The Soothsayer, page 5
Colin recognized Samuel’s pained expression. He’d worn the same hollowed look over the last year. “I get that. You’re stuck, helpless. Yeah, I get that.”
“Do you?” Samuel replied. “I’ll take that as you present it, then. When a man falls, it’s a tragedy, but in time he stands again. When the world itself is broken, no amount of tears can bring solace.”
“So this place is broken? You’ve lost everything?”
“Not quite. One true scroll was kept safe and handed down through the generations to me and still remains. It has been pieced together from pages of the Logos that haven’t been burned or destroyed, but it was incomplete. Until today.” Samuel held up Colin’s folded parchment.
“My map?” Colin asked.
“Alexandra found it near you on the shore. Your map is of no concern to me, but when my fingers ran across the ancient letters on the other side, I knew the words were divine. Even if my eyes are blinded, I can still sense their power on the parchment.”
“So, you can read those symbols? You know them?” Colin stared at the parchment. The faded letters seemed sharper now—clearer.
Are dreams always so vivid? Colin wondered.
“Would if I could,” Samuel answered. “But more than a sense of the words is required. The sayer must be able to read them with his eyes. I hold a balm for this world in my hand but am unable to use it. But my friends here have helped me with the reading.”
Balm. “The balm of Gilead? I read that on the other side. It sounds familiar. I’ve heard it before. Is it something physical? Like medicine, something I could use?”
“Our kingdom is so named, and legends say that the name itself and words like it were carried to our shores from some distant land. But the balm of Gilead?” Samuel mused. “Certainly, the kingdom has many potions and salves for ailments, but one that bears the kingdom’s name?” Samuel thought for a moment more. “Long ago there was a terebinth tree whose sap could heal any sickness. Some say its sap could even bring the dead back to life.”
Colin looked around the room and then down at his own hands. Was he really in a hospital bed somewhere, lying in a state like a vegetable? Perhaps his few remaining synapses were firing off the mother of all hallucinations before his brain finally died. He could only play it out. What choice did he have? He looked up at Samuel. “Where’s the tree?”
“It’s dead. Has been for over a thousand years. Somewhere deep in the Dead Wood, a barren weald to the east of Gilead and north of the Royal Road. Its story is a long one and suffice to say that that forest is not a place you should venture into.”
Alexandra glared at Colin. “Where did you get that paper? Who did you steal it from?”
“No one. I guess it came in this box I bought—well, traded for—from Mr. Potter’s shop. I’m guessing you don’t have cell phones here, do you?” Colin already knew it was a dumb question. In a world where magic was a breath away, and donkeys talked, phones were most likely nonexistent. He slowly stood up, steadied himself from the dizziness, and went to a crude window. Past the high bluff the cottage had been built on, Colin could see the shoreline stretch away under the night. In the far distance, he saw a hundred points of light dotted across the water.
“Your words are strange,” Alexandra said. “Sailfone?”
“Never mind.” Colin sighed. “What are those pretty lights out there?”
“Those ‘pretty lights’ are the doom of the kingdom,” Samuel replied, “the corsairs of the Amorites, laden with death, blockading Gilead’s shores.”
“Yeah, you said that. Gilead. This hut, these cliffs—this is your kingdom?” Colin asked.
Samuel turned to Alexandra. “Take him outside. Let him see the beauty that once was.”
Alexandra opened the front door of the shack and nodded at Colin. He followed her out into the night.
Colin looked around and saw the cottage rested near the edge of a high cliff. A steep path led down to the shoreline and trees. Not more than a couple of miles to the south, past the olive grove and across rolling hills, a giant white stone wall stood easily a hundred feet high under the night sky. Great white spires rose into the sky and opened like lotus flowers behind it. Between the spires were countless small buildings, archways, temples, and, farther back, a grand castle built on a hill. The spires glistened in the moonlight, but as Colin let his eyes wander in amazement, he saw many of the city’s towers were broken and in disrepair. The wall, too, had crumbled in portions, and extensive city sections looked dark and empty.
Wake up, buddy. You’re not dead. This ain’t no dream. Colin’s eyes widened. Holy shit. “This is real? This is really real?”
“You are strange.” Alexandra shook her head as she studied him. “Yes, Gilead is as real as you and I are.”
She pointed to more walls perched atop the far cliffs. “The grand staircase climbs the cliffs to our western gate, what we call the Lion’s Maw, and the Ambassador’s Square near the western wall to the castle is nearly half a league, and that again to the eastern gate,” Alexandra said and watched his reaction.
“It’s huge. God, it’s as big as two cities,” Colin replied.
“Gilead was built thousands of years ago. It’s survived storms, plagues, and sieges before. It will weather this evil as well . . . I hope. Ten thousand souls call it home.”
Colin turned and nearly bumped into Samuel. The old man, led by Balaam, had quietly moved in behind them.
“Whether you’re friend or foe is still a question to me, but I’d have you hear how we now stand on the brink,” Samuel said and moved to sit on a nearby pile of stones. “Alexandra, you know this better than I, tell him your story—give him some understanding.”
Alexandra reluctantly turned to face Colin, sighed, and began.
chapter 8
Ill Winds and Omens
EGAN STOOD ALONGSIDE HIS MEN at the base of the Lion’s Maw on the imperial docks. The torch fires were lit, and the merchants’ vessels had been moored farther up the coast for their protection. He looked up at the gaping stone jaws of the lion’s mouth high overhead. Its countenance had been chiseled into the face of the stone cliff by artisans working for nearly a hundred years, and it had withstood countless decades of weathering and war. Its muzzle protruded out high over the docks. The grand staircase set back a thousand feet from where Egan stood led into its maw and served as the only western entrance into the walled city far above him.
“The kingdom fails wherever I look, but still, old friend, you remain.” He gazed at the craftsmanship of the stone masonry. “Perhaps even past the days of the last king you will be a testament of what was.”
The white lion’s head spanned the entire cliffside and crested the top of Gilead’s high wall. Its massive paws were carved from the natural rocks of the harbor and spread out, like a sphinx, nearly fifteen hundred feet into the bay. Numerous wooden piers were bound on either side of them, allowing ships of all sizes to dock. In happier times, merchants had moored their vessels between its two great legs and made their way up the white stairway. The broad steps, now crumbling, still maintained their sheen when the sun set across their surfaces. The long journey up the staircase was eased by three lengthy terraces, fifty yards wide, the overhangs supported by great alabaster pillars. Each terrace was set higher than the last, cemented deep within the lion’s jaws, and secured in the bedrock. Storefronts, carts, and kiosks used to line these landings, but since the darkness, the structures had all become empty shells of their former glory.
A grizzled man with a ruddy face wearing a burlap hat walked along the dock’s edge. He carried a small ladder across his stout shoulders and an elongated copper wick staff with a flame dancing at its tip. A small child in an oversized coat held his free hand and waited quietly as the man paused, dropped the ladder, and lit the next lantern in his route. The child sneezed, and the lamplighter leaned down to better button him up.
“You’re going to get me in trouble with your mother. Best get you home.” The man paused and nodded. “Evenin,’ Chief.”
“It’s a foul night to have younglings out,” Egan said. “You look familiar.”
“Aye. His mum would agree but he loves to help as he can. It’s Avery, Chief,” Avery said and managed a smile. “I served under you, sir, for a short time, before the queen said different.”
“Oh? I’m sorry,” Egan offered. “I didn’t know; can I ask why?”
Avery shuffled his feet in thought momentarily and finally spoke, “I guess I just said the wrong thing, or maybe didn’t say the right one. But the Maker provides. Night, Chief.”
Egan watched Avery lead his child up the grand staircase. His little light danced up the terraces and disappeared.
The shuffle of boots brought Egan’s attention to his troop standing ready on the sand to take his orders. Last in line stood his first officer, Salain. The old man had seen more battles than any other soldier in the army of Gilead, and his words were respected, though he seldom said what he thought. His most distinguishing mark was a scar across his left eye, something Egan knew the old officer used to intimidate recruits.
“See this, you sops!” Salain would say on their first day as he pointed to his face. “This is what happens to you when you step out of line, neglect your duties, or just piss me off.” He’d then run his blade near the necks of those fresh faces, and every one of them would quiver in his boots.
Egan held back his smile. He knew his sergeant had gotten the wound from a triste with a scorned lover, but Salain’s story kept the recruits in line. Egan stood before Salain and saluted. Salain returned the gesture.
“Every fighting man accounted for, Chief, awaiting your command,” the old warrior said. “Your father would be proud.”
“Good. Have the scouts spotted any approach farther down the coast?” Egan glanced towards the pinpricks of light far past the dark waves.
“None, other than their black envoy. It floats at a distance of roughly half a mile offshore. I’m concerned some of their agents may have snuck into the city by way of Northport. My privateer says otherwise, however.”
Egan raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you hire privateers, Salain? I thought you hated their kind.”
Salain followed his captain’s gaze towards the far docks that rested between the outer edges of the lion’s stone legs, where an unkempt sailor in muddied garb made his way to them from the shadows. “Nothing’s changed.”
The torchlight accentuated the young man’s dark eyes and slight scowl. Egan guessed he couldn’t be much older than himself. He raised his hand to the sailor.
“Greetings, you must be Salain’s man,” Egan said and smiled.
The man glanced at Egan’s outstretched hand but didn’t take it. “I’m nobody’s man. My name’s Absalom.” He turned to Salain. “Here’s your report.” He pulled a folded parchment from his pocket and offered it to Salain.
Salain grabbed it from his hands. “Fool! You address the chief warrant officer—the king’s right hand. Show some respect!”
Absalom glanced back at Egan. “Of course, my apologies,” he said, his brow lifted slightly.
Egan lowered his hand. There was no love lost between them.
Salain unfolded the parchment and scanned it. “The Northport authorities make no mention of the northern pass. Why?” he asked Absalom.
Absalom sighed. “You hired me to bring you reconnaissance of the sea, not inland. I never asked them. Now about the money . . .”
“I told you to get comprehensive scouting reports. This is incomplete,” Salain growled at him.
Absalom folded his arms. “Well then, we’re at an impasse. I anchored my ship in a soup of fog three nights ago in that province’s dreary little harbor. The royal guard have seen little of the enemy, from what they can see at all. Some of their men have gone missing . . .” Absalom eyed Egan. “But I’m sure they’re busy watching the pubs, as is the custom with the uniform.” He looked back to Salain. “Now pay me.”
Salain raised his hand to strike him. “Mouthy little cur!”
Egan grabbed Salain’s hand. “Enough! Pay him. It’s clear he’s done his duty.”
Salain grimaced but tore open a pouch at his side. He pulled five gold coins from it and slammed them into Absalom’s open hand.
“Be off with you. Run to your floating derelict and let the leviathan have you,” Salain snapped.
Absalom eyed Egan again, his sneer melting. “Well then, thank you.” Absalom turned away and hurried up the grand stair.
“My apologies, Chief. It was a mistake to hire that impudent halfwit,” Salain said.
Egan patted him on the back. “We must use the tools available to us.”
“Aye.” Salain nodded towards the ship lights in the distance. “How should we proceed?”
“I would that we’d ready our ships to meet them in battle, but the queen has ordered otherwise.” Egan studied the distant lights on the water for a moment. “An embassy ship is being made ready. The Vizier is accompanying a gift of grain and foodstuffs to their vessels. He goes to negotiate with them. He’s asked for a small detachment of guards to accompany him.”
“Of course, Chief.” Salain nodded curtly and bit his lip.
“Your eyes betray your thoughts,” Egan said. “Speak your mind.”
“Well, sir,” Salain started but was interrupted by the bumbling call of the Vizier as he stumbled down the last few steps of the grand staircase behind them. Catching himself, he stopped to adjust his frayed curly locks behind his ear and then raised his chin to regain his self-important composure.
“He fears the Amorite response, yes?” The Vizier asked as he straightened his silk robe around his protruding belly. “And who could blame him? No, any common man would look at their mighty vessels and be concerned. But fear not. Sharper minds than yours know how to soothe angry men and turn them into friends.”
Egan nodded toward the impish little man. He had never liked the corpulent bootlicker. The Vizier lacked a backbone, and his loyalties shifted with the wind. Egan wondered how much of Gilead had was sold off because of this great sage’s counsel.
The Vizier clapped his hands, and nearby peasants began to pull two large carts of grain and fruit from the southern beachhead out to the farthest dock and load them onto a ship.
“How many of our own people would that feed, I wonder?” Egan asked as he watched them work, and Salain nodded.
The Vizier laughed. “My boy, this stock comes from the king’s personal cupboards. We must all shoulder the burden of being a reputable host. I guarantee that in three hours’ time our friends will depart from our shores, and I’ll have renewed our accord with them.”
“Friends don’t mob your doorstep in the night,” Salain murmured.
The Vizier smirked at Salain and then turned to Egan. “You should train your foot soldiers better, lad. They speak out of turn in front of their superiors.”
Egan saw the retort was like a slap across Salain’s face.
“Apologies, Vizier.” Salain’s lips barely twitched.
Egan leaned forward to within an inch of the Vizier’s face. “As far as I’m concerned, Salain has no superior here. Now get on your ship.”
The Vizier swallowed and backed up. “We shall have a discussion with His Majesty about rank and respect when I return. Select my retinue and let’s delay no longer!” He brushed past them and boarded the vessel.
“Send me, Chief Warrant Officer,” Salain said.
“Why in the Maker’s name would you want to protect that snake?” Egan asked him.
“Few men have seen the Amorite legion up close and lived; fewer still have presided over negotiations with them. I can be your ears in their presence.” Salain nodded at the advisor, who was busy making himself comfortable near the vessel’s helm. “And in his.”
“I would hate to see you lose your life protecting his,” Egan replied.
“Who said anything about protecting him?” Salain smiled. “I’ll use him as a shield if it comes to that.”
They laughed, and Salain laid his hand on Egan’s arm. “I’ve seen you grow into a fine man, Egan, one your father would be proud of. Give me the honor of serving your needs.”
Egan nodded reluctantly. “Take care, friend, and be vigilant.”
“Always.” Salain nodded and saluted him before turning towards the ship to board. The vessel soon undocked, lowered its sail, and made for the open sea. Egan watched its outline diminish into the night and wondered if those lights on the water would bring back hope or Hell.
chapter 9
The Ashes of Eden
“SOME OF IT I WITNESSED,” Alexandra began, “and some I read later in my father’s diary, but it all seems like a dream now . . .” Her voice trailed off as her eyes became lost in thought before she picked up the story again. “There was a time when I could play in the Western Square with the other children or ride into the city at my father’s side on my white charger. I knew every street and alley. I knew the merchants in the bazaar by name. The kingdom was alive and wonderful. But things changed, and like many evil things, the seed of it was greed.”
King Braeden watched from his balcony as his young daughter sparred with Egan below in the castle courtyard. His warden Egan smiled as he helped Alexandra correctly hold the wooden sword. She half curtsied and laughed as she fumbled with the training tabard bound around her waist and flicked her blade to nudge him on the chin.
“She’s enjoying herself, but I wonder if diplomacy wouldn’t be a more appropriate skill to master, my lord,” the Vizier said and nodded as Braeden turned to him.
“She’d need to learn patience first, I think.” Braeden waved off the counselor. “I’ll not begrudge her some sport. The weight of the bureaucracy will be on her back soon enough.” Braeden turned from the balcony to his desk. Half buried under a pile of scrolls lay his sheathed sword, Teacht Riocht—the blade of kings. Braeden brushed the documents aside as he lifted the scabbard and weapon like it was made of glass. He partially pulled the hilt out and let his eyes scan the ancient letters chiseled into the base of the blade. “For now, let her imagine her problems can be vanquished so easily.”
