Fable: Edge of the World

by Christie Golden

  The king called six scouts. “If there is water,” he warned them, “there is likely to be danger. Be careful, go ahead, and report back without revealing your presence if possible.”

  They nodded. As they made ready to depart, the king added, “And if the way is clear—take some time to get the first drinks of that lovely cool liquid for yourselves. Take waterskins, but nothing larger—the extra weight will hamper you.” They saluted him, grinning, then bowed and departed. They returned later that day, letting their washed faces and full waterskins announce the good news for them. Tired but happy cheers went up.

  “All we encountered were the bleached bones of desert dogs,” one of them said. “No signs that anyone other than beasts had been there recently. Majesty, here.” And he offered his waterskin. “The water is cool and sweet.”

  The king shook his head. “Share it among the others,” he said. “You have earned it. We have water left yet, and it sounds like there’s plenty where we’re going!”

  The scout bowed respectfully, his smile broadening, and went to share with his fellows. “You know, I’d have liked some fresh water,” said Ben, watching the scout wistfully.

  “So would we all,” said Kalin, “but look at them. The king has put their pleasure before his own, and they love him the more for it.”

  “They’ve earned it,” the king said. “Besides, we have water!” He took a gulp from his waterskin, tasting the stale, tepid liquid, and said exaggeratedly, “Ahhhh!”

  The successful scouting mission spurred the marching army on to even greater speeds, and the king arrived at the kannat as the sun was starting to sink. Several of the men were already hard at work, dropping the heavier containers down into the wells that were simple mounds of earth and pulling up water that spilled and splashed. The king smiled.

  “I think it would be all right for us all to indulge now,” he said. “There’s plenty for everyone!”

  As he spoke, the golden ball dropped below the horizon. And a strange sound went up.

  It was not the familiar howl of a wolf. It was higher-pitched, more of a bark than a howl, a cry of something angry. Ben had Vanessa in hand before the king could even blink.

  “It’s likely the desert dogs,” the scout who had offered the king water earlier said. “We told you we saw a lot of their bleached bones.”

  “But why theirs?” said Kalin abruptly. “I would expect to see bones of prey animals, not predators, at a watering hole. And if it is a well, then the jackals could not even reach the water.”

  Every instinct was shouting to the king that something was terribly wrong, but he couldn’t piece the puzzle together. When in doubt, defend.

  “On the well mounds, sharpshooters!” he cried. “Everyone else, press in tight! Sword wall!”

  The cry went up swiftly, and the soldiers scrambled to obey. Those with long-range weapons hastened atop the dozen or so elevated mounds of earth, to get a better vantage point. The others pushed the carts in close, then unsheathed their swords and took up positions of defense. Against what, they didn’t know. Neither did their king. But they would obey his orders without question.

  Again the sharp bark-howls filled the air, lifting the hairs on the back of the king’s neck. There was something … strange about them. And then, the memory of something Shan had said came crashing down on him.

  I remember my father speaking to my mother of something he had found on the outskirts of the city. The body of a jackal … It is a sort of … dog of the desert. A scavenger … It was not a jackal any longer.

  Jakala—a Samarkandian kind of balverine.

  Just as the revelation struck him, one of the scouts who had first drunk the kannat water dropped his rifle and fell to his hands and knees. He started shrieking, as if in terrible pain. And so he had to be, as his very bones were elongating, twisting, shifting. His mouth and nose started to protrude, forming into a sharp-toothed muzzle. His chest broadened, ripping the leather jerkin, and golden fur erupted. His shriek changed, mutated into a singsong bark-howl as he called to his kin.

  The king lifted his rifle, but there was a sharp sound, and the jakala dropped before he could fire.

  Ben lowered his still-smoking rifle. “Let’s get the rest,” he said grimly, and the king nodded. The two men steeled their emotions and rapidly picked off the newly born jakala that had once been loyal soldiers as quickly and mercifully as possible. Everywhere they looked, a man seemed to be contorting, or had finished his transformation.

  “How many of them do you think there are?” Ben asked. The air cracked with Vanessa’s report.

  Quickly, the king did the math, and his heart sank. The scouts, no doubt thinking they were showing kindness, had clearly shared their waterskins a gulp at a time among their fellows, and what should have been life-giving liquid was now instead transforming them into hideous, unnatural creatures. Six scouts. Twelve waterskins. Each waterskin could give fifteen men a solid gulp of water.

  “Almost a hundred from the scouts’ waterskins alone,” he said. “And no way to tell who’s drunk the water since we got here.”

  “Bloody hell,” Ben muttered, reloading with determination. There was no time to warn the rest of the troops—the enemy suddenly was seeded among them. The king shoved away the thought of how close he and Ben had come to drinking the tainted water.

  He glanced up after downing the ninth howling, contorting creature—barely making a dent in the number of the beasts—and saw a wave of swiftly running shapes approaching.

  The rest of the pack. “To the southwest!” he shouted. “Fire at will!”

  The clear desert air was filled with the sounds of firing rifles. The king even heard an enormous boom from one of the few cannons that had been small enough to navigate the passageway to Asur-keh-la. He calmed himself, focused, and summoned his Will. He splayed his hands hard. Balls of whirling energy manifested in his palms. He shoved his hands forward, hurling the missiles of pure, concentrated Will into the thick knot of the approaching pack. Several of the creatures flew into the air, landing limply, but their deaths did not deter their brethren.

  “Just like at Blackholm,” Ben said. The king had heard about that city’s stand against the Half-breeds, as Reaver’s depraved combinations of men and beasts were called, but Ben hadn’t given him a lot of details. Page, who had also been present at the battle, had remained quiet as well. The king suspected that something profound had happened there but did not press the issue. Whatever it had been, it was clearly inspiring Ben Finn, who was always an excellent shot, to perform with almost superhuman skill now.

  Those with swords rushed forward to engage the pack, while others continue to fire. The king fired one more shot, then discarded his rifle and plunged into the fray himself. He splayed his hands hard, magical blue lightning zigzagging from one jakala to another. They froze, spasming, easy targets for sword or bullet.

  There were dozens of them. The king suspected that the fouled water was a far swifter and more effective way of increasing the jakala population than the balverine method of biting. As they launched themselves at the soldiers, their frames bestial and powerful, it became harder and harder to separate the men from the beasts in the darkness. Others could handle hand-to-hand combat or were crack shots, like Ben. But only the king was a Hero who could kill many enemies at once. Sick about it, the king realized that to protect his people he would have to create casualties among them. It was a grim necessity.

  On they fought, the brave soldiers of Albion and their king. More and more jakala appeared among their numbers, but gradually, the efforts of the humans won out over the beasts. Finally the last one uttered its high-pitched death cry and lay still. Whereas before when the army had won a victory, a cheer erupted, this night the king heard no celebrating. They had lost two, perhaps three hundred men, good ones, and not all of them had died fighting the jakala. Their trek hadn’t even led them to potable water. This battle was not about a hard-won step to their final goal. It was a bitter
and costly detour, and they would have to retrace their steps.

  “I am sorry,” said Shalia quietly as she, along with the king and others, moved among the fallen and gathered them for a proper burial. “I did not know.”

  “How could you?” said the king. “We’re all moving in the dark. Even you and Shan.” He paused. “The dark—the darkness. That’s why they poisoned the kanat, not lakes or streams. The water would only briefly, if ever, be exposed to sunlight.” Even he couldn’t suppress a shudder at the calculated malice in so devious an act.

  “I’m really starting to have a personal grudge against this darkness,” Ben growled. He turned to Shalia. “His Majesty was right, Shalia. You gave us the facts as you knew them.”

  “I pray that Shan’s memories of the cave are still accurate,” said Shalia.

  “After the misfortunes we have been forced to endure, we could certainly use a thousand guardians looking after us,” said Kalin.

  “We could use a thousand and one,” said Ben. “So, yes—here’s hoping.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  They returned the way they had come, sending scouts ahead to make sure they did not miss the turnoff in the dark. Traveling in the dark was dangerous, but no one wanted to linger among the dead jakala and their poisoned wells. “I hope we don’t walk right past it,” said Ben. “The one Shalia led us through was barely visible. We’d have missed it for sure.”

  “I remember well where it is.” Shan smiled. “And once the sun has risen, you will see it too, believe me. Keep heading straight east.”

  They continued marching. The sky started to lighten and the sun peeked over the rise of mountains. They looked expectantly, but saw nothing. Shan shifted his weight uneasily.

  “Um … what … exactly were you expecting to see, Shan?” asked the king.

  “There is a door,” Shan said, his voice climbing high with worry. “A beautiful door, covered in gold. It has carvings on it … once the sun has risen it gleams, you cannot help but see it!”

  The king, Ben, and Kalin exchanged glances.

  “Gold, eh?” said Ben. “Bet the sand furies spirited that away right enough.”

  “We’re not here for the door, we’re here for the cave.”

  “Your Majesty,” Ben began, “if it’s been looted—”

  “All right, hold up a moment,” said the king. He drew Ben, Shan, Kalin, and Shalia aside and let the rest of the army trudge past them. “I realize that very little has gone as we had hoped,” he said. Before Ben could speak, he amended, “All right, all right, nothing’s gone as we had hoped. But we knew this land was troubled, and we knew we were poorly informed. We’ve come this far. Not everything can be corrupted, or turned, or poisoned by the darkness here. Look at Shan, and at Shalia. Shan came back with us when he didn’t have to. Shalia has left her own people, out of a hope that she can perhaps truly save them. Those jakala who attacked us—they didn’t want to be monsters any more than our own men who drank the water did. We’ve lost men. And machinery. But we’ve not let it stop us.”

  “The men can’t take much more,” Ben said quietly. “Setback after setback, horror after horror, watching their friends turn into those … things … well, it nearly broke some of them right on the spot. Something’s got to go right, or else.… ”

  “Or else what?” asked Kalin quietly.

  “Well, let me put it this way. There’s been an overthrow of a king before in their lifetimes.”

  “You cannot be serious!” exclaimed Kalin.

  “I certainly wish I weren’t,” said Ben.

  “I can’t say that I blame them,” said the king. “It looks like I’m leading them to their doom.”

  “Oh come on,” said Ben, “don’t you go making their bleeding argument for them!”

  “I’m not, really, I happen to like being their king. I’m just saying I can understand their unhappiness. Which means, ladies and gentlemen, that this Cave of a Thousand Guardians better pan out.”

  “No pressure, right, eh Shan?”

  They continued marching. Eventually they were able to make out, if not a glorious, golden door, at least a boulder shoved up in such a way as to look like it was blocking an entrance. The king ordered the army to halt and made his way up to the front. Despite how unprepossessing it had looked from a distance, up close it was astonishing.

  Someone might have stolen the golden door, but something else had survived unscathed. A huge section of the stone cliff side had been smoothed out. The boulder was lodged up against this. Dancing around the boulder were intricate, interconnected carvings of fanciful beasts and heroic-looking people.

  “How many carvings are there, I wonder?” asked Kalin, craning her neck to look up at them.

  “At a wild guess, I’d say … a thousand,” drawled Ben. Shalia elbowed him. The king was briefly reminded of Page, and that reminded him of Laylah, and while that made him sad, it also steeled his resolve.

  He strode toward the boulder and stepped to one side of it. Summoning his Will, he let the energy build up inside him, then thrust out his gauntleted arm.

  The huge boulder rocked. A second time the king used his Will to shove the boulder, and this time it rolled away several yards. A cheer went up.

  “That was the easy part. The way our luck’s been running, I’m going to guess there’s something unpleasant waiting in the cave for us,” said the king in a falsely cheery voice. “Wouldn’t want to break the record, now would we?”

  “Oh, heavens no,” said Ben.

  “We will leave the heavy artillery behind and enough soldiers to use it if need be. The horses and oxen too. But those who can go on foot and swing a sword and fire a pistol—let’s go. I want to be prepared for whatever we have to face. And if nothing’s inside … we’ll enjoy paying our respects to these thousand guardians.”

  “Agreed,” said Ben. “Heaven forbid we should actually have an uneventful visit to someplace in this land.” Shan looked downcast, and Ben’s expression softened. “Hey now,” he said to the boy, squeezing his shoulder. “You can’t be thinking any of this is your fault?”

  “I remember what they said on the ship, Mr. Finn,” Shan said quietly. “That I might be already corrupted by the darkness. That I might be leading you all to your deaths. It certainly does look that way, doesn’t it?” His voice was bitter and full of self-loathing.

  “I’d say rather you had the bad luck to be living in a time when your whole country is running amok,” said the king. “Nothing more sinister than that. You recognized the sirens before they got all of us.”

  “If anyone here has done anything wrong, it is I,” said Shalia. “Your only crime, Shan, is ignorance of what has happened in parts of Samarkand. We are both doing the best we can.” Her eyes flickered up to Ben’s, seeking reassurance. He gave both Shalia and Shan a gentle smile.

  “All right then,” he said. “Let’s see this spectacle you’ve spoken of, Shan.”

  The king, Ben, Shan, Shalia, and Kalin led the way. The entrance was narrow, only wide enough for two or three to walk abreast. Sconces filled with unlit torches lined the sides, which Kalin lit as they passed. The tunnel took a sharp left, and as Kalin lit the next torch, everyone gasped.

  Until now, the walls had been carved smooth, but unadorned. Now, as the torches sprang to life, a beautiful tableau was illuminated. On every side, it seemed as though they had an army for company—Heroes, male and female, clad in colorful and exotic clothes, appeared to walk beside them. Some of them had beautiful faces, dark-skinned and tranquil, the very lines of their bodies radiating peace. Others bristled with weapons, their eyes hard and greedy, their powerful muscles clearly toned and strong, but their skins an angry reddish shade. Some of them even had horns and what appeared to be leathery wings fanning out from their shoulders. The noble Heroes bore large baskets of fruits and breads, sharing their wealth; the cruel ones bore not only bloody weapons, but sometimes the heads of those they had defeated.

  “So beaut
iful,” murmured Kalin, reaching out a hand as if to touch the brown face of a long-haired male Hero. “They seem almost alive.”

  “I am rather glad this one isn’t,” said Shalia, sticking close to Ben as she passed a sharp-toothed woman with bloody hands.

  “This is called the Walk of the Heroes,” Shan explained. “Each Hero is depicted here performing his most famous deed, be it for good or for ill.”

  “ ‘Hero,’ ” said the king, “can mean a great many things. Garth was a great Hero of Samarkand, and worked with my father. And Reaver was a Hero as well.”

  “Takes all kinds, I suppose,” said Ben airily, and gave his friend and ruler a grin. The beautiful paintings, their colors as fresh and vibrant as if the paint had only just dried, were reassuring, even if they did depict some of the nastier Heroes of Samarkand as well as the good and true ones. The king felt as if they had company, somehow. As if the darkness that seemed to have its tendrils woven into every part of the land they had yet seen had not quite reached here. As if the Heroes themselves held it at bay.

  Shan seemed the happiest of them all, his face relaxed and smiling, his movements energetic and quick. The worry that had dogged him like a shadow thus far seemed to finally be falling away. Maybe our luck has changed, thought the king. Maybe, finally, we’re on the right path.

  “Up ahead,” Shan said, sounding more like an excited teenage boy than he ever had before, “this pathway will open up into an enormous cavern. There will be statues there of every single Hero of Samarkand!”

  “How many?” asked Ben, feigning innocence. By now, they were all relaxed, and everyone laughed.

  “Forty-two, I think,” said the king, and they laughed harder.

  “No, no, it is said to be spectacular! And as I said, there is a fresh spring that never runs dry. It pours forth in a waterfall into a pool, and the Guardians stand watch over the pool and all who visit! It will be dark, of course, but there is a winding path down to the pool, and a large brazier there will illuminate the whole cavern. It is said that not only do they guard those who come here to pay their respects, but there is a great treasure for the next Hero of Samarkand to discover.”