Episode 61

We like to think that places don’t change

Mountains are fixed and valleys stay the same

So the towns that we love can be left with their culture

Frozen in time like a painting or sculpture

But mountains do move on magma plates

Valleys are carved at glacial pace

And so do towns change in their way

Moulded by them that leave and those who come to stay

Mr Attorcop tasted blood. He must have bitten his tongue as he fell. His knees hurt from the impact and his hand was rubbed raw from scraping it along the floor. On top of that his shoulder was still stinging from where Sage Fenric’s sword had pierced it moment’s ago. He was tired, out of breath and his vision was starting to blur. He suspected the cut on his shoulder to be deeper than he’d previously thought. If only he wasn’t cornered and trapped in this strange, upside down church far beneath a deadly marsh. If he could see the light of the moon, if he had his cloak with him, if he hadn’t dropped his remaining lunar essence, if Lilian or an ally was nearby if… if… But there was nothing. There was only the taste of blood and regret.

Footsteps approached. Sage Fenric had been observing him from a distance but now he felt confident enough to get close and gloat.

“Is that it?” he said, with a slight chuckle, “my my, what a waste of effort. I must admit I had been expecting something grander. But then my master is great and has gifted me with strength beyond even your imagining Cromwell. I suppose it’s for the best really. I know I would rather die alone than have to see everyone I cared for and everything I’d built be destroyed.”

Just a little closer, thought Mr Attorcop. Sage Fenric would only have to take one more step for him to be in arms reach. Mr Attorcop knew when he was outmanoeuvred but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn things, it didn’t mean his position would not be known. Finally, the step came and so Mr Attorcop summoned all of his remaining strength to stand up in a quick burst and bring his fist into contact with Sage Fenric’s chin. The blow landed and Sage Fenric was momentarily lifted off the ground by its force.

As he recoiled back in shock and pain Mr Attorcop thought that his expression of shame and hatred might even be worth dying for.

“Huh ha haaa… There’s that fighting spirit. Very well then…”

“Oh do be quiet,” Mr Attorcop interrupted, his fist stinging from the impact, “if you want to fight me then fight me, don’t keep wittering on.”

Sage Fenric smiled, “As you wish.”

He strafed left and brought his dark blade up, ready to hurl it forwards. But Mr Attorcop did not let him get far. He rushed in, fists balled into tight, white knuckle weapons that flew forward, powered by the last of his speed and strength. Sage Fenric had the arrogance of a blade user in a fist fight and so did not think to create distance between them. But Mr Attorcop knew that blades were only as good as their reach and so he put himself between Sage Fenric’s sword and his body. He landed a right hand body blow, he blocked Sage Fenric’s wrist with his left hand, he head butted Sage Fenric’s nose sending him backwards, he put his right foot out and kicked Sage Fenric’s leg causing him to stumble. Mr Attorcop lurched forward again and used the back of his palm to knock the blade away. He kicked Sage Fenric’s left knee, knocking him down, he grabbed the man’s yellow cloak with his left hand and pulled his face towards his oncoming fist. He was six hits away from a knockout, seven from a victory. He swallowed a mouthful of blood and pushed the pain out of his mind. He had all paths considered, he was five moves ahead and he could see fear in Sage Fenric’s eyes. But it wasn’t enough.

As if sensing its acolytes imminent defeat, the church… reacted. When Mr Attorcop stepped forward to continue his attack, the floor fell away from his feet. His leg fell through to empty air and he bellowed as a deafening crack signalled his shin breaking. The pain threw him to the floor. There, he came face to face with a character from one of the murals. It was a large, porcine man whose smile stretched thinning skin from one side of his face to another. Mr Attorcop caught himself wondering if the character had always been smiling, or was just reacting to his recent, humiliating fall. He looked up in time to see Sage Fenric’s boot hurtling towards his face. A flash of white spread through Mr Attorcop’s head and his vision blurred. Another boot came, followed swiftly by a kick to the stomach. Somewhere in the distance, Mr Attorcop could hear laughter, maniacal and desperate. Then a voice.

“Pathetic fool. To think you could come to my masters house and beat me. Arrogant…” another kick, “belligerent,” and another, “pompous cretin!” Pain had lost all meaning by this point. His body was broken and his mind was becoming foggy. Despite everything, Mr Attorcop found himself smiling. If he had had his cloak, or more lunar essence, if he’d had more information or if he hadn’t been fighting in this strange place then yes, he would have won. And it would have been easy.

In the blur of shapes above him Mr Attorcop saw a glint of dark metal. It rushed downwards and met its target somewhere above his naval. He groaned and tasted blood and bile.

“That’s one less heretic. One less essence eater for my master to purge. Goodbye, Cromwell, I’ll leave you here to die. A final gift for my master, although I doubt he’ll find much value in your life.” With those final words, Sage Fenric walked away.

Mr Attorcop felt the reverberation of his steps dwindle as he headed for the door. He tried to remain conscious but his vision was tunnelling and his breaths were becoming short and shallow. He did what any man would do at this point, he thought of his life. Of the people he’d loved, of the mistakes he’d made and the legacy he would leave. He was surprised to find that he had relatively few regrets. He thought of Lilian then, and found a tear forming in his eye. He would have liked to help her one last time. Prepare her for the upcoming fight.

Suddenly, he felt the vibration of footsteps again. They were quicker now, more desperate. He thought that Sage Fenric was running back to finish the job, but that was not the case.

“Cromwell??” a voice, high pitched and panicked came to him. He tried opening his eyes and caught a glimpse of blonde hair and brown eyes. “Peter! He’s here. Quickly,” said the voice. It was Serena. No, thought Cromwell Attorcop. They can’t be here, it’s too dangerous. “Hold on Cromwell, we’re going to help.” He heard the sound of material ripping, the busying of movement and the shifting of his body. He held up a hand to stop her.

“Serena…” Peter had arrived by now. He had worked with healing herbs his entire life, he knew the difference between a person who needed help, and one who needed comfort. “Serena, stop.” he said, “We’re too late.” Serena turned to look daggers at him.

“Peter, he’s breathing, he’s… we can help, just grab his arm… here look…”

“Serena…” Peter’s command cut through the darkness and brought Serena back to a reality she had not wanted to believe. A sob broke through from deep within her throat. Mr Attorcop felt her chilled fingers slip between his own. He gripped them, thankful for the touch of another person in the moment. Suddenly, he realised that if he had strength to grip a hand, he might be able to grip a tool.

“Pen…” Mr Attorcop uttered the word quietly, he let go of Serena’s hand and began to move his arm in a mimed scribble.

“Pen, Peter, he said pen, he needs to write something.” Mr Attorcop heard her rustling through her belongings.

“I… I haven’t got one,” said Peter.

“Here,” Serena had found something, “Take this, write here.”

Mr Attorcop felt an object thrust into his hand, he did not have time to consider it, but if felt heavier than a feather pen. Although that may have been because he was so weak. Somehow, a large pale sheet of paper appeared as if by magic in front of him.

“Serena, what are you…?” Peter sounded worried.

“It’s the only way, we need to get this message and he’s too weak to speak.”

And so Mr Attorcop began to write. The paper felt rubbery and cold but he ignored the strangeness of it, focusing only on the task at hand. In the last few moments of his fight with Sage Fenric, the idea that had been forming in his mind had coalesced into a clear image. He knew what Lilian would have to do. He knew he couldn’t communicate the key directly, there was still a chance that these two might be captured. He would use a code and trust that only Lilian would be able to crack it. She was clever, she would understand.

Despite the chill in the church, Serena began to sweat. She winced in pain and fought back hot tears as Mr Attorcop carved his message directly into her back.

After just a couple of minutes the message was finished. Mr Attorcop’s strength lasted until the final word and then the knife clattered to the floor. Serena turned around and leaned forwards, Peter was beside her listening for some final words of wisdom.

“Get… out!” Mr Attorcop wanted to shout the words but they could only emerge as a whisper.

Peter grabbed hold of Serena’s arm and practically had to wrench her from Mr Attorcop’s side, “he’s right, we need to leave, now.”

Serena clutched Mr Attorcop’s hand. She wanted to say a thousand things, but she knew that time was not on her side. Something was shifting in the darkness above them, reacting to their presence. As she let go of Mr Attorcop’s hand she said the words that best summed up all of the ones she would not have time to say, “Thank you.” And then she turned, and ran, her form quickly blurring as it sped into the darkness. Mr Attorcop smiled and closed his eyes. He’d done his best and now he was ready for the next adventure. In an upside down church, under a marsh, miles from anything Cromwell Attorcop was there. And then,a moment later, he wasn’t.

In the middle of the night, for a reason unknown to her, Lilian woke up with a strange feeling. She did not start awake like one would from a nightmare, but the lingering sense of unease that a bad dream leaves was there nonetheless. She was back in her childhood bedroom, in Benlunar. Her eyes scanned the darkness, instinctively trying to find the problem. But all they saw were old clothes that did not fit, long forgotten toys that loped to one side, their button eyes gazing back at her with blank expressions. She tried to go back to sleep, but after tossing and turning for a while she gave up and went downstairs.

With nothing else to do, she began to build the morning fire in the kitchen alcove. Once it was lit, she busied herself with making a cup of nettle tea. As she came back into the house from collecting water, she nearly dropped her pale in surprise.

“Seven heavens! You gave me a fright.”

Her father was sitting at the kitchen table, gazing into the flickering flames. They painted his face orange and highlighted deep contours around his exhausted, bloodshot eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I could not sleep.”

Lilian went back to making tea, tiptoeing around the edges of the elephant sized absence left by her mother.

“It’s just for a few days…” her father spoke again, continuing a conversation that had never officially begun. “She’ll come home soon.”

Lilian turned to look at him. In all her life, she had never known her big, bearded, bear strong father to look so small. She nodded, trying to reassure him, “She will. We just need to be patient. Soon she’ll see that it’s all nonsense and she’ll be back here fussing over both of us so much we’ll wish she’d stayed!” The joke did not produce a laugh from her father, but he nodded to show that he’d heard her. To Lilian, he seemed as unconvinced as she had felt when she’d said it.

Lilian finished brewing the tea and the two of them sat in silence while the moon made her slow journey across the night sky. Fritha had woken up and joined the two of them, finding a space under the kitchen table to curl up and go back to sleep. Father and daughter chatted occasionally but neither of them would remember what the other had said by morning. As the light of dawn crept into the kitchen Lilian began to feel awake. She had never been the kind of person that could let problems resolve themselves. She did not know what she could do, but she needed to feel like she was doing something. She threw some jam on some bread, a slice for her and one for her dad, gave the old man a hug and left the house. Fritha followed her, only leaving her side to sniff at the occasional clump of wet ground.

It had been three days since she’d sent the bird off to Freedos with her message for Mr Attorcop. She had been into town every day since then and each time she went the streets felt more and more empty. And it was not just because she left the house early, the quiet cobbled roads would stay this way throughout the day. At around mid-morning a strange siren song would start some way in the distance. The revellers camped around Sage Fenric’s grove played music all day, luring lonely villagers over to them with the promise of fun, friendship and freedom from an oppressive Stave controlled theocracy. The only edicts? Follow the new religion, believe unconditionally and above all do not question the word of the Sage.

Lilian had heard stories of shaming rituals leak into town from the grove. The offending party would have raised a concern or asked a question and the group would turn on them in an instant, forcing them to repent or face being cast out. They would then admit their mistake and be forgiven by all, tears would be shed and their faith would redouble with a new found sense of belonging. Lilian likened it in her mind to a machine that powered itself. Any evidence that contradicted their beliefs would be magically disproved by those very same beliefs. And so the machine continued on, feeding and eating itself and sucking up more life and colour from the world around it. Say what you wanted about Brother Thomas and the Stave church, at least he was aware that the stories in the books never really happened and that any wisdom gained from them can and should be treated with a healthy dose of scepticism.

Lilian felt a rough tongue on the back of her hand. Fritha was licking her, pulling her back to reality with soft and gentle encouragement. Lilian smiled at her. Her mind had been very loud recently, it was nice to have a fear sensing friend beside her who knew when she needed to calm down. Looking up, she saw that she had wandered into the town square. A few people were shuffling listlessly into the Stave Church so Lilian decided to join them.

Brother Thomas gave a good service, retelling the story of Jaynor and the beast, but Lilian could tell that his heart was not in it. Looking around the hall she could have counted the attendees on two hands. Everyone looked tired, like they too had woken up in the middle of the night and not been able to go back to sleep. Lilian thought that Brother Thomas’ interpretation of the beast in the story being like a movement or an idea was a little heavy handed, but she knew that he was doing his best with what he had. He had renounced all violence long ago and had put his faith in people. Lilian had yet to commit to that particular path. Violence may not be the answer but it helped when asking the question.

When the service was over Lillian stayed in her seat. She gazed up at one of the tapestries on the wall while waiting for Brother Thomas to come back from seeing off the congregation at the door. The tapestry depicted a woman lost in a forest, surrounded by sprites or nymphs. Lilian did not know the story to which it alluded and she was unsure if the sprites were helping her or making her feel afraid. Fritha stirred by Lilian’s feet and got up to stretch. The cold flagstones must not have made much of a bed. She was in a playful mood and decided to try and steal one of Lilian’s boots while she was still wearing it. Lilian pushed her away at first, not feeling up to a game, but Fritha insisted and within a minute she had dragged Lilian onto the floor of the Stave, screeching and laughing while she pulled off her right boot and ran away with it.

Brother Thomas caught them playing as he came back into the central hall, “well,” he said, “at least someone is enjoying their time at Church.”

Lilian looked up at him and brushed her hair out of her face, “She’s got my boot! And don’t be like that, everyone had a good time. We’re just… tired.”

Brother Thomas nodded and Lilian went back to chasing Fritha. The feinhound was enjoying the game very much. She brought Lilian’s boot over to Brother Thomas in an effort to make him chase her for it, but he did not engage. And so Fritha dropped the boot and decided to grab one of the draw strings around the waist of Brother Thomas’ robes.

“No no!” he shouted, “that’s not a toy. Gracious you’re a big animal, umm, no thank you!” but it was too late. Fritha sensed his resistance and just made it part of the game. Three seconds later she had the cord in her mouth and she was pulling Brother Thomas about the space like a sack of potatoes. Lilian fell about laughing. She stepped back and due to the lack of boot, slipped on a tiled mosaic and landed in a heap on the floor. This of course brought Fritha running over to her to lick her face which made her laugh even more.

“Get off me you silly beast,” she managed to say through fits of giggles. She had her eyes closed to avoid getting slobber in them and when she could finally sit up and open them she was greeted with a strange sight.

Two figures had walked into the church. There was a young man and a young woman. They looked about ready to collapse from exhaustion and were covered head to toe in dust and dirt. The mud was so caked on in some parts of their bodies that Lilian thought they might be trolls or strange hill folk coming to reclaim their mountain from Benlunar settlers. Fritha knew them instantly and ran over to greet the couple. Her happy sprint however transformed mid journey into a sombre plod. A feeling of sadness coated these two seeming strangers heavier even than the layers of mud on their skin and clothes. Fritha sensed it immediately, and Lilian saw it too. It was marked in lines on their faces where tear shaped trenches streaked down their cheeks. The woman tried to speak, but her throat was too dry. The man behind her raised his hand but fell to his knees before he could utter a word. In that instant, all became clear. Lillian snapped into action.

“Brother Thomas, fetch some fresh water please. Then go to the Fox and Octopus and ask Liny to prepare two baths and two beds.”

Brother Thomas did not wait to question his orders. He hurried himself to the back room of the Stave, shooting the strangers a concerned glance before leaving them in Lilian’s care. When he returned with a jug of water he helped her to make them drink, being sure that they took small sips and not big gulps, lest their dehydrated bodies reject the liquid. As they held the cups in both hands and sipped slowly through cracked lips, Brother Thomas whispered a question, “who are they?”

“This is Serena Bellaswan and Peter Sturgeon,” she replied, “they’re from Freedos, and they’re my friends.”

An hour later everyone had been fed, bathed and rehydrated. In her dazed state Serena had continuously tried to stop Lilian from looking after her in order to tell her something important. But every time Lilian let her speak she slurred her words and nearly collapsed again from exhaustion. Peter was in an even worse condition. Lilian could not imagine what had forced them to travel without food or water for what must have been at least a couple of days, but here they were and she would be damned if she would let any further harm come to them. She would nurse them back to health even if she had to fight them.

Thankfully Liny at the Fox & Octopus shared her motivation and would not hear a word out of either of them until they were tucked so tightly into a bed that Lillian worried about blood being able to reach their heads.

Lilian sat with them for the rest of the afternoon. They were in a room above the inn, in separate beds. Lilian had been in this room before, it had a red carpet spread over a dark wood floor. The walls were adorned with oil paintings of quaint cottages and imposing mountains. Fritha slept by the fire which grumbled quietly under a stone mantle. At one point, Xander came in to check if she wanted to eat something. She shook her head at first, not feeling up to it, but when he told her that he’d just finished making some pies she changed her mind. Things were bad, but they weren’t that bad.

Just as night was drawing in, Serena stirred. Lilian had been reading a book that Liny had lent her and she was so engrossed in the story that she nearly didn’t notice. But when Serena sat up and groaned, Lilian dropped the book and hurried to her side.

“Take it slow Serena, you were very dehydrated and you still need rest. How’s your head? I can get you something for the pain.” Lilian kept her voice low to keep from waking Peter.

Serena smiled at her fretting, “I’m alright. I’ll sleep properly in a bit.”

Lilian was glad to hear she was feeling better. She wondered if now would be a good time to ask her all the questions she’d been sitting on all day. She attempted a few more seconds of silence but then her restraint failed her, “why are you here? I mean, it’s lovely to see you and Peter, but I wasn’t expecting you. You looked like you were running away from something, is everything alright?” This final question brought about a change in Serena’s expression. It was as if she had forgotten a nightmare upon waking, only to be reminded of it just then.

Lilian looked into Serena’s bright blue eyes. A sheen of tears caught the candle light and Lilian heard a crack in Serena’s voice when she spoke.

“Oh Lilian,” she said, “I’m so sorry. I have some horrible news.”

She told Lilian everything that had happened from the moment they received her message and in the telling, Lilian’s world became smaller. It took her more than a moment to believe Serena. Stories such as these were more often heard as plays or great tragic adventure books. They were not real. They did not really happen. A part of Lilian wanted to believe that Serena was a player, merely recounting a fake event that had happened somewhere off stage. But the tears in her eyes and the tone of her voice told Lilian that it was all very real.

Somewhere during the telling Fritha had awoken from her place by the fire and wondered over. Her tail wagged at seeing Serena, but fell when she sensed the fear in Lilian. The big hound sniffed the air around her friend. There was fear there, as clear as the smoke from the fire. She rested her head on Lilian’s lap in the hope that its weight and warmth would bring some comfort.

“And then we journeyed here as fast as we could,” Serena continued, “we got lost a few times and we had to leave our horses at the base of the mountain but we just knew we had to get to you. We had to warn you.”

Lilian nodded in understanding but the motion felt strange and rehearsed. There were a hundred emotions battling each other inside her body and brain. She wanted to shout at Serena for not helping Mr Attorcop, she wanted to rush out of the room and fight Sage Fenric that very instant, she wanted to break down and cry, she wanted to jump up and run. Out of all of them, anger emerged as the victor. She was angry with herself.

“I should have been there,” she finally said, “I should not have sent a bird, I should have come myself.”

Serena put her hand on Lilian’s and Lilian only realised then that it was balled into a tight fist. Serena was shaking her head, “No,” she said. “Trust me, it was better that you were here, Benlunar needs you.”

“Cromwell needed me,” Lilian barked her reply.

Serena gripped her hand even tighter, Lilian wanted to wrench it away but found some comfort in her touch. “Lilian, you know as well as I do that Cromwell was a more than competent fighter. I beat myself over the head the whole journey here. But I realise now that if Peter and I had been there we would only have gotten in his way, or worse. And if you had been there instead then…” she paused, not wanting to insult Lilian’s abilities, “Lilian that man is dangerous. What’s more, whatever he served was there too, and it was helping him. Who knows what lengths it would have gone to to protect its servant. Trust me, my love, you were better off here. I’m sorry. I really am.” Lilian managed to soften her grip but the tension in her remained. She had to trust her friend, but accepting her advice would take time.

Then, Serena’s face changed, a brightness returned to it, “Oh!” she exclaimed, “I almost forgot. Cromwell must have learned something during the fight. Something he wanted you to know. He wrote it down before…” Serena stopped herself, unable to say the words a second time that night.

Lilian looked about for Serena’s things, expecting to see a letter or a note “where is it?” She asked.

Serena bit her lip, “well, we didn’t have any paper, nor a pen or a quill so…” Serena then pushed the blanket covering her down a little way, turned around to face away from Lilian and then proceeded to pull the neckline of her shirt down her back. Lilian looked on in confusion. Then, when the loose woollen shirt that Liny had brought her after her bath was hanging loosely down her back, Lilian caught a glimpse of redness just below her right shoulder. It looked like a cut, or a series of small cuts that one might get being dragged backwards through a rose garden, but upon further inspection, Lilian saw that each cut was in fact a symbol. A message was there, in scratchy, scabbed writing.

“Serena…” Lilian whispered, “your back.”

“It’s fine,” her friend replied, “it will heal, and the scars will go eventually. The important thing was to get the message to you. I’ll admit, though, we travelled so fast, I haven’t had time to learn what it says yet.”

Lilian took her cue and moved the shirt down a little to reveal the full message. It took a few seconds to work out the handwriting, but once she understood it she began to read,

“Think of Tellis in Dermador. Treyant in Custer and then remember Horbling. It’s strong but loves a bargain. Then all that’s left is Brava’s army.”

There was a pause while Lilian reread the words three more times to herself, making sure she had every one correct. Finally, she leant back and breathed out a long sigh.

Serena adjusted her shirt to a more comfortable position and turned to look at her friend. The words had not made any sense to her and so she asked Lilian, “What does it mean?”

Lilian looked up at her with a solemn expression and replied, “I have absolutely no idea.”