Ynyr had a point.She could take Siwan and flee Parwys, with all its horror and history.But that was not her way—not her people’s way.What claim could the City make to goodness if it stood back and allowed all the world around it to descend into chaos and cruelty?‘I have the power to help, so I will.But if we pursue your vengeance to the hilt, Prince Owyn will commit an echo of Abal’s crime—though Tarebach will conquer, now, replacing Parwys.To that end I propose a lesser vengeance, but a greater justice.’
‘What does the suffering of the living matter to the dead?’Ynyr snarled.The mist of the vision gathered around him, giving the impression of vast, dark wings.‘They have forgotten us.Written over our lives and deaths with a false history.A more comforting story.Easier to live with than the truth.’
‘Abal is already dead, as is Barwon,’ Fola pressed.A ghost was only a spell, cast in the moment of death.One of such profound need that it worked upon the world without structure beyond the desperation of the dying.‘That those who betrayed you lived long, died well, and left a legacy makes your vengeance incomplete, but every year the march of time erodes what remains of your need.’Until Siwan, by some resonance between her suffering and that of these unsettled dead, exposed them to the influence of the raven fiend.Now these ghosts fed as much on its incomprehensible hatred as on their own desire for justice.
‘You cannot have your vengeance.Not truly,’ she said, daring to hope.‘You can only torture and abuse those who benefit from the crime as an accident of their birth.But I agree that there can be no justice in the shadow of a lie.So I ask this—if the true history of Abal’s conquest were recognised, and promulgated, and the myth of the Beast-King scoured from the land, would that be enough?’
‘Do not tell me what is and is not justice,’ Ynyr snapped.‘I know what would satisfy me.I feel it in the marrow of my being.Nothing will be enough while a king of Abal’s line yet lives.’
A pulse rippled through the silver mist.Ynyr began to fade like fog burned away by the rising sun—all but the yellow of his eyes.‘You know what we require.’His voice echoed as the vision faded.‘You know what justice demands.When it is done, we will go to our rest.’
A Path Forward
YC 1189
You ask how we can have justice without codified laws, without a hierophancy and an order of juris-priests to enforce them.I posit, rather, that these things—legislative codes and volumes of commentary, officiates and courts—in practice obscure more than they reveal, and bend ‘justice’ towards service to the powerful.
Letter from Archivist Tan Semn to Hierophant Adhamha III of Goll,YC1167
‘Are they all right?’Siwan asked.Her voice trembled as she clung to Damon’s arm.
Llewyn had always understood magic only as a set of tools.Gemstones, herbs, and gestures as little more than a hammer, axe and tongs.As a gwyddien, he had risen from the roots of the ghostwood tree with simple knowledge of such things.A tool himself—no more than an instrument of the Grey Lady’s will—there had been no point to his knowing more.He had no answer for Siwan’s question, only his own mounting unease.
Fola knelt with eyes shut while silver mist whirled around her.Frog hopped nervously on his good foot just outside the circumference of the spell.On the other side of the circle, Ifan shuddered and twitched.He spoke at times in a sudden rasp, answering unheard questions.Colm stood at the circle’s edge, watching them both, ready to rush in—disregarding entirely the consequences of interfering in the spell—if the count’s behaviour seemed any threat to Fola.
The mist burned away.Ifan wailed, buried his head in his hands, and collapsed.Fola’s eyes flitted open.Frog landed on her shoulder and began preening the close-shorn curls of her hair.Colm crossed the circle in three long strides and knelt beside her.
‘It’s over, thank the Stones,’ Damon said.He squeezed Siwan’s arm and released her hand, then went to Ifan’s side.Llewyn joined him, if only to be sure the count was still breathing.
‘He should be all right,’ Fola said, working stiffness from her back and knees.‘Very stupid to come charging into an active spell, though.’
‘Foolish, perhaps,’ Ifan murmured.‘But I had to see.’He ignored Damon’s offered hand and slowly gathered himself, sitting like a scolded child in the ashen remnant of the magic circle.
A shudder seized him.He rose to his knees and began to tear at the buckle of his sword belt.When it came free of his waist, he held it out as though it were a venomous serpent.
‘Take it, lad,’ he said, his voice harsh with anguish and disgust.‘You’ve as much right to it as I have.’
Baffled, Damon looked to Fola for an explanation.She shrugged.
Ifan thrust the sword flat against Damon’s chest.‘Take it, bleed you.More honestly held in a mummer’s hand than mine.’
Damon caught sword, scabbard and belt in the crook of his arms.The count stood and stalked off towards his keep.
‘No luck in the negotiations, then?’Colm asked, watching him go.
‘The dead are firm in their demands, but a firmness built on borrowed strength.’Fola turned to Llewyn.He recognised the look in her eye—the same she had worn at the festival grounds while she examined Siwan and soothed the raven fiend.He clenched his teeth until they ached.‘We should talk, Llewyn, Siwan.’Fola glanced at Damon, then at Colm, then at the windows of the keep and towers where the count’s soldiers kept watch.‘This might be better to discuss without an audience.’
Damon tensed.Colm crossed his lower arms.
‘Nothing against either of you,’ Fola said.‘But it seems like something Siwan should explain to you herself, rather than something you should hear from me.’
‘Well, I’ll admit to curiosity,’ Colm muttered.
‘Anything you say to me, you can say to Damon,’ Siwan insisted.There was a tightness in her voice, though she put on a brave face.Damon’s presence would comfort her.It hurt Llewyn to think she preferred the lad for that purpose, but Afanan had been her confidante, and Afanan was gone.It had never been Llewyn’s place.But whatever Fola had to say, it would have consequences, and Llewyn wanted time to process them before involving anyone else.
‘Fola is right,’ Llewyn cut in.Siwan glared at him.Still, he held firm.‘Nothing will stop you from explaining it all to him later, if you choose to.’
‘It’s fine,’ Damon said.He hefted the sword and belt in his arms.‘I need to sort out what to do with this anyway.’
