When I opened my eyes, the assassin was still holding a stake, about to pierce my body. For a moment I thought that I had died and was reliving the moment over and over again. But then I saw the first stake still buried in my stomach. This stake was a second one.
‘They say you are a seventh son of a seventh son,’ Balkai said, smiling down at me. ‘So it is only fitting that seven stakes such as this should pierce your body. Only after being transfixed by the seventh will you be allowed to die.’
The Shaiksa touched the fiery tip of the second stake to my chest, high on the right; then he began to twist it into me. I smelled my burning flesh and screamed until my throat was raw.
They waited a long while before using the third stake. Looking up, I saw that the sky was darkening. The sun had gone down.
All at once I was filled with hope. Surely Grimalkin would come now, I thought.
The moon climbed high into the sky – I could see it from my grave – but still Grimalkin did not come. Gradually, I realized that I was alone and that I would die alone. Nobody would come to save me. I’d been abandoned.
The pain from the first two stakes was bad, but the third felt even more acute. I shuddered and convulsed in agony as the stake was driven through my left thigh. Somewhere close by, someone was crying and screaming and calling out to his mother.
Only slowly did I understand that it was me.
CHAPTER 32
THE DARK ASSASSIN
THOMAS WARD
I’D HEARD IT said that in their death throes, especially in battle, men cry out for their mothers.
Now it was me – I just couldn’t help myself. I was also begging for my life, pleading for mercy, whimpering, crying, screaming. The pain was unendurable.
The Kobalos were laughing at me, and Balkai spat in my face. ‘You are not so brave now, little human,’ he said. ‘A Kobalos warrior would not scream and beg as you do!’
They pierced me with the fourth stake, the fifth, and then the sixth. I was almost out of my mind with pain, screaming and raving. ‘Mam! Mam!’ I called out into the night. ‘Help me! Help me!’
At first there was no reply. I fell into darkness again, and suddenly I was back in the kitchen at Brewer’s Farm, where I’d been brought up. I was sitting on a stool by the fire and I could hear the rocking chair moving to and fro: Mam was in the far corner, where the rays of the sun couldn’t reach her. Bright light hurt her eyes.
Was I dying, my whole life flashing before my eyes? I wondered. Was this a vision of that time when, as a twelve-year-old boy, I’d asked Mam if I could stop my apprenticeship to John Gregory? I’d been so lonely and had found the job so difficult.
I remembered her reply: ‘You’re the seventh son of a seventh son, and this is the job you were born to do.’ Then she’d said one more thing: ‘Someone has to stand against the dark. And you’re the only one who can.’
So then, reluctantly, I’d gone back and continued my training, hoping to make Mam proud of me. I’d fought the dark and won many victories, but it had been costly. Many people had died – my master, Bill Arkwright and Jenny, to name but three. And now it had finally brought about my end too.
I stared at Mam, rocking to and fro in her old chair. She looked just as I remembered her – the kind woman who was the best midwife in the County and a good wife and mother. But as our eyes locked, I saw something relentless and fierce in her gaze and I remembered her other aspect.
She’d been the first lamia; the mother of them all.
‘What is it you want of me?’ she demanded. Her voice was cold and she’d stopped rocking, which was always a bad sign.
I suddenly realized that I wasn’t reliving the past! I was actually face to face with Mam. She’d died triumphing over her daemonic enemy, the Ordeen – though since then I’d once encountered her in something that was surely more than just a dream. Where she dwelt I had no idea, but I knew that somehow her spirit lived on – and here I was seeing her again.
‘Mam! Mam! Is that really you?’ I cried, my eyes filling with tears that ran down my cheeks.
‘Yes, it is me, son. But don’t waste your time crying. Tears never achieve anything. I’ll ask you again – what do you want of me?’
‘They’re killing me, Mam. They’re torturing and killing me. I’ve been abandoned. Please help me. I’ve nobody else to turn to.’
‘You sound like a child, son,’ she said, her voice filled with disappointment. ‘You’re a man now.’
‘I’m sorry, Mam, but the pain is so bad I’m almost out of my mind. I can’t stand it. I can’t bear it any longer.’
Mam started to rock again, and the faintest of smiles spread across her face. ‘Until now you’ve done well, son. You’ve proved to be everything I hoped for. You truly have become the hunter of the dark. But I can’t help you now, and the truth is, I wouldn’t if I could. That’s what a real mother does: she nurtures her children and then sends them out into the world where they must fend for themselves. You have to help yourself now.’
‘How, Mam? How?’
Mam was moving the chair faster and faster, the wooden rockers thunderous on the flagged floor. Now she really was beaming like the loving mother I remembered. ‘You are your father’s son – a seventh son of a seventh son. But you are also my son, and my blood runs in your veins. So don’t hold back any more. Be what you need to be in order to save yourself.’
With that, Mam and the kitchen faded from view and the pain returned … but this time it was different.
I could still feel the sharp, throbbing agony caused by the stakes that had been driven through my body, but now there was something else. I felt hot; there was a burning sensation inside me, like fire in my blood, molten rock running through my veins. I wondered if I was developing a fever.
I opened my eyes and struggled to see in the gloom. With difficulty, I counted the stakes. There were six: one in each arm and thigh, one in my chest and one in my belly. In the distance I could hear voices and more laughter. And I could smell smoke again.
They were preparing the seventh stake.
The sky above me was still dark and cloud now obscured the moon. There was little light shining into my grave. I closed my eyes, thinking about what Mam had said. What did I ‘need to be’? And how could I become it? Soon I would simply be dead.
Was it a gift like the ability to slow time? I wondered.
Then I realized that there was something different inside me. With my eyes closed, I could visualize it in my head: something red; a glowing mass like a globule of blood simmering at the heart of a boiling cauldron; a sort of fire … I could feel it too.
The burning grew more and more painful now; it had spread from my body to my head; it was even worse than the agony caused by the stakes that transfixed me.
I groaned as my whole body was suddenly racked with fierce cramps. Arching my back seemed to ease the pain a little, but then I heard a snapping, clicking, cracking sound, followed by a sickening squelch. Ripples of pain ran up and down my body, which seemed to be contracting and stretching in turn.
The pain became more intense and I screamed out loud.
In the distance I could hear the Kobalos laughing, no doubt enjoying my pain. Then I fell into myself, down into the red core at the centre of my being. It burned, but to my surprise the pain wasn’t so bad there. It was a place of refuge.
I don’t know how long I stayed there – it couldn’t have been long because the next thing I heard was Balkai talking to the Shaiksa. They were still by the fire – I knew that, even though the edge of the grave shielded them from sight – I still had my eyes closed anyway. Their voices sounded very close, as if they were right next to me. They were talking in Losta, which I barely knew, yet now I could understand every word.
There was something else too: I could hear their hearts beating. Each Kobalos had two hearts – one in the chest and one in the throat – and I could clearly hear that double beat in each chest.
I realized that my
senses had improved. Mam had been the first lamia, and her blood coursed through my veins.
Be what you need to be. That’s what she’d told me.
I was changing … Was I changing into a lamia?
I listened, and found that every word the Kobalos said was crystal clear.
‘Our armies must fall back to Valkarky, but it is not over. We can begin again. We can create a new god even more powerful than Talkus,’ Balkai told his warriors. ‘My magic is powerful enough to do that.’
Now, in addition to their heartbeats, I could hear the blood surging through their veins.
I opened my eyes and saw that the inside of my grave was glowing with a red light. I could pick out every detail of my surroundings: tiny insects weaving patterns on the soil as they scuttled to and fro; worms moving deeper within it, creating labyrinthine tunnels. Above, the clouds still raced eastwards, blown in by the wind from the sea. But I could see through those clouds to each of the myriad stars beyond. They glowed like eyes in the darkness.
There were smells too; odours sharper than I’d ever sensed before: the smell of grass, leaves and the distant sea. But even stronger than that was the sweet odour of blood … though it wasn’t my blood. For some reason I couldn’t smell that, although I must have bled from my injuries. The blood I smelled was the blood of my enemies.
It was strangely attractive. It seemed to be calling to me.
I had no doubt now: I had changed into a lamia. It was time to take what I needed.
It seemed I’d been lying in the same place for far too long, so I sat up and stretched my limbs, freeing myself from the ropes. All at once I felt a series of irritating itches, and plucked away the sharp stakes that had been driven through my flesh as if they were merely thorns.
I got to my knees and then my feet, luxuriating in the new sense of freedom. Why had I stayed in this pit for so long? Why had I delayed? I was strong and full of energy now.
I also felt a terrible thirst that only one thing could assuage: the blood of my enemies.
I bounded up onto the grass and began to move towards that delicious scent; towards the fire where the four figures stood. Two ran away at the very sight of me; the third charged towards me, jabbing at me with a pointed stick. I grabbed him by the shoulder, shook him, then flung him aside, watching his body turn over and over in the air before crashing into the ground.
The fourth, the larger one, was jabbering nonsense and gesturing with his hands. I reached out and ripped away the thin metal that clad his body. Then I drank his blood while he screamed in agony.
Later, still thirsty, I returned to the assassin. His neck was broken and his blood was almost cold, pooled by gravity within his body. I drank just a mouthful, then spat it out.
Next I searched for the other two, who were still fleeing. I could have caught them, but the sun was rising and my need was diminishing.
Instead I walked towards the lake and knelt beside it, my mind empty. I stared at my reflection in the surface of the water. What I saw was not quite what I’d expected.
There were two types of lamia witch: the domestic and the feral. The former was almost totally human in appearance, whereas the wild version scuttled around on all fours, with sharp claws and teeth, and green and yellow scales. In addition there were feral vaengir, which could fly.
I certainly didn’t have wings, but my reflection told me that my form lay somewhere between the feral and the domestic. I could walk upright, and as I gazed at my reflection, I saw that my face was still much more human than lamian. It was elongated and partly covered in green scales, but my eyes and nose were my own. My mouth was wider, and within it were two rows of sharp teeth almost as pointy as Grimalkin’s.
I looked down at my hands. They were human in shape, but partly scaled, with long, sharp nails.
A domestic lamia retains its human shape because of close association with people; in isolation it slowly shifts towards the feral form – a change that can take weeks.
My transformation had taken less than an hour … So, I reflected, I was different; something new; the result of both my father’s and my mother’s blood fusing within my veins.
Was the change permanent? I wondered. Would I stay like this?
All at once I felt utterly weary, my mind sluggish, so I lay down by the water, letting all my concerns drift away.
I think I slept for a while. When I awoke, I looked at my reflection again and saw that I had returned to my human shape.
I bathed, sluicing the blood from my body, then examined myself carefully. I could find no marks where the stakes had pierced me. Even the scales that had covered the wound I’d received from the Shaiksa I’d fought in Polyznia were gone. My skin was perfect, without a blemish. There were no callouses on my heels; my soles were as soft as those of a new-born baby. I’d have blisters before I’d even walked a mile.
I got dressed in clothes that were still damp, and tugged on my socks and boots. Then I put on my gown, picked up my staff and bag, and headed towards Chipenden.
As I walked, I thought about what had happened.
Was this a gift or a curse? Whatever it was, it had saved my life. I wondered if I could control this ability and use it in times of danger and need … Or would it control me? I had become both more and less than human. With that first transformation even my thinking had changed.
Yes, I was the seventh son of a seventh son – certainly the child of my father. But I was Mam’s child too, and lamia blood ran through my veins.
I had always been worried about Alice succumbing to the dark; now I had succumbed too.
Grimalkin was an assassin from the dark; but I was a type of dark assassin too.
There was a beast sleeping within me.
At last, just as the sun was going down, I came within sight of Chipenden, bypassing the village to climb up towards the house. It would be a lonely place without Jenny and Alice, I thought, but I’d just have to get used to it. I was the Chipenden Spook, and I’d certainly be kept busy fighting the dark: there’d be plenty to distract me from my sadness.
I crossed the garden, opened the back door, set down my bag, leaned my staff against the wall and hung my cloak from a hook. I was hungry, but the only meal the boggart made was breakfast. So I headed for the kitchen, intending to make do with what I could find.
Even before I entered, I heard the loud purring. I glanced inside and saw that a feast had been laid out on the table. There were meats and fruits and the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread. A fire blazed in the grate, filling the whole room with warmth and cheer. The purring was coming from the boggart, which sounded very happy indeed.
But it wasn’t invisible … It had taken on its friendly, domestic shape and now resembled a large ginger tomcat.
It wasn’t sitting on the hearthrug either.
It was sitting on Alice’s knee.
GLOSSARY OF THE KOBALOS WORLD
ORIGINAL WRITTEN BY NICHOLAS BROWNE
Notes added by Tom Ward and Grimalkin
Anchiette: A burrowing mammal found in northern forests on the edge of the snow-line. The Kobalos consider them a delicacy eaten raw. There is little meat on the creature, but the leg bones are chewed with relish.
Note: I tried eating the creatures (which are hardly bigger than mice) and I definitely prefer rabbit. However, they are numerous and easy to catch and are best eaten in a stew. With the addition of the correct herbs the meal is tolerable – Grimalkin
Askana: The dwelling place of the Kobalos gods. Probably just another term for the dark.
Note: This is intriguing. Nicholas Browne could be right, but could it be that the Kobalos gods exist outside what we term the dark? Cuchulain dwelt within the Hollow Hills, accessed from Ireland. That too was not directly within the dark – Tom Ward
Baelic: The ordinary low tongue of the Kobalos people, used only in informal situations between family or to show friendship. The true language of the Kobalos is Losta, which is also spoken by humans wh
o border their territory. For a stranger to speak to another Kobalos in Baelic implies warmth, but it is sometimes used before a ‘trade’ is made.
Balkai: The first and most powerful of the three Kobalos High Mages who formed the Triumvirate after the slaying of the king and now rule Valkarky.
Note: We have not yet faced Balkai. It is terrifying to think that his magic will be more powerful than that of Lenklewth, who came very close to defeating us. Only the Starblade can protect me – Tom Ward
Berserkers: These are Kobalos warriors sworn to die in battle.
Bindos: Bindos is the Kobalos law that demands each citizen sell at least one purra in the slave markets every forty years. Failure to do so makes the perpetrator of the crime an outcast, shunned by his fellows.
Boska: This is the breath of a Kobalos mage which can be used to induce sudden unconsciousness, paralysis or terror within a human victim. The mage varies the effects of boska by altering the chemical composition of his breath. It is also sometimes used to change the mood of animals.
Note: This was used on me; it leached the strength from my body. But I was taken by surprise. It is wise to be on our guard against such a threat and not allow a haizda mage to get close. Perhaps a scarf worn across the mouth and nose would prove an effective defence. Or perhaps plugs of wax could be fitted into the nostrils – Tom Ward
Bychon: This is the Kobalos name for the spirit known in the County as a boggart.
Note: It will be interesting to discover whether these boggarts fall into the same categories we have in the County or whether there are new types there – Tom Ward
Chaal: A substance used by a haizda mage to control the responses of his human victim.
Cumular Mountains: A high mountain range that marks the northwestern boundary of the Southern Peninsula.
Dendar Mountains: The high mountain range about seventy leagues southwest of Valkarky. In its foothills is the large kulad known as Karpotha. More slaves are bought and sold here than in all the other fortresses put together.
Spook’s: Dark Assassin (The Starblade Chronicles) Page 19
