This one up ahead would be considered towering, if I didn’t have the former for comparison.
As the oak panels open, a dew-laden meadow is revealed on the far side, the dawn’s delicate, golden light drenching flowers and fruit trees alike. All around, birds chatter sweetly on branches and flit from post to post in flashes of blue and red and yellow, blooms in the air itself. Taking a deep breath, I’m reminded that the scent of nature feeds the soul, and I miss my herbs and potions.
Can I call myself a healer anymore? Or did my actions in the torture dungeon taint what I always thought was my calling to the point where I am like the Fulcrum, contaminated and no longer serving a higher purpose?
“You’ll be wanting to just follow the road—” The guard’s instructions are cut off by a burp that is obviously sour in nature given his grimace. “That would be, go north and north anew. Few travel this way, so you should be fine, but keep sharp.”
Merc inclines his head. “I will.”
“Thank you,” I say to the man. “And thank you for caring for our—”
All at once, the guards remove their hats, place them over their hearts, and bow low to me. As they speak in a quiet rush of words I don’t understand, I think they’re praying for our safe travels. Certainly as they straighten, I can feel their warm regard, even though I don’t risk meeting any of the eyes that rise up to me with open reverence.
As soon as we are outside the wall, the gate is closed and I can hear the echoing of a sturdy bolt as it’s thrown. I glance over my shoulder. Though this is the rear entry to the Kingdom, it is still grander than any I have seen, but the luxury falls away quickly as we start forward.
So many abandoned homes.
Beyond the lee of the great court and all of its acres of protected, tended, marbled finery, out here to the north and the west, there’s nothing but vacant property and overgrown fields. It may be because everyone is crammed into safety inside the palace walls, but you couldn’t fit this populace into that space.
No, this is a decline in citizenry.
And the guard who spoke was right. The carriage lane we’re on is not well tended at all, a reminder that the Kingdom isn’t looking or caring for visitors in any fashion: Weeds grow up on the shoulders, choking out a series of marble plaques that bear the profile of the Queen, and the median in the center has a cultivation of curly green grass and tiny blue flowers. The tree line that stands in sentry on both sides is sloppy with suckers invading what was certainly once a maintained allée, and there are rusted-out pieces of farming machinery decaying here and there.
And then we’re reminded of just how bad things are.
As we round a broad turn, Lavante’s leisurely trot gets choppy, and he tosses his head, his nostrils flaring and then releasing on a worried whinny. Snooze likewise shies away—
The dead cow is lying on its back in the center of the lane, its hooves lax, its belly exposed. Between one blink and the next, I see the officer I killed in a slump against the corner of the cell, his abdomen as open as a window in the summer.
As I cover a choking sound with my hand, Merc curses. “We deviate.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but then he directs his horse into the ground cover along the road’s shoulder. Lavante is more than happy to avoid the carcass, and he bounces through the undergrowth as I try not to dwell on the desecration.
And then there’s another one seven lengths farther up. This time, without a head as well with that stomach.
“We must hurry,” I hear myself say.
And hurry we do.
The route we take is over flat land, with plenty of fresh streams to keep the horses and us properly watered. Though the sky overhead is blue and dotted with fair-weather clouds, the wind only the kind that keeps a rider in the sunshine comfortable and cool, I can feel a storm coming, every instinct in my body calling for me to take shelter and hunker down.
As noontime arrives, we are no longer in the Kingdom of the South, but I have no idea what territory we’ve entered. Merc checks his useless map and I confirm our trajectory with the compass, and that’s all we know because the former offers no name and the latter doesn’t speak. Whoever took care of the horses also packed us some food, so we stop briefly to eat and relieve ourselves. Then we take another pause at a river to water everybody, and we continue going. The road takes us over bridges that are ancient, and we pass by settlements that haven’t been lived in for eons. There are also so many fields that used to be tended, but have since reverted back to forestland, only the low stone walls indicating property lines left.
And still we press on, neither of us saying much. Merc, because he is hyperaware, his broadsword in his hand, his black and white gaze scanning everything we go by in search of threats. Me, because the sense that I’m heading into something on the horizon consumes my every heartbeat.
Going by the angle of the sun, I’m guessing it’s around three in the afternoon when I first hear the roar off in the distance. I’ve noticed that any mountains are strictly to our east and mind what Merc said about where this route takes us.
Some twenty lengths later, the forest to our left thins out, and not because some other kind of topography takes the place of the trees.
Everything is dying. The leaves on the branches have shriveled up and dropped off—and not on account of any change in season. Though fall is certainly coming as we continue north, and temperatures are dropping, it’s not enough to kill what grows. No, these leaves haven’t gone through their normal cycle. They’re blackened and deformed as they lay fallen on the ground, their crumpled twists mixing with strips of bark that have peeled off due to blightas well. Even the root systems are affected, the arboreal legs mangled and protruding from the dirt.
Which is riddled with black contamination.
That’s when I see it, off in the distance… the Fulcrum.
All of us stop, Merc, myself, and both of the horses.
The containment is nearly all black now, and the strange flakes that float off from its churning circumference swirl around as evil snow.
