The Slopes of Chel Kol
I met Chel Kol while passing through the village of Staidsbury on a Court errand for my father, the Elder Magistrate of the four counties. I yearned to tear myself away from home, where most days, my wife and progeny distracted me with every available nuisance until my head sang like a struck tuning fork. I wasn't happy, but travelling in luxury, as I felt I deserved, kept me from throwing tantrums.
I was wed at a foolish age, and held onto Courtly notions of
romance as long as I could stand it. After children came, though, it was a
downhill disaster much like an avalanche. My wife and I had long fallen out of
love. We circled one another with a sly guile, like two foxes trying to outwit
the other. I pressed my father for more court duties whenever I could, anything
that would take me out of town as often as possible and for as long as
possible. He obliged in his cantankerous way, if only to prevent stoking the
fires of hostility at home and jeopardizing the reputation of his Court with
rumors of yelling and screaming between husband and wife.
I grew accustomed to long carriage journeys where the rumbling of
the road and the singing of the meadowlarks put me to sleep. When in towns like
Staidsbury, I drank myself under a table after Court business, but I rarely got
into trouble that didn't blow over by morning. There was the time I was caught
with the wife of a local judge, but in all fairness, the judge seemed thankful
when I paid him off. He did not want a scandal, or for my father, the Elder
Magistrate, to strip him of his title. It was one of many advantages to having
been born into the inner sanctum of the Judicial Magi du Josta. The only disadvantage, as far as I
knew, were the arranged marriages, like mine, and the torrents of unhappiness
they caused.
One fateful day, during the last blustery weeks of winter, my carriage set out from Court toward Staidsbury. We took the usual route through
Grayman's Trough, a deep fissure cutting through the stone quarries separating
the Court from the vast plains. Once the stone walls of the quarry sloped low,
we emerged out into a small thicket of birch trees. The carriage jostled over
the roughest part of the road there, then spilled out into the bluelands, a
long stretch of grassland dotted with bluefin and honeysuckle. We continued on
for the duration of the morning until noon hit, and it was then that distant
plumes of smoke rose from the trees past the bridge. The town was near. Through
the shades, I spotted a cart at the far side of the bridge marking the town
line. It was a perfume cart, lined with tonics and decanters of various sizes,
and run by a dark girl enveloped by a hood and cloak. There appeared to be at
least three customers in a kind of half circle around her.
I recognized her immediately as a member of the Kosh Kol, a
mountain tribe rarely seen roaming the dry soil and switch grass of the
bluelands. The Kosh abhorred visitors and hangers-on, preferring to slink among
the frozen roots of the mountain's knuckles and wade through the meters-high
drifts that hung off the ridges like thick duvets near the peak. The Kol range
stayed wreathed in freeze all year. The climate never shifted there, not even
in summer. A kind of superstition hung all about us valley people about it, and
few of us wandered there. The Kol themselves were rarely seen. They weren't a
pretty people; so my father's family told me, and there were good reasons past
the ugly looks to steer clear of them, they said.
This girl, however, was clearly from the Kol range, but she was no
typical Kosh Kol, and the moment she came into view through my blinds, the very
sight of her compelled me to stop.
I tapped on the forward cabin wall. The sound of clopping hooves
ceased, and the carriage lurched slightly. My carriage master and footman,
Zooth, approached and unlatched the door. He stooped to place the footstool in the
grass, and I fastened my accouterments before stepping out with a
flourish. The three men who surrounded the girl no longer appeared to be
customers, but rather, 'admirers.' They chatted all at once.
By the way she stood, she appeared on the defensive, overwhelmed by their attention, but she kept silent and her angular face was as fixed stone. She took care not to frown or grimace at their words. It appeared as though she was very accustomed to such attention, and knew how to avoid inciting rage. The men flashed their teeth, stepping closer to her when any one of them spoke, like she was a desert oasis and they were men coming in from the wastes to drink long and deep from the pool.
By the way she stood, she appeared on the defensive, overwhelmed by their attention, but she kept silent and her angular face was as fixed stone. She took care not to frown or grimace at their words. It appeared as though she was very accustomed to such attention, and knew how to avoid inciting rage. The men flashed their teeth, stepping closer to her when any one of them spoke, like she was a desert oasis and they were men coming in from the wastes to drink long and deep from the pool.
She was extraordinarily beautiful. A kind of
urgent radiance danced off her like a dark winter stream, even through her
thick, dusky cloak. Something intangible in the shape of her, I sensed, could
easily drive a man into a lustful fever. I may have even succumbed to it
myself, but I felt it my Courtly duty to protect her. After that, I would have to
fight being overtaken by my own desire for her.
"Step away!" I commanded the men. I counted on the
prominent crests on my cloak and the side of the carriage to precede my
authority. "I said, step away, gentlemen!" I repeated, louder this
time so the girl could hear me.
One of them, a bright-faced youth with blond curls and a moon
face, scowled.
"You t'aint got nuh jurisdicting here, me'lord!" he
spit. "Now ye jest step off now and go off. This is between us folk, don't
you mind!"
His friends, a pair of tall and dirty beanpoles, leered at the
girl and stepped awkwardly behind her. They said nothing, but one of them
reached for her cloak. I kept my sword sharp out of habit, yet hadn't used it
in at least three years. I drew it out, and the blonde man immediately drew
his. He stepped between me and the cart, leering so nastily that his youth
faded, showing me instead a broken, poor lout.
"Now that's mohr like it, hargh!" he laughed, licking
the corner of his mouth and drawing into position. "You ain't gonna know
whut hit you, creempoff!"
A small crowd had formed along the banks of the river, gazing up
at the bridge, all aware there was a ruckus brewing. A vagabond group
wandered in from the direction of Staidsbury. They surrounded us now, eyeing
our conflict with the interest of starving vultures. I heard whispers of 'He's
from the Courts!' My resolve to demonstrate my authority, save the
girl, and protect the honor of my station overwhelmed my reason.
I held the blade defensively. I'd honed an effective defensive
strategy at the Academy, but fear still surged through me. This was my first
fight since my Academy days. A long stretch of fatherhood and inactivity had
softened me. I suspected moon face and his friends might be a great deal more
accomplished than I. He lunged and his steel snapped against mine with uncommon
strength. I flexed arm muscles to stay on solid footing and return the parry.
I barely had the chance to strike when I heard one of the two
beanpoles cry out in pain. He was doubled over just behind the girl. Moon face
lowered his guard to look back at the noise. I noticed then that she had leaned
into her cart to kick one of her legs back into his groin, and subsequently,
the cart had toppled over. As for her shoe, it was embedded in him with metal
spikes, and blood already blossomed through his clothing. The other beanpole
looked astonished as the girl wrenched her shoe out with a sickening 'plusch,' and
wriggled out of her thick cloak. Before either of the two gaunt lads was able
to stop her, she had stepped behind the kart, silent as a mouse, a look of
intense concentration on her face.
I danced to the right to approach her, and the petulant youth
moved to flank me before I could. I shot glances between her and him. The
girl's lithe and supple figure leaned against the overturned cart. I thought I
saw her smile. She wore dark, tight leather bound mail with metal thorns. Both
of her shoes, if they could be called shoes, were covered in the small, deadly
looking spikes, and one was soaked crimson.
Moon face went for a lunge, but I was ready this time. Some of my
Academy instinct kicked in and I dodged the blow without raising my blade, then
reached out and bonked the youth on the head with the flat end. This only
enraged him. He temporarily forgot his senses and led me towards my
destination, the cart, with a flurry of raging strikes, until the girl and I
touched, back-to-back. I felt the brief prick of spikes through my cloak
as she backed against me instinctively. The other two men, meanwhile, flanked
her on the other side, and the one with the crippled groin led the pack,
snarling.
"Oh, yer gonna take it now, you are!" the bloody one
snapped. "Yes, you gonna take it all it from me!"
She had not yet spoken a word, but I could hear her breath, quick
and light, as she grabbed something from her cart and moved away toward the
men. I could smell her now as the breeze of her movement wafted up to my face,
a mixture of cedar and jasmine, and it exhilarated me.
Moon face's blade swings at me were strong and violent, and tested
the limits of my strength, but his technique was not as accomplished as I had
feared. He had courage on his side, but I had something more. I kept both hands
on the handle to compensate for his incredible strength, but as we both grew
weary, I danced to his left, then his right, and he seemed to lose his
momentum. With one swing, he lost balance, and I clapped the blade out of his
hand and with another swing, dug the sharp end into his belly. He went down
grasping for his sword, his face rosy red.
The sun lit up the water under the bridge and bounced off my
sword, projecting a shimmering pattern on the stone as I raised my weapon
for another strike. I wanted this kill so badly. I said a quick prayer to Josta
and the Seven Saints and did a clean strike through his chest. Blood spurted in
a geyser from his mouth and onto the stone of the bridge.
I heard muffled screams from behind me. A body lay on the ground
just meters from where I stood, the face burned away. It was the beanpole she'd
kicked. I dashed around the cart and saw that other man had gotten the girl
into a kind of lock and his hands fumbled with a knife. As she struggled to
pull his arms away, I saw that her forearms were covered in scars old and new,
as though years' worth of knives had drawn across them. I whacked the remaining man's lower spine with
my sword, and the dagger clattered out of his hands. The girl wrested free and
breathed low, gasping.
"Finish him off," she rasped. Her chest rose and fell in
ragged breaths.
Something came over me. I really had no choice. County law
supported my actions - indeed, the Elder Magistrate would never have me
punished for this - but it was something beyond that. I wanted to do the girl's
bidding, even at my own expense; because I realized that I wanted her more than
I'd ever wanted anyone. Even now, crouched like a dark tigress and struggling
for air, she compelled me to act on her behalf.
So, I drew the blade back and swifted the steel through inches of
flesh, muscle and bone. It took another hack to finish him off, and his body
lay twitching in an ocean of blood.
"Your cart's ruined," I said. I noticed that most of the
bottles were knocked away and had mostly busted open. "You used something
on his face." I motioned to the beanpole whose faceless head was still
attached to his body. "Did you use something?"
She stood and reached out for her cloak, then drew back,
disgusted. It was soaked in blood.
"My cloak is ruined, too." she said. I heard a strong
accent, jagged and distant and cold like the mountains the Kosh Kol called
home. A cloud passed overhead and the river and bridge and all the surrounding
blueland grass lost their glow and became ashen grey.
"Did you use something on his face?" I asked again.
"From there?" I motioned to the cart.
"I did." she answered. "It is how we pro-tect from
you." She stopped, puzzling over her words. "How we pro-tect, from
men such as you." She said it with a sort of deference, but the distance
in her voice was now, I realized, much more than her accent.
I wanted to sound caring, and kind, but I wasn't in the mood. I
felt like I was being set up to merely send her on her way, and never see her
again. I'd be another nameless hero with provincial interests and the blessings
of the court, sending the wild mountain woman on her way. I didn't want to be
that. I wanted to know her. I didn't know why, but I needed to know her.
"You need to get cleaned up," I insisted, gesturing to
Zooth, who, up until that moment, was cowering under the carriage. Mud spotted
his liveries.
"My lord..." he began, sausage fingers fumbling.
"I..."
"Get us to town. Get my table and my room ready." I
instructed. I spun around with another flourish, and determined I'd be bold.
"I am Malon, officer of the Magistrate's Court! You're coming with me!" I announced.
She looked unsure, but something like a smile twisted through her
mouth and then vanished. I saw that she was gazing at the emblem on my
carriage.
"You'll pay for that."
she said, gesturing to her toppled cart. "And you pay for the cloak."
"I will pay." I said. "Whatever you
need, I will pay. I would like to honor myself with your company, to give you
an opportunity to recover from your injuries."
"There is no recover."
she said, plainly. "But I will go with you."
I sent Zooth to procure a new cloak for the Miss, and to fix her
busted cart before morning of the following day. He didn't question my orders,
but instead hooked the cart to the back of the carriage and waddled up onto it,
disappearing out of sight.
Night pushed through Staidsbury. Hints of the last light peered
from the clouds as the sun fell, casting the Tudor style facades in amber and
honey yellow. The girl and I sat, side by side, on our third round of ale, gazing down
at the common tables below from the Official's perch on the second floor of the
Inn Bar. Every night it was like this - filled to capacity, pipes billowing
smoke all around, table wood buckled and popping from years of drinking in ale
and fire water. Mystics adorned with beads circled and wandered the tables like
dancers spinning solo on a ballroom floor.
My companion moved rhythmically next to me, in time to lute music being played down
below. She'd refused to part with her thorn mail at the door, and it lay
stripped off at her feet like a crumpled and obedient pet. She reached down
into it and lifted up a small Vallum case, and dipped her index finger
inside, and moved her finger inside her mouth along her inner cheek. Her eyes
drooped. She gazed lazily over at me, head nodding more. She looked like she
wanted something from me, but her head lolled over away. I suspected it was all
the Vallum. I took a swig of ale and spoke.
"When we sat down, you said your name was Chel Kol." I
began. "Is is customary for all of you to take the name of the Kosh
Kol?"
She looked deeply confused - her eyes still drooping - then really
angry. Her eyes got wide and she shook her head back and forth at me
disapprovingly.
"No, Malon. Do you take the name Jackass like all your brethren
through the Valley?"
She said it, and then her eyes drooped again. I laughed heartily
and took a much deeper gulp this time, letting the cool ale flow down my
throat. I set it down and made a wide gesture across my mouth with my sleeve,
and laughed some more.
"Very nice, Chel Kol." I said. "I really like
you." I couldn't help looking a little fearful as I glanced her way. The
light danced upon her face from the barroom below and coated her skin in deep
warmth. The shadows of her bosom lay just below, and that same fire surged in
me as before. I took a breath and struggled to regain control of myself.
She just shrugged. Once she sat, her mood grew catatonic, a far
cry from the way she carried herself on the bridge. I wanted to ask her
more questions, but was fearful that she might just lose her mind and jump up
from the table and wander out into the night. Just as I feared she would, the
girl instead leaned toward the railing impulsively, and gazed down, and asked:
"What do you think of the mystics, Malon? Do you believe in
their cards and bones?"
"I've never given it any thought. My family lives by law and
code. We have no room for superstition. Why - do you?"
"We are like you - 'laws and codes.' Although I dare say, we
are less corrupt, less savage, in our ways than you. But our laws are laws you
do not understand."
"How are we savage?" I set down my tankard and put my
elbows up on the table.
She changed the subject, as was her want.
"Malon, do you want to know what a mystic told me, the day I
wandered down from the mountain to make a living for my tribe, my Kolleh?"
I took a moment to consider if I wanted her to lead me down this
path. I had immense pride in my family. Nothing more than desire brought me
here. My manner and my dress might fool those around me. The fight - and the
kills - from that day - had inflamed and aroused me, and compelled me
still, to this mystics' bar in Staidsbury.
I said nothing to her but kept my eyes on her, on her silken black
hair and expressive lips. She went on.
"She told me that I would meet a good man, somebody who might
show me where I am wrong about the bluelanders." She turned to face me,
the sleepiness from her eyes all but gone and replaced by fire. "Am I
wrong, officer Malon of the Magistrate's Court?"
She paused again, then asked: "Are you good?"
She paused again, then asked: "Are you good?"
She asked so bluntly that I felt a shock rip
through me. Nobody had ever asked me that question, and something changed as
she asked it. She was not a dalliance or a lark. She hadn’t followed me to town
because I asked. She believed she was meant to be there, with me, and each
passing minute with me began to test her resolve. I looked down at the bar, at
the card games and bone scattering and foamy mugs and breaking glass. Past the
barroom, I saw the windows and yellow lanterns beyond, passing back and forth.
Night had descended completely onto me. My face changed and I began to speak
more slowly.
"I don't know, Chel, if I am good. I know that I am a coward,
and if a scoundrel and a fraud can be good, then I guess I am good. I guess
your mystic was right -- she just did not tell you the whole truth."
The shadows deepened among the upper rafters around our heads. We
had the balcony to ourselves, and it seemed the noise from below began to wane.
All those below collectively drew in breath as the games began in earnest
and the mystics sat with their bone bags and their customers sat silent,
waiting for word on their fate.
"You have bluster." Chel answered finally, after what
felt like minutes. "You are not serious about anything in your life, and I
know why you did what you did today." She reached over and touched my left
arm, almost reassuringly. "But it is not the first time I am in danger,
and you are the first who stopped. It also takes courage to want without fear,
Malon, even knowing what you cannot have."
"It doesn't make me good." I retorted. I used my right
arm and lifted the tankard and drank. The ale tasted like the blood of the men
on the highway now. Her touch made me numb. She hadn't rejected me outright,
but I felt the poisonous sting of rejection and self recrimination coursing
through me. We sat in silence for another few minutes, her hand on my arm. The
shadows deepened and my desire dampened.
I left word with Zooth to take Chel back to her lodging, and
arrange for her possessions to be returned to her. She bowed deeply and
wandered off with him in silence, and I wandered to my provincial cabin on the
edge of town, and locked myself inside.
I lay awake for some time, listening to the sounds of wolves and
midnight scavengers outside. I thought of a memory from my childhood. I was eleven. My
favorite Uncle Lidea, the Elder Magistrate then, caught me teasing a local girl
by repeatedly lifting up her dress with my wooden sword. He dragged me to a
quiet corner of the palace and beat me harder than my father had ever beaten
me. I've never seen Uncle Lidea angry before.
"Don't you ever do that to a girl, boy!" he
screamed, hot with rage. "Tell me you get it, boy!"
Tear-stained and red with shame, I cried some form of an apology.
"I pray there comes a day," he said, still furious,
"When you meet somebody..." I averted my gaze and he slapped my face
back to attention. "Listen to me! When you meet someone who will change
all this nonsense, all this..." he gestured around us. "...Magi Du
Josta entitlement! I'm sick
of it myself, and have half the mind to..." he stopped speaking and sent me
on my way.
A year later, Lidea fled the Four Counties, and was rumored to
have taken up doing rigging jobs on the vast seas past the Kol Ranges. My
father became Magistrate soon after, and my ascension began.
I wondered if Lidea was my mystic, if I had merely heard him too
early in life to understand his words. I drifted off with thoughts of the cold
ranges, and a roiling sea beyond. As dreams flooded my mind, I saw the image of
Lidea, salty and lean, hanging from a foremast and shouting to the horizon. His
shouts and the shouts of the crewmen continued through the night, and it wasn't
clear where dreams and reality collided.
I woke late to the sound of light scratching at the window. A
bone-weary weight still clung to me from the night before; too much ale, too
little sleep. The scratching became a tapping, and it grew louder. I sat up
quickly, seized by the notion that someone was trying to break in. Darkness
still infested the room and in the cracks between the stones and the shadows
under the bed throbbed. What time was it?
The light tapping came in spurts, every few seconds. I heard a
voice past the thick cloth over the window, and I leapt up and tossed the sheet
aside. Light flooded the room. It was easily past noon. The wood stove in the room created a stifling warmth. I saw a shape past the fogged glass, a head and shoulders. The
delicate impression of a hand pressed on the glass. Someone giggled.
"Yes?" I called gruffly. "Who is it?"
I peered through the glass and made out the shape of a woman's
head, dark and angular, black hair slung forward in neat, dark points on either
side of her face. My eyes adjusted to the light and I then saw that she knew I
was on the other side of the glass, looking back at her. It was Chel Kol. My
heart began to race uncontrollably in my chest.
"Let me in!" she said, her voice muffled through the
window. "Let me in, Malon! It is Chel Kol!"
I leaped to the door and she came inside, breathing hard and fast,
shutting the door behind her. I thought at first she had been running, but her
dark eyes flickered and blazed as she gazed at me. The room was still but for
the sound of her breathing, which only grew louder as the seconds ticked by.
This mountain girl with the fighting spirit was really leaving me no choice
now. I had desired her the day before but now, melting in the heat of the lodge
and still swimming of thoughts of the night before, I ached for her, and I let
my gaze say as much.
The very next moment, she ran up to me and pressed herself to me,
and opened her mouth to mine. It didn't take long for us to peel ourselves
loose in the heat and pull each other down in a tangle. I lost myself in her
scent, that of cedar and jasmine, and the taste of her, that of clove and
metal. She spoke to me all the while, letting out small whispers, and long
sighs of 'good' and other
things so raw as to be for another two lovers somewhere else, two
lovers who had known each other longer than she and I. The shadows of the
afternoon deepened.
She lay next to me, breathing.
"Malon, you are too big for me!" she said out of the
blue, with the same unfettered focus she'd exhibited over the last twenty four
hours.
"Men of the Court are often fat!" I joked. I ran my hand
along the small of her back.
"You speak like a fat man, Malon, but that is not what I
meant."
"Chel..." I began. She sensed the change in my tone and
rose up off the floor and pulled herself together. Something spun in her brain,
something just beyond my comprehension. She sensed my confusion and said,
"Malon, I do not want to know about your life at Court. I know there is
much we have not told each other. I think there is good reason for this. Just
-- just..."
She placed her fingers on my lips, and said:
"I must open myself to the river. It is a ritual that must be
done. I would like you to see."
She clung to me as we exited the lodge. The back end of the
Staidsbury River lay at the bottom of the ridge beyond the lodge. The water
sparkled through the thick branches. The sun was high and clear and wood smoke from dozens of lodges stung my eyes. We reached the river, which was wide and clear, snaking through the
woods behind the lodge before winding around the town and under the bridge near
the town line. We headed to the water and she got on her knees and began to
chant. She took a small blade from her mail and drew it along her forearm - a
long, thin slice to join the other scars there.
The blood trickled onto the sandy bank and into the river. Every
one of her movements was deliberate. It entranced me. I stood, silently,
watching her as she wrapped her arm up in a cloth tourniquet.
Just then, I heard shouts from somewhere through the trees. They
were indistinct at first but it became clear the voices were amassing at the
top of the ridge.
"Massacre! Massacre!" they shouted. "Kosh Kol came
through last night! Massacre!"
My eyes grew wide and I backed away from Chel, who looked as
alarmed as I.
"Did you know about this?!" I yelled at her, pointed up
at the ridge. "Is this why you came to me? Did you come to hide?! Hell of a way to
hide!"
All she did was shake her head vehemently at me.
"I woke, and... and Zooth told me where you were,
and..." she stopped, as if snapping herself out of a daze. The fighter
came out. "Be damned, Malon!" she yelled, throwing on her cloak.
The men were already filtering down through the trees. I heard the
stretch of bows somewhere, and the sound of steel unsheathing. I hoped to Josta
that they weren't Sastran Knights.
"Stop!" I yelled. "Officer of the Magi du Josta on
Court business here! Announce yourselves! Court Business!" I went to grab
Chel's arm, but she pulled it away and made to leave. "If you leave my
side, they will come after you!" I hissed. "I've seen you handle
yourself against one or two men, but you have no chance against thirty."
She stopped, looking every bit as dark and lovely as I'd ever seen
her.
"What chance do you have?" she muttered.
"I have something you do not..." I shot back. "...the
backing of the Elder Magistrate. Now stand with me, by Josta!"
She took my side, fuming.
The men were not Sastrans, but rather local patrol, from the looks
of it. I breathed a sigh of relief. Sastran Knights would not have hesitated to
cut her down and turn me into the Courts. Patrols, on the other hand, were a
more malleable lot. A single knight archer on horseback often led town patrols,
but these were foot soldier volunteers bursting with local pride, and not like
the trained warriors of the Great Court...
"There's been a massacre in town, sir." said their
leader, an older bowman with a head full of grey hair. "I am Byrne. I'm
sorry to report, sir. You are Malon, you say? Your servant is dead. Massacred
with the rest of 'em, out on the main highway. Happened about six this mornin'.
Whole load of Kol fresh from the mountain, sir."
He saw the girl as he approached.
"By Josta!" he cried. "You got one!"
Byrne called back to the other patrol. "He got one!" He looked
back at me. "You caught 'er, milord? She's the first we've seen of the
mountain folk."
"The Court caught her, bowman." I advised, keeping my
expression cool. "She was performing a ritual and I caught her off guard.
I need to take her in for questioning." I sensed her near me. By her
stance I knew she readied for a fight. I didn't know whether to follow her lead
or stay calm.
"I know you!" another voice cried. A younger man, no
more than twenty years of age, stepped forward. "He's the one, sir! He
killed Prince Lozano's son yesterday! He burned the face right off one of 'is
servant boys!"
The others streamed in and heard what the young one had to say.
"Is this true? Was this you?" Byrne asked sharply.
"I saw no Prince's son yesterday." I said. "I
killed a rascal, and a rapist, out on the bridge, but I saw no Prince's son. I
am backed by the Elder Magistrate. I suggest you let me pass with my prisoner,
or all of you will pay dearly."
It was clear the two incidents - this massacre and the bridge
fight - were related. There were now at least fifteen armed men assembled in a
broad circle around us. The Magi
du Josta emblems on my
clothing stood us between safety and death. Something subtle had changed on
Bryne's face, but I couldn't tell what it was. I reached out and found Chel's
arm, and gripped it tight, and murmured, 'Close, stay close' through my teeth.
Byrne clearly didn't believe me about Chel, but backed the others up the hill.
His face was that of deep consternation.
"You're alone, sir!" the young man pressed me. He didn't
even bother looking at Chel, who all the while made efforts to lose her arm
from my grip. She was not accustomed to being held under any circumstance.
"Malon, is it?" the youth continued. "How can you say that the Court..."
"Silence!" yelled Byrne. "Do not say another word
to this man without my order! Let him by!"
I heard grunts of frustration from the other thirteen men who
surrounded us. Some of them were more heavily armed than their leader. Any of
them might have stepped at me from the rear or taken me out; it all hinged on
their loyalty to Byrne. I sensed deep discontent in their ranks, but I stepped
ahead anyway with my chest puffed out and my head held high.
"Do not speak." I whispered to Chel, who had, like me,
realized the futility of taking so many men on at once. "Stay close to the
bowman."
The lot of us moved slowly up from the river and through the
trees. The afternoon sun shot down through holes in the tree canopy, glinting
off armor, helmets and swords on every side. Needles from the spruce carpet of
the forest crunched underfoot. The bright singing of birds in nests overhead
serenaded our grim procession up the ridge and into Staidsbury. I kept one hand
around Chel's arm, and another on my scabbard under my cloak. It would be
close. Even if we made it up the hill, we had no way to escape town before it
became decided that I had no lasting claim of innocence for my crime,
and no lasting claim on the girl.
As we walked, I kept my breath steady and thought it over. I
had always counted on protection from the Courts to keep me from harm when
abroad, but everything about this day was different. If what Byrne said was
true, and the Kosh Kol had ventured down from the mountains, performing
terrible deeds, then the local province would usurp Court Authority for its own
protection. There was also the matter of the Lozano prince - that moon faced
bastard on the bridge. It was within my right to kill him, of course, but a
terrible notion hit me.
There was the small chance that the Kosh Kol, that distant peoples
rarely seen in the Valley, had caught scent of the bridge incident, and came to
investigate. Perhaps they came across the ruined cart and the blood on the
stone, and the missing Chel Kol. They might conclude she was dead, and that
someone took her wares, and her life. They'd see Zooth with the cart and come
to the obvious conclusion. The Kosh were not forgiving. From what I'd
heard of the mountain tribe, they'd relentlessly purify the town. If they had
done so, I could not imagine our fate.
We hit the crest of the ridge, just outside of town, and I saw the
faceless torso propped up against a tree there. It confirmed my worst fears. I
knew it wouldn't be the last body. The band of men had already seen the body on
their way down to the river, but seeing it again caused their fists to close
tighter around their weapons.
As we walked, I saw Chel's dark, beautiful eyes gaze up at
the body, even as she kept her head low. Her eyes flickered for a moment, and
then moved up past the trees. Her gaze pushed out past the town, beyond the
bluelands, over the foothills and up the treacherous paths beyond to the
mountain passes of her Kolleh.
She was in agony. A storm of conflict raged in her eyes. She knew then, as
I knew, that our only hope was in getting her up the mountain, to her people,
and proving that she lived. This act would not bring the victims in Staidsbury
back from the dead, but it might prevent further atrocities on either side.
Instinctively, she moved to run.
"Please! You'll die if you run!" I begged.
She spoke low.
"The Kosh were here. My Kolleh sent
them to watch me. And now they have done... this." Her eyes grew glassy
and distant. She could not bear to look at the bodies any longer.
"Where are they now?" I asked, mindful of eyes watching
us on all sides.
They have purified this place. They are far from here... where, I do not know."
Byrne sidled up against me then, suddenly.
"By Josta, stay quiet!" he ordered. To his men, he
exerted his authority over us with his words, but I saw through him. I sensed
in him a deep concern for our safety.
I seized Chel's arm again and gripped my blade to pull it out, but
the bowman placed his hand on my forearm.
"You have no time left!" he rasped. "These men have
loyalty to Staidsbury, not to me. They will lose cohesion at any moment, and
take arms against you. Listen hard." He nodded at Chel. "You
too."
"I knew your Uncle," Byrne said to me, quietly.
"Lidea was the best man I ever knew. He loved his family. You heard
stories of him, yes? Stories of the sea?" Byrne shook himself hard and
cursed himself. "There is no time for me to say. I have my horse up ahead.
A good, hearty stallion. You take him, and you go. You don't stop, you don't
fight, you just go when I say. Ride the girl home. I see
she already yearns for the mountain. Don't ever come back here."
His spoke emphatically, like a man cursed or facing execution. He
understood, as Chel and I did, that our only chance was to bring her back
alive. It might be too late to assuage the Knights' blood lust - they hated the
Kosh Kol - but we might prevent further massacres by steering the Kol away from town.
Bodies lay all about the main road. The armed guards all seethed
with sight of them.
The Sastran Knights would hear of this outrage, then move up
the mountain and slaughter those they could find. There had not been war in
many years, but the first traces of it now lay strewn all about us. I had
only to know that Chel understood this, too. We had to be the first to reach
the Kolleh, and get her to safety. She and I both exchanged a glance, and she
grabbed my arm.
"Come with me, Malon." she urged.
I took a moment, and let the last of my thoughts of Court drop away.
I couldn't leave her side.
Byrne's horse was up ahead, tied to a hitch and stomping its
muscular feet nervously in the dirt. Byrne gave me a single look that said it
was time to go.
The second Chel began to run, the other men made straight for her.
I ran behind her, untied the hitch quickly, brazenly looping the rope in my
hands. A few patrol looked to Byrne in disbelief, but the majority was already
crouched to charge us. Chel rushed low at the rear of the horse, as though she
would dive right underneath it. Instead, she dropped her hands in the dirt and
pushed out, and did a graceful, wide-arced somersault though the air and
flipped up over the horse, landing squarely on the saddle. Her thorn mail
glimmered in the light as she sat atop the horse. I had only a moment to stand
and gawk at her.
"Men, stop!!" I heard Byrne scream. "Malon is an
Agent of the Courts! Let him go or your life is forfeit!"
I jammed my feet in the stirrups and hoisted up behind her. The
moment I landed, she gave out a raspy "Hargh!" The horse snorted and let
loose down the main highway, and I held on for dear life.
"Malon is an Agent!" Byrne shouted far behind us.
"Let the knights get him! Don't risk your lives for a single Kosh Kol! Stop!"
Byrne's voice and the shouts of his men - if they were still his men - grew
indistinct. Chel rode, quiet and fierce. The violence of the gallop,
the noise of wind and sound of my own labored breathing hacked at my senses, so
I clung to her. We flew over the blood-stained bridge where the water flowed
cold and quick. I recognized the highway I knew so well, but it was a different
sight from on top of a stallion, besieged by cold air and in awe of
the elements.
Chel veered west off the highway, and we made across the plains.
It felt as though twilight came early in the Valley. The flaxen grass
turned orange long before the sun dipped down, then went red as we rode, then
grew deep purple once the sun disappeared. We rode forever, it seemed. The blue
shade enveloped the land, and took any succinctness of shape and form and
consigned it to a netherworld of lilac and crimson. There was little to see now
but bands of horses, wild and tame, setting out across the plain. Traders' caravans were far off, mere shadows in the distance,
appearing and disappearing with the shadows. We steered clear of the roads
hacked through the grass, and stayed out of sight, to avoiding sighting by
local patrols, or worse, Sastran Knights. The main highway lay far behind us
now, having dissolved into the horizon. As the night cleared away all vestiges
of the day, we found ourselves quite alone, and speeding hard through the
endless plain toward the towering mountains far off in the distance.
I wanted so badly to speak to Chel as we rode. I needed to ask why
she hadn't left me behind, but her naked stoicism put me at an uncommon lose
for words. She was a force of nature, not to be reasoned with. I was a
twig in her storm, letting unfamiliar winds carry me instead of the winds of my
birth. She had every reason to drop me, to set out on her own for the
mountains she called home. She might have left me with the patrol, but instead,
she kept me close. Our pairing had already endured hours longer than I guessed
it should have, by any measure. The words of her Kolleh mystic must have dug into her. They
weren't just words, after all. Chel believed that I was a good man, she said. Are you good, she had asked me at the bar the
night before. Good, she whispered to me when our
bodies met. It was a word different to her than to me. She felt fated to cross
my path. It was good enough for her. As for me, I was not so sure. I knew I
loved her, but the word love took me back to something unformed and
unsophisticated from my youth, so I pushed the idea away and let the sounds of
our breathing carry me along.
I leaned into her hard, not at all feeling like the man I was just
a day before. I let the thorns of her mail stick me through her cloak. I knew
they caused me to bleed, but I did not care. I recalled someone else from the
other day: a snoozing, pompous Magistrate's son, rocked to sleep by the syrupy
rhythms of an intemperate life in a padded carriage. I thought of the road on
past Grayman's Trough, and the high, outstretched walls of the Great Court. I
thought of my family, sitting in silence at executions and ceremonies, stopping
for only a moment to wonder where I had gone. It all felt so far off.
We ducked past a high mound of grass to rest. The new day was upon
us. The cold range of Kol sat to the west, edged in clouds, jagged and fierce,
taking with it all traces of a blue sky.
I'd never been this close to the mountain. A trading post poked
out at the edge of a rocky slope where the barren foothills met the jagged
malevolence of the range. Stiff with cold, I slid uncomfortably off the horse
and hit the ground. Chel Kol stood over me, a look of intense impatience on her
face.
"I will feed the horse." she said, and helped me up off
the ground. "Go in. Warm up. Buy what you need. The slopes do not
forgive." Before I went inside, she reached in her cloak and pulled out a
small decanter too dark for me to see through. She dipped her finger inside, and
then slid her fingers into my mouth. It was bitter. I might have protested,
were it not for the cold, and were it not for her touch, which I could no
longer refuse.
A surge of warmth overcame the bitterness, so much that I could
stand. The blind and stooped ward of the post ordered his sons to bring us
clothing and a bit of food for sustenance. I knew that Chel wore the clothing
in spite of her resistance to cold, for fear of sticking me more with her armor
as we headed up the mountain. Once in the saddle, she brought her hood up all
around her head, and reached back and pulled my arms up around her.
"There." she said, satisfied. "Now I will not hurt
you."
We pushed up the trail and passed a handful of riders descending
on their burly Calabrese, heavy packs slung through the saddle. It now sunk in
that we aimed for her Kolleh. My
silent Kosh Kol companion shifted herself to the cold of the mountain. Her thaw
re-froze. As if heeding her calls for silence and meditation, the winds swooped
down around us from the steep slopes above, harsh and cutting, so that speech
became useless. I kept my hood up and dared not look back or down, at the
twisting paths and steep drops we left behind. I began to think of the warmth
of the plains. It became more difficult to see Chel clearly in front of me. She
was as a wraith, almost, and thought I stood in awe of her, I feared her now. I
wondered if she was riding me to my death.
The drifts rose around us. A darkest purple settled over
stone and snow. Fearing I'd fall off, Chel leaned back and used the rope to tie
me securely to the saddle. As she tied the last knot, I felt like an errant
child being strapped to a bed. It's for your protection, her eyes said. They flashed
at me with a steely blue pallor, but grew dark just as quickly. The skin of her
face grew ghostly like the drifts around us. With the rope holding me on, I let
my body drift. With eyes closed, it felt as though the horse climbed down, but
whenever I pried the ice from my eyelashes to gaze out on the world, I saw that
we climbed ever upward.
The air grew thin and the sky overhead dark and grey. I thought
once again of home. A thick sheen of frost covered my thoughts. Hours passed,
and we did not stop until my teeth chattered so loudly that Chel snapped from
her stasis to help me. She applied more salve to my mouth.
"Too much will make you sick, Malon, but you need it."
Her fingers were devoid of warmth now, but still moved nimbly
along my inner cheek. The bitter taste subsided quickly, and with the warmth
came nausea. I leaned over the side of the horse and vomited into the snow. I
grew disoriented.
"Why am I here?" I muttered. "I've lost my mind,
Chel!"
"The storm is stealing your air." she said. "You
must stay still."
She lifted back her hood. Her hair was tinged with deep blue, and
her skin had gone almost totally translucent. I supposed it was a
sickness-induced hallucination. It wasn't real... it couldn't be. With the
cold, too, came a pronounced, heightened sense of fear. It hammered
at me through the chill, though I tried and tried to push it back. I could only
stare upon the woman before me, at how the mountain air made her like a wraith.
Thoughts of warmer climes dragged my soul away from the trail and down the
mountain, despite me and all I'd fought for to get here. I was a coward. I was
afraid. I wanted to lie in a bed of grass, somewhere at home. I wanted the
walls of the Great Court to separate me from the ravages of a terrible world.
"Malon," she said plainly, as if reading my thoughts.
"Malon, do not ever leave me."
The cold infested every part of me. I could only stare dumbly
at her, paralyzed by cold and by fear. I wanted to speak, but my words slowed
and stopped on the slopes. A look of stunned alarm passed over her face
then, and for a brief moment I thought she reached out to push me from the
horse. Instead, she only pointed down past me.
"They are behind us." she warned.
I turned my head slowly, teeth chattering, and saw what she saw. A
trail of lights snaked up in the darkness just beneath us. I saw torches
flickering like a line of stars in the deep gully below.
"Are they Knights... or Kol?" I asked, after some
effort.
"Not Kol!" she said loudly.
She turned and kicked, and the horse stumbled ahead. I reached and
put my arm all the way around her to hold on. I gazed up at the peak around us
and saw the faintest outline of buildings. The Kolleh's stronghold lay just
beyond the last sloping trail, but it was shrouded in flurry and shadow.
Something in its shape, invoked in me a deep fear. I scrambled to contain it,
but it spilled out. I could not run from the Knights. My father commanded the
court that set them out on us. I had to explain. It was not my time to betray
my family.
Voices rose behind us in the wind. They came through the air in
foul grunts and battle cries. The Sastrans had arrived. I had to confront them.
I could not go any further. Chel didn't need me. She'd push on without me.
She'd ride on to the stronghold, and find her tribe, and tell them what
happened. I knew if I could only talk to the Sastrans, talk them out of it by
invoking Court authority. I could protect Chel, and save her, and save
everyone. I had to try.
"I'll hold them back!" I gasped, sliding my arm back
from around her. "Go! Go! You'll ride faster without me!"
I pulled my arm away from her and untied my ropes, and slid off the
horse
"You are not safe! Stay with me!" she yelled,
almost frantic. The stallion reared up and kicked the air. Her face seemed to
come alive. Her eyes blazed. "Be damned, Malon! Stay with me, you
bastard!"
"They have to know the truth!!" I yelled. I wasn't sure
if she could hear me, but it no longer mattered. She seemed to realize this.
Her pale face full of sadness and fury, she kicked at the horse so that it
jumped around me in a circle, trying to coerce me up the trail.
The knights were upon me. I spun to face the encroaching
horde. They rode as dark shadows through the blinding white. They all sat back
on their saddles, letting the swaying of their ghastly steeds carry them
forward. My planned sacrifice had failed. Chel would not leave my side, and now
she would likely die at my side, protecting me. As the tall knights rose over
me, blotting out the sky, Chel's horse cowered back against the cliff side. She
had removed her cloak and was sitting still in her horse, eyes closed.
Sastrans' helmets set them apart from other forces in the realm.
They hammered them from heavy ore and were fashioned like animals - anteaters,
stags, cobras. Forceful puffs of steam pushed out from their long, exaggerated
nostril holes. Their voices reverberated out over the snow, low and laced with
metal and gravel.
"Magi du Josta!" spoke a voice from a grey, blood
spattered anteater helmet. He sounded almost pleased. "We are pleased to
see you alive. The Kol murderer is with you."
I looked back to Chel, hoping she had decided to turn up the slope
toward the stronghold. Instead, she blended into the mountainside, perfectly
still, her hair and skin matching the snow. I turned back, desperate, to the
knights. The cold had already swallowed my legs up below the knee. I was in no
position to fight, but I brought out my sword, anyway.
The other Sastrans did not move or react. They only laughed. The
laugh came out in guttural and dry spurts, louder than it had any right to be.
"This Kosh is dead, like the others of her tribe. Put it
down. Put it down, Magi du Josta." said the anteater. Another knight, a
cobra head, added his voice to the laughter all around me. "You are under
a spell, Elder's son."
"She did nothing!"
I screamed. "I killed
the Lozano boy!"
"Under a spell, you did, Elder's son."
"No, no spell! No spell!" I kept
screaming "Her people thought we killed her!!”
"The unnatural, cursed cold here has stolen your judgment."
the anteater rasped.
"We can end this now!!!" I shouted. "She did
nothing!" I repeated. "Nothing!"
I tried yelling more, but exhaustion enveloped words, and they no longer heard me. I swung violently at the anteater, but only met steel as his blade moved to defend. I drew back and swung again, exhausted, but this time he slid his blade along mine until it raised up out of my hands and dropped into the snow. Half of the knights
had already passed me and ambled up to the trail where Chel sat. I tried to
yell, to scream, to scrape for a trace of strength somewhere inside, but
nothing came. I smelled blood and horsehair as the foul smelling behemoths
passed on either side, treating me like useless vermin.
"Chel..." I sobbed.
It was all my fault. Had I only stayed on the horse, and had I not
let the weight of the Court and of my own sense of importance drag me down off
of it and into the crippling snow, we might have both escaped. The stronghold
seemed to disappear in the air, like a mirage, and the only dark I saw in the
whiteout were the forms and shapes of hulking Sastrans approaching their prey.
I lost myself to the cold, and the sounds of shrieking and metal
sounded out from the cliff side. I swore I saw blue sparks. A thunderclap
pierced the air, and knocked me into the piling snow. The sensation of warmth I
felt was unlike the hot surging of the Kol salve. Instead, it was the warm
embrace of oblivion before all senses dimmed and died. My last thought before
losing consciousness in the snow was that the screams I heard, which grew
louder and seemed to pass me on either side, belonged not to Chel, but to the
Sastrans.
***
Even today, I am hunted by dreams of dark people covered in bones
and scars. When my mind drifts off and the unconscious world lowers around me,
dreams overcome my station. There, I am no longer Malon, Elder Magistrate of
the Court, but I am small and lean, mingling with steel and snow and blood.
Memories capture me as never before. I turn the day over again and again in my
mind, obsessively, like a puzzle box missing its vital parts. The memory from that day is
more dream now than real, colored over and pushed down.
I can still smell fresh cedar and the deep bloom of the jasmine
flower on my clothes. Someone carried me down the mountain. My body was gently lowered into the grass. I was kissed, and then nothing but the
sound of the wind on the stalks. My broken body lay on a cart. I spied an overcast sky and the high
stone walls of Greyman's Trough rising above me, then finally the Court - high
walls of ornate stone stretching across the valley. Then I woke.
In the daylight hours, the Palace guards shadowed me to
keep me safe. The laws and codes of our people spin a labyrinthine web
through the land, but I felt as though I'd lose myself if I did not wander the spirals of the Court. I wandered the spirals so fervently that my father ushered me into his blessing, and I took over from him when he died. The Court guard was loyal to me, and they, unlike their
Sastran predecessors, followed a code of honor.
My first act as Magistrate was to dissolve the ranks of the
Sastran Knights. Nothing that followed in my reign was ever as brutal and swift
and vengeful as that single act. From that point on, I only sought to
unite. The reconciliations I performed - with the Court, with my family - led me
inevitably toward my place in the high box in the gilded hall of the Seven
Saints. I dismantled the icons there, and I lost the swagger of my younger days, wiping away the corruption and favoritism that infested my father's court. I did what I could to seek the Kosh Kol, but all remnants of the tribe seemed to have vanished.
Traders found empty vessels and broken buildings at the summit of the mountains past the plains,but the people had scattered, or fled, or simply vanished into the rock and snow. I read much, and discovered things I did not know, and I modeled my Court after their faith. Truthfully,
all the while, I dreamed of following in the footsteps of Uncle Lidea. Now that my
age has advanced, it is unlikely that I will leave here ever again, and I pray that have done enough.
Just a moon's phase ago, I presided over a plea for representation - they were missionaries, by the looks of it. They wore robes embellished with markings I did not recognize. During the plea recitation, one of them lifted her face at me, and I saw a flash of blue. I inhaled so quickly that the whole court heard me, and stopped their activity to be sure I had no suffered an attack. By that time, whoever had stood there was no longer there, but I trembled. After granting their request, I sought them for answers, but they were mostly old and frail, and none of them knew the name or face I asked them about.
Just a moon's phase ago, I presided over a plea for representation - they were missionaries, by the looks of it. They wore robes embellished with markings I did not recognize. During the plea recitation, one of them lifted her face at me, and I saw a flash of blue. I inhaled so quickly that the whole court heard me, and stopped their activity to be sure I had no suffered an attack. By that time, whoever had stood there was no longer there, but I trembled. After granting their request, I sought them for answers, but they were mostly old and frail, and none of them knew the name or face I asked them about.
For the remainder of that day, I felt filled up with something so raw it threatened to consume me. I had not been to the Great River in some time. Flanked by the Guard, I wandered down the slopes in my robe, and I set out the blanket near the edge, where the quick current flew down from the mountains. I undressed, and laid out the cloth, and the bag. I took out the bones, placed them in a crescent formation and lifted my hands to the sky. I resisted the urge to fall face-first into the water. Instead, I took out the blade, and raked its delicate tip down my forearm. The many scars there snaked like fissures through my skin, translucent like ice where they ran deepest.
Blood ran out in a neat thin stream down my arm, and through my fingers. The purification quelled the surging tide within me, and I reached out the the water. I let my blood fall into the river, where it ran over the land of my birth, through the rock and stone, then drifted out to sea.
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