by James Peart
“Where did you get it?” he hissed at Christopher.
“Let me alone!”
“Did you steal it from the castle?” Simon pressed.
“What do you care,” Christopher shrugged.
“You fool! What if it was poisoned?”
The other Englishman sniffed. “If it were I would be dead by now. Besides, didn’t you hear the Druid? Iridis only poisoned the store of food. No liquids.”
“It was lucky for you that he did. If this journey weren’t already difficult, you’re making it damn near impossible. I can’t help Daaynan and take care of you as well.”
“Then don’t. If it weren’t for your wanting to go on the Druid’s quest, we’d be home by now.”
Simon looked at Christopher, saw the conviction on the other’s face, and knew he was being serious. He glanced over at Daaynan who was walking into the wind a dozen paces ahead of the young men. “For your information, I did not want to go with him but he represents our best chance of getting back, despite what you may think. The sticks are no good to us if all they can do is bring us back to the temple. You know this. We could have spent the rest of our lives searching for the right portal, or beam of light or whatever Christing thing might lead us back to the world.”
“We used the sticks to find the Brightsphere,” his friend countered, his voice loaded with sense (and a lucidity possessed only by drunks, Simon thought, disliking himself for doing so), “what makes you think we couldn’t have done the same with our portal?”
He went silent. He had no immediate answer for this aside from the fact that he thought, no, he felt in his gut that it would not have worked. “I think, perhaps,” he said finally, “the Drey torch sticks only work on living things.”
“The Brightsphere is an elemental,” Christopher stated primly, “made up of the elements of life, not life itself, and as for the beams, they were alive with light and more powerful than any form of life you or I know of.”
“So,” Simon mused, “you would destroy my argument in the first case and build a case for it in the second. That’s what I get for talking to a Cambridge philosophy major.”
They stared hard at each other, their eyes narrowed to slits, each one poised, ready to counter what the other said next. The next moment they were laughing. “Give me some of that whiskey,” Simon asked. The other hesitated a fraction, as if weighing some swift internal decision, then produced a small bottle from inside his tunic and passed it to his friend. Simon took a large draught from the bottle and handed it back.
“Do you think Daaynan was happy that we contacted the Brightsphere?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to fathom what he thinks at the best of times. He’s like a Laevsky, or some other character from The Duel.”
“He’s been more distant since he woke from his encounter with that Iridis King.”
“His power is mixing with Iridis’s. You didn’t ask him about that. Or what the Brightsphere told us about the Northern Earth being a mirror world of our own.”
“I thought he’d tell us in his own good time. He agreed with what the Sphere told us about Iridis having to be stopped.”
Christopher thought about this for a moment. “He might have a plan for that. Maybe he’s thinking of letting Iridis kill the Steward. It would solve his problems.”
“True, but Iridis loose on the Northern Earth is a far bigger problem than the Steward ever was. Longfellow may not be such a great fan of democracy but Iridis makes him positively look like a Kennedy.”
“Or a Tony Benn,” Christopher agreed, his features suddenly sad.
“You miss England, don’t you?”
“You asked me that before. I told you I didn’t.”
“You were in culture shock. We both were. I think we’re just getting past it now.”
Ahead of them, Daaynan had slowed. He drew alongside them and brought their attention to a section of the countryside that lay off to the right. They were close to the edge of a valley that swooped down to a wooded area fronting a large, prosperous looking town. A path, starting from the valley edge, wandered down through the copse and emerged the far side on the outskirts of the town.
“This is Carasan,” the Druid said. “We shall pick up what we need here and leave before evening. Come.” He began the descent, motioning the others to follow suit. As they neared Carasan, the travellers witnessed a maelstrom of activity composed of people bustling to and fro in and out of the town. Visible only as specks from a distance, when viewed up close they could see it was composed of traders, merchants, and locals of one sort or another. The town had an old, used look about it, giving the impression that it had seen much, some of it possibly not pleasant, and had withstood the test of time. Yet the building storefronts were clean, as were the residence facades and high streets and the place thrummed with a lively, vibrant energy that lifted the travellers’ spirits as they negotiated their way past the shops, markets and houses. On passing a market, the smell of cured meat and freshly cut fruit wafted tantalisingly past the noses of the small company, causing the Englishmen’s mouths to water. Daaynan, apparently unaffected, walked a pace or two ahead of his companions, turning frequently right or left, slowing at several points to inspect the awning of a particular dwelling, then moving on. To his right, Simon could briefly see a small park ringed by a metal fence and an assembly of homes that looked a grade above those they had passed so far. There was a garden in the park with a pagoda in its centre, partially circled by a breath-taking array of plants and flowers. He did not have much time to admire it, but he made a note to ask the Druid who lived in the residences around the park.
Daaynan finally came to a halt outside one of the buildings. It had an unprepossessing exterior, just a simple storefront awning with a table and a number of chairs littered around its edge. The door to the shop, Simon could see, had once been bright red but the paint had been worn to a darker undercoat and the handle was tinged faintly with rust. It seemed abandoned or closed for business. Daaynan rapped on one of the door’s panels, stepped back and waited. After a moment, it opened, yet only slightly, secured from within on a sliding chain. The shop’s occupant peered through the gap, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at each of the journeymen in turn, before his gaze swung back to the Druid. “Who goes there at this time of day?” he snapped.
In answer, the sorcerer drew back the hood concealing his face.
“Daaynan!” he exclaimed.
21.
The Magus of Fein Mor smiled properly for the first time since he had been made Druid of an order which now consisted solely of one. “Let us in, Mereka, you old jester. My friends and I are weary and footsore and are in need of your renowned hospitality.”
“Are they indeed,” Mereka said, eyeing them once again. “If they’ve been hiking around Ara Fein with you, then they are also possibly in need of their marbles.” He took the chain off its run and swung the door open, ushering the trio inside. The Englishmen walked in behind the Druid, glancing around the room they had entered. Inside, there was no sign of a store. They were standing in a small vestibule with elaborately decorated oak panelled walls bearing prints, framed portraits and paintings of one kind or another. It looked to the Englishmen as if it were a private residence of some kind, the exterior of the dwelling misleading, perhaps to draw attention away from whoever lived inside, Simon thought. He glanced at the building’s occupant, taking in the other’s loose, garish robes and limp posture, exchanging a look with Christopher. Daaynan, however, seemed unaware of it and they were taking their cue from him so he said nothing.
“I won’t ask you how urgent your business is,” Mereka said, “one look at you and I know it is serious; in fact, that you’re here at all underlines the exigency of your presence. You’ll need a room to sleep in, and some food.”
“Thank you, old friend,” Daaynan said. “We could do with the food and some drink, but the situation is indeed urgent, so much so that we cannot stay overnight.”
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br /> “Tell me later. For now, go into the Cush and rest up.” He studied Daaynan, as if committing his face to memory. “So, it is true. You have been made Druid. The last one of your kind.” He shook his head in wonder.
Mereka led them into a larger room filled with comfortable, yet, Simon thought, brashly coloured seats and soft, plump cushions, its walls adorned with colourful prints of varied design and subject matter. “Sit down, gentlemen. I’ll see about your meal.” He vanished promptly, leaving the trio alone in each other’s company once again.
Daaynan seated himself, displacing a portion of his cloak to get comfortable, and looked at the Englishmen who were sitting opposite him. He raised an eyebrow at them. “The name?” he asked.
Simon and Christopher looked at each other again. Christopher was smiling lop-sidedly. “And the robe he’s wearing, not to mention the décor,” Simon waved his hand about the room.
Daaynan nodded. “Mereka is a Shiftling, a distant cousin of the Shapeshifters that used to populate this region. There are only a handful of them left and they are rumoured to inhabit lands far north of Brinemore. They can change form into just about anything they see, including some objects. Mereka is different in that he can only change from one gender into the other- male to female- and back. Typically for his kind, one side is dominant, in his case the male side. He is also rumoured to have the second sight- he senses things about people, sometimes things they don’t know about themselves. It never occurred to me that you would find him unusual.”
“Why should it,” Christopher muttered.
“You are surprised by Mereka’s appearance, his being two genders?”
Simon shook his head. “No, there are people like that in England. It’s just that we’re not used to seeing them. And, frankly, the idea of you being friendly with one...it’s caught us a little bit off-guard, to be honest.” Christopher nodded his agreement. “Your sort...” he began, but Daaynan cut him off. Simon could see that his arms and shoulders were trembling slightly, though his voice remained neutral. “My sort? Let me tell you about my sort, Englishman. We have been entrusted with the care of these lands since the beginning of recorded history, and that includes everyone living in them, even and perhaps especially Mereka and his sort. So, before you make assumptions as to who I can consort with, I would ask you to bear mind that he is a friend of mine and may prove very useful in helping us to achieve our aims.”
“That’s what it’s all about with you, isn’t it?” Simon countered, his voice rising in anger. “You use people, like you’re using us to help you stand against Longfellow, just as you used Iridis to further the same end. Now you’re doing the same to this poor soul who’s probably hiding out here at the edge of some nowhere town in the hope of being safe. But he’s not safe from you, is he? We weren’t, and we lived in a world that’s light years from this one. You abducted us and filled our heads with nonsense about saving the Northern Earth from evil. I’ve met individuals like you, you see. You’re filled with a missionary zeal- you call it a sense of purpose or being entrusted with the care of the people but you can call it what you like, it amounts to interference with another’s free will- and you won’t stop when this is over...your devotion to your cause will never end.” Simon was close to tears. Christopher reached out a hand to touch his shoulder but he stubbornly shrugged it away, getting himself under control once more.
Daaynan’s face softened and when he answered Simon his tone was gentle. “Very well, Englishman. You have been treated badly, though you must understand that I had a very good reason for bringing you and your friend here, and that reason has not altered any. Now we can sit here and argue the motion for and against continuing but it would be more productive to turn our focus on the task ahead of us, do you not agree? I understand that this isn’t your world and you have every right not to get involved. You’re probably right, when we are finished in our task there will be other dangers, ones of which I am currently not aware. However, I promise you this: when I have confronted the Steward and the King Iridis and these lands are no longer living under the threat posed by their actions, then I shall do everything in my power to return you both to your England.”
“Why don’t you do it now?” Christopher said. “Why don’t you send us back?”
Daaynan turned his gaze on him. “I told you before. My magic will not work.”
“But yesterday you lit that fire using your fingertips. I saw you.”
The Druid’s voice was filled suddenly with bitter rancour. “And that is about all I can do.”
A voice behind them spoke. “Is there something wrong?” Mereka stood at the room’s threshold, carrying a tray on which rested plates of piping hot food and drink.
“It is nothing, old friend,” Daaynan said. “My companions and I are tired from our journey and it has got the better of our tempers.”
“I have just the remedy for that,” Mereka said, placing the tray on the table between them. He lifted plates of ham, potatoes and fresh fruit and handed them to each of the guests, portioning out knives and forks and gesturing them to eat. Simon began to apologise but Mereka dismissed his words with an impatient wave as if to say his apology could wait until after the meal. They needed no encouragement, the Englishmen in particular forgetting their manners as they wolfed down the fare, which was excellent. Mereka lit a fire on a large hearth at one end of the room.
After the meal was finished, Mereka turned to Daaynan and spoke. “Now, Druid, what has brought you all the way to Carasan through such inhospitable weather- indeed, one of the worst storms to hit Ara Fein in over ten years. It must have been important.”
Daaynan put aside his finished plate (Simon noticed there wasn’t a single crumb left of it) and leaned forward in his chair, his angular features intent, alive with dark knowledge that somehow carried past what he would say- an inexpressible awareness. “I need your help,” he said. “The Northern Earth is in danger from the might of the Steward of Brinemore, the man who calls himself Karsin Longfellow.” He fell silent for a beat, studying Mereka. The other nodded. “I’ve heard of him. Most people in Carasan know his name. He’s a true statesman, and as such is about as reliable as a double-sided lock, but no one has any particular issue with him in this town, as far as I can tell.”
“Well, he tried to kill us the other day,” Simon interjected. “I’d say we’d take issue with that.”
Daaynan silenced him with a look, then turned back to Mereka. “It is true that he has tried several attempts on our lives, and we have escaped with some luck, but it is not that about which I wish to hold talk with you. This Steward represents a great threat, not only to the Druidic order but to these lands and everyone living in them. He is plotting to take over the Cru Dynasty with the might of his Northern Army, including the Cru lands which as you know consists of most of the Southern Territories.” The Druid paused. “There has been another development. We are headed to Brinemore behind a dangerous party that has been let loose on these lands. It is of paramount importance that this party not reach Brinemore before we do, yet we are several days behind him. The threat this man presents is greater even than that posed by Karsin Longfellow and his army.”
Mereka quietly took this in. He folded his arms on his stomach and leaned back in his chair. Finally, he said “politics are not my strong suit, Daaynan. It matters little who governs what in this day and age. Besides, I can tell there is more about this than you would let me know.” Here he glanced at Simon and Christopher. “You say this party you are tracking north plans to visit Brinemore, perhaps to do the kind of harm to Longfellow you are also planning? Is it over-simplistic to say that the matter has already been taken out of your hands? One ruler is as good as another, you know.”
“In this case you are wrong,” Daaynan said. “No matter. My question to you is this: where can I find transport that will take us from here to Brinemore in less than a day?”
“No kind, at least over land.”
“I’m thinking o
f a winged creature.”
The other man seemed puzzled. “What kind of winged creature?”
“A Carrion bird.”
Mereka contrived to look bored, yet a thin thread of alarm crossed his eyes, gone in an instant. Simon noticed it though, and he bet to himself the Druid did as well. “Those things are more myth than reality,” Mereka said.
“They exist,” Daaynan said, “and you know where I can find one.”
The two men studied each other for a long moment. Finally, Mereka said “Listen, I can’t just tell you. If anyone discovered what I said there would be consequences, perhaps serious ones. If word reached the wrong ears it is even conceivable I might have to leave Carasan. You’re asking too much of me, old friend.”
