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.

“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.