"Killian of Keoland" by Travis W. Herring

"Shoulda thought of that when I agreed to do this."

Killian Nolan, Priestess of the Keoish God of War, swings her second mace and smashes the skull of the skeleton that has blocked the hallway ahead of her. It appeared just moments before, wielding a blood-stained cutlass and clattering its teeth together before being bashed into so many dog bones.

Not for the first time since entering the castle of Cllyd Llewyn, she wonders if this was such a good idea. The Horned God won’t appreciate a new apprentice of his wandering into a wizard’s castle and getting blasted, but then again, he won’t particularly notice, either.

"Ah well. Time to get on with it."

Resetting her paired maces back on their belt hooks, she turns the corner the skeleton was guarding and spots the staircase she has been looking for. This damn castle is confusing as all hell, what with its collapsed chambers, sooty halls, and cobweb-ridden hallways. Whoever sacked this place a long time ago did a right good job of it.

Resting her fists on her hips, she mutters a soft prayer and begins the ascent, remembering yet again what it was that brought her here.

"Two bags of coin," the traveler said. He was worn and dirty, his clothing looking like he’d been wearing it for far too long. "Two bags and the thanks of a ravaged family are all I can offer for this righting of a wrong. Is there any man here willing to take on a wronged man’s gesa?"

"Wronged?" one of the drinkers in the tavern said. "Gesa? How so? Explain yourself!"

"Two years ago," the man in the doorway said, "my father received an injured visitor in the middle of the night, welcoming him to his table though t’were near to bare. We fed him, nursed his injuries, and gave him a place for the night by the fire. In the morning, a single coin rested in the middle of that table, payment for our kindness, tho’ we’d never asked for it."

"Sounds more like a boon than a wrong!" another man yelled. "Get on with it!" The others in the dark place stayed quiet. Gesas are a personal thing, and many in Keoland had been cursed or blessed with them at one point in their lives. The traveler had captured everyone’s attention.

"T’was that coin," the traveler said softly, "that caused us our wrong, stranger." The traveler eyed the speaker with a dark scowl, producing a small pearlescent coin from his flat purse. Just the sight of the thing drew the breath away. It was beautiful.

"D’ye want it?" the traveler asked. The others all nodded, thinking of the riches the coin could buy. "Have it!"

With a flick of his fingers, the strange coin flew into the middle of the room. Ten men launched themselves from their perches on the bar stools and at the tables, landing in a struggling heap on the floor. Killian watched them from the shadows, hidden in the corner she had chosen to drink in. Across from her, a fellow Brother of the Initiates watched quietly as well. This was an unusual happening, but they needed more information before taking action on behalf of the Horned God.

By the time the mass of men had calmed, one had claimed the coin, holding it before him triumphantly. He was the strongest and the tallest, a big brute named Brylld ap Adon. The others stared enviously at him and massaged new bruises.

"Keep it," the traveler said quietly. "If you can."

Brylld turned with a startled look. "What do you mean, if you can, traveler?"

"In ten minutes, that coin will be back in my pouch, just you wait and see. Through no action on my part, I can promise you. I’ll not come close to ye."

"That doesn’t make sense," Brylld replied, looking crossly at the coin.

"Hear this," the traveler said, "So long as you hold that coin, no other coin will share your purse. That there is your sole possession."

As the traveler spoke, a young man burst through the doorway past him, looking haggard. Killian recognized him from the town moot just a few days before, which she had taken part in. It was Brylld’s son, Buddfirth.

"Father!" the boy cried. "Come quickly! The farm’s afire! It started just a minute ago! Momma tipped the pot into the flames and they jus’ exploded! I cannot find her!"

Before anyone else could react, Brylld shot through the door, calling his wife’s name. Five more passed the traveler in quick succession, following to see if they could help somehow. Fear rode in their eyes as they passed the man, careful not to touch him, lest his gesa rub off on them. The others in the tavern sat quietly, staring in awe and fear.

Killian and her friend stayed quiet. Fire was not the Horned God’s province. This was an accident, ill-timed maybe, but the priest and priestess of the god of war did not involve themselves in accidents. It was after the last man passed the traveler that she noticed that what the man had said had come true. The coin was back in the stranger’s hand. He scowled at it and put it back in his pouch.

"Why’d you go and curse Brylld like that, stranger?" One of the remaining men spoke, anger evident in his words. "Bleddig’s a good woman and ‘is family donnae deserve that!"

The stranger shrugged quietly. "Happens everywhere, does it not? Pots tip and fire breaks out? Coulda’ been an accident, you know. Everything could be an accident, given the proper circumstances." He sighed softly.

"Get out." The bartender stepped around his bar, brandishing a thick length of wood as a club. "You get that coin and yerself out of this establishment, fellow. I don’t want any of your ‘accidents’ happen in my place of business."

The stranger lifted his hands in acquiescence and began backing out of the room. "I did not mean to stir up trouble, sirrah. I came to ask for aid in my situation. No more. No less."

"Wait."

The bartender and stranger both froze, turning slowly to take in the figures in the corner of the room, where they’d sat, forgotten. The deep, rich voice of a woman startled the others as well. They had assumed the two large shapes in the corner were both men.

When Killian stepped into the torch light by the door, they were proven wrong. A chain mail shirt hugged the definitely feminine form of a Priestess of the Horned God of War. Below it, hung from a specially designed belt, the flanged heads of two war maces hung at her hips, while a pair of light tan leather pants hugged her legs. A pair of high black boots covered her from knee to toe, completing the ensemble, an oversized furred cloak adding to the illusion that she had been a man, sitting in the shadows all this time.

A heavy helm decorated with antlers rode in the crook of her elbow, the flaming red hair that rested beneath it curling around her, reflecting a coppery glow in the torchlight. Dark eyes glared from an attractive face, challenging all who stared her way. The men began finding somewhere else to look when she met their eyes.

"You offered two bags of gold for this service, stranger," she said calmly. "If you can carry no coin other than this cursed piece, how ill you pay the adventurer foolish enough to take on your gesa?"

"Buried before I was born, Priestess." He nodded. Few had asked the question, though it begged to be asked. She was wise beyond her young years, the sign of a Priestess for sure.

Killian could see that he was taken aback by her presence. She was close on six feet tall and her hourglass figure filled those feet out with a powerful, feminine presence. The God of War did not discriminate between warriors when he called them. His Brotherhood had only just allowed women to enter into his numbers. She was one of the first, and rightly so. She was stronger than many of her brethren.

"The coins were my fathers before I breathed air," the traveler said quietly. "They have never seen daylight in my lifetime, but I know they are there."

"How?"

"The dirt they were buried beneath shows no sign of tampering. I have checked each month for as long as I have had this gesa. They are there."

"What is this gesa you offer payment for? It must be good for two bags of gold."

"It is, Priestess of War. I ask the adventurer who would take these coins to kill the man who left this one." He pulled the coin out and stared at it’s multicolored surface. "Omens have told a Lady of the Moon Goddess that his death will end the curse. As an evil man, the Lady has said that his killer will not be found guilty for the act."

"Truly, it is evil to return evil for good," Killian breathed. "Where is this man to be found?"

"The Castle of Cllyd Llewyn."

"The Necromancer!?"

"Aye, milady. That evil creature once returned kindness with a curse. My family is destitute because of his cruel gift. Our home and farms are destroyed and lost to collectors. My son is dead of an accident while working, and my daughters are pregnant through no intention of their own. I have no acknowledgeable heirs, and none will marry a woman with child!"

"By no intention…"

"They were raped while sleeping in the wood away from our home, Priestess." The monotone voice of the traveler, who had obviously repeated the story so many times that the sheer horror of it meant little to one who had lived it, was beginning to make Killian edgy. She began flexing her fingers, as if readying for battle. The motion was not lost on the traveler, who backed up a step. She was easily an inch taller than he, and built like a Priestess of the God of War.

"Raped?" she asked quietly.

"Y…yes, Priestess." Finally, emotion settled raw in his throat. The pain he stood under was bearable no longer. The children of this crime could never be acknowledged, but her no longer had a son to carry his name. His family was dead if no one lifted the curse.

"I will take this gesa," Killian swore.

"Sister…," her companion said suddenly.

"I take this gesa," she repeated. "For your payment of two bags of gold. No man should live with the fear of his family’s impending doom. Take the payment to the Temple of the Horned God in Caer Bannog."

"Done!" the traveler said quickly, the first intimations of a smile quirking his lips. Her word accepted became her bond. She was sworn to accomplish this now, or die trying. She wondered how many others had attempted this and failed.

She turned to her fellow Initiate, saying, "Wait for me in Caer Bannog. Take this man’s coin and wait for my return. I will inform you when I have completed the quest. It will be soon."

"Soon," Killian repeats, chuckling to herself as she returned from her reverie. That was two weeks ago; when she thought Cllyd Llewyn would be closer than it turned out to be. Two clan-lands and a cliff-encircled bog later, she is in the halls of the Necromancer’s castle. "What a laugh."

Arriving at the top of the stairs, she sees a circular chamber, the floor lined with a silver star and circle. Lines connect the points of the star with the circle. It is a potent pentagram. A smaller circle lies just outside the central one, the space between filled with the consonants and vowels of Tree Magic. In the middle, facing her, stands the Necromancer.

He is an elder fellow, thin, with a gaunt beard and with a silvered skullcap over his bald pate. In his right hand, he holds a golden skull, upside down with a candle inside. In his left, a strip of tree skin. He smiles at her as she steps across the threshold, ignoring the pentacle on the floor. The Horned God does not see pentacles. She doesn’t either because of it. They are immune from such nether planes magic.

"You are brave, Red-head. For one to step within a wizard’s circle is sometimes death. Sometimes, worse."

"Sometimes," Killian replies, stalking toward him. She is edging a mace off its hook. The Necromancer watches quietly, not moving or making a sound. "Sometimes for the wizard. Why did you repay kindness with a curse?"

"Because," the old man says, grinning darkly. He is eyeing the mace while she checks the sharpness of a flange with a thumb. "The world is a cruel place."

"Aye. So it is."

With a sudden lunge, she is across the center of the circle, the steel tip of her mace whistling toward the old man. But he is no longer there! Her weapon passes through the space where his chest had been moments before. His laugh reverberates around the room. He is now standing outside the circle, cackling with glee.

"I knew you would do that!" he cries like a spoiled child. "Knew it! Knew it! Knew it! You Battle Priests are all the same! Fall for the obvious, every single last time!"

"Priestess," Killian growls, turning in a crouch to face him once more. "Nice trick, wizard. Have any more?"

"I thought it was," the old man replies, grinning. "Particularly since you did not notice that I have added the Horned God’s name to those written outside the pentacle. And, since you are but an extension of the Horned God… Well, I guess you’ll have to figure that out on your own."

Killian glances around the edges of the circle, seeing glyphs and icons she does not recognize. However, the glowing eyed helmet with antlers is hard to miss, especially as it is still glowing. He must have just laid the rune, while she climbed the tower.

"Maybe," she whispers. With another quick lunge, she throws herself at the wizard, aiming her mace for his head.

For a half-second, she sees him flinch away, as if about to be struck down, and then she is smashing headlong into an invisible wall. She collapses before him, stunned by the strength of the impact. The ringing in her hand forces her to drop her weapon. She draws the other without conscious effort, shaking her hand. When it recovers enough to do so, she picks the first up once more. Her fingers are tingling.

The wizard is prancing about now, cackling as he eyes his captive. "Knew it! Two of your weapons are no better than one Priestess! You are trapped!"

Trapped. Caught within a wizard’s circle when no other has ever trapped her before. Quickly, she goes through the knowledge she has of the Horned God. He ignores pentacles because he is a god and cannot be bound. Killian is herself a shard of the Horned God now that she has been initiated, given his power in the investiture ceremony back in Caer Bannog but two months before. She should be immune to his magic!

The wizard has begun chanting, causing the runes carved around her invisible prison to glow with a bright white light. She feels a tingling sensation crawl across her skin. It is an uncomfortable feeling. As if rings of flesh encasing her arms and legs are rolling slowly up and down. She tries to ignore it, concentrating on the mystic teachings. She didn’t pay much attention to them in the seminary, knowing that the priests of the Horned God are immune to such trickery.

"Priests," she says, gritting her teeth as the spell continues to irritate her skin. Priests. Something is there, she knows. But what is it? "Priests."

"Priestess!" she cries. "You cannot hold me, for I am a Priestess of the Horned God! Not a Priest! The God is male and you have no power over me!"

Throwing herself at the wizard once again, she knows she has found the right key, the weakness to his trick. Her first mace slams through the glowing wall of magic, shattering his spell into so many shards of glittering light and crushing his jaw. He screams, a strangled, surprised cry. Her second mace follows on a lower trajectory, catching his arm and breaking it against his ribs before crushing even those protective bones. The thin wizard falls away from her, broken like a rag doll. Behind her, the magical dome of energy flickers one last time and winks out.

Kneeling over the prone man, who has rolled into a fetal ball over his shattered arm and ribs, she can see that he is still alive, albeit in great pain.

"Your spell breaks when you die, wizard," she says. "Destroying evil is in no way a darkness upon my soul."

"Only certain ones, Priestess," the wizard replies. He spits her title like a curse through his broken jaw, wheezing in pain. Then, without warning, he reaches out, and touching her leg, utters a quick Keoish gesa. "May you never spend more than four days in one place without disaster striking!"

"Wha…?!" Throwing herself away from him, Killian knows she is too late.

With a last, evil smile on his face, the Necromancer dies. His hand falls away from her calf, where it had locked, and the last breath leaves his body. The stench of his final exhale is hideous and she almost gags.

"Four days?" she wonders, standing up and looking at the dead wizard. "What does that mean?" She looks around herself.

Maybe there is something in the room she can use to break his last spell. Maybe there will be more payment than just the two bags of gold, which the traveler should have brought to her temple by now. The wizard must have something of use!

She begins to search the room, finding only strange books and oddly-shaped items that defy her understanding. Leaving, she starts to poke around the rest of the castle. She has no fear at this point. All of the Necromancer’s creations have fallen apart with his death, and anything alive will be no challenge at all. The fallen bones and bodies of the first she runs into prove her point, and she does not run into the second. In time, she must settle with a bolt of silk cloth and a small chest filled with gemstones and jewelry. A small gift to repay the Horned God for that of her life.

With any luck, she will gain the Temple at Caer Bannog the meditation room the High Priest has been wishing for.

"High Priest Garland wishes to see you, Priestess."

The acolyte sent to summon her steps out of the doorway and Killian rises from where she has been waiting. It has been four days since her return to Caer Bannog, and already her story is being told throughout the city. She is a minor hero to the commonfolk, and several priests have had to act as intercepts to keep them from asking her for miracles in their favor. As she rises, she pulls her robes on, resting the silk cloth of her new vestments over her shoulders and smiling at her reflection in a nearby mirror.

She looks good in the new clothing. The Necromancer’s bolt of silk has made a wonderful set of celebratory vestments, a proper end for the ill-gotten gains of a man dedicated to evil. Even the Prior must agree with her. She is a vision in black silk and flaming red hair.

She passes quickly through the halls and gardens of the monastery, making her way to the High Priest’s quarters. Over the high stone walls, she can hear the sounds of martial practice as the warrior-priests prepare for their upcoming games in the capitol. They have won the General Melee for two years running. This year’s captain has not been chosen, but she is now a candidate, due to her popularity with the people.

Reaching High Priest Garland’s rooms, she nods to the honor guard and enters when bid from within. She bows quietly before the man she calls Father and smiles when he offers her a place to sit. His friendly grin is relaxing, and she accepts a glass of win from his assistant. She sips it while turning her attention to the matter at hand.

"You asked for me, Father?"

"Indeed I did, Priestess Killian. I have news for you. You are to be our Champion at the games in Niol Dra. Do you wish to accept such a responsibility?" His smile is wide and friendly. It grows wider as he takes in her reaction.

"Champion!? Father, I… I was expecting maybe Captain of the Melee, but not Champion! Surely there are those better qualified!"

Garland sits back, enjoying her startled response more than he should, she thinks. He contemplates her attractive features, considering his next words. "You are a bright woman, Killian. And one of the first to join our Brotherhood of War.

"I believe that allowing a woman to Champion our cause at the games will attract even more of your kind to our ranks. This, of course, in addition to the fact that I feel you have earned it. The people will have nothing less."

Killian bows where she is seated, unable to hide the pride that makes her smile suddenly. "I am honored to accept, Sir."

"I know, Priestess," Garland replies ritually. "It is a high honor to undertake the Championing of our monastery. You have the capability, as has become evident. According to the tales, you are somewhat the hero in the outer provinces as well. Word seems to travel quickly.

"The Lord of the Gran March himself has sent word thanking our Brotherhood for our ‘assistance’ in destroying the fiend." The High Priest fails to hide a sudden grimace. Killian knows that he is from the northern provinces, near the border with the March. He spares no love for the leaders of that province. "They were thanking you, specifically, Killian, whether they want to admit it or not. You have attained a truly heroic feat."

Again, the red-headed priestess bows in her seat. There is little she can do but accept the praise that comes with success. But the Championship?

Indeed, the monastery needs more of ‘her kind’ as the High Priest put it. Afraid that they were palsifying into a weakened version of themselves with only the games to keep them active, the Priests of the Brotherhood of the Horned God accepted Killian and a few other stout women into their ranks, less than a year ago. In an effort to show that they were not being passed up by the march of time, they have undertaken a questionable experiment. Killian has proven that experiment successful. High Priest Garland was one of the first to allow such a Priestess to travel outside the monastery. Others, who may have been questioning his choice, are rethinking things after her success where others have failed.

He had sent her on the journey to find proof that the Horned God has accepted her. She found it, much to the surprise of those who never wished women to join the ranks to begin with. Not only that, but she succeeded! Now she is to be the Champion!? Does her High Priest go too far with this? She does not know.

Of course, there is still the question of the gesa the wizard laid upon her with his dying breath. Did it mean she could not stay in the same bed? The same building? Or the same city? Does he have any power after his death? After all, the traveler (who has since gotten rid of his coin and begun an immediate return to what remains of a normal life since her return), said that his magics died when he did.

She has chosen to risk the curse and find out what harm it can do. She has told no one about it. A dead wizard has no power, right?

She speaks with the High Priest about preparations for the games until late in the evening. Returning to her cell, she bathes alone and prepares for bed.

"Tonight is the fifth night, wizard," she mutters in her bed. "Let’s see if you still have the power to affect life after your own is ended."

In the morning, she hears the news before she is even half-dressed. A young serving boy who delivers the food opens her door and shouts his news in a horrified voice. The High Priest is dead!

Gasping for breath, Killian staggers to her door, dropping the vestments she had been about to put on and falling against a wall. It is true! The wizard’s curse has followed her, even past his own death!

Her only Father has died because of her impertinence and refusal to submit! Oh woe! For such a man to die could mean the end of the women’s movement within the Brotherhood! His enemies within the church will be quick to claim that this is because of female membership within his walls! That it is a sign from the Horned God!

She waves off the helping hands of another disciple who has come to her door, hearing her stuttered cry. Pushing them away, through tears in her eyes, she makes a promise she swears to upkeep until she can somehow clear herself of this new curse.

As the evening gloam settles over Caer Bannog, Killian’s back is to the only home she has ever truly loved, her feet upon the road. Her brothers could not understand her urgency, but knew that she had little to do with her Father’s death. The night before, it is being said she and he were celebrating her success. Toasting her future. In the morning, he died in his sleep of a heart attack. There is no blame to be had.

Natural causes, they say.

Killian turns away from the monastery atop the hill over Caer Bannog and starts walking. She does not look back.

Somewhere out there, the cure to her gesa awaits.