Night's Reign: Curse of the Fathers, #1

Warning

This work is written for a mature audience. It presents a realistic portrayal of life and explores the depths of human cruelty, which may be disturbing for some readers.

Night's Reign

Copyright © 2022 Daan Katz

ISBN: 9798201758950

First edition: February 2022

https://daankatz.com

Cover Design: MiblArt

Map and Logo: Lisa Witmond

All rights reserved. No part of this document may be used or reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, not otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This is a work of fiction.

All characters, locales, and situations in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.

To Lisa and Robin

May you never lose your magic

Contents

Map of Briscona

Prologue

BRISCONA

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

INTERLUDE

Interlude I

SENKERLAND

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

INTERLUDE

Interude II

EBARU

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Glossary

A Word of Thanks

1.Preview of Death and the Maiden

Step into Daan's Worlds

By Daan Katz

About the Author

Last, but not Least

Prologue

Promise

night’s reign

repels starlight

ghetto girl dies alone

another addict giving birth

to hope

The grey stones of the temple had taken on a greenish hue, and the air smelled stale. Where were the candles? And why had the fountain gone dry? Surely, the gods had not forsaken this place? This was holy ground. Why was there no priest?

Time became a fluid thing as Shansi imagined herself back in Naz’s strong arms. She clung to him as he held her and kept her from falling. His voice, warm and seductive as always, soothed her fears. The sweet scent of his skin comforted her. The luscious taste of his lips increased her longing for him.

Her excited moan turned into an agonised wail as pain shot through her abdomen again and forced her to her knees. Why could she not have been born a boy? In a reflex, her hand went to the medallion she wore on a delicate golden chain around her neck. Worth a fortune, yet utterly useless. If only she’d been able to sell it.

She rubbed the stupid tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, and forced herself to her feet. She had to be strong. For the child she was about to deliver into this world.

Please, good Goddess, I can’t do this alone.

A faint noise, like a breath of wind, made her look up, and a beam of sunlight guided her eyes to the large statue. Gods be praised, it was still there and more magnificent than ever. As she set out towards it, another contraction made her double up on the floor again. Was this her punishment?

If only Baba hadn’t gone missing. If only Naa hadn’t died. And Mam. Asra and Siana. The useless tears came again. Shansi bit her lip. She sniffled. Wiped her eyes once more.

Holy Gods! Be strong for once. Blazing. Be. Strong. She crawled closer to the statue of the Goddess, until finally she could touch it.

Bring it on. Her voice sounded raw. Broken. Her womb cramped again. Hit by a bout of nausea, she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts. A sudden cold made her shiver. Her legs started to tremble.

When the pain subsided, she tried to sit up, but almost immediately the next wave of pain crashed into her. In a vain attempt not to cry out, she dug her nails into her skin. Gods, but this was savage! How could any woman survive something as fierce as this? She closed her eyes. Bit her lip bloody. Dug her nails yet deeper into her skin. Gasped for breath.

For how long she lay there, on the cold stone floor, whimpering in agony, she couldn’t tell. For once, there was no time. No hunger, no thirst. Not even the all-consuming need for a fix that had been the driving force behind almost all of her actions since little Siana died in her arms. If only she could have saved her sister.

If only she could have stayed with Naz. He had been good to her. He’d always provided her with the good, clean stuff. Not the rubbish on which she’d been surviving after she had left him. If only things had been different. If only his family could have approved. If only…

But all her if-onlies mattered not one bit. She was going to die today, and her child would become a retarded, sickly person. If it lived.

Child.

Shansi opened her eyes and looked up. Someone was approaching. A woman.

Are you… Her voice cracked. Are you the Goddess?

No, child. The woman came closer. Just her servant. I was sent to attend to your needs. Drink some. She supported Shansi as she offered her a small cup of water. Then she wiped her face with a cool, damp cloth. Is that better?

Shansi nodded. It wasn’t much. A shot of Saffire Tease, or even Hog Flare would have been considerably better, but that was not an option. She had to think about her baby. In all honesty, she should have been doing that since the day she discovered she was with child, but she’d been too selfish.

More contractions. More pain, ever more unbearable. The nausea came back with such force she threw up. Another shiver ran down her spine. Her legs started trembling anew, and worse than before. She grasped at her swollen belly, writhing. A suffocated wail escaped from her lips.

The woman stayed by her side and tried to make her as comfortable as possible. Though it brought little relief, it was still better than having to go through this nightmare alone.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, her baby was born.

A beautiful boy with golden eyes and copper skin. Just like his father.

She must have lost consciousness then, because next she woke up in a real bed, between soft silken sheets, in a cool, well-ventilated room. The lady from the abandoned temple sat on a chair beside her. The child, her child, lay in a basket.

My son… She barely had the strength to whisper. Is he… is he…? She couldn’t bear to finish the question. She knew the answer already. He would die and she, his own mother, was to blame.

He is weak, but I’m confident that he will pull through. I gave him the medallion. It will give him the strength he needs. Was it your father’s?

She shook her head. My grandfather’s. His wife and other children died from the pestilence. Long before I was born. My mam… She closed her eyes. So tired. Even just breathing took almost too much effort. Mam was his only remaining child. But she’s dead too, now. They all are.

I see. I’m sorry. The woman was silent for a moment, then asked, What will your son’s name be, dear?

Moradin.

It had been Naa’s name, and it seemed fitting that her son should be named after him. Can I… The nausea found her again and made her cut off her words. She shivered with cold. Black specks swam in front of her eyes.

Child!

The woman stood bent over her, felt her forehead, her pulse. Stay with me, girl. Stay with me!

Cold, she said through chattering teeth. Naz. She grew colder still, and weaker. Naz…

Naz took her in his arms. Don’t be afraid. His body felt warm against hers, and his voice sounded more alluring than ever. Nothing will hurt you.

No! a woman’s voice cried out in the distance. Don’t you die on me. Don’t…

BRISCONA

Chapter One

Vision

dragon

seeks sanctity

flickering flame kindles

tiniest spark illuminates

blind eyes

Niels sat down on one of the wooden benches and smoothed his blue priestly robes. The familiar scent of incense and burning candles, and the susurrant sound of water made him feel at peace with himself and the world. It always did. The Sanctuary was his home. Far more so than the little cottage just across the street. Though his fatigue didn’t leave him, now that he was alone, he could at least rest for a little while. He folded his hands in his lap and closed his eyes.

When the heavy wooden door opened and a ray of sunlight caressed his face, he woke from his slumber. The door fell shut again, but as far as Niels could make out, nobody had entered. He was about to get up when he heard something. A soft shhh-shhh sound that he couldn’t identify. Then he made out a moving shape in the dimly lit hall. He squinted. A woman in a wheelchair, a small birdlike creature — was that really a dragonet? — perched atop her shoulder. For a moment, he wondered what to do, then decided to just wait and see.

With a confidence that astounded Niels, she went straight to the altar, where she said the ancient blessing over the Sacred Candles; softly, so he could not hear it, but he saw her lips form the words he himself recited every morning. Blessed are you, Queen of the Worlds, who kindles the Light of Life in the human soul. Next, she went over to the Fountain of Renewal, where she chanted the blessing over the Holy Water in a clear, melodious voice. She dipped in a finger and brought it to her lips.

Not wishing to disturb the woman in her devotions, Niels remained seated, and observed her as she prayed to the Goddess. He watched, and wondered. Who was this young lady, who radiated a peace and fortitude he could only hope to ever achieve?

When she had finished her prayers, she wheeled her chair over to where he still sat gawking at her.

So here you are. Her strong voice belied her frail appearance. I’m Bel. Beldenka Nadinov. Cantor. And you, I assume, are our new priest.

Niels Bosch. Holy Gods, but she was gorgeous! Her ivory skin contrasted beautifully with those short mahogany curls that framed the most delicate face he had ever seen. And if that alone wasn’t enough, she spoke in a most delightful northern accent. He felt like a schoolboy again and hoped she couldn’t see the blush that crept up his face. I arrived yesterday.

So I heard. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be at the welcome reception last night, but I had previous engagements that could not be rescheduled. She scrutinised him, head to toe. And here I thought they would send us another old bloke who would either die or go senile in the next five turnings.

That bad?

Usually, yes. And quite understandably so. These are the Barlows, which equals the end of all civilisation. Nothing ever happens here. I do hope you’re not married?

Beg pardon? Did she really have to be that forward? Or was she just winding him up?

She shrugged. Because it would be unfair to your wife and children. Every child, and every woman deserves better than to spend their lives in this gods-forsaken outpost.

If… he searched for the right words to say, if you’re feeling that way, then why are you here?

I’m weird like that. I happen to enjoy the solitude. Peace and quiet, and all that. Besides, everyone here knows me, which means fewer stupid stares.

Niels nodded. I can appreciate that. In fact, that’s exactly the reason why I am here. I opted out.

That was true enough and sounded far better than saying, I’m on the run because some deluded soul wants me dead and has been chasing me for close to twenty turnings.

So, Beldenka’s eyes bored into his, and he bent his head, no wife or children then?

No.

You’re not very forthcoming, are you?

Should I be?

It would be nice.

Hmm. What could he say? He hated small talk. That, and life had taught him it was best to keep his distance. No need to provoke fate.

Are you thick, or what? We’ll be working closely together for the next few turnings. Preferably longer. I’m sick to death of having to adjust to one new priest after another. She sounded every bit as annoyed as he himself felt. I hate working with strangers. It drains my energy.

Niels took a deep breath. Getting angry now would get him nowhere. I apologise. But I fail to see why I should be obliged to talk about myself. I am a priest.

That sounded lame.

So what? Do you think being a priest exempts you from being human?

Priests listen. They don’t talk about themselves.

What a load of dragon dung! The old priest Gharbani was quite chatty. So were the other priests I worked with.

He sighed. He had hoped to find peace here, but even though he was probably safe from his lunatic stalker for the time being, his new cantor seemed intent on making his life torture.

I am not them. And if you’ll excuse me now, I need to go home and have lunch.

Beldenka raised an eyebrow. It’s pretty late to be having lunch, wouldn’t you say?

I fell asleep.

You… She stared at him with an intensity that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Finally, she shook her head. Of course. You must be tired. Take the rest of the day off. Go home. Rest. Settle in. I’ll see you again tomorrow. Then we will talk. She turned her chair and went as quietly as she had come.

Niels suppressed a yawn as he got to his feet. Taking the remainder of the day off wasn’t a bad idea. He had not unpacked yet. Not even one box, and his furniture stood randomly scattered throughout the house. Slowly, head bent, he walked out of the building. Once outside, he straightened his shoulders, strode over to the statue of the Goddess and raised his hands in a silent prayer.

He pushed the heavy black leather sofa, the only decent piece of furniture he currently owned, against the wall. Tired already, he sat down to survey his work. Two boxes unpacked. Mostly kitchen stuff. Good. At least he would be able to fix himself a proper meal. Now, if he put that wobbly kitchen table and those two mismatched chairs against the wall opposite the worktop, he’d even have a place to eat his meals. It was a start.

With a pang of regret he remembered his beautiful home in Tan’Rabu, with the long gauze curtains that filtered the harsh glare of the tropical daylight, and the buzzing fans that spread a welcome breeze in the almost unbearable heat inside. He’d had beautiful, well-crafted furniture, and slept between soft silken sheets. He had been living a dream there. A dream that ended in a nightmare on the day Zia died.

His vision momentarily blurred, he forced himself up from the sofa. He blinked once, then let his gaze wander the room. The dark oak table, which had clearly seen better days, would still make a fine desk. If he put it over there by the window, he could watch the chickens frisking about in the garden when his work threatened to overwhelm him. He needed to unpack his books as soon as possible. But that meant he’d have to assemble his bookcase first, and right now he couldn’t face the effort involved.

Most of his clothes were still in his travel bags, getting wrinkly and smelly. But he hadn’t found his clothes hangers yet. So much work, and so little energy.

And what if… but no! He should not allow himself to think like that. He was safe here. The end of the civilised world. Was that not what Beldenka had called the Barlows? Surely, King Hanassan and his cronies would never think to look for him here, in this gods-abandoned settlement.

He didn’t bother to lift his feet properly as he shuffled into the kitchen to pour himself another cup of tea. Everything took too much effort. As he sank down in his sofa, the thought came to him, unbidden. What if that madman finally found him? So what if that sorry creature killed him? Would it really be all that bad? At least it would all be over. No more running. No more fear. No more looking over his shoulder.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he’d been wrong, coming to the Barlows. If he were a man, he would pack up and go. He would find the king and either deal with that madman’s grandiose delusions and blood-lust, or die trying. Yes, he should do that. But not today. Next sevenday, he promised himself. Next sevenday. So tired. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Darkness greeted him when he opened his eyes. His neck and back ached. Not even forty and already he felt like an old man. What was worse, he behaved like one. Sleeping his days away. What was he thinking?

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, got up, stretched, and went over to the kitchen where he fixed himself a simple meal of bread and cheese.

As he sat at his kitchen table, the unpacked boxes stared at him from the living area. So much unpacking still needed to be done. Books, clothes, knick-knacks and more random stuff. He’d hardly started unpacking and already he felt like he was drowning in the chaos. Even just thinking about the mess made him want to go back to sleep.

One bag. He would empty just one of his travel bags out and put those clothes in the wardrobe. Then, he should go do something fun. He grimaced. Do something fun. It was the very last thing he wanted, but it might help.

Three pairs of pantaloons. All of them black. Ten shirts. Eight white, the other two blue. Socks and underwear. His gi, which he hadn’t worn in far too long. He stroked the fabric with his fingertips before he put it on the shelf. Memories of the many hours he spent training put a melancholy smile on his face. He sat down on the creaky bed and rested his head in his hands.

No. He needed to get out of the house and engage with people, whether he liked it or not. He needed to get fit. It could mean the difference between life and death.

Lacklustre, he took off his robes and got dressed in a pair of pantaloons and a shirt. His sports bag, filled with arbitrary bits and bobs, lay in a corner of the bedroom. He dumped the contents on the floor. He stowed his gi, a pair of bamboo slippers and a towel in the bag, put on his helmet, and made for the door. He’d better jump on his velo before he got the chance to change his mind.

Yesterday, on his way to the Barlows, he’d spotted a training centre in a neighbouring village, Ambleville. Yeleksim’s Gym. Though it didn’t look all too reputable, it was probably the only one in the entire region.

The dressing room was cleaner than he’d anticipated. The lockers were equally clean and only one had a damaged lock. Just one other man was on the mat, practising forward rolls. A tall, muscular fellow with unruly platinum-blond hair and charcoal eyes.

Niels froze. You!

The man grinned so broadly, Niels thought his teeth would fall out of his mouth. Who else, your Holiness?

And here I was hoping… oh, never mind. I guess I’m supposed to spar with you then.

You guessed right. And before you object, let me tell you this: There won’t be any others tonight. I made sure of that.

Mikhandor Faylìnn. Erl. Insufferable, arrogant otherworldly individual, and utterly devoted to his job, which happened to be bodyguard. Niels’ bodyguard. Not that Niels had ever asked for one, but Erls were a peculiar people. They had their own rules and stuck to them no matter what.

I should have known. How did you know I would be here tonight? And, while we’re at it… are the king’s minions on my trail?

You should know by now, young man, that it is my sacred duty to know where you are, and what you are planning to do next. My job description tells me to always be two steps ahead of you, remember? Pompous arse! Always so full of himself. As for the king and his confederates, I can’t be entirely sure, but I don’t think so. Not yet. Who knows, we might be able to spend a couple of uneventful turnings here.

That would be a first. Some people would give anything to have an exciting life. Niels would be just as happy if his life weren’t quite so interesting, even if only for one or two turnings.

Kata?

Niels nodded. Sounds good to me.

As they went through the forms, Niels felt the tension drain from his body, the worry flee from his mind. The effects would not last, but it was good to just be. He needed this. It was one of the few things that kept him sane.

Three steps forward, half a turn left, grab your opponent’s right hand and pull him closer…

Sparring with a man almost twice his size, and throwing him as easily as if he weighed no more than a bag of flour was exhilarating. It made Niels feel as if he could take on the world and conquer it. Without even breaking a sweat.

Mikhandor was more than just a bodyguard and it was unfair to think of him as a big-headed bastard. Throughout the turnings he had been a friend, a tutor and a combat trainer. A good one too. Firm and demanding, but never harsh or cruel.

Feeling better now, my friend? Mikhandor asked when they were back in the dressing room.

Niels nodded.

So, we shall be training regularly again, won’t we, your Holiness?

Yes, we will. But let us build it up slowly. I’m not fifteen any more.

I don’t care about your age. Even if you were a crippled old man, I’d still expect you to show up for your training three out of every seven nights. Unless you want more, of course.

You’re a cruel, relentless son of an Erl.

Thank you. Mikhandor inclined his head. Three times a sevenday it is, then. But don’t worry. I won’t beat you up too badly. Not at first, anyway.

Niels stuffed his gi back in his bag. A crippled old man, eh? So you would still teach me how to fight if I were in a wheelchair?

The question is irrelevant, but yes. Absolutely. I can’t see why not.

But don’t you think that would be cruel?

Quite the contrary. I think it would be cruel not to teach a disabled person how to defend themselves. They would probably need it even more than most able-bodied persons.

That made sense. Perhaps he should…

Are you going to invite that cute cantor of yours to come train with us?

"Am I what? Are you out of your mind?"

She’s cute though, isn’t she?

Oh, will you shut up? Embarrassment and amusement warred inside his head. Niels shook his head and smiled as amusement finally won the upper hand.

Chapter Two

Fever

hedgehog

grim harbinger

augurs mind-melting heat

dragonbreath quenches evil flames

and rules

Getting up in the morning was never easy but now, with stiff, burning muscles, it was even harder. His own stupid fault for allowing himself to grow soft. Niels kept his eyes closed and tried to go back to sleep. In vain. His bladder reminded him there were other bodily functions that needed to be taken care of.

As he relieved himself, he heard a knock on the door. Erl’s balls! Visitors? At this ungodly hour? When he was still practically naked? For one moment he hesitated. Then he decided to just open the door. Whoever it was would sarding well get what they had asked for. A grumpy, half naked priest.

Moments later he stared at a small figure in a wheelchair and his bravado melted. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he stammered, B-Beldenka?

Well, well. Good afternoon to you too, Mister Sexybutt. With a mischievous grin on her face she looked him up and down. Several times.

Mister Sexybutt. Right. As if things weren’t bad enough already.

I… Come in. I was just getting dressed. He fled into his bedroom and stood there, hyperventilating, head pressed against the cool wall. Gods, this was awkward. That woman! The way she had looked at him! How could he ever face her again? And to think he would have to work with her. Closely. Day by crashing day.

Breathe, sard you! Calm down.

She’d seen him in his smallclothes. So what? That was hardly different from seeing a man in his bathing suit. He could live with that. He had to. Man up. Grab a pair of pantaloons and a shirt. Put them on. Better yet: Put on your robes. Look professional. Comb your hair. Shaving can wait. Now go see what the lady wants.

He stepped back into the living room, trying his best to look more confident than he felt. It didn’t work. S-sorry about that, he began, I… I…

No. I should apologise. Beldenka didn’t look very contrite, and her voice sounded as firm as it had the day before. I showed up at your door, uninvited, knowing full well that you had to be exhausted still. That was inconsiderate of me.

Niels didn’t know what to say. He’d expected her to make fun of him, or something even worse than that. Instead, she offered her apologies, even if they might not be entirely genuine. The words seemed sincere enough, but how could anyone be that confident when apologising?

That’s, uh… no harm done. Let’s just forget about it. Can I get you something to drink?

Water would be good. Thank you.

I hope you don’t mind if I fix myself something for breakfast. I only just… but I’m sure you figured that out already.

Stupid cabbage head! He should not have brought that up again. He opened the kooler and rummaged inside to hide his discomfort. Milk, eggs and butter. He had a new bag of flour in the storage cupboard, so he could make pancakes. That was breakfast sorted then. But he’d better get Beldenka that glass of water first.

So, what brought you here at this early hour?

Beldenka raised her eyebrows. Early? It’s shortly before noon, Niels. I was in the House of Prayer and didn’t see you there, so I thought I would come and see how you were doing. I thought maybe you got stuck unpacking and I could lend you a hand.

That late already? Had he slept away most of the morning? Not good. You? Help me? But you are…

Yes. I am a cripple. The words sounded harsh, yet there was no rancour in her voice — or none that Niels could detect. That doesn’t make me needy or anything. I live alone. Well, with little Zilla here. The way she looked up at the scaly thing almost made him believe she was reading its thoughts. "I run my own household, drive my own karr, do my own shopping, and earn my own silvers. Is there anything there that suggests incompetence?"

My apologies. I didn’t realise… I mean, I just never knew anyone in a wheelchair before.

That’s alright. It always takes people a little getting used to. I promise you won’t notice the chair any more once we’ve been working together for a while. I’m pretty good at making people forget about that.

With that personality of hers, Niels didn’t doubt it.

You’re not from around here, are you? Her name, her accent, and even her looks suggested she originated from one of those cold, inhospitable northern countries.

Ingravia. But I left when I wasn’t even ten turnings old yet, and haven’t been back since. Not once.

There was a story there. Maybe something to do with her chair? Yesterday, she’d accused him of not being forthcoming. Now, he wondered about her willingness to share. Could he ask? She might not take to that very kindly. But he was curious. Had she always been in a wheelchair? Or was her disability caused by an illness or accident? Or even — the gods forbid! — an assault. Ingravia was rumoured to be a harsh country, with crime being its prime profession.

The dragonet? He’d never seen a real dragonet before, and used to think they were a myth. Until yesterday.

Zilla. She looked up at the creature and smiled. I admit to having a soft spot for dragons and their little cousins. That has to be my Ingravian heritage, and I do hope it’s the only one. Everything you might ever have heard about Ingravia is true, and worse than that, I assure you. Your turn. Where are you from?

Beldenka, you know the answer to that question already. I am a priest.

She rolled her eyes. You’re a priest? Really? I hadn’t noticed yet. When you opened that door, I could have sworn that you… She broke off and bit her lip. What had she been about to say? Sorry. Her voice was barely above a whisper. You’re from Ebaru then?

Yes. He didn’t feel obliged to tell her that he was adopted by a Darsian family and grew up in Dorhedde. The less anyone knew about him, the better. And it’s not the tropical paradise people think it is. Hidden from the tourist industry, there is poverty, narc abuse and crime to rival the Ingravian, uh… culture.

Beldenka looked as if she saw water catch on fire. The other priests never mentioned this.

That doesn’t surprise me. Most honestly don’t know. Others prefer to ignore it. I could not.

In an instant, his mind took him back to Ebaru, where he stood at the graves of the poor, with his great-granduncle, barely able to take it all in. The memory of the enormous losses and the pain they caused, made him shudder. His face contorted into a grimace as he relived the overwhelming grief that came with his new knowledge.

Niels? Beldenka had rolled up close to him, too close. She put a hand on his arm and, in a reflex, he flinched back.

Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.

Ghosts of the past. He shook his head. So you wanted to help me unpack. I suggest we get started. Though, to be honest, I have no clue how.

Well, that’s easy. Just grab the nearest box and open it.

Niels looked at Beldenka first, then at the box, and finally back at Beldenka again. He folded his hands behind his back to prevent himself from scratching his head. But shouldn’t there be some sort of system to it?

Beldenka laughed. An enchanting, melodious laugh. "This is the system, Niels. One box at the time."

Box after box they unpacked, and as they did so, Niels put everything away. Not everything found a permanent home yet, but surprisingly much did. Beldenka was far more capable than Niels would have thought anyone in a wheelchair could be. She helped assemble the bookcase and, though he hated to admit it, she was more proficient with his tools than he himself was.

It’s easy, she said when he asked her how she had gained those skills. I live alone. When something breaks, I repair it. I don’t have the time or patience to sit around and wait for the repairman to come all the way from Ambleville. Besides, I don’t want to spend an unholy amount of silvers on these guys either. So I bought me some good machines, and earned the investment back ten times over already.

But is this not much harder for you than for able-bodied people? The moment the words were out of his mouth he wanted to hit himself. How could he be so insensitive?

Beldenka, however, didn’t seem offended. She just shrugged. From what I see, it’s quite a bit harder for you than it is for me. Here, give me this. She pointed at a screw, and the machine. You are hopeless.

He knew he wasn’t the best handyman around, but he liked to think he could at least manage. Yet here he was being called hopeless by a diminutive woman in a wheelchair. That was sobering.

"It can’t be that bad," he tried.

Well, maybe I could teach you. She looked at him first, then at the nearly finished bookcase and shook her head. Then again, why go through all this trouble? I’ll be around almost every day, and I actually like this stuff.

Niels’ mouth fell open. You do?

Yes. She hummed a cheerful tune as she continued her work on the bookcase. Every now and then, she got out of her chair and sat on the floor, or stood on wobbly legs. Sometimes, she even walked a couple of uncertain steps.

I hope you will not think me incredibly rude, Beldenka, but would you mind telling me why you’re in that chair? They sat on the sofa with a cup of tea. You see, I always assumed people in wheelchairs could not walk at all, but you just proved me wrong.

This is a mistake many people make, Niels. Don’t worry about it. You know better now. She sipped her tea and looked at him over the rim of her cup.

The silence stretched. Was she going to tell him, or did she not want to talk about her ill fortune? He wanted to understand, but he couldn’t in good conscience press her into sharing information she wasn’t ready to divulge yet.

I walked like everyone else. I ran, I danced, I played. I was this child who could never sit still. I wanted to become a ballet dancer when I grew up — a prima ballerina, no less — and I was doing quite well. My father and mother were proud of me, my brother and sisters adored me, and my friends envied me.

She fell silent again. Took another sip of her tea. Niels did not speak. But he listened to the silence. A silence that told a story all its own. A story of pain, and loss.

I had a cold. No big deal. When you grow up in Ingravia, you learn not to pay too much attention to minor nuisances like these. You don’t want to be seen as weak.

She bent over and placed her cup on the table. Twisted a lock of her hair around her finger, let it go, and did it all over again. And again.

My cold got worse, and I ended up in the hospital. The doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong, and decided it was probably this mysterious virus that had been killing people left and right lately, so I was placed in isolation. The doctors and nurses, and even the cleaners, all wore protective gear when they had to enter my room. I was allowed one visitor a day, but behind this glass wall only. There was never any direct contact.

Beldenka shook her head. No hugs or kisses for little Bel. Nobody held me when I cried. It was wretched. But I pulled through. Only, when I was finally allowed out of the bed, I could not walk any more. I hated it. Hated life. Hated my legs for letting me down so badly.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The doctors assured me my strength would come back if I kept doing my exercises, so I exercised like a manewolf on Oracle. Nothing happened. Except for the bad that came with being a cripple. I lost my friends. My brother and sisters avoided me. Papi and Mumi hid me away. The prodigy had become an embarrassment. My future had been destroyed. I knew I would never dance again.

That is harsh.

"This is Ingravia. Be strong or die. Since I hadn’t had the decency to die, I became a Reject. She balled her hands into stiff fists and sat up straighter. So I fought even harder. I exercised more. I dragged myself around the house to get food and drink whenever I wanted it. I pulled myself up by the shelves of my father’s bookcase, so I could reach his best books. And over time, I got at least some strength back."

You dragged yourself? You were not even given a wheelchair? Niels shook his head. And here he thought his younger turnings had been unpleasant.

I knew that wheelchairs existed of course, but not in Ingravia. In the end, my parents decided to send me to a boarding school in Suttbron, Senkerland. I was not allowed to come back home. Ever. And this was the lovingest thing they could have done for me. Her posture relaxed. So now you know my story, and there is no need to talk about it ever again.

Niels nodded. Thank you for your trust. More tea?

Yes, please.

When Niels sat down again, Beldenka said, Now that you know pretty much everything there is to know about me, I think this is the time for you to share your story.

I am just a simple priest. I don’t have a story. He couldn’t afford to have people prying into his past.

And you really want me to believe this? When you’ve come to work in the Barlows of all places? I told you yesterday, and I’m telling you again, we only ever get old blokes here. Since you are hardly old, there’s got to be a story and I deserve to know it.

I was born. I grew like any other boy. I went to primary school. Then I went to secondary school. After I finished school, I went to the seminary. I graduated. I became a priest. There. That’s my story.

My, my! Aren’t you prickly? What is this thing that you’re so desperate to hide? What’s the worst that could happen?

"I could be killed. You could be killed." The words were out before he knew it, and there was no taking them back now.

Beldenka stared at him. She said nothing. Niels closed his eyes in an attempt to hide the panic that threatened to overtake his thinking. He concentrated on his breathing, the way Mikhandor had taught him.

A warrior needs to keep his calm under all circumstances. Control your breathing, and you control your mind.

So… you are on the run. He thought he detected a small tremor in Beldenka’s voice. Either you’re being paranoid, or you really are in danger. I don’t know what’s going on, but since you don’t seem insane to me, I will believe you.

She sat up straighter. Well, if there is anything Ingravia has taught me, it is that you don’t run, and you don’t hide. You fight. And you know what? I don’t fear death, and neither should you.

"I don’t fear my own death, Beldenka, but I have seen too many people die. Because of me. Have you any idea what that does to a man?"

Look at me, Niels. She put a hand on his arm. Again. He wasn’t sure whether he liked that or not. We are going to the House of Prayer now. We’re going to sing the blessings together, and after that, we’ll start working on this moon’s liturgies. I refuse to be intimidated.

Chapter Three

Highroad

guileless

hero takes flight

despised child remembers

rebel rises