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

by Phil Tucker

  Darkness was starting to fall when Mæva crested yet another false peak and then raised her hand for silence. Kethe and Asho, both half-stunned and in a trance, nearly collided into her back.

  "What is it?" Kethe's voice was a harsh whisper.

  Asho took the chance to dig out his water skin and take a gulp. It was nearly empty, and the water tasted brackish and oily.

  "Shh," whispered Mæva, and there was a tension in her voice that put Asho immediately on edge.

  A trail left the path that they'd been following around the outside the mountainside and ran deep into a wide cleft that was cloaked already in evening shadow. Asho stowed his water skin and gazed into its depths. Looking into shadow felt like pressing a cool compress to his brow. The cleft was ragged and deep, a yard across at the base and widening to ten or fifteen up above before pulling away suddenly at the very top. It was as if a mighty ax had swung down and cut into the very bones of the mountain. The longer he looked into it, however, the stranger he felt, until he tore his eyes away, a sense of vertigo passing through him.

  "Come," whispered Mæva, then she backed away and led them down the broken trail they'd been following. They slipped and scrambled down a rough rock face, then out along a ledge and down a winding series of switchbacks , until finally Mæva deemed the distance sufficient.

  "What is it?" Asho felt invigorated by the tension, his aches and pains forgotten.

  "Skarpheðinn," said Mæva, releasing her hair from its leather binding and then scooping it back once more. "It has spread."

  "Spread?" Kethe whirled to look back above them. "You mean - that? That was part of it?"

  The witch nodded and smoothed down her leather skirt. "Indeed. Could you not feel it?"

  Asho nodded reluctantly. "I did feel something. And my water tasted strange."

  "The taint has spread far indeed since last I was there." Mæva's tone was grave. "Many miles father. But then, it has been almost two decades since last I trod these paths."

  "So, what does that mean?" Kethe sounded excited and nervous both. "Do we push on? Stop here for the night?"

  "We shouldn't push on," said Asho. "It's near dark. We should enter Skarpheðinn with as much daylight before us as possible."

  "The boy speaks true," said Mæva. "Let us return to the hollow we passed half an hour ago. It was shielded from the winds and sufficiently far from that crevice that we should be safe. Tonight, however, we shall have to post a watch."

  Asho spent a sleepless night. For part of it he sat in the shadow of a sloping slab of rock that had tumbled down from the heights, watching the ways to the higher passes. Kethe came halfway through the night to take her turn, and he could tell from her hesitant manner that she wished to speak with him, but he was too tired and it felt at once petty and satisfying to simply nod coldly to her and make his way down to their shelter. Once wrapped in his blanket though he found that he still couldn't sleep, and lay instead curled within his bedding thinking of that dark gash in the mountain and that special darkness within that had beguiled his eyes. What lay beyond it? The thought haunted him and his dreams when they finally came, so that he awoke stiff and unrefreshed.

  They had a quiet breakfast, forcing themselves to eat, and then made sure their weapons could be easily drawn and were not blocked by their packs or straps. It was still dark in the valleys below, the sunlight blocked by the peaks, but Mæva insisted on an early start.

  "My magic will shield us as we pass through Skarpheðinn, but we must still take all precautions. There are powers within those ranges that would laugh at my talents, so we must move silently and with the utmost stealth. If we are attacked, we must turn and flee. Is that clear?"

  "I'm not going to run at the first sign of trouble," said Kethe.

  "We're here to learn, not warn them of our interest." Mæva stared at Kethe till the younger woman dropped her gaze. "Follow my lead. We'll see how far we can penetrate before we're turned back. And I will tell you this here and now, so there are no recriminations later: I will not sacrifice my life for either of you. You are both pleasant in your way, but I mean to live, so do not undertake any heroics with the expectation that I will follow you. Am I understood?"

  Asho nodded. "We're clear. Thank you for your honesty."

  Kethe studied Mæva for a while longer, then nodded as well. "It's good to know where you stand."

  Mæva's smile was dark. "Don't judge me, young lady. I am not a sworn member of your mother's household, but simply a guide, and a self-interested one at that. Now, let us go."

  They moved quickly back up the path, hurrying in their eagerness to reach the cleft. As they drew closer, Asho's stomach tightened, and he had to fight the urge to draw his blade when they surmounted the false peak and saw again the dark crevice. This early in the morning it was almost black, and the shadows within seemed to crawl over each other.

  Mæva waited, stroking Ashurina's head and whispering to her, and then without warning she moved into the cleft. Kethe and Asho pressed in close behind.

  The rock walls rose precipitously, so close that Asho's shoulders almost touched both sides, and the footing was uneven. They moved slowly, and Asho became aware of a rancid taste on the roof of his mouth and a sourness in his stomach. His skin crawled for no discernible reason, and the air felt heavy and oppressive.

  After walking for perhaps five minutes, Mæva slowed and stopped. Without a word she pointed, and Asho saw a long filament of clear rope attached to the rock wall to their left. It rose up and disappeared into the shadows. One by one they ducked beneath it and moved on. A dozen steps brought them to a second such rope of clear-spun material, and then a third. Up above Asho thought he could see a complex pattern suspended between the two walls of the gorge, a dark shadow that almost gave up its secrets.

  "Careful," whispered Mæva, her voice so soft that Asho half-fancied he had read her lips instead of hearing the word.

  They moved on, step by careful step, weaving and ducking under more of the fibers. Asho realized that he was seeing better than the others in the gloom, and reached out once to grab Kethe's shoulder and stop her just before she walked right into a slender filament.

  Their progress slowed to a crawl. It was so dark now that Asho could barely make out Mæva ahead of him. He was on the verge of whispering a suggestion to turn back when he saw Kethe trip and stumble, and only stop herself from falling by grabbing an outcropping of rock.

  She immediately stared down in horror, and Asho saw that she'd kicked a strand, which was vibrating now in response. An irrational urge to seize it and still its movement filled him. Kethe looked ready to bolt, so he reached out and took hold of her hand. Her eyes were wide, but after a moment she squeezed his hand and nodded.

  Up above Asho heard a slithering, scurrying sound, as if a mass of dried leaves had been dislodged and was now tumbling down toward them. He looked up and saw a darkness more intense than the ambient shadow descending rapidly, growing larger by the moment. He half-expected to see some manner of ghastly spider, but instead it was a strangely humanoid shape that came into view, black as night, with elongated and slender limbs that ended in three fingers that grasped the webbing. A single eye glowed a dull and dismal red in the center of its shaggy head, and it moved with a startling abruptness, no transitions between each step, simply jittering its way down till it hung suspended right above them.

  Asho's mouth was parched, and he couldn't breathe. He wanted to fade against the wall, but even that subtle a movement seemed too risky. The monstrous thing hung above them, easily the size of five men, and darted its head from side to side as it searched the floor of the cleft.

  It can't see us, realized Asho with a shuddering sense of relief.

  It moved a little closer, lowering itself another foot. Its black body stank of rotten bark and wet earth. It lowered a leg and came within a hand's breadth of brushing Kethe's head. She recoiled slowly, pressing back against him.

  Nobody moved. The creature hung comple
tely still, suspended on the filaments above them. Asho finally cut his gaze across to Mæva, who nodded that they should proceed. He lifted his foot and stepped over a strand, passing right beneath the creature, which suddenly jerked its head down to within inches of his scalp and peeled open its mouth, lifting flaps to reveal needle-sharp teeth as it inhaled loudly.

  Asho's skin crawled over his bones. The creature twisted its head to one side, then back to the other. Asho took a deep, steadying breath, fought for calm, fought for control, and continued walking. Each crunch of his feet on the schist that littered the ground made him wince and expect a blow. Each exhalation felt like a betrayal. Slowly he passed out from beneath the creature - and a thought occurred to him.

  It was completely vulnerable to them.

  He drew his sword. Immediately he heard Mæva's hissed command, but he ignored it and turned to Kethe. She stared at his blade and then nodded and drew her own. Carefully, aware of his pack, Asho stepped back to the far side of the demon. His breath was coming fast and shallow, and sweat was running down his brow. His shoulders were constrained by the straps, but still he lifted his blade up high and watched as Kethe did the same. He mimed a downward chop on his part, and indicated that she should spear her blade straight up.

  Kethe nodded once more and gripped her sword with both hands.

  Mæva had backed away, her face pale, her eyes slitted with fury. No matter; he'd deal with her after.

  The monster above them shivered as if aware on some basic level of the danger it was in, and narrowed its one eye. Was it going to retreat? If so, it would disappear in a flash, so Asho nodded to Kethe once, twice, and on the third nod he brought his blade down with all his strength.

  The demon shrilled, a sound so high-pitched it was almost inaudible. Asho's blade had chopped deep into its neck, and Kethe had spitted its eye with the point of her own blade. Immediately the demon exploded into a frenzy of convulsions, leaping up its web clumsily, shaking itself so violently in pain that it slammed against the walls. Asho stared up, horrified, and watched as it continued to climb back up into the shadows, missing the occasional strand and falling before catching itself. It wasn't dead, but it was grievously wounded.

  "Come!" Mæva's voice was a lethal hiss. "Hurry! Before it's too late!"

  Asho bit back his rejoinder and hurried after the two women, running heavily through the remainder of the gorge, not caring if he hit the occasional filament now, though they caused his clothing to burn. They soon emerged into a high pass that ascended between two shoulders of rough rock, the weak sunlight a blessed relief.

  "What are you playing at?" Mæva strode right up to him. She was almost vibrating with fury. "You seek to get us all killed before we've even arrived?"

  "Playing?" Asho wiped his sword on a cloth. It left a thick, crusty, milky liquid behind. "That was no game. We're doing what we came to do. Cleanse the range."

  "Cleanse the range?" Mæva's voice was just shy of incredulous. "You have no idea what you're about. We agreed: we are here on an exploratory mission. Not to thoughtlessly attack every demon we come across."

  "No," said Kethe, and there was steel in her voice. "My apologies, but you're wrong. We're here to learn, yes, but if an opportunity like that presents itself, then we must take it. That creature blocks our exit from the range. It was wise to blind it. Now we can leave without hindrance if forced to retreat."

  Mæva stared from one of them to the other. "I made myself clear on the outset. I am not venturing up here to die because of your vain heroics. If you persist in attacking every demon we come across over whom we have a momentary advantage, I will drop the veil and depart, leaving you to your fates. Do not test my patience, and do not think you can force me into agreeing with your antics." She fairly quivered with rage, and Ashurina glared at them both from her shoulder. For some reason, Asho had a harder time meeting the firecat's gaze.

  "Come," said Mæva. "Our presence has been announced. We cannot stay still."

  She strode away, Ashurina turning to stare at them from her shoulder.

  Kethe flicked her blade, sending clear fluid from the demon's eye spattering across the rocks. "Well, I don't regret doing it."

  "Neither do I," said Asho. "Though it looks like we may have more disagreements soon with Mæva. What do we do if she demands we retreat too soon?"

  "I don't know. I guess we'll deal with that when it happens." Kethe suddenly smiled. "Good work."

  "Yes." Asho felt a small flush of pleasure. "Good work. Now let's catch up with her before we get hopelessly left behind."

  The tainted reach of Skarpheðinn had clearly extended to embrace the land. Asho felt it like a lingering headache as he climbed, in the rancid taste in his mouth and in the thick, noxious feel to the air. The steady presence of magic that he'd almost grown accustomed to back down in the Hold was thick and powerful here, making the air feel turgid and overburdened. The Black Gate, he realized. It was suffusing the area with its power, expanding ever outwards as it lay unchecked. Would his own powers become stronger this close to his source of magic? Or would the chances of being overwhelmed increase instead?

  Both, he concluded bitterly. He followed once more at the back of the group, turning frequently to glance behind him. Nothing was following that he could see. The morning sunlight seemed to filter down through a pall, however, which made the shadows denser and more resilient. There was no true brightness, even out in the open; instead, everything seemed as if he were viewing it through murky water, such that details were lost at a distance.

  He resisted the urge to hawk and spit, resisted the urge to curse. As they drew ever higher, he realized that he felt feverish, but when he touched his brow it felt clammy and cold. He wanted to loosen his clothing. Instead, he focused on his breathing, paying attention to each inhalation and exhalation, making them as steady and calm as he could. He stared at the rocky ground just behind Kethe's boots.

  Distracted, fighting for calm, he didn't hear the sound of something coming up behind him until it was far too late.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  They found the grand library two levels below their sleeping quarters. It was almost too much for Audsley, who despite Tiron's strict rules broke away from the group to run forward a dozen steps, his heart rising and his hands reaching out as if to grasp the thousands of books that stretched away into the darkness. In comparison to the vast spaces they had already traversed, the ceiling of this room was of modest height, and it was hard to determine if it was one extended room or a connected series of chambers due to the nature of the short walls or broad columns that broke his line of view.

  "Magister." Tiron's voice was a curt command. "Stop."

  Audsley forced his feet to take him no closer. He wanted to race up to the first set of shelves and peer at the titles, to divine what the subject matter was, to pull a book down at random and let some ancient person speak to him across the centuries. Each and every book was a codified voice, a record of a dead person's thoughts and research, their worldview and opinions. This was not a chamber filled with dead paper, but a library of souls, for it took passion to pen a tome as thick as these. It took dedication and a true belief that what was being written down was worth the writing, was worth the months if not years of careful and scrupulous penmanship. Who was he to deny these ancients and not read their words? To not let their thoughts flow freely after centuries of neglect?

  Tiron stepped up beside him, sword drawn, face harsh. He'd changed since Meffrid's disappearance, growing more stern and strict. "No breaking away from the group. Indicate where you wish to go, and we shall move as one. Understood?"

  A side of Audsley rankled at the tone. This was a library. An essential part of his soul understood that no harm could come to him here. While the rest of Starkadr might be alien and averse to their presence, this was familiar; this was holy ground. Beyond that, this was Audsley's realm. Here, he was a Noussian in his element, and it stung to have an Ennoian tell him what he might and mig
ht not do.

  But Audsley schooled his features and nodded. "As you wish, Ser Tiron. Excuse my enthusiasm. If we may proceed?"

  Tiron was slowly scanning the far reaches of the room. In some places, Audsley observed, you could see for a great distance, through six or seven of these semi-chambers, the line of sight unobstructed by the broad columns and bookcases. In other places you could only see into the next chamber before a wall of books cut off your vision. It was impossible to tell how large the room was, but Audsley felt on an innate level that it was vast.

  "Ser," said Bogusch, voice clipped. The man pointed with his sword.

  Turning, Audsley refrained from a gasp of horror. A blast of magic or some terrible gout of flame has destroyed an entire section of one wall, charring countless books into shriveled black husks on their stone shelves. Bodies lay curled and withered on the ground where the fire had caught them.

  "Look like the fighting made its way here as well," said Tiron. "All of Starkadr must have been caught up in it. Proceed carefully, men. We're in no rush."

  Audsley led them to the closest collection of books. There had to be a key, a map of some kind that would help one navigate the shelves, to determine what lay where for ease of reference. Tapping his chin, he examined the spines. No codes or numbering marked the books in any uniform way. The language was ancient Sigean, unfortunately, so he pulled down a dusty yellow book and ran his fingers gently over the clothbound cover before cracking it open.

  Tiron waited a couple of minutes until his impatience got the better of him. "And? What is it?"

  "As far as I can tell, a work of history," said Audsley, turning a page. "A history that predates my own knowledge of the world. It describes a nation once known as Alaon. According to the author, it had been but recently conquered and added to the expanse of Ennoia when this book was written."