Book of Kayal: Strength of Unity Page 17

  Prometh remained still, but Aliis’ and Aliud’s expressions betrayed them. They had known about the troubles, at least heard of them.

  “I told you before that I came here to find Naa’tas, but I have not said what were our plans to overcome the army of Scylds protecting him.” She started walking, brushing past Prometh and the two guards without resistance. They followed her to the library.

  On the way she continued, “The Midland villages stand to lose the most from our plan, but they also stand to gain the most. Hearthdale, Riverfell, Crest Valley, Forhaven and even the smaller villages will be caught in the wake of destruction bought upon Utyirth by Naa’tas’ plans.”

  Prometh and the others tensed at the mention of Forhaven. Ganis had caught their attention.

  “And now is the time to strike,” Ganis continued, “for if the Midland villages tally any longer, they will not have another chance.”

  “The Midlanders have lived for many generations by avoiding conflict with the Scylds,” Prometh said. “Why change this now?”

  “Because for all these generations never did the raids become as common as now, and never did they have the Highborn with them.”

  “The Highborn?” Prometh’s eyes widened. The mere mention of them made the two guards uneasy.

  “Yes, the Highborn. They were persuaded to join the fight, persuaded by us, the Nosgardians.”

  “The Highborn would never accept such an alliance.”

  “Then explain the problems the Scylds have been having.” Ganis’ challenge went unanswered. She knew that Prometh and his men were aware of some troubles in the outside world, but they never knew the details.

  “Prometh,” she continued, “it will not be long until war touches Forhaven. Even if you manage an escape, the Scylds will come after you.” She paused, allowing the thought to sink in. “Unless you are willing to join the fight.”

  Prometh looked up at Ganis, eyes wide and conflicted between hope and despair. He turned to face Aliis and Aliud, in turn. They both nodded at him, conveying their support. “What can we do?”

  Now is my chance. “Organize a sizable resistance and help us battle the Scylds on two fronts instead of one.” She turned around and gestured. “We will need to finish this tunnel though.”

  5

  The resistance, aided by Ganis, made significant progress in raising their numbers. Prometh had spies sent to infiltrate different prisoner groups, none of which had any more than a handful of captives, and recruit them into their fold.

  Within merely a season, the resistance’s numbers swelled to a few hundreds. There were many captives, mostly Midland villages, who were eager to join the cause. News of the Midland-Highborn army became Aliis’ primary responsibility, while Aliud was tasked with studying the guards.

  Ganis spent her time aiding with the tunnels, contributing greatly to the structure, and helping Prometh organize the different tasks. She was, after all, the only soldier among them, a trait which made her the most qualified.

  Hope had returned to the prisoners of Initium Keep, or at least those aware of the resistance, and the guards started to experience more complications, with the sabotaging of a section of the wall delaying its construction, and increased cooperation between the prisoners, distributing food to those too weak to work.

  Prometh’s sole condition for the trouble his men and he caused was to assure, as best as they could, that the casualties among the prisoner population would remain to a minimum, a major hindrance to most of their operations involving the delaying of construction.

  One day, when the tunnel was nearing its end, Ganis approached Prometh, seated on a large table in a clearing they had prepared within the Pits of Carcer, and asked, “How fares the resistance?” The phrase has become a greeting of sorts among members of the resistance.

  “Our numbers grow, but it’s becoming difficult to feed all these mouths. We need a sustainable source of food, Ganis from Nosgard. No matter how much we work the quarries, it’ll soon not be enough.” Prometh rubbed his head, a habit he had gained after meeting Ganis.

  “During my imprisonment in Gallecia I’ve seen some of the prisoners eat rats. It became a profession of sorts. They called those who raised the pests ‘rat farmers’.”

  “You never mentioned that you were imprisoned before.”

  “Aye.” Spending time with Prometh and the other Forhaveners made Ganis partly adopt their accents. It was a habit she realized too late to stop, and never tried to unlearn. “It was a brief incarceration a long time ago, just before the Second Civil War ended.”

  Prometh produced a short hum. He then leaned back on his chair, a crude structure made from salvaged wood resting on a stone seat. “Rats it is then. We have an abundance of those anyway. It might be difficult to convince the men to eat them, but the hunger should do the trick.”

  “Aye.” Ganis paused. For long she had contemplated the moment when she would leave the prisoners behind, hoping that enough of them would decide to remain to support the effort. She thought that escape would be selfish, but took consonance in knowing that Hephaestion would disagree.

  “There’s one more thing, Prometh.”

  “What is it?”

  “Once the tunnel is complete, I’ll have to leave.”

  “I know.” He raised his arms behind his head and placed both feet on the table, bending one knee to support his unnatural seating position. “I thought it was what we agreed upon when we started this quest of ours.” He looked at the jagged rocks hanging above him, contemplating their natural beauty, and said, “The resistance. What was once a dream, a simple distant hope, has become a growing movement.”

  He looked back to Ganis, smiling. “Without your encouragement it wouldn’t have been possible. I can’t force the men to stay, not that I would want to if I could, but something tells me that enough will stay to help out with the effort.”

  “I’m glad that you lead them. Most would take advantage of this position to have the prisoners do as they wish—”

  “Are you surprised?” Ganis took a moment to answer, her hesitation prompted his response. “That answers my question.”

  She smiled. “I was trying to recall the times I saw it otherwise.”

  “I’m certain you were.”

  “The library, Prometh,” she said.

  “What about it?”

  “You must preserve it.”

  “Have we not discussed it before? It’s as useful an asset to us as it is to you. We’ll do what we can.”

  “You must!” Ganis was uncertain about the cause of her attachment to the library. She was grateful for the ancient artifact which helped her regain her sanity and freedom, yet also part of her inclination was caused by the importance Nosgardians attributed to knowledge, especially after the Council’s fall.”

  Prometh looked at her, eyes staring intensely. “It’ll be prioritized over all other goals, partly because of the promise I gave you and partly because without the Pits of Carcer there’s no resistance. If the library is destroyed, Ganis from Nosgard, so are we.”

  6

  During the second season of the resistance, the real resistance started by Ganis and Prometh, the prisoners of Initium Keep had dug their way out of captivity. With nothing barring her path from reuniting with the Parthans, wherever they may be, Ganis had to resist the urge of immediate escape to coordinate the activities of the resistance with the Parthans’ plan.

  Ganis and Prometh stood by the side of the mountain, watching a view of the distant shores of the mainland ahead of them. Initium Keep was situated on an island north of Scyldur. Her journey back would be a long one, with much of it spent in hostile lands, unless the Midland-Highborn efforts had considerable success.

  The shores were quiet and the seas calm. Gentle waves caressed the sand, producing a sound that had grown strange to Ganis’ ears, and made her revel at the sight. “We finally did it.”

  Prometh, still smiling, said, “It has been many years since I last sa
w the blue color of the seas. I had almost forgotten what it looked like.”

  A gust of wind bearing the smell of sea blew across their dirt-covered faces, blowing through Ganis’ braided yellow hair and the few strands that came undone while she dug. Prometh lowered his bald head to sooth it with the fresh sea air.

  “When do you intend to announce the tunnel’s completion?” asked Ganis.

  Prometh raised his head and glanced at Ganis, quickly returning his eyes to the demanding sight. “The other diggers must have already informed everyone in the pits. I doubt it’ll take them longer than the time needed to reach the other end.”

  “It’ll be difficult to keep it from others, from saving so many lives.”

  “Aye, it will. I just hope that their sacrifices will not be in vain. Promise me that you will do your best to come back quickly.”

  She paused for a moment, remembering how Asclepius had warned her of giving promises she was not certain she could keep. Times have changed. “I promise.”

  Prometh nodded.

  “How will you know when to strike?”

  “Aliis and Aliud will let us know when the time comes. I trust them above all else in such matters.”

  “Your trust is well placed.” She looked at Prometh for one last time, and said, “It’ll take you time to prepare a safe route out.” Ganis pointed at the irregular mountain slope. It would be a difficult descent, dangerous to even the most skilled climbers. “You’ll need stairs or ropes.”

  “Aye, we will.”

  Ganis held her hand to Prometh. He looked at it, smiled, and shook it.

  “Till we meet again, Prometh from Forhaven.”

  “Till we meet again, Ganis from Nosgard, and till the resistance fares well.”

  Ganis jumped.

  Chapter 9: To Lands of Scands

  ‘Unless something is lost or forcefully taken away, its owner cannot appreciate the impact it has or had on his or her life.’ Philosophical Lessons from Utyirth (Volume II: Scholar).

  1

  Sixteen seasons, Ganis discovered, had been lost to her in Initium Keep. It was ample time for revolutions to happen and be countered. Time, it seemed, had run slower than she had felt, yet faster than she had hoped. Regardless, her journey back would have to be swift.

  It took her a series of short swims from islands scattered between Initium Keep and the mainland, a set of mountain climbs, and a great deal of running to reach flat land. It was a forest west of Scyldur, and far to the north of any other town or city she knew of – which counted to a handful of landmarks.

  Ganis’ capture made her task develop from a mere mission to a personal vendetta, one that she intended to achieve with the Parthans’ help, if they had survived so far.

  The sun set and rose many times while Ganis traveled, in seclusion once more, but its movement did not dictate the nature of her activities, for she was not bound by light of day or cover of night. The Dark Gift made her a formidable adversary of nature, yet it would not be enough to face Naa’tas. She needed the strength of the Ona. She needed to assimilate.

  As she traveled one day, reaching what she remembered to be the borders of Scyldur, Ganis met a lone familiar figure. She could not recognize her at first, but a closer look revealed a familiar woman’s figure clad in soft white clothes.

  “Ganis, it has been some time.” Kismet smiled at Ganis. Her eyes changed, they were a calming light blue which dulled the shine of sun.

  The changed eyes made Ganis stumble for a moment. It was an unimportant development. “Kismet, I did not expect you to visit me in my world.”

  She smiled. “I always have.”

  Ganis continued to walk, gesturing Kismet to join her. “Do you know about my destiny?”

  “I know of many different destinies for many different people.”

  “And what will be of mine?”

  “I am not entirely certain.”

  Ganis grunted, though she welcomed the company.

  “Destiny,” Kismet continued, “is not a simple thing to explain in your tongue.” She extended her arm to feel the leaves and trees crossing their path. It was uncommon for Kismet to appear in this world in such way. “It is like a grand hall with many doors, each leading to another grand hall with even more doors.

  “The outcomes are limitless, and if I had twice as much time as the world is old, it would not be enough to explain the contents of the doors in one such hall.”

  “Yet you know of them?”

  Kismet offered a gentle nod, still smiling. Her clothes brushed against the dirt, leaves and trees, but nothing would leave a mark on the white gown.

  “Is there any path in which I defeat Naa’tas?”

  “There are many paths in which you do.”

  Then it is possible, Ganis though. The feeling of hopelessness was slightly lifted.

  “And,” Kismet continued, “many paths in which you fail.”

  “How often does he kill me?”

  “Some destinies show him killing you, others show you killing him, and some show no such exchange between both of you.”

  “And in how many destinies does someone else kill him?”

  Kismet looked at Ganis and touched her; in the same manner she touched the trees and leave. She wanted to know what touching Ganis felt like. “Very few.”

  “Then I am meant to kill Naa’tas.”

  “In some destinies only.”

  Ganis huffed in frustration. She would achieve nothing by asking Kismet about her destiny, but there were other things she wondered about. “Kismet.” Ganis paused. “What are you?”

  “I am one of the Three Hands of Fate.”

  She replied!

  “Three Hands of Fate?” In all her studies and experiences Ganis had never come across such term. She knew about Fate, a deity to some and a natural occurrence to most, but she never knew how real or meaningful it was.

  “Each of us is responsible for choice, destiny or death.” She paused for a moment, picking up a fallen leaf with still some green left. “We are ageless, immune to the harsh treatment of time. Much like you, Ganis.”

  Much like me!

  “Yet Fate,” Kismet continued, “rarely commands us to appear to others. We are like air, surrounding everything. Even things like rocks and trees have fates and are often the subject of our interest, Ganis.”

  “How does a rock have a fate?” Ganis took note of the next breath she drew. It was a strange thing to be aware of what came to her so naturally, breathing.

  “The king Kahr’Aman, a man with great deeds and conqueror of many lands, met his death when his horse stepped on a loose stone and fell atop him. This stone’s destiny was to kill a man whose name toppled entire civilizations.”

  “You are destiny.” Ganis finally understood how Kismet knew her so. “Don’t expect me to start worshipping Fate.”

  Kismet laughed. It was a strange laugh, a mixture of an aged woman and a child’s, yet pure. “Fate cares not for being worshipped. She is a force that simply is and will always be, regardless of your actions.”

  “Yet you speak of her as a god.”

  “Gods are silly things, some even shorter lived than you, and Fate rules over them just as she rules over mortal men and things. Even I have power over the gods.”

  “Then I am glad you are on my side, Kismet.”

  “I am on no one’s side. I simply am, as you are.” Kismet stopped Ganis and placed both hands on Ganis’ shoulders. Still smiling, she spread her arms apart while staring at the sky and dissipated with the coming wind, her face last.

  Ganis was alone once more, on her way back to Hearthdale – where she thought she should be.

  2

  Ganis reached the borders, if little has changed in that regard, where a guarded narrow passage separated the dominion of Scyldur from that of the Midland villages.

  From their attire, crude iron chainmail covered by a brown leather vest and coupled by pointed helmets, Ganis judged the soldiers to be Scylds. K
illing them would allow her some weapons and a poor replacement to the armor she left behind in Initium Keep, tools she noticed missing when it was too late to go back, yet she thought it more prudent to avoid a confrontation, for the sake of the plan.

  The six men wasted no time in stopping the woman approaching them. “Identify yourself!” a large man said. His accent was thick and bore the marking of the Midland villages – a convert in need of proving his faith still.

  Ganis took a moment to scan the men who surrounded her. She noticed their stink first, an unappetizing lot in spite of her hunger. Even without the repulsive smell it would be difficult for Ganis not to look at them with disgust and contempt.

  “I’m but a mere traveler. May I pass?”

  The men mumbled amongst one another. Their leader took a step closer the Ganis, the same man with the accent, and pointed behind him with his thumb. “Over yonder are heathen lands. What business do you have with them heathens?”

  “My business is my own.” She lowered her head, hoping it would make her appear weak and discourage them from preparing themselves should she decide to attack.

  “Actually, it’s not your own. We’re all quite fond of order, and you violate it.” He smiled, an ugly grin showing more fallen teeth than the remaining decayed ones. “Not only do you disgrace the men of your village by wearing an unfitting outfit for a woman, but you also venture into the lands of the godless.” The man then looked around. “You see, lass, we’re enforcers of these laws that govern our faithful society.”

  Her contempt grew. A lifetime of soldiery, the once-domain of men alone, made her experience many men who forced their women into submissive roles. It was an unforgivable thing to Ganis. “Why would you care?”

  The man’s face grew serious, and the others reached for their belts, not to their weapons of steel but for their disciplinary wooden sticks. “Being the faithful servant of Rayogin I am, it’s my duty to care.”

  “And you’re forbidding me of going into these lands?” She pointed straight at the man, hoping to send a message that he was merely an obstruction in her path, nothing more.