The Ember Blade

by Chris Wooding

  ‘Wait, I see it now!’ said Cade. He was recalling his ma’s stories. ‘There are the elaru, leaving for the west, and the drudge-men they enslaved. And that’s when the gnawls betrayed the urds and ogren in the Reclamation and came over to our side!’ He dropped to one knee and counted along the bottom. ‘Elaru, human, dwarrow, urd, ogren, gnawl!’ he finished triumphantly.

  ‘The dwarrow are lost to us now,’ said Osman, ‘and the ogren in thrall to the elaru. Time marches past us, the years in their thousands, and the fortunes of uncounted souls ebb and flow with the centuries. Against such a measure, thirty years under a Krodan boot is a mere moment in history. Yet still it feels eternal.’

  ‘But you were surely born after the occupation?’ said Aren, guessing at his age. ‘How can you miss something you’ve never known?’

  ‘How do the birds know where to fly, when they go south for the winter? The heart knows,’ said Osman. ‘Doesn’t yours?’

  Aren didn’t know how to answer that, but he was saved from the need by Garric, who walked over to them with Vika at his side and Ruck loping behind.

  ‘Pick up your gear,’ he said. ‘We’re going.’

  ‘You have a way onward?’ Osman asked.

  Garric glanced at Vika and looked like he wanted to spit. ‘We’re going back.’

  ‘Back where?’ Cade asked.

  ‘Back to the sanctum,’ said Vika. ‘We will not escape Skavengard today, or any day, unless something is done. This place will not let us leave. It merely seeks to lure us far enough from safety that we will have nowhere to hide when night falls. We have almost lost the way back once. The next time, we may not find it again.’

  ‘And what then?’ Osman asked, aghast. ‘Another night in that vile place? How will tomorrow be different?’

  ‘When dawn comes, I intend to have a way out. But I need time to prepare. And we need to get ourselves to safety.’

  ‘What do you mean to do?’ Aren asked her.

  She turned a flat gaze on him, and he saw the fear that lurked behind the façade of stern determination.

  ‘The beast will come again tonight,’ she said. ‘I mean to speak with it.’

  41

  Aren sat with Cade against one of the sanctum’s nine walls, watching the light fade through the windows of the spire high above them. Dusk was falling after long hours of dreadful anticipation. They’d passed the time staring uneasily at the sarcophagus full of needles, the cutting table, the screen of sharp filaments. The air was heavy with remembered murder. There had been little conversation to speed the waiting, each of them lost to their own dark thoughts.

  Only Vika had been busy. She’d ordered Garric and Osman to break up a table for firewood and lit it with a roll of parchment covered with arcane notes. Osman protested: what wisdom might be set upon those pages, he argued, if they could get it to the scholars at the Glass University? But Vika treated them with disgust.

  ‘The secrets this place contains are what destroyed it. I will not have the curious tempted to repeat the same mistakes. Take nothing from here.’

  ‘Do as she says,’ said Garric, who hadn’t much cared for Osman’s idea anyway. ‘If we survive, we have more urgent business ahead than delivering sorcerers’ scrawls to Estria.’

  Vika fashioned a brew with a pot and tripod from her pack, adding herbs from her many pockets and dashes of liquid from clay phials. She murmured over it in Stonespeak and passed her hand around it in a circle many times. Later, she cut her forearm with her knife, adding another scar to the dozens already there, and let a little of her blood roll over her skin to drip into the pot. When satisfied, she took herself to the circle in the middle of the sanctum and settled cross-legged inside the silver ring of wards with the brew cooling before her.

  ‘No matter what you see or hear, do not try to help me,’ she said. ‘And do not – do not – step inside this circle, on your life and the lives of everyone here.’

  She closed her eyes and began to whisper a chant to herself, while Ruck prowled the perimeter of the ring. After more than an hour, it had become an unsettling background susurrus to the tides of Aren’s mind.

  Cade was as restless as Aren. He tapped his toes against the floor, drummed his fingers and fidgeted. Grub picked his nails with the point of his knife. Osman investigated the sanctum, turning everything over in his hands, studying books written in a language he couldn’t read. Keel sat with Garric, shoulders bunched, a tight ball of tension. His eyes, though still sore, had recovered; but the easy humour had gone out of him. Garric glared at the flagstones and occasionally threw a dark look towards Aren.

  Fen had sat alone all evening and spoken to nobody; but just as the last light was seeping from the sky, she got to her feet and walked across the room to Aren and Cade. Aren looked up at her quizzically as she stood over them. For a moment, she seemed lost for words. Then:

  ‘I’m from the Auldwood,’ she said to Cade, in the tone of an angry retort.

  ‘Uh … what?’ Cade said stupidly.

  ‘Back in the boathouse, you asked me where I was from,’ she told him. ‘The Auldwood. That’s where.’

  ‘Did I? Oh.’

  Fen stood there awkwardly.

  ‘We’re from Shoal Point,’ Aren offered.

  ‘I know.’

  A few moments passed in which no one knew what to say. Then Fen coloured, tutted loudly in disgust and stalked back to her place, looking furious.

  Aren and Cade stared at each other in bewilderment. Then Cade grinned and nudged him.

  ‘I think she likes me,’ he said.

  Aren looked over at Fen, who was glowering at the floor. No, that’s not it, he thought. She’s scared. She needs company, but she doesn’t know how to ask for it.

  That spurred him to his feet. She’d reached out to them, however clumsily. He couldn’t ignore that.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Cade asked in surprise, but Aren was already on his way across the sanctum. Fen saw him coming and stiffened, looking half ready to run and half to fight. He sat down before she could do either.

  ‘Where in the Auldwood?’ he asked. ‘It’s a big place.’

  She eyed him warily. In the gloom, she seemed slight and delicate. Given the company she travelled with and how capable she was, it was easy to forget she wasn’t much older than him.

  ‘Deep in,’ she said. ‘Nowhere near anywhere. Buckscuttle was the nearest settlement, but that was a day away. We lived out on our own.’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘Me and my da.’

  Aren took a calculated risk. ‘What about your ma?’

  ‘She died when I was ten.’ She said it casually, like it meant nothing at all, which meant exactly the opposite.

  ‘I lost mine, too,’ he said. ‘Not like yours, though. I was too young to remember her. Her name was Lyssa, like the moon.’

  ‘Cade told me a story about the moons.’

  ‘He’ll tell you a story about anything, given half a chance.’

  The ghost of a smile passed over her lips at that. There was silence between them for a few moments.

  ‘I lost my father, too,’ said Aren. He felt his throat thicken as he said it, but he went on regardless, talking past the pain. ‘The Iron Hand murdered him.’

  She didn’t reply to that, but her posture softened a little.

  ‘So why did you leave?’ Aren asked, in an attempt to keep the conversation going.

  ‘Krodans drove me away,’ she said. ‘Trappers and hunters moved into the area, dozens of them, all working for some company in Gallowcroft. Soon there was nothing to eat, and soon after, a cleric turned up at my door with two soldiers. He told me I was evicted, and when I refused to leave, they started to smash things.’

  ‘They threw you out?’

  She snorted. ‘Not exactly. Krodan women aren’t allowed to do much but bake cakes and raise children, so they didn’t expect me to have a bow. They definitely didn’t expect me to use it.’ She gave him a quick glance, and he
saw a flicker of savage triumph in it. ‘But I knew there’d be more coming, and in greater numbers than I could handle, so I packed up and left.’

  And your da? Where was he? Aren wondered, but he kept the thought to himself. Too many questions would drive her back into her shell.

  ‘There are spirits in the Auldwood,’ Fen said at length. Her gaze had drifted to the sanctum doors, and he knew she was thinking of the beast. ‘Where I’m from, any fool knows that. You have to be a stranger to the wild places to think as Osman does. He’s a good man, but he’s lived in a Krodan’s world his whole life. The real Ossia still exists, but you won’t find it in the towns or along the roadside.’

  ‘I grew up in the same world,’ said Aren. ‘But I’m learning.’

  He looked over at Cade, who was watching them closely with a sour expression on his face.

  ‘Did you ever meet any?’ he asked. ‘Spirits, I mean.’

  ‘I think so,’ said Fen. ‘In a way. I got lost while hunting once, far from home. Night was falling, so I looked for shelter. I found a glade … it was so beautiful, I’ve never seen its like since. I knew it was a place where spirits lived. But it felt like a kind place, and I was frightened, so I slept there.’ She shifted, watching him for signs of mockery. ‘I had strange dreams that night, and when morning came, I found myself elsewhere. Not more than a league from home.’ She shrugged one shoulder. ‘Perhaps the spirits carried me. It’s hard to say. I was eleven. My imagination was more vivid in those days.’

  And why were you hunting far from home at eleven? Aren thought, but again he didn’t say it.

  ‘So the spirits can be friendly as well as fearsome?’ he said.

  ‘They can. Though I don’t expect much friendship from the one that chased us yesterday.’

  ‘We know that Polla-Calls-The-Waters passed through here and survived. We will, too. We just have to endure one more night.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fen, and she gave him a real smile then, the first he’d had from her. ‘One more night. We can endure that.’

  Aren sensed his moment to leave, before he outstayed his welcome. He got up and went back to Cade.

  ‘Have a nice talk?’ Cade asked with sullen envy.

  Before Aren could reply, a shudder ran through the stones of Skavengard and a shriek rose up in the gathered dark. Keel jerked as if stung and looked towards the doors as if to assure himself they were locked. Osman lit a lantern to stave off the shadows. Vika, her eyes still closed, picked up her brew and drank it. She retched twice, but kept swallowing till it was all gone.

  A gate crashed open somewhere in the heights and the beast came tumbling along the corridors, screaming and roaring. It knew its course this time. Last night it had searched all over the island. Tonight it moved with purpose, charging from its lair and heading straight for them.

  Ruck curled her lip and snarled. Keel and Garric drew their swords and stood by the circle, facing the door in case anything should come through. None of them believed blades would do any good, but it shored up their courage.

  A wind gathered and blew against the door. Vika twitched violently where she sat and made a long gagging sound like she was choking; but they’d been instructed not to interfere, so they stood by helplessly until the spasm passed.

  Screaming, the beast bore down on them. The wind became a hurricane, and the walls shivered with a pounding that got louder, and louder, and louder still. They heard it rushing down the stairs, slithering and howling and grinding its teeth.

  Aren and Cade huddled together instinctively. Keel and Garric raised their blades and set themselves. Osman lurched to his feet and joined them, his own sword ringing as he pulled it free. Grub had retreated to a far corner of the room and was now half-hidden behind a bookcase. Fen sat where she was, pulled her hood over her head and waited.

  Just as the beast reached the doors, silence fell, sudden and complete. Aren listened to his own racing heartbeat. He sensed it out there, slick and piled and massive, a thing of madness, appetite and rage. Waiting.

  Vika let out a low mewl, a deranged animal sound, and arched her back. Her eyelids fluttered and her eyes rolled up in her head.

  The beast crashed against the doors; Cade jumped out of his skin. Shrieking and snarling in a cacophony of many mouths, it assaulted the barrier over and over. Each time, it recoiled with a howl of pain as if burned; each time it attacked with greater fury. The doors screeched and stone puffed around their hinges with each blow. Cade covered his ears against the relentless din, the hellish cries of the beast, the wind laced with human screams.

  Vika jerked with every impact. She was still gasping words in Stonespeak, but her spine had arched so severely that she was bent back with the top of her head almost touching the floor. Her hands were claws, clutched to her chest; her face was flecked with spittle and her eyes rolled. The sight of her contortions was almost as alarming as the sound of the creature outside, and Aren fought the urge to rush into the circle and help her. Whatever she’d intended when she drank that potion, it appeared to have gone badly wrong.

  ‘The door won’t hold!’ Keel cried, and there was an edge of hysteria in his voice.

  ‘It’ll hold,’ said Garric grimly.

  ‘Use your eyes! It’s giving way!’

  Aren, Fen and Cade all scrambled to their feet then and seized what weapons they had. Keel was right. The doors were buckling and the hinges coming away. Despite the pain it was suffering as it threw itself against the doors, the beast wasn’t going to stop.

  Aren trembled as he held his sword, ready in the stance Master Orik had taught him. It was a pitiful needle against the thing that raged outside. What would it feel like, when the beast crashed through in a slimy flood of teeth? What would it feel like, to be crushed by it, drowned in it, devoured?

  Vika screamed, a high, raw sound, ending in a series of convulsive gulps. The next attack was half-hearted in comparison to the others, and after that there was quiet. They stood rigid with tension, awaiting a final, mighty blow to smash the doors wide. But nothing came, and gradually they dared to believe the assault had stopped.

  Vika, still cross-legged and bent double, dragged a dry, rasping breath into her lungs. Slowly she pulled herself upright, her ver­tebrae creaking and popping. Her head lolled forward, sweat-damp hair stuck across her brow and cheeks. She wobbled, swaying like a drunk. Then her lips drew back to expose teeth washed red with blood and a low murmur came from her: a growling, hoarse voice they’d never heard before.

  ‘… gristly little meatbags oozing dripping taste your bright bright souls …’

  Her eyes snapped open, and they were black and empty. A horrible smile spread across her face.

  ‘I see you,’ she crooned.

  Ruck snarled, baring her teeth; but then Vika turned her gaze upon her and she fled to a corner, whimpering.

  Osman took a wary step closer, his blade held ready by his side. ‘Vika?’

  ‘The druidess is in here with me,’ said the thing that wore her skin. Her voice was hoarse and gasping, broken by snatched breaths, as if she were not accustomed to using lungs to speak. ‘She writhes and turns like a fish on a spike. So weak, your bodies are. So frail. Bones and tubes, a rack to hang your souls upon.’

  She chuckled, then cocked her head as if listening. ‘Do you seek to bargain with me, druidess?’ she said. ‘You have no power here. Your faith is a glass castle; no god can help you now.’

  Her black eyes widened as she listened again, and she looked at the horrified assembly that surrounded her. ‘Who among you is her champion?’ she demanded. She pointed at Garric. ‘You,’ she said. ‘She has chosen you.’

  Garric exchanged an uncertain glance with Keel. Then his face hardened. ‘Aye, I’ll be her champion.’

  ‘Then face me, champion!’ Vika cried. ‘Unbolt the door! Defeat me and save her!’

  ‘Try harder, demon. I am no fool.’

  ‘No fool, but a coward!’

  ‘That is a pale insult co
ming from a ghost that hides in a woman’s body.’

  There was a bellow from outside and the beast slammed against the sanctum doors. Vika and the beast screamed together in pain.

  ‘It hurts, doesn’t it?’ Garric said. Aren was amazed at his steely calm. ‘Why don’t you stop?’

  Vika bared her teeth at him. ‘You are brave, champion, but only because you cannot conceive of the suffering I will visit upon you. You will be devoured a thousand times! You will … you will … aaaaaaah!’

  The beast’s threats dissolved into a strangled scream and Vika pitched forward onto her hands and knees, then fell on her side, arching and contorting. ‘Help me!’ she cried, and it was Vika’s voice again. Her eyes were no longer black, but desperate and terrified. She reached out weakly towards Garric. ‘I have driven the beast back, but only for a moment! Pull me from the circle!’

  Garric stood there, impassive, watching her beg.

  ‘Help her!’ Aren demanded, appalled. He took a step towards her, to take her hand himself, but the flat of Garric’s blade slapped across his chest, barring his progress.

  ‘I think not,’ said Garric, not even looking at him.

  Vika’s attention switched to Aren and she strained to reach him, tears filling her eyes. ‘Aren! Please!’

  Aren trembled with hate. He wanted to swat Garric’s sword aside, bury his blade in the Hollow Man’s throat, finish up the job that someone else had failed to do. Vika was in agony and Garric was doing nothing, and worse was the way he just overruled Aren like he was some callow child not worth listening to.

  Cade grabbed his shoulder before any furious impulse could overwhelm him. ‘She said not to break the circle!’ Cade told him. ‘Remember? Remember she said that?’

  Aren looked down at the floor, at the silver ring of wards that surrounded Vika. Of course he remembered what she’d said, but it wasn’t easy to stand there and watch her suffer. The impulse to save her was almost overwhelming.

  ‘Aren!’ Vika pleaded. ‘I did not know what I was dealing with! Help me!’

  It was Vika there, behind those eyes. It had to be! She was hurting, she needed his help, and yet …