The Mark Of Iisilée

by T P Sheehan

  “How so?”

  “We have no spikes and crampons.” Catanya examined the souls of her boots. “Worse still, we need to climb during the night. I’ve not done that.”

  “Right.” Magnus looked for the afternoon sun through the tall trees. “Because we don’t want the dragons to see us.”

  “Aye. As I said, they will spot us from up there. And if what Balgur told you is true, Brue is one of them. We know what he thinks of you.” Catanya winced.

  “Balgur said to ‘heal wounds’ and ‘forge bonds’,” Magnus said dryly.

  “I’m not sure Brue is the best way to start, Magnus.” Catanya feigned a smile.

  It would be a long night and they both knew it. Magnus and Catanya rested amongst the trees, both managing some sleep, and as dusk turned to dark they turned their attention to the climb. Catanya fed and watered Tilly and released the horse on the northbound Outer Rim road that would take her toward the town of Kreeluck, as Marsala had requested. Then they headed out into the night and across the Red River to the base of the Romgnian Mountain cliff face.

  Magnus and Catanya made final preparations for the climb. Magnus buckled his scabbard tighter than usual and ensured Lucas’s sword was secure. Eamon’s long daggers remained sheathed one-a-side in their leg holsters. Magnus’s packed duffle bag, with dried beef strips, dried fruit and a flask of water, was strapped across his back. Catanya secured her Ferustir’s lance and throwing knives in the same manner. As always, she arranged her own knives to the front of the pouch in the left leg of her Ferustir suit, with Demi’s blades to the back. She re-buckled her vambraces and greaves and checked the provisions in her own bag. Finally, she retied and double knotted her burgundy laces. Seeing her do so, Magnus followed suit and retied his own laces.

  “Ready?” Magnus jumped on the spot a few times.

  “Ready.” Catanya smiled nervously and turned to the cliff face.

  They started the climb. Magnus was grateful the summer day had left the cliff face warm and dry. He had learned from climbing the cliffs at the Western Margins as a child that cold stone soon worked your fingers into lethargy and wet stone was cause to cancel a climb altogether. Other than this, he left all knowledge and knowhow to Catanya.

  “It’s roughly a mile up to the clouds. The clouds there are consistent,” Catanya spoke gently, not two feet ahead of Magnus. “Three hundred feet of cloud, then a mile further afterwards. If we are through the clouds before the moon shifts out of the Spindlefax constellation, we know we can reach the Romghold by sunrise. If not, we’ll need to hide in the clouds for a day and resume our climb tomorrow night.”

  “Aye.” Magnus tried not to think about holding on to the cliff face for a day, a mile above ground, waiting for the following night to come. Instead, he watched Catanya and followed her every move. He could see Catanya was pacing herself slow and steady, double-checking every placement of hand and foot before elevating to the next hold.

  With the cloud cover above, it was impossible to discern time by the moon or stars. Magnus estimated they were half way to the clouds when he dared to glance about. A mile westward of the cliffs, the sky was cloud free and the moon cast blue light across the canopy of Froughton Forest’s ancient pines and oaks. It was the most magnificent sight. Magnus looked then to the darkness of the ground far below, making his head turn in a spin. “That was a bad idea,” he moaned to himself.

  “Don’t look down if you can help it.” Catanya peered at Magnus. She released her left hand’s grip, drew her fingers into a fist and cracked her knuckles.

  “How are you travelling?” Magnus enquired.

  “I’m good. It’s different without climbing tools. Slower. I’ll be glad when we’re above the clouds. The moon will afford us sight. The closer we get to the clouds, the more I’m going by touch. I could make a fire orb but we’d stand out like a beacon.

  Magnus had a similar idea but one that could work. Back in Ba’rrat, Sarah always had a small orb of blue light in her prison cell to stave off the darkness. It was far more discrete than the balls of amber a Fireisgh spell would induce.

  “I could conjure a ‘gypsy’s eye’.” Magnus knew the name and knew Sarah could perform all kinds of tricks with the ‘eye’ once created, including changing colours and intensity. Magnus knew none of this, but from his Gypsy magic lessons in Sarah’s cell he could at least create one. “I think it could work.”

  “It’s more subtle than a fire orb?” Catanya asked.

  “I’m sure it will be. I can extinguish it immediately if you think it’s not.”

  Catanya looked about, apparently considering the option. “Let’s do it—for safety’s sake. Plummeting a few thousand feet will be harder to reason with than a fire dragon.”

  Magnus was inclined to agree. Then again, he dreaded having to face Brue on the cliff face. A horrible vision came to mind of the long-tailed fire dragon scorching them both with flames. If it came to this he would leap over Catanya and try to envelope her, taking the heat himself. He had survived it unscathed before, but doubted Catanya would. In reality, he knew he could never cling to the cliff face amidst the excruciating pain of dragon flames. Even if he could, the dragon would take other measures to pick them off the mountain.

  Once the nightmarish thought passed, Magnus whispered the gentle gypsy spell—“Gan ni-sish bulniferé.” As with all gypsy spells, it needed to roll gently off the tongue as a whisper, else it would overpower itself and die before it was induced. A tiny blue spark—no larger than a pinprick—sprouted from intention and floated beside Magnus. He blew gently at the spark and it floated up a little way until it was beside Catanya. “Ni-sish-sish,” Magnus whispered, enticing the spark to grow to the size of a grape. Another whisper and it grew to that of a plum. The blue light from the gypsy’s eye gave gentle illumination of a similar hue to the moonlight over Froughton Forest.

  “Perfect,” Catanya whispered and started to climb again.

  Time passed and the ascent continued. The gypsy’s eye kept to Catanya’s left and occasionally, she would give it a nudge to move it about and help find her way. The clouds above were getting closer and with it, the stone cold and damp. Catanya slowed to a painfully slow pace, ensuring every grip was patent before moving to the next. Magnus sensed the slow pace meant they would not reach the Romghold before sunrise. It would mean searching for a ledge to rest on. Here, they could regain their strength, eat rations and, the gods permitting, get some sleep. Catanya apparently shared Magnus’s thoughts.

  “There are occasional outcrops but we need to find a crevice to rest in. I’ve seen them when climbing before. Some cut through the band of clouds. There are several deep crevices ahead.”

  “Can you remember where they are?” Magnus hoped she could.

  “Aye. There’s one back that way.” Catanya pointed to her right and up. Fifty feet in that direction, there was a long ledge of stone jutting out a good five feet. “We’ve come a little more to the left than I wanted, but not too far. We could climb down a little and come back at it from below or we could—” Catanya fell silent and as still as if a spell had turned her to stone. A long, breathless moment passed then she looked directly up, into the clouds, no more than twenty feet away. Magnus continued to hold his breath, waiting for instruction. Catanya snapped her head toward him. “MOVE!”

  Catanya reached high and hoisted herself upward, not waiting to assess the sureness of her grip. Magnus shadowed her, wondering what had her startled. “What is it?” he whispered between gritted teeth.

  “Dragon!” Catanya hissed back. They were ten feet from the clouds. Wisps of mist floated down, dampening Magnus’s face and limbs. Catanya reached to the gypsy’s eye and flicked it up into the clouds where its weak light vanished. “Freeze, Magnus.” Pinned to the cliff face, Magnus and Catanya were like a pair of statues. “Do not move. Not a single inch.”

  Then Magnus heard it. Two beats of a heavy drum, a sweeping sound and a sharp ‘whoosh’. Less than a hundred fe
et to their left a dragon speared through the clouds. Its speed was phenomenal. Magnus’s jaw dropped and his heart stopped. The dragon sped toward the darkness below and then—‘THUMP.’ Its wings opened, tapering its decent. It flew out over Froughton Forest, casting a great, looming shadow over the blue treetops. The moon sparkled its reflection over the dragon’s shimmering scales—a flashing contrast of blue and bronze that shifted with the beats of the creature’s wings. The dragon banked to the left and came back around.

  “Don’t move. Face the cliff. She won’t see us,” Catanya whispered. Magnus did as told, fighting every natural urge to face the dragon. The only thing that pleased him in this moment was Catanya referring to it as a ‘she’. It’s not Brue…

  By the increased frequency of beating wings, Magnus gathered the dragon was climbing again, half a mile to their right. A long minute later, the creature was over the mountain peak and gone.

  Magnus and Catanya released their pent up breaths and were quick to move again. “Please be careful, Magnus.”

  “Aye.”

  “We’ve come too far to fall now.”

  “Aye.”

  Magnus followed Catanya into the clouds. Vision was dull, but by some miracle they came to a ledge that allowed them to sit and rest for a spell.

  “What luck is this?” Magnus felt his own spirits lifting. The gypsy’s eye drifted back toward them, affording a little light.

  “This ledge is continuous. At some places narrow, at others it juts out up to five feet,” Catanya explained. “To the south is the ledge we were under before Liné flew by.

  “Liné?” Magnus asked.

  “Aye. She’s a beautiful dragon. Quick to temper, though.”

  Magnus chuckled and shook his head at Catanya’s familiar tone. “You speak of them like friends. I just hope they don’t try to kill us.”

  Through the haze of the cloud, Catanya shuffled over to Magnus. “I’m sorry. I guess they’re so familiar to me, I…”

  “That’s okay.” Magnus wrapped an arm around Catanya. They peered through the clouds. There was no clear vision to be had, least of all when sorting through conflicting thoughts. “You grew close to them in the Romghold, didn’t you.” Catanya nodded. “I do look forward to meeting Rubea.” Magnus knew Rubea was her favourite—the young dragon she had grown to love.

  Catanya closed her eyes and smiled. “Rubea is gorgeous.” She looked at Magnus. “She’ll love you. Especially when she reads my thoughts and learns of my love for you. Of that, she will be most excited.”

  “She’ll do that? She’ll read your personal thoughts like that?” Even as he said it, Magnus remembered the dragons in Ba’rrat were quick to assess Catanya and Magnus’s relationship.

  Catanya laughed a single laugh and shook her head. “Rubea’s a little cheeky. You’ll see.”

  After a few minutes recovery, Magnus addressed the next issue—“Shall we venture beyond the clouds and see if the moon has shifted beyond the Spindlefax constellation?”

  “I think we can spare ourselves the effort,” Catanya countered. “Even if by some miracle time is on our side, starting again with an early night will restore the cliff to warm and dry.”

  “Aye. And give us more of the night to cause trouble in the Romghold.”

  “Indeed.” Catanya started to move. “We should find the crevice I told you about and rest.”

  “Then you can tell me more about the Romghold so I know what to expect this time tomorrow.”

  COUSINS

  On the eve of the third day, the leading group of refugees from Brindle arrived in Thwax. They had rested on the second night and from the following morning, walked without further rest, just as Bonstaph had instructed them to do. Sarah travelled with the first group to leave. There had been minimal conversation among the travellers in her group—again, as per Bonstaph’s instruction—‘Be thirty sets of ears, not thirty sets of voices for other ears to find.’ Sarah could see Bonstaph had been very clever with his evacuation strategy. She would not have expected anything less from him.

  The fifty extra people Bonstaph had accounted for were named the ‘Perimetral’ guard and were posted as scouts. They were all men and women he trusted. Sarah recognised many of them from the Fire Realm. Any others, Bonstaph knew from his days as Knight Commander. The Perimetral formed a protective barrier for the travellers. Sarah’s group—the leading end of the migration—saw neither incident nor attack from any Quag warriors. In time they would know whether successive groups arrived in Thwax without incident.

  If all groups arrived as they left, Sarah knew she had until sunrise to do what she needed to get done in Thwax. And so, with fog cloaking the abandoned ghost town on a moonlit night, Sarah stole herself away from her group as the last of them succumbed to sleep. Sarah headed straight for the jetty to get her bearings. It has been a lifetime since I was last in Thwax. The town looked even worse for wear than she remembered and its advanced state of decay made finding her way challenging. Soon though, she spotted the jetty. At the start of the Jetty was a wooden chair with a half-knitted shawl, knitting needles, and a ball of pale green yarn placed on top of it. It was a sight familiar to Sarah.

  “Marsala…”

  From here, Sarah was able to navigate the buildings, debris and abandoned streets to the small alleyway leading to a home she knew too well. Sarah knocked on the wooden door then looked away, drawing her cloak inward to shield from the cold, misty fog. It floated past her in milky strands like the tattered clothing of lurking ghosts. “Be off,” Sarah mumbled. “You mind your dominion and I’ll mind mine.” With her back to the door, Sarah heard its small, square viewing-hole open.

  “I didn’t know you were coming and you’re to blame for that—not I,” the familiar voice said.

  “It’s nice to know I still have the ability to hide from you,” Sarah said in a solemn manner she knew was not at all her usual self.

  The door opened. Marsala looked Sarah up and down. “You’ve a story to tell, I see that much. And I sense it’s not the sort I want to hear.” The two women embraced. “It is good to see you, cousin.”

  “Aye,” Sarah said. “It is good to see you, too.” Sarah could feel the affection in Marsala’s embrace, but also her trepidation. The two women entered Marsala’s living area and Sarah fell, exhausted, into a chair.

  “What has happened?” Marsala wrung nervous hands.

  “Make me a meal and I’ll tell you all about it. It has been far too long since I’ve tasted your fine food.”

  “You’ve changed, and recently at that,” Marsala said as she disappeared through the curtains at the back of the room. “And entirely forgotten is was you who always cooked for me,” she shouted after herself.

  Sarah nodded in agreement as she scanned the room in contemplation. She spotted the black cat peeping through the curtain.

  “Tilly,” Sarah called, such that Marsala could hear her.

  “No, that is my horse’s name,” Marsala’s voice called back.

  Sarah nodded again, still looking at the cat. “Blüflis,” Sarah remembered—remembering also that the cat was a dark shade of blue only distinguishable from black in the sun. She doubted Blüflis spent much time in the sun.

  “Aye,” Marsala confirmed, returning with her tray of food and tea. She placed it on the table then sat and looked at Sarah. Blüflis assumed her position atop the tallest pile of books in the room.

  “You’re not alone,” Sarah remarked. She could sense a presence in the home. It was not a recent presence, but a feeling someone else was here—now.

  “Aye.” Marsala leant forward and poured two cups of tea. “Downstairs in the back room.”

  “You are healing someone?”

  “For a friend. He arrived yesterday. You need not concern yourself. I’ve given him something to make him sleep and aid with his healing.”

  Sarah knew she should leave her cousin to look after her patient—to put his needs ahead of hers—but that was the old Sarah. The
new Sarah had an oath to fulfil.

  “You need something of me,” Marsala asked, sipping her tea then gingerly placing the cup on the table as though making a sound would disrupt Sarah’s response.

  “I need you to create a spell.” The tone in her own voice seemed harsh even to Sarah.

  “What kind of a spell, cousin?” Marsala said, mimicking Sarah’s tone.

  “I need a Tenebris spell.”

  “No.” Marsala looked away and shook her head. “Dark spells such as that cannot be broken.”

  “I have sworn a gypsy oath, cousin. It is an oath that cannot be broken, nor fulfilled without your help.” Marsala was still shaking her head. She pouted her lips like a child in defiance and began to scratch one of her knotted locks of coloured hair. “You have to do this for me, Marsala,” Sarah insisted.

  Marsala finally made eye contact with Sarah but continued to pout. “What is it for? What does it need to do?”

  “Hide my presence in darkness, find another in the same and—”

  “And?” Marsala’s face intensified.

  “And teach me a second Tenebris spell to take the life of a sorcerer.”

  Marsala’s mouth searched for words. Sarah knew it would take some convincing. What she was asking her cousin to do, she knew, there was no coming back from. Eventually Marsala spoke—“Will you please eat some food?” she snapped, as though it were the only retaliation she could think of.

  Sarah did as told, reaching for the soup bowl. She began eating the savoury mix of meat and vegetables. It was delicious, but she had no appetite. “Fennel… celery, carrot, lamb—”

  “I will not waste my time arguing with you, Sarah.” Marsala stood and paced about the room. Blüflis stared questioningly at the mystic, apparently not at all familiar with her agitation. “You must tell me what this is about.”

  “I do not wish to trouble you with such—”

  “Such is much! If these Tenebris spells yield as intended, I may never see you again.” Marsala was almost shouting. She took a breath to calm herself. Sarah kept eating her soup. “I cannot live never knowing why you would sacrifice yourself to such dark vengeance.”