by Paul Stewart
He frowned. The quarry trog looked distracted, her eyes staring into the mid-distance at something only she could see.
‘Demora,’ he said again, reaching down and shaking her by the arm.
With a sharp intake of breath, Demora suddenly looked up. Her bewildered expression slowly returned to normal as she recognized who was standing in front of her.
‘Oh, Cade,’ she said quietly. ‘I just had the most extraordinary experience. I thought I was—’
Beside her, Sentafuce let out a soft whimper. Demora turned to her.
‘Sentafuce,’ she said anxiously. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’
But it was clear that she was not. The colour had drained from her face, leaving it waxen and slumped, while her entire body was quivering. Whatever it was that had influenced the quarry trog’s thoughts, the effect on the tiny waif had been far more intense.
‘Sentafuce!’ Demora cried out, unbuckling herself and jumping to her feet. She leaned down and stroked the waif’s cheek – and was shocked by how cold and clammy it felt. ‘You poor thing,’ she said. ‘Let me help you.’
Demora was still shaky herself, but with Cade’s help, she eased the waif from the seat and cradled her in her arms. Rocking backwards and forwards, crooning all the while, she tried her best to soothe her softly groaning friend.
‘Come on,’ said Cade. ‘Let’s follow the others. We’ll get help for her inside the Keep.’
Demora nodded, but she wasn’t so certain. The little body in her arms felt so light, so still … She checked that Sentafuce’s heavy glister helmet was secure, then her own, and that the descending armour they were both wearing was buckled into place. Then she took the stairs to the upper deck, and on up through the roof hatch.
‘Sentafuce is going to be fine,’ Cade said reassuringly – though even he was beginning to have his doubts.
· CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ·
‘Demora! Watch out!’
Sentafuce’s scream sounded in everyone’s head, piercing and urgent. She’d abruptly come round and was sitting bolt upright and rigid in Demora’s arms, her eyes wide open.
Nate, who was standing on the gantry, about to enter the hut, let go of the door handle in alarm. Behind him, Cade spun round, his breath fogging his visor. Through the misted glass of their glister helmets they saw a nightmarish sight.
Rising quickly from the underside of the phraxchamber of the Linius Pallitax was a huge spectral creature, bleached white and skeletal. It had been clinging to the hull of the nightship with its great splayed talons. Now it lunged at them, propelled by the whiplash of its long prehensile tail.
Two massive pale-yellow eyes swivelled, and its fang-fringed jaws seemed almost to dislocate as they gaped wide open. The glistening translucent body pulsated with muscle ripples and bony clicks as it landed on the gantry and slashed viciously at the quarry trog.
Demora’s shoulder armour splintered as a scythe-like talon punctured it, and blood poured down over her breastplate. Still clutching Sentafuce protectively, she stumbled backwards into Celestia, Tug and Theegum. The ravine demon struck out again, this time with its powerful tail. Legs whipped away from under them, Seftis, Fenda and Cade fell to their knees, one after the other.
Through his fogged-up helmet, Cade could just make out the fuzzy outline of the bleached white figure of the ravine demon as it reared up again. With both forelimbs outstretched, it braced its body, ready to strike.
Suddenly, climbing out of Demora’s arms, Sentafuce rose, tiny and vulnerable, below the creature’s arched body. She tore off her helmet and fixed the hideous demon with an intense stare. The ravine demon’s yellow eyes grew wider, the pupils contracting to pinpoints as the nightwaif penetrated what passed for a mind.
It only lasted for a split second. But to Cade that terrible moment seemed to go on for ever.
All at once, behind him, there was a sharp crack and a blinding flash, and the next thing Cade saw was the smoking shaft of a phraxharpoon embedded in the ravine demon’s bony chest. An instant later, the phraxcharges on the harpoon detonated, and the ravine demon exploded in a shower of bone fragments and gelatinous body parts that fell away into the deep night below.
Turning away, Cade saw a figure silhouetted against the open doorway of the ribbed hut, smoking harpoon gun in its hands. It gestured to them.
Cade and the others followed Nate and the figure inside. Theegum and Tug carried Demora between them, while Celestia picked up the quivering body of Sentafuce and clasped her to her chest. Once they were all in the hut, the figure closed the door which, like the walls and ceiling, was heavily padded with a dark quilted material.
Cade unbuckled his glister helmet and took it off. The others did the same, with Tug kneeling down and removing Demora’s helmet for her as she lay moaning quietly on the floor.
The figure removed his own helmet, to reveal the grizzled features of a fourthling with greying hair, oiled side-whiskers and a short white scar that cut one of his eyebrows in two. A look of recognition flashed in his pale eyes.
‘Nate Quarter! It’s an honour, sir!’ he exclaimed, thrusting out a hand. ‘Denizen Ulnix Tollinix, last of the fourteenth descending party.’
Nate removed his gauntlet and shook the fourthling’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Ulnix,’ he replied. ‘I thought you had all been recalled by the academy when the blockade worsened.’
‘The others went back up top, sir,’ said Ulnix. ‘But I couldn’t abandon the Keep. Not after the sacrifices we all went through to get down this far.’ He grinned. ‘And I suspected it wouldn’t be too long before you organized another descent.’
‘You know me well,’ said Nate, patting the denizen on his shoulder.
‘Cade, fetch my backpack from the nightship,’ Celestia broke in urgently. ‘Quickly!’ She grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him towards the door. ‘Tug, help me with Demora. Theegum, you look after Sentafuce …’
Cade put his helmet back on and Ulnix opened the padded door, handing him a loaded harpoon gun as he did so.
‘Just in case,’ he said.
Tug was carrying Demora through to what must be the sleeping quarters at the back of the hut with Theegum and Celestia, Sentafuce in her arms, following close behind as Cade stepped out onto the gantry. With the harpoon gripped in his trembling hands, he hurried back to the nightship, his heart pounding as he searched the black hull for any sign of another ravine demon.
Once on board, Cade grabbed Celestia’s backpack from her store locker and slung it over his shoulder. Then, praying that he wouldn’t arrive too late, he made his way back to the ribbed hut. Out on the gantry, he glanced down. Below him, the sheer cliff face disappeared into the darkness, and …
Cade gasped.
Ripples of light, pulsing and detonating beneath the gleaming surface of the rock, shimmered down the Edge cliff as far as he could see. It was an astonishingly beautiful display, like watching a revolving night sky full of shooting stars and shifting constellations.
‘Glisters,’ Cade breathed.
These tiny pulses of light embedded within Edge cliff-rock had been observed and studied in the floating city’s academies for centuries. They were fine and delicate, sometimes fading away once glimpsed; sometimes lingering for a few moments longer.
But nothing any Sanctaphrax academic had ever seen in a laboratory compared to this. The lights grew in dazzling kaleidoscopic clusters. They mingled and overlapped. They wove in and out of each other, leaving behind shimmering trails that pulsed with their own cold-fire energy.
Mesmerized by the glister display below him, Cade moved towards the edge of the gantry, only to feel a hand on his shoulder. An urgent voice spoke in his ear.
‘Look away from the cliff face,’ it said. ‘Look away now, before it’s too late.’
Cade glanced round. It was Ulnix Tollinix.
Gently but firmly, the fourthling guided Cade into the hut and closed the padded door. In the back room, Celestia and Tug were t
ending to Demora and Sentafuce. The air was full of low voices and antiseptic odours. Then Theegum emerged, carrying a bundle of bloody bandages in her hands. She said something to Seftis, who shook his head, unable to understand.
‘Celestia has staunched the bleeding and made Demora comfortable,’ Cade said, interpreting the banderbear language, ‘but the wound will take many weeks to heal. And as for Sentafuce …’
‘Sentafuce won’t wake up,’ said Celestia, standing in the doorway. ‘Confronting that ravine demon has worsened the damage already done to her by that brush with the Edge wraiths. Her mind seems to have shut down completely. All we can do now is hope that it’s repairing itself.’
Grent One-Tusk, who was sitting at the small window beside Fenda Fulefane, looked up. ‘Those two have been friends for as long as I can remember,’ he said glumly. ‘Earth and Sky willing, their story will not end here.’
‘They are brave Descenders,’ Nate said, with feeling. ‘I have known many.’
Grent turned back and looked out of the window. Celestia shuffled her feet and stared down at the floor.
‘It was bad luck picking up an unwanted passenger like that,’ said Ulnix, breaking into the uncomfortable silence that had followed Nate’s words. ‘But your ship is mightily impressive, Captain, sir. There were many, even in the Knights Academy, who laughed at your eccentricity – dropping all those strange models from the old observatory …’ He nodded earnestly. ‘But it certainly seems to have paid off.’
‘Thanks to everyone here,’ said Nate, smiling at last. ‘Yet our greatest challenge is still to come.’
Seftis nodded gloomily. ‘And with two of our crew members already lost,’ he muttered.
‘I’ll take good care of them,’ said Ulnix warmly, ‘you can be sure of that. And if the blockade ever ends …’
Nate smiled again. ‘The blockade has ended,’ he told the denizen.
‘It has?’ Ulnix clapped his hands together delightedly. ‘Well, then,’ he said, ‘just as soon as the fifteenth descending party relieves me, I will take your friends back up top myself.’
He crossed to the window and pulled down a shutter, securing it firmly.
‘The cliff face is still alight,’ he said, turning back to the others. ‘It means a glister storm is brewing. But rest assured, the hammelhorn felt will keep the glisters out of the hut – though if you don’t want to lose your minds, you must stay inside until it blows over. And try to ignore the voices.’
‘Voices?’ said Cade.
‘You’ll see,’ said Ulnix grimly.
‘How long do these storms last?’ asked Nate.
‘Hard to say,’ said Ulnix. ‘The last one’ – he reached up and unhooked one of the dozens of barkscrolls that hung from the padded ceiling – ‘lasted for three months.’
Nate picked up his glister helmet. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, Ulnix, but we can’t risk being delayed for three months.’
‘And that was one of the shorter ones,’ Ulnix added. ‘But, sir, you’re taking a terrible risk if you intend flying into a glister storm.’
‘Not flying,’ said Nate, putting on the helmet. Cade and the others did the same. ‘Freefalling.’
They left the denizen shaking his head ruefully. ‘Your friends will both be fine in my care,’ he reassured Celestia, taking the supplies of bandages and salves from her. ‘And Sky watch over and protect you all.’
The depleted crew crossed the gantry and hastily climbed aboard the Linius Pallitax, trying not to look at the shimmering cliff face below them. At Nate’s suggestion, Grent and Fenda took to their hammocks on the upper deck to rest up until they reached the bottom of the breakneck descent.
‘You’ll be more use to us there,’ he said.
The others went down to the descent deck, strapped themselves into their seat harnesses and buckled their glister helmets. Nate reached for the flight controls and locked them into position. He turned to Seftis.
‘On my order,’ he told him, ‘shut down the phraxlamps in the phraxchamber.’
Cade looked across at Celestia. In darkness, stormphrax becomes immensely heavy. They both knew that.
Nate turned to Theegum. ‘And turn the heat to maximum in the stone-band.’
Hot rock sinks …
Cade gripped the arm rests of his sumpwood seat as Nate turned back.
‘Release the tolley ropes, Cade,’ Nate ordered. Then, leaning back in his own seat, he gave the order to Seftis and Theegum. ‘Freefall!’
· CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO ·
‘Whatever happens, keep your glister helmets on at all times!’
Nate’s voice was muffled, but Cade could hear the urgency in his uncle’s voice well enough. Through his visor, and the glass panels of the descent deck, he could see explosions of light outside. They sparked and shimmered, rippled and coalesced, in an ever-changing display. Transfixed, Cade stared unblinking at the lights as they seemed almost to dissolve, then reassembled, showing him different scenes, other places …
He saw his veranda on the Farrow Lake. He heard a voice calling to him – Thorne Lammergyre, who was at the end of the stone jetty beckoning to him.
‘Come swimming, Cade. Take your cap off and dive in …’
Cade reached for the buckle of his glister helmet, only for Celestia’s hand to close over his.
‘It’s the glister storm!’ she shouted from inside her own helmet. ‘Don’t listen to the voices.’
Beside her, Tug strained at his seat harness, then fell back, breathing heavily and misting his dark-tinted visor. Theegum was swaying from side to side, and Cade tried hard to focus on her through the spellbinding explosions of crystallized light.
‘Cade, come and see this …’
Cade’s heart leaped. It was his father’s voice now, calling him into his workshop in the academy tower. He was only little – no more than four years old – and the workshop was a magical place for him. Cade wanted so much to see inside. He struggled to get to his feet – but the seat harness was holding him back …
In their hammocks on the upper deck, Grent One-Tusk and Fenda Fulefane stared up at the ceiling through the glass panels of their glister helmets. The air seemed to be sparkling. Grent pushed himself up on one elbow and looked round.
‘Are you asleep, Fenda?’ he asked.
Fenda shrugged. ‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t think so – but maybe I’m dreaming. I keep hearing someone calling me …’
‘Calling you?’ said Grent. He shook his head. ‘You’re mistaken, my dear. It’s someone calling me.’ He paused. ‘Listen. There it is again …’
‘Welcome to the Sumpwood Bridge archives of Earth Studies. Please step inside.’
It was Durldew the archivist’s voice; warm, measured, full of wisdom. Grent loved that voice.
Grent One-Tusk, a long-haired goblin from a prominent Hive family, lived up in Mid Town, in a grand mansion with a spectacular view. The window of his bedchamber looked down on the Sumpwood Bridge and along the banks of the Edgewater River, and at the profusion of clan huts, stilthouses and goblin hive towers competing with each other for a place in Low Town. Further upriver, he could see the waters of the Hive Falls that thundered down from the lofty palaces of High Town, past the terraced mansions of Mid Town, through the span of the bridge and out into the rich farmlands beyond.
Famously warrior-like and fearless, long-hairs in Hive had become the most prominent goblin clan, ruling over the others in the Goblin Nations and, when called to, leading them bravely into battle. Grent himself had worn a tailored militia topcoat from the moment he could walk, and could dismantle and reassemble a phraxpistol by his fifth birthday. He first rode a prowlgrin down the high jump of the Hive Falls at the age of ten, and fought his first duel at twelve – a trifling dispute with another cadet about the role their fathers had played in the Battle of the Midwood Marshes. Grent still bore the axe scar that proved honour had been upheld.
His was a world of barked commands, dr
ills and chilly obedience. But then, one warm yet blustery day, all that changed.
Out on an errand, Grent found himself crossing the Sumpwood Bridge between the ornately carved academy buildings that lined both sides, their timbers glowing in the midday sun. Pausing beside an exceptionally elegant stairway, he looked up and noticed the carved head of a flathead goblin, a great metal hoop gripped in its mouth, fixed to the door at the top.
Later, Grent would never know what had possessed him, but that morning he climbed the stairs, grasped the hoop and rapped it hard against the burnished panel.
From inside, there came the echoing sound of footsteps, accompanied by the tap-tap-tap of a stick, and the door swung open. Grent took a step backwards, his hands clasped behind his back. An archivist stepped out of the shadows.
He was immensely tall, almost three strides, but stooped. Beneath his fur-lined cap, the great dome of his forehead, mottled and furrowed, gave way to bushy eyebrows, each of them plaited above heavy-lidded grey eyes. At either side of his tusked underbite, extravagant side-whiskers sprouted like grey storm clouds. He wore long, greenish-blue robes festooned with carefully rolled notes, and leaned on a bloodoak staff.
‘Well, well, what have we here?’ It was that voice again, its tone so gentle, so kindly.
Durldew’s grey eyes had looked Grent up and down, then focused on the copperwood helmet he wore; 1ST HIVE CADETS carved into its polished surface.
‘Let me take that from you.’
The voice was comforting, reassuring, as if it knew the weight of expectation and unflinching discipline that this particular copperwood helmet represented.
Grent reached up and unbuckled the helmet, and took it off.
Suddenly it was as though the golden timbers of the Sumpwood Bridge Academy were glowing even more brightly. Grent was filled with a delicious feeling of release. This, he realized, was the world he wanted – the world of knowledge and enquiry; the world of questioning and freedom, rather than blind obedience.
