The Ember Blade

by Chris Wooding

  ‘Did you really see Garric in a vision?’ he asked. It was a question he’d wanted to ask since the Reaver’s Rest. He was reluctant to engage her in talk of the Aspects – they didn’t see eye to eye on matters of faith – but he couldn’t bear wondering any longer.

  She’d been staring into the fire, lost in thought – she had the habit of going blank now and then – but she stirred at his words.

  ‘I saw a bright warrior, though I could not see their face,’ she said. ‘They carried a blade that shone like the sun, and I knew them for a champion who would stand against the evil that is coming.’

  ‘The Krodans?’

  ‘The Krodans are not evil, Aren. They just see the world differently from us. I speak of forces more dreadful than any empire Embria has ever known. You have glimpsed them yourself, in Skavengard.’

  Aren felt icy fingers creep up his back. ‘And you think this champion is Garric?’

  ‘The stars were right on the day I met him. He faced the beast of Skavengard and overcame it. Now I learn he seeks the Ember Blade: a beacon of hope if ever there was one. I have had many visions, walked the Shadowlands a hundred times, and rarely have the signs been so clear.’

  Aren frowned, frustrated. The idea that Garric was chosen by the gods didn’t sit easily with him. ‘I know little of visions, but if you didn’t see his face—’

  ‘I know it is hard for you,’ Vika said. ‘You do not know whether to hate or admire him. But a person can be many things. There is good in the worst of us, and bad in the best. Garric has treated you despicably and he is your father’s sworn enemy, yet he may be the man we need to lead us against what is to come.’

  ‘He’s no champion,’ Aren said angrily.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Are you?’

  Vika tilted her head in acknowledgement of his point. Ruck snuffed and got up to pad away from the fire. Aren picked at the crusted dirt on the toe of his boot.

  ‘The world’s changed,’ Aren said. ‘Seems only yesterday I was certain of everything. Now it feels like there’s nothing I can trust. Only Cade, and even he …’ He faltered, unsure whether to go on; but there was something about Vika that comforted him, a kindness that made him want to confide. ‘If I left now, I’m not sure he’d come with me.’

  Vika’s eyes went to Fen. ‘Aye, I’ve seen how he looks at her. And how you do.’

  Aren didn’t bother to deny it. He didn’t know what he felt for Fen, but after today, he was sure he felt something.

  ‘May I offer you counsel?’ Vika said.

  ‘Nine, I’d welcome some.’

  ‘Have patience,’ she said. ‘Answers will come in their own time, and when they do, you may wish you’d never asked. The young are always in a rush to know everything, but knowledge only brings more questions. Forget the destination, Aren; enjoy the journey. You are free now in a way you have never been, and the choices you make now will determine who you are to become.’

  It did little to satisfy him, but he sensed wisdom in her words. He wished he were strong enough to beat the truth from Garric, or brave enough to hold a knife to his neck, but they were fan­tasies born of adolescent anger. If he wanted Garric to give up his secrets, he’d have to be cleverer than that, and wait till the moment was right.

  One way or another, he’d learn the truth about Garric and his father. And only then, when all the cards were on the table, would he decide the matter of vengeance.

  57

  Keel pushed open the door to his son’s bedroom as if he were afraid of what might be on the other side. When he poked his head around, he found Tad sitting up against the headboard gazing back at him, like he’d been waiting there all morning. Maybe he had; his patience and stillness were almost eerie at times. At other times, he was anything but patient and still.

  ‘I thought you might be asleep,’ Keel said awkwardly. The grim daylight leached all comfort from the room. Tad’s sickness hung in the air like a spectre.

  Tad just kept on staring. Keel cleared his throat, pushed the door open and entered. Vika came in behind him, Ruck loping at her heels. Tad stiffened at the sight of the druidess, bolt upright against the headboard, eyes wide in alarm.

  ‘Peace! Peace!’ Keel said, holding out his hands. ‘She’s a friend.’

  Tad looked from his father to Vika and back again, betrayal in his eyes, as if Keel had tricked him by bringing her here. Suddenly he was a cornered animal, hair wild with sleep, skinny limbs tensed as if to flee.

  ‘He doesn’t like strangers,’ Keel told Vika. There was an apology in his voice, and a tinge of embarrassment, the vague shame he’d carried ever since he realised his son would never be the strapping young man he’d dreamed of. No matter how much Mariella said otherwise, his son’s strangeness reflected on him. Tad’s nature, his weak body and now his illness all felt like Keel’s failing. His fault.

  ‘Hello, Tad,’ Vika said gently. ‘I suppose I must look quite unusual to you. I expect you’re wondering why my face is painted this way. It’s because I’m a druidess. Do you know what that is?’

  Tad was breathing rapidly now. This was how it started, panic building on panic until he became hysterical and shrieked and thrashed. When it was particularly bad, his eyes would roll back in his head and he’d shake and judder and foam at the mouth.

  Keel felt panic rising in his own breast. Why hadn’t he thought to ask Vika to wash the paint off? Why wasn’t Mariella here to handle this?

  ‘Tad! Tad, I’m here! All’s well, I’m here!’ he cried, but his voice was anything but calm and it only made things worse.

  ‘Druids help people, Tad,’ said Vika, as if gentling an animal. ‘I’ve come to help you get better. Would you like that? I’m Vika, and this is Ruck.’

  Tad’s gaze fixed on the wolfhound and he held his breath. In that fragile balance, Keel saw curiosity warring with fear in his son’s eyes.

  ‘Let him pet the dog,’ Keel said.

  Without word or sign from Vika, Ruck padded over and laid her head in Tad’s lap. Uncanny how it knew what to do. Sometimes it was as if the dog could understand them.

  Tad, his attention captured by Ruck, put out a tentative hand, drew it back, reached out again. Finally he plucked up the courage to run a hand down her neck. Keel gave Vika a relieved glance as Tad’s breathing returned to normal and a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Talk to him. Keep him calm,’ said Vika. She drew a phial from her cloak, unstoppered it and touched it to her lips. ‘Think of something nice,’ she advised, and took a sip.

  Keel struggled to find a suitable topic. Mariella was always better at that kind of thing, but she was in the kitchen with Fluke. Wouldn’t have any part of this. They’d rowed bitterly about it, but nothing would change her mind.

  ‘You think you can turn up out of the blue and fix this, Keel? Another quack herbalist peddling wishful-thinking remedies? He needs real treatment, not more Ossian tinctures and potions! I’m done with looking for miracles!’

  Well, damn her scorn. He had faith in Vika, even if Mariella didn’t. He would fix this. Somehow, he would.

  Think of something nice. It came to him at last. He sat on the bed and held Tad’s hand.

  ‘You remember when I took you to the fair? The painted men, the mummers in their make-up and masks? You liked them, didn’t you?’

  Tad dragged his gaze away from Ruck, looked at Vika, then back to Ruck: a safer place to leave them.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Keel. ‘She’s like the painted men. You’ll like her. You like her dog, don’t you?’

  Tad nodded.

  ‘What else did you see at the fair?’ Vika asked, moving slowly closer.

  When Tad didn’t answer, Keel answered for him. ‘That was some day we had, wasn’t it? I remember how the sun sparkled on the Cut as we set out westwards in my boat. There must have been a hundred craft on the water, barges flying pennants and little rowing-boats, all of them heading to Marisport for the fair.’


  ‘I liked the boats,’ Tad said quietly. Then he began to cough, his thin body wracked with spasms, shoulders bumping against the headboard. Keel thumped him on the back. It was all he could think to do.

  Vika had slipped up to the bedside now and was watching Tad owlishly, pupils huge amid the black-and-white smears on her face. Keel was reminded suddenly of Skavengard, of how her eyes had looked when the beast was in her, and terror ambushed him.

  the teeth the mouths it’ll never stop devouring me forever

  ‘I’m going to put my hand on your back, Tad,’ Vika warned. ‘It will help me tell what is wrong with you.’

  Tad was too busy coughing to protest, and Vika didn’t give him time to. She slid her hand down the neck of his shift, then drew it out and put it on his chest.

  ‘Stop trying to suck in your breath,’ she told him firmly. ‘Breathe out for as long as you can.’

  To Keel’s surprise, Tad did as she said. The coughing petered out immediately.

  ‘Now don’t pull the air in. Your lungs will fill on their own. Let them.’

  Tad’s chest rose again. He let out another sigh. No coughing.

  ‘There,’ said Vika, satisfied. ‘Well done. Now, about this fair …’

  Keel stared at her, amazed by her effortless competence. Then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing and took up the story again.

  ‘Ah … yes. You remember all the things we saw, eh, Tad? Nine, they didn’t sell us short! There were magicians from Caragua who made a bear disappear, and red men from Helica who performed a spear-dance, and three acrobats from Kedda with wooden masks and clothes of leaf and bark. While they were tumbling, they told us how they do everything in threes in their homeland. They rule in threes, fight in threes, they even get married in threes! You laughed at them and clapped like you would never stop.’

  As he spoke, Vika moved her hands over Tad’s body, now holding his wrist, now pushing her fingers under his jaw. He submitted to it all, watching her with nervous trust, one hand still mechanically scratching Ruck’s neck. Keel wasn’t sure if Tad was listening to him, but he didn’t want to stop. The memories were as much for him as his son.

  ‘There were dog-warriors from Zotha, you remember? Men with dark skin who scarred their faces. And such fierce dogs! You’ve never seen dogs so big! They bond with their dogs as puppies, and they can live thirty years or more, and when the dog dies in battle or of old age, they retire as warriors.’

  ‘It sounds like you had a wonderful time together,’ Vika said. She bent over and put her ear to Tad’s chest. ‘Now pull in a breath, big as you can, and hold it. Good.’

  It had been wonderful. A rare and perfect day, without tantrum or distress. Tad had just turned five and Keel would leave Wracken Bay soon afterwards, but on that day, there was no thought of it in his mind. It was only later that he realised the sights he saw at the fair had inspired him, set him dreaming of places far away from this small, small-minded town.

  As soon as Vika let him release his breath, Tad began to babble excitedly. ‘There were Xulan chimericists, too! They showed us scaly monkeys, and a fish that had legs, and a concoction that made rusted armour shiny just by dipping it in!’

  ‘No!’ Vika said in mock surprise.

  ‘We saw it, didn’t we, Da?’ His face was alight, his eyes dancing and a true smile on his lips. At last, he was connecting with them. Keel’s heart hurt for the love of him. If only it could always have been like this.

  ‘We did,’ he said, patting his son’s hand. ‘We did. And you’ll see such wonders again, one day. By Joha and Hallen and all the Aspects, I promise you.’

  ‘Really?’ Tad was agape. ‘You mean it?’

  ‘I promise,’ Keel said again.

  Vika gave him a look, and said nothing.

  Vika’s visit exhausted Tad and he fell asleep again soon after. Ruck led the way out onto the narrow wooden landing between the upstairs bedrooms and Vika closed the door behind them. No sooner had the latch dropped shut than Keel’s face crumpled and he wept.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ he whispered through his tears. ‘Damn it to the depths, it’s not right. What kind of gods would allow this?’

  Vika embraced him and said nothing, for which he was grateful. He had to fight to keep his sobs quiet enough that his wife and brother wouldn’t hear them downstairs.

  When he got himself under control again, he felt a little better. He’d drained off the bare minimum of his grief, but it still lurked just below the surface. He needed to be alone, where no one could see him and he could let himself go without shame. But being alone now seemed like the worst thing in the world.

  ‘Dry your eyes,’ Vika told him, not without kindness. ‘Your wife needs your strength now. She has been bearing this burden for a long time.’ They spoke a little further on what might be done for Tad, and then went downstairs.

  Mariella and Fluke were at the table in the kitchen, drinking nettle tea. They looked up as Keel and Vika entered, their faces closed and suspicious. Keel had the feeling they’d stopped talking just a moment ago.

  ‘He’s asleep again,’ said Keel.

  ‘Good,’ said Mariella.

  Vika took the temperature in the room. ‘I’ll see you back at the camp,’ she told Keel. ‘Farewell to you all.’

  Mariella watched her go with evident resentment on her face. Fluke did the same; he supported Mariella, as he always did. Keel seated himself at the table, feeling more like an intruder than ever.

  ‘Well?’ Mariella asked.

  ‘I thought you didn’t care?’

  ‘Just tell me what she said.’

  Sulky, churlish, obtuse. They were not like this with anyone else, only each other. If they were supposed to be in love, why did they act like enemies?

  ‘She can make him a potion that will ease the coughing and stop the grip getting any worse. He could live a long time that way. But a druid or druidess will have to prepare it once a month, and it isn’t a cure. He needs long-term care to get better.’

  ‘So it’s no solution at all, then.’

  ‘It’s something,’ Keel snapped.

  ‘It’s nothing!’ she cried. ‘More false promises, more false hope!’

  ‘I told you, she’s a druidess, not some washed-up herbalist! I’ve seen her do things! She can help him!’

  Mariella’s mouth screwed up in disbelief. She didn’t want to believe that. Didn’t want to give any ground at all, to hope even a little, in case all her defences should collapse. ‘And what would it give him? Another month confined in bed? Another year?’

  ‘Isn’t that worth it? Isn’t even another day worth it?’

  ‘Maybe it is, but what’s that to you if you’re not here to see it? If you have such faith in her remedies, stay and administer them yourself!’

  ‘Godspit, Mariella, it’s our child’s life we’re talking about! One of us has to earn money, and I won’t get it fumbling with cows on a farm!’

  ‘You’ll never come back!’ she screamed, surging to her feet. ‘Don’t you think I know what all this is about? You don’t want me, and you don’t want us!’ She swept her mug of nettle tea to the floor, where it smashed into steaming shards. Her voice became low and hard. ‘If you walk away, you’re my husband no longer,’ she said. ‘I swear it, Keel. You’ll find no welcome here again.’

  Keel stared at her, shocked. Before he could say anything else, she stormed out of the cottage. He heard her stamping up the path, sobbing with rage. He stood to follow, but Fluke grabbed his arm. Keel almost punched him for that, but Fluke’s steady gaze took the heat out of him.

  ‘You’ll do no good when she’s that upset,’ Fluke said. ‘Why don’t you and I take a walk up to the farm? We ought to talk.’

  Keel shook him off angrily. He nearly went after her anyway, but sense triumphed. Fluke was right. Better to let her cool. Better to let himself cool.

  She’d never made a threat like that before. Never.

  ‘Alright, th
en,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk.’

  58

  ‘You don’t know what it was like,’ said Keel as they walked across the damp fields. ‘The first three years, he just screamed. Nothing helped. Screamed till he was exhausted enough to sleep a few hours, and we could, too.’

  The hillside was divided by fences, ditches and hedgerows. Shaggy sheep cropped grass beneath a grey sky. Distant thunderheads were piling up on the horizon.

  ‘Just before his fourth birthday, he went quiet.’ Keel snapped his fingers. ‘Like that. Overnight. That was worse. Nine, at least we knew what we had before. Mariella didn’t trust him any more. She talked about changelings and I think she meant it, too, for a time. We’d try anything to get a response out of him, a good response, you know? A smile, a laugh. The things we tried …’

  He felt a drop of rain on his cheek, tipped his face up to meet it. No more fell. It was only a promise of what was to come.

  ‘I hated this town long before he was born. Afterwards, the only peace I got was out on the boats. More than once, I took a launch with naught but a harpoon against a breacher that should’ve swatted me flat, and when that whale was bubbling in the try-pots and my crewmates were calling me a fool and a hero, I’d be sorry. I wanted that whale to kill me, not the other way around. But somehow I could never quite let it happen.’

  He spat into the grass. Fluke offered no comment.

  ‘Setting foot on shore again, it was like the world closing in on me. Like a cold iron mask fixed around my skull. I’d go to the Bellied Sail and drink till word reached Mariella I was back, and she’d send you to drag me home.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Fluke. ‘Da always used to say he never felt alive unless he was out in the tempest with a harpoon in his hand. Used to hate him for that, for telling us he’d rather be elsewhere. Saying it to his own sons.’

  ‘Never thought of it like that,’ said Keel.

  ‘Well, you always were his boy.’

  They turned onto a muddy track that ran along the edge of a bramble-choked ditch. A horseman was just cresting the rise at the top of the hill, coming their way at a canter.