I had traversed the valley once before, in my days as a pikeman, when I had neither time nor inclination to investigate the ruins. I remember being very afraid as I trudged in eerie silence with my fellows through that desolate canyon, more so even than I’d been the first time I’d faced a Barbarok onslaught, although I could not say now whether I was afraid of the unfathomable power that had ordained the construction of the temple or those who had later wrought its destruction. Sitting comfortably at the inn, I supposed my fear had been largely the product of the contagious superstition of my comrades, but now I realized this was not the case. An aura of dissolution emanated from the place like the odor of death. Ember, reaching the edge of the ravine, showed fear for the first time since I’d purchased her, rearing up and nearly pitching me to the gravel. I wondered if the Torzseki’s cattle were as sensitive to the demeanor of the place; if so, it was no wonder the herdsmen avoided it. But they have driven their herd though the valley many times in the past, so the animals must have gotten used to it. It was only the recent strangeness that had prompted the herdsmen to avoid the valley.
I dismounted and reassured Ember that I would make her go no further. I fed and watered her, tied her reins to a stake, and then made my way down the ravine. It took me nearly half an hour to reach the valley floor, stepping carefully to avoid slipping and tumbling the rest of the way down. By the time I reached the floor, the whole valley except for the upper part of the southern slope was shrouded in shadow. A howling breeze had picked up, and despite my exertion I wrapped my cloak tightly around myself against the cold.
From above, I had thought I’d gotten a good sense of the lay of the ruins, but once I was down in them I quickly found myself disoriented. I could visualize the layout but struggled to correlate my mental map to the obstacles around me. Slabs that had seemed to lay flat on the ground now towered over me; ground that had seemed level was pitted with ruts and divots. Distances between stones seemed to contract or expand, and erosion and the drifting of soil sometimes made it difficult to determine whether I was standing on top of one of the slabs. It occurred to me that perhaps the stones lay exactly as the baleful god intended—that perhaps the apparent chaos was by design. In that case, the temple had never been destroyed: it stood as it always had, a monument to dissolution and disorder. It was a foolish thought, but one that troubled me nonetheless. For all the foreboding of that temple, I had taken reassurance in the knowledge that it had been brought low—that the menacing demeanor of the valley was merely the residue of a great evil that had once taken hold there. Now I grappled with the idea that the evil abided as it always had, waiting in the stones for someone to awaken it.
I pushed the thought from my mind, reminding myself that despite my appearance, I was no sorcerer. It had served Pyotr to characterize me as such to explain to his father his miraculous delivery from the hands of the bandits, and it served the Torzseki to perpetuate the myth, but I must be careful not to fall victim to the lie myself. I knew nothing of arcane forces and haunted temples, other than that there was usually less to them than it seemed. A reasonable amount of caution would serve me well, but if I began looking for the design of dark gods in the scattering of monoliths, I might as well put on my bandages again and take up the life of a muttering imbecile begging for coppers on the streets of Nagyvaros.
The fact remained, though, that the chaotic arrangement of the slabs made a methodical exploration of the ruins difficult. In many places, the slabs lay on top of each other at odd angles, creating caves and tunnels that might serve as dens for wolves or bandits. Having reacquainted myself with the place, it now seemed unlikely that either of these would choose such a remote and desolate place for a lair, but presumably some sort of carnivorous creature was responsible for the disappearance of the sheep. I knew little of the ways of ghosts, but I couldn’t imagine what use they might have for sheep, dead or alive.
I saw now that there was enough grass and other vegetation on the valley floor to make for passable grazing land for sheep or goats, and I supposed that under ordinary circumstances the local shepherds would have no qualms about leaving their flocks to roam free through the valley. There was little danger of them getting lost in the narrow confines of the valley, and although hazards might lurk in the dark places amid the ruins, I supposed sheep would be no more eager to explore those places than I was. Yet there were no sheep or other animals in the area at present; probably the shepherds, fearing the power of the full moon to excite the spirits, had kept their flocks close to home.
It was beginning to get dark, so I would have to be satisfied with a cursory investigation of the ruins. I had found no sign of malevolent or mischievous creatures, either natural or supernatural, but of course I didn’t expect to. I left the valley floor, making my way a short distance back up the ravine until I came to a flat rock with a view of the ruins where I could sit and watch for any activity. There was little shelter from the wind, and I didn’t dare make a fire for fear of being seen, so I sat with my back against the slope, hugging my knees against my chest. I allowed myself to doze a bit, reasoning that if whatever lurked in the ruins came out before the moon appeared, I would be unable to see it in any case.
During my time in the Scouts, I had trained myself to awaken at any given cue, no matter how subtle, so within a few seconds of the first moonlight washing over the ridge, I was fully alert. The ruins were still shrouded in darkness; I could just make out the contours of a few of the larger slabs. The wind continued to howl, and I was now fully chilled. Fighting the urge to stand and bound down to the valley floor to get my blood moving, I sat and shivered in the darkness, waiting for the moonlight to reach the ruins. I probably would not have been seen if I moved, but I couldn’t risk the possibility of eyes more attuned to the darkness than mine spotting me.
Slowly the pale glow of the full moon crept across the valley floor, casting the great slabs into stark relief. Again I was seized by the notion that I was viewing the temple as it was intended to be seen, that the appearance of chaos was a deception—or, rather, that some measure of chaos had been part of the design. For a moment, it seemed as if I were looking down on a vast skull, its eye sockets formed by shadowy areas where the moon could not penetrate, its irregular teeth consisting of protrusions of gray stone that seemed white in the moonlight. More unsettling was that the skull seemed precisely oriented toward me; I had the sense that if I had selected a spot thirty feet higher on the ravine, or fifty feet to the east or west, I would not have seen it at all. But when I blinked, I saw that I had been deceived: the features of the skull, if they existed at all, were all out of proportion and misconfigured. My mind, perhaps addled by the cold and the strangeness of that place, had assembled the disparate shadows into a skull the way a desperate man sees his fortune in the sediment of his tea.
I was still chastising myself for this flight of whimsy when I thought I saw something move near one of the stones close to the center of the ruins. It was at first just a flicker in the moonlight, and I couldn’t be certain I hadn’t imagined it. But then I saw it again, a few feet closer to me. This time the flicker solidified into a form: it was a human figure, picking its way carefully through the ruins. It looked to be a young man, but I could not be certain at that distance. I was certain, though, that I would have seen the person if they had entered the ruins from the other side; whoever it was, he had emerged from one of the cavities in the ruins. At first he seemed headed in my direction, but then I saw that his trajectory would take him to the foot of the ravine a hundred feet or more to my right. Determined not to lose him, I got to my feet.
By this time I was stiff and my legs were nearly numb. I stepped from one foot to the other a few times to get the blood to circulate and then took a step off the flat rock. The moon’s rays were almost parallel with the ravine wall, so that every boulder or lump cast long shadows, and my own shadow obscured my path all the way to the valley floor. I could only put one foot in front of the other and hope to m
aintain my footing. I failed.
I tumbled head over heels several times, finally coming to a halt in a seated position on the valley floor. Other than a few scrapes and bruises, I seemed to be uninjured. I got uneasily to my feet and scanned the area for movement. I spotted the figure, now nearing the slabs on my side of the ravine. He showed no sign of having seen me. I set off running on a course that would intercept him before he reached the foot of the ravine.
As he passed the last slab, he broke into a run, making a beeline toward the ravine. I found myself running almost directly at him. I was now fully bathed in moonlight, but so intent was the figure on his path that he did not see me until it was too late. I skidded to a halt on the gravel and then dropped into a crouch, turning sideways to avoid taking a knee to the head. The figure reacted with surprising agility. He could not get around me, but managed to vault over me head-first, tucking into a roll as he hit the ground. Within a second, he was back on his feet. But by then I’d already pivoted and launched myself toward him. I got my hand around his ankle and he went sprawling face-first on the ground. I ran to him and put a knee on his lower back, pinning his wrists behind him. The wrists were slender, and when he spoke I realized he was only a boy.
“Let me go!” he screamed.
“Who are you?” I demanded. “What are you doing here?”
“Please,” he gasped. “They’re coming!”
I glanced back toward the ruins but saw nothing.
“Who is coming?”
“Demons!” he gasped. “They come out in the moonlight! I overslept. Please, you have to let me go!”
The boy seemed genuinely terrified, and not of me. I held his wrists for a moment with my left hand while I felt in his clothing for weapons. I found only a small hunting knife, which I slid into my belt. “All right,” I said, letting his hands go and taking my knee off his back. “We’re going to walk to the—”
He sprang to his feet and took off running again. I’d been expecting this, but even so, he was too fast for me. I went to grab his shoulder, but his shadow concealed a rock jutting out of the ground just in front of my left foot. My boot struck it and I fell to my right knee.
As I did so, something cold struck my left shoulder, and I reeled as the sensation shot through me. It was the same sensation I’d felt when Eben the Warlock had touched me. Something like a veil of gauze, barely visible in the moonlight, rushed over me, continuing toward the boy. I was vaguely aware that if I hadn’t fallen, it would have hit me squarely in the chest. My left arm hung numb and paralyzed at my side.
Ahead of me, the boy continued to run, but the wraith was gaining on him. I staggered to my feet, my whole body sluggish, as if the blood had congealed in my veins. I tried to run after the boy, but it was no use. It took all my energy to put one foot in front of the other. Even if I knew how to stop the thing, I would never reach it in time.
Behind me I heard voices, and a horrifying thought occurred to me: the wraith that had almost killed me was one of many. Turning, I saw the thought confirmed: dozens of the things, brighter and more distinct than the one I’d seen, flitted about the ruins, seeming to gather strength from each other. I would say they had human features, but this would be misleading: like the skull I had seen from the side of the ravine, they were made up of elements that occasionally seemed to resemble parts of a human being. In jumbled succession there were eyes, ears, fingers, bellies, mouths… all unmatched and out of proportion to each other. It was as if each wraith was composed of innumerable human-like creatures, each grasping and clawing for prominence in the collective. Equally disturbing was the way the wraiths talked to each other, a mouth appearing for a moment to speak a phrase only to be submerged into the collective by the parts of the other members. Still, they did seem to communicate; I got the impression they were haggling over which of them should be allowed to consume me. I could not understand the words, but the language was familiar to me: it was the language I’d heard spoken in the shadow world.
Panic arose in me like bile, but I pushed it down, grasping at an idea that seemed to hover in the periphery of my consciousness like a beacon: I was still alive because the wraiths thought me incapacitated. Perhaps they thought I had been struck in the lungs or heart and would soon collapse—indeed, although the thing had only brushed my shoulder, I felt its chill constraining my breathing like cold steel bands wrapped around my chest. But the sensation was diminishing; if the wraiths could be induced to continue bickering for a little longer, I might regain the ability to run.
Fighting the urge to stagger away with whatever speed I could manage, I allowed myself to fall again to one knee. Unable to control my left arm, I lost my balance and fell with my forehead to the ground. Bracing myself with my good arm, I remained in that position for several seconds, succeeding admirably in my endeavor to appear pathetic and defenseless. Behind me, the chaotic chatter of the wraiths continued. Glancing ahead, I saw no sign of the boy or the wraith chasing him.
When the numbness in my legs had subsided enough that I thought I could run, I staggered to my feet. It was none too soon: just as I did so, the timbre of the discussion seemed to change, as if a decision had been made. Still unsure of my movements, I didn’t dare look back to see if I was being pursued. I ran.
I was hampered somewhat by my paralyzed arm and constricted lungs, but I managed to sprint to the foot of the ravine before my vision went black and I collapsed onto the gravel. I may have lost consciousness for a few seconds; when I regained awareness, my lungs burned and my heart raced. Sweat poured down my face despite the cold. Now truly helpless, I lay there for perhaps a minute waiting for the wraiths to take me.
They did not come. I struggled to sit up. The wraiths fluttered angrily around the ruins, but they did not approach me. As I watched, one came screaming toward me, but it seemed to fade as it approached. It was difficult to judge distances, given the irregular proportions of the wraiths and the strange geography of that place, but it seemed as if the wraith reached its limit about ten paces from me. At that point it was a barely visible contour that then disappeared completely. A few seconds later, another wraith—or perhaps the same one, having re-formed at the source of its power—tried to approach, with the same result. It seemed that by luck or providence, I had fled just beyond the limits of the wraiths’ power.
Hearing a groan to my left, I got to my feet, still favoring my left arm. A few paces away, shrouded in the shadow of an overhang, lay the boy. I went to him, crouching at his side. He breathed in shallow, pained breaths. Seeing me, he tried to scurry away.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I don’t mean you any harm. Here.” I took off my cloak, bundled it up and lay it under his head. I was still overwarm from my exertion. The boy relaxed. “Did one of them strike you?”
He nodded. “It was very weak, but it went right through me. It’s like someone opened a stopper and poured ice water inside of me.” He shuddered.
“It will get better,” I said. The numbness in my arm had begun to recede; I found I could move my fingers with some effort. “They appear to lose strength away from the ruins.” I looked back to the ruins, where dim wraiths continued to churn and flicker. Their voices were a faint cacophony of snarls and recriminations. They seemed to have given up trying to reach me and the boy.
“They are strongest at the full moon,” he said, “but they never go beyond the floor of the valley. I’ve had close brushes before, but not like this.” He shook his head, his face a grimace of self-reproach. “I overslept.”
“You sleep in the ruins?”
“Why not?” he said. “It’s comfortable enough. No one bothers me.”
“Except the wraiths,” I reminded him.
He gave a little shrug and sat up. He seemed to be feeling better, so I took my cloak back. The drying sweat was making me cold. “It’s just a matter of knowing their limits. As I said, I overslept. I won’t do it again.”
“No, you won’t,” I agreed, “because you will
not be sleeping here anymore.”
“Who are you to command me?” he asked.
“I’ve been charged with vanquishing troublemakers from these ruins. I assume you’re responsible for the sheep that have gone missing?”
“How do you know it wasn’t the wraiths?”
“I didn’t, but if it had been, you would have indignantly denied your culpability rather than redirect suspicion to ghosts. What are those things?”
He shrugged. “Ghosts, as you say. Wraiths. Demons. Who can say?”
“What do you do with the sheep?”
“I butcher them for meat. Sometimes I trade a little of it to travelers on the Cotton Road for bread or vegetables, but it is a long walk from here. Most of the meat is wasted. I drag the carcasses out of the valley and leave them for the crows. Are people usually frightened by those marks on your face?”
I was taken aback, thinking the boy’s nonchalance was because my face was hidden in the shadow. “Most are,” I said. “But then, most are frightened enough by wraiths not to nap in their lairs. Why do you stay here?”
“I have nowhere else to go. The wraiths keep people away, and as long as I keep to the edges of the valley when the moon is bright, they do not bother me. It gets difficult as the month wears on, because the wraiths grow more active as the moon waxes, so I get less and less sleep. I cannot sleep during the day because I must be on guard against the shepherds and herdsmen. It will be better in a few days, when the moon has waned a bit.”
“I cannot have you sleeping here,” I said. “For one thing, it isn’t safe. For another, my employer won’t allow it. What is your name?”
“I am Vili.”
“Good to meet you, Vili. I am Konrad. You are alone here, save for the sheep and the wraiths?”
The Brand of the Warlock Page 13
