by Greg James
“She’s dead. You killed her.” Viril said. He knew without turning to look.
Kirrick snorted, scraping at the ground with his hooves. “You do not know what you have done. We were chosen. I would have let you live.”
“What are you speaking of, Kirrick?” Viril asked. “What have you done? You sold yourself to the Lamia after everything. She slaughtered our people. We are the last because of Her.”
“We could have kept on living,” Kirrick said.
“You shame the memory of those who have gone before,” Viril said. He drew his dagger and held it out. “I will kill you for this, brother.”
“Very well, brother. Let us dance, to the death.” Kirrick said, drawing a short sword.
Willow watching, cradling Laene’s broken head in her arms. The two brother-kin danced and fought. Despite appearances, Kirrick was the stronger. He had rested long and taken the richest pickings from the food foraged by his fellow centaurs. His muscles were lithe whereas Viril’s were thin. She could see sweat on Viril’s skin when there was only colour flushing through Kirrick’s. The short sword had been well-cared for whereas the dagger was notched, dull and veined with rusted. Viril fought bravely and well but he was too weak for this fight. Kirrick struck the dagger from his hand with a well-aimed blow and mounted over Viril, raising his blade to finish things.
Willow saw Viril’s eyes flick in her direction as he spoke, “Kirrick, you do not have to do this.”
“You said to the death, my brother-kin. What is it, are you afraid now? Do you not want to die?”
“None of us want to die,” Viril said, “but I am not afraid. I will face it if I have to but think what you are doing. Do you wish it to end like this? We are the only two left. The droves are dead. Our homes are ashes. Would you end our people and be left completely alone? There is no-one else once I am gone.”
Kirrick’s dagger remained still, not falling just yet. “Brother, I guess you do not know me so well.”
A flash of movement and shadow.
A croak escaped Kirrick.
He fell in the dirt.
Willow stood over him, holding Laene’s dagger in her hand. She wiped the bloodied blade clean on his hide. She had seen Viril’s look to her and understood what she had to do.
“Thank you, Willow,” Viril said, “Again you save my life and I am in your debt.”
“Those things you said to him. You are the last of your kind now. You did what you asked him not to do.”
“I know,” Viril said, “Yirae, Laene, and Kirrick. All gone. I am alone in the world.”
“No, you’re not. You have me.” Willow said.
Viril smiled, “That I do. Thank you.”
Chapter Five
Morning light bled into the cave as a greyness through the drizzling rain. She hadn’t slept a wink. “Doesn’t it ever stop?” Willow asked.
“Not since the Lamia’s curse fell over the land,” Viril said, “the rain, the clouds, and the cold are everlasting.”
“As long as she lives.”
“I guess so,” said the centaur.
“Then I must be the one to break it.”
“And how would you do that?”
“I will face her in her nest.”
“You mean to go to Barrowdwell?” Viril asked.
“Yes, I have to or die in the attempt.”
“Are you sure that you want to do this, Willow? There are worse things abroad in the land than No-men. And then, to reach its gates is one matter, to pass them and survive the path to her nest is quite another.”
“I made a promise. I swore an oath.” Willow said, “The Lamia’s rule over Tirlane must be undone at my hand. It’s my fault.”
“You speak true and bravely,” Viril said, “and I know it is not your fault. For whatever reason, you unjustly take this burden upon yourself. However, I will come with you. You will not journey alone.”
“Thanks, Viril, but others have died because of me. I don’t need another death on my conscience before this is over, unless it’s my own.”
“I don’t intend to die. Besides you will have a better journey with a steed than walking all that way on foot. There are molloi, wolves and Behemoths out there. You could not hope to outrun them without me.”
“Perhaps, but you will not be my steed.”
“No?”
“You will come as my friend.”
“I accept your terms, Willow Grey.”
They left the Seaforth Flats behind and set out towards Barrowdwell. As they rode, Willow saw yet more signs of the ruin wrought by the Lamia’s children.
“I think we must go to Harrowclave.” She said.
“Why there?” Viril asked.
“There’s something I need. Laene was right of one thing. I cannot hope to break into Barrowdwell alone. I will need an army.”
“How do you think to get one? The surviving people of the land are scattered and in hiding. They will not come out for fear of becoming a feast for the Behemoths.”
“Tirlane had guardians once. I saw them when I first came to Harrowclave. I think I may be able to awaken them.”
“The Stone Legion? They have been asleep for centuries. Are you sure that you can do this?”
“No, but I’ve got to try. It’s our best shot.”
“I am with you, Willow. I owe you my life twice over.”
“Remember, that doesn’t mean you get to die on me.”
“Of course not. I can die once and then come back, yes?”
“Not funny. No-one’s going to die, got it?”
Viril said no more in response.
They rode on until late in the day when, suddenly, Viril stopped, his ears twitching. He looked around, eyes narrowed, before turning to face the way they had come.
“Someone follows. Do you hear it yet?”
Willow shook her head as she placed her hand on the hilt of Laene’s dagger. It was not the thule, but it’s weight at her side was a comfort.
“Molloi riders,” Viril said, “I can hear their hunting horns, and something else is with them. I must go at speed. Hold on tight, Willow.”
“Viril, can we not hide? The strain may be too much for you. You are still weak and tired.”
“It matters not.” He said in a harsh tone, “We cannot stay here and wait for them to fall upon us.”
Willow braced herself as he turned about and took off at a gallop, heading for the mouth of a valley through high hills that was opening up ahead. The land around them turned into dark ribbons of texture pouring past as Viril intensified his pace.
The valley’s throat closed around them, its heights casting a shroud of thick shadows. Willow could feel the heavy thunder of Viril’s heart and the heaving of every breath he took. His hide was becoming hot and greasy with sweat. She clung on tighter to stop from slipping off and falling.
They cleared the throat of the valley and the land settled down into uneven hillocks. The howl of wolves punctuated by a series of hunting horn blasts reached her ears. Cold sweat prickled her brow and a shiver went down her spine at the chorus of disturbing sounds from their pursuers. There was something else, she could feel it underscoring the rhythm of Viril’s hooves. Gigantic and ponderous steps, several of them.
Behemoths were behind them!
She’d not been able to see or hear them in the valley, so they must have closed the distance between them quickly. Would Viril be able to outrun them all?
Willow wasn’t sure. She could feel his body had become fever-hot. His heart’s beat and his breathing were irregular and strained. She clung on tight as he continued to push himself headlong across the land, over rise after rise. Willow felt the jolt as he came back down to earth hitting her harder and harder. He was tiring and judging the leaps he was taking with less care. She guessed he’d heard the sounds made by their pursuers and deduced what was on their tail. There was desperation in this race now. The hopelessness of the quarry that knows it is bound to fall, come what may. Viril remem
bered what’d happened to Yirae. He did not want to be eaten. If he carried on like this, he’d injure himself – and them, what would they do?
Another cacophony of wolf-howls and horn blasts reached her – followed by the low bellow of Behemoths.
“Viril, look for a way,” she gasped, “a place we can escape to, please.”
The centaur’s head snapped back and forth, scanning the dim horizon. He shook his head, “There is nothing on these plains. We are too far from any sanctuary.”
“We’ve got to find something otherwise they’ll kill us.”
Willow looked over her shoulder and saw shapes dashing over the hillocks. The wolves were gaining ground. She sat up, balancing herself as best she could. There were the Behemoths, coming up behind the wolves. They were running as well; spurred on by sight of their prey. That terrible, senseless hunger she’d seen driving them like an engine. Their pale bodies shimmering with sweat in the last light of day and their black hair streaming out like ragged, glistening manes behind them. The one thing the light did not illuminate was the dead orbs of their eyes.
She drew Laene’s dagger as the lead wolf and its Molloi mount came close enough that she could see the colour of the rider’s tattoos and the painted streaks in its matted hair. It was wielding a spear. The rider thrust it out, trying to cut at the back of Viril’s legs. Willow struck the spear away, spittle from the wolf’s jaws spraying as it tried to bite her hand off.
Another wolf came up on the other side of Viril. Its rider lashing it with barbed branches; driving it to greater ferocity and frenzy. The wolf lunged at the centaur, fangs open to bite into his calf. Viril saw his attacker and lashed out, catching the wolf in the muzzle with a powerful kick. Blood and bone spurted out and the wolf crashed to the ground, taking its rider down, leaving nothing behind but a pained shriek that hung in the air.
More wolves were closing in though and the Behemoths’ footsteps were making Willow’s teeth chatter. They could not hope to fight all of these nightmares off. It was her turn to scan their surroundings – and she saw something. At first, it had appeared to be another outcrop of rocks, but she could see it had turrets and battlements.
She leaned forward and slapped Viril hard on his shoulder, “To the castle, over there!”
Viril let out a strained cry and swerved in the direction of the ruined castle. Willow hoped and prayed that they would be able to find some shelter there.
Chapter Six
They reached the castle with a last burst of effort from Viril. He charged through its gates and slithered to a halt in the dirt of its courtyard. Willow hurled herself from his back and dashed back to the gates. There was a lever on the right-hand-side. She pulled it and the portcullis came down with a heavy scraping of metal on stone.
She watched through the cross-hatched iron and waited for their pursuers to follow – but they did not. She heard howls and feral shouts, but the night had gathered enough that she could not see clearly what was stopping their enemies coming closer.
Either way, she didn’t care.
If the Molloi and Behemoths weren’t going to come here, then they would be safe for the night though she did wonder what would stop them. She wished that she still had the thule.
Viril was sprawled on the ground, gasping for air. She could see there were wounds on his flanks. The wolves and their riders had managed to get some strikes in after all – and they all looked angry with infection. She put a hand on his brow. He was cold with fever. She wasn’t sure if he’d survive to see the morning light. There was a doorway standing open to her left. She would have to explore the castle alone and see if she could find something to heal his wounds.
She took Viril’s dagger, having lost Laene’s in their flight.
The centaur’s fingers found hers and wrung her hand tight, “Take care, Willow. I fear there may be something below in this place.”
Willow nodded. With the night, a cold seemed to have settled over the castle that was not natural. It changed nothing though as she had to help her friend.
She would not allow another death, no matter what.
Exploring the chambers of the castle, she noticed dust everywhere, lying thick over the surfaces and rising in heavy swirls when disturbed. If Willow hadn’t known better, she might’ve thought the dust was ashes but there was no sign of a great fire having raged here.
There were vases of greenish copper, tables and chairs that were broken into pieces, shards of crockery, and suits of armour at intervals keeping eternal guard over it all. She wondered what had happened here. This didn’t look like the work of the Lamia’s children.
In one of the chambers, she found a hole in the wall that wasn’t blocked up by rubble. There were stairs leading downward into the underground levels of the castle. She hadn’t found anything that could help Viril up here.
I’ve got to go down there, she thought, though it doesn’t look at all inviting.
The stairs led down to a wine cellar full of dusty bottles and barrels. She pushed a few of them with the toe of her boot. Liquid sloshed inside. They were full and some wine might help to ease Viril’s pain, but she wanted to find something better than this if she could. She returned to the stairs and continued downwards to the next level.
The stairs ended in a long corridor with a high ceiling. It stretched off into the gloom. Willow noticed that the torches set into the walls were lit. There must be survivors down here from the attack that befell the castle. Suits of armour guarded the length of the corridor as upstairs.
She followed the corridor until it opened out – into a tomb.
There was no sign of bodies, only more of the dust covering every surface. It was heavy in the air here as well, almost choking. Willow entered the tomb, ducking as its ceiling was low, and walked up to the black iron sarcophagus at its centre. She read the fine, curling script carved into its surface.
“Here lies Master Cerius, last-born son of Terius, taken by the sickness to be born again in the faraway branches of the Archtree. From Kotka they came and now their spirits shall rise and return.”
Willow placed her hand on the sarcophagus and felt how much dust there was. She took her hand away and brushed it off. The cold she’d felt upstairs was growing stronger down here.
I have to get out of here. Viril will have to make do with the wine, after all.
Turning to leave, her foot struck an object. It had been so heavily covered in dust that only physical contact could have revealed it to her. Willow knelt and picked it up.
It was a Molloi skull.
Close by, she saw a number of other lumps in the dust. She wiped the dust from them with Viril’s dagger. They were the bones of Molloi along with their weapons and armour. No wonder their pursuers hadn’t followed them into this place.
“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Willow whispered, thinking on how the dust appeared to be like ashes once again.
It was long past time to go. She’d grab a few bottles of wine to ease Viril’s pain and tiredness on the way up, and that would be all they’d take from this place.
Except perhaps a few juicy nightmares, Willow thought.
Willow got back to her feet, dusting herself down as best she could and started to walk back the way she came. She could barely move. It was like trying to walk underwater, or with great weights tied to her legs. She looked down at the dust still clinging to her clothes, and still more of it was settling onto her. The atmosphere of the tomb was saturated with the stuff. She ground her teeth, strained every muscle, managed a single step – and then she was stuck. Unable to move another inch.
The air of the tomb started vibrating though the dust, the tomb, and the Molloi skeletons appeared undisturbed by the motion. The vibration grew and grew until it was like thunder and Willow was at the eye of a silent storm. The feeling of motion continued, and she was sure that it was coming from behind her – from somewhere deeper in the underground chambers of the castle. The ground beneath her feet rose and f
ell like the yawing of a ships’ deck at sea – then darkness fell all around.
Willow stood there, blind, desperate and crying, pulling against the force freezing her in place; like the nightmare every child has at some stage in their early years.
Slowly, light began to reassert itself in the tomb.
It was not the light of the torches though. It was something paler and more sickly that seemed to grow out of the all-encompassing darkness rather coming from a natural source. It flowed around her like the waters of a river – one in which she was close to drowning. It made a sound like muttering or whispering, and Willow wondered if this was the voices left behind by those it had killed before. Lost in the light. Not know where they were, or what had happened to them.
If only I had the thule, she thought, I could get out of this.
The coldness of the light was already seeping into her. She knew it wouldn’t be long before it ate her up and she was turned to dust as well. Viril would die without her. Tirlane would be ruined by the Lamia. And it would all be her fault because she hadn’t been strong enough.
Willow closed her eyes, focused, and pulled even harder against the constraints of the light. Nothing changed. She opened her eyes and saw a shining globe hanging before her. It was the size of a human head and she could see how it shimmered as if this killing light was pouring from it in waves. This was the source of what was happening.
It drifted closer to Willow. A rippling passed over its surface and, in a few moments, the globe was a mirror of her face.
“What do you want with me?” she asked.
‘What do you want with me?’ it echoed back.
“Are you a servant of the Lamia? Do you want to kill me?”
‘Are you a servant of the Lamia? Do you want to kill me?’
“Stop doing that! Stop imitating me.”
‘Stop doing that! Stop imitating me.’
Willow frowned, and the globe frowned back at her.
