Cleansing Fire

Maria opened her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to focus on something, anything. She must have fallen asleep sorting the paintings they’d brought up from the basement. She hadn’t even made it to the bed - she’d been lying on the floor to the side, almost under it. She reached up to the blanket and frowned as a red stain appeared on the fabric. She stared dumbly at her hands for a moment. They were covered in blood. She brought them up to her eyes, scrubbing at them to find the wound. No, not blood - paint. Where had she gotten so much red paint? And what had she painted? She must have been going while she was sleeping again. She cringed as she looked around and then gasped as her eyes finally focused on what had seemed to strange and alien to her. The walls were covered in paint. From floor to ceiling and wall to wall, completely covered in a giant painting. She’d never done anything like this before. The walls glistened with the still wet paint; it can’t have been finished very long ago - the paint she used dried quickly. She got unsteadily to her feet and walked around the room, trying to make sense of the chaotic mixture of colour and patterns. Something about it seemed familiar, as if she should recognise it. Shaking her head to clear the last of the sleep from her mind, she stepped back; and saw it.

It was a huge painting of the Great Hall. The people had gathered, crowds thronging the balconies and completely covering the floor. Their faces were a blur, uncertain, as if she hadn’t been able to properly visualise them. She scanned the painting, looking for something that would tell her what was going on and her eye was drawn to one of the only places where the painting seemed focused, centred on one particular place. A man lay on the ground, light hitting him from above. He had an arrow of some sort jutting out from his chest and the spreading pool of blood underneath him was staining his brilliant white robes red. It took her a moment to recognise Steward Triman in the contorted features of the dead man staring up at her. A shiver ran down her spine - she’d painted the death of the Steward. She ran around the room, trying to find the source of the attack, something to guide her. Another area seemed to be in focus and she moved as close as she dared, wanting to avoid smudging something that could tell her anything more - anything to prevent this from happening. A woman robed in dark red crouched behind the railing of a balcony but although parts of her body were in focus, her face and extremities were blurred as if moving too quickly to capture. An abandoned crossbow lay on the floor at her feet - perfectly in focus and a spare bolt, which she now saw was the twin of that buried in Steward Triman’s chest; lay next to it on the ground.

Just knowing it was a woman did her no good - she could hardly tell the Guard to watch for all the women; there would be thousands and thousands of people - one woman could slip unnoticed through the people without attracting the slightest bit of notice. She ran to the other side of the room, trying to get some perspective on where the balcony would be. Unfortunately, this painting seemed devoid of proper perspective. All she could tell was that the balcony was on the third floor and there were hundreds in the Great Hall. She forced herself to be calm and search for what Magnus had called the “time marker”. Apparently when prophecy manifested there was almost always a time marker which gave a sense of when the event would take place - they were often vague and sometimes completely impossible to decipher but they were mostly there.

Her eyes flicked up and down across the painting, trying to take in all the detail she possibly could. Nothing seemed to stand out for her, nothing besides the two sections she’d already seen were in focus. She stepped back again and gasped as her perception shifted again. This time there was no mistaking the focus areas. Steward Triman and the immediate area around him, the woman on the balcony and, now she looked at it, the moon hanging out in the inky blackness through the massive window covering one of the Great Hall’s walls. The moon was rendered in perfect detail - every crater and crevice perfectly reproduced. It was full and round, shedding light down onto the people gathered to pray. This would happen on a full moon - but which? Of course! Tonight was a full moon! If she didn’t stop it soon, Steward Triman would be killed tonight! Her eyes still playing over the surface - she’d learned over the years never to rush into making a full account of art, she saw that the people’s arms were raised in supplication; stretching as far as they could as if to reach the sky. She was sure she remembered that particular pose only happening at one time during the night - but what time? It was critical for her to remember the time and now her mind had gone blank!

She ran to the door and grabbed her coat off the hook - she would have to try and remember on the way and tell him everything she could about the painting. It would take too long to come back here and look for himself. She turned again to take in some more detail and abruptly felt the world tilt crazily as she slipped on a puddle of still wet paint that lay on the floor. She braced herself for the impact and at least saved her head from being dashed against the floor. Her palms stung from the sudden impact but otherwise she thought she was probably fine. Pushing herself off the ground hurt but she had to move. As she rose, her eye caught something else that was in focus, something small. Down on the far right hand side of the painting, close to the door itself, there was a group of men carrying swords and axes. Their bodies were a blur as were their surroundings but she saw the weapons in focus again, almost seemed to stand out of the painting. She didn’t recognise the armour they were wearing and they certainly didn’t look like the Guard.

An attempt on Steward Triman’s life and armed men in the Academy? That was too much to be a coincidence in anyone’s mind. She stood, flipped her coat around her shoulders and ran out into the corridor and into a scene of pure madness.

The body of a man was propped up against the wall outside, his mouth open in death and his eyes cold and lifeless. A ragged gash ran from one side of his throat to the other and blood had run down his chest and pooled on the floor. She stared at the body for a few moments; she’d never seen a dead body before. Strangely, she felt very little. Just... numb. She would have thought there’d be some emotion or thought going through her but all she could think of was that his white servant’s coat was ruined. It would take forever to get that stain out. She realised her cheeks were damp and scrubbed at the moisture. There was no time to cry for the dead - this poor man had been a victim and if she didn’t act fast there would be many more.

She picked up her pace and ran through the corridors towards Magnus’ study. She had to reach him in time - she could hear the sounds of fighting coming from the corridors to either side of her. Something was definitely not right in the Academy. Perhaps it was simple coincidence - the painting was not necessarily accurate. She knew as she thought it that it was a vain hope. She had come to know the difference between a normal painting and one of the ones that showed the truth of events. This was one of the special ones - the fact that it was by far the largest she’d ever done made her even more certain.

She ducked into a side corridor as she heard the sound of many boots thumping on the stone. It could be the Guards but she didn’t want to risk being caught by anyone at this point. What if it was the men from the painting? They hadn’t looked like people she would want to be around. Flickering torchlight bobbed down the corridor as a squadron of men in dark armour ran past her hiding place. They certainly weren’t any of the Guard. She waited until they were well down the corridor before coming out into the dim light again. She trotted down the corridor quickly, trying desperately to keep as quiet as she could - it wouldn’t help any if she made enough noise for the men to find her.

It was hard to keep silent sometimes - she came across several bodies along the way; some slumped against walls, throats slit or heads smashed. Some were lying as if they’d been cut down from behind, others as if they’d been caught by surprise. An orange glow caught her eye as she ran past one of the windows. She looked through and saw that a huge fire had been built in the main square. Soldiers in the dark armour were throwing bodies into the flames, huge clouds of smoke greeting each new piece of fuel. They stood companionably around the flames, some warming their hands. What kind of people would do this?

She rounded the corner and almost ran into a bulky man coming the other way. He stood head and shoulders above her and was stocky enough to be remarkable in any crowd. He could easily have fit in with any of the blacksmiths around the Academy without looking terribly out of place. She slid along the floor a little as her slippers betrayed her - right into his waiting arms and cruel grin.

She opened her mouth to scream - perhaps one of the Guard would hear her; and he clamped one hand over her mouth, the other now holding her left arm. She threw herself from side to side, trying to break his grip but it had no effect that she could see. His grip was strong enough that she barely shifted it with all her effort.

He grinned at her toothily, his foul breath washing over her as he leaned close and sniffed her hair. She swung her right arm around and punched him as hard as he could in the ribs. He grunted a little and if anything smiled even wider. With seemingly little effort, he took a dirty rag from his pocket and stuffed it in her mouth, gagging her. When she tried to spit it out, he laughed, forced it back in and tied another rag in a cord around her head, shoving it roughly between her teeth. With both of his hands free now, he forced both her arms behind her back and used a rope from another pocket to deftly tie them together at the elbows. In moments, she was neatly trussed and unable to move anything but her legs and head. She struggled as much as she could but nothing she did seemed to have any effect. Angry tears flowed down her cheeks and she tried to scream past the gag, making him smile even more.

“Got me a prize. Cap’n will be glad for you little one. Lucky you’re not my idea o’fun or we’d be getting mighty close, you n I.”

Some part of her mind fought through the panic and felt a little relief at that. She relaxed in his grip for a second, hoping to lull him into a false sense of security so he’d be more relaxed and give her a chance to escape. As if reading her mind, he smirked and hoisted her over his shoulder, her midriff slamming into his shoulder blade and knocking the wind out of her. He set off down the corridor, holding her still with an insulting lack of effort, trotting as if carrying a sack of flour on his shoulder.

She eventually stopped struggling, if only to conserve her energy for a time when it would be needed. He had to tire sometime and she had to be ready when he did. They passed many more bodies along the way and each one brought a fresh stab of sadness to her. Some were her friends - people she’d known since she was a little girl; killed before they even understood what was happening. She couldn’t keep down a retch as she saw one of the girls from her class, Clarissa stripped and spread-eagled on the floor, her glazed eyes staring in terror as she struggled to comprehend what was happening. The men who had done this were animals, worse than animals. She hoped that each and every one of them died a painful death one day; who could do things like this to other living beings? She wished Clarissa had been the only one she’d seen treated like that but they were spotted all over the corridors, some in bedrooms and others just left lying on the floor like so much refuse.

“You throw up on me’n we’re going to have a problem, girly.”

It took her a moment to realise that he man carrying her had spoken to her. Her mind had shut down for a while, unable to deal with the extent of the carnage. The men from the painting must have moved through the Academy like ghosts, slaughtering everyone they could find. She realised she hadn’t seen a single other living soul. They must have swept the area she was in while she slept - they had somehow missed her. She was grateful for that but not if it meant being a slave to these people for the rest of her life. Again as if reading her mind, the man spoke.

“Boys’re gon’ be mighty upset they missed you earlier. Yes indeed. Don’t you worry your pretty little head none, you’ll fetch a good price back home. Always room for a young one like you. Some’s got the taste for little people if you get my meanin’.”

He laughed again as she renewed her struggles, kicking and trying to scream through the gag. He ignored her completely and started off down the corridor again. At least they were still moving towards where Magnus’ study was. It was just possible that he’d managed to escape this whole thing. She wasn’t certain what he could do to help her but she was willing to try anything at this point.

“Put her down, boy. Heed me if you’d like to leave here alive,” Magnus said, stepping out of one of the corridors. She couldn’t see him but the image of the academic facing down this huge man would have been comical if it wasn’t so tragic. She tried to shout for him to get out, save himself but the gag was still firmly in place. All that came out were strangled grunts and half-screeches.

The big man set her down on the side of the corridor, patted her on the head and planted a wet kiss on her cheek. His breath stank and she turned away from him; he just chuckled and patted her cheek.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back now and then we can have a little talk about treatin’ others right.”

He stood up and cracked his knuckles, flexing his huge arms in front of him. Magnus looked so small and insignificant in front of him. He unlimbered the giant sword he carried on his back and drew it with a loud rasping noise. It was wickedly curved and the blade looked like it had been used a great deal. She wanted to shout and cry for Magnus; this man was a cold killer.

Magnus just stood his ground and let the man come closer until he was within striking distance. He stood almost insolently and watched as the brute closed on him, his sword swinging in a wide, slow arc. At the last minute as the blade came swinging for his head, he stepped casually aside, allowing it to whistle past his face. He stepped neatly into the man’s defences and slammed his hand into the short ribs at his side, bringing a grunt and causing him to stumble.

She held her breath as the man swung around again and lashed out with his sword, narrowly missing Magnus’ head. Again, he just wasn’t where the blade was when it flashed down. He leaned in again and struck a lightning blow to the side of the man’s head, bringing another stumble. Unfortunately, his little attacks seemed to be having almost no permanent effect on the huge man. All it would take would be one lucky hit from the big man and Magnus would be dead. The man pulled back, considering Magnus with a different attitude now, he had clearly underestimated his opponent before and wasn’t going to make that mistake again. He pulled back his sword and held his other hand behind his back as if to balance himself. She saw him slowly take a dagger out from his belt and hold it in his palm - she struggled and kicked, trying to draw Magnus’ attention but he never even glanced her way; all his attention was on the big man in front of him.

Feigning tiredness, the man made a clumsy swing at Magnus which he easily avoided and came into reach again for another quick blow. She wanted to scream as, quick as a snake, the man brought his dagger around and it flashed towards Magnus’ chest. She had expected Magnus to look surprised in the instant before he was killed but if anything his face lost even more emotion and he simply dodged to the side, the dagger lodging in his right arm rather than his heart. He staggered backward, blood running down his now useless arm and his head hanging low. Seeing his opponent weakened, the big man grinned and walked forward to finish the job, throwing his sword from hand to hand.

Her heart almost stopped when Magnus raised his head again. His eyes were glowing a sullen and fiery red, like twin coals from a forge. He raised his left arm and with finger’s splayed shouted one word in a language she couldn’t understand and the big man was enveloped in searingly hot flame from heat to toe. He screamed in pain and confusion and turned to run away. Magnus watched him coldly and after a few seconds the fire winked out. The burned and blackened man who was surely running more by instinct than by will bore no resemblance to the man who had captured her only a little while before. His clothes where black and his skin cracked and peeled. His eyes were gone, replaced by raw looking wounds. Magnus waited a few seconds until the man was a little further down the corridor but still well away from her and raised his left hand again, this time making a complex formation with his fingers and shouting a string of words. A ball of something black shot from his fingers and raced towards the man, striking him in the back. He fell as if pole axed and didn’t rise again. Wisps of smoke came off his suddenly still body and she could only now smell the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh.

Magnus clutched his left arm and fell to his knees in the middle of the corridor, his head down once again. He was panting with exhaustion and pain, clearly drained from his efforts. He brought his right hand up and wrapped it around the hilt of the dagger, drawing it out slowly and letting it fall on the floor. A fresh flood of crimson soaked his already ruined sleeve and she could see him wavering from the effort of staying upright. He tore a strip of cloth from his other sleeve and used his good arm and his teeth to tie it tightly across the wound. He sat on his haunches for a moment, gathering his strength and then heaved himself up. She was half afraid that his eyes would still be glowing so strangely when he looked at her but all she could see was the usual blue.

He staggered over to her and almost fell down beside her. It was hard for him to do it with one hand but he managed to get one of the ropes holding her hands loose. They worked together in silence for a moment until both her hands were free and she could untie her legs and take out the gag. He lay against the wall, panting and holding the make-shift tourniquet tightly to his left arm. She could see that the blood had soaked through the thin cloth already.

“Stay here, I’m going to see if I can find some more cloth in one of these rooms,” she said as she stood up and walked towards one of the doors. She carefully pushed it open, checking to see if anyone was inside. Once she was certain it was empty, she ran in to see what she could find. Whoever this had been had been well prepared - she found a set of bandages and some cleaning salve in one of the cupboards. Perhaps one of the medical staff had lived here. Whoever they were, they were probably dead or gone by now. Besides, she was sure they wouldn’t have minded her borrowing just a little bit.

She ran out to find Magnus still lying against the wall, his breathing a little more regular. She carefully moved the cloth off his arm, trying to ignore the gasp of pain as it pulled at the newly cut flesh, made sticky with drying blood. She used the salve to clean what she could of the wound and then wound the bandage tightly around to stop the flow of blood. The first layer was quickly stained with red but the subsequent layers seemed to remain free of blood. When she was finally done he leaned back with a sigh of relief. Some colour was starting to come back to his face and she was glad to see his eyes were focused and alert.

“Professor, I...that is, thank you for coming for me. I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here,” she hesitantly put a hand on his good shoulder. She wasn’t certain how to treat him - he’d saved her life but she really didn’t know him very well yet, it might be completely inappropriate to touch him like this. She laughed suddenly at the thought and a puzzled look flashed across his face.

“I’m so glad you find this...aah amusing. At least my pain will help someone feel a little better,” he said in a very dry voice only spoiled a little by the occasional winces as he tried to move his arm.

“At least it still works I suppose. I’m getting old, I only meant for him to graze me. I should be happy no doubt; I’ll have reserve energy for a week after a wound like that.”

She studied him from the corner of her eye. Who was this man? Where was the bumbling, gentle professor she’d met only a few hours ago?

“Professor, what was that? What did you do? I don’t think I’ve ever seen...”

“No reason for you to have ever seen something like that. It’s a branch of the Gift that’s died out over the years - too much sacrifice for too little gain I suppose. People these days seem to prefer the quick and painless way of doing things. It’s a form of blood magic that hasn’t been in favour for quite some time. Only used by old fools like me. You can see why it’s not popular I assume? The Jakori - the tall ones,” he explained to her bewildered look, “are immune to many forms of magic. Fortunately this is one that they’ve forgotten.”

He helped her to start walking down the corridor, away from the madness. At least she felt safe now. She swore to herself that when all this was over she’d study as hard as she could, that she would never be helpless again.

“Come, we must get out of here. I fear the Academy is lost for now. The Guards seem to have been defeated and the Initiates are either dead or fled.”

“Professor, I, I painted this. If these men are here, that means that the Steward is dead as well.”

Magnus stopped, his eyes sad.

“When I saw you running I feared that you had seen this. I’m sorry for the loss of the Steward, I really am but we have to get out of here. The Jakori are here for something and it could well be you. In their hands, your gift could do immeasurable damage. We will be safe once we’re outside the city – I know a secret way to get to where we must go.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and they started along the corridor, both watchful for any people.

I wish I could believe we’ll be safe. She couldn’t help shuddering as she remembered the violence in her painting – these people would stop at nothing to find whatever it was they were looking for.