Scarpia was undeterred, throwing down more and more steel as she edged down the tree branch by branch, until finally she reached the trunk. She leapt lightly on to all fours, crouching down in the grass. Her snarl reverberated through the gardens and she rocked back on to her rear legs and stood up like a woman, a rapacious grin spreading across her face.
“Zhi!” she scoffed in her smooth, velvety purr. “How old you look! How tired and weak!”
Mr Zhi did not slow. “Time touches us all, Scarpia,” he said, quietly. “I can’t help noticing that it has touched you in … novel ways.”
Scarpia bared her teeth. “Marked by battle but stronger than ever!” she growled. “You Merisi are such fools! Your love of peace and balance only weakens you. It is war that makes us stronger. It is war that will bring balance to these worlds.”
“Says one at war with herself!” said Mr Zhi, lunging to avoid another spike. “How could Thoth do this to you?”
Scarpia snarled and reached out to her side. A boulder lying nearby suddenly tore itself out of the turf and hung in the air. “This is my war!” she cried, throwing her claw forward and sending the rock hurtling towards Mr Zhi.
He flipped and rolled to avoid it, landing painfully on his shoulder, then staggered to his feet. “Oh, Scarpia, can’t you see?” he panted. “You will only reap what you sow!”
Naeo glanced at Ash. “When’s he going to do something?”
“What can he do?” said Ash. “The Merisi won’t use the Three Ways – they can only defend themselves. That’s the way the glove works.”
Naeo shook her head. “Well he’s going to get himself killed! We have to help him!” she said, striding out.
“Naeo, no!” shouted Ash.
“Come on!” snapped Naeo, turning back.
“No, Naeo, LOOK!”
Ash was pointing in the opposite direction, back towards the rainbow.
Back to the Ray Reaper.
“Earth and air, fire and water: these elements are the pillars of all creation.”
NAEO’S EYES TRAVELLED TO the figure of the Ray Reaper. She could just about make out an upstanding form, limbs outstretched as though to catch hold of the leaping ribbons. She thought she heard a laugh – a laugh like the crackle of fire. And then the laugh became a hissing voice, whispering across the gardens:
“How feeble the fight, how pointless the ire,
For mine is the light and mine is the FIRE!”
Naeo and Ash watched in horror as something extraordinary began to happen. The rainbow’s bands of colour were drifting, splitting, peeling away from one another to form separate ribbons of light. The unravelling happened quickly, travelling the full length of the rainbow until moments later the ribbons were set loose, each taking its own path, rippling and snapping with a life of its own. The many beams flooding into the dome bent and warped, winding themselves into the laces of coloured fire. They no longer glowed but blazed, they no longer sizzled but roared.
And then Naeo saw the distant blur of the Ray Reaper lowering its arms.
The sinews of the rainbow bucked, beginning a wave that travelled along their length, each colour splitting off to become its own flailing, hissing whip.
She braced for the onslaught of fire, wincing already from the scorching heat.
The first ribbon of blue fire slapped down into the earth in front of them, sending up an explosion of fizzing earth and burning grass. Then another of yellow surged at them through the cloud of debris. Naeo held out her hand to stop it like before, but this time the flames surged on, fed by a greater fire. Pain raged through her hand and her face felt as though it would melt. A new terror consumed her.
She was powerless to stop it.
She pressed her eyes closed and waited for the inevitable. But nothing happened. She opened one eye and saw it hovering, just inches from her hand, the tip out blazing sparks that landed with a phut, phut, phut.
The yellow fire began to fade but there was no time to recover because another ribbon darted through the falling debris – a red fire this time – heading for her chest. Ash threw himself in front of it, holding up first one hand and then two, struggling to repel its flames. They drew closer and closer to him until he was silhouetted in ruby fire, his whole body shaking from the effort.
And then a snake of green flailed down from above, slapping into Naeo’s back, throwing her to her knees. The unseen lash sliced across her shoulders, set her tunic aflame and seared the muslin of her bandages. She felt the poultice begin to bubble.
Her mind went white. She was aware that she was screaming, but she heard nothing, as though the fire had burned even that.
She fell at Ash’s side and saw that he too was burning. There was a slash of red flame across his chest. And his scream she did hear. It filled her with a new kind of dread, the dread of seeing his end too: knowing that he was there for her, lying with her in the grass, dying with her.
She set her teeth and flipped over, pressing her shoulders into the turf until she heard them hiss. Another orange tendril whisked past her face, scorching her cheek but missing her by a hair’s breadth. The green lash reared behind it, preparing to fall like a scorpion’s sting.
It was hopeless. There were so many. So fast. So powerful.
There was nothing else to be done. She had to believe: believe in herself, in everything Mr Zhi had told her, in everything she was supposed to be. She looked up at the whips of fire cutting across the cascading waterfall.
Fire and water.
Water and fire.
That was when she closed her eyes.
In that moment, she changed. She became something else. She left the one and became the other.
She smothered the fire in her veins, quenched the flames in her chest.
In an instant, her fire became water.
It flushed through her limbs, deluged her thoughts, rushed to her fingertips. She no longer saw the squirming sinews of fire, but instead, the flurry of water from a spring, the babble of a brook, the torrent of a stream and then an abyss: a great cascade … the thunder of a waterfall.
She opened her eyes and saw the green tongue of fire surging towards her, she saw Ash writhing on the ground, she heard the fizz of rainbow lashes closing in. But her thoughts and her body were elsewhere.
They were in the waterfall.
It flowed through her, thundering through her bones, pouring down her spine, cascading over the scars of black.
She sat up and looked towards it, lowering her head. Suddenly the torrent moved as though caught by a great wind, shifting back towards the cliff face until it drenched the galleries of the hospital, thundered down the staircases, washed down the passageways. And then she lifted her chin. Instantly the waterfall surged out and up, leaving the cliff face and heading out into open space, curling skywards like the flick of a colossal silver tail. And even as the ribbon of green fire seared her cheek, making her cry out in pain, the trail of water crossed the flux of flames.
There was an explosion of sparks and steam and a huge cloud rose from its midst, filling the dome with billowing white. The green ribbon died before Naeo’s eyes, becoming no more than a ghostly trail, drifting back into the watery cloud. The others followed it – the orange, the yellow, the red – all of them sliding away, and as they did so they gathered together, healing themselves, finding their natural place in the rainbow.
Then came a bushfire howl – a wail of dismay and rage. The Ray Reaper was engulfed by the cloud of steam, the droplets of water clinging to its hunched frame, picking it out in traces of grey and silver. It was a figure of unfathomable age, its wasted limbs bound and wrapped in trailing, rotten rags like a corpse resurrected from a millennium long past. Where its skin showed, it was dry and shrivelled, stretched tightly over crooked bones, and what features of its face could be seen were hollow and empty, little more than shadow, as though they had ceased to be. The putrid lengths of cloth seemed to be all that held it together.
It raised i
ts hands in the steam, searching for its fire amid the thick, cloying damp. But when it curled its rotting fingers, the ribbons did not respond. Instead they continued to settle back into the arc of the rainbow. The Ray Reaper spat and shifted its stance, widening its arms and lifting its mummified head. The entire dome began to dim as all the beams of light swung about, sweeping towards a single point. As more and more beams joined together they became a cone of intense brightness, as though the dome were a magnifying glass, concentrating the sun’s rays. Where they touched the ground, the turf began to smoke, and soon the very earth burst into flame, sending up a shower of stones and burning vegetation. Then, as the Ray Reaper moved its arms, the inferno began to advance towards Naeo, grass, bushes and trees exploding in its wake, creating a blazing streak across the gardens.
Naeo watched all this with mounting horror, and as the fire drew close and she could feel its heat, she instinctively drew back her hand, taking with it the waterfall, twisting the silver tail in the air, sending the tumbling waters crashing down upon lawns, boulders and trees, snuffing the fire as it went. Soon she was extinguishing the flames as quickly as the Ray Reaper could make them, crushing the fire under tons of mountain water. And yet still the fire came on, drawing nearer and nearer.
“Naeo, finish this!” yelled Ash, throwing his smoking coat aside and staggering to his feet. “You can do it!”
Naeo became calm. She pulled her smarting hand all the way back to her shoulder, until the waterfall thundered so near to them that they were drenched and cooled by its spray. Then her face hardened and she pushed her hand forward, letting out a defiant shriek.
The centre of the waterfall bowed towards the Ray Reaper, reaching out across the gardens, stretching and warping as it went. Only when it drew close, only when the Reaper ceased its incantations and turned towards the torrent, did the full length of the waterfall follow, unfurling as it went. And then came the twisting tail, pummelling the trees, snapping them like twigs.
The Ray Reaper staggered backwards into the fog. And then, too late, it threw up its hands to shield itself.
The raging tip of the waterfall struck with crushing force, propelling everything in its path out towards the glass walls and then, amid a crash of breaking glass, on to the open hillside. For some moments the Ray Reaper held its ground, its shape clearly visible now amid the great rush of froth and foam. It leaned into the devastating current, its mouth wide in a defiant scream, its rags tearing away from its body as though it was being eaten alive. In seconds all that remained was a teetering skeleton, and then suddenly it let out a squeal like steel twisting in white-hot fire and disappeared into the maelstrom, carried away through the broken dome.
Naeo stared after it, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and staring. She sank to her knees.
And then she felt hands on her shoulders.
“It’s done, Naeo,” said Ash, softly. “It’s done.”
“Still the Suhl marched on, through gale and storm, desert and mountain range, bound for the promised comforts of Salsimaine.”
“WHAT DO YOU THINK she meant?” asked Bowe, wincing as he heaved himself up against the cell wall.
Espen shrugged. “I’m damned if I know.”
“But you do think it was Isia?”
“I know it was Isia.”
Bowe eyed him closely, noting how he had pushed himself up straight, how his head had lifted, how his eyes had suddenly found focus. And his Scryer’s gaze saw what lay beneath. He saw the violet stab of pain and the thick, oily greens of doubt. He saw grey clouds of despair clinging like a morning mist. But barely seen, there was also something else: a warm yellow glow of belief – faint but distinct – fringed with the piercing blues of hope.
Suddenly Espen stiffened. “Do you hear that?”
Bowe drew himself back to the physical world and listened. Sure enough there was a low rumble – not the rumble of thunder that they had been hearing for some time, but something new. Something that was now building, growing in volume and force.
“What do you think it is?” asked Bowe.
“I’m not sure,” said Espen, biting his lip. He glanced over. “But have you noticed? The guards – they aren’t patrolling.”
Bowe frowned. He was right. It was hours since he had heard the clawed steps of a Ghor guard patrolling the passageways – even longer since he had been brought food or water. And now he thought about it, why hadn’t they come to check the cell when Espen had arrived? He had hardly been quiet about it.
“Wait,” he said, “I’ll try to see.”
He raised his hands to his face in concentration and reached out into the Dirgheon, sending his Scrying mind through its long corridors, its filthy halls, its tunnels and stairwells.
Nothing. Just blackness.
“They’ve gone!” he exclaimed, hardly believing his own words.
They turned and met each other’s eyes.
Suddenly Espen reached behind him and, with the heels of his hands, pushed himself up the wall. He slumped more than once, but something kept him going: a new, steely resolve. When he reached his full height he paused, head swimming. He took a moment to steady himself, then extended a hand to Bowe.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
Bowe took the hand and grinned. “I’ll carry you if it gets me out of this place!”
It took him several attempts to get to his feet, but eventually the two found themselves standing in the doorway, an arm over each other’s shoulder, swaying from side to side. It was sheer will that kept them on their feet.
“Ready?” whispered the Magruman.
Bowe nodded.
They staggered out into the passageway and squinted into the dim torchlight. All they could see was the procession of cell doors. The rumble was louder out here and they could feel a gentle breeze on their skin.
“Sounds like a storm of some kind,” muttered Bowe, coughing from the effort.
Espen shook his head. “Not like any I’ve heard before.”
They set off along the corridor, panting as they staggered and lurched, sometimes barely staying on their feet. But soon they developed a rhythm, each helping the other by standing firm while the other moved, or drawing the other along when they lost momentum. They passed door after door, occasionally hearing quiet murmurings from the cells beyond. More than once they thought they heard a quiet call for help, and more than once they glanced at one another and drew up, but always they continued, knowing it would be folly to try anything but escape.
All the while the breeze was becoming stronger, carrying upon it the stench of thousands and thousands of cells deep in the bowels of the Dirgheon. Soon the breeze was a wind, making the torches flicker and spit, whistling across the doorways to the cells.
And then, suddenly, Espen drew them to a halt.
Bowe looked at him, panting.
“You OK?”
“I was here before,” said Espen, his eyes fixed ahead as he remembered. “With Sylas. This is the way I brought him in, when he came for Naeo.”
Bowe looked back down the passageway, taking in the hundreds of doors, the flickering torches, the lines disappearing into nothingness in the distance.
“Sylas stopped here,” recalled Espen, turning to the Scryer. “He wanted to know about the cells. He wanted to know why we weren’t setting everyone free.”
“And what did you say?”
“That it wasn’t the right time,” muttered Espen, almost to himself. “That it all depended on him. And Naeo.”
Suddenly he turned and looked Bowe in the eye. “I was wrong.”
To Bowe he seemed fuller and broader; even his drooping shoulder seemed to lift, becoming squarer, almost as though he were well.
“‘You forget yourself …’” murmured Espen.
He helped Bowe to the wall and left him leaning against it, then turned back down the passageway, taking a broad, open stance. The wind whipped at his shoulders and tore at his clothes, but he stood firm. He closed his eyes an
d filled his lungs, spreading his arms wide. One hand closed into a fist. For a moment he was silent and still, seeming to lose himself in his thoughts. Then his eyes snapped open.
He swung both arms forward, smashing the fist into his open palm.
In that very moment the winds were stunned, hanging in the open spaces, leaving the Dirgheon in absolute silence. Bowe gazed at him in awe and quickly braced himself against the wall.
The Magruman raised his head.
“I AM ESPASIAN!” he bellowed.
And he opened his fist.
Instantly the winds returned, howling down the passageway, buffeting the doorways. They caught up his voice, bearing it off through the Dirgheon, as it went it seemed to grow, until it shook the stones in the walls, until the doors rattled and groaned, until the floor and ceiling thundered his name. And, as his voice grew so did the wind, demanding more space than it had, pressing outwards on the structure that dared to contain it. In an instant, the wind became a wild, unbridled force, charging through the open spaces of the Dirgheon, through corridors and chambers, stairways and halls. And all the while it carried a voice on its back, a bellowing, warlike cry:
“I AM ESPASIAN!”
Suddenly bolts snapped, hinges broke, doors flew open. The sound of shattering metal echoed like gunfire down the passageway. Bowe threw his hands over his ears, but Espasian did not flinch. He stood firm as exploding metal ricocheted down the corridor, sending out a shower of sparks so that for once that deathly place glowed like day. Soon the Dirgheon was filled with a rat-a-tat roar of sound as the same happened in the next passage and the next, on the floor above and the one below.
And then, as quickly as they had come, the winds began to subside, dropping to a gentle breeze. The Magruman’s voice too trailed off and began to fade, though it could still be heard echoing through the furthest corners of the Dirgheon.
Espasian staggered against the slimy wall of the passage, then slowly slumped back down on to the floor.
He looked at Bowe, a smile forming on his lips. Bowe grinned back.
Circles of Stone Page 38
