Armorum Fidei Chapter 21

Ratsy's world was reduced to a hazy smear of light and noise. He couldn't understand what was happening, he couldn't see where he was or remember his own name. Nothing made sense, his universe a blur of impressions and fleeting sights that faded into mists of confusion.

All he knew was the pounding noise inside his head, a ceaseless throbbing headache that tore across his temples. There was a pattern in it, a harmony like an orchestra of millions singing the same song and in it he was drowning. Individual thought was impossible, disobedience not even a concept, all that remained was the Song.

Ratsy didn't know how long he existed in this unreal fog but suddenly he found himself propelled out of it. Pain shot through his shoulder, tearing through the noise filling his head. Memory and thought leaked back in the wake of that rip, restoring his identity. Sharp and cold, it snapped him out of his fugue and into a world of darkness and pain but it was real. Ratsy clung to that fact as his mind arose, like a diver breaking the surface of an ocean to gulp blessed air.

His back hit a wall as he stumbled. His shoulder sank claws of fire into his bones from the impact but the pain helped clear his head further. He was breathing rapidly, heart hammering against his ribs and his limbs made weary from exertion. He wore a long cloak over ragged shirt and trousers and dirt had been caked into his hands. He didn't understand how this was possible, the last memory he had was of being ambushed in the lower levels but it seemed much had occurred since then. His body had been active while his mind was absent, the violation of that tore at him but more pressing concerns intruded.

His shoulder was bleeding and in his hand was a red knife, wet with blood, but not his own. A body was laid out at his feet, someone he didn't recognise but who had just died. A gushing wound on the flank spoke of how he died and Ratsy was sure it was by his hand, the man murdered with a single stab. He hadn't gone down lightly, a cleaver in his grip showed where he had fought back, cutting Ratsy deeply. It hadn't helped though, Ratsy had killed the stranger, though he hadn't known he was doing it.

Bile clawed up his throat and a sick sense of dismay wrung his soul. He hadn't been in control of himself, something had used him to commit murder and made him its puppet. He had never felt so sick and dirty, his soul sullied by the greasy fingerprints of an unwanted presence. Despair nearly took him and the pounding in his head grew worse as the roaring voices returned but a sharp stab of pain in his shoulder cut through it, reminding him he was yet alive.

Ratsy knew he couldn't stay here and turned to flee the scene of the crime. He kept the knife hidden under his cloak as he edged out of position. He found he was somewhere in the upper levels, lurking behind a publican's stall tucked into a corner. He inched around the metal frame and peered into a scene of madness. Everywhere flailing people tore at each other, clawing and stabbing with wild abandon as they fought in one of the wider squares of the city. Knives flashed, nails tore and fists punched hard as people laid into friends and neighbours with feral fury. The riot had come from nowhere and swept over all, turning the city of Narthi into a warzone.

Somehow Ratsy knew many of those fighting weren't themselves, compelled into actions against their will, but they were few. The rest had simply been swept up the carnage, fear and anger and resentment exploding into violence. The war beyond had stoked the people's angst to a fever pitch and then the smallest spark had sent them into anarchy. Join them, a strange thought pushed into his mind, go out there and wet your knife with blood. Ratsy didn't know where the thought came from, he had always avoided fighting where he could. He tried to forget the idea but the roaring in his head grew louder, demanding he fight, thousands of voices screaming into the meat of his brain all at once. Only the agony of his shoulder let him resist, more present and real than the voices and he held to that shard of torment like it was a lifeline.

Ratsy turned his back on the riot and slunk away, trying to go unnoticed. He crept around the edge of the square and managed to reach a small avenue that ran off into the distance. He took a step but then tripped over a bundle of clothes. It was a small yelp of pain that revealed this was a person, a frail woman in black robes who was hiding in the shadows.

"Don't kill me!" the woman cried.

"I..." Ratsy started, "Mistress Wanewax?"

The old woman looked up and he saw it was indeed her, one of the soothsayers who populated Narthi's fringes. Ratsy had bought a few trinkets off her over the years, some of which still hung around his neck. He didn't care much for her but she was a familiar face and right now he would take any help he could get.

"Wanewax, what's happening?!" he implored.

The frail woman held up shrivelled hands and pleaded, "I don't know, I don't, I swear it. Everything's gone to pot, violence in every quarter."

"They're here," Ratsy breathed, "The Far Strangers."

"Them? They can't be, there's been no word since the last attack."

"I can't explain," Ratsy growled, "But we can't stay here."

He stooped to grab her with his good arm and brought her upright with a wince of pain. Together they stumbled down the alleyway, looking for a way out. They didn't get far, at the end more scenes of fighting greeted them and the pair halted, trying to go unnoticed. They pressed their backs into the walls and Ratsy hissed, "Them, they did this."

"How," Wanewax wept, "How'd they get to us?"

"I don't know, but they did. Can't we snap the people out of it?"

"Break a soul free from the Star Locusts?" Wanewax snorted dismissively, "It's never been done. Legend says a few can fend them off for a time, brief snatches of the person surfacing, but only the strongest souls and never for long. Once the Far Strangers take someone, they're done for. There's no coming back from that."

Ratsy's guts clenched in dread of the proclamation and he pleaded, "Can't you do something?"

"Me?!" Wanewax protested, "I can't do anything."

"But You're a soothsayer, you sell charms and talismans. Don't you have something to fend off the Outsiders?"

Wanewax blinked at that then her face screwed up as she whined, "Don't be daft, it's all buncos."

"What?!" Ratsy exclaimed.

"The charms, the sayings, the songs and chanting, it's all junk, just a way to keep rubes forking out."

"But... but the Outsiders, we hold them off with these."

"Pah, walls, guns and wards, that's all that keeps Them at bay. The rest is hooey."

Ratsy grabbed his charms and hissed, "I've bought some of these off you, the Star of the Glooming for crying out loud."

"Please, I hammered that out of an old shell casing, it's junk," Wanewax sneered.

"You didn't..." Ratsy gasped in denial but then the world blinked. The roaring in his head surged into a hammering cacophony and light smeared across his eyes. For an instant Ratsy disappeared into the static and when he returned, he was face to face with Wanewax, the knife buried in her throat. His jaw fell as she stared at him, then collapsed to the ground as blood pooled around his knife.

Ratsy fell to his knees beside her and gasped, "I didn't mean to... it wasn't me... please..." It didn't matter, she was dead and gone and Ratsy's heart grew cold as the truth whelmed up inside: he was doomed. With the dark truth came the torrent of voices, battering his head from the inside. He rocked back and pressed his hands to his temples as he wailed, "I don't want to, I don't, I won't, you can't make me..."

The noise cared nothing for his denials, it redoubled in intensity, rolling over the pain in his body to grip his soul tight. Ratsy's mind began to crumble under the weight, thousands, no millions of voices screaming inside his head and resistance crumbled like a sandcastle trying to hold back an incoming tide. Nothing could withstand the torrent, not his tears. not denial, certainly not his trinkets. Ratsy felt himself sinking into the mass, his soul joining the Song once more.

What came next was a blur of impressions and stuttering reality. He was running down an alleyway, chasing a young woman with his knife held ready and a grin on his lips. He was straddling a merchant, punching his knife into the soft belly. He was looming over a circle of weeping children, his shadow falling over them all. He was kicking a downed greaseman, his boot breaking the skull open. More and more images, all disjointed and violent and his soul shrank from the implications, seeking oblivion rather than face this nightmare. He was only human and no mortal soul could withstand such unfettered horror, no mere man could resist the Song of the Psybrids.

Ratsy's mind disappeared into the haze, nearly extinguished, but then an almighty impact shocked him out of his trance. He found himself confronted by a figure in dark armour, shaped into a womanly outline and trimmed with red. A blank helm glared at him but the woman gripped a shining polearm in two hands, swinging the haft about. The butt had hit Ratsy hard, spiking his pain and giving him a moment of reprieve. Beyond more figures battled but he had only eyes for his opponent as she stepped back and brought the sparking tip to bear.

Ratsy hastily backed up pleading, "Please don't kill me."

"Craven scum!" the woman spat under her helm, "You shall die in His name!"

Ratsy retreated for all he was worth as he gasped, "It's not me, they made me do it."

"Death to the Heretic!" the woman snarled as she thrust at him.

Ratsy twisted aside and avoided being rammed through the heart. He took two steps but then reality blinked again. The Song seized him once more and his sight was lost, then it receded as a cold sensation swept through him. He paused and looked down, seeing a spike of metal sticking out of his chest. It had punched through his spine and out the other side, penetrating his heart. Weakness grew and his legs gave out, dropping him to the floor. The polearm was pulled out with a sick slurp and Ratsy's eyes beheld his killer stepping over him, moving to engage others battling nearby.

Ratsy's lips moved but no sound came out as lifeblood fountained out the holes in his torso. His vision sank shrank to a pinprick and all warmth fled his limbs. Yet even now the pounding in his head didn't stop, the Song filling his mind with roaring noise. His last moments were upon him yet there was no peace for Ratsy, he would die with aliens screaming inside his skull, never letting him be. So Ratsy passed from the world of the living, his last thoughts lost in the Song of the Psybrids, leaving none to mourn his passing or even notice he was no more.