose, their glory.¡±


    Isaand took a deep breath. He¡¯d gotten too far off-topic. Rarely was he given the chance to speak freely about his beliefs, heretical as they were. Ylla was watching, waiting patiently.


    ¡°So what does this all have to do with you, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re wondering. Well, when I revived you, I used Szet¡¯s power to pull your soul out of the Churn, and return it to your body. Doing so has left a mark. You have been suffused with Szet¡¯s power, and that power is recognizable to any god as that of an Unbound. They will not tolerate it in their lands. You will no longer be recognized by your own goddess, Amauro, nor by any other. The clerics who rule each tribe will grant you no blessings, no rights. Most will not suffer you to live. It will be a harsh life, I¡¯m afraid. You¡¯ll have to remain always on the move. The mark of the Unbound upon us is unmistakable, but it does not immediately draw godly attention. So long as we do not attract undue attention they will not know we are passing through their lands. But we can¡¯t stop for long, and we cannot hope to interact peacefully with those who serve them.¡±


    Isaand felt a hard lump in his chest. Laid out so clearly, he wondered if he¡¯d done the girl a favor at all by condemning her to this life of loneliness and hardship. Would she be able to appreciate the life she had no, or would she only become bitter and angry, and hate him and Szet for what they had done to her.


    ¡°Ylla¡­ I am sorry. I did not ask your permission to return you to this life, no more than those warriors asked if you would be slaughtered. I fear I have made a mistake¡­¡±


    He raised his eyes and saw that she had her head down, hair hanging over her face, shoulders hunched forward. Was she crying? There were no sobs, but she seemed a quiet girl, more like to shrivel up inside than to cry out in pain.


    Time passed slowly, awkwardly, more than a minute. The longer Ylla was silent, the more Isaand despaired. He regretfully put his blanket aside and started to reach for her shoulder, to comfort her, when she raised her face.


    A narrow smile lit up her face. She did not look practiced at smiling, but her eyes were wide and shining and her joy clear to behold. With a little hop, she got to her feet and looked him in the eye.


    ¡°Lector Isaand, you have given me a great gift. I thank you, from the bottom of my heart,¡± she said, softly, and bowed deeply from the waist. The speech had the air of formality to it. Most like it was something she¡¯d been taught to say to priests and the like at formal occasions. Still, she seemed sincere.


    Ylla began to talk, telling him in a great rush of the vast mundanity of her life. The village where she¡¯d lived was small and poor, devastated by war from the local tribes, due to grudges going back generations. Her parents were farmhands, working the lands of other men who looked down on them and paid them pittance, and Ylla had learned to work alongside them almost since she could walk. She showed them how calloused her hands were. She loved her parents, but could not love the land she¡¯d left, and did not think of it as home.


    ¡°Amauro the Wolf was not my goddess,¡± she explained. ¡°My parents were born in Ulhest, to the south, but they were driven out by war when I was little. My older brothers died there. Mother showed me their things, and talked about them a lot, but I don¡¯t remember them. Father never talked about them at all. The place they lived was burned, so they went to another, but it burned too, and they had to leave the whole country. The people in Amauro¡¯s lands didn¡¯t like us. They called us ¡°apostates,¡± because father worshiped another god. But when he tried to convert, they wouldn¡¯t let him do that either. No one was very nice to them, and father told me I couldn¡¯t play with the other children, because it was dangerous. So, I don¡¯t mind being claimed by Sett. I never really had a god of my own before. Is he nice?¡±


    ¡°Nice? No,¡± Isaand said, smiling. ¡°But he is kind.¡±


    Ylla frowned. ¡°Isn¡¯t that the same thing?¡±


    ¡°Not at all. Kindness is about one¡¯s actions, while niceness is merely talk and show. When Szet first called to me-¡±


    Ylla flinched and Isaand stopped talking as there was a loud scrabbling at the window. Vehx launched himself back up it, claws tearing tiny gouges in the wood in his haste. His muzzle was stained with chicken blood, and his eyes were wild.


    ¡°There¡¯s a paladin headed straight towards us, with half-a-dozen soldiers. They must know we¡¯re here,¡± he called out.


    ¡°What is it doing? Is it rabid?¡± Ylla asked, backing away anxiously. Isaand realized with a start that she couldn¡¯t hear the sendra. His speech did not come from his animal mouth, but from mind, and only Isaand, linked to him as his master, could hear it. ¡°Vehx is a friend, don¡¯t worry. We don¡¯t have time to talk though. There are people coming, and if they catch us, they¡¯ll do something bad. We have to run, Ylla.¡± He stood up and quickly gathered up his belongings, already set in a roll on the trunk by his bed. He was always prepared to move quickly.


    Ylla nodded gravely and stood, looking around the room to make certain they were leaving nothing. Isaand gestured to the window, then paused. He reached into the pocket of his cloak and took out a curved dagger, five inches long in a leather sheath. Reversing it, he held it out to the girl.


    ¡°This is for you. Do not draw it unless your life is in danger¡­ but if it is, do what you have to do.¡±


    Her eyes, wide and frightened, studied the dagger for several seconds. Then she snatched it from his hand.


    Szet, watch over us, he prayed.

 Chapter Three

    Heretic


    Chapter 3


    Isaand trudged through the overgrown hill behind the inn, heart beating wildly. He felt Ylla¡¯s weight dragging on him from where she held his hand, and he forced himself to slow his pace so she could keep up. A paladin hunting him was one of the worst case scenarios. His handful of miracles that could be used to dissuade violence were mostly useless against a paladin, and they had powers of their own that could be brought to bear against him. Worse, most paladins who¡¯d earned the right to bear the title were fanatically single-minded, propelled by a ceaseless conviction to hunt down and eradicate the enemies of their god. He couldn¡¯t hope to talk them down.


    ¡°Vehx, if we¡¯re caught, can you materialize again? Just long enough to distract them so we can escape?¡± Isaand asked distractedly. The sendra was perched on his shoulders, watching his back.


    ¡°Are you serious? I¡¯ll need at least another dozen meals before I can do that again, and even so I¡¯ll only be at perhaps a third of the strength I had yesterday. The conditions placed on sendra by the Pact are rather irritatingly stringent. Of course, if you decided to free me from my bonds, things would be different,¡± Vehx answered. Isaand didn¡¯t dignify that with a response. The sendra kept up an affable front, but they both knew his service was not his choice. If Isaand chose to strike off the chains that hindered the servile god, he would be under no obligation to aid him in any way.


    ¡°Tell me about this paladin.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t stick around long enough to paint a picture. It was a woman, heavily armored in polished plate. She was ahorse, with half-a-dozen soldiers accompanying. They were headed straight for the inn with some urgency. Obviously, they knew we were here.¡±


    ¡°I suppose we should have expected as much from a town ruled by a watchful and judgmental god. We should not have lingered,¡± Isaand said. As if they¡¯d had any choice. Ylla had been exhausted and confused by her revival, and Isaand had been hurt and tired from his short battle. They¡¯d stayed only long enough for a night¡¯s sleep and to purchase supplies. Still, that had been too long.


    Vehx¡¯s description of the paladin gave him pause though. There were always exceptions, but the Warana grassland region did not have a habit of producing warrior women. Furthermore, there was little in the way of iron ore available for mining within hundreds of miles, and so most warriors wore little armor, preferring to use large shields, swift movement, and clever ambush tactics to avoid the dangers of a fair battle. And horses? Isaand had heard of the strange beasts, but he¡¯d only seen one once at a traveling circus, and he had strongly suspected it was merely a starved and deformed elkan with its horns ground down. Horses were a valuable military resource, hoarded jealously by the handful of nations lucky enough to have acquired them. And the majority of those nations were clustered around the foothills of the great mountain known as the Throne of the World, far to the north¡­


    ¡°Isaand,¡± Ylla hissed, sounding troubled. Isaand snapped out of his thoughts, and realized that she was pulling hard at his arm, her grip tight around his fingers. No doubt he would be in pain, if it weren¡¯t for his habitual numbness. He looked back to see the girl in some distress, eyes huge and whipping back and forth around her like a frightened mouse surrounded by cats.


    Isaand looked around, warily. They had made their way into a small copse of trees atop a ridge overlooking the town, behind the inn. The area was overgrown, the thick grass coming up to mid-hip on Isaand and threatening to swallow Ylla whole. The acacia trees¡¯ canopies were sparse, but sheltered them somewhat from view. There was no one around to threaten them.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you see them? They¡¯re all around us!¡± the girl cried.


    ¡°Oh, godsdamn,¡± Vehx muttered. ¡°They¡¯re well hidden, but the girl has the right of it.¡±


    Isaand closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened his Godseye. Touched as he was by Szet, he maintained the ability to look beyond the shell of mundanity and into the realm of the gods and spirits, though it was not an experience he relished. As his inner sight opened, the world seemed to drop away from him, the trees and grass and earth beneath his feet losing their solidity and form, becoming distant and insignificant. He felt his stomach drop as though he had leaped off a tall cliff, and bile rose in his throat as nausea threatened to upend him. He thrust out his arm in blind panic, reaching for something, but he seemed to be sinking, drowning in a clear sea he could not see or feel. A scream threatened to tear forth from his mouth, but then he felt a comforting solid presence: Ylla¡¯s hand in his. Taking a deep breath he could not feel, he focused on his touch, tightening his grip and orienting himself as with a lifeline. Ylla became ¡®down,¡¯ in his mind, the surface on which he could stand, the only thing solid and unshifting. His mind quieted.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!All around him was a fog of vague, shifting colors he could not describe and geometry he could not have drawn if given paper and ink. Spirits fluttered through the mist, brightly glowing and trailing shining threads that vanished into the distance, influence connecting them to the few small anchors that they could touch. They gave a vaguely sea-like impression: eel creatures with eyes running down the length of their body, radial organs with a dozen tentacles spreading off and propelling them through the air like wings, a vast and sleek hunter like a fish made of swords, its body studded with protruding mouths filled with rows of teeth. The latter turned and swam towards him, mouths opened wide, and it only turned away when Vexh swept between them, his body a long and shining serpent made of light, wings spread wide and threatening.


    It took time for Isaand to spot them, hidden behind colorless shadows that vanished only if you looked at them from the corner of your eye. Carved into the trunks of the trees surrounding them were dozens of eyes, glowing with the power of a god. The eyes were bright green, narrowed and sharp, and their gaze was vicious. They followed Isaand as he moved, and he could feel their hatred like a searing heat.


    The vision dropped away as he closed off his Godseye, and sat down hard in the tall grass, his numb legs collapsing beneath him as he tried and failed to maintain his balance. Ylla hunched over him, looking down with concern, her free hand gripping the curved dagger at her belt. ¡°What are they?¡± she asked. ¡°Why can I see them?¡±


    ¡°The eyes of Tzamet,¡± Isaand answered. ¡°He knows we¡¯re here.¡± The latter was an excellent question. Ylla could not have seen them unless she possessed some Godseye of her own, but he had no time to ponder that now. ¡°We need to run. Speed is more important than stealth, now.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think either is going to help now,¡± Vehx warned, a growl rising in his throat.


    Isaand turned. Behind them, coming from every direction of the village, two dozen men and women were converging on them, the closest less than a hundred feet away. Each of them gripped some makeshift weapon: scythes and hoes and long saws, wooden mallets and butcher¡¯s knives. Each of them had a dark green cloth covering their faces in their entirety, tied at the back of the head, and embroidered on the front of the cloth was a huge open eye. Though they should have been blind, each of them made their way swiftly towards Isaand and his companions.


    Isaand looked over his shoulder, gauging his chances. The copse of trees went on for another hundred yards or so, and beyond that the hill sloped down to open grassland much like that he¡¯d seen across the river. With his partially numbed body, Isaand was not a fast runner, and would likely trip and fall if he tried to escape. It wasn¡¯t much of a choice, anyway. Ylla would never be able to keep up with her short legs.


    Heart growing heavy, Isaand stepped in front of Ylla, dropped his hood, and planted his staff in the ground before him, waiting for them to come.


    The villagers drew around him in a wide circle, staying back fifteen feet, carefully closing the noose. As they drew to a halt, every single one of them began to speak in unison, their ordinary voices becoming unearthly by the way they resounded together.


    ¡°AMAURO WARNED ME YOU WOULD INVADE MY LANDS. HERETICS DO NOT EVADE MY SIGHT.¡±


    ¡°And you would stoop to avenge the minor injury of that pitiful wolf, Tzamet?¡± Isaand answered.


    ¡°AMAURO IS A VILE FOE WHO HAS WELL EARNED MY IRE. EVEN SO, THE DOGS OF THE UNBOUND ARE THAT MUCH WORSE. YOUR CRIMES ARE SELF-EVIDENT HERETIC. I HAVE JUDGED YOU, AND SO DO SENTENCE YOU.¡±


    As one, every one of the villagers raised their tools.

 Chapter Four

    Heretic


    Chapter 4


    ¡°If you accept my offer,¡± Szet said, his voice soft and supple, seeming to come from directly behind Isaand¡¯s ears, ¡°you will not live a long and healthy life. You will be marked, and hated, and every faithful hand will be raised against you wherever you may go. You will not grow old. You will bear no children, build no home, and if your name is remembered in history it will be as a maligned vagrant, a warning to prop up the mindless faith the Bound require.¡±


    Szet¡¯s presence had filled the cave, shadows dancing on the walls in absence of light, a long and sinuous form seen only as an impression. Isaand had averted his eyes from the source of those shadows.


    ¡°When your life ends, you will not die with dignity. You will be slandered, violated, torn asunder. Most like, those you protect will follow you to the grave. Does that thought not give you pause? Would you still take the power I offer?¡±


    Isaand raised his eyes at last to his God, and his image burned into his eyes and within his mind, at once impossible to forget but never to be described. ¡°I would. I do.¡±


    And Isaand heard the smile in Szet¡¯s voice as he responded, a chuckle like a soft breeze filling the dark tunnel. ¡°You are a man in a million, Isaand Aislin Laeson. I shall be glad to take your soul.¡±


    The memory gave Isaand strength, reminded him that he had chosen this, accepted it long ago.


    Isaand took a deep breath, looked over the gathered foes, and gave thought to how he would try to stave off his death as long as possible. He could try to pacify them, as he had done Amauro¡¯s warriors. It would never work. The larger the crowd, the stronger the individual was incited to violence, swept along by the current of hate and bloodlust. Against so many, his power was a gentle admonishment when he needed a deafening cry. Besides, Tzamet was within each one of them, watching through the cloth eyes across their faces. Isaand did not know how much power the god had over them, but his presence would surely be enough to counteract the subtle force of Isaand¡¯s miracle.


    With Vehx¡¯s power spent, he had few other cards to play. Isaand could cut off sensation with a touch, rendering limbs useless and numb, a power designed for blocking pain during treatment. But he would be slaughtered by the lot of them before he touched more than two or three. He could sunder weapons wielded in anger, but even if he left them unarmed they could still beat him to death with ease. He had only one more power that would be relevant here. He could feel Szet¡¯s power within his chest like a ball of warm fire, suffusing his body, and he called upon it and felt his god¡¯s miracle on his lips, ready to be loosed. But first¡­


    ¡°Vehx,¡± Isaand muttered through gritted teeth. ¡°Guide Ylla when they attack. I will distract as many as I can. Get her free of their circle, and help her flee.¡±


    ¡°You think that will make any difference?¡± Vehx asked, amused. ¡°She¡¯ll not get far before Tzamet has them hunt her down. And you know full well I¡¯ll not be around to help her.¡±


    Isaand did know. Vehx was sendra to Isaand alone, bound soul-to-soul, and the instant he died the chained god would again have his freedom. He would be under no obligation to help anyone at that point. ¡°Do what you can, as I command,¡± Isaand said. He could think on it no more.


    Tzamet¡¯s disciples had drawn closer, closing within ten feet, moving slowly, perhaps hoping his will would break and he would throw down his weapon and beg for mercy. Tzamet would be disappointed there, Isaand vowed. Facing certain death, a hundred tales ran through his mind in a jumble, imparted to him in oral tradition by the master-bard of his tribe. In the stories, the valiant hero, faced with impossible odds, always had some final statement to make, some clever insult or inspiring proclamation or a scathing condemnation that would haunt the guilty minds of his murderers all their waking days. Try as he might, Isaand couldn¡¯t remember a single one of them in that moment.


    ¡°Come on then you spineless bastards!¡± he shouted, and reached for his power. He felt it flow up his arm like a jolt of lightning, and he clapped his hand, vibrating with energy, to his breast and felt it flow back into him. His numbness dropped away all at once, along with his exhaustion, and a manic smile stretched across his face, laughter escaping from his throat. When he took three strides across the grass in the span of an instant, it was with swift and effortless ease, as simple as moving a pen across paper.


    His quarterstaff caught his first foe across the side of the face, swung with enhanced speed so that it whistled through the air with a sound like a loosed arrow. He felt a hearty crunch as the staff collided and the woman collapsed to the ground, her body vanishing in the tall grass. Pain shot up Isaand¡¯s arm from the force of the blow, but he laughed and spun, swinging the staff in a backhand that swept the legs out from under a portly man wearing a butcher¡¯s apron spotted with blood.


    Isaand felt a flash of recognition as though someone had shouted a warning in his ear. He turned in time to see a woman stab towards him with a long scythe, angling it to hook around his neck. He pulled back and let it pass him, jabbing out and poking her in the chest with his staff so that she teetered back in the process. Another flash of warning sounded in his mind, and he turned in time to see a heavy mallet swinging towards his thigh. He sidestepped it and brushed the haft with his fingers as it passed, whispering a prayer, and the mallet exploded in a shower of splinters and screws. Mere seconds had passed.


    All around him, the dozens of men and women charged forward in one silent mass.


    Weapons swept in at him and he blocked, parried, or dodged, avoiding two or three of them simultaneously. He lost track of what he could see or hear, reacting only to the precognitive warning given by his miracle. He struck out when he could, cracking fingers and skulls, stabbing at throats and guts, grabbing with his free hand and sending his attackers stumbling to the ground. Had his opponents some skill, he knew he would not have had such an easy time of it. But they were only common villagers, spurred on to lynch the heretic by their god, and they attacked clumsily and with no subtlety.


    Sometime after he blocked a thrown knife, sending it spinning away into another attacker, Isaand caught a glimpse of Ylla disappear into the grass, and saw the foliage rustling as she crawled away, led by Vehx. He smiled at that. The girl seemed smart for her age. Perhaps she would have a chance, if only he could keep them distracted. He lost any chance for thought as three of them attacked him at once. He slapped aside one rusty hook with his free hand, warding off the next foe with a lunge and a stab, and then-


    Pain swept away his joy in an instant, a hot stinging pain in his thigh. A long pair of shears were protruding from them. He swung his staff and knocked the wielder away, a spurt of blood following as she pulled the shears free. Warnings flashed in his mind, and he dodged two large rocks thrown from as many directions, grunting as a third caught him in his upper back. The woman with the scythe was back, swinging in a wide crescent. He dodged it easily, leaping back, but his retreat carried him into the arms of a large man with a limp. Arms wrapped around him, grasping, and he squirmed and shouted wordlessly.


    In front of him, he saw only the dark green eyes of Tzamet stretched across the faces of his killers. Something struck him hard in the side of his head and he heard ringing. Blood dripped down his cheek. One of the men before him stabbed out with a corkscrew, straight at his heart. He managed to shift sideways and take it on the arm instead, biting deep into his muscle. Behind, another villager was coming forward, carrying a hunting spear as if he knew how to use it. Isaand watched the thrust, Tzamet¡¯s eye somehow looking smug as the spearpoint came closer. Isaand roared and spun with all his strength, surprising the man holding him. He managed to turn around completely and felt a hard thump in his back and a sharp prick. The man¡¯s arms went slack, and his body slipped away.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.Isaand swung about him with his staff, making some space, but the villagers showed no sign of self-preservation, no fatigue or fear. They just kept on, attacking two or three at a time, as many as could reach into his range at once. Isaand could feel an electric itch as his earlier wounds began to knit back together, and his eyes grew wide. He could feel the quickening power slipping away, his energy going to his regeneration instead. He tried to dodge a stick and moved too slow, taking a glancing blow. Another rock caught him in the temple with no flash of warning. His miracle was failing.


    Before him, Tzamet¡¯s puppet yanked his bloody spear out of the back of the large man, and angled it towards him again. The others crowded in on him, not attacking but giving him no place to move, making a hedge of sharp objects and grasping hands. Isaand saw the spear coming, and realized he didn¡¯t have the strength and speed to parry it. He tried to raise his staff, but his arm spasmed. He was so tired.


    ¡°Szet,¡± he whispered, ¡°Thank you.¡± The spear stabbed forward.


    And a light shone like the sun had fallen out of the sky. The villager jerked in response, his spear missing, and then jerked again as an arrow sunk into his cheek hard into to send him flying to the side. Isaand was looking through squinted eyes, confused, almost blinded, and men and women were shouting even as the villagers remained eerily silent, their cloth eyes turning away to look at some new threat.


    More arrows flew, felling those who tried to strike Isaand. A woodcutting axe came out of nowhere, and Isaand felt a hard shock as its blade bounced off his head. Baffled, he put a hand to his head and felt only a small cut where should have been a gaping wound. Looking closer, he saw a thin silvery light was clinging to his body, extending a few inches beyond it. The light was transparent, but when he looked closely he could see the vague outline of armor about him. Another weapon struck at him and he deflected it with his arm, feeling no pain as the miraculous armor absorbed the blow.


    ¡°Cease I say! We will harm no one if you halt and allow us to speak!¡± a tenor voice rang out. The light faded away, leaving impressions on Isaand¡¯s vision, but the villagers lowered their weapons and turned as one back towards the village.


    Seven men were clustered at the edge of the ridge, each of them sitting astride strange tall beasts with short hair and fleshy wide noses. Horses, Isaand realized, and two of them are women. Three of the horsemen were leveling long lances with crescent shaped blades sticking off the ends. The others had bows nocked and readied, double curved bows more than six feet long. Each of them was dressed in shining steel armor chased in silver and gold and ivory, and the sun flashed off their armor so it seemed they were garbed in light. He could see little of their skin, until the one at the front, who¡¯s thick armor plate still suggested the shape of a woman, lowered her bow and removed her helm. Silver eyes stood out against deep brown skin, her black hair pulled back in braids to gather at the back of her neck. Her armor was the most ornate, covered over by a thick cloth robe of brightly dyed orange. A longsword with a silver hilt hung at her side. Even without his Godseye, Isaand could see the crackle of godly energy that clung to her like lightning to a storm cloud. Paladin.


    ¡°Holy Tzamet, I am Kierna Sarana, Fourteenth Sword of the holy order of Tyre Ettha. I mean you no ill-will, but that man has been tried and sentenced by the Conclave, and I dispatched to return him to Ethka to see justice done.¡± Most people trembled when speaking to a god, but Kierna kept her eyes forward, her tone respectful but certain. Isaand began to take small, furtive steps backwards as Tzamet answered, speaking through all the remaining villagers.


    ¡°I HAVE TRIED AND SENTENCED HIM MYSELF, APOSTATE. YOUR GODS HAVE NO FIRST RIGHTS TO SENTENCING HERETICS. YOU STAND ON MY LAND. MY WORD IS LAW. MY WILL IS JUSTICE.¡±


    ¡°Justice is no matter of one¡¯s whims and desires. Not even for a god,¡± Kierna answered. ¡°I am sorry, but you are out-ruled. Ninety-two gods and goddesses have put their will to this matter. The Heretic Isaand Laeson has important knowledge that must be learned. He returns with me, unharmed.¡±


    Isaand felt chilled to learn that nearly a hundred gods counted him as their enemy. All he had done was travel and heal the sick and injured. He had hoped he would avoid the attention of anyone important, but that appeared to have been a vain hope.


    ¡°SNIVELING CRETIN. HE IS MINE. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT.¡± Tzamet¡¯s tone was petulant, and his villagers were no longer threatening Isaand. Isaand had managed to back a few steps further away, and there was no one behind him any longer. But he froze when the paladin turned her gaze on him.


    ¡°Lector Isaand, please stand down. As I said, we will do you no harm. You will ride with us back to Ethka, to answer some questions. There is much the gods wish to learn from one of the Unbound¡¯s servants.¡±


    ¡°You truly expect me to come along meekly and submit myself to your chains and thumbscrews?¡± Isaand asked. ¡°I have done no crimes. I do not recognize your conclave¡¯s authority to sentence me to anything.¡±


    ¡°Can you resist us, as injured as you are?¡± Kierna asked, calmly. Isaand felt how sluggish he was. The quickening was gone entirely, and though his pain was gone, he felt a bone-deep lethargy that he knew would last until he¡¯d had time to sleep and eat a hearty meal.


    ¡°I am a Lector, as you said. I am always capable of resistance,¡± Isaand bluffed.


    Paladin Kierna sighed, and gestured to her men. ¡°Take him.¡±


    The three lance-wielding horsemen put their heels to their beasts and the creatures wheeled and trotted forward, surprisingly graceful and quick despite their gangly bulk. Isaand turned and started to run, but he knew it was hopeless. The ground seemed to jump beneath him and he stumbled and fell. He pushed himself up, and slipped as it rumbled again. I¡¯m not imagining that, he realized. The ground truly was beginning to shake. The horses slowed their pace, shying sideways. He heard Kierna gasp, and Tzamet spoke from his puppets all at once.


    ¡°NO. THIS IS MY LAND. YOU HAVE NO PLACE HERE.¡±


    Isaand stumbled to his feet, and looked back to see plumes of smoke rising from the village. Fires were roaring, spreading across the grass rooftops, and hundreds of men were running through the streets, dressed like those warriors who¡¯d been escorting Ylla. The sounds of bloodshed and battle rang out, and the paladin and her men had turned away to look back at the village.


    A piercing howl rang out, the earth shaking along with it, and in the midst of the village Isaand saw a massive wolf made of golden grass, her warriors forming up at her feet. Amauro had come to make war.

 Chapter Five

    Heretic


    Chapter 5


    Ylla ran from where the masked villagers where closing in on Isaand, out to where the copse of trees opened up on a beautiful vista of softly flowing grass. Panting with exertion, she slowed to a halt, dropped to her knees, and began feeling around in the grass beneath her.


    ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing, pup? We have to get as far as we can while they¡¯re distracted.¡±


    Ylla froze. The voice was gruff, deep, laced with a subtle growling sound beneath the words. Spinning around, she looked for the speaker but saw no one. No one except the long furry snake-like creature with his wings wrapped around him, standing on his hind legs so that he could see over the tall grass, looking her right in the eye. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me. Now use those tiny legs of yours and get running.¡±


    ¡°You can speak?¡± she asked, amazed. Thinking back, she had heard Isaand talking to it before, when she was still recovering from the shock of being healed. ¡°Why couldn¡¯t I hear you before?¡±


    ¡°Isaand commanded me to help you and keep you safe. Implicitly, he named you my new master until he dies or returns. Therefore, I can now speak to you without expending an unpleasant amount of energy.¡± The creature¡¯s snout didn¡¯t move as he spoke, making him look like a trained pet performing a trick. Ylla wasn¡¯t sure if he was cute or a little threatening.


    ¡°Good, then you help me find a stick,¡± she said. She kept feeling around the ground near the trunk of the nearest tree.


    ¡°A stick? What do you want a stick for?¡±


    From back towards the village, Ylla could hear the sounds of hard blows as weapons struck each other, along with a meatier sound she feared was Isaand being struck. He wouldn¡¯t last long. She chewed her lip in frustration. If she didn¡¯t do something, Isaand would die. And then¡­


    The bad memory rose up in her mind again, the feeling of having her skin and bones stripped away. She¡¯d been caught in some violent stream, thrown this way and that, trying to scream without a mouth, her soul rocked and battered by many others. Parts of her had been torn away. She could no longer remember her father¡¯s face clearly. Her mother she could picture with ease, but when she tried to think of her name all she got was a fuzzy noise in her head that she couldn¡¯t say. Other parts of her felt wrong now, mixed in somehow. She remembered holding a baby in her arms, and knowing it was hers, when it couldn¡¯t possibly be. She remembered big hairy hands aching, the knuckles splattered with blood, as she beat them again and again against a sobbing smaller man, begging for mercy in a language she¡¯d never heard. She remembered other things, a press of flesh and sweat and strange feelings she didn¡¯t understand, memories that made her sick when she thought of them, and which didn¡¯t belong.


    The priests all taught that when you died, your soul returned to the Churn, to be mixed up and turned into a new person. They talked about it like it was a good thing, a new chance to live. What she remembered made her shiver. It hadn¡¯t felt like she was being made new. It had felt like she was being chopped up and ground together like herbs in a mortar and pestle. And it had hurt, worse than when she¡¯d broken her leg falling out of a tree, worse than being sick, worse than anything she¡¯d ever felt.


    If Isaand died, the same thing would happen to him, and he didn¡¯t have anyone to help him come back. All the things he¡¯d told her in the inn were scary and confusing and she wished she could just go home, but all of that didn¡¯t matter because he¡¯d saved her from being ground up and torn apart. She was scared to go back to where those men and women with eyes on their masks where, but she had to help him. She owed him, she owed him everything.


    ¡°Here!¡± her fingers closed on a long, good branch, thicker than her thumb and solid. It was a little curved, and had a few small branches sticking off of it, but it would work. She plopped down, put the branch across her legs, took out the knife Isaand had given her, and then started untying her belt.


    ¡°Look, I don¡¯t pretend to understand humans on a good day, but you¡¯ve got to help me out here,¡± the weird little animal was saying. ¡°What do you need a stick for, and why can¡¯t you get one somewhere else? Away from the gods-touched fools who want to kill us?¡±


    ¡°You said I¡¯m your master now, right snake-thing? That¡¯s good, you can help me. Can you bite people, really hard?¡± Ylla asked. The belt was more of a sash, made of thick dyed wool. She folded it in half and began threading it around the branch and knife. Ylla knew how to tie knots good. She¡¯d been weaving baskets and mending fences and shoes and all kinds of things since she was barely old enough to walk. With a few strong knots, she¡¯d made a spear, three feet long and topped with the curved blade. She didn¡¯t think spears were supposed to have curved points like that, but that was what Isaand had given her so it must be alright.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.¡°My name is Vehx: use it. And yes, I can bite quite capably, but I don¡¯t see how that¡¯s going to help us in escaping,¡± Vehx said. Ylla got up and brushed herself off, going through a practice thrust with her little spear. She liked the feel of it. She¡¯d seen the warriors practicing with their spears a thousand times, and it didn¡¯t look so hard.


    ¡°Isaand needs help. We¡¯re gonna go help him,¡± she said. She turned back towards the village and told herself to start walking. It wasn¡¯t so easy. Now that she wasn¡¯t busy, the fear came back. There were a lot of people back there, all adults, bigger and stronger than her, with weapons.


    ¡°No we are not. Isaand told us to run, so that¡¯s what we¡¯re going to do. Come on.¡± Vehx started away, then turned his body halfway around to look at her, growling. She glared back, waving her spear at him.


    ¡°Isaand told you to keep me safe, and you have to do what he says, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and that means-¡±


    ¡°Well I¡¯m going to go help Isaand, and I¡¯ll be in danger, so you have to come with me to help.¡±


    ¡°Wretched child, listen-¡±


    Suddenly Ylla was running, her heart pounding in her chest. Running towards the village was scary, so she didn¡¯t let herself think about it, she just kept running, counting each pace forward, thinking about her grip on her spear, thinking of anything but the danger that was coming. If she just didn¡¯t think about it, she wouldn¡¯t have anything to be scared of.


    ¡°Girl! This is madness!¡± Vehx was following beside her, running in the grass, then he flapped his wings and burst into a kind of golden smoke, flying up beside and in front of her. She swept an arm through the smoke and kept running, and she heard him grumbling as he followed behind.


    She stumbled, slowing. The ground was shaking. Her heart beat faster, and she felt the urge to drop down and kiss the dirt, wait for it to pass in supplication, just like she¡¯d been taught. But that was stupid, this was Tzamet¡¯s land, not Amauro¡¯s so the wolf goddess wouldn¡¯t be here. The rumbling had to be from something else.


    ¡°Oh no. She¡¯s back already,¡± Vehx muttered, and Ylla felt her stomach turn as the ground rumbled again. A loud howling sounded from beyond the trees, a sound she¡¯d heard many times before.


    ¡°Amauro,¡± Ylla whispered.


    ¡°She¡¯s come, and not alone. She¡¯s brought her warriors. This is war, girl, and you are no warrior. For the last time, turn around and flee,¡± Vehx said.


    Ylla felt as though her legs had turned to stone. She wanted to keep going, to help Isaand, but she was too scared to move. For a moment, she couldn¡¯t move, and then a thought came back to her. She couldn¡¯t remember her father¡¯s face, but she could hear his voice. She¡¯d asked him one time, why he had to go confront some farmers who¡¯d cheated him out of his pay and threatened him if he didn¡¯t move on to another farm, when he confessed to being scared that they would hurt him.


    Fear is only a little thing, Ylla, he¡¯d said. It doesn¡¯t last. But if you know what you should do, and you let fear stop you from doing it, then shame comes instead. And that lasts forever. Just think about how bad you¡¯ll feel if you don¡¯t do the scary things, and fear is easy.


    Ylla took a deep breath, and ran forward.

 Chapter Six

    Heretic


    Chapter 6


    Chaos reigned. The masked villagers surrounding Isaand were milling about in a panic, tearing off their masks as their god abandoned them, throwing down weapons or else threatening him with shouts and gestures, or drawing up to defend against the paladin and her men, or calling out to them for help, or running wild for the village.


    The ground beneath continued to rumble and shake, small but threatening quakes that coincided with the roars and growls of the golden wolf visible in the village. Overhead, the sky was swiftly turning gray, thick storm clouds forming where only moments before clear blue had prevailed. A single circle of clear sky remained, a thick iris of emptiness, surrounding another round cloud in the center: a great eye overhead, looking down on all. Tzamet had greater concerns now than one lone heretic, it would seem.


    The paladin seemed distracted, turning back towards the village and speaking with her companions, but the horsemen continued onward. Isaand knelt behind a tree trunk, staff at the ready, and watched as the horses stumbled this way and that until one of them fell clumsily sideways in coordination with a particularly violent quake. Isaand took the opportunity to pull himself to another tree, using a long and low branch as a wall against the horsemen. Cursing, the remaining soldiers leaped down from their animals and pursued him on foot, drawing shortswords in place of their long lances.


    ¡°Die heretic!¡±


    Isaand jumped at the shout and turned to see one of the villagers, a boy in lateness of his teen years, charging at him with a long saw held between both hands. He¡¯d torn away his mask to let him see, revealing a wide-eyed and terrified expression and cheeks streaked with tears. Focused as he was on the pursuing soldiers, Isaand had never noticed him. He tried to turn his staff around but it caught in the branches of the tree as he struggled to defend himself.


    A plume of golden smoke flitted between them, the young man halting in confusion, then the smoke coalesced into the serpentine form of Vehx as he leaped onto the man¡¯s face. Screaming, the man fell backwards as Vehx scratched shallow gauges into his cheeks. Isaand caught more movement in the corner of his eye, and whirled around.


    Another villager, a wrinkled woman older than Isaand¡¯s mothers, had been creeping up towards him with gnarled stick in her hands. Someone was holding her at bay, thrusting a small spear repeatedly at her with high-pitched shouts halfway between war-cry and panic. With a shock, Isaand recognized Ylla, the curved dagger he¡¯d given her tied to the end of a stick to fashion a makeshift spear. She glanced over her shoulder and broke into a sunny smile.


    ¡°Isaand, you¡¯re okay!¡±


    Isaand hefted his staff, and the older woman threw down her stick and ran as fast as she could. At his side, the man Vehx was savaging crawled away into the grass, leaving his saw behind. Thunder roared overhead, and rain began to pour down as though a bucket had been overturned.


    ¡°I was scared you¡¯d be dead already,¡± Ylla was saying.


    ¡°You were supposed to get her to safety!¡± Isaand snarled at Vehx, who gave him a reproachful look.


    ¡°You need to word your commands more carefully. I protected the idiot girl as best I could. Speaking of which, you seem to be in danger yourself.¡±


    Isaand turned again to see the three soldiers in shining plate arrayed before him, swords held out with their points angled towards him. Ylla fiercely moved as if to stand in front of him, and Isaand pulled her back, bemused.


    ¡°Blessed Kierna ordered you unharmed, heretic, but I doubt she¡¯d mind if you were to lose an ear or a finger. Throw down that stick and keep your mouth shut, or be prepared to bleed.¡± The speaker was a young man, with smooth black skin and fine features marred only by a silken bandage across one cheek. He was tall and thickly muscled, but stood gracefully on the balls of his feet, ready to move in any direction required. His companions were young men as well, and each seemed well trained in war by the way they stood. Staring down a vile heretic and Lector, none of them showed any sign of fear.


    ¡°Think of me what you may, would you threaten an innocent child?¡± Isaand tried to ask, but his words were swallowed as thunder boomed overhead. A flash of shockingly bright light made them all flinch, a bolt of lightning striking down somewhere in the village. Amauro roared in response. The bandaged man pulled back his weight and began to shift into a lunge.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.¡°Jurran! Kua munt famma!¡±


    He paused, looking over his shoulder to see the paladin with her glaive raised skyward. The sky had gone dark and the rain was falling so thickly as to distort his view, but Isaand saw her clearly, surrounded by a shining nimbus of clean blue-white light. Her companions were gathered around her, weapons leveled, but they were turned away from Isaand towards the village where the gods battled amongst burning houses and drowning rain.


    Without a word, the three soldiers turned and ran back towards the paladin¡¯s companions, who had begun to ride down the rise. Kierna was the last to turn away, leaving Isaand with a long stare that seemed equal parts blame and frustration.


    ¡°Come on!¡± Ylla was tugging on Isaand¡¯s hand, pulling him back away towards the plain. Vehx was perched on her slender shoulders, miserable in the rain, but the little girl looked fierce with her mock spear.


    ¡°I cannot move quickly, I¡¯m afraid,¡± Isaand said, but he put one foot in front of the other and began to move. His wounds only ached, the tears and rents in his flesh healed by Szet¡¯s power, but exhaustion threatened to bear him down and smother him. He moved half like a drunk and half like a cripple, swaying side to side. Ylla ran to his side and put her arm around his waist, helping him along as best she could.


    ¡°You¡­ were supposed¡­ to run,¡± he said, gasping for breath in between words.


    ¡°You saved me,¡± Ylla said, stubbornly shaking her head. ¡°So I have to save you. It¡¯s scary, but it¡¯d be worse if I let you die.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s quite a mulish little thing, isn¡¯t she?¡± Vehx said. ¡°The two of you should get along marvelously. Question: why exactly aren¡¯t you being hauled away for humiliation and torture by that lovely paladin right now?¡±


    Isaand had no answer. Kierna¡¯s actions made no sense, and her words troubled him, for reasons he couldn¡¯t quite place. ¡°Justice is no matter of one¡¯s whims and desires. Not even for a god,¡± she¡¯d said. Well the sentiment certainly rang true, but how could a god¡¯s servant speak such words? Did she not recognize her hypocrisy?


    ¡°What¡¯s going on out there?¡± Isaand asked. Ylla led him around the last tree and he could see the whole plain before him. Every blade of grass was swept downward, blowing away from the village, as if the very foliage was desperate to escape the devastation occurring. Isaand¡¯s heart sank at the sight of the incline. It was not steep, yet he feared he would tumble down it and make a fool of himself.


    ¡°Amauro came with as much power as she could muster in another¡¯s land. I told you she¡¯d return stronger, though I did not expect her to be so swift about it. Tzamet is in the sky. I think he means to drown the flames, but it¡¯s a lost cause. The houses that do not burn are being pulled down and trampled by the wolf. Whatever passed for Tzamet¡¯s warriors have been murdered and his villagers are being rounded up,¡± Vehx explained. There was no trace of sympathy in his voice, only a calm fascination.


    ¡°Are they all going to be killed?¡± Ylla asked, tugging at his arm.


    ¡°No, they¡­ I¡­¡± Isaand had never been any good at subterfuge. ¡°Yes, I think so. There¡¯s nothing we can do. I can barely walk.¡± Still, Ylla looked backwards, teeth clenched in anxiety. ¡°And I need your help, if we¡¯re to escape,¡± he said quickly.


    ¡°Oh, what¡¯s this now?¡± Vehx said. His eyes were unfocused, and Isaand knew his Godseye was open wide. ¡°That paladin is making a show. She¡¯s riding at the wolf, with all her men. Hmph, well she¡¯s a brave lass, no doubt there.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s fighting a god?¡± Isaand said.


    ¡°Ach, I can¡¯t keep watching this. All this power flying around is like to blind me. Not a one of them are paying any attention to us. We should be able to escape if we keep moving.¡±


    Isaand sighed. His body ached, he would be numb with cold if he was not numb already, and there were miles of open grass to go before they could hope to be safely lost. But he had little choice, and Szet¡¯s power would keep his body moving, so long as he still drew breath. Gently, he separated Ylla from him and leaned on his staff, nodding her to lead the way, and resolved himself to a long and arduous march.


    Behind him, the sky and earth roared at each other, lightning flashed, rain fell, and men and women bled.

 Chapter Seven

    Heretic


    Chapter 7


    Kierna reigned in her horse and wiped gods-blood off the blade of her sword. The substance seemed to sizzle, radiating power as hot coals give off heat. It burned with a light of a color she could not define, bright as a freshly forged sword taken from the fire. Her godseye was open only a slit; she¡¯d learned long ago that opening it wide was a recipe for nausea and over-stimulation.


    Ordinary red blood came off as well. Kierna remembered hewing through short spears, chopping across shields, and stabbing and slashing through arms and faces and guts. The faces of the men she¡¯d killed swam in her mind, expressions of fury or pain or terror contorting them. They joined the many others she¡¯d killed over the years, the ones she saw whenever she tried to sleep.


    Sheathing her cleaned sword, Kierna took stock of those around her. Hamaara and Kenth were ahorse atop the nearest rise, bows ready with arrows nocked, ready to fire at the first sign of pursuers. Vahn¡¯s riderless horse stood nearby, cropping at the grass. She could see Garreth a quarter-mile behind them, riding with his lance at the ready, watching their backs. Farrus was over the hill, screening their advance and scouting the best path.


    A dozen tired villagers stood or sat in a huddle nearby, many of them injured and bleeding, all of them dejected and wide-eyed with grief. Half of them were children. One gray-haired woman carried an infant on her hip, and a small boy held the hand of an even smaller girl who looked to be his sister, but most of them seemed unrelated. Some had a few belongings slung up in a roll, and two men carried spears and long knives. A teenaged girl was driving a goat beside her. But most of them had nothing but the clothes on their backs.


    ¡°Rest while you can,¡± Kierna told them, her practiced captain¡¯s voice cutting through the chatter like a boom of thunder. ¡°We move on in five minutes. Stay together, keep between us, and be ready to run when we tell you. If any of us ride off, continue on the path and we will rejoin you shortly.¡± Weary, she climbed off her horse and unstopped her canteen. Her throat ached as the cool water softened it. After, she overturned it and let a trickle of it pour down her head. The water seeped down her neck and into the cloth padding beneath her armor, which felt like it had doubled in weight since before the battle.


    ¡°That blood isn¡¯t yours, I hope?¡± Kierna turned to see Hamaara approaching, off her horse. The older woman¡¯s leathery skin was dirty with dried blood and sweat, and a bandage wrapped around her upper arm was red. She was breathing hard, her proud stature betrayed by the way she hunched forward and took small, careful steps, avoiding pushing herself too hard. Kierna felt a pang of guilt. The woman had been riding with her since long before Kierna had become a paladin. She¡¯d shown her how to shoot from horseback, how best to move in the weight of full armor, how to take one glance at a battlefield and notice all the little details that meant life and death, and how to seize the opportunities that would let her survive them. But she was old now, past fifty, and had no place in a pitched battle.


    ¡°No¡­ I¡­¡± Kierna looked at herself, noticing for the first time the way her beautiful silver armor was covered in gore, its shining embellishments turned dirty and brown in the cloudy light. ¡°I took no wounds. This is from Amauro¡¯s soldiers. The fools.¡± She¡¯d not wanted to kill them, but she could not stand by and watch as they slaughtered an entire tribe.


    ¡°And from Hauthern,¡± Hamaara said sadly. Hauthern had been one of her lancers, a good, solid man, veteran of a hundred missions. He¡¯d taught her how to set a lance, and staved off boredom on long rides through the country singing the joyous basso songs of his homeland, and cooked her hearty stews that tasted of home. He¡¯d come between her and the great wolf of the grass, after Kierna had charged her. Her glaive had torn the goddess¡¯ side open in a great gash as long as a carriage, but Amauro had bowled her over, throwing her from her horse, and she¡¯d lost her glaive in the fall and been forced to draw her sword. She¡¯d looked up in time to see the wolf¡¯s burning orange eyes before her, and then Hauthern had been there, and Amauro had lunged, and blood had gushed down like a waterfall. But somehow she¡¯d gotten out from under him, and lived.


    ¡°Preserve his soul,¡± Kierna prayed, as Hamaara echoed. Willing to speak no more, she turned away and began to inspect her horse, checking for any injuries. The creature was a magnificent specimen, his coat a glossy chocolate brown, twenty-two hands tall, with intelligent eyes that watched her as she rubbed him down. Beneath her gloves, she could feel the crackling energy of the temple¡¯s miracle, granting the steed strength and vigor. He would be good to keep riding for hours more, and seemed unhurt.


    Jurran hadn¡¯t been so lucky. She¡¯d called the young lancer away just as he¡¯d been about to attack the heretic, and his eyes had flashed with an angry reproach. All the way across the Warana grass he¡¯d glowered and stewed, still angry about his demotion back in the city. She¡¯d taken to sparring with him every few nights during camp, and he¡¯d swung his sword with brutal force, as though he could smash all his problems away if he just hit hard enough. She¡¯d been talking with him, slowly and cautiously, as one might a spooked horse. His responses had been dark and sardonic, but she had thought she was on the verge of getting through to him. The last few nights he had seemed more relaxed, almost at ease. He¡¯d died in the village, thrown from his horse by a swipe of Amauro¡¯s great paw. She¡¯d seen him lying in a muddy puddle, struggling to get to his feet, and she¡¯d rode hard for him, desperate to make it in time, but the warriors had gathered around him and stabbed down with spear after spear, impaling him a dozen times. The face of one of his killers flashed in her mind, a scared-looking boy barely old enough to fight, and the way her sword had sheared through his ear and eye as she¡¯d rode by.


    Vahn had died as well, though she¡¯d never seen it. She¡¯d called her men together, once it was clear the battle was lost and they must retreat. They¡¯d herded the few survivors they could gather out of the village, and she¡¯d looked back one more time to see his body lying in a pool of blood, surrounded by the four men he¡¯d killed. His face had been smashed in by a sling-stone, his beautiful smile cracked and ruined. The man had been a hopeless flirt, never ceasing in his joking self-deprecation and his dramatic compliments towards her. There were times when she¡¯d looked at him across the fire, lying splayed out with his long limbs and tousled curls, and contemplated what it would be like to break her vows with him, some night beyond the sight of the camp. Well, he wouldn¡¯t be around to tempt her anymore. That realization felt like a stone lodged in her chest.


    The thunder of hooves shook her out of her thoughts, and she turned to see Farrus riding back over the hill. He made straight for her, taking the time to put his fist to his chest in salute, his long blonde braid sticky with sweat.


    ¡°Path ahead is clear, Blessed, just more hills and grass. But it¡¯s a long way to the border, five or six miles, I¡¯d guess. We¡¯ll need to push them hard if we want to stay ahead of the wolf,¡± he said.


    Kierna did not know if Amauro would follow. She¡¯d hurt her, wielding her blessed blade and the miracles of Jehx to cut deep into the body of the wolf she¡¯d chosen as her avatar, and the goddess had backed off rather than commit to battle. But it would not take them long to finish their destruction of the village, and Amauro had nearly a hundred warriors left by her reckoning, and might send them to hound them even if she chose not to come herself. She hoped Tzamet would slow her down, if for no other reason than spite. The god¡¯s influence here was ended; he would soon be reduced to a mere spirit of the land, a vassal or parasite living in another god¡¯s fiefdom.


    ¡°We shall. Jehx will grant us strength,¡± Kierna said. ¡°Ride back to Garreth, tell him to wait here for an hour to watch for any signs of pursuit. If they come, he is to harry them with bow and arrow, but to avoid battle, and to retreat if they get close. If he sees Amauro, he is to flee at once.


    You will continue to scout ahead until we reach the border. When we get within a mile of it, leave off and cross on your own, seek out the nearest village and find out what sort of reception we are likely to get. These grass tribes are many, and often they hate each other, embroiled in some old grudge or another. It wouldn¡¯t do to deliver these folk to safety only to have them murdered.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Blessed. What if I should spot the heretic? He was running this way, last I saw him.¡±


    ¡°Avoid him. He¡¯s a Lector, and you¡¯re one man. Who knows what sort of powers the Unbound have given him? We take him together, or not at all.¡± Kierna could not abide the thought of losing more of them. When next they found the heretic, she would deal with him herself, safe in the knowledge that Jehx guarded her.


    ¡°And after we reach this village? Try to pick up the heretic¡¯s trail once more?¡± Hamaara asked. Her gaze was questioning. She had always been able to read Kierna well.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.¡°No. We¡¯ll let them rest a bit, then escort these villagers to Aathdel. We can pick up fresh levies there and task a company to send them on to the Stairs. Like it or not, they¡¯re apostates now. They¡¯ll need somewhere to go. We¡¯ll send Garreth with them. If he¡¯s lucky, he¡¯ll make it home in time to see his son born.¡± She envied him that miracle, but pitied him the task of speaking with Jurrun and Vahn and Hauthern¡¯s families. ¡°Mount up. It¡¯s time we moved.¡±


    They rode for hours across the flowing grass, the summer¡¯s heat cooled by Tzamet¡¯s rains. The apostates marched sullenly, eyes downcast, speaking no words. Most never bothered to look ahead of them. What did they have to look for? Their god was lost to them, and their homes, and there was nowhere in the world that would call them kin. Kierna remembered another train of refugees, marching along stony foothills, decades ago. She¡¯d been barefoot, her shift torn and muddy, only able to walk on her own for an hour or so until her little legs had given out and her father had had to carry her on his shoulders. She could barely remember the name of the goddess and town they¡¯d left behind.


    They¡¯d made it to Ethka in the company of one of her brothers, an aunt, and three cousins, but a year in the city had scattered them across its streets. The brother had died in a drunken brawl, a cousin executed for theft from a goddess¡¯ temple. The others had become strangers. Her father worked, but Kierna had come down with a cough that he feared would kill her, and so he¡¯d borrowed money for a doctor. He¡¯d died in a debtor¡¯s prison, months and months before she could save enough to see him free.


    Kierna had wound up in the very same prison, shortly after her fourteenth birthday. She¡¯d stolen a sack of grain, nothing she hadn¡¯t done a hundred times before, only she¡¯d been caught, and the cost of the theft had been quadrupled and placed on her as debt. She had no money, and no one to pay for her, nor could she work from her windowless cell, and so she had thought her life over. She would sit there and rot for years until she wasted away, with only the vain hope that her cousin or aunt would remember her and care enough to pay.


    On the third day, she¡¯d been released. Shocked and not understanding, she¡¯d been too afraid to ask questions, scared that there had been some mistake and that she would be jailed again if she did not leave at once. But on her way out of the prison she passed ten men outside in monk¡¯s black robes, submitting themselves to arrest. She¡¯d stared, wondering at how serenely they accepted their chains.


    ¡°They¡¯re here to replace you,¡± a voice had said, soft and certain. She¡¯d jumped, and turned to see an ordinary looking man with his white hair bound in a long tail, and green eyes that watched her like a merchant taking stock of new merchandise. He was dressed in soldier¡¯s clothes, all dyed white and black, with a long straight sword tied at his waist.


    ¡°Replace me?¡± she¡¯d asked, then nervously glanced around, but the guardsmen were paying her no heed.


    ¡°Your debt has been paid, by the Lector of the Sword Temple. Charity balances the scales when justice is weighted too harshly, yet crime must still be punished. The city has settled your punishment at thirty days internment. Each of these men will be jailed three days, to settle the matter.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re here for me,¡± she said, catching on. She balanced on the balls of her feet, checking the nearest alley out of the corner of her eye. If she ran, she thought she could escape. The swordsman was older and likely slower, the sword would make him awkward. Yet she was in poor health after her stay in prison, and she did not know this part of the city well enough to lose him in its alleys and backstreets. If he caught her in some dead-end, she did not like the thought of facing him with that sword in hand. He leaned against the stone wall, as relaxed as a cat, but he seemed graceful, perhaps one of the swordmaster-monks she¡¯d heard about at the temple of Jehx.


    ¡°The girl understands,¡± the swordsman said, smiling at some secret joke. ¡°Your payment has been settled, your debt passed to me. You will work at the Sword Temple, perhaps for a year, longer if need be, and then you will be free.¡±


    ¡°What sort of work?¡±


    ¡°The ordinary kind. Cleaning and tending the gardens and minding the animals, that sort of thing. You¡¯re a skinny thing, but tall, and those arms look to have some muscle on them. I should think we can find a place for you. Our temple does not practice prostitution, if that concerns you.¡±


    ¡°And if I say no?¡± Kierna asked, ready to run.


    ¡°You may go¡­ and next time you find yourself rotting in a cell, no one will extend the hand of friendship. There is place in Justice for mercy, I think, but no tolerance for stubbornness. Do you love your crimes so well, that you bristle at the thought of a proper living?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯ll come,¡± Kierna said. She could always run away if they made her do something she didn¡¯t want, and no doubt the temple would have plenty of riches. She might be able to escape with a fortune, and finally leave this city behind her.


    ¡°How gracious. Let¡¯s be off then.¡± The swordsman started away, moving with long smooth strides, and she trotted along to follow.


    At the gates to the prison, a small gathering of men and women waited. They were resplendent in finery, soft silks and furs and bedecked in jewels and gold. She froze, recognizing several glyphs embroidered along their clothes, the names of gods and goddesses in the language of the First World. She dropped to her knees at once. These were the clerics, the men and women who spoke with the voices of their gods, rulers of the city of a thousand faiths. Each one of them could have her killed with a word.


    At the swordsman¡¯s approach, each one of them kneeled and bowed their heads. Her mouth hung open.


    ¡°Holiness,¡± one of the clerics muttered. ¡°We were told you were visiting the city today, and hoped for a meeting-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve no time,¡± the swordsman said, blowing off the ruler with not so much as an apology. ¡°I have a new acolyte I need to introduce to the temple.¡±


    The clerics studied her, and she felt herself quake under their gazes. ¡°This¡­ child? Is she someone of importance?¡±


    ¡°All our children are important to us, Keitha. You fellows ought to try to remember that. Come, Kierna.¡± The swordsman clapped the cleric on the shoulder, as though they were equals, and continued on down the street without a backwards glance. The clerics glared at Kierna as she ran to follow him.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± she asked, after working up the courage for several blocks.


    ¡°My name would take one of your lifetimes to speak, child, but those who serve me call me by the old word for the fairness and reward which I aspire them to follow,¡± he said casually.


    ¡°Jehx,¡± Kierna said, breathless.


    ¡°The man who¡¯s body I am borrowing today is Mareth Kenly, the Lector and Third Sword of Tyre Ettha. After today, he will be your master. I expect you to show him respect, and I know he will do the same of you. Serve ably, keep your eyes open and your mind thoughtful, and perhaps you will learn enough to make a proper living, hm? There are paths to faithfulness open even to apostates, much as our children loath to admit it.¡±


    ¡°I will. Serve, I mean.¡± All thoughts of stealing from the temple fell from Kierna¡¯s mind. This was a god before her, and he knew her name. She had no choice but to serve.


    And serve she had, first in fear, then in habit, then in peace. Her debt had been paid in less than a year, and she had left, tentatively regaining her freedom, but three years later she had returned, seeking the sense of belonging she had left behind. That had been long ago, but still she served.


    Escorting the refugees through the grass, Kierna reflected on the task of Justice her god had given her. Her mission had shown her all the ugly evils of the world, had forced her to maim and kill and see her friends slaughtered before her. Yet she had also raised up helpless and battered children, helped men reclaim their stolen lives, avenged the murdered fallen, saved those condemned to die for no good reason. These villagers here were only a dozen backwoods nobodies, uncared for by any but their own tyrant god who treated them as tools. But she could change that, give them a new home, a choice, like the one she had been given so long ago. The stone in her heart started to grow lighter, and fade away, as her faith replaced it. The clouds dispersed, and warm sunlight shone down on her once more.


    She wondered if the heretic Isaand Laeson felt that same sun, and whether his god was watching over him as well.


    End of Part One

 Part Two: Chapter One

    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.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.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

    Heretic


    Part Two


    Chapter 2


    The Grand Cleric of Mercy had a face in want of a punch. An old but fit man, he¡¯d have been handsome if not for the careless look of disdain that turned his lips pouty and his eyes lidded. As the seconds dragged on and Kierna¡¯s anger grew, he sat drumming his fingers slowly against the silver-inlaid tabletop. Cloth of gold curtains with ivory carvings strung throughout them covered the window behind him. He opened his mouth and drew in a breath, then paused to turn his eyes skyward for a moment, as if to convey how utterly preposterous it was that he had to speak his next words.


    ¡°Clarify for me if you will, Paladin Kierna: you did say that when you gave the order to withdraw that your man Kenth was within reach of the heretic, along with his comrades, did you not?¡±


    ¡°The man¡¯s name was Jurran, Everrek,¡± the woman next to him corrected, herself the holy Grand Cleric of Charity, a tall, elegant looking woman with pale white skin. At least have the decency to recall the names of the fallen.¡± Kierna would thank her for that, if nothing else. The woman had displeasure radiating from her the same as Cleric Everrek, if at least a tad more respectful. The Cleric acknowledged her with a flick of his fingers.


    ¡°That is incorrect, Blessed,¡± Kierna said, keeping her gaze just above his head. ¡°I ordered no retreat. My orders were to form up, to defend the village from its attackers who seemed bent on slaughtering everyone. I felt the seven of us needed to fight in unison if we were to have a chance of saving anyone. But yes, Jurram was closing in on the heretic, with Hauthern and Farrus as well.¡±


    ¡°And can you state the instructions given to you by this very council on the day you set out from Ethka in search of this heretic?¡± Cleric Everret asked.


    ¡°You know them as well as I,¡± Kierna said. She grew tired of this farce, and the Grand Cleric¡¯s game of drawing it out. The council was not pleased with her failure. She had never expected they would be. She was more concerned with Lector Kenly¡¯s opinion, but the sword monks of Jehx had no place on Ethka¡¯s prestigious Council of Faith.


    ¡°Then you understand that you have failed, utterly,¡± Cleric Gramasta said from Everret¡¯s right. The old woman wore a maroon robe and a thick cloth of the same material tightly around her eyes. A tattoo of an eye was drawn on her dark forehead in blue ink, a symbol of her Godseye. All of Ethka¡¯s faithful knew that the Grand Cleric of Insight was so skilled with her Godseye that she could use it to navigate everyday life with no use of her mundane eyes. An impressive feat, to be sure, but one Kierna thought disrespectful. The gods gave them their eyes to see the world built for them. Squandering one¡¯s own sight to cultivate one¡¯s reputation reeked of vanity, but you¡¯d never know it looking at the cleric¡¯s followers. ¡°You were commanded to return the Unbound heretic to us, alive, so that we may question him on his devil god¡¯s designs. You gave him up when he was within your grasp, and for what? A handful of apostates?¡±


    ¡°They were not apostates when I acted, Blessed,¡± Kierna said, unable to keep the heat out of her voice. ¡°They were innocent people being murdered by a tyrant god. They were dying, with no one to protect them. I am a paladin of Jehx, god of justice. My duties were clear.¡±


    ¡°You came highly recommended to this council, Kierna,¡± Everret said, idly tilting the jeweled golden chalice set before him. ¡°I¡¯m afraid we will have to reconsider your place in the Heavenly Host. A paladin¡¯s first duty is to her own vows, to be sure¡­ but this council speaks in the voice of the Hundred Gods of the Heavenly Coterie. In accepting the task we placed upon you, certain expectations have to be considered. Jehx is only one of the gods you have pledged to serve. But I am sure now, after your weeks of travel, you have come to realize the error you made in the heat of the moment. Perhaps my fellow councilors could be led to advocate leniency...¡±


    The Grand Cleric¡¯s voice trailed off, leaving a pregnant silence. Cleric Gramasta watched her with her single eye, arms crossed on the table before her. The Cleric of Charity stared out the window in boredom. The other men and women of the council, the few of them who had been chosen to attend this debriefing, looked on her with irritation, condescension, or simple confusion, wondering if she were treasonous or simply incompetent. Everret waited, giving her the opportunity to throw herself before them in supplication, to beg their forgiveness and convince them how she now saw how foolish and wrong she had been. Kierna stayed stubbornly silent, glaring in Everret¡¯s general direction. The man broke the silence with a long sigh.


    ¡°I suppose we have heard enough, paladin. The council will discuss your next assignment¡­ presuming we deem you worthy of receiving one. You are dismissed. Inform your master that as you have made the decision to bring these apostates into Ethka, it is the sword-temple¡¯s responsibility to see to their welfare.¡±


    Kierna stood at once, snapping her heels together and clapping a fist to her breast in a textbook salute, then turned and strode out the door. As her boots echoed on the marble floor down the long hall she heard the voices of the clerics behind her, moving the discussion to the subject of her god Jehx.


    ¡°...hardly seems appropriate to call him one of the Hundred at this point...¡±


    Her teeth seemed about to crack as she ground them together, so she made herself relax her jaw as she stepped out into the antechamber. Guards in blue steel plate armor stood to either side of the door, long glaives resting on the floor. The floor was marble here too, the hall flanked by tall glass windows with little onyx benches set before each one and some rich urn or statuary placed on display at their sills. Farrus stood a little ways down the hall, still wearing his sweat-stained riding gear and steel greaves, but a much more welcome sight regardless. He took up beside her, his long strides seeming to keep pace with her swift angry ones with lazy ease.


    ¡°So, did the old chatterers just give you a tongue lashing, or have they started sharpening up a nice set of spikes for us?¡± Farrus asked with a dark grin.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.¡°Not here,¡± Kierna hissed. The holy halls had ears, it was said, and the council did not take kindly to insolence. She was a paladin of one of the Hundred Gods of the Holy Concorde, they could not take direct action against her without Jehx¡¯s consent. The same was not true of Farrus, a mere sword-monk, and a citizen bound to Ethka¡¯s laws.


    At the end of the hall, they stepped outside into a yard and Kierna took a deep breath of the thin cold mountain air. Clouds floated by a mere hundred feet or so overhead. The yard was covered in light grass with great statues of clerics and gods adorning the grounds. More guards patrolled in their thick armor, and many junior clerics moved swiftly about their business in stately robes or dresses. Kierna walked to the cliff-side, where a waist-high railing was all that separated her from a hundred foot fall to the blue-slated roof of the temple below. Ahead of them, the city of Ethka stretched out, great white stone buildings clinging to the side of the mountain, down to the surface of the mirror-smooth Thelta lake hundreds of feet below. The city of many faiths was studded with churches and temples like banners rising from a battlefield. Most of them rose high, stretching for the sky to tower over their rivals. Slender towers climbed from the middle of carefully cultivated gardens, great thick keeps thrust up from the city like upraised fists, long or low buildings sported steeples with golden symbols shining atop them. Others sprawled, their grounds spreading like grasping tentacles reaching for influence. Kierna turned away, lifting her gaze to the mountain behind them. Rising up far out of sight, its upper third hidden entirely in the clouds, the great Throne was dominated the countryside, its shoulders spreading across the horizon. The smaller mountains crowding around its feet, including the ones on which Ethka was built, would have been magnificent, awe-inspiring if it weren¡¯t for that colossus looming over them. Above, miles beyond the city, reachable only by a thin and stony road, she spotted the monastery of Jehx, a brown hexagonal structure perched atop a relatively flat stretch of peak. From the distance, she could not see the orchards or flocks of wooly sheep being herded across the high pastures, nor the men and women dancing in the yard with swords in their hands, learning the skills by which they would protect the weak and innocent. Her heart longed for home.


    ¡°Did brother Kenly have some message for me?¡± she asked. Farrus had gone up to the monastery along with Hamaara and the others, when they had arrived in the city early this morning. Now, the sun was beginning to set, its scarlet glow slowly spreading across the Throne¡¯s great cliffs.


    ¡°No message, no, we only worried that the council had planned to keep you here all night,¡± Farrus said, leaning back against the low railing with no regard for the height. Kierna had wondered the same thing. She¡¯d been summoned to the holy halls of Hollandas as soon as they¡¯d reached the city gates, and had arrived with the sun high at its zenith. Once there, though, the council seemed in no hurry to receive her. She¡¯d been left standing outside the audience chamber as the hours slowly flowed by, and had only finally been admitted an hour ago. The councilors were very busy men and women, to be sure, yet she had little doubt her wait had stretched out for the sole purpose of wasting her time. In her experience, clerics practiced pettiness as she and her men practiced their swordsmanship.


    ¡°Well here I am, free, if not exactly clear,¡± Kierna said. Out in the cool air, the wind whipping her cloak around her and kissing her skin, her anger was beginning to cool. It helped to have Farrus here as well. The man took his duties seriously, but never seemed concerned or anxious about them, and she found his attitude contagious.


    ¡°We knew the council wouldn¡¯t be pleased with us. When are they ever? The day we come home to a welcoming parade and a feast awaiting our pleasure is the day I¡¯ll turn and run, fearing some trickery. Them villagers are happy enough, at least. It was a long, hard climb, after that march, but they¡¯re there now, and can see it¡¯s not some kind of apostate torture camp, so they¡¯re finally beginning to relax. They have a name for you, you know. Ata mamarrsa.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a mouthful.¡±


    ¡°I believe it means ¡®oathkeeper.¡¯ Apparently they¡¯re amazed that you actually did what you said you would.¡±


    That should have made Kierna happy, but instead she only saw the ruined village, the men she¡¯d left behind and the hundreds who hadn¡¯t survived. Justice hadn¡¯t been done, only a meager bit of charity. Amauro still ruled. Tzamet¡¯s people were dead or enslaved. Injustice still reigned on the southern grass.


    ¡°And master Kenly?¡± Kierna hoped he would understand her decision better than the council. If he rebuked her, though, so be it. Kierna had followed her heart, as Jehx had taught her, and she would not ask forgiveness for it.


    ¡°He¡¯s grateful to have the new blood. Says three or four of them might be worth training. You and Hamaara won¡¯t be the only southerners around then, at least. Still, though¡­¡± Farrus sighed. ¡°You don¡¯t like it, do you? Leaving the heretic behind.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not as though I disapprove of the Conclave¡¯s mission. Isaand has left chaos and destruction in his wake, and no one has any idea what his god is playing at. This Szet has done little for centuries. The fact that he¡¯s moving now, with all the rest of the trouble down south, begs suspicion. I did want to capture him¡­ and to speak with him myself, one faithful to another.¡± Kierna turned away from the heights and looked back down to the valley floor, across the lake where the a small city of tents and pavilions had been set up. They had ridden through it on their way into the city, passing thousands of soldiers from a dozen different lands, all gathered together in one great mass beneath the city of the gods. Clerics and paladins, Lectors and faithful soldiers, all come together as one great holy blade. No one had spoken of their purpose, but Kierna had seen such hosts before, and she was unsurprised.


    ¡°Well, perhaps you¡¯ll get your chance still,¡± Farrus said, following her gaze. ¡°Master Kenly says the Crusade is meant to strike south. The Conclave means to bring peace and order to the southern regions, to investigate these rumors of heretics that keep popping up, and to end the practice of human sacrifice. And we¡¯re to ride with them.¡±

 Part Two: Chapter Three

    Heretic


    Part Two


    Chapter 3


    Come to the Well at midnight, if you want to meet the Lector. Ratha¡¯s words repeated themselves in Isaand¡¯s mind as he made his way through the village. Twin feelings of apprehension and longing warred within him at the prospect of meeting another of his kind. Szet had made it clear that he would be alone in the world, threatened by all he met or merely tolerated with suspicion as a best case. But another heretic would not judge him, and surely they would have a good deal of common ground to stand on. But where one heretic might be only shunned and feared, two would be unable to be ignored. The people of the lake seemed peaceful and friendly, and he hoped that Ratha¡¯s plea to those on the ferry would be enough to keep them from harassing him so long as he did not overstay his welcome. But keeping the company of a second heretic would be begging for trouble.


    Isaand shivered violently, though the sun still shone in the clear sky. He had changed his outer clothes but was still damp, and the cold seemed to have sunk deep into him, numbing his body except for the sharp flashes of pain that flashed through his shins whenever he took a step. An inn and a fire was what he needed. He looked around the village in dismay, seeing no building that looked large enough to likely fill that role.


    The ferry had released him, Ylla, and Vehx on a small landing at the shore of a large island in the shape of a great ramp. Its lowest point was four feet above the water with a wooden piling built to allow an easy climb off and on, but from there the island rose, from one plateau to another, until its high point was a good three hundred feet above the lake, a collection of jagged basalt pillars rising up in a rough circle. Lake birds wheeled and soared overhead, and the rocks were stained white along the top from their droppings and no doubt filled with their nests. The village itself rested on the relatively flat land below these pillars, a collection of one-room huts built of piled rocks and thatch roofs. More huts studded the cliffside all across the island, and long rope bridges stretched from various points to other, smaller islands surrounding it on all sides, where more homes could be seen.


    Ratha had not joined them when Isaand had departed. ¡°It¡¯s further north for me, to the hook island, where my parents and cousins live. I¡¯ve news to bring them, and others as well, but don¡¯t fear, no one here will bother you so long as you keep to yourself.¡± She¡¯d given him a sunny smile whose memory warmed him, and dropped her speech to a low throaty whisper. ¡°We¡¯ll talk again though. Come and see the Lector, and I¡¯ll be there to introduce you.¡±


    Could Ratha herself be the heretic she¡¯d spoken of? Despite her assurances, it was plain that she did not feel comfortable talking about the matter in public, and she seemed far more welcoming than anyone sworn to the Bound ought to be. Perhaps her presence on the ferry had not been a coincidence. If her god had warned her he was coming, she may have come to have a look at him first, to take his measure. She¡¯d seemed impressed by his leap into the lake to aid the fisherman, foolish though it might have been.


    The path ahead was all naked stone, though thick moss-like grass grew to either side of it. Isaand stepped off the path to let swifter men from the ferry pass him by. As his boots settled on the springy surface, he felt a flush of warmth as though the sun had passed out from behind a cloud, though the sky remained empty, and some small shred of his lethargy fell away.


    ¡°I¡¯d stay off the rock, as much as that¡¯s possible here,¡± Vehx said. The Sendra was standing on the grass himself, his long body protruding over the stone to sniff at it warily. ¡°There¡¯s a god in there, spread out through all of this island, probably the others as well.¡±


    ¡°Ulm-etha,¡± Isaand acknowledged quietly. ¡°Father of Stone, they call him.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s odd, though,¡± Vehx said. ¡°His power is tremulous. Like a ripple, still reverberating, but weaker than it ought to be.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it is a result of sharing his worship with the lake goddess?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. I never had worshipers of my own, even before I made my deal with Szet,¡± Vehx said.


    ¡°You were a spirit?¡±


    ¡°A jungle spirit, a great hunter, roaming through a land devoid of you apes, stalking and feeding as I pleased. I fueled myself on the blood of the beasts I bested, not the shallow adoration of a crowd of imbecile followers. Would that I was there now.¡± Vehx flitted away, over to where Ylla was still standing by the dock, talking with the young fisherboy whose father Isaand had healed. The man himself sat nearby, still weak, but able to support himself.


    Isaand watched them, wondering. He knew little of Vehx. The creature liked to hear the sound of his own voice well enough, but when it came to matters of his past he was much more soft-spoken. And Isaand had always felt uncomfortable bringing it up. He despised the tyrant gods like Tzamet who ruled their people with cruelty and power, people who never had any choice but to serve them by virtue of the happenstance of their birth. But Vehx had no more to say in the matter of his servitude than they. Isaand had oft thought of freeing him¡­ but that would be a dangerous decision. Freed, Vehx might be more inclined to revenge than gratefulness. Besides, Szet had given him the Sendra as a holy boon for his loyal servant. It would do him a disservice to discard his gift, perhaps even blasphemous. The servants of the Bound had it easier. They could speak to their clerics, to receive answers to any difficult questions they might have.


    Seeing him standing there, Ylla gave him a cheerful wave and a wide grin. He still hadn¡¯t been able to adjust to the girl¡¯s ability to switch at once between silent melancholy and manic joy. He limped over and the fisherman pulled himself to his feet, his son giving him a hand. Now that they were out of the water both of them wore loose short trousers, colored black and blue, and loose sandals. The fisherman gave Isaand a sober look, many expressions warring on his mind. Isaand sympathized. He rarely stuck around for long after healing someone, concerned that their cultural dogma would win out over gratitude.


    ¡°My name is Tokaa. My son is Taram. Both of us are grateful to you. I have¡­ I have three daughters, and an older son. Without you, they would all be fatherless. I am in your debt, traveler.¡±


    ¡°You owe me nothing. The world would be a cruel place if those with the means to help others stood idly by,¡± Isaand answered graciously.


    ¡°Those with the means are few and far between, and fewer still who would be willing to help. You are a good man, even if...¡± Tokaa trailed off, uncomfortable, then looked down to see his son looking up at him sternly, as if reminding him of something. Tokaa sighed, and turned back to look Isaand in the eye, his hand nervously picking at his bandages.


    ¡°My wife and I, we¡¯ve little room in our hut with so many children. My older son though, his wife and daughter have gone across the lake to sit with her mother, who is ill. There is room for you and your child, if you wish it.¡±


    Isaand hesitated, then slowly nodded. ¡°We will gladly accept your invitation¡­ for tonight. After that, we have arrangements already.¡± He would not encroach on the man¡¯s hospitality for longer than need be. If the village roused itself against the heretic, he did not want to bring any trouble down on Tokaa¡¯s head, nor fuel any foolish ideas that he had beguiled or mesmerized him with his unholy powers.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.Tokaa looked happy to hear it; plainly he did not like the idea of him sticking around. ¡°Taram will show you the way. It is a steep climb, and I have friends down here to speak with until I grow strong enough. Go on, Taram, show Isaand the way.¡±


    Taram chatted amiably as they wound up the path towards the village heights. Ylla was staring everywhere, with Taram pointing out various huts and telling who lived there and why. Unsurprisingly, most villagers tended to be fishermen, though many of them seemed to specialize in specific prey, some for food, some for harvesting particular oils or toxins, others for selling to the town on the lake¡¯s shore.


    ¡°Tell me, Taram, where would the village well happen to be?¡± Isaand asked, visions of Ratha in his head. Taram raised his eyebrows.


    ¡°Well? What would we need with a well? Maesa¡¯s blessings makes the whole lake pure and clean. You can drink right out of it, if you want, no one gets sick from it. Oh, but maybe you mean Well Island?¡± He did not wait for Isaand to confirm. ¡°It¡¯s west of here, three, four miles, past the shattered tower and the great arch. No one goes out there much, its a strange place, it doesn¡¯t look like one of our islands at all. Da says it¡¯s not even blessed by Ulm-etha.¡±


    ¡°I see, I should have gotten better instructions. How would I recognize this well?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a low, flat island, but there¡¯s not much room on it at all, just barely enough to walk around the edge, though there¡¯s a big rock on one side. You can¡¯t miss it though. There¡¯s a big hole in the middle, it goes down a hundred feet, and the water there is all gross and murky. Don¡¯t drink from it, it¡¯s not any good.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, I¡¯ll keep that in mind,¡± Isaand said. An island not blessed by the local god, with waters within it also untouched by the goddess... that sounded like exactly the sort of place for heretics to meet. At least he assumed so. Isaand had never met another heretic before. He slowed, realizing that Taram had stopped and was staring up at him with an expression of awe.


    ¡°Isaand, can you heal anything? My grandfather has a missing foot from the time he got stung by a Urafin, could you make it come back? Oh, and old lady Wahanda is blind, can you cure that too? Our gods are great but they don¡¯t give us any miracles like that, yours must be really powerful, what¡¯s his name?¡±


    Isaand looked around nervously but they were in an empty stretch of the village, the closest people a pair of women cleaning fish in front of their hut fifty feet away. Isaand knelt and spoke a bit quietly, trying to lead by example.


    ¡°It would be best if you would not talk about such things, Taram. My god is strict, and there are limits to what I can do. And your own gods wouldn¡¯t like it if I went around healing people on their islands. I saved your father because he was about to die, but I can¡¯t help people with old injuries. Besides, I¡¯m not going to be staying long.¡± He had originally planned to rest here for a few weeks, to teach Ylla more of his mundane healing skills and help her practice her Godsight, and to make plans on how he was going to continue his journey with a child in tow. Now though, he had little choice but to move on soon.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s too bad. It¡¯s good enough what you did though. You even tried to fight the Lsetha. Are you a warrior, too?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. What is this Lsetha? That word¡­ ¡®unseen?¡¯ Something tells me it isn¡¯t native to your lake.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a monster,¡± Taram said with childish certainty. ¡°It hasn¡¯t been here long. There¡¯s always been things in the lake that were kind of dangerous, but with the water as clear as it is we all know how to avoid them, so nobody is scared to swim. But the Lsetha can¡¯t be seen, so you never know if it¡¯s there. Every time we go out to fish now, we have to worry if it¡¯s around. We have to go, though. If we don¡¯t, there¡¯s nothing to eat, and nothing to trade to Merasca to get all the other things we need.¡±


    ¡°How long has the creature been attacking you?¡±


    ¡°Three or four months, I think, though maybe it was around before that. There were some weird deaths no one could explain, before we knew about it. It doesn¡¯t attack often though. Two or three times a month, and sometimes it doesn¡¯t kill anyone, just cuts them or pulls them under so that they almost drown. Da says it doesn¡¯t need to hurt us at all, that it could eat all the fish it would ever need, since nothing knows it¡¯s there, and it¡¯s just playing with us. No one knows why it¡¯s here now, but it must have come up the Endyll river.¡±


    ¡°And your goddess has done nothing to stop it?¡± Isaand asked.


    ¡°The cleric says that Maesa is the goddess of everything that lives in the lake, and that she won¡¯t take our side against the Lsetha, because it¡¯s one of her subjects too. That¡¯s stupid though. A monster can¡¯t pray to her, or make sacrifices, like we do. Why shouldn¡¯t she help us?¡±


    ¡°Gods and goddesses have their own way of looking at things,¡± Isaand said sadly. ¡°They care for us, as their children, but the whole wide world is theirs as well. Even those parts of us that are a danger to us.¡±


    ¡°Maybe your god could help?¡± Taram seemed to remember he was supposed to be quiet about that, and looked around carefully. They were climbing up onto the midpoint of the island now, where most of the village was located, more than a dozen huts huddled around a grassy swath of land. A circle of standing stones was erected in its center, the stones thickly covered with moss. A slab stood in the very center, a groove carved into its middle. The image gave Isaand a chill.


    ¡°If there is anything I can do, I will, boy, but my powers are for healing, not harming. I am no monster slayer.¡± He gestured towards the stand of stones. ¡°And what is this, if I may ask?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just Ulm-etha¡¯s shrine. There¡¯s one on every island, except the ones no one lives on. Though some of those have them too. This is the most important one though. That one in the middle, that¡¯s where they do the sacrifices, so that our god will bless us.¡±


    Ylla jolted at that, as though slapped, and looked up at Isaand in worry. He patted her shoulder, and nodded to Taram. ¡°And these sacrifices¡­ how often do you have them, and how are they chosen?¡±


    ¡°Not too often, just twice a year. The cleric draws lots, from the oldest people in the village. That way the only ones who die are the ones who¡¯ve lived the longest.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps that¡¯s wise. Tell me, what do you think of the sacrifices? Does it bother you that Ulm-etha demands such?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just what happens,¡± Taram said, shrugging. ¡°Though¡­ my grandparents are old enough now to be chosen, and there¡¯s only a few others. Mavan says it¡¯ll probably be one of them.¡±


    ¡°I hope Mavan is wrong then.¡± Isaand¡¯s body shuddered as the wind began to pick up. ¡°This house of yours, is it near?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes. We¡¯re right over here. Let me show you around.¡± Taram trotted off, and Isaand followed slowly, with one last look back at the stone slab, its surface discolored with a stain of old blood.

 Part Two: Chapter Four

    Heretic


    Part Two


    Chapter 4


    The man standing over her was painted red, as though half his chest and face had been dipped in blood. Infant skulls hung from a cord around his neck, just above the ceremonial scar where his own heart had been pierced. Thick loops of oiled hair hung around his head, stretching down towards the bound woman like grasping tendrils. His eyes were wide, shockingly white against the black paint that surrounded them, and rapture shown in them as he sang. The woman screamed, struggling, but the leather straps were tied tight, cutting into the skin of her wrists and ankles, slick with blood.


    The painted cleric unsheathed a knife, triangle-shaped and made of shiny black glass. The rising sun glinted on its razor-sharp edge. She shuddered at the sight of it, remembering how many times she¡¯d seen it wet with the blood of one sacrifice or another. Cheers rose from all around her, from the hundreds of her tribal cousins gathered around the base of the hill. She remembered how she had cheered the same, dozens of times, deaf to the screams of the sacrifices. She screamed now, and they did not care.


    ¡°Please, Tuanto!¡± she cried at the cleric. He had helped her birth her children, had cleaned and sewn her wound when she¡¯d sliced open by the claws of a jungle serpent. Three days ago, he¡¯d talked cheerfully with her in the village square, proudly comparing the growth of their children. He looked cheerful now as well, teeth wide in a rictus grin, too white on his shadowed face.


    He lowered the knife and she felt its point, cold, softly touching the skin beneath her breasts. He placed both hands over the hilt, lifted himself, and then thrust down with all his weight. She screamed and felt a sharp crunch, and then her vision was blurring and red pain covered everything. She was somewhere dark and cold with screaming bodiless voices churning all around her-


    ¡°Girl? What are you staring at, do you think that slab is going to perform some trick for your amusement?¡±


    Vehx¡¯s gruff voice cut through Ylla¡¯s memory like a hot knife. No, not my memory, she reminded herself. She was eleven years old, she¡¯d never had any children, she didn¡¯t know any clerics with painted faces or baby skulls and she¡¯d never been killed, except by that plague. Blinking, she realized she was standing stock still outside the ring of stones, the sacrificial slab before her. She shivered to see it, but Vehx was standing before her as well, reared up on his hind legs with his wings spread out, head tilted in confusion.


    Ylla forced herself to smile as wide as she could, just like she had when Isaand had told her about how he¡¯d brought her back to life and how she couldn¡¯t go home or ever live in one place ever again. Her stomach roiled with nausea and her muscles were all tensed up and achy, and she had so many thoughts and feelings in her that she didn¡¯t know whether to laugh or cry or scream. But she could smile. Someone had told her that if she kept smiling, it would trick her into thinking she was happy. She thought maybe it was her father, but maybe it was someone else¡¯s father, some dead ghost she¡¯d brushed up against in the Churn.


    ¡°Ah, good, you¡¯ve come back down to earth to grace us with your presence.¡± Vehx took a leap and flapped his wings, thumping against her chest. She put her arms around him to let him curl up in the curve of her arms, the way he liked to be carried, and turned to follow Isaand and Taram. They were well away by now, moving past the ring of huts that bordered the stone circle, moving up a narrow path that winded up between two huge stones covered in moss.


    The path was almost like a stairway, the stones sticking up like little pillars, almost as if they¡¯d been carved. She hopped up them one at at time, dancing across the highest steps with a light touch of her toes. She smiled brightly at the passing villagers, but kept a wary look out for anyone with a painted face or ornate necklace or nicer clothes. She didn¡¯t know what these lake-people¡¯s clerics dressed like, but clerics were never hard to spot.


    Amauro¡¯s clerics had been women, as befitted a goddess, and they¡¯d dressed in golden skirts of woven grass patterned with wolf¡¯s paws in blue paint. Wolf skin cloaks covered their backs, with a hood made of the wolf¡¯s head, so they could lower it over their faces and look fierce and strange. She¡¯d never spoken to them, being an apostate, but she¡¯d seen them many times, always walking between one village and the next, never staying for longer than a night, telling the wolf goddess¡¯ will and overseeing her rituals.


    Amauro had required sacrifices too. Once a month, when the golden moon was full and bright and the white moon was hidden, the villagers would build a pyre, slaughter their best goat or bull or urran, and roast it in the center of the village. The smell would waft through the village, reaching her wherever she slept, in some villager¡¯s shed or camped out on the fields her parents were working. The smell had always made her hungry, and she¡¯d wished Amauro would share her meal with them all, but even if she had there¡¯d have been none for Ylla. She wasn¡¯t one of the goddess¡¯ faithful, nor a traveler under her protection.


    Sometimes though, when times were bad, the rain would stop falling and the ground would begin to shake. Just a little bit, here and there, but the quakes got worse, until they began to tear rifts in the ground, and the clerics would come together, three or four of them, and decide what was too be done. When that happened, a beast was not enough, and they would pick a villager for the next sacrifice. They didn¡¯t pick an elder like they did here in the lake. Instead, they would pick some child, whichever one was weak or lame or sickly, someone the tribe could do without. When they came to her village, Ylla had cried and feared that she would be chosen, but her mother had smiled and told her not to worry. The tribe snubbed them for their allegiance to another god, but here it protected them. Amauro¡¯s sacrifice had to be one of their own. Ylla had been relieved, but when little Kenna from across the village had been chosen and burned, she¡¯d cried again. She had been no friend of Ylla¡¯s, she had no friends, but the simple-headed little girl had been nicer than most, not understanding why she should shun Ylla, and she had been sweet and innocent.


    The path opened out onto a bridge made of rope and rough hewn slats of wood. The wood was all of different kinds, badly shaped, with more than a foot of empty air between each slat, and many of them were broken and left hanging as well. Her eyes grew wide as she looked down to see the lake softly flowing beneath. The water was so clear that she almost couldn¡¯t see it, and so it looked like a straight drop to the sandy shore five or six hundred feet below. Even as she watched, a young girl and a boy half her age went running across the bridge with no concern for the height, giggling as they ran.


    Isaand strode across it quickly enough, keeping his hands clenched on the ropes to either side, but Ylla couldn¡¯t bring herself to step out over it. Taram turned and saw her fear, and grinned. ¡°It¡¯s okay, it¡¯s not as bad as it looks. If you hold onto the rope, you can¡¯t fall, and if you do, it¡¯s just water, you¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t swim,¡± Ylla said, forgetting to smile.


    ¡°Oh? Why not?¡± Taram looked as though she¡¯d told him she couldn¡¯t see colors. ¡°Well it doesn¡¯t matter, you¡¯re not going to fall. Here, take my hand, I¡¯ll help you across, and if you fall, I¡¯ll jump in and pull you out.¡± She took his hand, which was warm and rough with callous, much bigger than hers, and took a tentative step out onto the first plank. It swung beneath her weight, and she quickly grabbed the rope railing with her other hand. ¡°I jumped off the middle of the bridge, once, when Sadaa dared me too. It knocked my breath out, and my legs ached for days, but I survived it just fine.¡±


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid to swim now? With the Lsetha around? It could be under us right now.¡± Ylla looked down, opening her Godseye a little, but she couldn¡¯t see anything in the water but Maesa¡¯s power rippling through the lake itself. The Lsetha had been hard to see though, except for Vehx.


    ¡°It¡¯s got the whole lake to hunt in, it can¡¯t be everywhere,¡± Taram said, but his voice was thick now, defensive. ¡°What can we do? We have to go out, to catch fish. Besides, I¡¯d go mad if I couldn¡¯t swim in the lake. There¡¯s nothing else to do here.¡±


    ¡°Could you¡­ teach me how? To swim, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Sure, if Isaand says it¡¯s okay. What is he to you, anyway? He doesn¡¯t look like your father. You¡¯re not a slave, are you?¡±


    ¡°No, that would be me,¡± Vehx quipped, though Taram couldn¡¯t hear him.


    ¡°No, he¡¯s just taking care of me. I had to leave my village. I¡¯m his assistant now. See, I have bandages and ointments and things in this pouch,¡± Ylla said, letting go of the railing to pat the big leather sack hanging at her side. The plank beneath her swayed and vertigo gripped her hard, and she grabbed hold of it again as quick as she could-


    Wind rushed by him, slapping against his skin as hard as tree branches, the sound like the roar of a lion in his ears. He couldn¡¯t scream, his teeth clenched shut tight, but as his body turned over he saw the floor of the ravine far below, rushing up at him. Bones covered its shadowed floor, the bones of the other men and boys thrown down before him over the years. I¡¯m going to die now, he thought, oddly calm, and then the ground reached up and smashed against him-


    ¡°Are you okay? Ylla, can you hear me?¡±


    Someone was talking at her, but Ylla clung to the railing with both hands, Vehx crushed up between the rope and her chest, both feet planted firmly on the same plank. Taram was staring at her, disturbed, but Isaand hurried past him to kneel beside her. His weight made the bridge sway worse, and she let out a little whimper.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Ylla, you¡¯re okay,¡± Isaand whispered, putting his arms around her shoulder. He spoke quietly, so Taram couldn¡¯t hear. ¡°Is it the memories?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Ylla felt ashamed. She¡¯d tried to keep them to herself, but Vehx had noticed at once, weeks ago after they¡¯d left Tzamet¡¯s lands, and Isaand couldn¡¯t help but notice the times when she trailed off in the middle of a sentence, going numb and staring at nothing, sometimes crying or shouting in some foreign tongue. ¡°I was falling.¡±


    ¡°I know they¡¯re scary, but remember, they aren¡¯t real. They can¡¯t hurt you,¡± Isaand said.


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re real all right,¡± Vehx said, his face against her cheek. It was soft and silky but Ylla felt like throwing him off the bridge, only she¡¯d have to let go to do it. ¡°They happened, and those that lived them died, just like you did.¡±


    ¡°Quiet, Vehx,¡± Isaand snarled, and the Sendra fell into a sullen silence. ¡°They¡¯re real, Ylla, yes, but they¡¯ve already happened. They¡¯re over and done with, and you¡¯re fine. It¡¯s just fear.¡±


    ¡°Fear doesn¡¯t last,¡± Ylla muttered.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. It¡¯s just a little thing,¡± Isaand said. ¡°Come here, I¡¯ll carry you across.¡±


    Ylla shook her head and let go, stepping into the middle of the bridge as calmly as she could. Vehx leapt away from her at once, off the bridge to glide away on his leathery wings. ¡°You¡¯re tired from helping Taram¡¯s da. I can do it. We¡¯re almost there.¡± She saw it was true. The end of the bridge was no more than fifteen feet away, opening onto a small island cliff just large enough for three small huts to sit together around a central firepit. Taram watched her anxiously.


    ¡°Szet knows that¡¯s true,¡± Isaand muttered. ¡°Alright, but we¡¯ll go together. Let me take your hand, and you keep me walking straight, okay? You¡¯re my assistant, remember.¡±


    Ylla nodded, and took his hand, and began to walk across the bridge again, not looking down. Though her head was full of bad thoughts, she made herself smile.


    Vehx swept away on the warm breeze, stewing with anger. He could not stand to be around those weaklings any longer, Isaand with his blind hypocrisy and the pup with her trembling heart. They could not even manage to cross a bridge without breaking out in tears. He was sick of their company, and sick already of this bleak land with its crippled gods and mindless, ignorant people.


    He kept watch with his Godseye, looking in vain for any sign of the Sendra the lake-folk had named Lsetha. The beast had been magnificent, a slender serpent five hundred feet long, coiled with muscle and sleek power, invisible to the eyes of its prey. A body to be proud of, a hunter, no slinking carrion eater like the dull animal he was forced to inhabit.


    His thoughts quickly turned to hunger, as they always did in this body. The lake below teemed with fish, but he had no skills to catch them, and his brain panicked at the thought of it, so he swept back inland. He landed near the center of the village and skittered past slack-jawed yokels to the high ground, where pillars of rock rose above the huts, their tops splattered with bird droppings. Climbing up, he found a nest of fat eggs and began to gorge himself on them one at a time.


    A screech cut the air and a fat white bird swooped down to land on the nest, screaming at him. Hissing, he flung himself at it and grabbed hold with all four paws. Talons scratched at his skin but he twisted and sank his fangs into the birds neck, then gripped and tore it open in one motion. The bird flapped feebly as its lifeblood poured out, and he lapped it up, the taste hot and sweet.


    These people were such fools, Isaand included, he thought to himself as he lay eating. The village spread out below him, the ring of stones humming with residual power. In his Godsight, the sacrificial altar in the middle was stained bright with death. Three times it had been used, he guessed, in as many months. And yet the power remained, just sitting there ready to be claimed, while the stones beneath his feet were crumbling, left with only the residual power of the island¡¯s dying god. There was much he could tell them about this Ulm-Ethka, and the Sendra who so brazenly poached in their goddess¡¯ waters. But why should he? What had humans ever done to earn his loyalty, to earn their gods mercy? Vehx was still young. He was not there when the gods convened and created the Fifth World. He was never asked if he consented to bind himself by their laws, he had been born into them. This Szet had the right idea, yet Vehx hated him too. He¡¯d taken him from his lands, his solitude where he could hunt and kill as he pleased, and forced him out amongst these ingrate whelps who felt that the gods who¡¯d made them had some responsibility to give them happiness.


    Worse, the foolish gods seemed to agree. They were not all so weak, though. Szet was not the only Unbound. And if this Ratha girl spoke truly, there was another heretic nearby, serving a different god. Perhaps he would be less sanctimonious than Isaand. Vehx would prefer to be freed, but if that was not in the stars, maybe he could at least find a master who suited him better.

 Part Two: Chapter Five

    Heretic


    Part Two


    Chapter 5


    With both moons shining from half their faces and a sky covered in stars overhead, the night was bright enough to see by. An hour before midnight, Isaand whispered for Vehx to stay and watch over Ylla and received a grudging agreement in response. Then he slipped out of the hut and into the warm night air.


    Isaand had spent most of the day sleeping, recovering from the use of his miracles. His legs still felt a bit leaden and he tucked his cloak tight around him to stave off the breeze, but otherwise he was much recovered. He made swift time across the bridge and into the main village, where the standing stones of Ulm-Etha were lit by torches whose flames fluttered sideways with the wind. They were the only lights to be seen, and they made the shadows of the stones stretch out darkly towards the sacrificial altar at the center. A slender form disentangled itself from the darkness and strode towards Isaand, making him clutch his bonewood staff at the ready. Had the village cleric been warned about him?


    ¡°Peace, friend.¡± The figure spoke in a soft voice, and as it drew closer Isaand saw a familiar tall and lean female form, hands clasped behind her back, her grinning teeth glinting in the moonlight. ¡°It struck me after I left you this morning that assuming you could reach the Well on your own was perhaps a bit optimistic. You¡¯ll find no convenient ferry passage there, and certainly not at night.¡±


    ¡°Ratha,¡± Isaand said, relieved. ¡°You¡¯re a welcome sight. I feared I¡¯d have to swim.¡± He jested, but he could not deny he¡¯d had his concerns. His only plan was to borrow a boat for the night, figuring out how to operate it through sheer persistence, and hope he could return it by morning before it was believed stolen.


    ¡°You look much better now that you¡¯re not half-drowned and fighting to keep your eyes open,¡± Ratha teased. She looked much changed herself. She¡¯d swapped out her lake-town dress for more typical island attire. She wore a pair of short trousers of thin tan material that ended just below her knees, with a short loose skirt hung over it, dyed orange. A strip of more tan cloth covered her breasts, with a vest the same color as her skirt open atop it, long draw-strings hanging loose to her waist. Her bare waist was as flat and smooth as he¡¯d imagined, except for a small scar running from navel halfway around her waist, old and faded to white. Her feet were bare.


    ¡°And you look well-suited to the task of escort. Have you a boat nearby?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I borrowed my kin¡¯s for the night. He scarcely needs it. The coward has vowed not to wet so much as his toes in the lake until the Lsetha has been driven away. He and his children are fortunate I¡¯m willing to make the trip to town to trade for them.¡± Casually, Ratha took his arm and they began to stroll down the hill towards what passed for the harbor. Isaand smiled at that, and it seemed the night grew a bit warmer. Whatever he learned at this heretic¡¯s meeting, this evening would not be a waste in such company.


    ¡°You do not fish, then?¡± Isaand asked.


    ¡°Why, did you hope to see me swim? I¡¯m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no more desire to tempt fate than my cousin. I did learn to fish and steer a boat when I was young, but these past five years I¡¯ve made my living other ways. Most of the lake-dwellers don¡¯t care to visit the town, where they¡¯re seen as ignorant bumpkins. I grew up there, though, so I buy and sell and flit back and forth by ferry. I¡¯ve gone beyond as well. Lake Maenis is beautiful, but a woman grows bored sleeping and rising in the same place day after day.¡±


    ¡°Where have you been? I¡¯ve come eastward, from Warana.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been there. The people are suspicious and quarrelsome, and each tribe warned me against the next, each one claiming they¡¯d rob and violate me as soon as look at me,¡± Ratha said cheerfully. ¡°In truth, I found it hospitable. They have a goddess there, some great wolf, who watches over and protects travelers, so I was never in any danger that I spotted. Though I suppose the same may not be said for you.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Isaand said, thinking back with a sigh. ¡°Hospitable is not the word I¡¯d choose.¡±


    ¡°That girl with you¡­ Ylla? She¡¯s one of the grasslanders, is she not? How¡¯d she come to travel with you?¡±


    Isaand hesitated. Ratha was charming and refreshingly amiable, but the habit of mistrust ran deep in him by now. ¡°I¡­ healed her. Much like you saw this morning. After that, she could not remain in her home, so she follows me. In truth, I do not know what to do with her. She can hardly be my apprentice, but I know not what other life could be found for her.¡±


    ¡°There are always possibilities, so long as you keep your mind open. The people here have no idea who she is, and most never think beyond the lake¡¯s shore. Our gods are quieter than most, and our clerics are far from bloodthirsty. She could be welcomed here, I think, so long as she had someone to speak for her. Apostates are not so rare.¡± The confidence in Ratha¡¯s voice was intoxicating. If only it could be that easy.


    ¡°Not rare, perhaps, but never do they go unnoticed. I saved Ylla¡¯s life. I will not let her end up on a cleric¡¯s slab.¡±


    ¡°A city, then, that¡¯s what you need. I¡¯ve never been myself, but I¡¯ve heard thousands of apostates live in Ethka. I¡¯d love to see it, someday. It¡¯s hard to imagine, so many people, even if you lived there you¡¯d turn in the street and see strangers all around you. You could get up every morning and go the whole day seeing no one you knew.¡±


    ¡°Is that so appealing?¡± Isaand asked, surprised at the longing in her tone. ¡°Lonely is the word I¡¯d use.¡±


    ¡°One man¡¯s loneliness is another woman¡¯s solitude,¡± she joked, with a squeeze of his arm.


    ¡°You don¡¯t strike me as a woman who seeks solitude.¡±


    ¡°You might be surprised, Isaand Laeson. You¡¯ve scarcely known me an hour. From one traveler to another: people are rarely so simple as they seem on the surface. Ah, and here we are.¡±


    With a shock, Isaand realized they had reached the docks already. The time had seemed much shorter than the climb up had been. A dozen boats floated, tied to poles driven into the side of the cliffs. Ratha stretched out with a foot and pulled one closer, holding it for him to enter. Isaand felt clumsy as he stepped down into the boat and set it to rocking. He settled down at the stern, his back to the walled off section where fish were stored after being caught. His boot caught on a pair of fishing spears left on the deck, sending them sliding.


    Ratha hopped into the boat gracefully, and leaned past him to untie the boat. Isaand felt until he found one of the boats paddles, eager to assist. Ratha took the other and they began to propel the boat away from the island, her motions practiced and elegant. Isaand did his best to follow her lead.


    The moon and starlight seemed to seep into the clear water, making the distant floor glow, cut with thousands of jet silhouettes of fish and eels swimming below. A pod of floating graspers went by beneath them, their billowing bodies glowing with a soft green light that lit the sides of the boat. With the water so clear, Isaand could almost believe their boat was floating on the open air. The soft sound of their paddles on the water was hypnotic, and he felt the last of the tension drain away from his shoulders.


    ¡°Your home is truly beautiful,¡± Isaand said. ¡°When I was young, my tribe traveled constantly. We had no land of our own, you see, and had to keep on the move to avoid antagonizing the locals. We never slept in the same place for more than three nights, and each new day was a whole new world to explore. It was mostly grasslands, greener than Warana, like an endless plain of jade, and in the spring a million flowers would bloom and turn the ground into a myriad colors from horizon to horizon. There were forests, too, deep and dark, with thick fog that would come in the mornings and turn the other children into ghosts at a distance. We would hide and stalk each other in the mist, and climb trees to look out over the canopy. Even the deserts held a stark sort of beauty. I¡¯d seen much of the world by the time I was a man, so it is nice to see that there are still places that can take my breath away.¡± He looked to Ratha, but her expression was guarded.


    ¡°Is that why you¡¯re a heretic? Because your tribe were nomads, with no gods of their own?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No gods? You¡¯ve got it backwards.¡± Memories flooded back, of men and women and children gathered around the bonfire in the cold night, singing and dancing with wooden masks bearing the faces of myriad gods. ¡°We had too many. The Aislin tribe were a queer sort of apostates. We had no liege god, true, but we swore fealty and respect to every god and goddess whose lands we crossed. Tyrant or benefactor, it made no matter, the bards venerated them all. We collected stories and truths from each people we met, and passed them down to each of the tribe¡¯s children. By the time I was fifteen, I knew the names of a hundred deities, and counted each one of them in my prayers. None of them answered though. None of them cared.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± Ratha asked. She had stopped rowing, and the night was silent except for the gentle lapping of water against the side of the bow.


    ¡°They called it the Bleaching Plague. I know not which god saw fit to bestow it upon us, but I have no doubt at its miraculous nature. What sort of natural sickness spreads through speech? Everyone who spoke to another infected them, and their skin began to pale, their hair going as white as snow, even their eyes grew lighter. Those infected had trouble staying warm, their bodies wracked by shudders and shivers, and as it grew worse their limbs began to numb, until they could no longer walk or control their fingers. They did not die, though.¡± Isaand let out a laugh like a rasp of rusty metal on stone. ¡°The gods were merciful. The afflicted lived on, suffering, useless, nothing but a burden to their loved ones, forbidden from speaking lest they curse their caretakers. Few of them lasted long, though. The nomadic life is not easy for those who cannot walk or work, and no one wishes to live out their days watching those around them serve in silent resentment. Most walked away on stumbling feet, into the grass, and no one followed them, though they knew what it meant.¡±


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.Ratha hesitated, then reached out, putting her fingers on the skin of his arm. Against his cool flesh, her fingers felt feverish. ¡°As you did?¡±


    ¡°I was trained by the master bard Teraandis Aislin Ulaadottr. I never was good at keeping my mouth shut. My brothers and sisters, they were good to me, but I was scared I would forget myself one day, and curse them all. So before my legs became useless, I set out, with this staff you see here to help keep me up. I had some half-baked plan to reach the nearest tribe, to seek out a Lector or Paladin and beg for their god¡¯s aid. As though they would have bothered. Instead, Szet found me.¡±


    ¡°The Unbound,¡± Ratha said, drawing in breath as her hand went to the wooden amulet at her chest.


    ¡°Yes. A god I sought, and a god did help me. Though not as I expected.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve said more than a mouthful, already. Should I expect my own skin to start to lighten?¡± Ratha asked. Her tone was light, yet her lips made a tight line across her face.


    ¡°You need not fear. Szet¡¯s power keeps the plague at bay. I cannot spread it. It grows worse when I exert myself, but a bit of rest and before long I am well again.¡± Though never fully.


    ¡°You serve him, why does he not heal you? The Unbound are not limited as other gods, what good does it do to keep your illness and force you to keep suffering from it?¡±


    Isaand shook his head. ¡°Szet does not heal wounds wholesale. He believes that to undo pain and injury robs people of their experiences. It is through hardship that we grow and become stronger. A lack of consequences breeds complacency, laziness, and eventually ingratitude. It¡¯s harsh, but ultimately, we¡¯re the better for it.¡±


    ¡°So all clerics claim, when asked why there is so much evil in the world. Good cannot exist without the bad to offset it. The gods are good, but it is only their wicked children who misbehave. Humans cannot be free without the right to commit cruelty.¡± Ratha spat out of the side of the boat into the lake, shaking her head angrily. ¡°Sometimes I think they are all just excuses the gods tell us, to cover the fact that they messed it all up. They blame us for our mistakes, but they¡¯re the ones who made us in the first place, are they not? If a boat sinks because it hasn¡¯t been waterproofed, it¡¯s the boat-maker¡¯s fault, not the boat¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°The world is a broken place,¡± Isaand agreed. ¡°But it does no good to rage about it. The gods will never fix their mistakes so long as they can go on ignoring them, so long as men and women accept them as their superiors. The only hope is to change them.¡±


    ¡°Change the gods?¡± Ratha asked, rowing again. ¡°How could we possibly hope to do that?¡±


    Isaand hesitated, thinking back to that night in the deep cave, Szet¡¯s voice filling his ears. He thought of the months he¡¯d traveled since, all the men and women he¡¯d healed, the threats he¡¯d faced. The words were on his lips, but he hesitated, and the moment was lost. Silence stretched towards awkwardness.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re certain to hit it off with Hahmn,¡± Ratha said, her tone forcibly light. ¡°He likes nothing more than a bit of philosophizing. I think he brings it out in me as well. We¡¯ll be there soon. The Well is isolated, but not far.¡±


    ¡°This Hahmn,¡± Isaand asked. ¡°He¡¯s the Lector? What is he to you?¡± Mentor, friend? Lover?


    ¡°A fascinating man. Much the same as you, Isaand. He told me to watch for you, when I set out for Merasca two days ago.¡±


    ¡°You knew I was coming?¡± Isaand asked, startled.


    ¡°Oh, aye, though I hardly expected to see you wielding the power of an Unbound within hours of our meeting. His goddess told him you¡¯d come, and he asked me to speak with you, to bring you together. He does not like to leave his island. And he knew I¡¯d be interested.¡±


    ¡°Why so? Are you a follower of this Unbound goddess too? That necklace you wear, is it her symbol?¡± That thought was disquieting. The life of a heretic was dangerous enough without wearing a blasphemous symbol out in the open for all to see.


    ¡°Oh no, I¡¯m a good and loyal worshiper of sweet Maesa and solid Ulm-Etha,¡± Ratha said with a laugh. ¡°And so do I burn monthly offerings to the Child of Sand in the lake-town, before the clerics¡¯ sight. Being faithful is easy, and the benefits one reaps are no small matter. Your Aislin tribe had the right idea, I think, Isaand. But Hahmn¡¯s goddess intrigues me, as does your own Szet.¡±


    She smiled then, her eyes twinkling with starlight. ¡°A trader learns to consider all wares carefully before she makes her decision. I can see no reason why it should not be the same with gods.¡±


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


    The unsanctified island known as the Well was such an ordinary sight that Isaand missed it until Ratha pointed it out. It did not thrust up from the lake like the other islands, nor was it large. Beneath the lake it was shaped like a tower, but it the black basalt fell away up in the air, transitioning into a sand and dirt mound about a hundred strides across, roughly circular. Yet there was no inviting shore to make it an appealing stop for fisherman either. The shore was rough, sloping up and backwards to create a difficult climb, the edge ringed by thick grass with sharp edges, roots hanging out of the dirt beneath it. A few trees leaned out over the water, out of reach.


    Ratha made for the far side of the island, sweeping around a spot where the island rose ten feet high in a rough mound. Along the other side, numerous spars of black stone pierced up from the water, making it a difficult approach, but Ratha steered the boat through them until it brushed up against the side. She reached inside a dark hole and drew out a length of rope which she used to secure the boat, then stood and smiled silently down at him. Isaand held his words. Their approach had the air of ritual to it, and he did not want to spoil the atmosphere. He stood up, the boat rocking wildly under him, and regained his balance against the side of the island.


    Ratha reached up and took hold of something too dark to see, and then she was scrambling up, using hidden hand-and-foot-holds to reach flat ground. She spun around, lying on her belly, and reached down to give Isaand a hand up. He threw his staff up first, took her warm hand, and pulled himself, grunting in exertion.


    The island was no more magnificent from above. Roughly sloping land spread off to either side, with the mound on the eastern shore being the only notable high spot. Moonlight glinted on rough stones sticking out of bare dunes among clumps of grass and small trees. Before he had much time to look, Ratha took his arm again and pulled him in a trotting pace towards the center of the island, where he could see the glow of the stars reflected in water.


    A pond appeared in the middle of the island, no more than ten strides across, but just as he¡¯d been told, its water was murky and opaque. He had grown so used to the glass-like water of the lake that the sight of ordinary water was almost a shock.


    ¡°It goes down, far below the lake¡¯s bottom,¡± Ratha whispered. ¡°I tried to dive down and touch the bottom, but I ran out of breath long before I reached it.¡±


    ¡°Maesa cannot touch it, can she?¡± Isaand asked. ¡°It must have already been claimed.¡±


    ¡°That is correct, young Lector.¡± A voice boomed out, deep and fatherly. Isaand turned and saw a man striding confidently towards them from the direction of the mound, where he saw a small cave. The man was large, wide shouldered and thick of limb, with a stout and solid stance. He was roughly of a height with Isaand. His skin seemed the same color as the other lake-dwellers, as far as Isaand could see in the dark, but his hair was lighter and wavy like that of a northerner. He wore clothes like Isaand had seen in the lake town Merasca: leather sandals, long loose cotton trousers, and a light vest over his bare chest, which was covered in light hair as well. A thickly woven sash belted his waist, twisted over itself, of some fine fabric and richly patterned. His expression was satisfied, eyes small and half-closed. Taking a hand from behind his back, he held it out to Isaand, a big, heavy knuckled hand covered in light hairs.


    ¡°Welcome to my little temple, Brother. I am Hahmn, Lector and cleric of the Unbound Goddess Awlta. I have been looking forward to meeting you.¡±