The Spook 9 - Slither's tale

by Delaney Joseph

  Then we began to fight at close quarters. We were evenly matched and the struggle continued for a long time. Soon the sun went down and the light began to fail. Now we were fighting in darkness and I used my shakamure magic to see my enemy. I also drew upon my other magical reserves to bolster my strength. No doubt Eblis employed his own magic, because his blades were guided with great accuracy, and for a while I was hard pressed just to parry them. We fought in silence – all that could be heard was grunts, the clash of blades and our boots churning the mud.

  But slowly I began to gain the ascendancy, and at last I brought my enemy to his knees and lifted the dagger for the killing blow.

  As I did so, I felt a hand staying my arm.

  ‘You have won, Slither, but now he is mine,’ whispered the voice of Grimalkin in my ear. ‘Return the blade to my hand.’

  What could I do but acquiesce? After all, I had won a great victory and I owed the witch for that. Without her intervention I would have died in the mud. So I returned the blade to her and walked across to the place where Nessa lay.

  I knelt down beside her. She was still breathing, just, but her life-signs were slowly fading. I had a little magic remaining to me, so I placed my hand on her forehead and let it seep into her body until she began to revive.

  After a while I helped her up into a sitting position and she opened her eyes.

  ‘You were dying, little Nessa, but I have revived you with my strength. It is no more than what I owe you.’

  Just as she had saved me when bitten by the snake, now I had repaid her. She stared at me for a while and seemed about to make some reply, but then I heard a sound from behind that made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

  Shaiksa assassins do not scream. And yet Eblis, the bravest, strongest and most ruthless of them all, cried out. His screams went on for a very long time.

  Nessa looked at me, her eyes widening at the sound. I found the sounds pleasing – but obviously she did not. The assassin was being killed slowly, and his dying thoughts were being sent out to the rest of his brotherhood. Even as he died, their knowledge was being advanced. But what were they learning?

  In another moment of whalakai, I understood what was happening. They were not only learning – they were being taught. That lesson was being given by Grimalkin: just as she had carved the symbol of her scissors on trees to mark her territory and warn off her enemies, so, now, she was sending the whole Shaiksa Brotherhood a message.

  She was telling them who she was; what she was capable of; teaching them all about pain and fear.

  And then, in a loud voice, she called out her verbal message to the brotherhood: ‘Keep away from me,’ she warned, ‘or what I did to your brother, so I will do to you! Those who pursue me will die a death such as this! I am Grimalkin.’

  So it was that the Lance That Cannot Be Broken was indeed broken, and He Who Cannot Be Defeated was slain and left this world after over two thousand years as an undefeated Shaiksa assassin.

  And in that moment I knew that the witch assassin was the most deadly warrior I had ever encountered. So now a great challenge lay ahead. One day I must fight and defeat her. To accomplish that would be the summit of my endeavours as a haizda mage.

  When later I examined the body of Eblis to see what had been done to him, I could see nothing that could have made him shriek so musically. It is true that she had carved the symbol of her scissors on his forehead, but there was nothing else. I had to admit that there were many things I could learn from the human witch.

  NESSA WAS BRUISED and battered, but because of my help had survived her fall; her greatest hurt was still the loss of her sister, Susan.

  Later, after the two girls had cried themselves to sleep, the witch and I talked by the campfire.

  ‘The magnificent blade that I used to defeat Eblis – where did you obtain it?’ I asked.

  ‘It does not belong to me,’ she replied. ‘I hold it in trust for another and must return it to him.’

  ‘May I see it again?’ I asked.

  The witch smiled grimly, showing her pointed teeth, and for a moment I thought that she might refuse me. Then she drew it out of its scabbard and handed it to me. I held it carefully, turning it over and over in my hands. I sensed its power immediately.

  ‘This is a very special blade. Who made it?’ I asked.

  ‘It was crafted by one of our gods, little mage. We have our own god of blacksmiths and he is called Hephaestus.’

  ‘It is strange that he should choose a skelt’s head for the hilt,’ I observed. ‘Talkus, our God Who Is Yet to Be, will assume this likeness at the moment of his birth.’

  ‘I remember what you said,’ the witch said with a frown. ‘Your people will begin a holy war and try to drive us into the sea.’

  ‘Then we will rule the whole world,’ I told her.

  ‘It will certainly be an interesting time!’ she said. ‘Were you to attempt such a thing, my people would certainly offer fierce resistance. And then we would eventually pull down the walls of Valkarky and rid the world of the Kobalos. So let us hope that it is a long time before Talkus enters this world!’

  I handed the blade back to her without comment, but then several thoughts came to me almost simultaneously.

  ‘The star-stone – is it valuable to humans?’ I asked. ‘Is that why you entered our territory and approached Valkarky? It seems an odd coincidence that you should be nearby when it fell.’

  ‘It was not a coincidence. I knew when and where it would fall,’ the witch retorted.

  ‘Did you use magic to learn that?’

  ‘We witches can sometimes scry the future; we are also able to “long-sniff” approaching danger. But I will admit that it was actually a strange dream that revealed the coming of the stone to me – one that seemed so real I thought I had awakened. There was a blinding light so fierce that I feared my eyes would be burned from my head. Then a voice told me where and when it would fall – and then, once it was in my possession, what I must do with it.’

  ‘Did the voice that came out of the light also warn you of the danger from my people?’

  ‘I already knew that the piece of ore would plummet to earth near to your city,’ she replied. ‘It fell exactly as predicted, but then, while I waited for it to cool so that I could carry it away south, I sniffed the approach of your warriors. I fought them, but they were too numerous.’

  ‘Now that it is once more in your possession, what will you do with it?’

  ‘This is a blade from the dark and not truly suitable for the one who must wield it!’ she exclaimed, holding the skelt-shaped hilt out towards me. ‘So I will forge a new blade – one even greater and more potent!’

  ‘Who is the one it is destined for? Is he a king?’

  ‘At this time he is the apprentice of a spook – one skilled in dealing with the dark and its servants. He is the only one who has the ability to destroy the Fiend for ever. This dark blade is one of three that he must use to achieve that end. But if he survives, he may have other tasks awaiting him.’

  ‘What other tasks?’

  ‘I have scryed the future and know that further challenges await him – but all is uncertain. Scrying is an imperfect art. He may even die in his attempt to kill the Fiend. I looked into a mirror, striving to see his future, but it became cloudy with doubt. I will forge the blade for him, anyway.’

  ‘You hope to forge a better blade than that created by your blacksmith god?’ I said, shaking my head at her presumption. ‘My people call such vaunted ambition hubris. Pride is the greatest sin of all – one that can call down the combined anger of the gods.’

  ‘Nevertheless I am determined to try,’ she replied. ‘This is what the voice commanded: I must forge a blade of light. It shall be called the Star Blade.’

  ‘You belong to what you call the “dark”, and yet you would create its antithesis. It is strange indeed that a daughter of darkness should forge a blade of light!’ I commented.

  ‘We
live in strange times,’ the witch replied. ‘It is also strange that I, a witch, should have formed an alliance with the enemies of my clan. But this is what has forced the situation upon us,’ she said, lifting the leather sack that contained the head of their dark god. ‘The Fiend must be destroyed. Nothing else matters but that.’

  NESSA

  WE CONTINUED SOUTH, heading for the village of Stoneleigh on the edge of Pwodente. I shared a horse with Bryony. It broke my heart to think that though we were now so close, and I could put my arms around her, it would be for the last time.

  I leaned forward and put my mouth next to her ear. ‘Try to keep hope alive in your heart, Bryony,’ I whispered. ‘One day I will find a way to return to you, I swear it!’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find a way, Nessa!’ she exclaimed with a smile. ‘You’re so clever, I’m certain it won’t take you long.’

  Despite my sister’s youthful optimism I knew that it was extremely unlikely that we would ever meet again. But at least Bryony had the prospect of a long and happy life. I could still hardly believe that Susan had been taken from us. The witch had fought alongside the beast, and somehow they had prevailed – but at what a terrible cost! Poor Susan must have been so frightened – and to die such a death! The pain in my heart was unbearable.

  If only my life could have been taken instead, I would have willingly given it so that she might live.

  ‘What if my aunt and uncle are cruel to me?’ Bryony said suddenly.

  ‘They’re family. They will be good to you, I feel certain of that,’ I said softly.

  In truth, I was certain of nothing. Times were hard, and if our aunt and uncle were scratching a living here on the edge of Kobalos territory, the last thing they needed was another hungry mouth to feed.

  That night around the campfire, we discussed how Bryony might best be handed over to our relatives.

  ‘If we show our face, it will cause great alarm,’ Grimalkin told the beast, ‘for you are Kobalos and I am clearly a witch. As a result we will be hunted down and thus be forced to kill our pursuers. The girls’ relatives might even be among them.’

  This was indeed the likely outcome of being seen, and I nodded in agreement.

  ‘I suggest we cloak ourselves,’ Grimalkin continued.

  ‘That may not be necessary. Let us see the lie of the land. We may be able to send the youngest purra out alone and watch from afar,’ Slither proposed.

  ‘Yes, but we must be certain that she is well-received and accepted into the family,’ I insisted. ‘After all, we have never met them. They may not wish to be burdened with my sister. They may even be dead by now, and there is no guarantee that a small community struggling to survive would welcome even one extra mouth to feed. I need some reassurance that my sister is safe.’

  The following morning we completed the final stage of the journey to the dwelling place of our aunt and uncle.

  Keeping to the left bank, we followed the river downstream and approached the last bridge before the Western Sea, which we could now see in the distance. There was a small wood between us and the bridge. It couldn’t have been better for what we planned.

  ‘This is perfect,’ said Grimalkin. ‘We can wait hidden within the trees at the edge of the wood and yet watch Bryony cross the bridge.’

  ‘But if our aunt and uncle take you in, you must come back to the bridge and wave to show us that all is well,’ I said. ‘Promise me that.’

  ‘I promise,’ Bryony said, her voice choked with emotion. ‘They’ll ask me about you and Susan,’ she continued, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘What shall I say?’

  I thought hard. As far as I knew, Father had never exchanged letters with his kin in Pwodente. They might not even know of his daughters, or that his wife was dead. But it was better to approximate the truth as far as possible.

  ‘You must be brave, Bryony,’ I replied. ‘Tell them how our father died, but say that your sisters stayed behind to try and work the farm with a view to selling it eventually. Say things were hard and they felt unable to care for you properly and hoped that one day they might join you or maybe send for you to return. Say that you have been accompanied by travellers who have gone many miles out of their way to bring you safely here and they cannot afford to tarry longer but just wish to know that all is well. Could you say that?’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Nessa. I’ll try.’ She was being as brave as she could.

  So we dismounted and waited just within the trees. Bryony and I withdrew a little distance from Grimalkin and Slither and exchanged a tearful farewell – one of such duration that the beast began to pace up and down in a most agitated fashion, his tail up high, and I knew that we were testing his patience to its limits.

  But at last, after a final hug, Bryony gulped and then set off towards the river. I watched her go, trying to hold back the tears. I knew what it cost her to leave me behind and I was proud of her courage. Her figure grew smaller and smaller as she approached the bridge and crossed it to disappear amongst the small huddle of cottages that we judged to be Stoneleigh.

  We waited in silence, Slither displaying increasing impatience, and after about an hour, three people came over the bridge and looked at us across the meadow. I saw a man and a woman, and between them stood my sister, Bryony. She raised her hand and waved three times.

  That was the prearranged signal that she was well and had found sanctuary with our aunt and uncle. With that final wave I was satisfied: we were free to head northwest towards the dreaded slave market. Bryony’s new life was just beginning; mine was as good as over. I did not expect to live long as a slave of the Kobalos.

  AS WE RODE, my spirits were high, knowing that once Nessa was sold I would be free to return to my haizda. I was looking forward to going home. But Nessa countered my happy, optimistic mood with a constant flow of tears which I somehow found disturbing. The threat of skaiium was still there. Although I tried my utmost, I found it hard to rid myself of the memory of some of her actions.

  She had given me her blood to revive me after I’d been bitten by the skulka; much later, she had ridden between me and Eblis, thus giving me a chance of life. These actions could, I suppose, be accounted for in the same way as her request for a knife in order to help fight the Haggenbrood: she had simply been trying to ensure the survival of her sisters.

  But I could not forget how she had pressed her forehead against mine – such a daring thing for a purra to do. Again, it was prompted by a desire to persuade me to save Bryony, and had resulted in my slaying of the Nunc and then the Shaiksa assassin. But I could not forget the touch of her skin on mine.

  A small part of me wanted to set her free to go and live with her sister, but I could not countenance that. I was a haizda mage; I had to be strong and fight any hint of weakness within myself. In any case, it was important that I sell a slave and meet the requirements of Bindos; otherwise I would find myself an outlaw once more.

  We headed north, crossed the Fittzanda Fissure without mishap, experiencing just a few mild tremors, and soon we were travelling through snow once more. It lay thin on the ground now, with a crisp crust of ice; the skies were clear. Even in the land of the Kobalos there was a short summer, and now it was on its way.

  We began to climb into the foothills of the Dendar Mountains, and just before dusk on the second day, we saw Karpotha, the largest of all the slave kulads, in the distance. It was a broad, dark tower rising up into the sky; a large walled courtyard surrounded it. This was where the holding pens for the purrai were located.

  I wished to be done with the business of selling Nessa. All I wanted to do now was to return to my haizda and replenish my magic. It was seriously depleted – I didn’t like to admit it, but that was why I had rejected the idea of cloaking myself in order to hide from the child’s family. I scarcely had the magical strength to do so, and I might yet have need of my last reserves.

  We made camp under an outcrop of rock and I told the witch that, soon after dawn, I would take Ne
ssa to the kulad and sell her.

  Grimalkin made no reply and was silent for a long time. Around the campfire the atmosphere was cooler than the northerly breeze, and all three of us ate in silence. Finally, without a word, Nessa wrapped herself in her blanket and withdrew from us under the shelter of the cliff. Once the purra had gone, the witch started to talk.

  ‘Where did you get that coat?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never seen one like it.’

  ‘It’s a sign of office,’ I replied. ‘Once each haizda mage completes his noviciate, he is given such a coat. There are thirteen buttons symbolizing the thirteen truths.’

  ‘The thirteen truths? What are they?’

  ‘If you knew that, then you too would be a haizda mage,’ I told her. ‘Perhaps one day I could teach you. But it would take thirty years of your life or more. Such knowledge is not truly suited to short-lived humans.’

  She smiled grimly. ‘I have not thirty years to spare just now, but one day I may visit you again. Maybe then you could teach me a little of your craft. My sister witches in Pendle are conservative and keep to the old ways, but I like to learn from other cultures and disciplines and increase my knowledge in new methods.

  ‘But now I will speak to you of a matter that concerns me much. I ask again that you do not sell the girl in the slave market. She has been brave, and by some of her actions has ensured your own survival. But for the danger to the two girls, I would not have loaned you the dagger that you used to defeat the assassin.’

  ‘What you say is true,’ I admitted, ‘but I must refuse your request. Have I not explained my situation to you already? Do you forget so quickly? It is not that I need the money, but according to a Kobalos law called Bindos, every forty years each citizen must sell at least one purra in the slave markets. That sale is carefully recorded. Otherwise we forgo our citizenship and are cast out of Valkarky, never to be welcomed there again. Consequently, we become outlaws and may be killed on sight.’