by Jen Williams
‘I knew it!’
There was a flicker of light from the far corner, and suddenly Estenn was there. Wydrin could have sworn that the corner was empty seconds before. The woman’s eyes were wide, a look of triumph on her face.
‘How long have you been there?’ asked Wydrin, straining to look over her own chest. Estenn ignored her, instead stalking over to stand in front of the Spinner, who was cowering in the corner again.
‘The key you wished to keep from me? I have it.’ Estenn was utterly unafraid of the Spinner, facing him down like he was a frightened child. ‘That staff is an object of Edeian and Edenier, an artefact of the ancient times. It is my key, sent by the gods themselves. Do you dare to deny it, even now?’
The Spinner shivered all over. The pale mask wavered and dipped. Wydrin wriggled back and forth, trying to put some distance between her and the two of them.
‘You mustn’t, you mustn’t.’ The Spinner’s voice was a low rumble. ‘The cycle has ended, and a new one has started. If you go back, if you travel through the Eye, it will, it will—’
‘It will work,’ spat Estenn. She had drawn one of her long curved swords, and as she spoke she jabbed at the Spinner, puncturing her words with stabbing motions. ‘The gods have delivered me the staff and this woman, because it is my destiny to save them. I will correct the mistakes of the past, and our delicate human world will tremble.’ She turned back, as though remembering that Wydrin was there. ‘You, Wydrin the Godless, I will save for Res’ni,’ she said, gesturing with the sword. ‘Yours will be the first flesh she feasts upon.’
Wydrin laid her head back on the ground. ‘Oh good. Thanks for that.’
Estenn gave a brilliant smile, and stalked out of the chamber. Wydrin could hear her shouting to her guards, issuing orders in a tone that allowed no argument.
‘If I could just go a few weeks without meeting some gods-obsessed lunatic that would be—’ Wydrin stopped. The Spinner had dropped the mask, and was busily covering himself in the blankets and furs again. The giant creature was shivering all over.
‘What’s wrong? What did she mean, anyway, about passing through the Eye? I’m assuming she’s been on this cursed island too long and it’s pickled her head. Right?’
There was no answer from the Spinner. Instead he covered himself with the last of the blankets, and grew utterly still. Wydrin lay in darkness, listening to the gentle trickle of earth from the ceiling.
27
Sebastian moved silently through the trees, his eyes locked on his target.
He was distantly aware that it was easier to do this now. When he had first climbed the cliff into this wild stretch of nature, he had felt himself very much apart from this alien landscape; he was an intruder, as obvious as a cow in a field full of cabbages. But now his skin was streaked with mud and dirt, his clothes pocked with burs and smeared with pollen. His hair smelled of the jungle itself, his beard now as wild as it had ever been. And more than that. Once he had allowed himself to feel the silver thread in his blood that linked him to Oster, he could feel that silver thread everywhere. The island thrummed with it: there was so much dragon-like life, and it was growing stronger all the time. He was a part of it all, and his old life seemed less important all the time.
Oster had spotted the man they were following with his keen amber eyes whilst in his dragon form. They knew he was one of the men they were after, because he wore the black-and-white face paint of the people who had taken the Spinner. They had been following him for an hour, assuming that he would lead them back to his camp, but he had paused and it looked as though he was building a small fire. Next to him he felt Oster grow very still.
‘He has stopped.’ His voice was little more than a murmur, but Sebastian could hear the disappointment in it keenly. Or perhaps he felt it. ‘We will not find his camp today. Why must humans keep stopping? You are so easily distracted.’
‘No,’ said Sebastian. He couldn’t have said what it was that made him feel that they should hurry. Perhaps it was the undercurrent of Oster’s confusion, mixing with his own blood, or perhaps it was that growing surge of awareness of everything around him. Something was happening on this island, and it concerned the missing Spinner; of that Sebastian was certain. Waiting until morning to continue to track this man did not seem like the most prudent course of action. ‘We will have to force it out of him.’
Without pausing to think about it further, Sebastian broke cover and ran directly at the man, who currently had his back to them both as he prepared his fire. Hearing the crackle of undergrowth, he started to turn, but Sebastian was already there. He twinned his hands together and brought them down as a single fist on the back of the man’s head. Due to the angle of the man’s shoulders it was an awkward blow, but Sebastian was a good head taller than he was, and significantly heavier, and the man collapsed to the ground with a startled ‘Oof’. Before he could do anything more than start to turn over, Sebastian gave him a sharp kick in the ribs and then settled his boot on his neck.
‘Hello,’ he said, ‘I need to ask you some questions.’
The man reached for a sword on his belt, so Sebastian settled his full weight on his neck. The man made some strangled noises.
‘Make him tell us about the Spinner, and then kill him in the dirt.’ Oster appeared next to him. In the low evening light, he almost resembled his ghost-self again. ‘Humans should return to the dirt.’
‘Only if he turns out to be less than useful.’ Leaning down, Sebastian removed the sword from the man’s belt and slipped it through his own. It felt good to be armed again. There was also a bow and a set of arrows in a quiver on the ground, but Sebastian had never mastered archery. ‘Are you going to be useful?’ He eased off the pressure slightly so that the man could answer.
‘What do you want?’ spat the man.
‘My associate here is looking for a friend of his, and we have reason to believe that you people know where he is.’ Sebastian shifted his weight again. ‘He is known as the Spinner.’
The man’s eyes widened and he tried to roll away again, so Sebastian kicked him firmly in the small of his back. He howled with pain.
‘That’s not the answer I’m looking for.’
The scout took a deep breath. ‘I am a true child of Euriale, and you can’t force me to do anything! The Emissary will bring the old gods back, and then you will all cower before us.’
Sebastian glanced over to Oster. He showed no reaction to the man’s words. Sebastian reached down and dragged the scout to his feet, giving him a brisk shake as he did so. ‘What are you talking about, bringing the old gods back?’
The man’s eyes brightened until it looked like he was running a fever. ‘She can do it! The Spinner told her everything she needed to know, and she will bring their glory back. The world will be built again in their image, and the children of Euriale will be at the heart of it.’
‘You do have the Spinner, then.’ Sebastian pushed the man against a nearby tree, briskly rapping his head against the bark. Dimly, he was aware that he didn’t want to be doing this. Wasn’t a life of violence what he was trying to walk away from? Yet the surge of Oster’s emotions was impossible to resist. His anger was satisfying, powerful. ‘A simple yes would have done. Where is he being kept?’
The scout laughed and attempted to spit at Sebastian, succeeding only in dribbling down himself. ‘I’m not telling you anything. The Emissary was right, we are the chosen, and the rest of you will burn in the fires of—’
Next to him, Sebastian sensed the pulse of shimmering light that meant Oster was changing his shape. The scout’s eyes grew so wide he thought they might fall out of his head.
‘As you can see, my associate isn’t in the mood for lectures.’
Oster’s long snout shot forward, opening slightly to reveal rows and rows of gleamingly white teeth. The scout screamed: a high, wavering sound of pure terror. Sebastian shook him again, forcing the man to meet his gaze.
‘What are you?
’ the scout burbled.
Sebastian kept his voice as steady as possible. ‘You could help us to find out. Or I could feed you to him. It’s up to you.’
Through the silver link between them, Sebastian could feel how much Oster wanted to kill this man. We need him, he tried to say back. We need him for now.
‘The creature is in our camp, in a chamber under the ground. The Emissary has been keeping it there while she questions it.’
‘Great.’ Sebastian grabbed a fistful of the man’s tunic and yanked him away from the tree. ‘You can show us where it is.’
28
Devinia lay on her back, listening to the liquid sound of oars slicing through the water. She and Augusta were prisoners on the Banshee’s largest raider, The Dragon’s Maw, a sleek little vessel that sat high in the water. The sails were tied away and the Banshee’s strongest oarsmen were at their posts, pushing the ship on as smooth as silk. They moved with efficiency and strength, and leapt quickly to their captain’s orders. It was all very annoying.
‘’Ere, sit up.’ Augusta poked her in the shoulder with a blistered boot. ‘I need to change the dressing on that wound of yours.’
Devinia shifted her eyes. The old medic was framed in sunshine, so that her grey curls looked like a silver halo. ‘It’s a waste of linen, old woman.’
Augusta nudged her again, none too gently this time. ‘Less of the old, Red, or I’ll show you what a proper gut wound is like.’
Reluctantly, Devinia sat up. Around her, the black cliffs moved smoothly past on either side. The rain they’d seen earlier had passed as quickly as it had arrived, and now the sky was blue and it was difficult to believe that there had been any rain at all. Augusta wasted no time in yanking up Devinia’s shirt. She poked around with her short, blunt fingers, muttering under her breath. Kellan had at least had their arms untied, as though to suggest that an injured woman and an elderly medic were of no real threat. It was insulting, but there were heavily armed pirates to all sides and their chances of escape were very slim indeed.
‘It’s knitting together better than I’d have expected,’ Augusta said eventually. ‘You always were a tough little bugger. It’d take more than one stab in the guts to put you down, I’ve always said that.’
‘What you’ve always said is that if you weren’t around, I’d have been chopped up into bits and sold off for leather years ago.’
‘Hrm. That as well.’ Augusta pulled out her own shirt and began to carefully tear a long strip from the bottom edge. When that was done she tore off another piece and wadded it up into a soft square. Devinia closed her eyes tight, and opened them again. The pain in her stomach had lessened, but the loss of blood was still making her head swim.
‘What are you doing?’
‘You see any medical supplies around, do you? You imagine Big Gob over there is going to give us any?’ Devinia glanced over at the Banshee. The woman stood in the prow of her ship, watching the waters ahead of them. The long coat she wore was surely too hot for the stifling weather, but she kept it on anyway. It was all part of her image, like the red greasepaint.
‘I suppose not.’
‘Stop your bloody whining then.’ Pushing her arms out the way, Augusta pressed the pad to Devinia’s wound, before securing it as best she could with the long strip of linen. ‘It’s better than nothing.’
Devinia lowered her voice. ‘Wydrin is out there, somewhere. Out in the wilds of that jungle.’ It wasn’t quite a question.
Augusta sniffed. ‘You’re asking me what I think happened to her? And how am I supposed to bloody know? Flying mad people, come down here, snatch her away in the middle of a boarding. And then that lordly piece with the white hair takes my bloody knife and leaves us to it.’ Augusta settled back, glaring around at the pirates that surrounded them. To either side of The Dragon’s Maw were two more narrow ships, both showing some minor damage but nothing significant. They were moving faster now, as some of Ristanov’s crew had been left on board the Poison Chalice. Not Kellan though. He was still here. Devinia had seen him earlier, poring over her own map. ‘What I can tell you, Red, is that Wydrin has an even thicker bloody hide than you, and she inherited the infernal luck of Pete Threefellows, too. I don’t know who took her or why, but I reckon they’ll be regretting it shortly.’
Devinia felt a smile crack her dried lips. ‘That’s true enough.’
The old woman shifted on the deck, sweat beading the sallow skin on her cheeks and forehead. Augusta refused to complain about it, but sitting out unprotected in the heat was punishing for her. The Banshee’s men only seemed to bring them food and water as an afterthought, and the heat was relentless, even when the cliffs afforded a little shade. ‘’Ere, what’s this racket now?’
There was a volley of shouts from the ship ahead of them, and Devinia looked up to see the air filled with golden light. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
The black cliffs to either side were covered in what initially looked like a natural formation of gold crystals. Long and angular, they shone so brightly in the sun that they were difficult to look at, and clustered on the rock like barnacles. To the right, the formation was so thick near the top of the cliff that it loomed over them, looking impossibly heavy, while to the left the crystals were thicker nearer the water. Devinia sat up, trying to get a better look. The crystals on that side almost seemed to form steps, and they led up to a dark hole in the rock.
‘Have you ever seen anything like that?’ she breathed to Augusta.
‘Course I bloody ain’t. I’ve never seen gold that looked like that either. What do you reckon it is?’
‘Riches.’ A shadow passed over them, and the Banshee was there, a grin splitting her ruddy mouth. ‘Exactly what we came here for, yes? Get up, Devinia the Grey. I’m putting a landing party together, and you get to be the first over the threshold, just in case there are any exciting traps or creatures waiting. A great honour I do you, yes?’
Devinia curled her lip, ready to tell the Banshee to go fuck herself, but the captain slid a throwing knife from her belt and casually turned the blade towards Augusta.
‘I wouldn’t refuse the honour, Devinia the Grey,’ she said mildly. ‘Or I will have to amuse myself some other way.’
Devinia pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the way her poorly healed wound tugged at her skin. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
They bound her hands behind her back again, tighter than was necessary, and then Kellan led her to a small skiff, where two other men waited, all riddled with scars and twitchy with gold-lust; Ristanov did not apparently feel the need to accompany them on this first exploration. They made the short trip across to the golden ledges and stepped awkwardly out onto the slick gold crystals. With Kellan coming up behind her, Devinia climbed up each step with some difficulty, her tied hands making it difficult to balance, until she stood at the entrance to a short dark corridor carved directly into the rock. At her back, Kellan ordered the two pirates to bring their torches. Buttery light filled the passageway and a door at the end became clear. The wood looked a deep dark red to Devinia’s eyes, and it had been carved with multiple skulls, bulging out of the wood in alarmingly life-like fashion. The light did not seem to reach into their eye sockets. At about waist height, several skeletal hands reached out to form three shallow bowls.
‘On you go,’ said Kellan. ‘The captain was very insistent that you should go first.’
Devinia bit down her reply, promising herself bloody vengeance at a later date, and slowly walked up the short tunnel, taking care to walk as lightly as possible in case there was anything underfoot that might trigger a trap. She thought of Wydrin, and how the girl had made this sort of nonsense her stock in trade. Piracy was much simpler.
Up close, Devinia could see that the carvings of the screaming skulls were unspeakably old. Rot was evident in several places, turning the red wood flaky and weak, and she could see hundreds of tiny holes where numerous insects had left
their mark. The cupped hands were dusted with what looked like the remains of ancient offerings; dark threads of what might once have been silk, and several old coins, rusted into flat black discs. Hesitantly, she leaned her shoulder against the wood and pushed. Nothing moved, but she could feel a faint breeze through the cracks in the wood.
‘There’s a space behind here,’ she said.
The two pirate meatheads elbowed her to one side, inspecting the door themselves.
‘There’s no handle,’ said one of them. His nose had been broken so many times it was now more of an afterthought than a feature.
‘Perhaps we put something in these bowls,’ said the other one. The parts of his face that weren’t criss-crossed with scars gave home to a carroty beard. ‘We put something in the bowls and it’s an offering to the gods, see, and then the door swings open with a loud creak, right, and beyond it is a glittering room full of gems and gold and winsome priestesses, wearing silk and that.’
Devinia raised an eyebrow. This one had imagination at least. ‘Or you could kick it down,’ she suggested. ‘The thing is nearly rotten through.’
‘Do it,’ snapped Kellan.
The carroty one stood to one side, looking sheepish, while the other lifted a meaty leg and proceeded to kick the door in. It took only two blows to break the door, and a further three to clear the wood out of the way so that they could pass through. Devinia felt a faint pang at the loss of that piece of history, but what lay beyond the door chased that quickly from her mind. Next to her, the scarred pirate blew air noisily through his lips.
‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘I was only bloody right.’
The only thing the chamber was missing was a gaggle of winsome priestesses. It was carved from the black rock of the cliffs, and filled from corner to corner with gold; heaps of gold coins crested against the walls, ornate bowls studded with gems were overflowing with jewellery, while chests stood open to display more riches. The torchlight shone off the gold and filled the chamber with an opulent glow.
