The Ventifact Colossus (The Heroes of Spira Book 1) (32 page)

“Travelers are always welcome in the house of Brechen,” said the man. “I am Father Hodge, humble servant of the Seablade. But if you would come upon His holy ground, I must ask you to leave your weapons outside.”

“No offense,” said Dranko, “but given that your God is called the Seablade, I’m sure He wouldn’t mind us holding on to our stuff.” He took a small step forward and inched his foot into the doorway. “Father Hodge, we need to talk to you about where you were last night, and what you saw, and we’d like to do it in as civilized a fashion as possible.”

Tor was delighted that Dranko had cut to the chase so quickly. He expected one of two things to happen next: either Hodge would make a run for it, maybe to a hidden back door out of the church, or he’d launch an attack, probably with some kind of magical unholy fire, but instead Hodge stared at them for about three tense seconds before his expression nearly collapsed in relief.

“Are you sure ye weren’t followed?” he asked, bending forward and speaking quietly. “The townsfolk…they…”

“Yeah, we know,” said Dranko. “And no, we weren’t followed.”

“And you’ve seen it, with your own eyes?”

Dranko nodded.

“Then come in, quickly, and keep your weapons. I’d feel safer that way.”

Tor’s arm and back muscles relaxed. He had been fully prepared for a melee, thinking that Father Hodge was responsible for the strange ritual in the woods, but all things considered this was preferable. He followed Father Hodge into the church. The priest of Brechen poked his head outside one final time after they were in, then hastily closed and barred the door.

The church was nothing like the enormous shrine to Brechen in his father’s castle back home. This one was mostly one room, small as naves went, with only a single line of wooden pews. The stained glass, attractive as it was, didn’t admit much light, but six large hanging braziers had been lit along the walls. Hodge motioned for them to sit in one of the pews, and he stood in the adjacent row so he could face them.

“Are you here about the arch?” he asked.

“Yes!” said Tor, assuming that Dranko had already broken the ice on the topic. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Only what I’ve seen with my own eyes,” said Father Hodge. “Every night the same. Thirty come from the town, a different thirty each time. They come a-wandering up to the woods in their nightclothes just afore midnight. Like sheep they are, sleepwalkers all, unmindful of cold or rain. The arch—you know about the arch—it lights up and throws off heat, but the folk aren’t burned. When the light dies down again, the folk stagger back to their beds, and have no memory of it the next morn. But they’re tired, weak. Whatever’s happening, it’s drawing life out of those poor people.”

“And how did you find out this was going on?” asked Dranko.

Father Hodge started to answer but checked himself. “How do I know I can trust ye?” he asked. “Will ye swear on Brechen’s name, under His roof, that you’re not mixed up in this business? That you’re not involved in what’s causing this devil’s work?”

“We swear!” said Tor. “On Brechen’s sword, I swear we’d like to help those people and figure out what’s going on.”

“Good then,” said Father Hodge. “I’ll tell ye.” He paused, looking at each member of Horn’s Company as though trying to gauge their merit. “There was a man. He had lived in town a long time, a quiet man of middling years who came to services twice every week. Never thought much about him, but he seemed harmless enough. Nearly three months ago he stayed behind after sunset services and told me he had something urgent to discuss. I’d never seen him so distraught. His name was Levec.”

“Oh!” said Tor. “We were hoping to find him.”

Aravia sighed.

“I can’t help ye with that, friend,” said Father Hodge. “Levec, he told me that some powerful person had sent him to town years before, to keep an eye on an ancient arch in the forest. Said it had great magic and could be used to ill purpose. Now everyone in town knows about the arch in the woods, but it was just a curiosity from a forgotten age. We’d never seen anything magic about it. But Levec told me he had made some terrible discovery about the arch and needed to sail to Lanei to learn more. He urged me to visit the arch each night at midnight, stay well hidden, and observe everything I saw. Told me to keep a journal of which townsfolk visited each night, or as many as I could tell in the dark. Had me note how long that infernal glow stayed lit, and anything else I thought worthy of his interest. He’d be back, he said, soon as he could. Levec was on the next merchant ship when it departed, and that’s the last I’ve seen or heard of the man. But I’ve been doing as he asked, night after night, and I guess ye know what I’ve seen out there. Do you know what devilry is cooking?”

There wasn’t any reason not to tell Father Hodge everything they knew, and indeed Tor had already opened his mouth to start, but Dranko spoke first.

“Not exactly. In fact, it sounds like you already know more than we do. I’d love to see the notes you’ve been taking.”

“And one question,” said Aravia. “Why were you wearing red robes last night instead of something Brechenish?”

Father Hodge laughed. “A suspicious lot are ye, but I can’t blame ye for that. The nights are chilly in the woods, as I realized after a few trips out for Levec. My religious raiment is not much for keeping a man warm.” He grabbed his blue frock and rubbed its thin fabric between finger and thumb. “But afore she passed on, blessed be she now in the ocean’s arms, my wife knit me a warmer set of robes, and her favorite color was always red. I pray that the Seablade be not offended, but I’ll be no good to Him if I die of chill.”

“I guess not,” said Dranko.

“If you’ll wait here,” said Father Hodge, “I’ll bring ye my notes. They’re locked away safe in my office as I can’t discount that one of my congregation is behind this strange business.”

He slid himself out from between the two rows of pews and walked down the aisle to the sanctuary, then opened a small door there and disappeared inside.

“This is working out better than I expected,” said Ernie. “He’s the next best thing to Levec, I guess.”

“I still don’t trust him,” said Dranko. “His story is too…too neat. And for someone so worried, he trusted us too quickly.”

“I agree with Ernie,” said Tor. “Dranko you should learn to…to trust—”

Another thought appeared in his head, the way thoughts sometimes did, a rabbit poking its head out of a hole. “Oh. Wait.”

“What?” asked Morningstar.

“Just something I remembered about priests of Brechen. They’re not allowed to be married. I don’t even think they’re allowed to have
been
married. Something about being married to the sea, and Brechen’s wrath if—”

“Crap!” said Dranko. “I knew it. He’s probably running away right now!”

The office door opened, and Hodge stepped out, holding a paper in one hand.

“Oh,” said Tor. “Nothing to worry about.”

“
Nifi Infernix
!” shouted Hodge.

All six of the hanging braziers erupted into blooming fireballs that roared upward to scorch the ceiling. Tor instinctively closed his eyes and shielded his face from the oven-blast of heat. When he opened his eyes again the air had become translucently orange, an effect not unlike what they had seen beneath the arch the previous night. Up on the top step of the sanctuary, Hodge was waving his arms and chanting.

“You were saying?” Dranko growled.

Tor only experienced the shame of poor judgment for a second before it was overcome with a jubilant realization of how simple things had just become. He reached to draw his sword.

He couldn’t. His arm would hardly move, and for that matter his legs had become nearly paralyzed. All he could do was turn his head—barely—and doing so revealed that his friends were experiencing the same effect.

Also it was growing warmer, rapidly.

“Infidels!” Hodge bellowed. “I have long been ready for an intrusion such as this. Levec told me his full tale before his bones blackened for the glory of the Burning God. There is no power in your tiny land to hinder our return.”

The temperature rose further, drawing out sweat all over Tor’s body, and even as he struggled to take a single step toward Hodge, he wondered if it might get so hot as to set him and his friends on fire, and the thought of Aravia dying that way filled him with rage, but his anger was useless against Hodge’s spell; it was as if his whole body were immersed in a hot, thick glue that had nearly hardened.

“Great Lord Nifi, God of Fire and Destruction, I make of these foolish interlopers an offering. I pray they hasten our crossing as the prophecies foretell!”

Morningstar shrieked; she was trying to bring up her hands to cover her face, but her arms moved in slow motion, and the others were crying out, though Tor could barely hear them over the roaring of the braziers. The heat was most definitely increasing as Hodge continued to chant, and Tor attempted another step, and was strong enough to make a few inches of headway, but it was hopeless, he’d never escape the scorching light before he went up in flames, and his dreams of Horn’s Company saving the world from the evil emperor were coming to an excruciating end. He had let everybody down.

Two arms grabbed him around the waist and lifted him off the ground. Someone was trying to make sure he couldn’t escape the heat; he tried to squirm from their grasp.

“Hold still, Tor!”

It was Kibi! The stonecutter had lifted him up and was now staggering toward the end of the pew.

“Aravia says the braziers are focusin’ Hodge’s magic,” Kibi gasped. Tor marveled that Kibi could move at all. Step by step Tor was carried toward the wall, and Kibi coughed and spluttered as he set Tor down beneath the brazier, but even as Tor struggled to raise his arms, he realized it was just out of his reach, because while in ordinary circumstances he could have easily jumped up to grab it, Hodge’s miasma of searing air was too potent.

The ends of Kibi’s beard were curling, but he picked up Tor again, this time wrapping his arms around Tor’s thighs, and with what must have been a superhuman effort he hoisted Tor into the air, raising him over a foot off the ground.

“Grab it, lad! Tip the damn thing over!”

Tor raised his arms. His whole body was in hot, stinging pain, but he managed it, hooking the fingertips of both hands over the lip of the brazier just as Kibi’s strength gave out, and gravity worked in their favor; as Tor dropped to the floor, the brazier tipped over and poured out several dozen tiny red stones, falling upon Tor and Kibi and burning like hot coals from a campfire, but as they spilled out of the brazier, the orange light that was baking him alive went out.

Master Elgus had often required Tor to swing a double-weight sword for several minutes before sparring because after growing used to an overweight weapon, his muscles would feel that much stronger once his real sword was back in his hand. Having had his limbs mired in Hodge’s thick, burning light, Tor’s entire body now felt powerful, buoyant, liberated, and putting aside the pain from his burns, he rushed down the aisle beside the wall, drawing his sword as he ran.

Hodge’s expression had gone from jubilant to angry. The servant of Nifi raised his arm and launched a melon-sized ball of flames from his fingertips, so Tor kicked off the wall and dove down behind the second row of pews, hearing the fireball crackle overhead and explode against the wall behind him, and a shower of sparks fell sizzling into his hair and onto his clothes, but it had clearly missed, so undaunted he leapt to his feet, and there was Ernie dashing down the opposite aisle. Hodge turned and bolted for the door to his sanctuary, slamming it shut just as Tor and Ernie reached it together, and though Tor led with his shoulder, which should have busted it wide open, Hodge had barred the door from the inside, so Tor bounced off and the impact on his burned skin made him scream.

Even so, he was prepared to fling himself at the door as many times as it took to flush out Hodge, but that was not necessary. Aravia shouted from the back of the church and Hodge’s office door exploded from its hinges. From the corner of his eye Tor saw Aravia flying backward through the air, landing awkwardly on a pew several rows back.

Filled with fury, he brought up his sword and stepped toward Hodge, who stood defiantly inside his small office.

“It matters not what ye do to me, lad,” said Hodge. His right hand was glowing a cherry red. “It’s set in motion as Nifi demands, and our armies will burn your toy kingdom to the ground.”

“We’ll see about that!” shouted Ernie, standing next to Tor with Pyknite
in his hand. “There won’t be any—”

Hodge punched the air in front of Ernie, and a blazing ball of light burst at the baker’s chest. Ernie sailed backward out the door, trailing smoke.

“So shall suffer all of the Burning God’s enemies!” said Hodge, turning to Tor. “His purging fires will cleanse the—”

Tor didn’t wait to hear the end of the sentence; he jammed the point of his sword into Hodge’s throat.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

ERNIE’S SMOKING BODY soared from Hodge’s office. Tor emerged immediately after, blood smeared on the end of his sword. His skin was pink and raw, and looked as though it had been daubed with red paint in a dozen different places.

Kibi prayed that Ernie was still alive. He rushed down the aisle toward the front of the nave. “Is he—?”

“I killed him,” said Tor, but the boy’s voice was frantic. “Dranko! Ernie’s badly hurt! Hodge hit him right in the chest!”

Dranko groaned. Like Tor his skin was blistered, but he stumbled into the aisle and hurried to the front of the church. Morningstar had curled into a ball on the floor, and Aravia was sprawled over a pew in the back. She must have miscast her door-busting spell and knocked herself silly. Hodge’s fire had done a number, and no mistake.

Tor was right about Ernie. The baker had a horrific burn upon his chest, about as bad as Kibi had ever seen. Hodge’s fire blast had seared a hole right through Ernie’s shirt, and his skin was a sludgy black and pink mess.

“You can channel again, right?” asked Tor. “You have to save him!”

“I don’t know!” Dranko barked. “Just calm down. When I…when Mrs. Horn died, Grey Wolf was right in my face and I couldn’t concentrate. Give me some peace!”

Tor shut up right away. Hard to blame him for being in a panic, though.

Kibi looked on stoically. Mrs. Horn was dead, and Grey Wolf had been magicked away. If Ernie died, it would leave just five of them, and even he could see that was a poor rate of attrition. And he
liked
Ernie. The boy was a good soul, and on top of that there were the golden circlets that linked them together.

Dranko took out a silver pendant and draped it around his neck, then knelt before Ernie and put his hands right on the damp ruin of the boy’s chest.

“Lord Delioch, I pray for your intervention. I pray for healing, that this man be made sound and whole.”

Nothing happened. It was just like in Verdshane with Mrs. Horn. Kibi fought down an urge to say something encouraging. Tor bit his lip.

“Please, Lord, I entreat you,” said Dranko. It was odd, hearing such serious, pious words coming out of Dranko’s irreverent mouth. “Let Ernie be made sound and whole.”

Ernie breathing was ragged, his eyes closed. There was no golden light shining from Dranko’s fingers the way there had been on the ship when he had healed Morningstar. Dranko continued to pray, rocking back and forth on his knees, hands covered in Ernie’s blood.

“Come on, Dranko…” Tor whispered.

Ernie stopped breathing.

Dranko lifted one hand from Ernie’s chest and wiped his own brow with his forearm, as though his prayers were physically taxing. Maybe the pain he was in from Hodge’s fire was keeping him from concentrating. He pressed his hand down again; gore oozed between his fingers.

“I know the price!” Dranko’s voice was hoarse. “Damn it, Delioch, take whatever you need! Let Ernie be made—”

Light burst outward from Dranko’s fingertips, spilling over Ernie and flooding down the aisle between the pews. Kibi was forced to close his eyes, so bright was the blessing of Delioch, and when he opened them again, Ernie’s skin was smooth and unburnt. Dranko swayed on his knees but managed to steady himself with one hand against the floor.

“Burn cream,” he slurred. “For the rest. Green stuff in the round jar.”

And with that he toppled over, head falling onto Ernie’s torso, and he immediately began to snore.

There was no doubt about Dranko, that was sure. For all his goblin blood and hard drinking and foul language, the man was right in Delioch’s favor. Kibi rooted around in Dranko’s pack until he found the salve, then divvied it up among the others. There wasn’t enough, but a single jar was better than nothing. Morningstar was worse off than the rest. Though Dranko’s healing had cured her of the burns suffered in the desert, her skin was still pale and sensitive to heat, so Kibi doled out an extra dollop for her. Same for Aravia, who still hadn’t recovered fully from the sunburns suffered on her trek across the Mouth of Nahalm. She was staggered after blasting Hodge’s door off its hinges. Tor was less badly off, more shaken up than injured, though his fingers were badly blistered from where he had grabbed the hot brazier. Ernie was in perfect health and was sleeping peacefully with Dranko on top of him.

Thank the Gods no one was burned
too
badly. He and Tor had cut short Hodge’s ritual just in time. And as for himself, Kibi wasn’t burned a bit, aside from his beard. The fires of Hodge had felt warm to him, but obviously nothing like what the others had experienced. He chalked it up to having been farthest away from Hodge when the man had done his magicking—that and a dollop of good luck. He said a quick prayer to Corilayna, Goddess of Fortune, and took stock of their situation.

“We got hours yet before sundown, but we oughta be well out a’ here by then,” he said to those companions who were conscious. “I ain’t got no desire to try convincin’ the townsfolk that we killed their priest a’ Brechen because he was actually worshippin’ some foreign fire god.”

He thought some more. “Course, only way out is by ship, and the only harbor is by the town. But we’ll work that out once you’re all feelin’ better. In the meantime I guess I’ll see what Hodge has been keepin’ in his office. Will you be okay restin’ here?”

No one objected, so while everyone else recovered, Kibi ventured into Hodge’s office.

The door had been wrenched out of its frame by the force of Aravia’s magic, which was mightily impressive. Inside the place was in a bit of a shambles, not even considering Hodge’s body or the pool of blood under it. Hodge had not been one for cleanliness or organization, leaving clothing, papers, and religious accoutrements out in untidy piles. There was a desk and a wardrobe, the former covered with various Brechenish holy books and some candle stubs, the latter filled mostly with Brechenish vestments, though with one long red robe forced all the way to one side.

There was nothing incriminating to be found, not in or on the desk, not in the wardrobe, and not in the large trunk pushed up against the back wall. The trunk was half-filled with intricate scrimshaw, which Kibi had not seen before, but it seemed like something an authentic priest of Brechen would keep. Hodge had been thorough in maintaining his pretense.

As Kibi closed the trunk, he felt an odd twinge. It was a jarring resonance in his bones, warning him of a mismatch between his observations and the reality of the room. He placed his palm against the cold stone wall. A whisper tickled his mind.

Behind the trunk.

He crouched down and shoved the trunk aside easily; the wall behind it was slightly discolored. Where two masonry seams met, the mortar was curiously indented. Kibi pushed the indentation with his thumb. There was a click, some hidden mechanism in the wall whirred and slid, and a large section of the wall pivoted on a camouflaged hinge.

Kibi whistled. “Nice bit a’ work.” He stepped through the revealed door into a hidden room, not much more than a glorified closet. There wasn’t enough light in it to see, but when he had fumbled for his light-coin and held it up, he discovered a second trunk, an enormous redwood chest banded with gold. Kibi slowly lifted the lid.

Its interior was nearly full, packed with a variety of fascinating treasures. On the top was a two-foot-tall bronze statuette of a man with his arms raised, his mouth open in a scream, painted flames all over his body. Kibi picked it up, hefted it, grimaced at its lifelike expression of a person who was burning to death, and set it aside.

Kibi next withdrew a half-dozen bottles of dark red wine and a smaller flask filled with brandy. Beneath those was a collection of little pyramids made of a lightweight red-gold metal. Each was four inches to the edge. He wasn’t familiar with the alloy. One by one he took these out of the trunk until he had counted twenty-seven.

Near the bottom was a red leather-bound book, its cover showing a burning man in the same pose and proportions as the bronze statuette. Kibi flipped it open to a random page, but the writing was in a foreign language. As he tossed it to the side, a single loose leaf of aged parchment fluttered out from just inside the front cover. This had only two short written paragraphs, and though the first was in the same unintelligible language, the second was in archaic but understandable Chargish. Kibi read.

As the Emperor was driven out, so were we also, for a long season, a bitter season and a cold. But in the Book of the Burning God it is so writ, of the land beyond the Churning Sea, a Ventifact Colossus will again walk the earth and three Stormknights will lay it low. Then, on the fingertip of lands once ours, the Gate will be open, forced ajar with souls, and the Children of the Burning God will return to conquer.

Kibi read this over several times and frowned. Aravia would be better suited to decipher its meaning. He slid the parchment back into the leather book and peered into the trunk to see what remained inside.

His thoroughness was well rewarded. Pushed up against the front panel of the chest was a small leather bag half-full of small rubies. Kibi didn’t possess Dranko’s ability to gauge their value, but he guessed they might fetch a couple dozen crescents all told.

Finally, rolled up at the bottom and pushed to the back of the trunk was an orange carpet tied up with three loops of red silk ribbon. Kibi figured that was a prayer mat, but he pulled it out anyway and stacked it with everything else. After leaning bodily into the trunk with his light-coin to make certain it was empty, he made several trips to carry the plunder out to the sanctuary, stepping over the stiffening corpse of Hodge each time. Tor watched him, and Kibi knew the boy would be happily helping him if his fingers hadn’t been so scorched.

Aravia wobbled over and sat down next to Tor. “What’s all that?” she asked, pointing to where Kibi had piled up the contents of Hodge’s trunk.

“Hodge’s stuff. Figured we’d take as much with us as we could. There’s some kind a’ prophecy you should take a look at.”

Aravia stepped up onto the pew and looked out over the nave. “Looks like Ernie and Dranko are the only ones out. Kibi, I can get us straight home from here without needing a ship. We must get everyone together, in physical contact, and someone needs to be carrying everything we want to take with us.”

It took Kibi a moment to work through all that. “Are you sayin’ you can magic us all out a’ here?”

“Yes. In theory. Teleporting. That’s most of what I’ve been studying since we last left the Greenhouse. I’m confident it will work.”

“You sure, missy? You look like someone’s been beatin’ you with a stick.”

Aravia stood up a bit straighter. “I’m not sure. But I’m confident, and we don’t have a choice. You’re right about the townsfolk. Either they’re unwitting dupes, in which case they’ll think we killed their priest, or they’re all in league, in which case—they’ll think we killed their priest.”

Kibi clicked his tongue. Gods, what a mess. He stuffed as many of the little metal pyramids into his pack as would fit, and was able to carry the book and the sack of rubies. Morningstar took the idol, and Tor held the rolled-up carpet.

They gathered in a circle around Ernie and Dranko, both still lying unconscious.

“Morningstar, make sure you’re in physical contact with Ernie. Kibi, same with you for Dranko. You and Tor should also put a hand on my shoulder; everyone needs to be in contact either with me or with someone I’m in contact with. Even just touching them with your foot is fine, but I very much do not want to leave them behind. Everyone ready?”

Kibi shoved his foot under Ernie’s shoulder to be certain and placed a hand on Aravia’s shoulder as instructed.

“This should take about thirty seconds,” said Aravia. “And I need to say a number of syllables quite quickly in that time, and perform intricate gestures with my fingers. Please don’t distract me. Right?”

“Right,” said Morningstar. Kibi just nodded.

Aravia cast her spell, speaking so quickly he couldn’t begin to guess what words she was saying. Her fingers danced and twirled, her hand flexed, and…

Starry black flying vertigo darkness hurricane screaming shifting…