Salt in the Wound

Salt in the Wound Rainfallen Book One Benjamin Aeveryn Contents Copyright Epigraph Part One 1. 1 2. 2 3. 3 4. 4 5. 5 6. 6 7. 7 8. 8 Part Two Fifteen Years Ago 9. 9 10. 10 11. 11 12. 12 13. 13 14. 14 Part Three Ten Years Ago 15. 15 16. 16 17. 17 18. 18 19. 19 20. 20 21. 21 22. 22 23. 23 24. 24 Part Four Five Years Ago 25. 25 26. 26 27. 27 28. 28 29. 29 30. 30 31. 31 32. 32 33. 33 Later A Word from the Author About the Author Dedication Copyright Copyright © 2023 by Benjamin Aeveryn This is a work of fiction. All characters and incidents portrayed in this production, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either creations of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Cover Illustration by Houssame Khairane Interior Illustrations by Lissy Aeveryn Edited by Sarah Chorn benjaminaeveryn.com Print ISBN: 978-1-7393680-2-9 First edition May 2023 Epigraph The Unholy Kingdom of Mercia 32nd Year of the Rohit Era A long time after the rain turned Part One Cathedral 1 “Cathedral,” Galahad whispered as he peered up at the mouldering edifice. It was mossy, cracked, and slick with natural ooze. Rainwights had left long claw marks in the stone. The roof had caved in, but that could have happened a century ago. Earth was taking a long time with her revenge. The structure didn’t sing “destiny” as he approached. It didn’t seem to have anything to say at all. It was as dead as the mossy cars that lined the street. This would be the best part of his day. The time when the treasure might still be inside. For three years he’d led his friends in search of the lost cache of the Long-haired Priest. The legendary treasure of crystal, magic, and sword—or so the stories went. Three years to bring him to this moment of possibility. This precipice. He was ready for this quest to end, but after so much disappointment, it was hard to summon any optimism. “Grand, innit?” Elaine said at his side, her voice smoke-burned and half-slurred from day drinking. How Galahad loved her crooked grin with her bottom two front teeth missing, scarred brow, and twice-broken nose. A cigarette glowed orange between her fingers and her eye makeup had the smudged look of having been applied yesterday. “Guess it was once.” “I can believe it, yeah. That’s a place for a dead priest’s treasure.” She whistled through the gap in her teeth. “You really found it. Always knew it’d pay to have some brains in the crew.” “Wouldn’t say I’m the brains. Maybe the reason.” “Not sure that’s different.” “If I had any brains, I wouldn’t be out of the capital’s shelter.” “Obviously. But it’s all relative, right?” Elaine flicked her cigarette; it sparked as it struck a piece of rubble. “What about me then?” The beauty. The humour. The life. But he couldn’t say any of that. “The, uh, the heart,” he offered. She slapped his arm, laughing. “You’re a fucking prick. The heart? What the fuck does that mean?” Embarrassment burned his cheeks. He looked away so she wouldn’t see the shade they’d turned. “I dunno… The early starts, the long hikes, the disappointment… the danger—none of it’s so bad when you’re there to cheer me up.” He cleared his throat. “To cheer us up, I mean.” “Aww.” Elaine cocked her head, voice thick with mock sincerity. “That’s absolutely sickening, you freak.” He’d said too much. Fucking hell. It was the adrenaline from finally finding the cathedral. Deciphering the Long-haired Priest’s nebulous riddles had him on a high that opium would struggle to match. This wasn’t the time to embarrass himself. They were working. A step forward. Blood thrummed in his ears. These moments were what life was all about. Excited and defeated. Hot and cold. Heart thumping, skin tingling. Every clue pointed to this cathedral as the resting place of the Long-haired Priest’s cache. Just like the last time, at the old shipyard. And the time before, at the mausoleum. Even now, Lance and the others were investigating another lead, on the border between the Unholy Kingdom of Mercia and the Sceptre of Wessex. He looked back at Elaine and she gave him a wink, urged him forward with a nod that made his stomach twist. Today he’d tell her how he felt. Late in the evening, after some drinks, when the celebration or commiseration lulled and he could catch her aside from the others. His days of cowardice were behind him. Today he would tell her. Stone crunched under his boots as he entered the half-collapsed cathedral. What remnants of the pews were pocked and rot-dark. The air was musty, even without a roof. The far wall of the building curved. Galahad guessed this was where priests would promulgate their sermons. Elaine was right, it was grand. Must have been quite a thing to see the Long-haired Priest up here, shouting about the big He in the sky. As Galahad pushed aside a heavy slab of debris, his pessimism faltered. This place felt right. The holy site; the majesty of the location. If the Long-haired Priest’s cache was to be found anywhere, it would be here. Fingers fumbling with excitement, he shoved back more of the wreckage, unearthed a wooden hatch—splintered but intact. “Anything to get excited about?” Elaine called as she wobbled, trying not to trip on the rubble. “Yeah…” Galahad said over his shoulder. “Yeah, I think there is.” The hatch groaned when he tugged on its iron ring. With a second pull, the wood cracked and peeled away. He kicked the splinters in, peered into the hole. It stank of old air and damp stone. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. It was dark down there, but he could see the floor below and it was near enough to drop down. The