Shadow (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  He shrugged. ‘It was given to us. Actually the drake vomited it up. So maybe he stole it from someone. Are you here to take it back?’

  ‘No!’ answered the blue-haired one with vehemence he didn’t expect.

  ‘Vyin made it. Why did he?’ said the other.

  ‘I can’t answer,’ he said. Why did they think he’d know more of the dragons than them? He tried to remember what little he’d heard. Vyin – he thought that was the one who was supposedly a friend to humans, but he wasn’t certain.

  ‘It has made them angry,’ said the blue-haired one, pointing skyward as though this clarified who she meant. ‘In parts, the lightstone broke away. A house was destroyed where the piece fell!’ Again she made the fluttering whistle, laughter.

  ‘Your woman carries Vyin’s charm,’ said the other.

  ‘They know about it now,’ said the blue-haired Invia, leaning closer to him as though to confide. Strands of her hair tickled his forearm. ‘Dyan is still free! He told them. He is … frightened. Whenever he comes, frightened! Now they argue with each other. It’s dangerous to be near. Many of us flew away.’

  ‘What will the dragons do?’

  ‘Vyan went to his forges,’ said the red-haired one.

  ‘So did Tzi-Shu!’ said the other, edging closer as though competing for his attention. ‘I was in the space beneath. Her feet moved fast. You can’t go up and watch her. She doesn’t allow it. Most of them don’t.’

  Eric said, ‘Forges. What does that mean?’

  ‘You are the Pilgrim!’ said the blue-haired Invia.

  ‘Yes, I am. Will you answer me? What does it mean that the other dragons went to their forges?’

  ‘We do not say,’ said the red-haired one. ‘Walkers don’t know these things.’

  ‘Forges means they’ll make things, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Of course they will make things,’ said the blue-haired Invia. ‘Silly walker!’

  ‘The byaskhan seek you,’ said the other. Eric understood this whistling sound to mean war mages. ‘We don’t like them.’

  ‘Me either. What things will the other dragons make?’

  ‘They are in a hurry,’ said the red-haired one.

  ‘Your drake is strange,’ said the other. ‘He’s been touched by Vyin too. We’ll watch you. It’s interesting. We—’

  At the sound of Loup stumbling outside, both Invia were gone with a rush of wind and beating white wings. Loup, shocked, stared at Eric with an open mouth, waiting for an explanation. ‘You look like you’re my dad and I brought two strange girls home,’ said Eric, laughing.

  ‘Inferno’s charred dick! Why didn’t they kill you?’

  ‘I wondered the same thing. I asked them if I was Marked; they said I’m not.’ Eric frowned. ‘Then for some reason I debated the point with them.’

  Loup sent an arc of piss flying over the ledge and into the sea of fog. ‘I hope you had a mule’s share of sense to keep your mouth shut.’

  ‘Kind of shut.’

  Loup listened to Eric’s account of the conversation. He said nothing other than, ‘Sleep, lad. More flying tomorrow. The castle will be in sight soon, if you’re still sure we should go there.’

  And with another full day’s flight – the Invia keeping their distance, little specks playfully darting through the higher clouds – they made camp with the castle visible in the distance, gleaming as though reflecting a white sun.

  For one fleeting moment as they stood gazing from their high perch, the light played a strange trick, spearing painfully into Eric’s eyes and leaving the impression of the huge building shifting positions the way a person does in sleep.

  Loup turned to him, studied his face, then said, ‘I saw it too, lad. I saw it too.’

  THE WARRIOR’S REDEEMER

  1

  Sharfy’s hand rested on his knife’s handle. He watched Anfen’s sleeping body – though sleeping hardly seemed right: almost dead was more like it. Thin, starved, the rise and fall of his chest hardly perceptible.

  Now it was decision time. Part of him made the strong case: knife him. Take that armour, take his weapon. It’s the armour that gets us into ‘the quiet’ or just whatever it really is. I can use that sword every bit as good as he can. Almost as good, anyway …

  It would be like knifing a friend on the battlefield who’d been cut so his guts were in his lap, in too much pain to live for another pointless hour or two. Maybe deep down he’d be thankful. The Sharfy of years past would not have baulked. If he made it to a city – if there were any cities still standing and free enough to live in – he’d retire off what he could get for that magic gear. Retire? He could probably buy a whole city for himself. Mayors themselves would fork out big for that gear.

  Decisions, decisions.

  Today they’d continued a long winding march only to stop for a break in the very place they’d left just four days ago. The temptation to kill Anfen had lingered at that moment too. It had been a great uneven circle through bad country with no goat-track, let alone paved road. Loose stone on climbing ground rife with pits and holes. Anfen sick and starved all the while, never once explaining what they were doing or where that damned purple scar of his came from, the scar which still wept blood now and then. It went right the way round, like his whole head had been cut off!

  Breaking long silences, Anfen had ranted, raved. Some of it outright crazy-man babble. About how his ‘redeemer’ would show up again. His redeemer would tell them their task. His redeemer would this, that, the other.

  Sharfy crouched, and was a breath away from drawing his knife when Anfen groaned and stirred. Shit, he thought, stepping back. He went off road and pissed on a tree.

  Anfen sat up, hugged his knees, rocked back and forth like someone sick as death. ‘I must not take us back there too many more times,’ he said, his voice a harsh croak. ‘We must not meddle.’

  ‘Back where?’ said Sharfy.

  ‘Back into the quiet.’

  ‘Yep. The quiet. I thought maybe that’s what you meant.’ Sharfy shook his cock dry. ‘So. How does that armour work anyway? Do you just think about the quiet and you’re there? Is that how? Why not just tell me? I won’t take it off you or anything.’

  ‘We should not go there at all. We should not be here in this corrupted country.’

  Sharfy shut his eyes. ‘So. You don’t say. We shouldn’t be here, huh? You know, I thought that a couple of times. I thought maybe we could be in an inn somewhere. Or something.’

  ‘We can know no purpose until my redeemer comes.’

  I’m going to do it, Sharfy realised with a measure of relief to have the matter settled. Next time he sleeps, he’s dead.

  It didn’t take long. Anfen stood up, staggered a few paces then collapsed in a puff of dead leaves. Sharfy drew his knife, crouched by the body, rolled it over, held the blade to Anfen’s throat …

  And for a minute or more he looked down at his gaunt face. He willed his hand to do it but it suddenly wouldn’t move. Shit, he thought again, dropping the knife in the dead leaves.

  He dragged Anfen – how light he was – back away further from the road, laid a pack under his head, cursed his name and then shut his own eyes, not caring that neither of them was taking watch. They had already relied on luck for far too long to do things differently now.

  2

  Sharfy woke from nightmares to the sound of something falling to the ground beside his head. Broken there were two stretched pieces of what had once been a man, and still looked like a man, only warped, pulled out of shape as though made of rubber. He touched one piece by accident as he scrambled to his feet. It was light and hard as set clay.

  ‘A near thing,’ said Anfen, lordly and triumphant with his weapon drawn. ‘It had you. Two of them, Sharfy. Look behind us. That one had you in its time dance. And more of them come. Here in the quiet, they can’t hurt us. Draw blade! Draw the blade you yearn to use.’ Anfen laughed madly.

  Sharfy drew his blade and followed Anfen t
hrough the twilight. Looming around them were people twisted out of shape, bent and stretched, far taller than they should be. They moved clumsily, at times seeming not to touch the ground with their feet. One of them turned to regard him, looking into him with eyes horribly conscious, its mouth twisted open and stretched out of shape. Arms stiff and curved up, it moved spastically as though trying to wade through water. Sharfy could not look it in the eyes for long.

  Anfen cut it down, cut them all down and left none for Sharfy to kill. Fine by him. The beings did not fight back, did not so much as shuffle away; their eyes just followed the swing of Anfen’s sword. He cut the last one apart and crouched by the stiff severed pieces, breathing heavily. ‘They serve some purpose, Sharfy, I come to suspect.’ He gazed around for more of them.

  ‘Huh! That’s crazy. How do you figure? Just monsters.’

  ‘They are changed by something from the foreign side. Whatever it is, it negotiates with our side. Our reality makes half the change. Do you see? They must serve a purpose here, give some benefit.’

  ‘Shut up, Anfen. Just fucking shut up with that talk.’ Tears of anger threatened to come but he held them off, throat burning. He hadn’t cried in the slave farm when his friend was beaten to death by guards right in front of him; he wasn’t going to cry now.

  Anfen did not seem to have heard. He stalked through the woods, back toward the road, seeking more of the beasts, but there were none around. Off through the trees were occasional scattered glowing forms of spells cast long ago, or perhaps yet to be cast, with more still in the sky far above, faintly gleaming. Some were so huge they must have been cast by dragons, and were still waiting for shapers to reach them and weave them into reality.

  Sharfy remembered then the Otherworld sky, vast and black, where distant scattered lights gleamed like diamonds falling into a pit of unimaginable size. Around the fire one night Eric had called them ‘stars’, explaining their presence to Siel in words making less than no sense while Sharfy listened in. He now saw that ‘stars’ were really spells cast long ago in that place before its magic dried up, like written orders left lying around for smiths, still waiting for hands to hammer them into existence.

  An animal shriek pulled him out of his reverie. It was hard to believe the sound came from Anfen, who staggered drunk-enly past Sharfy and back toward the Great Dividing Road, a look on his face ghastly for its sudden happiness. Sharfy pursued him, thinking he had found more Tormentors to slay, and wondering why that grim business should be such a joy to him.

  But there were no Tormentors. Ahead of them was a white glow like that of a ghost. Anfen staggered close, dropped his sword and fell to his knees. Only after a minute or more of staring could Sharfy make out a shape in the misty light of a man sitting rigidly on horseback. Both horse and rider were larger than they should have been. The man spoke quiet words. Anfen listened, body shaking as he wept, reaching out to touch the ghostly figure.

  Sharfy dared not go closer. Then words carried to him: ‘Come and fetch your master’s sword, squire, as you wish to do.’

  I’m no squire, Sharfy thought. I’m a veteran. Never led an army but seen as much war as him. But he did as told, holding the sword’s handle out for Anfen, who did not take it.

  ‘I may go no closer to the castle than here,’ said the apparition. ‘Even here, I am nervous – It is too aware of me. You are to witness for me, Anfen. You are a mortal for whom It neither knows nor cares. Through your eyes shall I see what you witness. A change comes to the new growing power, called Vous. I know not yet what he will truly become.’

  Anfen said, ‘Shall I cut Vous down, my redeemer, before his power grows?’

  ‘You could not. Not even with the weapon I have fashioned for you. And if it could be done, you should not. We Spirits may need him.’

  ‘May, my redeemer? How can it be that one such as you, who can undo a man’s death, cannot see this for certain?’

  And with that question Sharfy suddenly understood. Anfen’s sword clattered from his hand. Valour did not seem to notice. Said the god, ‘No seer sees his own path winding through the many futures before him. Not even Spirits. To see is to move them; so they are forever shifting out of sight. To your eyes a thousand tunnels they would seem, stretching before you, each as unlikely as the one that is certain. But the past is one path, clear and certain. In it I see the Spirits with me, defeating once-mighty Inferno. Do you know what he was? What the other Spirits are, what I am?’

  ‘Any word you share, my redeemer, shall be treasured.’ With no warning Anfen’s arm whipped sideways and struck like a hammer blow at the back of Sharfy’s knee. ‘Kneel!’ his voice roared.

  Head spinning, Sharfy kneeled and felt Valour’s judging gaze fall briefly upon him, then move away.

  Valour said, ‘We Spirits are pillars, holding up the skies and keeping the brood therein. Inferno it was necessary for us to break. From afar, the brood sent him mad. A pillar has been missing since: our hold upon them weakened. A new pillar is erected soon, named Vous.’

  ‘Will it stand with you, my redeemer?’

  ‘It may. Or it may harm us. It may be small and frail, or have more strength than Mountain. But the Pendulum swings. Another Spirit may, perhaps one day soon, be called across into the far land to do war, leaving those of us remaining too weak to keep the brood in hold. Anfen. You did well not to slay the mage who makes this come about.’

  ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you, my redeemer.’

  ‘It was hard for you. The mage knows not his purpose. Both Spirits and the brood have used him at different times. As he used you.’

  ‘I suspected this was so, my redeemer.’

  ‘You may slay him when the change is done if that remains your wish, and if your hand is fast enough.’

  ‘Thank you, my redeemer. Oh, thank you.’

  ‘The new Spirit will come forth soon. He cannot remain so close to the great power you call the Dragon – he will be pushed away. It will be then you know the change is done. When Vous comes south and chooses for himself a home in the realm, we others must watch. In time we must decide if he is to be kept, or to be sent to where mad Inferno went. Inferno was not slain, Anfen, but brought low. No more can happen to Vous. Even now, he could not be slain.’

  ‘He has achieved eternal life, my redeemer?’

  ‘If this was his quest’s object, he has. There will be much time for him to regret it. We now must part. I give you this advice: you have no true friend among the brood. There shall be no Favoured. Listen not to any such tempting promise. Tell your kindred. Go forth now, Anfen. Witness for me. I have no governance of the hand wielding the sword I gave you. That is only yours. Your thoughts are yours, your valiant heart is yours. Your grief and shame are yours, if cling to them you must. Go now.’ Valour’s gaze again fell on Sharfy. ‘Serve him well.’ Those three words fell as heavily as slabs of stone.

  Sharfy wanted very much to run and hide. Instead he stammered, ‘Yes, I will.’

  3

  Step after step, he followed Anfen back to the castle, which soon loomed enormous over their heads again, seeming to stare directly at them like a living beast, as though the living beast buried somewhere far beneath it could see through these great stone eyes.

  Anfen babbled happily about dragons and Spirits and his redeemer. The scar from his neck dribbled blood onto his collar, which was already stiff with it. Sharfy glanced skyward hoping an Invia would come and kill him. None did.

  They did not go back into the quiet, and only once was a lone Tormentor visible in the distance. Its head swung around to watch them, and it stalked with its odd gait to where they’d passed, but it did not pursue them.

  Whether it was Vous or something else, there was no denying a change had come, or else one fast approached. It was as tangible as a gathering storm, the air crackling with energy. There were patrols, but they seemed strangely disorganised, rushing along the roads Sharfy had at last – with great difficulty – persuaded Anfen not to travel o
n. There were also floods of refugees, or what looked like them, heading for some reason toward the castle, not away from it. Almost as though they were all obeying a summons or had heard some call. From the glimpses Sharfy had of their faces, they rushed with the fervour of those who have heard that treasure is to be found just up ahead.

  As he and Anfen got nearer, as the castle’s hugeness became overwhelming, the babble of a crowd’s voice carried back to them from its lawns. Gathered there were citizens and fighting men alike, starving and well fed mixed together, in rags or occasional finery, all staring up and talking with excitement.

  Far above them, on a ledge overlooking the lawns, their Friend and Lord stood with his arms held aloft, his face turned to the sky, where dark clouds gathered in a swirling mass and lightning lashed about like the tongues of enormous beasts. The castle and the ground beneath it seemed to shiver.

  IS SHADOW HERE?

  1

  The castle shook. Strategist Vashun – the only one to still respond to the Arch’s urgent summonses – voiced what the Arch himself wondered, what he could only answer with guesswork to give the appearance of control he no longer had: ‘Is this it?’

  The Arch stared at him; through his gem he saw deeper into Vashun than the Strategist would realise, and saw attitudes he did not like. He answered, ‘Not yet.’

  He hoped it was true. He would not be here, if he knew this was indeed the great change.

  A high-pitched sound had come from Vous’s chamber that morning. The drake caged in the Arch’s study had heard it, had whined and writhed and scratched at its cage bars. The Arch had seen a disturbance in the airs, as though something had gone through all the nearby energies like a wave through water. Those exotic airs in jars on his shelf stirred and shifted like they had heard the sound too and wished to answer with a voice of their own, if only a mage were to give them that voice. And he had been sorely tempted to smash the jars and cast something, anything, to oblige them …