Chapter 3.3 – All That Is Left

With Lorelei behind me, I am in enemy territory. Final Hope, home to what is incorrectly known as the World’s Garrison, exists expressly to contain what they call the Undead threat. The soldiers that serve here are our proud jailers. For the humans of most of the world they represent security. For my people, they are an ever-present threat that we have no choice but to live with.

I have to be careful as I move through Final Hope, though I remain far south of the fortified encampment populated by every civilized country in the world, with the notable exception of Loralei. During the day I run at a believable speed, but at night, I increase my pace, confident no one will see me. So little time to make the trip, and so much ground to cover.

From Final Hope, it will be a ferry to the Brotherhood, and then another to get to Andara. With so much riding on my journey, I must depend on stealth, secrecy and luck. And to be honest, I haven’t always been that lucky.                                             

                                                                                                        Excerpt from the Journal of the Emissary

 

Third Day of Striving 1142

It seemed unlikely to Queen Rhea that Lord Ormund entertained guests, as the room they’d entered into only had two chairs, and one of those was his desk chair. Where most nobles had a sitting room that led to the rest of the suite, Ormund had set up a study. There were several books open to various pages on his desk. He pulled out the chair for Angel Morrow to sit on, and gestured to the remaining chair for Rhea.

“I was led to believe that no one could understand him,” said Rhea.

Morrow nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Did you not just hear him invite us in?”

Morrow looked confused. “No. I heard gibberish.”

“Well, I understood what he was saying perfectly.”

“Of course you did,” said Lord Ormund.

“See?” said Rhea.

Angel Morrow stared at her, hard. “You really understood that?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm. Strange. No one else can make out anything he says.”

Lord Ormund was watching her closely. “This has to do with my mother’s soul, doesn’t it.”

He smiled proudly. “I knew you would figure it out.”

“Mom?”

“Not really, no. I mean, I’m here, but there’s another here as well. We’ve merged into a single individual. Two have become one.”

“How is that possible?”

“What is he saying?” asked Morrow.

“I can understand him because I’m somehow connect to my mother’s soul.”

“That makes no sense to me.”

Apparently, Rhea only had to translate in one direction, because Ormund answered.

“Do you remember how I was when the accident happened. I was linked to the chirkir and heard all their voices at once. A thousand voices in my head, some of which were referring to the past, some the present and even the future. I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.

“Ormund has tried to incorporate me and my experiences into his very mortal brain. He’s still piecing things together. He doesn’t speak Twylish anymore, because that part of his mind was part of what was destroyed. Instead, he speaks the language of the chirkir, or at least, some facsimile of that language.

“He’s in control virtually all the time. I can’t speak. But I can if you’re present, because he senses my feelings for you. He allows us this time. I’m not sure if this is something intentional or unconscious, but it doesn’t matter. Your role in what is to come is changing. You have become our interpreter.”

“That feels like a step down.”

“Does it? The information I have is vital to our victory. At this moment, Rhea, you may be the most important person alive, because what we know, you’ll need.”

Rhea thought about it. Her old role, talking to Kings who were already going to cooperate anyway, really wasn’t that important. This was something that could change the tide of the war. One thing bothered her, though.

“How do we know we can trust the chirkir?”

Lord Ormund smiled, but it was wrong, as if that expression didn’t belong to him. She realized it was her mother’s smile on someone else’s face.

“We don’t. I do. It is not the chirkir you need to trust, but me. The question is can you do it? I know we’ve had our problems.”

“We did, but I didn’t understand back then. To be honest, I’m not sure I understand now. But I am a servant of Mitra and we never turn away from a possible source of knowledge if we can help it.”

“Good. Because we have things we need to talk about…but not here. We need to go to the temple.”

“Which one?”

“Any of them will do. You pick.”

“Why do we have to go then?”

“Because temples offer a level of privacy we can get nowhere in the palace. You must remember this Rhea…there are spies everywhere.”

*

Rhea had chosen the temple of Mitra, and the trip there had gone without incident. Rhea was aware that she was dressed beneath her station. That her hair hadn’t been brushed. She had been depressed, she realized. Lethargic. She spent more time sitting and thinking than taking care of herself and those around her. The goddess wouldn’t care, nor would the priests. Often enough, people involved in research and study became so involved they could go long periods of time skipping meals, or not sleeping. She’d fit right in.

Her companions, Angel Morrow and Lord Ormund, were joined by Jerish and a contingent of her household guards. A normal enough grouping that no one looked twice at. When they reached the temple, they were ushered inside, but motioned to silence, until they were alone with the high priest in one of the study rooms.

High Priest Karr didn’t look like a scholar. He was tall, dark-haired, well-built and quite good looking, with his piercing eyes and neatly trimmed beard. If she hadn’t known him, she’d have thought him a warrior. When he spoke, his deep voice matched his physical attributes. He was attractive. She wondered how she had missed that the last time she was here.

“Queen Rhea, a pleasure. Lord Morrow, Lord Ormund.”

“Just Angel Morrow. I am no longer considered nobility.”

“It doesn’t change that fact that you are of noble lineage, and your own study and research on various medical subjects pleases the goddess of lore. You are always welcome here.”

Angel Morrow ducked his head in acknowledgment or embarrassment, she couldn’t tell which.

“What’s going on?” asked Rhea.

“What makes you think something is going on?” asked the high priest.

“I’ve been a servant of Mitra for a very long time. You can tell when people’s interests are up.”

“Perhaps your guards can wait outside.”

Rhea nodded, and they left, well aware there were fewer places safer than in a temple. Jerish, to her surprise, was asked to stay.

Everyone took seats, while the high priest stood at the front of the room. None of this was normal. Rhea wondered what the hell was going on. She didn’t have long to wait.

“A number of priests have been sent to a small town in the Horn, not just from this temple, but from every temple. There are others with them as well, ordered to accompany them by their god.”

“To what end?” asked Angel Morrow.

Lord Ormund, who sat next to Rhea, leaned over. “They know. They have figured it out.”

Rhea wanted to ask what they’ve figured out, but she didn’t, because she wanted to hear the high priest’s answer.

“The information I’m about to supply doesn’t go beyond this room. Is that clear?”

When everyone assented, he continued.

“The gods have found a way to identify the undead king’s spies.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Rhea. “The gods had already been able to identify the reborn, because they see people walking around that are no longer tethered to them. They simply can’t or won’t share that information.”

“That’s true as far as it goes,” said the high priest. “However, it has recently come to light that the undead king has been able to influence people who are aren’t reborn. People still tethered to their gods.”

Rhea sat up straighter. Was it possible? How had he accomplished it?

“The gods have provided a list of those spies, and we’ve sent them away. We don’t actually believe them to be guilty of anything. They are connected somehow to the Undead King, but we don’t how he’s managed it. It seems more like these people are unwilling participants than active combatants in this war.”

“Dear gods,” said Angel Morrow.

“Why that village?” asked Rhea.

“Because it is far out of the way, and nothing happens there of any relevance to the current situation. If the Undead King has spies and agents, let them report on cattle numbers in a remote village. It gets them out of the way. And that brings me to the next bit of news. The Undead King is Arimen, though he goes by the name Nylus these days.”

Rhea nodded. She had thought that might be a possibility. Everyone else seemed surprised however, except, she noted, for Lord Ormund, who hadn’t reacted to anything that had been said so far.

“Aren’t you sending this Nylus a message by sending all his spies away?”

“We are.”

“If you know who they are, why not use them for misinformation?”

“Because there are still reborn among us who aren’t on that list. We have to be careful of what we reveal to who. We know that people in this room aren’t reborn because they are still tethered. The gods are confirming who we can trust, but they’re not confirming who we can’t trust.”

Jerish spoke for the first time. “I wonder how Nylus will react when he figures out what we’ve done?”

“The action serves two purposes. It decreases the amount of information he has access to, and it might throw off his game plan. Obviously, we can’t know that for sure, because we have no idea what his plans are.”

Lord Ormund, once again, leaned over. “He wants to take out King Terrence and the army, so that he can run rampant at his leisure.”

Rhea repeated what Lord Ormund had said.

“How can you know this,” asked the high priest, “and how did you understand that?”

“It’s a long story. You’re aware that Lord Ormund is only with us because of my mother’s sacrifice?”

“I am.”

“My mother has been in touch with the chirkir since her accident. That’s where the information is coming from.”

“Interesting. I shall have to investigate this further. I had been aware that the chirkir have been directly participating in the attack against the Undead King, but I’m not sure why. It is clear they know things that rest of us do not.”

“I can’t say for certain,” said Lord Ormund. “I can’t process everything that comes from them, it’s a vast amount of information, but I can say this. The chirkir have known this was coming since before the Undead War.”

“We have been led to believe that the future is not written in stone,” said High Priest Karr, after Rhea translated the statement. And then she realized just how important her role as translator actually was. Lord Ormund was a direct link to an ancient magical species that had information they would need. She continued to translate, each time Ormund spoke, careful to maintain accuracy. The importance of her new position confirmed, she would take every effort to make certain she did it to the best of her ability.

“You are not in error,” said Lord Ormund. “The chirkir can’t predict the future, so much as likely or possible futures. That said, there were few possible futures that didn’t include some version of the Undead War.”

“And yet,” said Jerish, “they told no one.”

Lord Ormund nodded. “The very act of telling someone could have caused it to happen,” said Ormund. “Imagine a chirkir telling kings and high priests that a war was going to happen? That interference might guarantee that war start. They are here to observe, not interfere.”

“And yet, they seem to be interfering,” said the high priest. “In our favor, admittedly, but we don’t know if they’re helping the other side as well.”

“The chirkir do not perceive sides. However, they don’t want to see the human race perish for it means they themselves would die out.”

“That make sense,” said Rhea. “They didn’t interfere until it was a matter of self-preservation. Are they not worried their interference could bring about their own end?”

“I don’t know,” said Ormund. “Imagine a thousand people around you, talking very loudly about different topics, all at the same time. Imagine now that they all have the exact same voice. Imagine that you don’t have the reference points to even begin to understand three quarters of the topics being discussed. That’s about where I am right now. I get a lot of information, far more than a human brain could process. I haven’t learned the trick of blocking out the things that I can’t understand.

“To be clear, the chirkir aren’t talking to us directly, at least most of the time. They’re talking to each other, and I’m listening in. I’m gleaning what information I can, but anything I say could be misheard, misinterpreted, misunderstood. I can’t completely guarantee the accuracy of anything I bring to the table.

“And I’m translating for you,” said Rhea. “That adds an extra layer of potential error.”

“I have been informed,” said High Priest Karr, “that your information thus far has been accurate. Apparently, the goddess knows more about what is happening than she is sharing. She would like to share more, but she is bound to silence on some issues.”

“So, what do we do now?” asked Jerish.

Ambassador Rhea stood up. “We return to the palace and go about our business as though nothing has happened. Remember, we can’t even talk about this outside of a sympathetic temple without revealing more than we might want to. If we change our routines, someone may get suspicious. There are still spies in the palace. And even if those spies aren’t reborn, the people they are reporting to might be.”

“So why were we told about this in the first place?”

“Because you’ll be aware that the shift in personal might cause those that are reborn to reveal themselves by changing their routines. If you see odd behavior, report it to this temple at once–and only this temple. All the gods have agreed to this. Yes, that includes yours, Jerish.”

Rhea turned to look at him, but he was focused on the high priest. She was just in time to catch his nod and the concerned look on his face. What was he hiding, and how could she trust him if he kept hiding it?

“The goddess trusts him,” said High Priest Karr, looking directly at Queen Rhea.

Rhea’s eyes widened in surprise, but she took the statement at face value. If Mitra trusted him, then she could do no less.

“She knows?” asked Jerish.

“She does. She has not, however, told me. Your secret, whatever it is, is safe.”

Jerish looked relieved, then lowered his head, perhaps to hide the fact. More than ever, Rhea wondered what that secret was.

“We should get back. I’d like to have a word with the Queen if that’s possible. If I’m not going to be fulfilling my ambassadorial duties, I think I need something else to do.”

Lord Ormund chuckled but not in mirth. “If I were you, I wouldn’t take any more on my plate right now. In a few weeks, none of it will matter.”

Rhea tried to get more information from the mage with no success. He either didn’t know or wouldn’t say.

*

Queen Treya sat on a plush chair in her private quarters, legs tucked under her, holding a report in her right hand and a biscuit in the other. Trast sat in the identical chair to her left, also reading a report. Captain Burke stood at attention by the door, staring straight ahead, as if he was alone at his post. It was as close to privacy as the two would get.

“They’re taking a lot of food with them,” said Trast. “It was a good harvest, but will we have enough to get through the winter?” 

“They’re also taking a lot of men with them,” said Treya, without looking up. My guess is the men they’re taking consume more than those they’ve left behind. We’ll be fine.”

“That makes sense. What are you reading?” 

“A summary of reports from Final Hope. Just familiarizing myself with the situation there.”

“Treya…”

“It’s okay. I need to know what he’s walking into. I have that right.”

Trast stood up, placed the sheaf of papers she’d be holding on the table, and crossed the distance between them.

“I know it’s scary, but there’s nothing we can do…not from here. Perhaps it’s okay for you to take a day off.”

“I did take a day off. I decided to work here. That’s about as much of a vacation as you get when you run a country during wartime. How about you? When was the last time you spent the day with Ferd?”

Trast shrugged. “I’ll get to see him before you next see the king. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Take the day. Spend time with your husband. You might not get another chance any time soon.”

Trast looked like she was going to protest, but then she met Treya’s eyes, and sighed.

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

“I am not. Off with you. Tomorrow is another day.”

“And you? When will you take some time off.”

Treya didn’t answer, and Trast didn’t press her. She shook her head.

“I’ll check in on you later.”

“Much later. Take your time.”

To her credit, Trast didn’t look back as she left the room. When she’d selected Lady Trast to be heir apparent, Treya hadn’t realized the amount of coddling she was inviting into her life. The break would be good for both of them. She returned her attention to the report. Skirmishes between the humans and undead had increased in the last few months. Several times, undead troops were intercepted on their side of the border. It was completely unacceptable, or would have been if there were some way to stop it from happening.

Treya felt a chill and turned slowly toward the door. Captain Burke was still there, but he had turned to stare at her.

“Captain Burke?”

“My queen. I apologize for this intrusion, truly I do, but I must speak with you.”

Treya felt confused, lethargic, tired. She hadn’t been that way moments before.

“What…”

“Don’t be scared. You can’t move, but you can talk as long as you don’t try to raise your voice.”

He was right. She wanted to shout but couldn’t. “I don’t understand.”

“I want to tell you a story. I haven’t told it to anyone else, but I feel like you should know.”

“A story? About what?

“I want to tell you about the day I died, how I came back and why I must kill you.”

Treya strained to move, but it was useless.

“You’re one of them.”

“I’m reborn yes. And I love you and the king, but it doesn’t matter. Though it pains me to say it, you have to die, and I’ve been chosen to make that happen.”

Treya’s eyes widened in fear. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t defend herself. Couldn’t call for help. She was at the captain’s mercy.

He walked toward her, but he turned before her reached her and sat in the chair Trast had vacated.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make sure you don’t suffer.”

“Why not get it over with? Why waste time talking to me?” 

“Because I love and respect you as my queen.”

“How? How can you be undead?” 

“I’m not undead, I’m reborn, though humans don’t seem to understand the difference. Perhaps this story will educate you—albeit too late, but I owe you at least an explanation. I wish it didn’t have to be so.”

“But it doesn’t have to be so. This is a choice.”

“Yes, Your Highness, this is a choice…and I’ve made it. Sometimes, there are no good options. I’m sure you can understand that.”

She would have nodded if she could move her neck, but she couldn’t. All she could do was stare into the eyes of her would-be executioner and wait for an explanation that she would only have time to consider in the afterlife.

“Tell me your story then, but know this. It will not absolve you. I will not forgive you. And history will judge you harshly.”

Captain Burke dropped his head. “I know.”