by D. P. Prior
‘Cleto,’ Podesta said, clamping a hand over his bleeding forearm and looking daggers at the mawg child. ‘She’s all yours. I want to know where the reavers are and where we can find this blasted Albino.’
Cleto grinned, grabbed the child by the scruff of her neck, and dragged her to the back of the boat.
‘Cleto speaks mawgish,’ Podesta said, rummaging through a pack and pulling out a bandage. ‘Main reason I let him join the crew. He’s also an extremely persuasive fellow.’
A shrill scream erupted from the child, causing Shader to reach for his sword.
Podesta placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. ‘How important is this mission to you, uh? Sometimes tough measures are necessary for quick results. But all will be forgiven if the outcome is good, no?’
Shader shook his head, but relaxed his grip on the sword.
‘Don’t worry, mate,’ one of the sailors said. ‘They don’t feel pain like we do.’
There was a succession of thuds, a sickening gurgling noise, and then a sound like the ripping of cloth. Shader shut his eyes and hoped Ain had done the same.
There was a loud splash as Cleto dumped the body overboard and came to report his findings.
‘Village is set back in the jungle.’ He pointed to the left. ‘But if we keep going down the watercourse we’ll come up on the far side. It’s gotta be safer. Could be all sorts of shit waiting for us in the trees.’
Cleto twisted his neck at the sound of splashing. The body of the mawg girl was being thrashed about in the jaws of a colossal crocodile.
‘Death roll.’ Cleto grinned as the monster began to turn over and over in the water, the mawg’s corpse following limply like a rag doll.
‘And Shadrak?’ Shader asked, swallowing his rage. His nerves were on fire, muscles tense with the suppressed desire to ram a blade through Cleto’s pockmarked face. It wasn’t Cleto he should have been angry with, though. He should have felt shame for permitting it, but he already had more than enough of that.
‘Last seen heading to the village on foot. Seems our reaver’s gone to join the mawgish fleet.’
‘The mawgs have fleets now?’ Podesta said.
‘So she said.’ Cleto turned back to the blood spreading across the water. The crocodile went under, taking the child with it. Bubbles frothed madly on the surface, gradually petering out. ‘And this one’s after some pretty big prey, if the child’s to be believed.’
The longboat continued through the swamp for another hour until it came to a vast inland lake. They grounded in the shallows and Shader waded ashore. He pushed through slick foliage until he came to a cluster of dwellings crafted from bark and huge leaves bound together with twine. The bark had been sealed with a resin of some sort, presumably to render it waterproof. Podesta came puffing and panting up alongside Shader, mopping the perspiration from his face.
‘Your ghostly friend seems to have vanished.’ He gestured with his thumb in the direction of the boat.
‘He hates the sun even more than I do,’ Shader said, tilting his hat. ‘Loses substance in the light. He’ll be somewhere nearby.’
‘I’ll mind what I say then.’ Podesta glanced about nervously. ‘Looks like the mawg child was right. Looks like they packed up and took to the sea. Perhaps they got wind of our coming and fled before my fearsome reputation.’
Shader blinked to clear the sweat from his eyes. The village extended deep into the jungle, the shelters packed closely together and radiating out from the centre in tight symmetrical formations.
A slight chilling of the air alerted Shader to Osric’s presence.
‘There is something happening above the village,’ the wraith said. ‘I travelled to the foothills and heard drumming and chanting.’
‘Cleto, Ned, with us. Rodders, you stay with the boat,’ Podesta said.
‘But…’ Rodders started, and then raised his hands in surrender as Cleto scowled.
THE MESSAGE
‘Hail Hagalle!’ Elias saluted a column of infantrymen snaking down Wharf Way. ‘Not cool,’ he muttered. Lallia seemed to think otherwise. Her eyes were glued to the uniformed arses and sparkling with more than reflected sunlight.
‘Liberation and oppression: two sides of the same coin.’ Elias leaned in front to get her attention. ‘Walking corpses or marching…’ He struggled to find the right word.
‘Hunks?’ Lallia said, licking her lips. ‘Bed warmers?’ Elias rubbed his fingers vigorously through his straggly hair. ‘You really are a tart, aren’t you?’ Lallia opened her mouth in feigned shock. ‘Just a healthy interest. It’s not every day half the Imperial army marches through your home town.’
‘Oh, I’ll bet you’ll be seeing a whole lot more of the army boys from now on. Don’t expect ol’ Hags to just up and leave. Cadman’s given him all the excuse he needs to tighten the reins of power. You wait, there’ll be flags on every rooftop and paid thugs roving the streets making sure we salute right. Before you know it there’ll be taxes to pay for them, and you know what’ll happen next, don’t you?’
Lallia rolled her eyes.
‘His Imperial nutcase will start searching for the enemy within. Mark my words, Fanny-go-lightly, he’ll be rounding up anyone a bit deviant, anyone who sticks out from the crowd. And you know who’ll be first, don’t you?’ He turned the corner into the Domus Tyalae and made a wide sweep with his arm. ‘Your friendly neighbourhood religious minority.’
Elias’s cart was still parked outside the templum. Hector was chewing nonchalantly on the hedgerows. The horse swung its huge head towards him as he approached, snorted, and let fall a steaming pile of dung.
‘Sorry I left you, Hec.’ Elias patted the horse’s flanks and scratched him behind the ear. ‘Let’s see if there’s some oats in the cart. Don’t think those leaves are good for your digestion.’
‘I couldn’t care less if Hagalle hangs the lot of them,’ Lallia said, glaring at the portico. ‘If it hadn’t been for the Nousians none of this would have happened.’
Elias grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him. ‘Are your brains as loose as your knickers? The Nousians didn’t start this, and in case you hadn’t noticed, the chaps in the rusty armour with the flaming eyes were nothing more than zombies. I tell you, it’s like landing a role in Dawn of the…Never mind. You’re too young for that. My point is that the puppet-master’s to blame, not the priests.’
‘Cadman?’
‘Who else? Unless someone’s pulling his strings. There’s a whole lot of weird shit going down and I’m starting to feel like an itsy bitsy player in someone else’s story. You know the sort—where it’s all pre-ordained and the characters just get swept along by some fatalistic cosmic tide.’
Frater Hugues appeared in the shattered remains of the doorway, his robes stained with various shades of brown and green. He was brushing what looked like potato peelings from his hair and mumbling to himself.
‘Still here then?’ Elias said as he sauntered over to the porch. ‘You missed all the excitement.’
‘Holy Ain!’ A big grin lit up Hugues’s gnomic face and he went to hug Elias. The bard held up his hands and fanned his fingers beneath his nose.
‘Sorry,’ Hugues said. ‘Been hiding in the compost. Mater sent me to get cleaned up.’ Hugues’s face turned suddenly sullen, just the way Elias remembered him. ‘And I’ve had more than my fair share of excitement, thank you very much. Demons and walking corpses. It’s enough to test your faith, that’s a fact. The others are inside. Only got back a short while ago.’
‘Rhiannon?’ Elias said, already stepping inside the templum.
‘Not with them,’ Hugues said with a frown. ‘We’ve lost Limus too, and the dwarf.’
Elias swayed, a wave of nausea washing over him. ‘What happened?’
Hugues narrowed his eyes and touched his forehead as Lallia approached. He pointedly kept his attention on Elias. ‘Best ask those who were there.’ He nodded inside, pressing his back to the wall as Lallia squeezed past.
She paused and held out a hand to him, as if she expected him to kiss it. Hugues stared at it like it was a mouldy kipper washed in by the tide, his eyes wide and jaw clenched shut.
‘Lallia, Frater Hugues,’ Elias said. ‘Hugues, this is Lallia. I think she likes you.’
***
Soror Agna passed Elias a steaming mug of tea.
‘Help yourself, dear.’ She gave a tight-lipped smile to Lallia before seating herself with the others at the refectory table.
The room was a mess—broken chairs, piles of glass that had been swept into a corner, patches of dried blood on the floor. The table itself had a couple of deep gouges out of the surface, and one of the legs had been hurriedly nailed into place.
Ioana had aged ten years, it seemed to Elias. She sat with her hands clasped at the head of the table. Elias wasn’t sure whether to sip his tea or wait for a blessing. In the end he decided on the former.
Cadris was cramming crumbling fruit cake into his gob as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks. With a build like his, Elias thought, he’d have endured far longer than a few weeks without food. Cadris caught him staring and turned his nose up.
Gaston was seated opposite Elias. His face was a crisscross of claw marks, and his armour had been discarded in favour of blood-stained bandages wound tightly around his mid-section. His blond hair was lank and filthy, partially obscuring his downcast eyes. He looked nothing like the brash and arrogant youth Elias remembered from Oakendale. In fact, if he hadn’t known better, Elias would have said he looked like a heroic veteran, battle-worn from an epic defence against all the odds.
Lallia brushed against the back of Gaston’s chair as she went to pour herself some tea. She cast a disdainful look over the company and cocked an eyebrow at Elias.
‘Well,’ Elias said. ‘This is cosy.’
Ioana fixed him with baleful eyes. ‘Thank Ain you are safe,’ she said. ‘But we should spare a moment’s prayer for those we have lost.’
Like that’s going to bring them back, Elias thought, slurping his tea. ‘Let me get this right,’ he said. ‘You misplaced Limus, left Maldark to do all the fighting, and abandoned Rhiannon. Am I missing something?’
‘The dwarf gave us time to escape,’ Cadris said through a mouthful of cake. ‘Ain praise his courage. He is sure to be a Luminary. A martyr even.’
‘We didn’t know Limus was lost until we reached the tunnels beneath the templum,’ Agna said. ‘We’ve searched everywhere, but there’s no sign of him.’
Elias gave her his broadest smile. ‘It’s only to be expected when one’s preoccupied with self-preservation.’
Agna’s head bobbed above her tea cup. ‘Quite. Quite. Such a shame, though.’
Gaston placed his hands on the table and glared at Elias. ‘You weren’t there. You’ve no r-r-right to judge.’
There was a time Elias would have backed away from a confrontation with Gaston, but not today. ‘Oh, I’ve every right to judge you, Gaston, after what you did to Rhiannon. I’m all for forgiveness and atonement, but what did you do when you had the chance to make the slightest amends? Turned your back on her and left her behind, that’s what.’
Gaston looked down, his face drawn and shoulders slouched.
‘That’s enough,’ Ioana snapped. ‘Gaston did everything he could. Without him we might all have been lost.’
‘Oh, bully for him.’ Elias gave a little clap.
Lallia shot him a warning glare as she pressed herself against the back of Gaston’s chair and raised her cup to her lips.
‘Well don’t think you’ve had all the fun,’ Elias said. ‘If it wasn’t for Lallia here,’ he blew her a kiss, ‘old fat-boy would have had my guts for garters. Did I tell you what happened when…’
Agna’s head hit the table with a thud. Cadris almost choked on his cake, and Ioana stared with wide eyes. Gaston was closest and shook Agna’s shoulders. He recoiled as she came bolt upright, her eyes pools of white.
‘Agna?’ Ioana said. ‘Agna, are you all right?’
Agna’s head swivelled towards her, drool trickling down her chin. ‘It’s Limus,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘Oh, Mater, it’s Limus.’
Elias put down his mug, scarcely daring to breathe. Lallia’s face had drained of all colour, and Gaston took his hands from Agna’s shoulders as if they were on fire.
‘Pain,’ Agna groaned. ‘Darkness.’
‘Oh, please,’ Elias said. ‘This is hardly the time for mystical bullshit.’
‘Shut it, Elias,’ Lallia said.
Elias sat back in his chair as if she’d slapped him. Agna’s blank eyes continued to face Ioana.
‘Cadman has him, Mater. His poor soul. He says he only has a moment; the effort is too great. He’s falling, Mater. Falling into blackness.’
Ioana sat as rigid as a statue. ‘Where is he? What can we do?’
‘Dark. Dark everywhere beneath the trees. Limus says he is heading for Dead Man’s torch,’ Agna said.
Gaston leaned forward. ‘The old beacon tower? I know how to get there.’
‘Too late for Limus.’ Agna’s voice quavered, and her glasses slipped down her nose. ‘But Rhiannon is with him. Limus says he carried her from Sarum. He is taking her to Cadman. He says he must.’
Limus carry someone? Elias doubted he had the strength to walk there unencumbered. ‘That doesn’t seem very likely,’ he said.
Agna’s eyes rolled and the irises returned. ‘He is dead, Elias. Like the creatures in the city.’
Elias put his hand to his mouth. Poor Limus. Poor, poor Limus.
‘He was the best of us,’ Ioana said. ‘Who else would have had the strength to reach us?’
Gaston was shaking his head. ‘Ain was strong with him,’ he said, as if he’d had a great revelation. ‘Mater, I’ll f-f-find a horse and go to the beacon. I might be able to b-b-bring Rhiannon back.’
‘No,’ Elias said, standing. ‘If Rhiannon’s in trouble, the last thing she needs is to see you. I’m going.’
‘You?’ Cadris said. ‘What can you do?’
Elias hadn’t even considered that yet. Without the statue he was as useless as the rest of them, but he couldn’t abandon Rhiannon. Not after what she’d been through. ‘I’ll think of something. I’m not as helpless as I look. Actually,’ he said with a sudden flash of inspiration, ‘I’ve already got the inklings of an idea. Coming?’ he said to Lallia.
Lallia looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had.
‘Unless you’re planning on converting,’ Elias said, indicating the priests.
***
The cart pulled up outside an immense warehouse on the edge of Calphon. Elias was sure this was the one, but it had been so many years. Decades even.
He jumped to the kerb and patted Hector before tethering him to one of the towering lampposts. Lallia climbed down and stood with her hands on her hips.
‘A warehouse?’ She puffed out her cheeks. ‘Good plan.’
‘Just you wait and see,’ Elias said, heading inside.
It was as dark and musty as he remembered. Stacks of crates extended all the way to the far end with narrow passages between them. There were some rudimentary pulleys running across the ceiling, and an assortment of pallets and ladders.
An ancient man with a thick white beard and eyebrows like brushes, peered up from a ledger set on a slanted desktop. ‘Elias Wolf, the Bard of Broken Bridge,’ he said in a parched voice. ‘Thought you’d never come.’ He flicked through the crisp pages of the ledger until he found the right place. ‘You’re thirty-five years in arrears,’ he said, looking up with rheumy eyes. ‘Have you come to settle up.’
Elias grimaced. ‘Stanley, my old mate,’ he said. ‘Gosh, how time flies. Look, I’m in something of a hurry. I need the ol’ girl. Bit of a crisis.’
Stanley shook his head and tutted.
‘What if I leave the horse and cart as insurance?’ Elias said, wondering how Hector would take that.
‘I’m
sorry, Elias,’ Stanley said.
‘I’ve got instruments onboard. And herbs.’ Elias raised his eyebrows.
Stanley drummed his fingers on the ledger. ‘That old pre-Reckoning guitar? The one you used to play at the Griffin?’
‘Still do,’ Elias said, nodding enthusiastically, a terrible sinking feeling setting in. ‘Deal,’ Stanley said, standing to shake his hand. Elias’s grip was limper than he normally liked, but needs must… Stanley led them along the central aisle until they came to a particularly large crate standing by itself. Elias stroked the wood and gave it a resounding slap. ‘Prepare to be amazed,’ he said to Lallia. ‘I’m almost disappointed,’ Stanley said as he headed back to his desk.
‘I was hoping to keep it for myself.’ Elias knocked out some bolts and flicked open the catches. Taking hold of the top of a panel he pulled it away and let it fall to the floor. ‘What the shog is that?’ Lallia wrinkled her nose and peered inside. ‘That, my dear,’ Elias said, beaming from ear to ear, ‘is a motorbike.’ The chrome still shone the same as it had when he’d packed it away all those decades ago. The tank gleamed a vibrant red, its gilt star leading the eye to three letters he thought he’d never see side by side again. ‘BSA Mark IV Spitfire. 1968.’ He gave the saddle a reverent pat. ‘End of the line, but what the hell, revolution was in the air.’
Lallia gave him a blank look. Before her time. Before Elias’s even, but for him it was a magical era; one year before the Summer of Love, the inspiration for the Golden Garden festival.
‘Alloy wheel rims.’ He crouched to show what he was talking about. ‘Off-road tires, the ol’ air-cooled 654 cc vertical twin, and enough horsepower to make Hector green with envy.’
Lallia ran her palm over the leather saddle. ‘What’s it for?’ ‘You of all people should know that,’ Elias said, brushing her hand out of the way. ‘You ride it.’ He reached behind the front wheel and located a steel canister. ‘Vacuum sealed.’ He tapped the side. ‘It’ll keep forever in there.’ ‘What?’ ‘Petrol, my dear. Probably the last drop on the planet.’ Elias unscrewed the petrol cap and emptied the canister into the tank. ‘A lot of people said I sold out when I bought the ol’ girl.’ He removed his coat, wiped his fingers on it and then slung it to the back of the crate. ‘But this baby’s real technology—not that circuit board shit Gandaw was putting out. Pure craftsmanship.’
