Roge Lifebane trudged back up the mountain. It was easier for him to count the parts that weren’t hurting. His ears were not hurting, nor his right hand. He had not anticipated going back so soon, but the path was narrow, with no place to hide. He needed to survive, and now he would only need to deal with two of the guards at once.
He did not look forward to seeing his family again so soon, though he held no illusions about staying away from them for long. There were things he needed to do, but he might not survive long enough to finish those.
He had to get back to the top without being seen. At least the men were focused on the climb and less on looking up. They must be exhausted after the day and night they have had.
He had to figure out what to do when he got to the top. He might be able to hide from them, but there was no way to guarantee that. The duke might also send more men up. There as no other way down the mountain, though small animals did make trails through the mountain. Edmund Eyser had always cautioned him not to try those trails, and he did not trust himself to survive on the mountain for long. No pilgrims ever arrived from any of those trails, which was a good indication that they didn’t lead anywhere.
He would have to trick the men to make sure he survived this encounter. He had an hour on them, though he was climbing slowly. Looking behind him, he tried to see where they had got to, but they were in an area of the trail he was not able to see. He could not tell how far behind him they were.
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He arrived at the open, welcoming door of the monastery. He expected to see Stephaye Mortguard or one of the other kids running out of the gate to help him carry the packs like they did whenever one of the adults went down to bring provisions. The quiet that greeted him made him stop and remember.
He entered the ground, seeing a strange sight. His family was still arrayed in a perverted tableau in the courtyard, dried blood still their pillow. Dallens, now out of their coups, were milling around the courtyard. Some had come to stand by the bodies, some were running around sniffing the ground. They looked like a sea of tiny clouds that had descended and were moving in an inconstant breeze.
He moved into the courtyard, the plan shaping in his mind as if his family told him what they had been thinking while he was out on a stroll.
“I am sorry,” he told them, saying another quick prayer.
He then went to the body of his closest friend, Rancis Essenceblight, the older Acolyte. They were ten years apart in age, but there were no other kids in the monastery, and when Rancis arrived, Roge was fascinated. As Rancis grew from a toddler to a kid who could play and run and tell stories, the friendship solidified.
Taking the habit off Rancis, he dragged the body, one-handed, into the dormitories. He did not have time to take him up to the central building and send him on his way. Pushing him under one of the beds, he collected the small knives the acolytes used for everyday tasks and returned to the courtyard.
He carefully laid out all the bodies in a row on the ground, legs towards the central building, head towards the gate to the outside. He placed a knife in the hand of each of the bodies, closing their fingers as best he could around the hilt since the bodies had already been afflicted with the granite of death.
He donned the habit that he took from Rancis on top of his clothes, then went to the storage area by the coups and filled the pockets with dallen feed.
Joining his family in the warm sun, he laid down among them in the middle of the row, the dead children keeping him company. He waited to hear the sound of the two men coming up to the monastery. It was another half hour before the two guards approached, their slow steps audible through the gate.
Taking the dallen feed from his habit pockets, he spread it on the bodies of the dead and on himself, then, grasping his own large knife in his good hand, he hid the blade under his body and, supine, closed his eyes to wait.
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“In the name of the gods, what are all the dallens doing here?” Roge heard one of the men say.
“I told you, we left the bodies here. I didn’t think they ate bodies.”
“They don’t. Away! Away with you.”
There was a sound of feet stomping, and someone walked aggressively towards Roge. The dallens ignored this, chittering at each other as they ate. They were trying to find any morsel they could. Their smell, all around Roge, along with their tiny feet climbing over him, made him feel like he was a babe again.
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“Help me move them,” said the first man.
“Why?” asked the second. “I don’t want to look at the dead children again.”
“Children?”
“Children. It was bad.”
“We need to check that he’s not here.”
“I’m so tired.”
“Fine. I can walk by myself here. This is flat ground. Go sit by the wall and rest for a bit,” said the first man.
Roge didn’t care much why one of them was tired and the other wasn’t. The fact that they were separating was going to help him. He stayed still, waiting.
By the sounds, Roge guessed that one of the men walked to the wall by the gate. The other came to where the dallens were congregating. The man was still stomping and had resorted to kicking them with his feet based on the thump and small shrieks they were making.
Roge heard the man get within a few feet. He was inspecting one of the children.
“Ryala protect me, her shield never failing,” Roge heard the man say. Then, more loudly, “Why did you put knives in their hands?”
“What? Let me sleep.”
“Dammit. Why did you put knives in the dead children’s hands.”
“We“—the second man yawned loudly—”didn’t.”
“Well at least this one has one.”
“Take it,” said the second man.
“I am not touching it.”
“Check the“—another yawn—”others.”
The man moved closer to Roge, the dallens chittering as he disturbed their eating. Roge’s eyes were closed, but from what he was feeling on his body, the man must have had to push the dallens off the other child’s body to be able to see it.
“Great Ryala.” Then, “This one also.”
“Also what?”
“Also has a knife.”
“Well, are they sticking you with them? This place is strange. The dead come alive and talk. Maybe they also get a knife from the kitchen.”
Roge was next in line. The man cleared the dallens that were climbing over his body and checked. He didn’t touch Roge, which made it difficult to find the knife as Roge had tucked it underneath his body.
Roge opened his eyes. The man was crouched next to him, using his arm to push the dallens away. He hadn’t noticed Roge was awake and alive, with all the aggrieved noises of the animals jostling around to get at their food.
Roge brought the knife out and thrust it at the man’s neck. The knife went in, closing the man’s ability to yell for help.
The man pulled out his sword and struck at Roge, cutting through the upper arm and scraping the bone in a horrible sound.
The pain hasn’t hit Roge yet, but then what was one more body part to add to the litany of a broken man? Roge had finally dealt one blow against those who had taken his family away from him. He would send this man to where his family was so that he could make his excuses in spirit if not in person.
The man pulled back from Roge in order to gain better leverage, but that pulled Roge’s own knife out of his neck. The floodgates opened, blood spraying out onto the ground, the dallens, and Roge. It also pooled into the man’s lungs. With a quiet cough, he collapsed on the floor, convulsing, the noise of the sword hitting the ground eased by the dallens that cushioned it on the way.
The dallens, now aware something was wrong but used to the scent of blood from countless dead that had passed through the monastery over the years, chittered indignantly, then gravitated to areas where the food was not soaked red.
“Are you playing with the dallens?” the second man from the wall.
Roge risked a quick glance and saw that the man’s eyes were closed. He grunted noncomittally, then got up and grabbed the sword the dead man had dropped. His arm was bleeding from the cut, but he needed to deal with this one first.
Walking with slow, measured steps towards the wall, letting the dallens mask the noise, he approached the resting guard. He aimed the sword at the man’s throat, holding it as steady as he could, then said, “Where are the rest of your friends?”
The guard’s eyes snapped open. He saw Roge, saw the sword, and promptly fainted.
Roge had no time for this. Thrusting the sword into the man’s gut once, twice, three times, he then bent to take away the guard’s own sword. Walking away, He left the bleeding guard, who was waking up from the pain to make his own way into death.
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Roge could not stay here. The rest of the party might come back up to look for him. He took off the habit he was wearing and saw that it was soaked in the blood of the first guard. That explained why the second guard had fainted. Roge’s face was probably as red. Finding a clean area on the robe, he wiped his face as best he could.
Ripping a tourniquet from one of the guard’s shirts, he tied it around this wounded arm. A finger in his left hand broken, right arm slashed, this was a harder task than he imagined. He was still bleeding, and if he could not stop it, he would die. The sword made it easier to cut the strips he needed.
Setting the bodies to welcome those who would come to seek him, he again said goodbye to his family and started the long walk down the mountain.
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A few long and painful hours later, he was finally nearing the bottom. He had not seen anyone else on the way up, though occasional glimpses at the horizon showed a dust cloud riding away from the mountain. In other directions, he saw dots of what must have been pilgrims making their way toward the monastery to talk to their dead one last time.
The low sun in the west shone on the mountain in all its golden glory, the few trees and many stone outcroppings casting their light and dark marks across the trail. He was so tired, the exertion of the last day and the lack of blood making him light-headed.
He looked down at the flat expanse opening before him as he took the bend, not seeing a stone that was hidden in shadow. His leg, already tired and bruised from the night before, gave way. He fell down, missed the ledge, and toppled over the side.
Darkness took him.