by Jen Williams
‘Did I tell you to speak?’ said Wydrin, but with little bite. Her attention was taken by the scene in the clearing. The remaining members of Estenn’s fanatics – mostly, from the looks of them, the old and the young and the sick – were busily building a shrine in the middle of the square. The tanning racks and cooking fires had all been cleared away, and the small wooden shacks they lived in had been torn down; the wood was being repurposed to build this new message to the gods, alongside what looked like an awful lot of human bones, picked clean and carefully bleached until they shone white. Wydrin saw a great wooden dragon curling around in a circle, its wings made of human thigh bones, splayed against the ground and bound together with sheets of what looked like thin pinkish leather – she didn’t want to dwell too long on what it might actually be. Inside the circle created by the dragon was a tall wooden woman, her roughly carved face still oddly beautiful, with braided jungle vines falling from the back of her head making up Y’Gria’s famous green hair; her gown was a clattering weave of human rib bones. Off to one side Wydrin saw what must have been their depiction of O’rin; a squat figure covered in a cloak of glossy leaves, its head that of a great owl, with two plates of shining metal as his eyes. He didn’t look like that, she thought, distractedly. They’ve got his beak all wrong.
And rising above the rest of them, two enormous wolves, their mouths open to bare snarling teeth, surely collected from every type of animal that inhabited this stinking island, along with many donated by those men and women foolish enough to venture beyond Two-Birds. One was painted white, the other black. Res’na and Res’ni, twin gods of order and chaos.
As they stood there, one or two of the cultists noticed them, and turned to watch, although no one seemed especially alarmed.
‘You have escaped the chamber,’ said one old man. He had plaited his beard into two points, one side of which he had covered with thick black paint. More of the cultists turned towards them, and Wydrin pressed the dagger a little closer to the girl’s throat.
‘Very observant,’ said Wydrin. ‘I can see why Estenn keeps you people around. Where’s everyone else? Is everyone in this clearing? Answer my questions or see your little friend here bleed into the dirt.’
The old man shrugged. ‘It hardly matters now,’ he said in a patient tone of voice, as though explaining something to a well-meaning idiot. ‘Kill the girl, or don’t – she has been a true servant of the gods, and they will not abandon her. The new age of the Twins starts soon.’ He took a breath, and then continued. ‘The Emissary took our best fighters with her to the Eye of Euriale. As the new age approaches, the island itself convulses with joy, and it can be a dangerous time, even for one as gifted as her. Those of us who cannot fight or travel swiftly, it is our job to prepare the first message to the gods, so that they might recognise their true servants.’ He gestured to the elaborate shrine taking shape behind him. Next to him, several other men and women nodded in agreement. ‘This is our last task.’
Wydrin looked around at the dismantled shelters, the filled-in fire pits.
‘What do you expect to happen?’ asked Frith next to her. ‘Truly?’
The man with the pointed beard drew himself up to his full height. ‘We will be risen up, as the chosen ones, and live with the gods themselves.’
Wydrin barked laughter, and gestured at the shrine with her dagger. ‘If Y’Ruen suddenly appears back in the world, she will burn you all up in the blink of an eye. She won’t even see any of this. She cares nothing for you. She cares nothing for human lives at all. None of them do.’ Save for O’rin, maybe, she added silently.
The old man peeled back his lip in a sneer. ‘No, it is you who will burn.’
Wydrin shook her head in disgust. ‘Fine, whatever makes you happy, I suppose. How long ago did Estenn and her favourite idiots leave?’
‘At dawn yesterday,’ replied the old man. ‘It will be very soon now. Very soon.’
Wydrin took the dagger away from the girl’s throat and shoved her forward, as hard as she could. She sprawled into the dirt with a cry.
‘We are already more than a day behind,’ said Frith in a low voice. ‘We have little hope of catching up with her, let alone getting to the Eye before Estenn.’
‘Actually,’ the Spinner cleared his throat behind them, ‘I had an idea about that.’
32
‘Are you sure that this is wise?’
Frith stood watching Wydrin oil her sword, carefully cleaning it and its scabbard before reattaching it to her belt, alongside the small knife with the mother-of-pearl shark on the handle. They had found her weapons in a storage hut off to one side of the square; none of the cultists left behind by Estenn made any move to stop them, so absorbed were they in the completion of their strange shrine. As they feared, there had been no sign of Frith’s staff; Estenn would have ensured that she took her key to travelling to the past with her.
‘I don’t see that we have much choice, not if we want to catch up.’ Wydrin held up Frostling, balancing it on the palm of her hand as she peered down the blade. ‘And the Spinner wants to help.’
Frith looked up. They were outside the settlement now, in a thick copse of trees. The Spinner seemed to prefer being up in the canopy to walking along the ground, and he hung above them, a dark nightmarish shape half hidden in the branches. There was, Frith couldn’t help noticing, a twisted mass of scars where his cluster of legs joined his body – it must have been quite the job to remove the Spinner’s leg, but it seemed Estenn had been determined. Frith felt a slow spark of anger in his chest, and he prepared to nurture it.
‘You will be perfectly safe,’ came the Spinner’s querulous voice. ‘It is the swiftest way to traverse the isle of the gods.’
Frith sighed. Wydrin, having adjusted her sword belt, came over and took his arm. Her red hair fell over her forehead in a messy clump, and she smiled at him lopsidedly. ‘Let’s face it, at this point, we’ve done things a lot more ridiculous than this.’
He nodded once. ‘I follow where you lead.’
She turned to the Spinner. ‘We’re ready,’ she said. ‘As ready as we’re likely to get, anyway.’
The Spinner trembled, before lowering himself towards them on a thin wire of spider web. Seeing that many-legged shape descending on them so swiftly made all the hairs on the back of Frith’s neck stand up, but he forced himself not to flinch. Not while Wydrin stood next to him.
‘Which of you would like to go first?’ The Spinner sounded almost shy.
‘I will.’ Wydrin stepped forward and lifted her arms up. ‘I’ve done it before, more or less.’
The process was very quick. The Spinner swept Wydrin up with his many legs, handling her as delicately as a nurse holding a newly born child. He turned her round and round, spinning his silvery web at the same time, gradually covering her lower body, and then her upper half, in the web. This time, Wydrin kept her arms up out of the way so that they were free of the silver threads. She settled Frostling, secure in its scabbard, by her side so that she could reach it if it were needed. Once she was covered, the Spinner tucked her up next to the great bulk of his body, attaching her there with more thread and ribbons of web. When it was done, she waved down at Frith cheerily enough.
‘Are you now ready, Lord Aaron Frith of the Blackwood?’ the Spinner asked in a solemn tone.
Frith took a slow breath. They had wasted enough time already. ‘Do it,’ he said.
The Spinner snatched him up, bristled legs handling him as if he weighed nothing at all. When the first loops of web closed around his legs, it took all his strength of will not to kick out against them. Instead, he pursed his lips and let it happen, trying not to think about the alien intelligence now rendering him immobile, or the drop to the forest floor below. The web strands were firm but not overly tight, and soon they covered him up to his chest. Like Wydrin, he kept his arms out of the way.
When the Spinner was satisfied with his work, Frith was positioned next to Wydrin, tucked
next to her as gently and as firmly as a child being put to bed. He looked at her, and saw his own bemusement mirrored on her face. She grinned at him, and Frith found himself laughing uneasily. For a moment, everything in his life seemed too strange. What had happened to the straightforward life his father had planned for him at Blackwood Keep? There would have been no magical giant spiders in that life, no word-magic, no dragons or gods. But then, he suspected there wouldn’t have been as much laughter in that life, and certainly no red-headed sell-swords.
‘You are ready,’ said the Spinner. There was an unmistakable note of pride in his voice. The white mask dipped into their field of view, held at the end of one hairy leg. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Let’s do it, Spinner,’ said Wydrin. ‘We’ve got some catching up to do.’
The mask nodded once, and then swept out of sight. Abruptly the world spun around them and Frith gasped as his stomach turned over; the Spinner was climbing up, up into the very tops of the trees, moving with a fleetness that Frith could barely have guessed at. The ground vanished from view, and instead they saw the dark interior roof of the forest, lit with a glow filtered green through a thousand leaves, and fractured with the dense nests of monkeys and birds. He heard Wydrin exclaim next to him, her voice filled with wonder, and then they were off, shooting through this hidden world at remarkable speed. They moved up and down as the Spinner picked their route across Euriale, sometimes swinging so low that they saw the forest floor again, sometimes so high that they broke through the canopy entirely to catch brief glimpses of the emerald ocean that surrounded them.
Frith reached over and took Wydrin’s hand, squeezing it firmly. ‘If I should vomit, please do not tell your mother.’
‘There it is, look.’
Sebastian pointed down the hill where it was just about possible to make out wisps of smoke from cooking fires. The scout they had captured slouched between him and Oster, looking moodily at his feet. Once they had found the well-worn trail, they had hardly needed the scout to guide them, but Sebastian did not want to kill him just yet.
‘It is close,’ agreed Oster. He nodded, and then looked back over his shoulder to the dense foliage behind them. All was quiet, for now. ‘We will not make it before they catch up, I think.’
Sebastian shook his head. The morning before, they had been swarmed by a pack of lizards that ran on their back legs. Each of them came up to Sebastian’s waist, their mottled leathery skins giving them the colours of the trees. Their teeth had been sharp, their eyes hungry, and Sebastian and the scout had only survived by scrambling up the nearest tree. Oster had turned into his dragon form and curled his body around the trunk of the tree, opening his jaws and challenging the creatures. Hisses and roars had been exchanged, until the smaller lizards retreated, swarming back into the trees where they were lost to shadows again, but Sebastian had felt their reluctance keenly: a silver shiver in his blood. When he’d asked Oster if he’d been able to communicate with the animals, he had just shrugged. ‘I could exchange little more than impressions. I tried to tell them that we weren’t food or a threat, but in their minds we are slow moving, and full of warm blood. I warned them off by my size alone, I think, but they will be back.’
And so they were. For the last day both he and Oster had sensed the strange lizards at their backs, following just out of sight. Sebastian could feel their hunger as an echo of his own, clouding his mind and making it difficult to concentrate. They were being hunted.
‘There’s little we can do either way,’ said Sebastian. ‘Let’s get down the hill, and hope they wait for us to be behind some wooden walls before they attack.’
With Oster keeping one heavy hand on the scout’s shoulder, the three of them moved rapidly down the slope. Sebastian saw a number of what he took to be markers – wooden stakes painted black and white, some topped with skulls – and then they were into the settlement itself.
‘Where is everyone?’ He gave the scout a small shake, but the man just looked down at his feet.
They headed to the centre of the settlement, passing extinguished cooking fires and partially dismantled huts, until they came to what Sebastian supposed passed for a village square. All the people were here, surrounding a great wooden shrine; they knelt in the dirt with their heads bowed, utterly silent. Sebastian looked at the shrine itself, and felt a worm of worry twist sickly in his gut.
‘You there!’ He called to the group of people, but no one answered. No one even looked around at him. They stayed silent, their attention focussed on the hastily built wooden idols that towered over them. ‘Answer me!’
When nothing happened, he turned to the scout. The man’s eyes were wide, and transfixed by the shrine.
‘What is going on?’
‘It is time,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘The Emissary has gone to the Eye of Euriale to restore the gods.’
Abruptly he pulled away from Oster’s grip, displaying a strength they hadn’t guessed at. He stumbled over to the crowd of prostrate worshippers and fell to his knees with them.
‘I haven’t finished with you,’ said Sebastian. The hunger of the lizards was making him irritable. Without thinking about it too closely, he concentrated instead on the silver thread that was Oster’s presence. ‘You will tell us where the Spinner is being kept or I will kill you.’
‘It hardly matters now,’ called the scout, not looking at them. ‘It’s north of here, at the edge of the settlement. There’s a tunnel that leads to a chamber.’ He paused, then added, ‘kill me if you want, my place is here now. We lend our strength to the Emissary.’
Sebastian sighed, and started walking north. ‘Come on, we’ll get no sense out of this sorry lot.’
In any case they found the chamber quickly enough. There were deep scuff marks in the dirt outside, and other strange prints that Sebastian couldn’t identify. On the ground by the entrance he found shattered pieces of what looked like a white glove. He turned them over in his hands.
‘This is made from the same material as the masks we found in the Spinner’s home,’ he said. ‘I’m sure of it.’
Oster nodded, and picked up a discarded oil lamp at the entrance and rekindled it, casting orange light into the dark mouth of the tunnel. Sebastian put the white shards into his pocket.
‘Is there anything more you can tell me about the Spinner?’ he asked Oster. ‘Anything that might be useful to know before we go exploring in the dark?’
Oster looked at him, his expression closed. ‘Nothing that you need to know, human.’
Sebastian looked away, suddenly missing Wydrin and her instinct for lies. She would know if he were leading them into a trap. Oster was arrogant and haughty, and yet at the same time Sebastian could feel how lost he was through the strange connection he felt to the man – the thread that connected them spoke of no lies. It was very disorientating.
They walked together down the dirt tunnel, and although there were more of the strange scuff marks, the chamber below was empty. Sebastian was unsure whether he was relieved or disappointed.
‘He was here,’ said Oster. He had wedged the oil lamp into the dirt and was standing next to the packed dirt wall. He rested his fingers there lightly. ‘I can smell him. The shape of him filled this place for some time.’
There were lots of furs and blankets heaped into one corner, all permeated with a weird, alien funk, and wiry strands of silvery material were strewn across the floor. Sebastian took the broken pieces of the glove out of his pocket and turned them over in his hands. He thought of the Second – how he and the brood sister had hunted in the woods together, her yellow eyes fixed on their prey.
‘Oster, how is your sense of smell?’
The other man looked up in surprise.
‘I mean, not now, as such, but when you’re … in your other guise. Are you aware of scents?’
‘Of course,’ said Oster. ‘The island is alive with smells like colours, a riot of them. My perceptions are much greater than a mere human’s.’
<
br /> Sebastian held out the shards, and Oster took them, a faintly bemused expression on his face. ‘Good. We know he was here recently, and now we know that he’s left. I think you could follow that scent, when you’re in your other form. There can’t be many other things that smell like the Spinner.’
Oster narrowed his eyes. ‘The Spinner’s scent would be unique, as he is.’ He tipped the shards to his face, his nostrils flaring. ‘It is very clear, and will become clearer. I think—’ He stopped, and shook his head. ‘Can you feel that?’
A second later, Sebastian did. A great silver rumble, building in volume, roared through his blood. For a moment, the room spun around him and he thought he might fall to his knees, but Oster’s arm was there, steadying him.
‘What is it?’ he asked, although he already knew. The lizards were coming.
They ran out of the tunnel and back to the square. The men and women of the camp were still there, motionless in the dirt.
‘Get up, you idiots!’ Sebastian yelled, waving his arms even though none of them were looking at him. ‘There is danger coming here, and fast. You need to get to shelter.’ He looked around. ‘If you’re out of sight you’re probably safe.’
The men and women did not move. Next to him, Oster shrugged.
‘Here, you.’ Sebastian went over to the scout who was still kneeling in the mud, his forehead pressed to the dirt. ‘Those beasts we ran into before are nearly here. You know what’ll happen when they arrive.’ He poked the man in the ribs with his boot, but he didn’t move. ‘They’re nearly here, and they’re hungry.’
‘The gods will protect us,’ muttered the scout directly to the mud. ‘We are the children of Euriale, the chosen few. We must send our strength to the Emissary – that is our only task now.’
Sebastian swore and stepped away. The proximity of the lizards was making it difficult to think clearly.
‘We should go.’ Oster glanced to the south. ‘They’re in the settlement now. They are coming.’
