by Bex Hogan
‘What is it?’
Old Tatty looks up at me, and for the first time she looks scared. Just like Raoul did after reading my rúns. ‘Time is running out for you. For all of us. Your enemy will destroy you and everything you love. We will all be destroyed.’
Her fingers clutch me now, digging in tightly, pulling me closer to her face, her eyes bulging wide with fear. ‘I have seen your death, Viper girl.’ She releases her grip and I spring away from her. Old Tatty looks sadly at the ground and wipes the pattern away. ‘And I am sorry for it.’
It’s as though someone’s kicked the wind out of me. I came hoping for aid, and hear only prophecies of doom? It’s hardly encouraging.
‘If the King wants to kill me, he’ll have to catch me first.’
But Old Tatty shakes her head. ‘Not the King. You have had this enemy since before you were born.’
An image of Adler forcing me to bleed myself flashes into my mind. Of him slamming my head against walls. Of his blade sliding into my guts. I have to blink the fear away. He’s dead. He can’t hurt me any more. ‘Who?’
Her eyes shine with sorrow as they meet mine. ‘A thief. That’s all I know.’
There’s nothing more for me here, and I get to my feet. ‘Thank you,’ I say to her. ‘For talking with me. But I’m going to try anyway.’
She chuckles wryly. ‘Of course you are. But you must hurry. The two men you love? One will be dead by the next blood moon. The other? Well, his fate is entirely in your hands. As all of ours are.’
Cold panic trickles over my skin. Blood moons are rare but every one brings with it fear and death. I was a child when the last rising occurred, and was forbidden to go outside for its duration or to take part in the Snake rituals to guard against its evil influence. But Grace had told me all about it. How they had hunted the silver seals who bask in moonlight on rocky islets that jut from the ocean. How the beautiful, gentle creatures were dragged on board and slaughtered, the Snakes painting their skin with the seals’ blood to ward off the bad luck they believed the crimson moon would bring. I hadn’t minded being excluded after hearing that.
But I have no idea when the next one will be.
‘How long do I have until the blood moon?’ I ask Old Tatty with more than a trace of panic.
But she merely shrugs as if such a detail is of little importance.
Taking a deep breath, I lean down and place the crust of bread into her lap. ‘We’re all going to die one day, so I may as well die for the people I love. And if this new enemy is going to destroy us all anyway, then what have I got to lose?’
‘More than you know, Viper girl. More than you know.’
Her misery slices into me like a blade. I dread to think what she’s been through, and what’s worse is I know she won’t tell me. I sense it’s the kind of pain you can only learn by suffering it, and I’m set on a path that will carry me there.
‘Goodbye,’ I say to her, and throwing my bag on my back, I start to walk away.
I’ve only taken a few steps when she calls after me.
‘Sacrifice, Viper girl. You must learn the true meaning of sacrifice.’
My blood runs cold but I keep walking. Between Raoul’s unsettling reading of the rúns and now this prophecy of death and sacrifice, a new weight of foreboding has settled in my chest, and so I do the only thing I can – leave this desolate place as fast as possible.
I head south-east towards the coast. The journey takes several days and I don’t see a single sign of life among the wastelands as I travel. I’m glad of the solitude after my time with Old Tatty. There are two things I’m now certain of: one is that magic is dangerous and will lead me towards darkness and potentially my death; the other is that I have to learn magic if there’s to be any hope for the future.
It’s not ideal.
When a situation seems overwhelmingly awful and hopeless, I find the best solution is to take things one step at a time. And my first step is to make my way to the Sixth Isle. Though I haven’t been back to Torin’s fortress since Adler massacred those innocent people and stole Sharpe’s sight, it’s the only place I know where there’s a library full of magical knowledge. And I’m clearly going to need all the help I can get.
I’ve had enough of rowing through oceans on unsuitable boats that take forever to get anywhere, and so I resolve to find another way to reach Rock Island. Though most boats were used when people fled for their lives during the fire, I have a horrible feeling that in some places there simply wasn’t time. There should be some ships abandoned round the Isle and if there are, I’m going to find them. After only a few hours tracing the coastline, my instincts pay off. I spy a perfect little sailing boat – small enough for me to manage alone, but big enough to make my journey comfortable. I scramble down the dirt track towards the cove where it’s anchored. The tide is out and so I only have to wade up to my waist to reach it. Painted on the side, in a childish hand, is the name Little Vixen. I silently thank its previous owner, hoping that they escaped the island another way. After checking the Vixen is still seaworthy, it isn’t long before the Fourth Isle is just a shadow on the horizon. I vow that I’ll either return there to restore magic, or not at all.
The weather is kind, the wind favouring my direction, and I’m relieved. Tiredness has been my most bothersome enemy for some time, and the chance to rest is very welcome. A search of the Vixen for anything useful isn’t hugely forthcoming, but I do find a small notebook and chunk of lead, and so, while we glide contentedly through gentle waters, under the caress of a soft breeze, I begin a herbal – a list of all the plants and herbs I know, their descriptions, their medicinal properties, their toxicity. I describe what concoctions I’ve used them in, illustrating where I can, though I lack the talent to do anything real justice. There should be some documentation of these medicines in case … Well, in case I die. I don’t want all my knowledge to be lost when it could help someone.
But as I write down the tonics, noting what combinations achieve maximum potency, a tingle of excitement passes through me. If I’m to truly learn magic, I will undertake a huge step from remedies to potions. It’s a scary but wholly welcome prospect and I think deep down I knew that this was always going to happen. I was never going to resist the call to magic and was stupid to think I could.
I’m almost feeling a sense of hope, of purpose, as I enter the mists around the Fifth Isle. Until it starts to rain. At first, it causes me no concern, for though the visibility is poor, I know these waters are deep and free of rocks, and a little inclement weather isn’t enough to bring alarm. But then something hits me on the shoulder, making me jump. When I look at the deck, I’m astonished to see a dead skyweaver, a small red bird that lives in the cliffs around the island. Poor thing must have died mid-flight and fallen where it flew. But then the next body falls. And the next. I can hear splashes in the water and hurry to the side of the boat. Even through the mist, I can see floating red bodies all around, the sea turning to feathers.
It’s as unnerving as the dead fish on the Fourth Isle, and leaves me with the same uneasy sense of dread. Like something bad is coming that I don’t even understand.
By the time the Sixth Isle appears, I’m more than ready to escape the ocean, and begin the next part of my journey. Though Rock Island has never done anything to make me like it, I’m feeling desperate to find Torin’s books, to have another chance to learn from them. Old Tatty said time is running out and I believe her.
But I’m also on edge. While the Fourth Isle was abandoned, the Sixth Isle is more densely populated than ever, brimming over with refugees displaced from the Fourth, and if I don’t want to be discovered, I’m going to have to move with caution.
I bring the Vixen in carefully through the labyrinth of deadly rocks that surround the Sixth, avoiding any harbours or coves where I might attract unwanted attention. Instead I angle her up towards the uninviting cliffs and grab hold of the rock. It would instantly rip the flesh from my fingers if I hadn’t
wrapped rags round my hands, but as it is I’m able to secure the rope round the jutting stone without too much difficulty. Throwing my bag over my body, I then take a deep breath and start to climb. The jagged surface is lethal, cutting through the material to draw blood, but it also has many handholds and foot supports, making it relatively straightforward to scale.
When I reach the top, I untie the rags from my hands and pull up my hood. The castle is east and so that’s where I’m headed.
The wind is brisk and as I walk I think about the last time I was here, fighting with my crew in a violent skirmish to oust bandits from a settlement they had taken over, rendering the people dwelling there little more than prisoners. The terrain, and the position of the settlement in an enclosed valley, had made the fight particularly difficult and innocent people had lost their lives despite my best efforts. Always it seems my best just isn’t good enough. The cold air that whips up my skirt is nowhere near as icy as the memory. In an attempt to distract myself from unwelcome thoughts, I try to focus on the bounty I’ve come here for. The books bewitched me when last I read them, but back then I wasn’t ready to fully hear what they had to say. Now I’m hoping to understand them in far more depth.
Up ahead an abandoned mine looms in the distance. The path I’m taking passes beside it and, as I approach, I can’t help but remember what Lord Pyer accused me of at the trial. Of personally sabotaging the crystal supply for my own nefarious gain. It was a genius way to turn people against me. To see this once striking mine now reduced to a ghostly shell is devastating. The beating heart of the island’s industry has been ripped out. I suppose it’s easier to believe an assassin guilty of such an atrocity than to confront the real reason the crystal mines are defunct: the terrible accidents that took place due to appalling conditions – a result of negligence that Lord Pyer himself was probably responsible for.
Not only do I need to find a way to restore magic, but I have to heal the economy, and I almost choke on the weight of it all. It’s too much for one person. I don’t want it. It was meant to be all of us: me, Bronn, my crew, with the King’s Fleet at my command, and Torin, the new King. How can I possibly do this alone, an outlaw wanted for treason?
A cry from the mine cuts through my growing despair. I pause, wondering if I’ve imagined it, because surely no one can be down there, not in the state it’s in. I strain to listen, and then I hear it again, a noise that could be a call for help. Damn it, the last thing I want is to be sidetracked, but what is the point of me acting the hero, if I ignore the plight of someone in need?
The mine is situated at the top of a steep incline. The wind is even stronger up here and there’s more than a little eeriness to the place. But nature doesn’t scare me. I learned a long time ago that it’s people you need to fear. I detour off my path, climbing over piles of discarded rock brought up long ago from the mine. Maybe someone strayed up here from the nearest settlement and fell in – for the abandoned mines here are far from safe.
Now little more than a vast open pit in the rock surface, the mine would have once been surrounded by timber scaffolding and ladders for workers to climb down into the darkness. The only part of the external structure still standing is the wooden platform and pulley system protruding from the centre of the hole in the ground, which would have once carried up buckets of mined crystal and ore. It would be incredibly easy to fall in here by mistake at night.
When I reach the edge, I peer down into the shaft. At first I see nothing but darkness, but eventually my eyes adjust to make out the lingering structures of platforms circling the mine wall, walkways and ladders joining them together. Ropes and pulley systems that haven’t been used for a long time hang there, redundant. They seem the safest way in. In fairness they may well be the only way in.
With a deep breath, I take a small run-up and leap into the mouth of the mine. For a second I’m not certain I’m going to make the rope, but then my hands clasp round it and I swing there for a moment, listening to the clanking of chains, the creaking of wood.
It holds.
More than a little relieved, I shimmy down, my eyes adjusting to the gloom, until I reach a platform and jump lightly on to the planks. Even alone it’s oppressive down here, and I try to imagine what it would have been like to work in such a place, day in and out, surrounded by thousands of miners, all sweating, all afraid. The fatal drop in the centre is certainly enough to give even the bravest of people pause.
Now that I’ve been swallowed by the darkness, I listen again. At first I hear nothing, but then there it is. Drawing my dagger from my belt, I make my way along the rickety wooden planks, precariously held up by wooden beams that disappear vertically into the black abyss of the pit.
To my dismay I realise the noise came from further in the mine, and eye the ladder down to the next platform with suspicion. I don’t trust those rungs one bit and so position my hands and feet either side, my blade between my teeth, and slide to the next level.
This time I make for one of the many tunnels leading off from the main pit, where miners have burrowed deeper into the island in search of more precious materials. I follow the rocky path, taking care where I tread, the natural light growing dimmer the further I venture.
There’s something up ahead and I squint, seeing what looks like someone slumped on the ground.
‘Hello?’ I call. ‘Are you all right?’
No answer comes, and when I get closer I see why. The person is far beyond any help, barely more than a skeleton in rags, though some decomposing flesh still clings to the bones. I crouch beside the body, and sigh with sadness. What a lonely place to die. I wonder about his story; was he seeking shelter here from bandits? Or was he injured when the mine was still operating and unable to escape? As I stand up, something catches my eye. Squatting back down, I lean in, ignoring the smell of the rotting flesh, hardly believing what I’m seeing.
‘You crafty thing,’ I say to the skeleton. Because lodged in an empty tooth cavity, towards the back of the jaw, there is a little chunk of crystal. Even a piece this small would be incredibly valuable and I can only assume my dead friend here was stealing it for himself. Who would think to check there? I reach my hand into the skull, pushing the jaw wider open, and dig the crystal out of its cavity. Taking a small pouch from the bag Raoul gave me, I tuck the treasure safely inside, before another thought occurs to me.
I read once in the old manuscripts, that ground crystal, more informally known as diamond dust, could be used in potion making. The theory went that if added with good intentions, it would have a positive effect. But if added with ill intent, it would render the potion a poison. Such a powerful ingredient would be worth far more to me than the crystal itself and I glance at the cavern walls, wondering. Standing up, I run my fingers along the sharp stone, wincing slightly as it cuts at my flesh. When I remove them, my skin is coated in sparkling dust. Smiling to myself, I start to brush the residue from the wall into the pouch. If this works, then it’ll make healing tonics all the more potent. I’m thinking of Torin. Such a tonic could save his life.
A flicker of light in the darkness up ahead stops me in my tracks. I came down here because I thought I heard someone in trouble. But if they have a lantern, they’re not likely to be in any desperate peril and as the sound comes again, louder this time, I realise I’ve made a mistake. What I heard wasn’t a cry for help. It was the sound of raised voices, echoing out into the night and deceiving my ears. And whoever is living down here, they’ve heard me calling and I have a feeling they won’t welcome an uninvited visitor. I’m about to make an inconspicuous retreat when I realise the flickering is already getting closer. I’ve got company.
Moving as swiftly and silently as possible, while trying to avoid rotten planks of wood, I race back towards the main pit. They know there’s an intruder in their midst, and there are a lot of them.
Still, if I can get back to the pit and up the rope before they reach me, then I’ll never be more than an apparition to th
em. I’m all confidence until I arrive back at the central walkway and skid to a halt.
Bandits have emerged from every tunnel leading off this pit. They’re all armed. They’re all angry. And they’re all staring at me.
‘Get her!’ someone shouts, and from both directions men charge towards me.
There’s nowhere to run. The men on my right are closest, so I focus on them first. I scan my surroundings and with only a split second to make a decision, lunge towards an axe lying redundantly against the wall, and swing the massive blade down into the rotten wood at my feet.
The impact causes the weak planks to fall away, decimating a chunk of the walkway and cutting them off from me. The furious mob turns about to get to me from the other direction.
I’m already thinking of the other flank of attack, and use the axe once more to slice through a wooden beam, yanking it free and brandishing the long spike as a weapon.
It’s only as I stand there, positioned to fight, that I realise I’ve made another mistake. A big one.
The structure supporting these walkways was already frail and I’ve just smashed a huge hole through it. By the sounds of creaking timber, the beam I’ve just removed was also fairly vital.
The bandits hear it too – the ominous sound of destruction. From below us the intricate framework of the mine is collapsing and suddenly catching me is no longer their priority.
We all scramble at the same time. Bandits push and pull to reach the nearest ladders first; men are flung down the deep drop in the middle in an attempt to clear a pathway. There’s no loyalty among them, so I know they won’t hesitate to crush me for their own survival.
I get to my ladder just before one of the bandits and leap on to it as high as I can. Instantly the rungs give way beneath my feet, as I’d suspected they would. I fall slightly, and the bandit grabs my ankle, trying to pull me off. I kick him hard and manage to break free, hauling myself up the side of the ladder with my arms. Others are trying to climb up behind me, which makes the ladder wobble precariously, but I focus solely on going upwards. I make it to the next walkway moments before the deafening crack explodes from beneath us and, like a house of cards, the walkways collapse, each one giving way to the next.
