A Fire in the North

by David Bilsborough

  Over the past nine days both he and Methuselech had picked up some of their steeds’ strange language, mostly functional words and phrases necessary for the simple tasks at hand. But as yet even limited conversation with them was impossible. For their part, the Paranduzes seemed quite happy to obey the wishes of their new master, Methuselech, which for now just meant getting him and Gapp to the town of Wrythe as fast as possible. Gapp had the feeling that, even if they could, the two of them would never have questioned Methuselech’s word. When Methuselech had asked the Vetter chief Englarielle for the fastest steeds in Cyne-Tregva, Hwald and Finan were what he had been given, Cyne-Tregva’s finest, both under strict orders to do whatever Methuselech wanted. As far as the Paranduzes were concerned, that was all they needed to know. They just ran as instructed, and any words they might voice were nearly always directed solely at Methuselech – never to the esquire.

  Gapp felt alone, thoroughly isolated and cut off. He felt more alone now than at any time since leaving Nordwas. What with the silent Paranduzes, his hound and the obsessed Methuselech Xilvafloese, who drove them all on like a fanatic, there was hardly any conversation. He felt like little more than excess baggage. Why had Methuselech even bothered to bring him along? Why did they always have to travel so fast? And what were they supposed to do once they got to Wrythe? None of it made any sense.

  Gapp jumped as a great lump of warm wet meat plunged into his ear, and he felt a blast of hot fishy breath over his face. It was the forest hound, tonguing him awake again.

  ‘Thanks a lot, Shlepp,’ he sighed. ‘That’s just what I needed.’

  He patted the massive hound roughly and inspected him. Clearly Shlepp had already breakfasted, and well, too, judging by the fresh blood on his snout. This dog that he had known for only a month he felt to be his only remaining friend now. Loyal, fearless, ferocious Shlepp. Four feet tall at the shoulder, the largest of Yulfric’s pack.

  But thinking about Yulfric only made Gapp feel guilty. How did the forest giant feel about losing his number-one hound? He had taken Gapp into his home when he had found the youth lost, alone and starving in the depths of Fron-Wudu forest, given him food and shelter, taught him much about forest lore. And when they had travelled north to hunt for the great Blackfruit of Perchtamma-Uinfjoetli, the stupid boy had repaid him by wandering off too far and getting caught by the Jordiske. If it hadn’t been for Shlepp, the fastest of the pack, the only one to penetrate through to the Jordiske’s underground lair, Gapp would now be dead.

  Well, Shlepp had rescued him, but they had never had the chance to find their way back to the giant. For they had been found instead by the Vetters, and taken back to Cyne-Tregva – where Methuselech had also ended up by chance.

  At least that part of it had not been Gapp’s fault, he knew, but he could not help feeling guilty about effectively taking Yulfric’s best hound away from him. And how did Shlepp feel about all this? He had never asked to come along on this mad journey to the north. Wouldn’t he rather be with his master Yulfric and the rest of the pack than with a weak boy, two multi-part freaks, and – probably the oddest one of all – Methuselech?

  Yes, there was trouble there too. From the outset, Shlepp had shown an uncharacteristic mistrust of Methuselech. Right from day one he had refused to look Nibulus’s friend in the eye, and as the days progressed so his antipathy grew. Only last night Gapp had awoken in the dark to the sound of fearful snarling, and had had to step in to prevent Shlepp from ripping the mercenary to shreds. Everything was subdued for the moment, as the two of them, Methuselech and Shlepp, kept a wary distance from each other. But what had provoked the hound’s attack in the first instance, Gapp just could not begin to understand. However, the problem, he sensed, was not with the dog, but with Methuselech himself.

  Gapp was becoming increasingly perplexed with his companion as the days went by. Before Methuselech had fallen into the Valley of Sluagh, they had travelled together for more than a month, endured hardship and pain, fought side by side. Men become well acquainted with each other in such times, and Gapp had learnt beyond doubt that Methuselech was no zealot. It was camaraderie, not causes, quests or crusades, that had brought him along on Nibulus’s campaign – not to mention the promise of cash.

  So why all this commitment now? What was it that drove this mercenary on with such fanatical urgency? And where had the old blithe, jocular manner gone?

  Methuselech these days kept himself apart, and especially since the boy no longer had his spectacles, Gapp had little chance to study his companion in much detail. But once or twice he had got close enough to look into the other man’s eyes and noticed an intensity in them that had not been evident before, a disturbing look more usually seen among fanatical monks.

  Then there was the matter of Englarielle and the Vetters. What on earth had Methuselech been thinking when he had told them about the quest? And not only that, but fired them up so, telling them tales of high adventure, of quests, of rawgrs, of things the poor Vetters could never have any real understanding of? Despite their bestial appearance those hairy little imps were excellent hunters, agile and ingenious, ideally suited to their enviroment. But they had no knowledge of the world beyond their isolated forest realm. So for Methuselech to deliberately go stirring them up about the Second Coming of Drauglir, actively encouraging them to join in with the mission, launching an entire war party of them off up to the Far North, to the Last Shore, where they were to rendezvous with Methuselech and Gapp later, well, it seemed like exploitation of the worst variety, and Gapp could only see disaster for the Vetterym in the very near future. Many times he had tried to ask Methuselech these questions, but he always evaded any attempt at such interrogation and, when they were not riding, kept himself very much to himself, brooding. Always at a distance.

  Yes, that was it: he never allowed the boy to approach him closely. It only now occurred to Gapp how Methuselech always ate and slept several yards away from him. Actually, Gapp was grateful for this, because Methuselech smelt. He smelt badly. Of course, they all stank, but this was worse. That rancidity that occasionally wafted across to him on warmer nights was like the smell of decay. Gapp would have loved to see beneath the tattered clothes that this once-vainglorious desert warrior kept wrapped so closely about his person. Were those wounds he still bore gangrenous? They certainly smelt it.

  But Shlepp knew something for sure. Even now Gapp could see the hatred in his hound’s eyes as he glared at the mercenary across the clearing, could feel the tenseness in him, hear that strange whine, almost beyond hearing, gathering in his throat.

  He followed Shlepp’s stare, and his heart almost stopped when he saw that Methuselech was returning that wicked gaze, with venom even worse.

  That same day, their tenth of non-stop riding, was the worst for Gapp. The previous night’s sleep had done him no good, and it was all he could do to stay on Finan’s back. True they were riding hard, as always, but even so Gapp could not understand why he felt quite so utterly drained and hazy.

  So he felt immense relief when they encountered the woodcutter, and Methuselech decided to call a halt to their day’s ride a couple of hours earlier than usual. The woodcutter himself was a strange little chap, just a solitary Hauger who appeared to live by himself in a small log cabin. It lay in a little clearing at the end of a half-hidden track that wound through dense fern and conifers. They would never have realized it was there at all had not the Paranduzes smelt the smoke. Investigating, they had followed the overgrown path and found the hut and its little dome-shaped charcoal kiln. Piles of logs and tools were scattered about, and from one window the little man’s face had peered intently out at them.

  He did not seem particularly alarmed by the approach of such an outlandish and ill-assorted group. This did not surprise Gapp, however, for he sensed full well the mettle of any that would dwell alone here in Fron-Wudu. They needed to be as hard as the frozen trees they lived among, and as resourceful and cunning as Old Reynard himself. Onc
e the Hauger had satisfied himself that they were not hostile – though he had nothing worth stealing – he offered them his hospitality for the night.

  They shared some food, and once Gapp had washed the grime of ten days’ travel from him with a bucket of cold water in the outhouse, he gratefully accepted the offer of a hessian and wood-chip mattress, and fell immediately asleep.

  Sometime during the night he awoke on being bitten painfully by an enormous beetle. He crushed the insect and scooped its contents into his mouth, and, just as he was about to turn over and go back to sleep, overheard Methuselech talking quietly to the woodcutter. Gapp’s ears instantly pricked up. Methuselech and the Hauger were conversing in a strange droning language that Gapp had never heard before. Methuselech’s voice sounded hoarse and cracked, as it had done for two days now and, in speaking this language, almost entirely unrecognizable. With no idea of what they were talking about, Gapp again felt that increasing sense of loneliness and isolation.

  He peered out at them from under his blanket as they sat together within the orange halo of a single candle, talking haltingly but earnestly. Just listen to them! Chatting like old friends, the boy reflected. Why am I always kept in the dark?

  He was in fact beginning to feel angry. Since being reunited with Methuselech, he had been told virtually nothing. Day after day their leader drove them on as if they were the Wild Hunt, spurning all attempts at questioning. It felt to Gapp as if there was a conspiracy going on, and he, for some reason, was being kept deliberately out of it.

  Maybe that’s it, he pondered. Maybe it is a conspiracy. Maybe even Nibulus is in on it but has opted not to tell me. I wonder how many of the others are – or were – involved. Probably not Bolldhe or Appa – and definitely not Wodeman – they were always outsiders. But Finwald, on the other hand . . .

  Now there’s a thing; it must all have something to do with that ‘dead snake’ of his, two years ago in the forest giant’s stockade.

  Yes, that had been troubling Gapp ever since the giant had told him about it. But Yulfric had been adamant: two years ago a man called Finwald, matching exactly the description of the Finwald, had been wandering lost and starving in the forest. Apparently on a preaching mission to Wrythe. All alone.

  It seemed so incredible, so out of character. Finwald was simply not the kind of man who would attempt to travel through all those miles of wilderness on his own. And he was carrying – according to Yulfric – something long and undulating, like a dead snake, wrapped up tight in a sack that he guarded very closely. Why had Finwald never mentioned any of this earlier venture to his companions? It was not as though such an extraordinary undertaking could have just slipped his mind.

  It was this subterfuge which Gapp could never quite come to terms with: that a man seemingly as decent and open as Finwald should have kept such secrets from his friends. And when he had told this to Methuselech, well . . . He could still picture clearly the man’s expression, that horror in his eyes when, back in Cyne-Tregva, Gapp had told him about Finwald’s secret, about the snake-shaped package. His desperation to continue the quest had at that moment multiplied tenfold. That must be what this was all about. That was what had propelled the pair of them upon this mad journey he was now enduring.

  And now they were almost at Wrythe, it was all coming together. Gapp tried to think things through. But what with his exhaustion and that strange vagueness of his mind these few days past, the more he tried to organize his thoughts, the more hopelessly lost he became. Through the droning of the two men conversing and the red glow of the candle flame, his mind drifted lazily, hazily. It was as if he were trying to find his way through a labyrinth but had already taken several wrong turnings. The deeper he went, the harder it was to retrace his steps. But all the while a writhing snake of fire danced before his tired eyes.

  Then weariness took him, and he drifted off into a troubled sleep, a sleep in which he was being chased through a maze of stony passageways by a robed Hauger with an antlered head and a huge axe.

  ‘So what did he say?’ Gapp asked Methuselech as they saddled up the next morning. It was a crisp day, but they could smell rain on the wind and wanted to be away as soon as possible.

  For once, Methuselech seemed happy to talk. ‘Our small friend,’ he informed the boy, ‘was just telling me about Wrythe.’

  ‘He knows about the place?’

  ‘He does indeed. And, from what he tells me, we should be there sometime tomorrow.’

  Gapp felt a prodigious weight begin to lift from his soul, but instantly checked that before it rose too far. ‘You’re certain he knows what he’s talking about?’

  ‘He can’t be far wrong. He speaks a little of their tongue, so we must be fairly close.’

  Methuselech was strapping a sizeable bag of provisions onto Hwald’s back. He had paid for it with one of his golden ear-chains, a sacrifice that for some reason made Gapp feel rather uncomfortable. They were especially precious to the Asyphe, focal items making up his dashing image, not mere baubles to be casually used as common currency. Whatever had happened to that care and attention Xilva had previously paid to his appearance?

  ‘I didn’t know you spoke their language,’ Gapp probed, somewhat provocatively. But Methuselech simply smiled at him and continued packing. Undeterred, the boy pressed on. ‘What can we expect to find when we get there, then?’

  Methuselech paused. ‘From what he says it seems the place has changed a lot since I was last— since I last heard about it.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘In every way, I’d say. If I were you, I’d forget all the old stories and songs about fierce noble warriors living there. The Fasces alliance that defeated Drauglir was five hundred years ago, and the Oghain residing there haven’t had much to do with the outside world since then. They do a little trade with anyone that might pass by, and of course there’s those meddling little rats always sticking their prying noses into Vaagenfjord Maw . . .’ He paused and shook his head violently. ‘But from what I can gather from yon Hauger, Wrythe has “darkened”.’ He stifled an odd little chuckle. ‘Only what they deserve!’ he whispered through gritted teeth.

  ‘You think we’ll have trouble?’

  ‘Oh there’ll be trouble all right, for some anyway.’

  ‘Beg pardon?’

  Methuselech looked up suddenly. He had not meant to say this last so loudly. ‘The woodcutter counsels us to go by cart,’ he went on, ignoring Gapp’s questioning look. ‘A heavy cart, preferably armour-plated, roofed over and with sturdy shutters. He suggests we don’t stop or slow down long enough for the locals to climb on, and if we have to wind down the shutters, not to do so within biting distance of them.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘The Hauger seems so. “Don’t let the sun go down on you in Wrythe.” That’s what he said.’

  ‘Sounds mighty encouraging,’ Gapp muttered.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry too much,’ Methuselech commented. ‘They sound like they’ve become so primitive now they probably don’t even possess proper weapons any more. I expect they make do with shards of old bone lashed to branches. Nothing sophisticated.’

  ‘Right, nothing to worry about then,’ Gapp replied sarcastically.

  Methuselech ignored that. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘What?’ said Gapp, somewhat taken aback by this sudden display of concern. Then he thought about it. ‘Um, tired, I suppose.’

  Gapp had never been one to court sympathy, but even by his standards this was probably the biggest understatement he had ever made about himself. In truth he felt dizzy, disorientated and befuddled with exhaustion, and although last night’s sleep had for once refreshed him a little, he was still sapped of any real vitality.

  ‘Hmn, that’s too bad,’ Methuselech frowned, ‘because I want to ride with the greatest haste today.’

  Gapp’s jaw dropped. ‘WHAT? You mean even faster than usual?’

  ‘We have no choice. We h
ave to reach Wrythe before our friends do . . . or, better still, at the same time. If what the woodcutter says about the men of Wrythe is true, I don’t fancy hanging around in that place any longer than I have to.’

  ‘But what d’you really think our chances of meeting up with them are?’ Gapp asked earnestly. ‘They might not even still be alive.’

  ‘If they are alive,’ Methuselech muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, ‘then we must be there to meet them. Even if it means waiting for them out in the woods, away from the locals.’

  ‘And if they’ve already passed through?’

  ‘That,’ he admitted, ‘is my greatest fear. Why do you think I’ve been cracking the whip so intensely? But if they have, we’ll have to follow on as swiftly as possible.’

  ‘Meth,’ Gapp tried, though he knew it would be useless, ‘what is this all about?’

  The desert man stopped what he was doing and glared fervidly northwards. ‘Justice,’ he whispered.

  Justice? Gapp considered, by now utterly dumbfounded. What in hell’s name is that supposed to mean? Maybe he really is mad. Maybe he was even before we lost him back in the mountains . . . That would certainly explain why he gets on so well with Peladanes.

  But the exhaustion had caught up with him, and all he managed was, ‘What the heck are you talking about, old man?!’

  He did not even have time to flinch away. With the speed of a chameleon’s tongue Methuselech had grabbed Gapp by the shirt, and before the boy knew what was happening, he found himself dangling in front of the mercenary like a rabbit. As their eyes locked, Gapp realized for certain that there really was something wrong with his companion.