The Serpent Kings, Page 3

  “Boy!”

  Tobias heard a voice; deep like his father’s had been. His father…he remembered seeing him killed. Had it been a dream—some terrible nightmare? He wanted to wake and find it so quite badly. But there was pain—so much pain coursing through him. Could a dream be painful?

  “Boy, wake up!”

  The voice definitely wasn’t his father’s and that bothered him. It had to be a stranger, which meant something was wrong in his world after all. The voice called again, this time shaking him. He fought the pain and darkness, opening his eyes to slits. A blurred figure was present in his vision.

  Tobias blinked at the bright sunlight made harsher by the snowfall and his unconsciousness. The hovering figure became distinct. A bearded man wearing furs looked over him, seeming to examine his eyes. “Pupils constricting nicely, that’s good,” he said. “I think he’ll be all right, Ezekiah. Of course that arm is another matter. I’ll need to splint it before he travels.”

  All of this chatter was only half understood by Tobias. The man was speaking to someone standing behind him; a man sitting atop a horse. Still, some of what the bearded man was saying had managed to sink in beyond the muddle Tobias’ mind was in. He had mentioned the name Ezekiah, and that definitely rang a bell. Oh, the name Ezekiah was common enough throughout the kingdom. But the prophet Ezekiah was another matter.

  Tobias’ father had spoken of the Resistance leader many times. His father had even been to the infamous prophet’s castle on Thorn Mountain to hear the man speak. Tobias could remember a noticeable change in his father’s outlook from that day forward. Somehow, Ezekiah had convinced his father to turn away from the common doctrine of the kingdom: love for the dragon gods above all others, allegiance to their Reign of Peace and a longing for the promised Renewal only they could bestow upon the faithful.

  Preachers traveling through Conroy, which was not far removed from Thorn Mountain, had piqued his father’s interest upon their visits, causing him to begin asking questions. Then, last winter even with a bad storm brewing, his father had left him and his sister, Anne, to go with some of the other men of Conroy to hear Ezekiah speak.

  When those men had returned, only one of them still believed the kingdom doctrine taught to all from their childhood up. Tobias’ father had possessed a new zeal that shone brightly in his eyes. He had been converted to faith in Elithias, the Creator of the heavens and the Earth. His belief in the dragon gods had been renounced as damnable lies.

  Tobias stared past the bearded man, now looking at his arm, to the fur-clad rider on the patchwork mare. Could this actually be Ezekiah, the Prophet of Elithias? Pain erupted in Tobias’ left arm. He screamed, jerking away from the bearded man.

  “Definitely broken, I’m afraid,” he said.

  Tobias looked at the fragile limb. Now that he took notice, it was throbbing terribly. From fingers all the way into his chest, it ached.

  “Just give me a few moments to stabilize that, young man,” he said, producing a stout looking branch which he cut in two with a broad-bladed knife that looked like it might be used for skinning deer. As the man tore two strips of cloth from a larger piece and began to fasten the sticks on either side of his arm, Tobias looked at the rider on the horse.

  “Are you the prophet from Thorn Mountain?” he asked.

  The man had been looking back toward the village. He turned at the question and smiled out from his fur cap which was pressed down so that it covered his ears. “Have you heard of me?” he asked.

  Tobias tried not to wince as the bearded man wrapped his arm with the splint. “My father told me about you,” he said.

  “Was your father Argyle?”

  “Yes,” Tobias said. “I think the bear killed him.” The words cut him, but he knew he hadn’t been dreaming after all. His broken arm and the overturned sled with its spilt firewood confirmed that much for him. He was actually surprised to find himself spared by the beast.

  The prophet nodded. “I’m very sorry about your father. I did not know him well, but I do remember when he came to Thorn Mountain. He left a new man—a believer in Elithias. Considering what’s happened, I’m grateful for that. He is with Elithias now.”

  Tobias knew little of what Ezekiah was talking about. His father had shared all that he had been taught, but it was not very much. Mostly it involved the difference between the dragon gods and Elithias. Tobias and his sister had listened to their father teach them what he had learned. Anne had been convinced by her father’s witness, but Tobias remained unsure.

  “Did you kill the bear that attacked us,” Tobias asked. He was searching the area around them for the carcass, but hadn’t spotted it yet.

  The bearded man paused in his work a moment to look at the prophet.

  “We killed some,” Ezekiah said, hesitating.

  “Some?” Tobias asked. “You mean there was more than one?”

  Ezekiah looked gravely at him. “I’m afraid there were several dozen bears in the area. We killed some of them, before they ran off into the woods.”

  “Several dozen bears?” Tobias asked skeptically. “But I only saw one. Where were the others?”

  Just asking the question stirred up an answer in his mind he didn’t dare fathom. “Not in the village?” But he knew it must be true by the expressions on the men’s faces. “Anne!” Tobias shouted. He tried to get up, but the bearded man stopped him.

  “Hold on just a minute—say, what is your name?”

  “Tobias.”

  The bearded man smiled gently. “Tobias, let me set this arm. You can’t go running off with it like this.”

  Ezekiah regarded the boy for a moment, before the bearded man spoke to him. “You shouldn’t let him go back,” he said.

  “Why not? What’s happened?” Tobias felt panicked. “I’ve got to go to my sister! You can’t stop me!”

  “I can understand how you feel, Tobias,” Ezekiah said. “I’m not going to lie to you. The bears attacked your village. My men are still there, looking for survivors, but we weren’t hopeful until one of our dogs found you buried in the snow.”

  Tobias gathered his courage. He didn’t want to think about his sister meeting the same end as his father. “I have to go back,” he said resolutely.

  The prophet sighed, his breath vaporizing before fading to nothing in the frigid air. “I understand.”

  SURVIVOR

  Tobias rode on the patchwork mare in front of the prophet, Ezekiah, on their way into Conroy. His arm had been set by the bearded man, Hudson, who claimed to be a physician working within the Resistance. He had been chatting a bit while finishing the splint, telling how he had been serving with Ezekiah for nearly twenty years.

  Tobias had not been able to take in much of what the man had been telling him. His mind was fastened to Anne’s fate. What had happened to her while he and his father were being attacked in the woods? Anne was his older sister, but still only fifteen years old. After their mother had passed away two years ago, Anne had taken up the slack around their house doing work their mother had done: cooking, cleaning, mending clothes and watching after Tobias while their father went hunting for them.

  They had a simple but joyful life together in Conroy. At least, they had before today. As Ezekiah guided the patchwork mare into the village, Tobias saw the prophet’s men hard at work bringing bodies into the road winding through the village. His friends and neighbors had been mauled to death by the bears. Several animal carcasses lay in the street as well. Tobias wasn’t sure if some of the men in the village had managed to kill them, or if that was the work of Ezekiah’s men.

  “Which cabin belongs to your family?” Ezekiah asked.

  Tobias pointed to the place he knew so well. Home. They began riding toward the log-built dwelling. Already, Tobias could see that the door had been battered down. It was barely hanging by one bent hinge. Claw marks raked the door itself as well as the front walls of the cabin. His sister was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he had not seen
any survivors in the village other than himself.

  The horse stopped outside the broken down door. Tobias could only stare at it in disbelief. His entire world had been taken from him. It seemed only a formality to get down from the prophet’s horse, enter his home and confirm the truth he knew was waiting for him inside.

  “Tobias, if you don’t want to—” Ezekiah began to say.

  “No,” he replied firmly. “I have to know. I have to see for myself.”

  Ezekiah nodded. He got down from the horse first, and then assisted Tobias down from the saddle, trying to support the boy’s splinted arm. They stepped toward the doorway together. Tobias paused for a moment, and then went inside.

  It was as bad as he expected. There was only one main room inside the cabin with a loft above where Tobias and Anne had their room. His father and mother had slept in a nook on the other side of the chimney from the table where they had eaten their meals together and listened while their father read to them.

  The table had been smashed to kindling, the utensils and pots scattered around the room. Anne’s body was lying among the wreckage, her arms and legs contorted unnaturally from the attack she had suffered. Tobias did not have to approach her to know it was his sister. She was still wearing the tattered, bloodied remains of her favorite blue, cotton dress—the same she had been wearing when he and his father had left that morning.

  He turned away, feeling his breath coming in shallow gasps. Ezekiah was there, maneuvering him by the shoulders back out the door. Tobias allowed the prophet to pull him away from the grisly scene. He hadn’t been able to make his own legs move.

  Tobias didn’t know what to do now. The worst had been confirmed. Everyone in Conroy had been slaughtered by animals that had never shown such ferocity toward humans before. His family was gone, his arm was broken and his whole body ached from the beating the bear had given him. Tears began to stream down Tobias’ face despite his best efforts to conceal his emotions from the prophet standing next to him.

  Ezekiah embraced him, much the same way his father had done so many times in the past. It was an embrace that said, “Let it all go and don’t hold back.”

  “Tobias, my men will see to it that your family and the other villagers receive an appropriate funeral,” Ezekiah said. “We will have to use a pyre for the bodies with the ground frozen like it is.” The prophet took a deep breath. “I’m assuming you have no other family?”

  Tobias shook his head as he pulled back from the man. He couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “I’m very sorry for what’s happened,” Ezekiah continued. “However, I’m afraid we can’t just leave you here on your own. I think you should come with me to Thorn Mountain. You’ll be safe there and well fed. So long as you’re willing to work like the rest of us, you can have a place to call home.”

  Tobias did not say it—could not say it—but he was relieved by Ezekiah’s generous offer. He had no idea what to do for himself now that his father and sister were gone. He looked into the prophet’s eyes and nodded. “Thank you, sir,” he managed after a moment.

  Ezekiah nodded and the arrangements were made.

  Within an hour it had been decided to place the bodies of Conroy’s citizens back inside their homes. The cabins were set alight while Ezekiah offered a prayer to Elithias in the hopes that their souls were in his presence already.

  Tobias watched as his home burned brightly in the twilight. His father’s body lay next to Anne’s on the bed where his parents had slept. It seemed appropriate to him, and Tobias hoped that Ezekiah’s god really existed to receive their souls. There was comfort in the knowledge that they were together in a better place even though he was left here alone.

  Tobias allowed his remaining tears to come as he watched the entire landscape bathed in orange light. He would allow these last tears and then cry no more for it. His family and his people were gone. With winter coming on, the elements would swallow the ashes of Conroy, wiping its memory from the earth forever; save for its lone survivor, Tobias the son of Argyle.

  REWARDED

  A week from the time of the attack, Zora had regained consciousness and seemed to be doing somewhat better. According to physicians, she had suffered blistering burns over sixty percent of her body, a number of bruises and the abdominal wound that had torn her stomach open. The doctors had been able to repair much of the damage there, but with portions of her internal organs removed during surgery, Zora might have trouble with her digestion from now on.

  Still, she had been in good spirits when I visited with her. Zora had even been happy to talk about the attacks with me, seeking information on the temple assault as well as the nature of the rebels carrying out these heinous crimes. I told her what I could, but honestly still wasn’t sure what was going on.

  The rebels had been active for years now, steadily growing more bold in their activities, but never carrying out anything so violent within the cities. I was still amazed that they had dared to strike at a patron city of one of the Serpent Kings, let alone Belial’s temple and palace. More to my puzzlement though was the lack of response by the dragon gods.

  Thus far, the dragons had not called for any attacks upon the rebels. No one had been executed; not even one arrest in connection with these events had been made. Their apparent apathy baffled me. After all, Belial and the others were gods. Did they not care about the sacrilege committed against their holy places, or was there some other reason why they had not responded.

  I tried to push out any doubts dwelling on the fringes of my mind. Such blasphemy was exactly the sort of thing rebels like Ezekiah and his band of heretics promoted. The Elder Mothers had warned every acolyte among the priestesses to be wary of thoughts that seemed to lead one away from a diligent faith in our gods. Unproductive questions and emotions were to be purged from the mind so that we could better serve our benevolent lords and thus attain to the coming Renewal without fail.

  Zora smiled at one point during our visit. “I’ve been informed of the remarkable way you performed during the crisis at the temple,” she said. “The High Priest himself came to see me.”

  “About me?” I asked.

  “Well, he came to see how I was doing, of course. However, he mentioned what had happened during the attack. He was very complimentary of your defense of the temple.”

  I was sitting on the edge of my seat by now. “What did he say exactly, Zora?”

  She laughed a little before a twinge of pain corrected her. “I hope I’ve not birthed pride into my pupil at so late a stage in her training,” she said wistfully.

  “You’re teasing, Zora,” I pouted.

  “Still, I suppose it’s too late for me to do anything about it,” she said. “Your days under my tutelage are certainly at an end.”

  My good humor faded, supposing she was referring to her own injuries. “Please, Zora, don’t talk like that. You’ll soon be back to your duties in due time.” After all, there was no finer warrior in the entire kingdom than my Elder Mother.

  She smiled brightly. “You’re right, child, I will. But I wasn’t talking about me.” She finished cryptically.

  She must have seen my puzzlement, or sensed the imminent question. However, she had no intention of entertaining my curiosity on the matter any longer. “Now, you must leave me to rest, Gwen.”

  “Well, all right,” I said. “But I’ll come back tomorrow to see if you need anything.”

  Zora smiled as I got up to leave. As I started out through the doors I heard her call after me. “Don’t be late for your appointment, Gwen.”

  I turned, but she had rolled away from me in her bed, leaving me her back and more puzzles to work out in my head.