Memory 010: GR - Blood Trail (TrivNeg)
Oct. 8th, 2014 09:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
justariderGame Received: Bucky's Heart game, Day 394, night
Team Played With: n/a
Memory Form: spiral-shaped starburst spun sugar
Karigan leaned in a darkened doorway, sucking in painful breaths. One
hand clutched the door frame, the other closed on the wound beneath her
ribs. It was not too deep, but it bled profusely and stung painfully.
Dim light glowed in an adjacent corridor, but she had to drop the
invisibility to preserve any energy she had left. The slash to her side was
not helping matters. She looked down, and in the darkness, discerned an
even darker stain spreading across the front of her shirt. Crimson oozed
between her fingers and pattered on the floor.
She leaned her head against the door frame and tried to catch her breath.
Sweat poured down her face and burned her eyes. It would not be long
before Jendara found her. She feared she would have to confront her this
time, in a clash she had little hope of winning.
Light shimmered at the far end of the corridor. No time to rest. She
shook off her light-headedness and reached to touch her brooch. It was her
only—
Disembodied hands reached from behind through the darkness of the
doorway. One clamped over her mouth before she could utter a scream,
and the other grabbed her around her chest. Weakly she struggled against
the iron grip. It drew her slowly, inexorably inward, into the night dark
room behind.
Shhh, someone breathed into her ear.
She began to think she had fallen into the darkness of the unconscious
realm, or it was simply the unlit room, but her body fell limp and felt as if
it floated upward and away to the night sky, perhaps to the heavens to
meet the gods.
• • •
Karigan was falling, falling from the sky, and she jerked convulsively to
stop herself.
She opened her eyes to the soft glow of a single candle. She had been
asleep or unconscious, and lay on stone. The hard, cold surface made her
back ache.
The candle did little to reveal the room she was in. It was stone, like
everywhere else in the castle, and though she could not discern
dimensions, she sensed the walls to be close and the space vaultlike. The
candlelight glinted on glass— vials and jars on a shelf. The room smelled
faintly of herbs and mustiness; the air was thick as if it had been closed up
for some time.
The candlelight splayed across the ceiling. Glyphs and runes were
carved there, so ancient they surpassed the old Sacoridian language.
Crudely wrought images of Aeryc and Aeryon were also carved there, and
others. One was of a creature— part man, part bird— the god Westrion
who escorted souls to the stars; and another was of his great steed,
Salvistar, the harbinger of strife and battle.
She lifted her head up to look around some more, but it throbbed and
she moaned. "Where am I?"
"The preparation room," someone said.
Karigan's heart skipped a beat. "Who's there?"
The disembodied hands returned, this time accompanied by a
disembodied face with familiar, stony features aglow in the candlelight.
"Fastion!"
The Weapon, who had so often guarded her door at Rider barracks,
drew closer and she could make out the outlines of his broad frame. His
black uniform had created the illusion of disembodiment.
"You are awake, then," he said.
"Yes. What do you mean this is a preparation room?"
"It is for the dead," he said. "It is here the royal death surgeons prepare
the bodies of kings, queens, and the special ones chosen to reside in the
Hall of Kings and Queens, or along Heroes Avenue. It is here they open
the body from chin—" He put his finger to his chin and drew a line with it
down to his stomach. "— to the gut so that the soul may escape the body
and float to the heavens. It is an ancient rite."
Karigan sat up, heart pounding. Suddenly she feared Fastion. Here she
was, laid out on the funerary slab of royalty, where they were embalmed
and prepared for the grave. What did Fastion intend?
"Easy," Fastion said, "or you are going to start bleeding again." Then he
must have recognized her fear, for he crossed his arms and said, "If I
planned to prepare you for death, I wouldn't have bound up that sword
wound, and your soul would have been in the heavens long ago."
Karigan tentatively touched her side where Jendara's blade had cut her.
It was indeed bound with linens.
"Lots of bandages here," Fastion said.
"For wrapping the dead."
He nodded.
"I'm sorry I mistrusted you, but it has been a very long day, and this is
strange…"
"It is strange for me, too. This room has… memories for me." Fastion's
eyes roamed the room as if in search of images of the past. "Before I
became a Weapon for King Zachary, I was a tomb guard. I guarded King
Amigast in his death, and watched over the surgeons lest they did
something to damage him or impair his soul. As I said, the rites are
ancient."
"I would like to get off this slab," Karigan said. It was too much.
Fastion put his hand on her shoulder and pressed her back. "I realize
how uncomfortable this must be, but you have to rest while you can. You
seem weak, and on more than account of blood loss. We can talk while
you recover. But first, I need to know if you have news of the king."
"He lives."
Joy crossed Fastion's normally impassive face, and any doubt of his
intentions faded completely. "Then there is hope," he said.
Karigan told him of the day's events, and about her purpose at the
castle. "I must return to them and tell them what I've seen. My own father
is trapped in the throne room with Amilton and Jendara."
"The traitor!" Fastion broke in with vehemence. "I would have taken her
on in the corridor, but I had my arms full with you."
"Sorry," Karigan said.
"Do not apologize. I'm glad I could help after what you have told me.
Killing Jendara would have brought me some satisfaction, but it would
have raised an alarm and ruined all hope. You see, I've been trying to
reach the tombs. I expect to find others there, more Weapons. I am hoping
they have been forgotten by Amilton, or they have been able to resist
attacks by his forces."
"How many do you think there are?" Karigan asked.
"Perhaps as many as twenty, but I would guess fewer. As you know,
one Weapon is worth four or more ordinary soldiers."
"Yes," Karigan said. "I do know."
Fastion looked pleased. "We may not possess Greenie magics, but we
have our own skills. We have secrets."
Karigan lay in silence. The cold of the slab was getting to her, as was
the closeness of the room. There was no telling how much time had been
lost, but half the candle had dripped away as they spoke.
"Fastion," she said, "I've got to get back to the king and the others to let
them know what I learned."
"Can you stand?"
She dropped her legs over the slab. Her head throbbed mightily. She
nearly fell back on the slab.
"A little at a time," Fastion said.
He produced some dried meat and water left over from his own supper.
It had been some time since midday when Karigan had sat with Alton
beneath the sun at their picnic. Would she ever see the sun again? The
food improved her spirits considerably, and she felt much stronger. Now
she could stand, though she had to hold onto the slab at first to keep
steady.
"I will guide you out," Fastion said. "You must tell the king when you
see him to remember the Heroes Portal. He must have walked those paths
when a boy. His grandmother would have seen to it. I will try to reach the
tombs and assemble all the Weapons I can. There, on Heroes Avenue, we
shall meet you and the king."
"The tombs…?"
"Yes."
Karigan had a vague suspicion she would never truly extricate herself
from dealings with the dead. Ghosts, killings, and now tombs.
Fastion led Karigan through black corridors and a series of rooms, then
down more corridors. He relied only on a single candle to light the way.
"Why is it so dark here?" Karigan asked. "Isn't this part of the castle
used?"
"No longer," the Weapon said. "This section could house hundreds, and
it once did. Troops, mostly, were garrisoned here in more restless days."
"A very long time ago, then."
"Yes. We Weapons know it all, all the corridors and rooms. We must.
Quite a lot of history back here. There are even some Green Rider relics. I
keep meaning to tell Captain Mapstone, but I get tied up in my duties and
forget."
The route Fastion took seemed like that of an endless cave or maze.
When one candle melted down, he lit another. Their footsteps were hollow
on the stone-flagged floor. Time seemed not to exist in this netherworld.
They passed numerous doors. Motheaten tapestries rustled on the walls
as they walked by, and their feet stirred up dust. They caught the glow of a
rat's eye in the candlelight as it scurried across the corridor.
"The servants really ought to clean down here," Fastion muttered.
Beside the tapestries, rusted arms and shields hung on the walls. The
shields bore the devices of regiments: the evergreen, the sea dog, the wild
rose, the catamount, the black bear, and the eagle. One shield of green
featured the gold winged horse.
"So the Green Riders were once garrisoned with the rest of the militia,"
Karigan said.
"At war time, yes. Green Riders served not only as couriers, but in other
capacities, such as light cavalry. There are other things that are not
disclosed in the history books, so I can only guess."
Karigan could, too. Capacities like the one Beryl Spencer served in.
"You sound like a historian," she said.
Fastion glanced at her with a smile. "I am versed in more than
weaponry skills."
Karigan smiled back, abashed.
Finally, Fastion stopped at a heavy door bound in iron. "This opens into
the main courtyard," he said, "so you must take care. We're some couple
hundred yards from the main entrance and the gates. There are apt to be
soldiers all about, but not directly guarding this door. It is somewhat…
obscure."
He turned and pulled on a huge iron ring, and if Karigan was expecting
the hinges to creak and shriek with age, she was to be disappointed, for
someone had made a point of oiling them.
Fresh night air rolled into the corridor, and Karigan breathed deeply,
finally feeling she was going to be freed of the tomblike atmosphere of the
castle.
"I would use your… er… ability," Fastion said, "to get across the
courtyard. Have you a horse?"
"He's down in the city," she said.
"Good. Remember, the Heroes Portal. The king should remember it.
May Aeryc and Aeryon guide you."
"And you," Karigan said.
With some regret, she touched her brooch and stepped out into the
night. The door closed shut behind her, and she was on her own.
Shrubbery concealed the doorway, and she peered around it. Soldiers
milled around, walking here and there to whatever business called them to
duty at this late hour.
There was not enough light to reveal her, and she darted across the
courtyard at a trot to the inner wall. She hugged it until she neared the
guardhouse and gate. Someone barked orders to those standing on the
wall, but she was not going to wait around to find out what those orders
were about.
She watched the sentries cross paths, gauged where the shadows were
deepest beneath the portcullis, and she ran. As her feet thudded on the
draw bridge, she heard the command, "Ready arrows!"
"Oh, no," she groaned.
Across the moat, the Anti-Monarchy Society shouted slogans and shook
fists. A crowd had assembled to watch.
"Find your sights, wait for my mark," the soldier commanded.
Karigan pounded across the bridge and headed straight for the Anti-
Monarchy Society. She could imagine the archers, poised between the
crenellations atop the wall, holding their bowstrings taut. It would be
slaughter. The Anti-Monarchy Society was grouped at an easy arrow's
flight from the wall, and the streetlamps made them visible targets.
Karigan dropped her invisibility as she charged them and no few
mouths fell open.
"Run!" she shouted. "They're going to—"
"Loose arrows!" The command rang through the night.
Arrows rained from the sky, impaling members of the Anti-Monarchy
Society and the crowd, skidding along the paving stones of the street, or
sticking in the ground. Screams and cries surrounded Karigan. The
terrified living stampeded the wounded and dead. Karigan was jostled
from every side by the panicked onrush of people.
And again, the command rang out: "Loose arrows!"
People dropped on either side of Karigan. An arrow skimmed her
shoulder. When she came to the first building beyond the castle wall, she
veered around it to safety. A dozen or so other people had done likewise,
Lorilie Dorran among them. She was on the ground, an arrow jammed in
her thigh. She gasped in pain. Two of her followers hovered solicitously
over her.
"King Zachary would never have done this," Lorilie said.
Karigan strode over to her. Her own side was stinging from her
desperate run. When her shadow fell across Lorilie, the charismatic leader
of the Anti-Monarchy Society looked up at her.
"Perhaps you should support King Zachary rather than malign him,"
Karigan said. "What you've got now is a real tyrant claiming the throne."
Lorilie squinted through her pain. "I remember you, sister. North. You
were there. You… you are a Green Rider?"
Karigan shook her head. "I am not your sister, nor am I a Green Rider."
"All monarchy is tyranny."
Karigan glanced over her shoulder at the bodies bristled with arrows
lying in the street. Some people were trying to drag themselves along,
others knelt on the ground wailing.
"Is this worth it?" Karigan asked her, gesturing at the wounded and
dead.
"Yes," Lorilie whispered fiercely. "Yes. They died for me; they died for
the cause. Their sacrifice will only strengthen it."
The woman was despicable. "Believe what you will, then." Karigan
whirled around and ran, disappearing into the shadows as she went.
Team Played With: n/a
Memory Form: spiral-shaped starburst spun sugar
Karigan leaned in a darkened doorway, sucking in painful breaths. One
hand clutched the door frame, the other closed on the wound beneath her
ribs. It was not too deep, but it bled profusely and stung painfully.
Dim light glowed in an adjacent corridor, but she had to drop the
invisibility to preserve any energy she had left. The slash to her side was
not helping matters. She looked down, and in the darkness, discerned an
even darker stain spreading across the front of her shirt. Crimson oozed
between her fingers and pattered on the floor.
She leaned her head against the door frame and tried to catch her breath.
Sweat poured down her face and burned her eyes. It would not be long
before Jendara found her. She feared she would have to confront her this
time, in a clash she had little hope of winning.
Light shimmered at the far end of the corridor. No time to rest. She
shook off her light-headedness and reached to touch her brooch. It was her
only—
Disembodied hands reached from behind through the darkness of the
doorway. One clamped over her mouth before she could utter a scream,
and the other grabbed her around her chest. Weakly she struggled against
the iron grip. It drew her slowly, inexorably inward, into the night dark
room behind.
Shhh, someone breathed into her ear.
She began to think she had fallen into the darkness of the unconscious
realm, or it was simply the unlit room, but her body fell limp and felt as if
it floated upward and away to the night sky, perhaps to the heavens to
meet the gods.
• • •
Karigan was falling, falling from the sky, and she jerked convulsively to
stop herself.
She opened her eyes to the soft glow of a single candle. She had been
asleep or unconscious, and lay on stone. The hard, cold surface made her
back ache.
The candle did little to reveal the room she was in. It was stone, like
everywhere else in the castle, and though she could not discern
dimensions, she sensed the walls to be close and the space vaultlike. The
candlelight glinted on glass— vials and jars on a shelf. The room smelled
faintly of herbs and mustiness; the air was thick as if it had been closed up
for some time.
The candlelight splayed across the ceiling. Glyphs and runes were
carved there, so ancient they surpassed the old Sacoridian language.
Crudely wrought images of Aeryc and Aeryon were also carved there, and
others. One was of a creature— part man, part bird— the god Westrion
who escorted souls to the stars; and another was of his great steed,
Salvistar, the harbinger of strife and battle.
She lifted her head up to look around some more, but it throbbed and
she moaned. "Where am I?"
"The preparation room," someone said.
Karigan's heart skipped a beat. "Who's there?"
The disembodied hands returned, this time accompanied by a
disembodied face with familiar, stony features aglow in the candlelight.
"Fastion!"
The Weapon, who had so often guarded her door at Rider barracks,
drew closer and she could make out the outlines of his broad frame. His
black uniform had created the illusion of disembodiment.
"You are awake, then," he said.
"Yes. What do you mean this is a preparation room?"
"It is for the dead," he said. "It is here the royal death surgeons prepare
the bodies of kings, queens, and the special ones chosen to reside in the
Hall of Kings and Queens, or along Heroes Avenue. It is here they open
the body from chin—" He put his finger to his chin and drew a line with it
down to his stomach. "— to the gut so that the soul may escape the body
and float to the heavens. It is an ancient rite."
Karigan sat up, heart pounding. Suddenly she feared Fastion. Here she
was, laid out on the funerary slab of royalty, where they were embalmed
and prepared for the grave. What did Fastion intend?
"Easy," Fastion said, "or you are going to start bleeding again." Then he
must have recognized her fear, for he crossed his arms and said, "If I
planned to prepare you for death, I wouldn't have bound up that sword
wound, and your soul would have been in the heavens long ago."
Karigan tentatively touched her side where Jendara's blade had cut her.
It was indeed bound with linens.
"Lots of bandages here," Fastion said.
"For wrapping the dead."
He nodded.
"I'm sorry I mistrusted you, but it has been a very long day, and this is
strange…"
"It is strange for me, too. This room has… memories for me." Fastion's
eyes roamed the room as if in search of images of the past. "Before I
became a Weapon for King Zachary, I was a tomb guard. I guarded King
Amigast in his death, and watched over the surgeons lest they did
something to damage him or impair his soul. As I said, the rites are
ancient."
"I would like to get off this slab," Karigan said. It was too much.
Fastion put his hand on her shoulder and pressed her back. "I realize
how uncomfortable this must be, but you have to rest while you can. You
seem weak, and on more than account of blood loss. We can talk while
you recover. But first, I need to know if you have news of the king."
"He lives."
Joy crossed Fastion's normally impassive face, and any doubt of his
intentions faded completely. "Then there is hope," he said.
Karigan told him of the day's events, and about her purpose at the
castle. "I must return to them and tell them what I've seen. My own father
is trapped in the throne room with Amilton and Jendara."
"The traitor!" Fastion broke in with vehemence. "I would have taken her
on in the corridor, but I had my arms full with you."
"Sorry," Karigan said.
"Do not apologize. I'm glad I could help after what you have told me.
Killing Jendara would have brought me some satisfaction, but it would
have raised an alarm and ruined all hope. You see, I've been trying to
reach the tombs. I expect to find others there, more Weapons. I am hoping
they have been forgotten by Amilton, or they have been able to resist
attacks by his forces."
"How many do you think there are?" Karigan asked.
"Perhaps as many as twenty, but I would guess fewer. As you know,
one Weapon is worth four or more ordinary soldiers."
"Yes," Karigan said. "I do know."
Fastion looked pleased. "We may not possess Greenie magics, but we
have our own skills. We have secrets."
Karigan lay in silence. The cold of the slab was getting to her, as was
the closeness of the room. There was no telling how much time had been
lost, but half the candle had dripped away as they spoke.
"Fastion," she said, "I've got to get back to the king and the others to let
them know what I learned."
"Can you stand?"
She dropped her legs over the slab. Her head throbbed mightily. She
nearly fell back on the slab.
"A little at a time," Fastion said.
He produced some dried meat and water left over from his own supper.
It had been some time since midday when Karigan had sat with Alton
beneath the sun at their picnic. Would she ever see the sun again? The
food improved her spirits considerably, and she felt much stronger. Now
she could stand, though she had to hold onto the slab at first to keep
steady.
"I will guide you out," Fastion said. "You must tell the king when you
see him to remember the Heroes Portal. He must have walked those paths
when a boy. His grandmother would have seen to it. I will try to reach the
tombs and assemble all the Weapons I can. There, on Heroes Avenue, we
shall meet you and the king."
"The tombs…?"
"Yes."
Karigan had a vague suspicion she would never truly extricate herself
from dealings with the dead. Ghosts, killings, and now tombs.
Fastion led Karigan through black corridors and a series of rooms, then
down more corridors. He relied only on a single candle to light the way.
"Why is it so dark here?" Karigan asked. "Isn't this part of the castle
used?"
"No longer," the Weapon said. "This section could house hundreds, and
it once did. Troops, mostly, were garrisoned here in more restless days."
"A very long time ago, then."
"Yes. We Weapons know it all, all the corridors and rooms. We must.
Quite a lot of history back here. There are even some Green Rider relics. I
keep meaning to tell Captain Mapstone, but I get tied up in my duties and
forget."
The route Fastion took seemed like that of an endless cave or maze.
When one candle melted down, he lit another. Their footsteps were hollow
on the stone-flagged floor. Time seemed not to exist in this netherworld.
They passed numerous doors. Motheaten tapestries rustled on the walls
as they walked by, and their feet stirred up dust. They caught the glow of a
rat's eye in the candlelight as it scurried across the corridor.
"The servants really ought to clean down here," Fastion muttered.
Beside the tapestries, rusted arms and shields hung on the walls. The
shields bore the devices of regiments: the evergreen, the sea dog, the wild
rose, the catamount, the black bear, and the eagle. One shield of green
featured the gold winged horse.
"So the Green Riders were once garrisoned with the rest of the militia,"
Karigan said.
"At war time, yes. Green Riders served not only as couriers, but in other
capacities, such as light cavalry. There are other things that are not
disclosed in the history books, so I can only guess."
Karigan could, too. Capacities like the one Beryl Spencer served in.
"You sound like a historian," she said.
Fastion glanced at her with a smile. "I am versed in more than
weaponry skills."
Karigan smiled back, abashed.
Finally, Fastion stopped at a heavy door bound in iron. "This opens into
the main courtyard," he said, "so you must take care. We're some couple
hundred yards from the main entrance and the gates. There are apt to be
soldiers all about, but not directly guarding this door. It is somewhat…
obscure."
He turned and pulled on a huge iron ring, and if Karigan was expecting
the hinges to creak and shriek with age, she was to be disappointed, for
someone had made a point of oiling them.
Fresh night air rolled into the corridor, and Karigan breathed deeply,
finally feeling she was going to be freed of the tomblike atmosphere of the
castle.
"I would use your… er… ability," Fastion said, "to get across the
courtyard. Have you a horse?"
"He's down in the city," she said.
"Good. Remember, the Heroes Portal. The king should remember it.
May Aeryc and Aeryon guide you."
"And you," Karigan said.
With some regret, she touched her brooch and stepped out into the
night. The door closed shut behind her, and she was on her own.
Shrubbery concealed the doorway, and she peered around it. Soldiers
milled around, walking here and there to whatever business called them to
duty at this late hour.
There was not enough light to reveal her, and she darted across the
courtyard at a trot to the inner wall. She hugged it until she neared the
guardhouse and gate. Someone barked orders to those standing on the
wall, but she was not going to wait around to find out what those orders
were about.
She watched the sentries cross paths, gauged where the shadows were
deepest beneath the portcullis, and she ran. As her feet thudded on the
draw bridge, she heard the command, "Ready arrows!"
"Oh, no," she groaned.
Across the moat, the Anti-Monarchy Society shouted slogans and shook
fists. A crowd had assembled to watch.
"Find your sights, wait for my mark," the soldier commanded.
Karigan pounded across the bridge and headed straight for the Anti-
Monarchy Society. She could imagine the archers, poised between the
crenellations atop the wall, holding their bowstrings taut. It would be
slaughter. The Anti-Monarchy Society was grouped at an easy arrow's
flight from the wall, and the streetlamps made them visible targets.
Karigan dropped her invisibility as she charged them and no few
mouths fell open.
"Run!" she shouted. "They're going to—"
"Loose arrows!" The command rang through the night.
Arrows rained from the sky, impaling members of the Anti-Monarchy
Society and the crowd, skidding along the paving stones of the street, or
sticking in the ground. Screams and cries surrounded Karigan. The
terrified living stampeded the wounded and dead. Karigan was jostled
from every side by the panicked onrush of people.
And again, the command rang out: "Loose arrows!"
People dropped on either side of Karigan. An arrow skimmed her
shoulder. When she came to the first building beyond the castle wall, she
veered around it to safety. A dozen or so other people had done likewise,
Lorilie Dorran among them. She was on the ground, an arrow jammed in
her thigh. She gasped in pain. Two of her followers hovered solicitously
over her.
"King Zachary would never have done this," Lorilie said.
Karigan strode over to her. Her own side was stinging from her
desperate run. When her shadow fell across Lorilie, the charismatic leader
of the Anti-Monarchy Society looked up at her.
"Perhaps you should support King Zachary rather than malign him,"
Karigan said. "What you've got now is a real tyrant claiming the throne."
Lorilie squinted through her pain. "I remember you, sister. North. You
were there. You… you are a Green Rider?"
Karigan shook her head. "I am not your sister, nor am I a Green Rider."
"All monarchy is tyranny."
Karigan glanced over her shoulder at the bodies bristled with arrows
lying in the street. Some people were trying to drag themselves along,
others knelt on the ground wailing.
"Is this worth it?" Karigan asked her, gesturing at the wounded and
dead.
"Yes," Lorilie whispered fiercely. "Yes. They died for me; they died for
the cause. Their sacrifice will only strengthen it."
The woman was despicable. "Believe what you will, then." Karigan
whirled around and ran, disappearing into the shadows as she went.
