Messenger’s Legacy (6 page)

Like ghosts, he could see the Damaj family running through the yard and taking ease on the porch, enjoying the long summer evenings.

Now the Boggers were laying their few remains on a bonfire pallet under the supervision of the local Tender, who was struggling to piece the bodies together enough for a proper pyre.

It was too much. Ragen stumbled down from his horse and bent almost double, putting his head between his knees, struggling to breathe.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up at Tender Heath’s kind gaze. There were tears in Heath’s eyes, too.

Ragen swallowed hard, his voice coming out a croak. ‘Anyone get out alive?’

Heath gave a tired shrug. ‘Only found pieces enough for one twin, but it might be parts from two for all I know.’

Ragen nodded. ‘Couldn’t tell where one of those ripping boys ended and the other began even when they were alive.’

Heath grunted, as close to a laugh as one could get with such dark humour. ‘No sign at all of Briar.’

Ragen looked up at that. ‘Have you organized a search?’

Heath nodded. ‘Got folk searching the bog, but …’ He shrugged. ‘Boy was small. Good-sized demon could have swallowed him whole.’

It was true enough, but Ragen wouldn’t let himself believe it. Relan was his friend, and if two of his sons might still be out there, hurt and scared, he owed it to his friend to find them.

‘Hold the pyre,’ he said. ‘Going to have a look myself.’

Heath nodded. ‘We’ll take the pallet to the Holy House so I can scatter the ashes on warded ground. I can give you till dusk horn.’

The Damaj yard had been churned by the feet of countless Boggers come to help or gawk, but in the garden Ragen found what he was looking for. Footprints. Dawn and Briar, from the look. Dawn had left the boy in the hogroot patch. Smart.

Then she had run back inside to be cored.

Ragen breathed through the tears. Briar had made it out of the house to a safe space, but the heat and smoke must have been terrible. A careful search found where he had stumbled from the garden, running for the refuse cart, and from there, into the bog.

It was an hour before Ragen picked up the trail again, spotting the sugar candies lying in the dirt, covered in ants. Briar’s prints were all around the base of the goldwood tree.

‘Briar?’ he called into the boughs. ‘You up there, boy?’

When there was no reply, Ragen sighed, catching the lowest branch and pulling himself up. This would hurt on the morrow.

The hollow in the branches where Briar had spent the night was easy enough to spot. A twist of corn husk from a sugar candy was stuck to a bed of churned leaves, and the nook stank of hogroot.

He lost the trail from there, wandering for hours in the bog, calling Briar’s name. He searched the dump as well, knowing how much time the Damaj boys spent there, but still there was no sign.

The Great Horn sounded, signalling the dusk, and Ragen mounted Nighteye with a heavy heart, riding hard back to the Holy House. If there had been a single sign of the boy since he left the goldwood, Ragen would have set his circles and waited all night, listening for cries.

But it was pointless. Much as it cut at him, Ragen knew the truth. He might have made it further than most, but a boy of six, out in the naked night?

Briar was dead.

Boggers might not visit the Holy House every week, but the whole town would come to pay respects at a funeral pyre, even for a family that had never quite fitted in. They were sombre out of respect, but there were few tears apart from Ragen and the Tender. Only Tami Bales wept openly.

As folk were exiting the service, Masen Bales spat. ‘Least I don’t owe that mudlover Dawn eight shells any more.’ His brothers chuckled.

Ragen took a firm grip on the man’s shirt, holding him in place for the punch. He felt a crack, and bits of tooth flew from Masen’s mouth.

The other Bales men ran to defend Masen, but Ragen grabbed Masen’s arm, ducking into a throw that slammed him into his brothers and brought them all down in a heap.

‘You’ll pay ten each to the Holy House for their grave marker,’ Ragen growled, ‘or Creator is my witness, I’ll see none of you ever get mail again.’

Marta Speaker was there in an instant. She interposed herself between them, but it was hard to tell whose side she was on, glaring at all the men equally. ‘That ent going to be necessary, Messenger.’ She looked to the Bales brothers. ‘You heard the man. You men can’t respect the dead, then go on home and find your purses.’

The men didn’t move, and Ragen wondered if pride might demand a battle they were bound to lose. He almost wished they would come at him. A few broken bones would teach them to respect the dead, and remind them they were lucky to be alive.

The other Boggers watched the scene impassively. More than one likely shared Masen’s sentiment, but none were stupid enough to cross a Messenger, especially one of Ragen’s stature. Fortunes rose and fell on a Messenger’s goodwill.

Tender Heath joined Marta, putting his hands on his hips and staring down the Bales men. The flames of the pyre roared behind him, adding a looming presence. Masen’s brothers tipped their hats and left on the quick. Masen spat a wad of blood and waved for his family to do the same.

‘The Holy House offers you succour tonight, Messenger,’ Heath said, when the fire had burned down.

‘Grateful, Tender,’ Ragen said. ‘Got a jug of Krasian spirits I meant for Relan. Be honoured if you’d have a drink with me.’

Heath coughed, looking at the tiny cup in disbelief. ‘Hits harder than a pint of my best ale, and tastes like firespit. Drink like this ought to be illegal.’

Ragen chuckled. ‘It is. The
dama
will cut the thumbs off anyone caught selling it, and even being caught with some will earn you a whipping.’

Heath shook his head. ‘Impossible. Relan said it was a popular drink in Krasia.’

Ragen poured another round, clicking tiny cups with the Tender before they both drank. ‘Krasia’s just like everywhere else, Tender. Got their holy and their hypocrites. The Evejah says drinking spirits is a sin—’

‘Creator forbid,’ Heath said.

‘—but that doesn’t mean everyone listens.’ Ragen stared into his empty cup. ‘Relan ever tell you why he left Krasia?’

Heath nodded. ‘They lock their warriors in a maze full of demons each night, and treat those that flee like refuse. He said you offered something better, and risked your life to sneak him past the gates.’

Ragen laughed. ‘That what he told you? Ay, it’s true after a fashion, but it puts quite a shine on things. Truer is I’d never seen Relan in my life when I left Fort Krasia that morning. Put hard miles between me and the city till nearly dusk, then unhitched the cart and set up my portable circles.’

He poured two more cups of couzi. ‘So I’m starting a fire and putting the kettle on when out of the shadows walks this
Sharum
in full warrior blacks, spear and shield in hand. Scared the piss out of me. Went for my spear, but even after hanging onto my cart axle all day, he picked off my thrusts like I was an apprentice still using a training spear. Don’t think I’d have had a chance if he’d been fresh.’

Heath took the offered cup. ‘What happened?’

Ragen shrugged. ‘He gave me a good whack with the spear that sent me sprawling. Might’ve killed me if he’d taken advantage, but he just lowered his spear and waited. Realized then he wasn’t attacking me, just defending himself. Coreson didn’t speak a word of Thesan, but I knew the market pidgin well enough for us to stumble through half a conversation. Begged me to take him north, and we ended up riding together almost three seasons before your pretty Gatherer caught his eye.’

Heath nodded. ‘Whole town was in an uproar when they asked me to wed them. Don’t think I would have done it if Relan had converted just for her.’

‘He was on his way to converting before we were out of the desert,’ Ragen said. ‘Relan didn’t want to die in the Maze, but he wanted to be right with the Creator. You gave that to him. I remember how he cried after you made the signs and blew incense over him.’

Ragen lifted his cup. ‘Seemed like every year there were more of them in that little house. And now it’s empty.’

‘To Relan and the Damaj family,’ Heath said as they clicked and drank. He looked at the cup curiously. ‘It tastes …’

‘Like cinnamon,’ Ragen agreed. ‘Only you’ve got to be rot drunk to notice.’

Heath stoppered the jug. ‘Best leave off a bit, then. Want to keep my wits about me tonight, and blow the horn every hour.’

The Tenders of the Creator lived by the Law of Succour, that said the Holy House must be a place of refuge from the night at any hour. There were few Warders in the world who could match the powerful script Tenders learned as acolytes. Church wards were much harder to draw, but the complex nets were impenetrable, rebounding a coreling’s attacks back on them with such force that a determined demon might beat itself to death at the wardwall without ever breaking through.

The path to the front doors was lit with lamplight through the night, to aid those running for succour, and never locked. Tenders lived by simple means, and had little to steal in any event.

The Great Horn was blown each evening an hour before dusk, and again at sunset, to show the way to those in need. If the Tender meant to blow it throughout the night …

‘You still think Briar might be out there?’ Ragen asked.

Heath looked at the clock and pushed unsteadily to his feet. ‘When I asked Relan why he was willing to foreswear the Evejah and follow the Canon, he told me, “I see now that if Everam’s power is infinite, then even Nie exists only at his sufferance. And so the
alagai
must come at his will. What can this be, save punishment for our sins?”’

Ragen frowned. ‘You’ll forgive me, Tender, but I’ve never held to that. Creator loves us, it’s said. What loving being would set the corelings on us?’

‘It’s a paradox,’ Heath agreed. ‘One better men than us have argued through the ages. But the Canon and Evejah both agree that the Creator’s power is infinite.’ He stumbled over to the Great Horn, pausing to wet his lips. ‘We live in the real world, and make our choices based on what’s in front of us, but we can always pray for a miracle.’

He drew a powerful breath, and blew.

Ragen went hunting for Briar the next day, and the day after that, but he found no further sign. Perhaps the Creator could grant miracles, but if so, he was stingy with them.