The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2)

by Phil Tucker

  Iskra gave Kethe a second hug and then stepped back. Nearby, Ser Wyland was having quiet words with Asho, who was nodding seriously, which gave Brocuff a chance to approach.

  "I know we've not been at our lessons, and truth be told you're probably past all that now, but remember what I told you, yes?" The constable's voice was even gruffer than usual. "Don't rely on your eyes. Use your senses. Pay attention to what's around you. Up where you're going, you're going to need to be extra alert."

  "Yes, Constable," said Kethe. His words reminded her of happier times, innocent afternoons spent training in the woods outside Kyferin Castle, and nostalgia brought a knot to her throat. On impulse, she leaned in and gave him a quick hug. He blushed deeply and quickly backed away, scowling and shaking his head.

  Just then, Elon the smith hurried into the courtyard, a slender-scabbarded blade in hand.

  "Ah! I was afraid I missed you." He hurried up, towering even over Ser Wyland, a massively muscled man who had given Kethe the space and secrecy to create her own chain and sword. "Here. I found this in the pile of weaponry we took from Lord Laur's men." He held out a dagger as long as her forearm with a leaf blade. He drew three inches from its black leather scabbard. "This is a rare steel, something that goes back to the Age of Wonders, I'll warrant. It won't notch or rust. I think it's of the same family as Ser Tiron's own blade. Special. Here." He extended it to her.

  It was perfectly balanced and light in her palm, but more than the pleasure of the gift, she felt a quiet joy at the look of concern and warmth in Elon's eyes. A rush of memories came back to her, of quiet afternoons and early mornings by his forge, hidden from the castle and crafting link by link her own destiny under his watchful eye.

  She felt her eyes tear up. No, she couldn't cry. If she started she wouldn't stop. "Thank you, master smith. I'll treasure it dearly."

  He smiled and ducked his head. "Don't treasure it. Use it. See that you come back to us, now, all right?"

  Her chest felt as if it were filled with broken glass. She should have slipped out early and avoided these farewells. "All right."

  Unable to say anything more, on the verge of embarrassing herself, she gave them all a tight smile and strode past Asho and through the long gatehouse tunnel, past the wrenched and torn portcullis where it had been propped up against the wall, and out into the early morning sunshine.

  The twisted oak that had grown before the Hold's entrance had almost come to feel like a friend, and she leaned one shoulder against its warped trunk, struggling to tame the hitch in her breathing. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't let their kindness and concern undo her control. Kethe ground her eyes tightly shut and focused on her breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. She thought of her father. Towering, a bear of a man, powerful and vast and never weak. She could be strong just like him. Just as tough. She could do this.

  Kethe took a final breath and opened her eyes. Mæva walked by, and Kethe pushed away from the oak to follow her down the shallow slope to where the lake waters lapped at the island's shore and around to the white stone causeway that linked the Hold with the mainland.

  Ravens suddenly broke out of the oak tree with a thunderous crash of wings and raucous cries, and Kethe spun on her heel to gaze up at them as they rose like a ragged cloud to fly out over the Hold proper and then circle in a loose funnel. Mæva turned as well to gaze up at them, shielding her eyes with her hand.

  "What does that mean, Mæva?" Kethe's voice was quiet. Her heart, for some reason, was thudding again.

  "A farewell, I believe." The witch's voice was also somber. "The ravens here are not entirely natural. They mark our departure."

  Kethe watched them circle. "Is that a good omen or ill?"

  "We'll only know in retrospect," said Mæva, dropping her hand. Ashurina leaped up to land on her shoulders, and there settled down comfortably.

  Kethe thought that Mæva would comment on her abrupt departure from the gatehouse, perhaps make a cutting joke about her tears, but there was a surprising amount of compassion in her eyes.

  Asho emerged from the Hold and came jogging down to where they stood. Mæva mercifully interjected before he had a chance to speak. "Come. It's a long ways we have to go today, and we've lost much of the morning."

  The witch set a hard pace, leading them off the causeway and then around the lake as if returning down to the village of Hrething. Asho walked behind them, no doubt considering himself some manner of rear guard, and in single file nobody felt much like talking. Kethe stole occasional glances over to Mythgræfen Hold and wondered if she would return to see its ruinous facade once more. Then they reached the place where the river Erenthil drained from the lake and plunged riotously down the rocks toward Hrething, and the Hold was gone from sight.

  Mæva's long strides ate up the ground, and she seemed tireless, never flagging and completely confident as to their path. Kethe bit down the urge to ask for a break two hours in; she let Asho cry mercy first, telling herself that she'd not show signs of weakness despite the stitch in her side and the way her pack was digging into her back.

  They left the trail to Hrething and followed a narrow valley back into the mountains, and for the rest of the morning walked in shadow, the high peaks above them blocking everything but the midday sun. The land was beautiful, however, and eventually Kethe's thoughts melted away and she simply took in the stark savagery of the landscape around her, focusing only on where to place her feet and enjoying the exertion.

  It was early afternoon when they came across a splashing waterfall that cascaded from a great height to blast itself into a furious bowl of water. Mæva stopped and looked up the waterfall's height, then turned to the others and smiled. "This is where we start climbing. Let's stop for lunch, though. Fifteen minutes before we're moving once more."

  Asho sighed as he unshouldered his pack. "So, what were you before you became a witch, Mæva? A sergeant in the Ascendant's guard?"

  Mæva laughed dourly and sat on a high rock, pulled one knee up under her chin and dug a wedge of cheese out of her small pack. "Precisely, my dear Bythian boy. Very astute."

  Kethe dropped her pack as well and refrained from sighing in relief as she sat on the grass. The spray from the waterfall filled the air and was pleasant on her flushed face. It made the greenery here incredibly vivid, as well as leading to moss coating every rock surface. "Mæva, I've a question."

  "Hmm?"

  "Skarpheðinn Range. How do you know so much about it? The Hrethings barely know about Mythgræfen Hold, much less what's higher in the mountains."

  Mæva chewed her cheese thoughtfully, watching Kethe all the while. Kethe felt suddenly uncomfortable, as if the witch had slid a fraction closer to being an enemy instead of a friend.

  Nonsense, she told herself. She sat up and looped her arms around her knees, waiting for an answer.

  "A good question, my dear. I'm surprised nobody has asked it before."

  Asho had remained standing, hands on his hips. His pale skin was flushed, and he took a thong from his pouch and tied back his white hair. "I just assumed it was part of your, well, arcane learning."

  "True, in part." Mæva leaned back on one arm. She was beautiful, thought Kethe, in a dangerous way, languorous like a cat and just as sensual. "I know about Skarpheðinn Range because I've visited it before."

  Kethe shared a look with Asho. "You have?"

  "Mmm-hmm." Mæva looked off at the waterfall, completely at ease. "Of course I have. How else would I know the way there?"

  Kethe frowned. "Why did you visit Skarpheðinn? You've made it sound like a terribly lethal place."

  "And it is, sweet Kethe, it most certainly is."

  Ashurina hopped down onto her lap and curled into a ball. Mæva looked down at her and scratched where her wing joined her shoulders.

  "So?" Asho stepped up, a subtle tension in his frame. "Why did you go?"

  "Because I was dying, if the truth be told. I was young, and foolish, and scared, and resolved t
o my imminent death." Mæva looked up through her lashes, eyes glittering. "I must have been fourteen. My gift was eating me from the inside out, rotting my body and destroying my mind. The traditional fate of all who would wield the energies of the Black Gate."

  Asho gave a stiff nod. "So I've heard."

  "And, well, I'd been driven out of Hrething by my father about a year before that, and had been starving and scratching a living from the land for longer than I cared to think. I was tired. Bone tired, soul tired, and I didn't want to fight any longer. So I left my meager cave - I didn't have my luxurious cottage back then - and made my way up. I had a simple idea: to die with the world's greatest view at my feet. Did I mention how foolish I was? Perhaps it suffices to say I was young. I thought at worst I might be eaten by a stone troll. At best I would die with beauty laid out before me." She smiled fondly at the memory. "Still, I don't know if it was accident or fate that led me to the borders of Skarpheðinn. It took me almost two weeks to make my way up there, but when I reached the edge of that cursed place, I knew to where I had come."

  She stopped there, and after a prolonged pause Kethe leaned forward. "And? What happened?"

  "Clearly, I didn't die," said Mæva. "But it was there, at the border of that place, that I learned to cast the taint of my magic into the bodies of living creatures close to me. Perhaps it was the density of magic in the air, or my desperation. I know not. But a week later I descended."

  "Just like that? You simply figured it out?" Asho did little to hide his scorn.

  "Tell me something, my handsome young Bythian. How did you first learn to channel your own magic? Which books did you consult? Which teachers showed you the way?" Asho was unable to hold her gaze. Mæva's smile was cutting, merciless. "If you wish, Asho, I could teach you this gift. Show you how to avoid the backlash of taint. The day might come when Kethe won't be there to safeguard you."

  "I - I don't know," said Asho. "Perhaps. Is it hard to learn?"

  "Hard? Oh no. It is deceptively easy. You must simply be willing to put your own well-being above that of all others." Mæva's laughter was sudden and wild. "There is a little more to it, of course, but I could guide you. Pass on the gift, as it were."

  Asho's brow had lowered. "No, thank you."

  Kethe felt an absurd desire to intervene. A strange sense that Asho was in danger, that a chasm was yawning open at his feet.

  Mæva shrugged. "It is your decision. But remember. Someone must always pay the price of your magic. One day you may decide not to burden Kethe with it."

  Asho's eyes widened and he glanced sidelong at her. She read his guilt clearly and stepped forward before the conversation could progress any further. "So, what did you see up there? What's Skarpheðinn like?"

  Sunlight slowly brightened the air around them and, looking up, Kethe saw a fingernail of brilliant gold appearing over one of the peaks.

  Mæva tore her eyes away from Asho with obvious reluctance. "What's it like? Almost impossible to convey in words, my dear. I could paint you a picture, but still you will be shocked when you reach it."

  Asho had turned away and squatted beside his pack, from which he pulled a chunk of black bread and dried meat. He clearly didn't want to look at Mæva. "Could you try?"

  "Very well. Skarpheðinn. The air is thick. It seethes, as if invisible maggots infest it. It's fecund in this awful way, so that every breath overwhelms. You can almost feel the magic oozing through the air, insidious and overwhelming. Luckily it's above the tree line, and as such there's precious little but snow and rock for it to corrupt. As I said, I didn't enter it, but rather stayed on the borders, but even there the rock felt slick, as if the very mountain were weeping in pain."

  Kethe felt her eyebrows going up. "That's where we're going?"

  "No," said Mæva. "That's the border. We're going into the heart of Skarpheðinn. Though what we'll find there, I can't begin to imagine."

  "And - and how are we going to cleanse it?" Asho's voice had grown much smaller.

  Mæva's laugh was throaty and caustic. "How should I know? That is what we hope to discover. Perhaps we can't. Perhaps we'll only invite doom upon ourselves."

  The sound of the waterfall filled the silence between them till Mæva swung her legs over the rock's edge and stood, Ashurina scampering back up onto her shoulders. "Well, that was a pleasant interlude. Shall we continue? Good."

  She turned and followed a narrow trail that wound its way up between the rocks that ringed the waterfall's pool.

  Kethe stood. She hadn't even taken out her lunch, but now she realized she had no appetite. She picked up her pack and slung it over one shoulder.

  Asho stepped up beside her and watched Mæva as she continued to ascend. "Why do I suddenly think we're in way over our heads?"

  "Because we are," she said. She wanted to say something mocking, something scornful, but all she felt was a sense of relief that he was here with her, that she was not following Mæva by herself into this twisted wilderness. "Because we are."

  They climbed all afternoon. It was hard work, for the trail was steep, an endless series of sharp switchbacks that rose between the trees, occasionally following rocky ledges along cliff faces. The sun dappled the mountainside through the heavy forest, and their feet crunched on the dead leaves that lay ankle-deep everywhere. Soon the valley floor was far below them, and the nature of the forest changed, though Kethe couldn't put a name to the new trees that grew this high up the slopes. They took more breaks, but nobody spoke.

  As the shadows began to lengthen and the temperature began to drop, they came across the body of a deer. Mæva held up her hand, urging them to keep their silence, and simply stood sniffing and turning her head from one side to the other. Ashurina was in a similar state of alertness, but after a moment they both relaxed.

  "Deer don't come this high," said Mæva, moving forward to crouch by the corpse.

  Kethe had seen its like only once before. When they had killed the demon that had been assaulting Hrething, it had decomposed quickly, leaving behind only the warped bones of a mountain goat. The same seemed to have happened here; the dirt around the deer was covered in blistered black ichor, and its very bones were strangely bent.

  "Demon," said Asho, drawing his blade.

  "You can put that away," said Mæva. "Whatever possessed this deer is long gone, and there's nothing else close by. But it's an indication that we're on the right track. We'll camp soon. I don't like to travel at night. Not this high."

  They spent the next half hour finding an ideal spot to spend the night, which Mæva located through some preternatural sense. That was the only way Kethe could explain the witch's ability to locate a hidden cave far off the path that slid into the mountain as if a giant had stabbed at the stone with a huge sword. The ceiling was too low for them to stand, and it extended a good twenty yards into the mountain proper, growing ever shorter as it went, until it disappeared into a dark crack. But the floor was covered in dry sand, and no wind played past the cave entrance.

  "This will do," said Mæva, crouched at the back. Ashurina had insinuated herself as far as she could before returning with a sign of calm confidence that seemed to be sufficient for the witch. "No fire, however. The smell might draw attention, if not the light."

  "No fire?" Asho eased his way in and sat to one side, setting his pack beside him. His hair was wet with sweat and he shrugged several times, wincing as he did so. "What kind of expedition into the wild has no fire?"

  Kethe unshouldered her own pack and resisted the urge to mimic Asho's stretches. Scooting in, she sat across from him and dug out her water flask, popped it open and took a grateful gulp. "Next you'll be complaining about the lack of ghost stories and honeyed buns."

  "I was going to get to that," said Asho, turning to Mæva with mock seriousness. "Honeyed buns? I'm assuming you brought some?"

  Her eyes almost flickered in the darkness at the back of the cave. "Think carefully about what you just asked, Bythian, and if you're stil
l of a mind for that particular treat, well, all you need do is crawl back here."

  "Ah," said Asho, suddenly choking. He coughed and looked away, and the sound of Mæva's laughter only drove him to rise up into a crouch. "I'll be outside. Excuse me."

  Kethe felt her own face flush. She resolutely didn't look back to where Mæva was unrolling a thin blanket from her pack - how had she crammed it in there? - and instead set about untying her own bedroll from beneath her pack and unbuckling her armor. She thought about taking off her boots - she'd have dearly loved to rub her feet - but decided it was best to keep them on in case of a midnight attack of some kind.

  Finally she crept outside to sit beside Asho. He had his arms circled around his knees and was gazing pensively out over the steep mountain slope and the sharp valley below them. The sun was well-hidden behind the peaks, and the air had taken on a twilight cast, with shades of lavender and the darkest blues settling over the trees and turning them into a great indistinct mass that blanketed the mountains.

  "You all right?"

  "Hmm? Yes." His expression was somber, focused, his gaze sharp and distant. "I'm just trying not to feel overwhelmed."

  "Overwhelmed?" Kethe studied his profile. Why was she asking him? She should leave well enough alone. Who was she to offer comfort?

  He laughed bitterly. "Yes. Aren't you?" He shook his head, marveling. "So much rides on the success of this mission, but look at where we're going. Into a hellscape. A place crawling with demons, and guided by a witch I don't even trust."

  Kethe shrugged. "I trust her."

  Asho looked at her sidelong. "You do? After her hiding her visit to the range? Who knows what else she's hiding?"

  Kethe shrugged again and rested her chin on her knees. "I don't know. I just trust her. She saved my life. She offered to come up here with us. Sure, she might have her own goals, her own plans, but they align with ours."

  "Hmm," said Asho. "Perhaps." Together they gazed out over the darkening valley. "About that offer she made. I'm thinking that maybe I should accept it."