by Duncan Pile
She rested there until the others joined her, by which point she was starting to feel like she should be doing something to help out.
“Want me to cook?” she offered as the others sat down. Heath, Hephistole, Rimulth and Lydia exchanged a look.
“I’ll do it tonight my dear, but thanks for offering,” Heppy said with a smile.
“I saw that!” Emmy said indignantly.
“What do you mean?” Lydia asked innocently.
“You know what I mean! The way you looked at each other. You’ve only let me cook once on this whole trip.” Emmy said, narrowing her eyes.
“And that was once too often,” Heath said bluntly. Emmy was so surprised she couldn’t think of anything to say. Heath was always so nice to her! For a moment she felt defensive, even a little angry, but then she saw the corner of Lydia’s mouth twitching and she couldn’t help smiling.
“I’m that terrible?” she asked.
“Absolutely awful!” Heath said. Hephistole let out a bark of laughter, and even Rimulth, who carried himself with more dignity than the rest of them, couldn’t help smirking. Lydia tried to restrain herself, but she ended up chuckling until her shoulders shook and her eyes were moist. The sight of Lydia laughing warmed Emmy’s heart so much that she gave up any pretence of indignance and laughed along with the rest of them.
“Sorry Em,” Lydia said as she stopped chuckling, wiping the moisture from her eyes.
“Don’t be silly,” Emmy said, smiling broadly. “I know I’m terrible. I just want to be more useful.”
“It’s going to be a long trip,” Rimulth said seriously. “Who knows what you may be asked to contribute before the end?”
“Rimulth’s right,” Heppy said. “But if you want to help out right now, you can gather firewood.”
“Okay,” she said, glad of something to do.
“I’ll go with you,” Lydia said, and the two girls left the glade and started picking their way through the forest, looking for fallen branches. Heath was very particular about things like that. He didn’t like them cutting down living branches, and he certainly didn’t approve of using magic to speed up the cooking process. He thoroughly disapproved of Heppy’s enchanted cooking pots, but as they had no others, he’d made a concession on that. At the druid’s insistence, everything had to be cleaned and prepared by hand, and cooked without arcane interference. He made them say a word of thanks to the Great Spirit before every meal, and even insisted on thanking the animals whose bodies gave them sustenance. Hephistole didn’t seem to mind Heath laying down the law at all. In fact he watched the whole process with obvious enjoyment, as if it was all some kind of grand experiment.
“When do you think we’ll catch up with them?” Lydia asked as they searched, distracting Emmy from her thoughts. Emmy thought her friend sounded strangely vulnerable.
“Very soon,” she responded. “I can’t get an exact answer from Lilly, but she’s very excited today, much more than yesterday. If I had to guess I’d say tomorrow or the day after.”
Lydia didn’t respond to that, and carried on picking up fallen branches. All of a sudden, she stopped and straightened up. “What are you going to say to Gaspi?” she asked. Now she definitely sounded vulnerable.
“I don’t know yet,” Emmy said. “I suppose it depends on what he says to me.”
“I was so angry at Taurnil,” Lydia said, as if she hadn’t heard Emmy’s response at all. “But now I just don’t know. He was just trying to protect me after all.” She stared intently at Emmy as she spoke, but Emmy got the feeling Lydia was talking to herself and not to her. “He’s an idiot of course!” the gypsy girl continued. “We are Soulbound, and should never be separated like this, but I guess he wouldn’t understand that. Maybe I should just forgive him and be done with it,” she finished, bending down to pick up another branch. Emmy didn’t know what to say to that. Lydia had been through a very hard time in the last couple of months, and if forgiving Taurnil made things easier for her, then that had to be a good thing. But that didn’t mean she had to take the same approach. No way! However the reunion turned out, Gaspi wasn’t going to get off so easily, that was for sure!
…
The Darkman raced across the landscape, faster than a horse at full gallop. It didn’t tire, nor did it sleep. Bound by Shirukai Sestin’s compulsion, it chased after its prey with unrelenting energy to the exclusion of all else. People shuddered as it passed, hugging themselves tight as bowel-loosening fear gripped them. The feeling passed and they went about their business, never knowing how close they came to the foulest form of death.
Day and night it ran, crossing fields and thoroughfares, cutting through towns and villages with only one thought in its mind; it must kill the Nature Mage. The Darkman had an inner compass, drawn magnetically to its quarry and, though it had been thwarted once, it would not be again. It was drawing closer now. More than half its journey was complete, and it wouldn’t be long until the Nature Mage was at its mercy.
Twelve
Shirukai woke up early the morning after he met Ossthak. He washed, dressed and packed up his things before taking breakfast in the common room. After eating, he paid for his food and stepped outside to look for the Skelkan, but he didn’t have to look very far. Ossthak was less than twenty paces away, loosening a mooring rope on the ugliest vessel Shirukai had ever seen. It was hardly a ship - more of a single cabin sailboat made of rotten old planks held together by protruding nails and an abundance of tar. In the spaces between messy smears of black tar, the wood was painted a muddy greenish brown, though it was peeling off in a hundred places. A large, beady-looking eye had been painted on either side of the bow, but as they weren’t at quite the same level, it just made the boat look drunken. All in all, Shirukai thought the vessel suited its owner. Ossthak looked up as Shirukai approached.
“Climb aboard,” he called, loosening the last mooring line and preparing to set sail. Shirukai leant out from the quayside and hopped onto the gunwale before jumping down onto the deck. The wooden boards bowed ominously beneath his feet as he landed, creaking loudly in objection to his weight. Shirukai reflected that if he wasn’t a magician, there was no way in the world he would risk travelling on such a decrepit old boat, but as it was, he had a wealth of magical resources at his disposal if the old girl decided to sink.
Ossthak cast off the last line and the boat drifted away from the quayside. The Skelkan busied himself at the mast, unfurling the sail – a stretch of cloth so patched and dirty it looked like a pauper’s bedspread. It caught the breeze and snapped taught, and before long the boat was drawing away from the shore.
“Are you a sailor?” Ossthak asked as he manned the tiller.
“Not really,” Shirukai answered. A few hours on the lake each summer with his father hardly counted.
Ossthak harrumphed, as if that was the answer he expected. “This is a one man vessel anyway,” he said, pushing the tiller to starboard until the prow was pointing out into the open water, and then drawing it back to the centre. He tied it in place and busied himself on deck, leaving Shirukai to his own devices.
…
After several failed attempts at making conversation, Shirukai realised he wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to talk to Ossthak. There was nothing he could do to help with the voyage, so he found a nook between two supportive coils of rope at the front of the vessel, settled in and watched the ocean go by. He’d never known there was so much to see on the water. There were strange little fish with wings that shot from the top of a wave and flew through the air until they disappeared into the next watery swell. Sometimes they cut right through the second swell and sailed back out into the open air again. Who knew that fish could fly?
At times they were joined by schools of large, noisy porpoises that swam alongside them, twisting and turning and even leaping out of the water altogether, chittering playfully before plunging back into the depths. A large sea-bird found them on the second morning. It hovered above the bo
w throughout the day, gliding effortlessly without a single flap of its impressive wings. Shirukai couldn’t figure out for the life of him how it managed to stay aloft!
Once they even saw a sea-monster. It broke the surface noisily, frothy water spouting dozens of feet into the air, causing Shirukai to leap to his feet in shock. Yard after yard of its massive, glistening back slid on by, until an enormous, butterfly-wing tail burst from the water in a surge of spray. Wet, shimmering hues of yellow and brown caught the light before the tail slapped explosively against the waves and the monster sank back into the deep. That was the only moment when Shirukai felt afraid, and he was happy not to encounter another sea-monster for the rest of the journey.
…
“Land ho!” Ossthak called.
Shirukai roused himself from his doze and climbed to his feet. He leant on the bow-rail and squinted into the distance. Sure enough, a bright smudge of green stretched across the horizon directly in front of them. He peered intently at the smudge, fascinated by his first glimpse of the Isle of Mists, but he couldn’t make out any details at that distance.
All in all, it had taken three days for them to reach the island, and as their destination took shape before him, Shirukai felt his mood shift. He’d spent the previous few days relaxing and enjoying the cleansing sights and sounds of the sea, but within a few short hours he’d be confronted with the dead and dying, and all of his skill as a healer would be called upon. Readying himself, he remained standing as they sailed towards the coastline.
When they were close enough to make out the details of the shore, Shirukai was surprised to see that the Isle of Mists looked for all the world like a paradise island; golden beaches fringed the island, leading to thick stands of palm trees that stretched up a steep slope for hundreds of feet, ending abruptly in a sharp ridgeline. Looking at the inviting beaches and lush greenery, he struggled to imagine why the island was named as it was. There was nothing misty about it at all - it was bathed in warm sunshine and looked entirely inviting!
“Where do your people live?” he asked Ossthak.
“Beyond the trees,” the Skelkan replied.
Shirukai opened his mouth to ask for more information, but then closed it again. Ossthak was a man of few words, and unlikely to give him the kind of detailed answers he wanted. Figuring he’d find out soon enough, Shirukai contented himself to wait, standing in silence as they sailed into a small cove. When they were within thirty feet of the beach, Ossthak dropped the vessel’s primitive anchor and vaulted over the gunwale, carrying a mooring line in each hand. Shirukai picked up his bag and summoned power, creating a disk of variable density – a particularly tricky bit of magic he’d learned back in Helioport. He stepped onto the disk and floated out over the water. He wasn’t one for ostentatious shows of power, but he didn’t want to go hiking into the interior of an unknown island in wet boots! He glided safely to the beach and stepped onto shore before letting the spell dissipate. Ossthak stopped in the process of tying the second rope around the trunk of a palm tree, watching Shirukai perform his spell-work without expression. After a moment he went back to his task, and once the ropes were securely tied, he waded in to dry land.
“This way,” he said, and walked up the beach towards the brush. Shirukai followed him, preparing himself mentally to tend to a host of sick people. Some of them would be in a very bad way, and some may already be dead. He was under no illusions that the next few days would be pleasant.
They followed a game trail through the palms and pressed on up the slope, which was much steeper than it had looked from the ship. Shirukai was in fairly good shape but he was breathing heavily by the time they neared the top. When they were within twenty feet of the ridgeline, Ossthak stopped.
“My people live beyond,” he said, ushering Shirukai forwards. Shirukai obliged, stepping ahead of the Skelkan and approaching the ridge. What he saw when he got there stopped him in his tracks. The island was huge, its circumference ringed by the ridgeline he was standing on. Surrounded by towering cliffs, the interior of the island was a giant, sunken bowl, many miles across. As he stared in amazement at the unique geography of the island, he finally understood how it got its name.
Undulating mist filled the entire basin, shifting and eddying as if stirred by a restless breeze. Tree tops protruded from the blanket of mist, but it was hard to see anything else in the basin – that is with a single exception. In the very centre of the sunken hollow, an edifice stood clear of the murk. Shirukai couldn’t make out any details at that distance, but its single, thrusting finger spoke of a place of importance.
“What’s that?” he asked as Ossthak stepped up behind him.
“The Temple of Mists,” Ossthak replied. “You will see it close up soon enough.” Shirukai’s curiosity was piqued – an indigenous place of worship was always a source of interest for him. “We must take this path,” Ossthak said, indicating a narrow trail worn into the side of the steep cliff. It looked precarious in the extreme, but Shirukai wasn’t concerned. He had his magic to protect him after all. With a slight shrug, he began his descent into the interior of the Isle of Mists.
…
Gaspi awoke before anyone else except Zlekic, who was on watch, just as he had for the past several days. Ever since defeating the hermit and his stone, his head always seemed to be brim-full of thoughts. He was getting used to waking up with his mind already whirring away, trying to piece things together. He reached up and touched his cheek with exploratory fingers, tracing the raised ridges of scar tissue where shards of the rock had lacerated his skin. Bret had done his best to heal him, but the rock had been infused with the foulest magicks, and healing the wounds it had inflicted was beyond the limits of his power. Gaspi ran his fingertips along the puckered lines of his scars. There was one on his left cheek and two on his right. Taurnil had said it made him look tough, and Talmo was insistent that scars were the mark of a true warrior, but Gaspi still wished they weren’t there. They were a reminder of what that evil stone had almost made him do, and he didn’t want to think about that ever again.
His thoughts turned to the dreams he’d had after falling unconscious. There had been several brief visions, and though most of the details had faded, he remembered that they were fearful, unpleasant fantasies. The final part of the dream had not faded; it was still clear as day in his memory. The giant cavern, the lake of fire, and the dark being as big as a mountain. He wanted to believe it was just a dream, but how could it be? He had felt the being’s very thoughts – thoughts that were too grounded in reality to be a fiction of Gaspi’s mind. Its greatest servant had control of a Darkman. That could only mean Sestin, and if that was the case, it opened up the disturbing possibility that there was some force at play that was even more fearsome than Sestin. The being had also thought about something called a Bloodstone being destroyed. Much as he wanted to think otherwise, Gaspi suspected that was exactly what had happened in the hermit’s hut. What more apt name for a stone that soaked up death energies by being bathed in blood? He remembered what it had felt like when that being had become aware of him. He’d felt like a tiny gnat, about to be swatted. That massive intelligence had scoured his mind at the briefest touch, and if Loreill hadn’t awoken him from the dream, who knows what would have happened?
Gaspi hadn’t spoken of the dream to anyone, in part because he tried not to think about it during the day, when he felt happy in the company of his friends and fellow questors. It was only in the silent solitude of the night that these thoughts intruded; barging in like unwelcome guests in the halls of his mind.
Loreill was very excited that day, the steady hum of his emotion distracting Gaspi from his brooding. It could only mean one thing – Emmy and the other spirits were finally going to catch them up. In contrast to the elemental’s exultation, the thought made Gaspi so nervous he felt sick to his stomach. He’d left her behind for good reasons, but Emmy was unlikely to see it that way. His conscience was certainly pricked about lying to her, b
ut he’d done it to protect her from harm, and Taurnil had done the same with Lydia.
Sighing, he climbed out from under his blankets and toed Taurnil gently in the ribs. His friend deserved to know Lydia might well be about to arrive in camp! Taurnil grunted and rolled away from him, so Gaspi toed him again, harder that time.
“What? Gerrof!” Taurnil muttered angrily, swiping behind his back to catch the offending foot. Gaspi hopped away, and Taurnil’s grasping hand found only air.
“Get up lazybones!” Gaspi said. Baiting Taurnil in the morning was always a dangerous sport, but too much fun to abstain from.
Taurnil flopped onto his back and opened a single, bleary eye. “If you value your health, bugger off and let me sleep.”
“Lydia’s coming,” Gaspi said. He’d never seen Taurnil go from slumber to wakefulness so quickly. He sat bolt upright, looking urgently around the clearing.
“What? Where?”
“She’s not here yet,” Gaspi said. “But Loreill’s going mental with excitement, which means they’re definitely gonna get here today.”
“And you couldn’t have let me sleep another half hour before telling me this?”
Gaspi shrugged. “I figured you’d want some time to wake up first.”
Taurnil grunted, throwing back his blanket and rising to his feet. He stopped and looked at Gaspi uncertainly. “I thought you said she might not be coming.”
There had been plenty of time for Gaspi to think that through. If Emmy and Rimulth were both on their way, there was no way Lydia would still be in Helioport. They wouldn’t abandon her. “We both know that’s not true,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Taurnil said with a sigh. “Do you think she’ll be mad?”
