ESKER VIII

  Esker found herself curled up in the familiar embrace of the womb of the world, however, she was unable to slumber in peace. A relentless hammering, like a pick chiseling stone, prevented her from drifting off into the dreamlike state that had allowed her to astral project through the earth. The sharp pounding was rhythmic in a distinctive “ba-bum”, resembling a heartbeat. As is grew louder, the pace quickened. Esker pressed her pointed teeth together in a grimace and tried to cover her ears, but could not since she only had one arm.

  The metallic clangs intensified and Esker was dismayed as cracks fissured along the roof of her rocky cocoon. She felt the same dread and guilt that she had experienced when her workmate Loess’ sacrificed himself to protect her. Deep within her chest, she felt a hatred burning like magma for how the Jotman had desecrated Loess’ remains.

  The fissures expanded and widened, causing blinding light to stream through the cracks. Esker closed her eyes tightly as the roof of the cavern come crashing down on top of her.

  When Esker opened her eyes, she could barely see. She was flat on her back and staring directly at that hateful source of brightness that the surface dwellers called the sun. She was uninjured.

  Her mind scrambled to make sense of where she was and how much time had passed. Esker remembered calling upon the earth for aid and exerting herself to a breaking point in order to rescue the Gaídel worker who was pinned by a log. She shielded her eyes, squinting from the light and could hear the sounds of battle close by.

  A voice that she could not understand spoke to her. When Esker sat up, she could see the Gaídel worker that she had helped save was holding her makeshift sun hat. He spoke unintelligibly in kind tones, offering up her headwear with both of his hands. Curiously, the Gaídel’s legs seemed intact, despite the blood and ragged tears on his clothing. Esker nodded to the man as she donned her hat, found the harvestman’s limb by her side and stood, towering over the wagon that had transported the lumber.

  In the open field on the opposite of the caravan, chaos reigned. Dozens and dozens of Pechtish warriors clashed fiercely with heavily armored Jotman forces. The juxtaposition was striking: naked lissome warriors aided by animal spirits fought against regimented knights and ranks of soldiers moving methodically, like the mechanisms of a clock.

  As Esker clambered ungracefully atop the wagon, she saw her companions gathered on the periphery of the battle, near a small group of Gaídel workers wielding hatchets. Guillaume and Liadan stood near an imposing Jotman knight, while Eógan held his spear to the man’s throat. Guillaume called out in a wavering voice, demanding that the Jotman forces surrender, yet none seemed to heed his calls.

  Among the dozens of the Pechtish skirmishers dancing through or over the Jotman lines, a few noticed Eógan amongst the others and began to approach, apparently unconcerned that they were in the midst of a battle.

  The Gaídel bristled and seemed uncertain whether or not they were in danger. When Liadan stepped forward, trying to put them at ease, a contingent of the Jotman knights noticed their leader being held captive and spurred their mounts forward warily, uncertain whether to engage the Pechts or to rescue their leader.

  Esker crept across the wagon, straddling it like a spider.

  The Jotman leader’s voice boomed from within his helm, calling out a short staccato phrase. The knights immediately charged in unison, lowering their lances. Esker grasped the harvestman’s limb in her hand and ran as fast as she could.

  The Pechtish warriors coalesced briefly and then burst apart like an explosion. Meanwhile, the Gaídel fanned out in front of Liadan, standing shoulder to shoulder. Guillaume frantically gesticulated towards the hostage Jotman leader and yelled, but was not audible over the drumming of the bizarre feet of the creatures that the knights were mounted upon. Eógan throttled the Jotman leader and when he pressed the tip of his spear to the man’s gorget, the Jotman lord grasped it in his gauntleted hands.

  When the knights leveled their long lances towards the Gaídel, the Pechts began to harry their flank. Eógan lost his leverage on the Jotman leader as the man stood to his full height, Eógan’s legs dangled as he hung by the shaft of the spear.

  Guillaume became frantic and cocked back the lodestone in his hand, swinging it in a wide arc that seemed to accelerate as it neared the Jotman leader’s helm. With a dull boom, like a bell being rung, the Jotman’s helm dented inward. The lodestone stayed affixed and was wrenched from Guillaume’s hand.

  The Jotman leader staggered drunkenly, dropping the head of the spear and Eógan in the process. The armored lord reached weakly to his helm with his gauntleted hands as Guillaume watched on horrified. Blood frothed from his mouth. With a ringing clamor, he dropped to a heap on the ground. In that same moment, the knights reached the line of Gaídel hatchet men.

  The Jotman knights’ charge was horrifying, the Gaídel on foot were no match for their lances. As Esker raced towards their position, the hatchet wielding laborers were skewered and trampled. A blinding light flared in their midst as the holy symbol Liadan wore around her neck emanated from her outstretched palm.

  Unlike their prior battle in the woods, the spectral shield expanded and provided sanctuary for those surrounding Liadan, including Guillaume and Eógan. The knights did not have time to change course and those who collided with the white hot glyph ricocheted off of it, as if smashing into a stone wall. Contact with the symbol seared mount and rider alike, even those who glanced off of it.

  As suddenly as the protective light came into existence, it disappeared and Liadan sagged to her knees. Liadan’s protective ward had torn a jagged line through the Jotman knights’ formation, but only a few Gaídel remained standing and the knights had largely kept their numbers. Due to the Pechts tearing ferociously into their flank, the knights fragmented into two smaller formations: one contingent totaling around thirty battled the Pechts, while a dozen prepared for a renewed charge against Eógan, Guillaume, Liadan, and the Gaídel.

  Esker screamed above the roar of the battle and caught Guillaume’s attention. She saw his lips moving, unable to hear what he said. He gestured frantically towards the wagons and away from the open ground of the field. As Guillaume and the remaining Gaídel helped carry Liadan and scrambled towards Esker, the strange feet of the knights’ mounts pounded thunderously. They were not going to escape in time.

  Eógan and Esker locked eyes in silent understanding. Esker quickened her pace, her long legs gaining momentum. The Jotman were tall, as were their animals; however, unlike the Gaídel and Pechts, so were Tengu. As Esker ran, she extended her arm behind her and close to the ground. She could feel the power of the earth and the strength of the rocky mantle beneath the soft soil and mud. There was stone to be found even within this top layer and Esker’s eyes widened as pebbles and small rocks drew towards her, like the lodestone had with iron or steel. At first her shins were dotted with a protective layer of these stones and as it formed a carapace, it expanded up her forearm, all the way to her shoulder. Moments felt like hours, she could feel her heart pounding almost as loud as the rattling charge of the Jotman knights.

  Once the others were safely behind her, Eógan swiftly ran to her side and kept pace. The sight must have been ridiculous, a lumbering Tengu wrapped in strips of linen accompanied by a naked Pechtish warrior who was nearly three heads shorter. Eógan hefted the spear in both of his hands, barred his teeth in a feral grin and roared. Esker recited the songs taught by her amahs, first softly, then gradually building in intensity and reaching full volume. The knights were upon them.

  In a blur of motion, Eógan launched himself directly at the center of the Jotman knights. The mounted warrior at the front of their wedge-shaped formation was unable to bring his long lance up in time. Eógan hammered into his shield and locked his legs around the knight’s armored torso.

  Esker was reluctant to injure the gentle looking creatures that the knights rode. While her reach was considerable, she did not want to take any chances and leapt towards her left, prior to her collision with the knights. This meant that only the side with her intact right arm and the majority of the rocky carapace was presented to her foes.

  Her arm swung with furious power in a wide arc. Esker felt the jarring force of several blows and heard the screech of bladed edges against stone. Fragments of rock and sparks flew as she traveled through the air past the knights furthest along their line. Esker struck the second to last knight with the harvestman’s limb hard enough that he careened into his neighbor: both riders spilled from their mounts and hit the ground with a crunch. Esker did not have time to finish them off, as already three of the Jotman were wheeling back for another pass.

  Eógan was locked onto one Jotman knight, as two of the knights tried to aid their grappled companion. The remaining four knights rode hard after Guillaume, Liadan, and the Gaídel wielding hatchets. The Pechts viciously fought the Jotman on several fronts, spectral animals rent through armor effortlessly. Some of the creatures were familiar to Esker, like bears and spiders, others were unique to the surface-world and alien in appearance.

  Esker gripped the harvestman’s limb tightly enough for her red knuckles to turn white, facing down three charging knights.

  LIADAN VII

  Liadan struggled to maintain consciousness, drifting in and out of an exhaustive state. She had felt drained when she used her powers of faith to aid the Gaídel who was trapped beneath the fallen lumber. The man’s leg had been broken and through her touch, Liadan had first felt his bones mend, followed by the tendons, and watched the skin repairing itself. She did not understand this newly found gift, but was certain in the source of her power, the Broken Man.

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  Witnessing the miraculous recovery of their companion had won the Gaídel over to Liadan’s cause. They had initially been reluctant to rebel against the Jotman, yet Esker and Liadan’s selfless efforts to save the life of their friend had done much of the convincing, coupled with the harsh treatment they had endured as forced laborers.

  Guillaume had hoped that holding the Jotman lord hostage would diffuse the fight, however, that gambit was unsuccessful. When the knights had charged, Liadan had never been more terrified. She and her companions were dwarfed by the towering warriors bearing down upon them.Her heart broke as she watched unarmored Gaídel being cut down as they attempted to protect her and that lit a righteous fury in her soul. Her faith had generated small protective wards in the past, first with Sister Fleurie, and later to defend herself from the cruelty of Sir Marin. This instance was unique, her love and compassion projected the holy shield around all of those near her.

  As the symbol of the Broken Man wove through the air, lightly filigreed in golden light like an illuminated manuscript, the Jotman Knights were repulsed. Those that collided with the holy shield were stopped in their tracks, while others were seared by the glowing energy as they were parted like water at the prow of a ship.

  Liadan had felt the energy drain out of her body, like a punctured water-skin. She had felt the exertion from healing the injured Gaídel laborer, now she was on the verge of collapse. Guillaume and one of the Gaídel she had protected put her arms over their shoulders and carried her away from danger as quickly as they could. Liadan’s head lolled from side to side and her eyelids felt as heavy as anvils. The sounds of battle were muted and shewas unable to focus on anything but the train of wagons directly in front of her.

  Guillaume kept urging for them to quicken the pace, while the Gaídel on her other side grumbled about taking orders from a Jotman. The closer they drew to the wagons, the more their movements became frantic and jarring. Liadan was thrown around like a rag doll and she could feel the desperation to reach the relative safety of the logging train.

  Horse hooves pounded nearby and men screamed in pain. Knights rode by and all at once Liadan sagged to the ground as the support on her right side collapsed. Her face pressed into the soft soil and grass, she could smell the comforting scents of nature and could not have welcomed a more soothing bed. Before she could drift off into blissful sleep, Liadan was grasped from her underarms and lifted roughly. Her legs dragged limply along the ground and she was pivoted awkwardly. Now she faced back towards the battlefield and could see the extent of the bloodshed.

  The Gaídel laborer who had helped carry her was clutching at a gaping wound in his gut. He looked to be more in deep concentration than pain, confused by the puzzle of his entrails spilling out.

  Liadan saw Eógan astride a knight, his knife flashed in the sunlight and blood sprayed from the gorget of the Jotman’s armor. As the horse wildly reared up upon its hind legs, Eógan launched himself upon another circling knight. The long reach of the Jotman’s lance was a disadvantage in such close quarters: the nimble Pecht was able to scuttle behind the knight and out of his reach. Once again the knife flashed, this time streaked in red.

  Nearby, only a handful of the Gaídel hatchetmen were left. Several had managed to bring down a Jotman rider and were hacking away as he feebly tried to resist. A mass of Pechts did battle with a larger formation of knights, their spectral animals tore through armor easily as they dispatched Jotman and spared their horses. Many Pechts fell, but the battle was turning in their favor.

  Liadan’s head sagged to her left side and she saw Esker standing alone in the field. Two knights lay unmoving in her periphery and a third fell with a lash from the insect limb she used as a weapon. The strange movements of the barbed limb seemed to catch a fourth Jotman unprepared. He raised his shield to stop the blow, but the joint in the insect’s limb flexed and the hooks caught over the top of it. Esker’s ropey arm and back muscles became taut and the knight was torn off of his horse, tumbling to the ground. A final rider closed with his lance aimed towards Esker’s heart. She threw her weapon at him at the last possible moment and rolled over her shoulder, out of the way of his horse.

  Liadan was dragged next to a wagon wheel, she could hear Guillaume panting and gasping for air. He lay her down next to the wagon’s axle and pushed her over the packed dirt and gravel of the road. She tumbled underneath the wagon. She could hear the wood creak as Guillaume climbed on top of the wagon bed above her. Liadan’s eyes closed and did not reopen.

  ———

  For Liadan it felt like no time had passed. She was no longer lying on the road beneath a wagon and instead was staring up at a darkening sky. Based on the sun’s position, it was far later in the day. Guillaume sat near her side on the grass alongside the dirt road and smiled when he noticed that she was awake. He called out to Eógan and Esker.

  Esker was helping Gaídel clear the logs that had fallen from the wagon train, while Eógan sat crosslegged in a large circle with the Pechts. Both quickly came to check on Liadan. “Are your well friend?” asked Esker, who was still wrapped in the linen strips and wearing her makeshift sunhat, even as the sun set.

  Liadan sat up slowly and her head swam for a moment. “I am fine Esker, thank you for asking.” She smiled at her Tengu companion. “I do not know if I have ever felt more tired.”

  “I think I know how you feel,” Esker replied and took a deep breath.

  “It appears that there may be limits to your gifts,” Guillaume added, locking eyes with both of them. “The greater the application of your abilities, the more toll it seems to take on your bodies.”

  Liadan thought about this for a moment. “I felt drained when I healed the man who was injured from the fallen log, yet it took every bit of energy I had to try to protect us from the knights’ charge.”

  “I had the same experience,” Esker said solemnly. “To generate enough leverage to lift the log, I called upon the earth. After it answered, I felt as heavy as the stone I summoned.”

  “We must take care not to leave ourselves so vulnerable. Especially in battle,” Guillaume said earnestly. “Testing the limitations of your powers will be invaluable. We were lucky to escape relatively uninjured.”

  “That is not how I would put it,” Eógan said with customary sarcasm and gestured to the bodies of Jotman, Pecht, and Gaídel strewn about the open field. The surviving Gaídel and Pecht kept a wary distance as they tended to the injured and the dead. The slain Jotman were left where they had fallen.

  “In the future we must do more to protect our allies,” Esker said as she calculated the losses.

  “Any thoughts for what we do with them?” Eógan asked as he nodded towards several dozen Jotman foot soldiers who had been stripped of their weapons and armor.

  “Perhaps they can be used in negotiations,” Guillaume replied sounding more optimistic than he appeared. He looked searchingly at his three companions.

  “I will never forgive the treatment I suffered at their hands, yet I will not slaughter unarmed Jotman,” Esker added as she cleaned blood and viscera from the hooked barbs of her weapon.

  “If we do not deal with them now, we will face them in battle later,” Eógan said dispassionately. “But I do not wish to stoop to their depths.” He looked over at the gathered Pechts. “Two war-parties of my people united to attack this Jotman supply line, they are led by Der-Ilei and Modwenna. When I spoke to them, both told tales of valor and have stretched the Jotman lines thin.” Eógan’s statements made Liadan wonder how long she had been unconscious, to her it had felt only like a moment, but clearly time had passed.

  Eógan continued, “My mother, the war-leader, will summon all of the war-parties under the light of the next face of the moon. Once united, we will strike a deathblow to the Jotman.” Eógan’s pride in his people and their martial prowess was not subtle. Based on the outcome of this most recent battle, it was not undeserved. The Pechts had initially looked overwhelmed, yet with a bit of help from Liadan and her companions, they were able to defeat a much larger force.

  “Are you leaving us to travel with those war parties?” Guillaume asked tentatively.

  Eógan smiled crookedly. “You will not be rid of me that easily Jotling. While I am eager to see my family, I will respect Lady Galdr’s wishes.” Guillaume nodded and Esker’s eyes twinkled as she put her large hand on Eógan’s back. He patted her hand affectionately. “I want to commend Der-Ilei and Modwenna for their glory, would any of you care to be introduced?” Esker bowed her head and followed Eógan. Liadan was not sure if she had enough strength to walk.

  Guillaume looked over at the feral and painted warriors furtively. They were all still fully naked. “I… I think that I will stay here if that is not terribly rude.”

  Eógan laughed and shrugged indifferently.

  “I am still feeling a bit weak Eógan, please send your people my blessing,” Liadan added and watched as Eógan and Esker made their way to the ring of Pechts sitting crosslegged on the grassy field.

  “Liadan,” Guillaume said as he gestured behind her, “I believe they seek your attention.” Liadan turned and saw a group of the Gaídel laborers approaching.

  Among them was the man that she had healed and he was first to speak. “The miracles you and your tall friend have performed will not be forgotten,” he said as he dropped to his knees reverently tracing the symbol of the Broken Man across his chest. He was clearly not of the faith and got the order of the gesture wrong, however, Liadan appreciated the sentiment. “My name is Cadhla,” he said with anincomplete smile and a nose that had experienced past traumas.

  Liadan did her best to stifle a giggle, since his name translated to “handsome” in Gaídel. She suspected that Cadhla had been dubbed so out of irony. “It is a pleasure to meet you Cadhla, my name is Liadan.” As his eyebrows raised and one of his companions nudged him, Liadan regretted not using an alias.

  “So you are the one that the Jotman are looking for. We have heard there was trouble at the abbey,” Cadhla replied. “I would not be as forthcoming with your name, sister,” he warned.

  “We wish no ill of you,” A scarred man holding a bloody hatchet standing next to Cadhla said. “I am Lugaid, foreman of these loggers.” He lowered his head. “We owe you our lives and thank you for your aid.”

  “I am honored, yet did nothing that warrants such praise. I only wish to help my people,” Liadan replied politely. The Gaídel took a hard look at Guillaume. “This is my friend, Guillaume,” Liadan said preemptively. Neither Cadhla or Lugaid appeared thrilled by the Jotman’s presence, but were polite enough to acknowledge the introduction.

  “You keep interesting company, sister,” Cadhla said as he looked over to where Esker stood towering over the Pechts. The shorter Pechts seemed to be fascinated with Esker and jovially crowded around her, laughing and joyous. The Tengu did not seem at all perturbed by their immodesty and Liadan could not help but shake her head, smiling at the sight.

  “We are traveling to the Coronation Stone to seek the audience of the High King,” Liadan said and Lugaid nodded knowingly. “Our people face a dire threat and we must band together to confront it. Will you help me convince the High King and others that we can no longer squabble amongst ourselves as the Jotman seize our land?” Guillaume’s attention was piqued at the mention of his peoples’ name.

  “Your… friend… stands against his own people?” Cadhla asked, tilting his head towards Guillaume.

  “He does, but I fear we face a threat far graver than invading Jotman.”

  “The Giantkin to the north have been quiet, do you expect raids from them?” Lugaid asked, subtle concern shattered the passive mask of his face.

  “This threat is far more existential,” Liadan replied and seeing the man’s confusion, she tried to explain it more simply. Apparently her time in the abbey had greatly influenced her mannerisms and speech, further alienating her from her people. “There are evils that have long been imprisoned in this land that begin to awaken. It appears that even the Jotman will play a role in returning balance to Galálann.”

  Lugaid spat with disgust and exchanged a look with Cadhla. “Keep your pet away from me,” Lugaid said, turning his back. “The Jotman forces had a cache of equipment and supplies, we will divvy up what we need for our travels. The rest we can offer as a gift to the High King, along with the hostages.”