The Eighth Power: Book I: The Book of the Living Read online

  Yes, Saparen had stood loyally in times of good and ill, weathered the trying years of bad kings and immoral wars, and defended Aeresan against terrible ern invasions. Its alliance with the crown was unceasing, even when the world seemed to turn against the kingdom. Even when the Prophets ruled the continent for a time after the brief Tryl Dynasty, when revolution seemed to be upon the lips of every man for a hundred miles around, Saparen stood in defense of the Prophets. It was the only Barony to take such a position. But no less so was she an ally to the Jonat Dynasty, begun by the very man who led the charge against the Mages.

  Saparen was called “The Stone of Aeresan” for this reason, though the term was also used in a derogatory manner when referring to the Barony’s rather infertile lands. Saparen (and Lanshire as part of Saparen) accepted the title with pride. Her people were hard and untiring, dedicated in all things, whether working their land or in battle.

  So the people would say to others, but in truth, the Saparians were just like everyone else. They were tired. They were tired, and hungry, and they were very gradually losing the war against the ern.

  Chapter 5

  The midwife came through the door just as Barrin approached, her hand up at him in defiance. The minor barricade made by the short woman worked well enough, however, for Iylin came right up the door, but advanced no farther. The midwife was as big as a thin woman of meager stature might be (that is to say, her presence was made up of more temper than actual physical form), and though she was one of the smallest women in the town, she filled the doorway as much as the largest man.

  “Barrin,” she said in a hard sympathy, never wavering from her position.

  “What happened?” the farmer asked, and the possible answers passed though his mind like a galloping horse, picking up dust and rattling the earth with noise. Something was wrong, but the midwife was choking on her words, and all he could do was fret over the possibilities until she spoke. Why didn’t she speak?

  But then the words came, and Iylin wished they had never been said. Somehow, all those strange possibilities would have been better.

  “It’s Josette,” the woman said, and no more needed to be explained. “We took the child away . . .”

  Iylin heard no more, but instead charged passed the woman and into the house. Not even the King’s Thanes might have stopped him in that moment, and certainly that woman would not have had the strength. On the far side of the small room sat a simple bed, and upon the bed his wife, pale in death, yet remaining so lovely. Her black hair was still matted with sweat from the birth, her hands gripped the blankets. She wore white on her last day, a ragged gown that had twisted around her in the throes of a coming end. Someone had closed her eyes, and Barrin was glad for it. He didn’t think he could look into those emerald eyes again. Part of him wanted to, knowing that it would be his last chance, but he couldn’t. All he had to do was reach out and open them, but he could not.

  The man collapsed, his scabbard scraping the ground as he fell, creating a harsh and distant noise on the stone and sand. Other sounds were soft and shifting, for the tears had paralyzed Barrin Iylin, and he couldn’t even breathe. In those moments, he cursed the ern, and Serren, and he pleaded for the gods to send her back. But most of all he cursed himself.

  A gasp for air came so heavily that he sounded more like an animal than a man, and yet there was a pain in the sound so utterly human that no other beast might make it. Only a man could understand that sort of despair.

  “My son,” said a voice from the door, but Iylin didn’t look. “My son,” said the Priest of Serren as he came inside. He was a little shriveled man, bald and physically weak, and yet was the spiritual representative in the town. Of the Six, only Serren had a Temple in Lanshire, so small was the village.

  “Why?” Barrin asked through painful gasps. “Why did she take her?”

  “I am sorry, my son,” the Priest said, for he had no answer to the question. Not even the old man, who understood that the gods had a purpose in everything, could find meaning in that moment.

  There was another silence, just as long and just as deep, for even the Priest was holding his breath. At last there was a break, when the clergyman said, “Look, Barrin. They bring your son.”

  The farmer turned to the doorway, where the midwife stood with the child. The baby was tiny and red, and seemed so like his father in that moment. He was weeping – mourning, perhaps – and his squeal broke Iylin again.

  He took his son and cradled him in his arms, gently rocking. “Don’t cry,” he said. “Don’t cry. She is with Serren in the Otherworld now. There are no tears there, and we should not shed them either. Do not weep that she is in her rightful place. Do not weep.”

  All the while his own tears were falling upon his son’s face, and he could not convince himself to stop. Serren did have her, didn’t she? Surely Josette was in the upper circles of the Otherworld. Surely that was true!

  “I will call him Ayrim,” the father squeaked. In his meager understanding of the old language, he believed that the word ayrim meant, Worthy of sacrifice. It was a term he had heard in connected with some of the heroes of old, for sometimes only the old language could describe a man fully enough. But he did not yet believe the very name he had given, and he prayed silently that this boy of his would be worth the loss of another, the loss of someone he loved so much. He could not yet see how Ayrim could possibly replace her, but he prayed with all his might that the child would, because Barrin Iylin knew that he could not last a day without Josette. Without Josette, he would not be able to survive at all.

  He was wrong about the name Ayrim, for it really meant, He who sacrifices. But that turned out to be just as prophetic.

  Chapter 6

  If such a thing were possible, Barrin had an easier time raising a child alone than he would have if Josette had survived the delivery. If she had, they would have only been two people caring for young Ayrim. As it was, however, most of the women from the town and a third of the men would periodically appear at the house of the poor farmer and help in whatever way that was needed. The farmers of Lanshire were a helpful people anyway, but with Ayrim’s birth were they united in sympathy and charity, and their sacrifice replaced Barrin’s own in the first year without Josette.

  The women, in particular, all but ruled over Iylin’s small home, and the widower found himself always fed and generally able to work his fields without worry for the small child. A neighbor’s wife, who had birthed a girl only a week before Ayrim arrived, fed the boy, and another woman, whose children had only recently left home into marriages of their own, took care of cleaning. The others cooked and watched over the child in shifts. Also would the men come by to help with the fields once their own work was done (and sometimes before). Barrin’s land was meager, and with such help was the work done quite quickly, giving the man more time to spend at home. Lord Draffor contributed in his own way as well, forgiving much of Iylin’s taxes and debts.

  If such a thing was possible, Ayrim was better cared for because of his mother’s death than he would have been had she been there. His father was with him more often, and for longer periods, and there was never a shortage of those who wished to care for him.

  But such a thing really isn’t possible, for no matter how many substitutes were presented to the little boy, his mother was gone. The loss of a parent simply could not be made up by others, no matter how much they toiled. Neither was it possible that the death of his wife could make Barrin’s life easier. It only made his life so much more cold.

  For Barrin, the first ten months passed slowly. The days were monotonous and numbing. Despite the multitude of people that seemed to hover about the house, he felt alone on his land. No company would cover up that feeling within him, no matter how busy the village tavern was when he was there, or how many would join him in a meal. Even near Ayrim, he was hopelessly lost. He would have traded all the help the town had given at
home and on the land for Josette’s return. And there were many nights that he prayed to Serren for just that. Hadn’t it occurred in the past? Had not Serren given back Halin’s lover to him? Didn’t the Book of the Living tell that story? And yet the goddess refused to repeat the miracle in this case. Barrin, before, had followed Serren as loyally as even Draffor, and he had been known in the town for his devotion. But the Goddess of the Living had let Josette go callously, and Iylin had begun skipping the morning prayer services and would pray only for Josette’s return, nothing else. No other prayer was given with any passion. He might say the words as had been taught to him years before, but other prayer lingered in his heart.

  He held Ayrim upon his knee, and the boy, ten months grown, giggled. He had grown much in the time (had it already been so long? To Barrin, it seemed a month and a hundred years simultaneously), and had grown rather fat under the watch of the village’s women. The boy was likely the only person in the area that was well fed. Iylin grinned thinly at the thought. He only grinned when around his son. But, even though the father loved his offspring, Ayrim had not yet become what Barrin believed his name to be. He had not yet become worthy of the sacrifice, and every moment that the village women spent in the Iylin house instead of their own was another sacrifice, and Ayrim couldn’t even live up to the first one. Somehow, even though he knew it to be a ridiculous demand, Barrin kept expecting Ayrim to contribute something to make all of it worthwhile.

  And so the time passed, as it will for the happy and unhappy alike, and the good and wicked. The days might run together, and seem one long day without end, but still the days passed, and so they did with Barrin.

  There was a sharp knock at the thin wooden door. Ayrim looked over in curiosity, but his father did not. He merely said, “Come in,” hardly even caring who would enter.

  It was Lord Draffor himself, as was revealed when the door squeaked open, the sunlight pouring in and revealing the dust that lingered in the air. The noble ducked into the small building, his face pruned up sadly. The farmer did not stand, did not bow, but Draffor would have been more shocked if Barrin had bowed. He always thought of himself as a friend to his subjects, and, though he owned the land that the people worked, the townsmen basically thought of him the same way. In Lanshire, the class differences that were so important in the rest of the kingdom were only barely acknowledged.

  “Barrin,” the young man said. “How goes it with you?”

  “Well enough,” the farmer replied. “Thank you. You?”

  “I am glad to hear it. Things are well for me too.”

  Iylin turned to his ruler, curious at the noble’s stilted demeanor. Draffor seemed nervous or worried, and he was shuffling his feet oddly. The serf inquired, “My lord, is there something you wished to discuss? Is there trouble?”

  “There is, in a way.” Draffor licked his lips, and said, quickly, “I received a message this morning from Lord Wyred, from Kert. He has had his scouts follow a few outlaws that have come upon his land. They have murdered several now, but the Thanes are too few in the area to stop them. They seem to be coming south. Toward us.”

  The widower cringed. Murderers were rarely so organized, but Lord Draffor’s tone made this group seem as though they had hundreds in number. And they were coming to Lanshire.

  “I have written to Baron Verios,” the noble continued, “to request that his Thanes to reinforce use. But the message will be several days before it arrives, and at least five before the Thanes reach us.”

  “When will the outlaws be here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Barrin thought about what he had heard, and asked, “But you are telling this to me instead of telling the town as a whole. Why?”

  Lord Draffor closed his eyes. The response was slow in coming, but eventually he said, “I will tell the town once I leave here, but you needed to know first. I did not say before, but the outlaws are not slaying randomly, but they instead target certain people. They are killing children. Specifically male children born on the eighth day of Osilar a year ago. Serren’s Day.”

  No wonder the noble had come directly to the Iylin household. No wonder Barrin was the first to know about the news. He knew the day of which Draffor spoke. He knew that Serren’s Day very well.

  It was the day that Ayrim had been born.

  Chapter 7

  The Holy Texts tell of the gods, and teach that there are seven of them, or, rather, six true gods and the absence of a god. That absence, in time, became so powerful as to be a deity unto itself, and even eventually to become himself, for so great has this force become that he has developed a will and voice of his own.

  The Six the gods are called, and though they often found conflict amongst each other (to the extent that their attributes are often seen as opposites of one another), they are allies in a great battle against evil of the Absence, which they themselves brought about.

  Within the first group, there is first Ignar, who represents fire and justice, but also jealousy and rage. He is depicted as a great large man, with thick cheeks and red in skin, wielding a great sword that only he can lift. His opposite is Flarow, or Water, whose Virtue is her understanding and control of herself, and yet often is she vain, and sometimes complacent, for she cares almost nothing of what others did, and cannot be persuaded to help enforce laws and standards. She is a tall woman tinged of blue, with hair flowing as the sea, and such a face that might make the hardest of men weep. She always carries a mirror, so that she could not only examine her behavior for faults, but also admire herself, for no other could capture her heart.

  The second group, which is equal with the first, begins with Tianon, a huge and slow man, massive in his proportions. He represents earth, and seeks knowledge always. And yet he is greedy, and hoards both material things and understanding to himself. He carries a great hammer, with which he created the mountains, and his skin is brown with dirt. His opposite is Whesler, the wind goddess, who is charitable above all, though ignorant, and allows her ignorance to taint her decisions. She is as the mist, wispy and translucent, and there were many tales of her disappearing completely into a wind. She appeared with her hands outstretched or armed with a bow and arrow. Yellow is her chosen color.

  The third group, which ranks higher than the first two, actually created the other four deities. These two represent life and death simply. White and black are they, spirit and physical, and they are the most opposite of all the gods.

  Serren, the Goddess of the Living, is the most plain of the goddesses, and yet quite lovely. She dresses in white, her blond hair cascading down her back, and her skin is like snow. Often she would seem to glow, and when there is darkness, still will she be seen in light. She is faith incarnate, and more rarely strayed from goodness than did the other gods. If she had a fault, it would have been that her faithfulness has overcome her, and she relies too heavily on that idea that good would triumph over evil instead of working toward that end. She alone rules the Otherworld, and tends to the souls which there waited for the ending of the Ending Battle.

  The God of the Dead is Tarite. His black robes give no hint to his form, so some say that he is muscular, while others say he is frail. His face is not so often covered, however, though none who see him can recall what he looks like, for his face has no inherent personality, but all agree that he is exceedingly ugly. His touch would chill, his eyes would paralyze. His voice would slay, or so the tales of men said. He is the hardest working of the gods, toiling endlessly toward any worthwhile goal, but relies too much on his own workings and not on the other gods.

  Lastly, there is the Absence, which exists where no other god has sway. He is darkness that absorbs; he is not death, but utter lack of life. He is terror itself. The gods merely have to move where this presence, which they call Vid, is, and Vid would dissipate. And yet the gods cannot be everywhere at once, and everywhere they were not is Vid. In time, Vid became lik
e a god himself, and yet he seems to be stronger than the Six, for he could undo anything that the gods put into place. He is the Void; he is the Nothing. Vid tempts the weaknesses of the gods, and yet it is the weaknesses of the gods that created the Absence.

  So say the Holy Texts.

  Chapter 8

  Just two days passed, and Tianon’s Day turned to Last Day, or, as most had been calling it for many thousands of years, Vid’s Day. The day itself was an ill omen, and people from all over the land walked carefully on Vid’s Day, even though no religious text at all had claimed that the Absence had any special power on that particular day of the week. Of course, the reasoning behind the superstition was a simple one. The six gods each had a day of the week when his power was at its peak, and then there was Sun Day. Serren was the sun, but Sun Day was not claimed by her; rather it was when all of the gods were worshiped as a whole. Last Day, the eighth day of the week, was left without a patron. The gods intended it as a day of rest for the people, but it had become quite the opposite. The absence of a god was, of course, Vid – the Absence. It stood to reason that Last Day, which had no god attached to it, would necessarily be Vid’s.

  And so, when the rumors began about a stranger in the town on Last Day, Barrin Iylin could not believe it to be anything but a bad omen.

  Word of the man began at the small tavern, when the oldest Drin boy from down the road claimed to have seen a man lingering about the hills, hiding in the shadows of a copse. Not much was made of it at first, because the Drins were not exactly renowned for their truthfulness. They were halfhearted followers of Ignar, and thought that it was more important to make others do what was right (that is, what the Drins thought was right) than to live a particularly moral life. They were the only worshipers of Ignar in the town, and therefore lacked a local Temple or Priest to give them direction or help them interpret the Texts more clearly than they could on their own.