‘What’s going on?’ he asked in a throaty whisper. In the low glow of the fire his six limbed body was like something from a nightmare.
‘Something woke me up.’
Ormis was with them a second later and for a time they stood together, looking out into the forest and straining their ears. ‘You heard something?’
Kye shook his head. ‘Felt something.’
‘You too?’ he asked Della, but to Kye’s surprise she shook her head in emphatic denial.
Ormis took something from beneath his cloak and squatted by the fire, holding it up in the light. It was a glass phial and there were perhaps a dozen little insects crawling and flying around inside it. ‘It’s the Membrane you feel boy. And the fieraks feel it too.’
Kye was vaguely aware of the concept of the Membrane, but he had never heard of fieraks. He was about to ask what they were when sudden laughter turned them around. It was icy and insane and it spiralled out of the forest from the south, each rising note punctuated by snapping wood.
‘Get behind that tree both of you!’ said Ormis. ‘The Lady of the Forest visits us tonight.’
Kye’s blood ran cold. He ran with Della to the tree and dived behind it. Kring braced himself in a fighter’s stance and Ormis stepped in behind him, pulling the rubber stopper from the phial and lifting it above his head. The fieraks were fully awake now and they flew out, filling the night air with the buzzing of their tiny wings.
The laughter intensified, its pitch ascending sporadically to a hideous shriek that was like a thistle pulled through their ears. Then it ceased and an eerie calm descended on the clearing. Something clocked against Kring’s upper right forearm and a lump of wood thudded to the ground. But the toruck didn’t drop his guard. There was a shriek of frustration then a frenzy of ripping and tearing sounds as a barrage of sticks and branches rained down on him. Kring shrunk to a crouch, bringing all four forearms together like a shield. Ormis pressed into his back and the hail of debris flew by him on either side.
Kye began to see little points of green light which he suspected were fieraks. They were weaving through the trees in a loose swarm that was growing brighter by the second. All at once they seemed to burst into flame, revealing their energy source in all her ethereal green splendour.
The Lady of the Forest was racing through the trees, twisting and spiralling like a dust cloud in a breeze. She was moving so quickly that her image was in a near constant blur, coming into focus only when she paused to tear branches from trees and hurl them at the giant. Her hair was flowing as if a wind tormented it and her unblinking eyes shone like those of a stalking cat. Kye and Della were transfixed by her graceful and malevolent beauty and in the wash of her green light they looked like a pair of frightened corpses.
When the spirit realised she was having no effect on the giant she streaked towards him as if she meant to swat him from his feet. But at the last moment Kring stepped aside and Ormis straightened up, welcoming her with open arms. The exorcist had primed his draw and as the Lady of the Forest entered its field he accelerated her towards him. There was just enough time for her to register alarm, before she vanished into him. The magnetism in the clearing collapsed and the camp fire flickered in a gust of wind no one felt.
Ormis turned and swooned. He staggered and nearly fell, but his posture slowly solidified until he was standing by the fire with balled fists and planted feet. He tipped his head back and flung his arms wide, his eyes opening to reveal a pair of blazing green orbs. They were the eyes of the spirit and they crackled and fizzed as though generating a terrible charge. His whole body began to shake as if an invisible force was pulling on his outstretched arms and just when Kye thought he was going to explode his fingers opened and the orbs erupted, becoming beams of green purgelight that scorched the night. It was so bright that Kye looked away; but he wasn’t spared the screams that went with it. As the spirit burnt, her agonised cries assaulted him through deeper hearing and it was enough to make the flesh hover on his bones.
When the beams burnt out, Ormis dropped to his knees by the fire. He leant forward and gripped the grass, his eye distant and lost. Kring kept his distance and when he saw Kye peering around the tree he raised an open hand which seemed to say: Stay back lad and give him some time. But if there was ever an unnecessary gesture, Kye thought that was it. After what he had just seen and heard, he had no intention of going anywhere near him.
Ormis came slowly back to himself. His eyes refocused and he drew in a string of deep breaths. Then he sat back on his heels, rolled his neck and rubbed at his shoulders. Eventually he pushed himself to his feet and beckoned Kye and Della out from behind the tree.
‘You can go back to sleep now. Nothing more will disturb you this night.’ His voice was weak, but it was steady enough. He staggered back to the tree where he had been sleeping only a few minutes before and slumped down in the same spot, tipping his hat back over his face.
Kring stepped out of the shadows and gave Kye and Della a knowing smile. ‘Go back to sleep he says. Easy for him to say ain’t it? Seeing a thing like that’ll likely keep you up for a week. But if you settle down in your blankets I’ll build the fire back up. It might help you along.’
They did as he suggested and when he went to get more firewood Kye turned to Della. ‘Are you alright?’
She nodded, but kept her eyes on the fire. ‘You?’
‘I think so. But my hands are still shaking. I’ve heard stories about exorcisms, but they don’t tell you what they feel like.’
Della nodded in agreement and laid down, twisting away to deter further conversation. He stared miserably at her back, needing someone to talk to, but reluctant to trouble her. When Kring came back he watched him rebuild the fire and when the heat reached out he settled into his blanket again. He looked over at the exorcist, realising only then that his mist stone was the same putrid green colour the Lady of the Forest had been. And as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t shake the idea that she was imprisoned within it.
The Woodcutter’s Wife
Kye woke early the next morning, feeling cold and stiff. The sun was nowhere in sight, but the bright blue sky he could see through the mesh of forest canopy promised another fine day. Della was still sleeping beside him, but she had rolled over in the night to face him. Her head was resting on her hands and it pleased him to see her at peace. He sat up and saw Ormis sitting on a log by the fire, poking it with a charred stick. He looked well rested and his face was calm and thoughtful as he stared into the flames. Evidence of last night’s event was all around them. There were bits of deadwood, several logs and even a tree stump with all its roots. But most of the debris was healthy branches, complete with all their foliage; their split and twisted ends a visual testament to the violence that ripped them from the trees.
Kring trudged into camp with a fistfuls of purple roots and when he saw Kye looking he shared them out between four spade-like hands and began tossing them into the air. He juggled three with his upper hands, but soon added another three with his lower hands, throwing them high enough to pass through the tight arcs of the others. The roots span as they looped, losing most of the loose dirt that clung to them. The giant’s arms moved easily and his muscular frame showed no sign of tension. Kye watched, mesmerised by the display and amazed by the improbable lack of collisions. The pattern collapsed and Kye thought he was going to drop them, but then the roots started going straight up and down – four going up as two came down, then the reverse. He laughed and the giant grinned, letting the whole lot drop into his hands and giving him a little bow.
‘Some of your folk say torucks are fumbly. You can tell them different now… You like blood root?’ Kye nodded, but Kring saw straight through his lie and laughed heartily. ‘Don’t worry lad. I’ve not met many that do. But I’ve got some spice mix from back home that’ll bring ’em to life. Just you wait and see.’ He bent and pushed the roots into the hot ash at the edge of the fire. ‘I’ll see if I can find some wi
ld garlic to wrap them in,’ he said and trudged off again.
Ormis poked the fire once more and set the stick down. ‘The spirit that came upon us last night was that of a woodcutter’s wife. We were on our way to exorcise her when we got called away with news of the killings in Agelrish.’ He swept his eyes from the fire and set them on Kye. ‘Most of us will pass when we die, but an unfortunate few will linger. We’re not sure why, but there are theories. One says it’s the manner of death that holds them back and another the state of their mind. The origin of this haunting would support both.
‘The woodcutter’s wife ran off to her death after discovering her husband’s involvement with another woman. She fell down a bank and impaled herself on a fence post. It pierced her gut and fixed her to the spot in an isolated part of the forest. They think she died a miserable death over a number of days.’ He paused to allow Kye to grasp the horror of it. ‘At first a trapped soul will wander their haunt, bewildered and dim, making little imprint upon the Membrane – the type you might see as a shimmer of air or feel as a cold draft. It is at that point, when they pose little danger to anyone that they should be exorcised. But we of the Caliste are too few and the requests for our services too many. So haunts are left to fester. With time the spirits begin to test the boundary of their haunt and eventually they rage against it. It doesn’t happen all at once, but it is inevitable.’ Kye felt his defences go up. Bill had pulled him out of school early, but he wasn’t stupid. Ormis was circling the subject of his sister and spiralling in to make a point about her.
‘Think of the Membrane as a bladder of some sort. Press a finger into one side and it will bulge from the other. Push further and the tissue will stretch, becoming more and more transparent – until eventually it reveals details of the finger. Given time a spirit can push itself so far into the Membrane that it almost squeezes itself back into existence - the Membrane becoming so thin around the spirit that it can interact with the world again. They become extremely dangerous at that point – able to inflict extreme and terrible violence. The spirit that came to us last night was one such example -’
‘- Emilie’s not like that,’ Kye snapped, seeing where Ormis was going.
The exorcist narrowed his eyes. ‘She will be, if left to fester in her haunt. And long before that she will pose a threat for possession. That’s why the law forbids you to trespass a haunt. In going there, you not only put yourself at risk, but everyone in your village once you succumbed to her.’
‘Emilie would never do anything like that to me. Not ever.’
Ormis raised an eyebrow. ‘She didn’t change? In all the time you visited her?’
The question made Kye think about some of the strange questions she asked before their fall out: about the feel of rain on his skin and the sensation of a bilberry bursting in his mouth. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘She was just like she always was.’ But he knew his expression and hesitation had given away the truth of it. ‘She came to help us at the holdings didn’t she? She scattered the men outside and saved our lives.’
The exorcist’s eyes blazed. ‘They were not hers to save! She might have had a hand in what happened, but her motives are not to be trusted. The sister you loved is gone and you need to accept it.’ He picked up his stick and jabbed it into the fire.
Kring came over with a handful of wild garlic leaves. He looked as if he was going to say something but when he saw the two black scowls at the fireside he thought better of it. He pulled the blood roots from the fire, set them out on the cheese cloth and then with a wink at Kye, sprinkled them with a spice mix he took from a pouch on his belt. He rolled them all in garlic leaves and handed one to Kye and another to Ormis. Kye bit down on his. At its centre was the hot bitter mush he was expecting, but taken with the exotic spices and garlic leaf it was more than palatable. He smiled his approval at Kring and the giant nodded in satisfaction.
Della sat up, yawned and pulled herself closer to the fire. She gave him a lukewarm good morning and accepted a blood root from Kring. He was hoping a good night’s sleep would make her more sociable, but as she chewed absently through her blood root he could tell her mood was much the same. They finished their breakfast in silence and once the blankets were packed and the fire kicked out they set off through the woods again.
Before noon the trees began to thin out and they found themselves walking through more sunshine than shade. They came upon a well-worn trail and followed it past a number of sites where logs were stacked. At one place they passed a nervous looking woodcutter who looked surprised to see them. He paused between swings and raised a hand in greeting. He watched their strange little company go by and it was only when they were out of sight that they heard him splitting wood again.
The trail took them out of the forest and onto the main highway. After about a mile they reached Sambry - a small hamlet of no more than a dozen buildings, scattered either side of the road. Ormis led them around the first building and into a courtyard that was penned in on three sides by stables. In one corner was a horseless cart and in another, a set of double doors that were propped open with rusty milk churns. Just inside the stable a man was bent over, inspecting a hoof held between his knees. He caught sight of them, gave the horse its leg back and walked out to meet them.
‘Help you?’ he asked with an uncertain smile, his eyes undecided between exorcist and toruck.
‘We need horses,’ said Ormis.
The man shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you then. I’ve got nothing available for a few days.’
‘What about those two?’ he asked, pointing to two long faces hanging over a stable door.
‘Not mine to loan. I’m stabling them for a landowner in Redrich.’
‘We’ll have them anyway. Business of the Caliste.’ He lifted his hand to show his pulsing mist stone and the man’s face dropped. ‘Don’t worry. They’ll be returned as soon as we reach the city, and with hansom reparation. Your patron would be well advised not to trouble you in this matter.’
The stable master looked as if he was going to protest, but he seemed to satisfy himself by puffing hard and rubbing his beard. ‘You want them now?’
‘Right away. And fix them to that wagon.’
Irongate
The road wound through several villages, but they stopped only once for Ormis to buy some bread and fruit, which he shared out amongst them. Those they passed on the road were invariably amazed by Kring and most stopped what they were doing to gawp at him. One old lady poked her wrinkled face out of a second floor window to look, her toothless mouth forming a pathetic O that reminded Kye of the fish he caught in the millpond. Kring took it all with good humour and every now and again waved at the gawpers with all four hands. It was a playful gesture, but most of them scowled and shook their heads. Ormis fared only slightly better as he was acknowledged on occasion with a nod or salutation. But there was no warmth in their faces. Keep going exorcist, their eyes seemed to say; we’ve no need for you here.
Nearer the city the road became wider and busier and they passed several junctions with other highways. Some of the places on the signposts Kye recognised, but most he had never heard of. He read the signs and sounded out the unfamiliar names, wondering what it would be like to go there. He had never been out of Agelrish and his horizons were broadening with every turn of the wheels.
He looked over at Della every now and again. She was sitting opposite him with one arm draped over the side of the wagon and a half eaten apple by her side. She hadn’t spoken a single word all morning, but she had given him enough of a smile for him to know he was forgiven for what he said last night. He wanted to talk, but he had finally accepted that she didn’t. In the weeks after Emilie died he barely said two words himself and he knew it would be selfish to engage her in idle conversation.
Hours later they passed a milestone informing them Irongate was only a mile away and when they rounded the next bend Kye’s jaw dropped open. The vast sprawl of the city was impressive, but his e
yes were instantly enslaved by something more incredible: The Reader. He had seen it in books and paintings and even drawn it himself, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of it. The best pictures gave the impression of a colossal statue, impressive in both its fine detail and improbable size. But what he seemed to be looking at now was a real man, waist deep in the city and so big it played tricks with his sense of scale. Unable to process its impossible size his mind shrunk the city, transforming it into an intricate model around a normal sized man. But it was an illusion that wouldn’t settle and every few seconds it reversed – man in a model to colossus in a city and back again. Kye mouthed several words, but made no sound.
When he finally managed to tear his eyes away, he turned to Della. ‘Look!’ he said, forgetting his decision to leave her alone and hearing in his voice an excitement he hadn’t felt in years.
She looked. But to his surprise she seemed unimpressed. She gave it little more than a glance and turned away as if she had seen it a hundred times before - the way a farmer might look at one of his sheep. He felt deflated, but decided not to let her reaction spoil it for him. So he turned back to The Reader and gave it his full glassy eyed attention, right up until they drew close to the city and it disappeared from sight.
The road was busy with traders and travellers and they were soon forced into a dusty line with several other wagons. The city walls were black and ugly and decorated at intervals with stone figures so badly weathered their original forms could only be guessed at. A huge iron gate appeared within them and a pair of guards lifted their hands in greeting. Kye noticed that unlike most folk in the villages, these men had little interest in Kring. Their eyes fell suspiciously on him and Della instead, perhaps wondering what they had done to be in the custody of an exorcist and a toruck. The wagon rolled into the city and the horse’s hooves clattered on the cobbles. Rows of timber framed houses huddled together on either side of the street; their brickwork cracked and their wooden beams warped and split with age. Most of the windows were small and criss-crossed with lead and the thick thatch that covered their roofs was woven with streaks of purple grass.
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