The Empty Purses of Recompense

Story number 3 in the Sigrun Cycle. Characters and world involved in "The People of Glass " 
See the above for a full listing of Sigrun's stories.

***

I navigated the forest evening through the swarm of will-o-wisps that besieged the forest under an unholy deluge.

At my tug of the reins, Coltrivar splashed through the swampy forest, dragging our feeble covered wagon along whatever passed for a washed-out trail.

Those who call upon sinister spirits earn death, by accident or justice; yet, without calling on Vivianca, in this drowned landscape I despaired of ever finding a road, let alone the safety of town.

As the wagon lurched left and right over various rocks and branches, the fat, young Oliver dug in his empty food bag for the third time. His shaking hand came up empty.

A green-glowing handful of acid formed in Oliver's hand, sizzling between his pudgy fingers.

"Watch the spelleak, ruleschanger." Perrin slapped Oliver from behind. "You want to walk?–ha make shattered the wagon myself."

"Spelleak? No. Words have meanings." Oliver glared at the cursed slime as he dug in his equally-empty tobacco pouch and jammed the chewed up pipe back in it with a growl. "You know them as well as I."

Acid cut into my leg plate as Coltrivar hopped over a fallen tree, getting the waggon caught.

I scooted aside as the wagon seat smoked under Oliver's burning curse. He hadn't conjured it deliberately–if we didn't find the road soon, what might Oliver do? What guilt might he have to bear? The silver in our pockets would do no good out here–and it would be all my fault. I refused to listen to my angels, and I let Vivanca tempt me into her twisted devil's deal. I gave him a guilty look.

With a sneering frown, Oliver flung the vicious orb at the dead tree in our path. The branches popped and squirmed as it retreated into the water.

It's the magic, not you, Sigrun. I turned away and calmed Coltrivar to keep him safe from the acid.

Meanwhile, pig-faced Perrin jumped out and lifted the wagon until Coltrivar pulled it onto the half-melted tree limb.

Oliver rasped into his fist.

The horse held up to the punishment, as did the wheels. I touched the boy on the shoulder. Like our team, the world-class blue stitching of his robe had begun to fray. "That's happening a bit more."

"Be fine." Oliver shivered and nodded, choking out the words. "I will. It–just, make town? Tonight. This night. Please?"

I cringed. Even in battle, the young man spoke smoothly. I sipped air and resumed scanning the lurking trees. The monsters weren't real–it's just trees spattered with lies from Vivianca–maybe, or some other hostile spirit. Oliver assured me of that. But with Oliver's own malady taking all his attention, how could I ask him to guide me?

Oliver returned my gentle touch. "They still looking, Sigrun?" the young man asked, toking on his empty pipe.

At once, the pair of red embers on every tree and fallen branch blinked.

I nodded.

"Good." Oliver nodded too much.

I put my hand on his shoulder to calm him.

He shook his head and leaned in to whisper, "Never thought I'd be happy to hear anything that devil of yours did."

Vivanca's work was nothing to be happy about, though I understood; but, just because the eyes were fake didn't mean we could take ease. "I can't smell brimstone." Devil, angel, or flesh and blood? I could not say. I needlessly urged Coltrivar onward.

I had never been lost before. Always, there had been a nightbird to lead me or a squirrel to beckon. But for that demon-soulled little girl's rescue, I had betrayed them, and turned to Vivianca. I had bitten into the plum apple the devil woman offered, and now I wandered the woods–clueless and useless, shaking my sword at shadows. "She's reduced me to a madwoman."

Oliver pushed his glasses up on his nose. "It's not…"

But it was. If I could not smell the spirit's intent, my second sight amounted to a curse of madness. I shook my head and met his gaze.

"Yes, well," Oliver looked down at the damp leather scroll beside him. "Certainly this isn't ideal. Yet, there are other methods."

I disagreed. "How many years have you trained to do them?"

He laughed. "Haven't mastered them just yet."

I looked pointedly at him. "I'll never be–just what are you?"

"Hard to read." Oliver paused and sighed. "I mean…"

I met his gaze, looking for the answers. His discipline in the library exceeded my own in the field. Yet somehow he did not belong among the scribes and scholars of his college any more than I belonged with the sword-toting freemen from where I came. To encourage him, I held the silence

"No one at the academy can afford to, waste their vim." He looked ready to cry. "Let alone be forced to vomit acid like some incontinent elder wyvern."

"My point is," I started, and thought again. But my problem was important too–because it was stopping me helping him. The educated way took years, with most apprentices being older than Oliver. As children, at a time when I was told to ignore my fuzzy-headed visions, they had learned to measure the truth of their second sight. I scanned the hallucinations for eyes that don't live on trees–enemies that might be real. I shook my head. "Even if I could learn mage work, it won't get you into town."

He wiped his glasses. "Perhaps the hinn could… ah…?"

I smothered my exasperated sigh. No elves lurked behind the trees here, or over the mountain. A hinn blademaster could translate Oliver's runes into something a simple, fallen messenger of the divine like myself might understand. But unless I could find one–when nobody even knew if the hinn existed anymore, or if they ever had…? Unable to put that into words, I kept quiet.

"Yes, well." He glared and harrumphed. "In theory, they would have the answer.:

"It…" I shrunk down on the bench beside him. Oliver knew well–better than I–how easily we might find the hinn. I reached out, wanting to touch his shoulder again. "It was a good idea."

Oliver blushed and looked away.

He looked every bit the boy that had fought beside me in the streets of Balthiispeare, on the end of our eleventh summer.

There I went, speaking as if friends were enemies and the slain could simply shrug off their wounds. I cleared my throat. "Have you any idea where we're going?"

Perrin dropped the twig he had been scratching his tusks on. The wagon lurched as he jumped on. "Look like swamp." He stamped into the back.

"Ah, shut your snout," I quipped. At least I knew how to deal with Perrin–urgans always kept up for playful rudeness. "Unless you've something smart to say?"

"You wouldn't know if I did." Perrin slapped me and grinned. "Mind your glass helm."

Unlike Perrin, whose mother taught him how to bring his urgan nature into balance, letting Oliver's magical rages run amok would only worsen them.

The young magician's blue eyes darted above his glasses for an answering glance.

Clearly, he thought much the same. At least, if his message wasn't lost on me. "Do you have a spell? For guidance."

"Many." He nodded. "As soon as I get a meal in me."

Meanwhile, Vivianca would help us. "There's only one other way."

"No, you mustn't." He chewed on his pipe and put it back in his pack. "She is not to be trifled with."

The damp soaked beneath my breastplate, and weighed on my chest. With a devil–with VIv–no one came out ahead. Before the deal at the dread windmill, I would never have considered calling upon her. And yet, she had us outmaneuvered: "Do we have any choice?"

"Don't like this." Oliver took my hand. "You're the good knight, the one who closes the book on my dark deals."

Oliver would never play into those stereotypes–the broken oaths and shady deals. had I been that kind, I doubt my charms would have drawn him along. "Vivianca wants us alive and well." Since this truth wrapped about an even bigger lie, as I spoke the words, the truth pounded against the walls of my skull.

Oliver rebuked me. "This is madness. Even the headmaster would not approve."

"Are we to die" I took his hand. "Out here, in a rain of fire and acid? Proclaim it, and I will be quiet."

Perrin snorted. "Glass in your helmet, not in your skull. If to be dragged to the mazes, might as well have escort."

Oliver coughed. "An elegant point made well."

Perrin always twisted his words, as if daring us to understand. Much as I hated anything to do with Vivianca, I nodded. "Go ahead. Break the circle."

Oliver traced a line through the dust on the seat, symbolically opening the magic circle to invite Vivianca.

Sparks danced about the wagon and rose up his fingers.

Oliver shivered visibly.

I could feel nothing, smell nothing. Even the damp scent of the swamp seemed washed and old. I stank of plum-perfumed brimstone, and struggled to smell Vivianca's hate or feel her chill.

Nothing appeared.

"She's waiting for you," Oliver offered. "Calling on her brings you closer to her service."

I sighed. It wasn't too late to go down fighting–to let the devil woman drown our bodies and shake her fists at our souls. At least, my friend's souls. "Never simple, is it?"

No. Oliver shrugged. "Not for evil angels. A signature means nothing to them."

I had never had to beg for a hint from the heavens. Even when I would hide my head in the pillow, the angels never let me stray. But I had been swindled out of that, and led my friends into a flood where all hint of the road had been buried in water. Surely, Vivianca had brought these rains, but no matter. I would not make Olliver pay the price–or the forest.

"If we are to do this," Oliver said, "better sooner."

My voice shook as I called out, "Vivianca?"

Black as soot, a flock of birds flew past, cawing their harsh rants. One in particular perched on a tree, poking at the glaring red eyes that watched.

No, it wasn't black, I noticed, but bruised with the plum purple that was my new patron's hallmark. "There. The bird."

Oliver squinted and moved his glasses before grabbing Coltrivar's reins to follow my lead. "It's hers, all right. Even with these, I can't see it."

"I'm sorry, Oliver." I tried to meet his gaze. "I couldn't let you pay the price."

Oliver took my hand. "That kind of thinking led us here. But, what do we do?"

"How can she always twist my devotion round to evil?"

"That remains shrouded." Oliver fiddled with the circle-making dust, and decided to cap the bottle. "Tests like these often make a hero."

Shamed by the praise–the hope–in his words, I offered a wry smile. "You do me too much honor."

"I'll keep my own counsel." He reached behind and hugged me over my shoulders "Least until we get the fiend out of my friend's hair."

"Good enough. Best not to pull your bets too soon." Perrin slapped us both.

The jolt echoed through my hollow body and cleared most of the fog in my lungs. "So delicate, Perrin? Make a thorga of you yet."

"Ready got you two glass figurines on wood shelf here." He watched to see if we understood, then thumped the bench we sat upon.

"Oh, heh," Oliver laughed, and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"Chimney stink?" Perrin jumped out and hoisted a fallen log out of our way. "Right forest in theiir places; we're getting close."

Oliver grabbed his pipe and sucked at it greedily, despite the emptiness. "We're going downhill."

I swallowed. During a flood, the people downhill may not be able to help us. They may need our help. I put my hand over his.

***

Vivianca's purple-black, ghost bird lighted atop the frame of a gate that haunted the landscape. Moored to neither fence nor wall, the iron gate hovered over the dampening mists. Only the stumps of amputated wall posts remained. Behind it, a cluster of old, weathered buildings huddled around the place where the street lay drowning beneath the creeping flood.

Our wagon rattled onto and over the cobblestones.

A young man splashed down the street toward the center of town. "Don't mind the rains. We're quite ready. Even without the rafts."

Gravel-lined banks raised the houses above the river that passed for a street. Wooden rafts leaned against the walls of many houses. A few buildings down, a prison cell faced the way, bars open to the rain. Wooden manacles forced a man to grip the bars.

Oliver whispered, "Magelocks."

Magelocks offered a gentler, if less effective, choice for confounding an enemy spellcaster–though many spells had been designed to be cast with the hands bound in front. I knew one could not judge by the choice of weapon–until I could judge the target.

For his part, the accused stood in dark, foreign vestments and wore a long-suffering expression.

I gathered he was devoted more to spiritual things than to the worship of books, but held my words. Either way, a town displayed prisoners in this manner as an invitation to strangers, whether as a warning or as a further punishment. I pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the prisoner gallery.

Oliver caught my shoulder plate and reined me in. "Dare we speak to him?"

He should be safer than Vivianca. Rarely did a magician of any power end up in magelocks without the work of a more powerful spellmaster–blades had a better chance of ending arcane mischief. Though I didn't like the look of him either, I could not smell his soul. "He's not the one I'm worried about."

The accused magician nodded up at our wagon. "Ahoy, stranger. Best be out of Viseki; you're not wanted."

I stepped down and pulled my cloak over my head against the rain. "Why not?"

He scoffed. "Aside from the violence? At least, have the boy put away his college insignia."

Oliver would never end up beside him in magelock manacles so long as I drew breath. To reassure Oliver, I shook my head. His pin signified his legal right to work arcane magic unsupervised. "They're not glad to see a lawful spellmaster?"

"They like it just fine." He rattled against the door. "Long as they can get you tied up right."

"Villagers don't act against us for nothing." Oliver brandished his glowing fingers. "What did you do?"

I wanted to urge him to stand down, but knew his acid was overflowing. Instead, I stepped in front of him.

"It's what I didn't do." The accused shrugged. "Couldn't. Now, you come. Wanting to make it worse, no doubt."

"Due process." Oliver stared deep into the water at his feet. "Trifle with dark forces, count yourself lucky."

Perrin choked on his surprise at Oliver's outburst.

I also swallowed the implicit accusation. He was talking about his own struggles, surely. I had never heard such an edge in the soft-spoken Oliver's voice. Hoping to calm him, I put my hand on his shoulder. "Let's be away."

The accused declared, "Viseki town is not feeling up for you. You'd best."

I felt shocked he didn't beg for help. Surely the man had a painful few days ahead of him. I touched the bars. "You're not going to even ask?"

"It's my out. I deserve this." His lips curled in disgust. "They didn't tell me to consort with these townsfolk. I'm not about to compound my error by traveling with you lot."

Would I be able to keep Oliver out of this prison? Had I been led here to divest me of my friends?

Viv's bird lighted on the roof above us.

The ghost bird meant to tell us we should be here, indicating, to my thought, that we should leave. I shrugged and climbed back on the wagon toward the town center.

A spry older woman waded out of her house to stop in our path. "Ahoy, traveler?"

I held the horse. "Ahoy yourself."

"Turn away. Do not venture in the town center."

The next town might be hours or days away. By then, the power around Oliver could run amok.
"I must find lodging."

The old woman looked up at me as a knight sizing up a dragon.

I bit my lip and glanced at Oliver. I didn't know how long he could hold out. "At least, some food?"

"Come then." The woman beckoned, leading me down a side street. "Taken the inn duties to my home."

I stepped out and put a block on the wheel, then gave my horse some feed.

She crooked an eyebrow.

Our would-be host eyed me like a watch commander with a stein of water. The kind that weren't really off duty. I looked in the doorway.

Inside stood a woman with the hint of a pigsnout and a gauzy dress thick enough to cover plate armor. The man beside her, looking casual, held his shovel, handle planted against the floor with the blade over his forearm like a shield.

In a flick of his wrist, he could parry a sword or tangle an enemy's legs. His armor had to be softer and thinner than the woman's, at most a bit of metal under that leather coat. They played this too obvious, offering threat rather than ambush. Putting this down to caution–normal people could not smell the sillage of evil–I walked in.

As my eyes adjusted, I measured the room. On a shelf above the cookpot, amid spice jars, sat a pair of spectacles finer than Oliver's father's. The cracks in the broom handle formed regular, sweeping patterns that would look right on a scroll. No doubt those runes called out to the pile of dust that clung to the bristles, eager to climb up the broom. The powerful woman ushered me in, eying Oliver more than Perrin.

The distrust in their eyes was proper; the most civilized of our trio was literally a monster man. Not one of us belonged in a civil place. I prayed my useless prayer that I could help getting the six of us hurt. I cleared my throat, and offered, "Oliver binds his magic very rigorously."

Oliver chuckled and blushed. "When I've had enough to eat."

"You," the host said, sizing Oliver up, "look like you've rarely gone hungry. Not so much by choice, I gather?"

"You've heard of this condition?" Oliver softened. "Few of my colleagues recognize it."

"Trueborn sorcerer's ailment?" The host breathed a touch easier. "Never laid any written name to it. Father had it, gods rest him."

"Did…" Oliver covered his mouth. "...did it kill him?"

"Manner of speaking." Her eyes danced and she slapped at his shoulder, not touching. "Led an expedition to the mazes below."

Shrewd, to invite strangers to sup with these women first–a plan worthy of Vivianca's office. At the least, their crew would get a dose of excitement, and maybe the loot off our bodies if we brought it to blows. I doubted there were three people more ready for that in all the town. It'd almost be a mercy, being put down. I laughed a bit. "You're not what the man made me think."

"Alwyn's right; Tolerance for wayward magic is low." The host pulled out a stool. "Not entirely just."

The man with the shovel spat. "Crying shame. I miss meeting in Kiomel's inn."

I adjusted my seat before taking my place. Something strange, likely supernatural, had happened in town. Perhaps I could help. "Whyever do you gather here?'

"Reverend Mayor Collen haunting the town square." He shrugged off a look of anger and grabbed his jug of ale, drinking greedily. "All demanding recompense."

The name struck a matching chord of outrage in me. Was it the same?

The armored woman brought an odd tray, like a disguised shield.

The handle in the center, and the brace over the arm, belonged on the back of a shield. As it hovered about Oliver's shoulder, the feet looked to be blades sharp enough to be illegal in larger towns. The largest "bottle" had fresh-honed steel spikes and the grip of a mace, but balanced among real bottles.

I measured the time it would take to free my sword, with Oliver's bootleg charm on the peace ties. I would have to handle the attack bare handed. I pulled my lips in.

As the half-urgan handed us our glasses and poured from each different bottle, the tray blades hovered over one of our shoulders.

I consciously ungripped my fist.

Yet the server moved smoothly, dancing between us. "With the town center haunted, my friends, it is not safe here in Viseki."

She moved away at our slightest twitch as I traced the threat of those blades, grateful for the expertise and delicacy that exemplified the half-urgan living among us people of glass. She would not so much as mar a stitch on our clothing without provocation, I gathered.

"We're not your friends." Perrin slammed down a bit of coin. "Thanks."

"No. You? You're a glassmaker minding two pig farmers." The server's armored forearm clanged across Perrin's breastplate. "And probably afraid of this bottle on my tray."

Perrin laughed and upended his mug. "Sure it'd bounce off my fool head."

No other insult bites deeper on a typical urgan than telling them they've turned into a human.

"I always call the right." She stamped off to the cauldron to take a taste. "Urgan side of me, I guess."

"Huma half stupid," Perrin agreed, his smile daring his two 'pig farmer' friends to object.

I laughed and slapped his shoulder. Fighting with words meant we'd not need to draw weapons. "Why then do you follow me?"

The half-urgan roared her piggy laugh. "He's asking that every day."

Sour smoke rose from Oliver's fingertips as he growled under his breath.

I waved the insult away, wincing at the scent of vinegar–silently begging him to relax. Oliver normally took Perrin the right way; his empty belly and overfull energies overbore his mental scales.

"Let's put you back in balance. This always did my Da'." She filled a bowl of soup for Oliver and made a magic sign. "Could use a bit of pickle, though."

He pointed in the bowl. "The acid?"

"Quite." The woman nodded and turned to me. "Suppose you're going to talk to the Reverend Mayor?"

Oliver drained a bit of green, caustic power into the bowl. He sighed in relief as the soup hissed and fizzed. He stirred it in, and took to eating.

I looked at her. "What makes you say that?"

"Ye're too genteel to smell like the devil-touched." She sniffed and filled up a bowl for me, then shrugged teasingly at Perrin before dishing him one. "So, reckon you're not one for leaving well-enough alone, either."

Perrin snorted agreement. "Vicky think she's needed, she make more invasive than army of excited urga."

Victoria–kind of a local version of my name. My cheeks burned.

"No bad thing." The host added a drip of booze to Perrin's bowl, remarking, "To keep the peace."

Good enough; booze tends to help urgans think straight. It doesn't prevent deliberate violence but keeps it yolked to reason. "If you don't mind my asking…"

"The Reverend Mayor handed us our asses," the armored woman said.

The host slapped down a cup and filled it with a special flask, dropping a bit in each of our cups. "Without a measure of better magic, this is the darkest spirit our team deals with."

The brew smelled of cinnamon and hinted of desperate rendezvous under ominous moons.

"Essence of…" Oliver winced. "Juliet's Bloom? Wherever did you get that."

"Personal gathering." The host pushed her glasses up on her nose. "Like to call it 'philtre of adventurousness.'"

"Adventure?" Oliver scoffed and took a delicate sip. "Recklessness, rather. Best never to trifle with this."

"Hmm." She glanced at Oliver's magic-college pin and took a long look in his soft blue eyes. "For one of your trade, I detect a rare reach of gentle caution. What brings you…"

Oliver blushed.

The host followed his eyes to me and touched under her nose. Waving the subject away, she said, "Say no more."

What were they getting at? I grabbed a napkin and coughed.

The host whispered to the man with the shovel.

"Cleared?" He nodded and took for the door. "Aye. Rough as they are, this crew belongs."

The innkeeper turned her chair around backward and sat down to the sound of boots tramping and sloshing away.

"I believe," Oliver said, leaning in to me, "the good people of Viseki had us under siege."

The host nodded. "We must be careful with travelers. The smaller the group, the more danger we anticipate."

Only then did I note the host's stance spoke more of statesman than innkeeper. "Reverend Mayor?"

"Just Kiobrand." She shook her head. "When the rocks obey your words, who cares for titles?"

Oliver shook his head at me.

I had no intention of underestimating her either.

"We're not promising anything. The LeFay family owns the tower, even if you believe the corpsebound has been banished from LeFay Hill. Down here, we've little to spare."

"Sigrun and Oliver care less for paper promises and bags of glitter than I care for glass," Perrin spoke into his bowl.

"It needs to be done," Kiobrand said. "I can't recommend you do it."

"The right thing," Oliver said, taking a spoonful of soup, "is rarely the smart thing.".

"So we're clear." She pushed back Perrin's coins. "With our gravemaster in magelock, you might want to reconsider."

I began to understand. "If you can't rout the dead man, you'll blame the grave digger."

Kiobrand turned a shade of red and nodded. "I'm sorry, Alwyn."

I couldn't tell if her face betrayed rage or shame.

Oliver leaned in and cleared his throat. "I think Alwyn's not the only one in some form of manacle."

In unison, Oliver and Kiobrand shifted back in the chair.

With my partners finished, I had little appetite. "You're sure you need nto pay? We've enough glitter."

"On the house." Without touching the coins, Kiobrand pushed them further toward Perrin. "It's a trifle."

I wiped my mouth and stood. "It may be time to take my leave."

Oliver and Perrin stepped in behind me. The man with the shovel held the door open.

Kiobrand remained seated. "Be well, travelers."

Perrin huffed as he stamped out. Under his breath, he grunted, "Glassmakers and ink splashers."

My frustration given words; for once, I agreed.

***

Shards of decorative gravel littered the cobblestones among the puddles. The gray, cloud-veiled sunglare gave a heavy twilight feel to the world.

Our traveler's cheer did little to brighten our spirits but instead weighed us down. "Are we ready to face this enemy?"

"A ghost." Oliver wiped a bit of mist from his glasses. "How dangerous can it be?"

"He?" Perrin harrumphed. "Some shadow breaks us, let them melt us."

Very urgan, and paradoxically, very right. I turned and stopped.

We met each other and waited.

I cleared my throat and paused, gathering words. "We're not ourselves. I've lost the commission of the High King…."

Oliver pulled at his collar. "I'm sure that you still have the approval of the divine."

In the previous battle, the High King's sword had found me unworthy, its holy power useless in my desecrated hands. I might never atone; even worthy people rarely attained such sensitivity. I certainly had not regained my former self. "Having a home behind his gates is not the same."

"I'm more concerned about you. Is this… is this the same man?"

"I don't see how." A man named Reverend Mayor Collen arranged the wilderness homestead, the land grant just outside human land, that got my aunt and uncle killed–an almost honorable means of murder. I tried to hold in my disgust.

"It is not a common title, nor a common name." Oliver opened his arms as if to hug.

"On the field of battle, one's emotions are soldiers." I shook my head, quoting my uncle's lessons. "They appear, they report, they take up arms inside you. You needn't know their entire life history."

Perrin bent low as if he planned to ram me with his forehead. "Black-painted, soldier glass still shreds your skin."

When the lies break? My stomach burned at the accusation. I wasn't lying, or spinning tho, or any of that. But was any of it true? I took a breath and turned.

"During battle," Perrin stomped away. "Will not drop my hammer to pick glass out of your hair."

Oliver stroked his chin. "This ghost–has it killed anybody?"

I looked back to the gravedigger priest–not the first death on the reverend mayor's hands. "That man has condemned too many."

Oliver stepped in behind me. "I thought he wasn't…."

Steeling my shoulders, I turned toward the town center.

***

In the town square, the sun broke out and bathed the scene in the glittering light of summer.

Untouched by the rain, the streamers and banners flew crisp and clean. Before my birth, Queen Medusa had removed the gold trim from the Balthispeare flag, yet these retained the freshness of day-old embroidery.

Oliver shook his head, and thumbed through an unseen book. "What manner of thing is…?"

My throat ran as dry as my waterskin. "Not some ordinary haunt."

Perrin quipped, "Takes one to know."

I had almost forgotten Viv's taunt, that I was 'practically undead.' That happened before I had taken her bait. What did that make me now? Was I even better than the ghost I came to rout?

Oliver pulled out a scroll and muttered his runes, seeking for this 'reverend mayor.'

I saw nothing yet. Had Viv hoodwinked my second sight, as well as drowning my other spiritual senses? Certainly not–I would not have seen her raven or the demons that stalked me.

A hollow voice in the wind echoed in the empty square, "Recompense!"

My friends' faces reflected the shock I felt. "Not my imagination."

Perrin shook his head, then his whole being.

Out of nowhere, a robed official grabbed Perrin.

Perrin's absurdly large hammer swung wildly through the haunt.

Mayor Collen held firm to Perrin's biceps, shaking him. "Recompense. Recompense! Where is my recompense?"

Perrin's skin turned dark green and he shuddered, still missing with his hammer.

Oliver called out, "Are you hitting him!? I can't detect him."

"I said recompense. Recompense!" The ghost lifted Perrin and sent him stumbling back several paces into the chairs.

Perrin, heavy as a small horse, with excess armor weighing him down–the thought of a haunt with that kind of power chilled me. I drew my sword. "We do not want to harm you."

"Is long done, the harm." The haunt stamped at Perrin's face and slapped at Oliver.

I swung, hitting nothing.

"For good or ill," The Reverend Mayor nodded gravely. "The blade of justice finds nothing in me."

"Tribute? It…" Oliver fished out a bag of coin. "I mean, I haven't much. I'm sure we can get more."

"You do not understand." Collen tore the silvers from the bag and scattered them in Oliver's face. "I demand recompense."

Shielding the welts on his face, Oliver ducked behind a flower barrel. "I don't believe–no, recompense has always meant a payment for pain."

"Gold doesn't balance out pain." I swallowed and stepped toward the Reverend Mayor. "Just like you cannot pay back for what you did to my aunt and uncle."

"I said recompense." The haunt threw a chair at me. "Give recompense."

"No." I swung my sword at him, but in my fallen hands, the steel passed through him as a shadow. "I will not let you punish him."

The doors rattled as the Reverend Mayor howled, "Cannot stop. No release."

I strode forward, arms down and open. "You will not destroy any more lives."

"Hesitate to say," Perrin stumbled as he tried to get up. "Avoid this test. Not for us."

Oliver drew a circle about himself, forming a sky blue egg of light about himself.

Mayor Collen bounced off it, but drained the magical halo into himself, growing brighter and stronger even as Oliver began to wobble on his feet.

"A paladin never flees," I said, grabbing Oliver, "but can always carry people to safety."

Perrin nodded and swiped one more time in the general direction of the enemy.

"Surely," Oliver objected, "We can't leave him here?"

"We that ignore the warning may often be heroes," I wavled at Perrin to leave with me. "But, we're never innocent."

"Found steel helm. Good." He followed behind me, to shelter Oliver and me from debris.

A chair and a few more coins clattered off Perrin's back.

"Good thing I made you take your armor to the thorga smiths."

He grunted and pushed us onward. "Even a glassmaker can make steel hold."

We found ourselves in front of the jailing gallery.

The dark-skinned foreigner's lips curled. "If only someone had told you not to come here."

"It's the right thing to do." I grabbed the wagon for balance. "Someone must face up against evil."

He nodded. "So, you think it right to destroy people just because you don't agree with them."

I objected, "We're not about destroying people."

"No?" He rattled his magelock. "What else you intend to do with arcane magic and 'holy' swords? Not that it worked out."

Oliver shook his head, shivering almost as much as he had when he realized my betrayal. "Never heard of a haunt with that much power."

The gravemaster spat. "So that justifies your holier-than-thou approach?"

"Well, what do you know about it?"

Alwyn huffed. "Violence begets violence."

"If you didn't notice," Oliver said, advancing on the prisoner, "the Reverend Mayor is pretty violent."

Reading Alwyn's meaning, I looked at the ground. "So are we."

He nodded, slowly. "One day you might just get it."

Oliver clenched his fat hands. "We can't just ask these people to abandon their town, can we?"

"How is that different from asking him to abandon his place?" Alwyn shrugged. "His grave."

"We did nothing of the sort," Oliver protested.

"What is that college of yours teaching these days? Do ghosts just up and leave a perfect good grave once they've settled?"

He bit his lip, looked down as if reading something, and shook his head. "I don't know."

"My order does." He paused for a moment. "When you do things according to the way, everything moves in the right direction. There won't be ghosts. At least…"

I laid my arms over my breastplate. "There will always be ghosts."

"But they won't use their power to harm the people. Least till somebody tries to push uphill. To take what isn't theirs."

"Is that what happened?"

"Didn't work." Frustrated, the gravedigger looked down. "I brought it back. He can't get back to sleep."

In that moment the Reverend Mayor became a lost man, not some spectral monster; evil not in nature, but only in the moment, in his position. And this black-magic priest became a shepherd, hoping to guide him where he belonged. I put my hand on his wrist. "Can you help him?"

Alwyn pulled back. "You all riled him up. Nobody can reach him."

Oliver shook his head. "His place is desecrated. How we felt, walking in the dread windmill."

The things this man had done–his vicious land grants left my family to die alone in the wilderness. Did he deserve the peace we were conspiring to give him?

Oliver pulled me aside. "I'm with you wherever you go."

Even then I could feel the point quivering between us. "But…?"

"We have to do this. I mean," he said, looking to the horizon. "Don't we have to do this?"

"It's not right that…" I shook my head and held up my hand as I corrected myself. "It feels wrong that he gets peace."

Oliver chewed on his words for a moment. "I don't think anybody ever gets away with anything."

I forced my fist to unclench. The justice I needed was in my own hand–having decided to do right and leave the rest to the heavens. That didn't make anything easy.

"Doesn't mean we can let him atone." Oliver's soft fingers twitched as if writing something in the air. "Aphorisms be damned. Just because it's true, doesn't make it trustworthy."

As he put voice to my feelings, the choking fist in my throat opened. A crowd of sayings rattled inside me, whispered by my aunt and uncle. In sum, "Heroes show up."

"Why do we have to be the heroes?"

I forced myself to breathe. If I shirked, escaped, or thought to desert, I would run till my final breath. "I think–because we can?"

"The stupider it sounds, the truer." He fumbled in his bag for a tool. "Alwyn's locks would not hold up against my charms."

I had done that sort of thing under the authority of the High King, but could no longer hear the edicts of heaven. "Let us ask."

Alwyn huffed. "If you're asking, I'm refusing."

That surprised me. "Would you really?"

Alwyn seemed ready to cry. "They're getting what they deserve. We all are."

"Rattle like urga," Perrin quipped, "still tho."

I laid my hand on Alwyn's knuckles. "Does that mean we shouldn't aspire for better?"

"Sigrun, you maze-crawling fool," Alwyn said. "You know we should."

I brushed the rain off my forehead. "I can't promise we won't be here beside you."

"I've had worse company." He grinned. "Though usually, they stay in the crypt."

***

In a short time, we found the man in charge of the keys.

The warden closed his book and set it on the shelf. "You lot could simply speak to the lock." He eyed Oliver.

I adjusted my tabard uncomfortably. "Warden, the High King hasn't given us that right."

"Seems I can't hear his edicts either, you know?" He clasped his hands behind his back and gazed out the window. "I do hear Kiobrand under her breath calling for exactly this."

I stepped in, and quietly asked, "If we promised to keep him under control?"

"What wrong that gravemaster done? A failure, but none we haven't all got on our hands." He shook his head. "It's the authorities…."

Oliver pulled out a quill. "I could write you the proper forms."

"Keep it all legal-like? Nothing doing." He opened the door. "Nobody will complain if them magelocks slip, so long as you don't point any fingers their way."

Oliver puffed and took on a citified tone. "I'll have you know, there are serious penalties–"

To stop Oliver, I raised my hand. "Thank you. You've been most helpful." I beckoned my friends.

***

The gravemaster rubbed at his wrists. "Still feel them manacles."

"For all practical purposes," Oliver sighed, "they're still there."

"My patron still hears me," Alwyn said, looking sadly at me, "but I don't truly know that I can wake the Reverend Mayor."

"Or put him off to sleep." Oliver seemed busy counting the stars. "The portents are good. But whatever, we can't involve Vivianca."

"Still marching like an imperial?" Alwyn put his face in his hands. "Official boundaries and tribal alignments. This was a mistake."

The moonlight shimmered on the still-pristine haunting ground.

Gravemaster Alwyn waved his pendant like a badge of authority. "I come in peace."

"Have you brought recompense?"

"I have not."

"I must have recompense."

"There is no recompense, you old fool. It's just empty."

The piteous wail echoed in our bones. "No!"

Oliver seemed to age ten years at that, and even Perrin swayed against his will.

Alwyn proclaimed to the Reverend Mayor, "You made your own misery, now make your own reward."

He grabbed at the gravemaster as if to lift him, then bowed slightly. "You do not understand."

"Make me understand."

The Reverend Mayor grabbed another chair and dropped it. He shrugged. "Recompense. Must."

Alwyn flashed his symbol at the mayor.

The dark smoke Alwyn called spread to the wind and Reverend Mayor Collen stalked about.

Alwyn dropped his symbol down to his shirt. "I've nothing more. I can't hold his attention."

"Talking across tribal lines," Oliver began. "You consecrate
their graves with what is unholy to us."

"A boundary?" I ducked another chair flying. "Marked by the devil-stink."

Oliver nodded, touching his nose with a flash of a smile. "Alwyn, could you channel what Vivianca brings?"

"If your 'friend' carries the wrath of the dark gates, then yes."

"Vivianca will want to cage him." I picked up a chair to use as a shield. "To punish him."

Alwyn shuddered. "He's not escaped, not 'rampant.' He's disturbed."

Everything slowed as Vivianca's violet mists rolled in. The devil girl whispered in my ear, her chin brushing my shoulder. The sweet scent of her plum-flavored breath invigorated me. "You rang, my little belle? Can I get my master something?"

The sarcasm bit. "Can you deliver the unholy wrath?"

"I offer the sweetest vengeance," she purred in my ears, "And you wish to minister to this unholy wretch."

I bit down the bile. As much as I hated it, "I do."

"The man conspired to destroy your family. He used unholy writs and legal decrees like poison."

I desperately ached to duel him, to batter and humiliate him. Gritting my teeth, I nodded.

"If you will admit you are no better than him, then yes," she said, strutting in front of me. "I would with pleasure deliver Gravemaster Alwyn the wrath from beyond."

"It is a lie."

"With force of repetition, a saying unbelieved may become familiar. Even sacrosanct."

I hesitated. "It is a good lie. Just and humble. Why compel me to say it?"

"What pains you pleases me." She shrugged and tickled under my chin with her black talon.

"I have done worse for my fellows." I took a deep breath. "I am no better than the Reverend Mayor Collen."

"All this will do is get his attention. The rest is up to him." She walked up to the gravemaster, and opened her hands as if calling something from the earth. "And you."

A black and noxious smoke rose into her hands, coiled around Alwyn's pendant. From there, it glowed with a sickening energy into the eyes of the Reverend Mayor.

Alwyn repeated, "Make me understand."

"I knew not," the Reverend Mayor said to me. "The ink is spilled. A man cannot pull back the arrows he sends. My pockets are empty. I cannot pay recompense."

"I want to hate you with all my might." I took his hands in my own, trembling claws. "Want to damn you and curse you and send you to the dark gates."

The Reverend Mayor's voice rattled the doors and stirred the winds. "If only that would make it better."

"If only punishing you would cleanse my soul. An obedient deserter, I stood by and let it happen."

He embraced me.

I held his spirit close. "I have no right to forgive you, but I do."

The Reverend Mayor spoke calmly, in a sad voice, "There is no recompense. Just the pain of knowing."

Vivianca groaned. "Restorative justice?" She faded into the mist.

I found myself face down against the cobblestones.

The warden arrived with the magelock.

Alwyn offered his wrists.

With a wink, the warden bruised himself in the face with the manacles. "Stop fighting me or I may have to take action."

Oliver conjured a small ball of green-glowing goo.

Smiling and cringing at Oliver's implicit threat, the warden leaned in to whisper, "I mean, take your new friend and get out of Viseki. Before I have to throw you out."

"We're not friends," Alwyn said, matching the warden's smile.

Perrin punched Alwyn in the back of the shoulder. "My words exactly."

Edited: Oct 23, 2024