Seeol rode atop the brown mare, picking lice out of its hair and eating them as the animal trotted through the eerie solitude of the road out of Beldin. He didn't much like the taste of lice, but he yet lacked the strength to properly hunt. 'Seteal,' he called over to the woman sitting silently with a wooden crate balanced on her knees.
'Yes?'
'It'll being okay.' He bobbed his head reassuringly, but his friend only looked away with glistening eyes.
Seeol bit down especially hard on the louse between his mandibles and felt it pop. He was so ridden with guilt. He'd heard Father Marcel telling Seteal all about the Stone of the Devil back at the church. It was the key to the gates of Hae'Evun and Seeol had lost it during his transformation in the battle at the borderlands. It'd been in his pocket, but when he'd become an owl again, his clothes had fallen away, down into the seemingly endless abyss that had been cut through the earth. How could Seeol possibly tell Seteal that he'd lost their only chance of salvation and he'd lost it for all eternity?
'Daddy Muscle.' Seeol turned to the Father.
'It's Father Marcel,' the man corrected him irritably, adjusting his funny white collar.
'Could you pleasing tell some of us more about this silly Tome?'
'The Holy Tome is not silly!'
'El-i-mish says so.' Seeol puffed out his feathers. 'Does good things happening with your Spirit?'
'The Holy Spirit will come as a thief in the night,' Marcel replied cryptically.
'The Spirit is a thief?' Seeol retracted his head sharply. 'That is so naughty. Do go on!'
'No, I didn't say that.' Marcel's tone revealed exasperation. He turned to Seteal. 'Does it even understand what we're saying or is it just mimicking?'
Her eyes met with Seeol's. 'To be honest, I'm really not sure,' she uttered after a long period of silence. 'He understands some things, but it's impossible to tell how much exactly.'
'Yes, is understanding,' Seeol snapped defensively, before rubbing his beak back and forth furiously across the horse's flank. 'Sprit Sprit Sprit.'
'Well . . . perhaps I could teach you a little.' Father Marcel looked at Seteal sideways, who had again turned away. Seeol narrowed his eyes. He was under no illusions as to who the man was addressing. He was simply speaking to Seeol as a method of reaching Seteal. 'It is written that the Holy Spirit will cometh with the clouds of sorrow. Maker's Spirit will come down in the end times when the entire world is on the brink of destruction. The Spirit will be born half from the bloodlines of the ancient prophets and half from the blood of sinners. It is written that the Spirit will seek out the key to the gates of Hae'Evun, but it will constantly elude Her.'
'Her?' Seteal turned with a smirk.
'Indeed. The Tome often refers to the Holy Spirit as female, but occasionally as a male as well, depending on the context. The consensus of most theologians is that the Tome refers to the Spirit as male because He is the Spirit of Maker, but also as a female because She is described as having great vulnerability and compassion.'
Seteal rolled her eyes at the blatant example of gender stereotyping before closing them and resting her head. 'I can't believe people live and die by this rot.'
'Don't be silly,' Seeol reprimanded his friend. 'Sometimes everyone needs hope. If the sad people don't believe in all this silliness they would be too sad to breathe.'
'I'd rather the hideous truth over a beautiful lie.' Seteal frowned. 'I'd prefer to live my life in misery and know what's real, rather than take place in such a farce.'
'Not me,' Seeol said sadly. 'We is all going to be dead soon enough. Happy times that is not real is better than never having happy times at all.'
'What's wrong with you two?' Marcel snapped. 'The Holy Tome is the truth! It is the Word of Maker delivered through the hands of His prophets.'
Seteal and Seeol simultaneously turned to stare at Marcel. 'You're serious, aren't you?' Seeol was genuinely surprised.
Seteal shook her head. 'You'd get along with my father.'
'Your father is a man of Maker?'
'Yes.' Seteal smiled for the first time in many days. 'He's a good man. I think you'd like him.'
CHAPTER Six
nothing left of me
It was very dark and very late. Marcel had woken her up so it wasn't entirely her fault. But the way Seeol now looked at her . . . her heart thundered.
They'd been on a bumpy dirt road, which after several days of travel had had the effect of rocking Seteal to sleep. She'd been dreaming--vividly. It'd been horrible. Master Fasil was there. It was happening all over again. She'd been just as defenceless as before. She'd been running through the field. He'd pulled her hair and she'd fallen to the grass. He'd lightly tapped her knee and quite suddenly she was in a horse and buggy with him. She remembered her connection to the Ways and severed his soul in an instance.
Farther Marcel's face was mostly obscured in the dark. Seteal leaned over him on the dirt road where his body had fallen from the buggy. Tears fell from her chin and wet the earth as Seteal rocked back and forth on her knees. She was a danger to everybody she knew. There was nothing human left, she having become a killer right down to her cold soul. Seeol watched her from atop the buggy. Somehow his eyes bore repulsion.
'Go ahead and hate me, Seeol,' Seteal choked out.
She straightened the Father's robes, before tracing her eyes along the earth over to a wooden post penetrating its surface. The sign was very old, but the word carved into it was still clearly visible: Elmsville. Father Marcel had been waking her up to tell her they'd arrived. And she'd killed him for his efforts. It was not safe for her to re-join the ones she loved. Seteal cast her eyes over the carved sign. She recognised her father's work. She remembered watching him make it many years earlier.
'What's that for?' she'd asked Gifn at five years of age upon finding him in the workshop.
'This is so people will know where we live,' Gifn had replied, his tone soothing.
'But why?' Seteal had demanded a better answer.
'Perhaps you should ask the mayor at the meeting tomorrow.'
'Okay,' Seteal had huffed, before striding out of the workshop. Gifn had probably expected a normal, happy life for her. What a disappointment she must've turned out to be.
'Who goes there?' a man called suspiciously, jogging up toward Seteal. 'Under order of the night guard, I command you answer.'
Night guard? Things had changed in Elmsville. 'Seteal Eltari,' she sobbed.
'The Seteal Eltari?' The man approached. 'Gifn Eltari's daughter?'
'Don't come any closer,' Seteal warned, but it was too late and the man froze.
'Is that a body?'
'Brindon,' Seteal said his name pleadingly when she recognised his face from their childhood. 'I didn't mean to. You must believe me.'
'There have been stories, Set.' The young man bit his lip. 'Mister Eltari thinks you're dead. Others say you became a Sa'Tanist.' Brindon shakily raised his sword. 'And . . . there's a dead man on the ground right now.'
'Okay,' Seteal said quietly, taking a shaky step forward. 'People always gossip, but you have to trust me.'
'Wh-what's in the box?' Brindon stuttered.
'Nothing.'
'Put it down.' Brindon took a step back to match with the one Seteal had taken forward.
'I won't.'
'Put it down.'
'No,' Seteal felt the word leave her lips before she abruptly vanished into another place, the knowing stripping through her to leave her with an understanding that she would regret forever. 'Oh, no,' she wailed, leaping forward.
Brindon brought down his sword in fright. It cracked against the wooden crate and sliced Parrowun's body in half. Seteal watched the pieces tumble to the ground. She watched her son's innards spill across the dirt. But there was no time. She ran away from Parrowun, away from Brindon. She ran down a dark path. The Ways became one with Seteal's muscles, allowing her to run so fast that each foot touched the ground no sooner than every four or five str
ides.
'Come back!' Brindon's shout faded to obscurity.
'Please don't,' Seteal begged as she ran. She burst into the town centre with a rush of air. She snapped past the first row of houses and hit her front door so that it banged open. An explosion left her ears ringing and blood sprayed across her face as the back of Gifn Eltari's scull exploded into a thousand little pieces.
She stood in the space of the door. Gifn's head slumped forward and the pistol toppled from his hand. Seteal heard every beat of her heart as she crossed the room in slow-motion. She stood before her father's favourite chair, now dripping with red. His precious Holy Tome was open on the table beside him. Seteal put a finger beneath his chin and raised his head so that she could gaze into his blank eyes.
'What did I expect?' she said to nobody, before releasing her father's head to gravity.
Moving to the darkest corner of the room, Seteal wedged her back up against the wall and slid down its length until she was sitting on the floor. She kept her knees up under her chin and stared at Gifn's expressionless face. Tears didn't come. Her heart rate didn't increase. She didn't feel pain. Finally, she'd become immune.
'There is nothing left. All right, Father.' Seteal rose, 'I'll get this all cleaned up. You just rest.'
She stepped out onto the landing and made her way down the steps as the entire town arrived to investigate the sound they'd heard. Familiar faces hovered above hands lit up by the torches they held. Not one of them lacked an expression of disbelief.
'Sound the alarm!' Brindon shouted as he finally caught up. 'She's a demon worshipper.'
Seteal carved her way through the silent crowd of stunned onlookers. Perhaps something had changed in her face; something that immobilised them. No one tried to stop her. She was left unhindered as she headed back up to where she'd left Parrowun. She scooped up the pieces of his body and wrapped them in a blanket with at least a hundred faces watching in wide-eyed disbelief.
Seteal pushed back through the crowd and went home. People were inside staring at Gifn's body like it was an exhibition at a travelling circus. 'Get out,' Seteal intoned, but the air around her rippled and her voice emanated with power. The townsfolk obeyed. Seteal shut the door and leant against it. She stared across the sitting room and into the kitchen where her father had made her breakfast the day she'd been taken.
The house was different now. It smelt of dust and mildew. The windows didn't look as though they'd been opened in a very long time. Seteal touched the wall and slid her hand along its surface, before making her way back to her father's chair. 'This is your grandson,' she said, feeling the arrival of tears for the first time since she'd been back. But they lasted only as long as it took for her to place Parrowun's decaying body into her father's arms. 'I'm so sorry you couldn't have met,' she whispered. 'I have to keep him wrapped up now.'
Gifn's head fell a little lower, almost as though he were bending over to kiss his bundled up grandson. Seteal stepped back and imagined the room illuminated by bright sunlight. She dreamt of the fragrant smell of the flowers she'd gathered for the table as a child, knowing that her mother had often done that very same thing before she'd died. Seteal pretended that the wallpaper wasn't peeling in all the corners. She imagined her father laughing. It sounded thunderous to the ears of a child. Parrowun would be giggling and poking at his cheek with a tiny finger. Gifn would stand up and twirl her son around in circles as he'd once done for her.
Seteal found herself standing in a dark and silent room that she didn't recognise. There was a dead man in her father's chair. She turned away from reality and into the warmth of her mind. She ran toward the staircase and bounced up them two at a time, knowing that when she got to the top she could dive into her mother's arms. She raced along the hallway and into her parent's room, only to find a hundred cobwebs and an unmade bed.
The small room down the hallway was empty as well. Seteal looked at her bed. This room was different. This one was clean. The furniture had been kept in order and her sheets were fresh. When Seteal rested her head, she was able to enjoy the scent of lavender on her pillow. But the pillow was wet. She touched it to discover her face was hot, covered in tears. She pulled the sheets up over her head and curled into a ball as low mournful cries shook her.
*
The mirror on Seteal's bedroom wall reflected a face that was scarcely recognisable. Her eyes were puffy and dark. Her hair was a mess and her face was devoid of the healthy colour she'd always been proud of. She hadn't slept, but the sun had come up and she had responsibilities.
There had been a recent drop in temperature, but Seteal hadn't changed her clothes in days, still wearing the blood-spattered dress she'd been wearing in Beldin. After making her way downstairs, she used the hand pump in the kitchen to fill a small bucket beneath the spout. The water banged about inside the copper pipes, before splashing messily into the bucket.
Once several buckets of water had been boiled over the fireplace and dumped into the bathtub, Seteal peeled off her clothes and slid into the quickly cooling water. Her skin immediate turned bright red, but she enjoyed the sting. After resting for a while, she picked up a brush and block of soap to scrub away the dried blood that covered her.
It wasn't until the water had gone cold, that Seteal realised what'd kept her immobile so long. Her eyes had been locked on her father's slumped figure across the room. That, and the bundle in his arms.
'Okay,' Seteal said through gritted teeth. 'I'm up.' She sighed, standing and towelling off before making her way up stairs.
When Seteal came back down she wore a black dress and heavy coat with a matching scarf wrapped around her neck. She scooped up the dress she'd left on the floor, made her way out to the midden, and dumped it in the bin. She turned and headed for the workshop attached to the side of the house, but when she got to the door she found herself quite unable to open it.
'Seteal,' a familiar voice called.
'Mister Beura.' She turned toward the man who she remembered as her father's best friend. He was big with a warm smile and a thick black beard.
'I heard you were back.' Rarmin Beura was clearly dumbfounded by her reappearance. 'Where've you been?'
Seteal stared into the man's eyes. How could she possibly answer such a question? How could any amount of words express what she'd been through to a man who'd never been further than Gor?
'I . . . ' Seteal shook her head, unable to find any words to speak. Perhaps her eyes said enough.
'Oh, my dear Seteal.' Rarmin wrapped her in his arms and stroked her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder.
'I just hoped that one day I could come back,' Seteal said. 'I thought that in the end I could come back and everything would be okay.'
The sound of hundreds of silt wings approaching filled Seteal's ears. She craned her neck and watched the distant figures flickering against the sun as their shadows slithered along the ground beneath. The legion passed overhead, their sights set on one of the northern cities; perhaps even Sitnic or Gor.
'I don't think anything will ever be the same for any of us.' Rarmin sighed as the low rumble faded into the distance.
'I have to bury them.' Seteal pulled away and opened the door to Gifn's workshop.
Rarmin followed Seteal's gaze to the large table at the centre of the room on which sat a readymade coffin. 'When he returned, Gifn all but forgot about the business, but sometimes I'd see the lantern in the window late at night. I guess now we know why.'
'When he'd returned?' Seteal asked in confusion. 'What do you mean?'
'Oh!' Rarmin put a hand to his mouth. 'Of course, you couldn't have known. He followed every rumour, snatch of gossip, and lie until he'd tracked you to the Frozen Lands. I told him not to go.' Rarmin frowned. 'I told him not to play games with the Elglair.'
'But he returned,' Seteal said slowly.
'Yes,' Rarmin frowned, 'but he was different. He'd been convinced by someone that you were dead. I told him that unless he'd seen your body he co
uldn't be sure, but he was utterly convinced.'
'Did he mention a name?' Seteal narrowed her eyes, her hands shaking with hatred.
'Yes,' Rarmin murmured. 'It was an odd name. I can't quite recall it, but Gifn did tell me that the man had been your mother's father.'
'Far-a-mael,' Seteal's voice shook. 'Far-a-mael did this to him.'
'Yes.' Rarmin clicked his fingers. 'That was it.'
'Would you be so kind as to help me with my father's coffin, Mister Beura?' Seteal asked coldly. 'I'd like to get it inside before the rest of the town wakes up with a taste for my blood.'
'It'll be okay, Seteal,' Rarmin reassured her. 'Nobody actually believes that young fool Brindon. We know you didn't kill the preacher.'
'Are you quite so sure?' Seteal muttered as she moved to the other side of the coffin and waited for Rarmin to pick up his end.
'You can lift it,' Rarmin said disbelievingly, Seteal having absentmindedly already picked up her end with one hand. She quickly put her other hand beneath the coffin and pretended to strain.
'I got it.'
'I could make a smaller one for the boy,' Rarmin offered, shuffling backward through the door.
'That would be very kind.'
'Might I ask about the father?'
'He's dead,' Seteal snarled.
'I'm sorry.'
'Don't be.'
As they made their way around to the front of the house the early risers of the village ceased their various tasks and turned to stare at Seteal as she passed. As she made her way up the front steps she watched the people gather into small groups where they glanced at her and whispered among themselves. They could gossip all they wanted, but they would never understand what Seteal had been through. Nobody could.
Seeol landed near the top of a nearby tree. The elf owl's eyes locked on Seteal's and somehow she knew exactly what they were saying: that when everyone else was gone, when she'd been forsaken by the ones she loved, as little as it was worth he would be there. Forever watching with his piercing golden eyes. Whether that was a good thing or not was another matter entirely.