Chapter 13 #2
This was the first time Lesya was witnessing the consequences of the Necromancy War, the one before, and the one being waged now.
Was this the second Necromancy War? Strangely enough, no one had named it so.
It was still too early to name it anything, Cassian had once told her.
He’d gone on to say that the Grath Nomad was not interested in waging a full-scale war if he could achieve his goals by other means.
Lesya had wondered how Cassian could know something like this.
That worry had been laid to rest when his role within the Covenant had become clearer to her.
He was a reconnaissance man. It was his job to find out what the Grath Nomad was doing and where.
Cassian had undoubtedly talked to so many of his followers.
A closely guarded book. That was who Cassian was.
The only difference between the books that Lesya had stolen and Cassian was that she could read the former, but despite all the many means of communication between her and Cassian—namely their love for each other, their telepathy, their inherent loyalty and honesty toward each other—she could not glean from him what he didn’t wish her to glean.
Such as where he’d gone last night.
Such as how he seemingly knew the routes of this city.
“Cass,” Lesya said, her chest feeling heavy, the very act of inhaling air beginning to feel laborious, as if the air was resisting the draw of her lungs. “Cass!”
Cassian did not look back. He’d climbed the top of what remained of the roof of an old stone building. He raised his hand toward Lesya and signaled her to be silent. There was movement ahead.
Lesya ducked. Following suit, Freya ducked as well.
They hid behind the rubble, staring through the broken wall and the glassless windows as a series of men wearing gray masks and cloaks walked through the empty streets of the Wilted Hamlet.
There were six of them. All of them had quarterstaffs held in their gloved hands. They did not talk to each other.
“Feels like we’re not alone,” one of the men said. “Do you feel it?”
“I’ve been feeling it since we came to this forsaken place,” a woman replied. “It’s all the death in this place. The walls hold memory. Violence leaves a trail through time. A gash through the continuum. Who knows how many souls look through the rift?”
“You with your damn poesies, Edda,” another man said. “Delver meant that there might be spies.”
“I know what Delver meant. And if there’s spies, there’s spies. It’s not like we’re doing something wrong here,” Edda said.
“Says the woman who singlehandedly killed the last of the Hamlet folk,” the first man said, chuckling gratingly.
“They attacked us first. We posed them no threat nor danger. We announced ourselves well before our arrival through messengers. It was they who started hurling curses at us. And what difference does it make? The Nomad brought them back. They serve us now. The more hands to help him uncover Aeterna’s buried temple, the better. ”
“Pragmatic as ever, Edda,” another man said.
That’s one of the Nomad’s captains, Les, Cassian said. She’s…a powerful mage. I’d be wary of her. Come on. Let’s wait for them to pass through this district.
Cassian, I feel like there’s this invisible force pulling me toward it. Like I’m not myself. I…do not feel well.
Upon hearing this, Cassian lithely jumped from the top of the roof and landed next to her. They were still hidden behind the rubble, far away from earshot. He checked her pulse. Freya coughed uncomfortably and looked away. Cassian was gazing intensely into Lesya’s eyes.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you, you know that, right?”
“The Nomad is here!” Lesya gasped. “Do you not feel his draw?!”
Cassian closed his eyes and sighed.
“The Nomad expects us,” he said, looking up at Lesya.
“What?!” Lesya asked, eyes widened aghast. She looked at Freya, who just stood there a distance away, dazed and humming to herself. “Cass. What’s happening?”
“Don’t worry about her. I’ve bewitched her. She won’t remember any of this. Well, she’ll remember another version of it. It’s all been taken care of. You do not need to fear the Nomad. I met with him last night. He offers his vow he will not harm you. He requests a meeting.”
She could see in his meticulous gaze that he was not lying. A scene flashed before her eyes—telepathically shared by Cassian.
Cassian kneeling before the Grath Nomad. The Grath Nomad in his dark green robes, a gray mask covering his face. He sat in front of a fireplace on a massive throne-like chair.
“My Lord, it is her,” Cassian said. “I have confirmed it with my own eyes. She is the Death Shepherd prophesized, chosen by Aeterna herself. She brought a girl back to life, a true resurrection.”
“That expedites the circumstances considerably, Cassian,” the Nomad said, standing up from his chair and walking up to Cassian, tapping him on the shoulder. “Right under Sol’s nose then?”
“Right under it, my lord.”
“You have got to stop it with that, Cassian. It makes me uncomfortable when my own kin starts revering me as their lord.”
“I only profess it out of love and duty, my lord.”
“Rise, brother.”
Cassian rose. He was taller than the Grath Nomad by almost a whole foot.
The Grath Nomad nodded at the guards stationed behind Cassian. They exited the room. Now it was just Cassian and the Grath Nomad alone in the room.
The Grath Nomad took his mask off and placed it on the dinner table. He had a very pale and graying face, with dark veins showing underneath his thin skin. White hair fell forth from his head, covering his forehead. His pupils were jet-black, his lips blue, quivering.
The Grath Nomad wept, covering his face with his hands.
“My lord!” Cassian went forward, holding the Nomad by his arms, and then hugging him.
“It’s been so long I’ve been stuck in this state, brother, dead yet not dead,” the Grath Nomad said. “And now you, herald of the prophetess…you bring tidings such as I’d never expected to hear in all my lifetimes.”
“It’s true,” Cassian said. “She’s the one.”
“Did you know of this when you fell in love with her?” the Grath Nomad asked. “Did you have your suspicions?”
“No, my lord. Of course not. You can browse my mind as you wish.”
The Grath Nomad looked up at Cassian with a good-natured smile. “I’m not like that crass dreamworker. A man’s mind is his own sanctum. I will do no such thing. A man’s mind and soul are inviolable. I shall take you at your word, for you have never lied to me, Cassian.”
“I will never,” Cassian said. “It’s her. She’s been having dreams of Aeterna of late. I thought that it was a coincidence. Haven’t we dreamed of her our fair share?”
“True, true. The Death Mother comes to us all. And now she comes in the form of this avatar,” the Nomad said. “You must bring her to me. Please. I wish to witness with my own eyes this sliver of hope after eons of darkness.”
“I shall. It just won’t be very convenient,” Cassian. “The headmaster finally wants us to do a recon mission here. In the Hamlet. He’ll be sending his grandson, along with two of his friends, and Clive Bane.”
“Two friends?”
“One of whom is the person Lesya resurrected.”
“So not that inconvenient. That girl shall be the proof.”
“Yes.”
“Then bring both to me, and you will have done your lord the greatest service.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to refer to you as my lord.” Cassian chuckled.
“Brother, I get caught up in the pomp and circumstance. Forgive an old man for his old habits.”
“Of course, my lord.”
* * *
She stood apart from him with her harness hand aimed at him.
“How long have you been serving him?!” Lesya asked, her hand shaking. The man standing in front of her was a stranger. The man standing in front of her was the love of her life. The stranger who was the love of her life had his spellblade aimed at her.
“Careful, Lesya. We can’t draw any attention to ourselves just yet. Clive’s group might get wise to what’s happening here.”
“You’re a Deathless,” Lesya said. “You’ve been lying to me all the time you’ve known me.”
“No, Lesya. Everyone else has been lying to you. I’m the only one who was supposed to tell you the truth. The headmaster bound me to an oath and I could not tell you anything about the matter. Not even if I wanted to. Not even the other side of it.”
“You’re a double-crosser. How am I supposed to trust anything you say?”
“You’re not supposed to. And it’s not for me to convince you.
The Nomad will do that. You have to come with me.
You can come with me willingly, or you can come under thrall.
Choose one,” he said, nodding in Freya’s direction, who was under Cassian’s spell and had lost all agency of herself. She stood there blank-eyed, unmoving.
“Tell me. You owe me an explanation,” Lesya said, her voice betraying her by breaking.
Cassian grunted in frustration and lowered his spellblade. Lesya didn’t lower her weapon.