by Jen Williams
‘Settle down, lad, settle down,’ Augusta said firmly. The man twisted under her touch, his eyes rolling. The red moss covered the left side of his face, completely obscuring one eye and colonising the inside of his nose, and for the last hour or so he had been shouting random phrases, gibbering as though in the grip of a terrible fever. He quietened for a moment, and Augusta pushed a damp cloth against what was left of his forehead. ‘It’s in his eyes, up his nose, in his ear. I’m telling you, it’s getting in their brains. They’re stable for a while – unwell, uncomfortable, in pain maybe – but once it gets inside their heads, this is what you get. Poor bastard.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Devinia dryly. ‘My heart bleeds. Perhaps next time they’ll think twice before stealing my ship.’
Augusta tutted at her. ‘You’re a pirate, you fool, and so are these poor bastards. You fight and you steal and you kill each other, fine, but no one should have to go like this.’
Abruptly, one of the patients next to them sat up, a look of wild panic on her face. The red moss-like growth covered both her forearms, and she scratched at it violently, heedless of the damage it was doing to her skin.
‘Get it off me!’ she howled. ‘It’s inside me. Get it off!’
Augusta and Devinia wrestled with the woman, Augusta muttering soothing things into her ear until she rested back against the floorboards, shivering violently.
‘Old woman? I need you in my cabin.’
Devinia looked up to see Ristanov standing in the doorway. She had taken to wearing a hooded cloak rather than her long coat, and her face was cast into shadow, only one side of her mouth showing.
‘I’ve got enough to be getting on with down here, thanks,’ snapped Augusta.
‘I will not tell you again.’
Devinia laid a hand on Augusta’s elbow. ‘Come on. Save your energy for more useful fights. That’s what you’re always telling me, isn’t it?’
Grumbling, Augusta got to her feet and with Ristanov following along behind them they made their way to the woman’s cabin. Even with the stench of illness clouding her ship and the encroaching itch of the moss covering her own face, the Banshee was ever watchful.
Inside the cabin one oil lamp and a smeared window cast a dirty light. The place had only got more untidy since Devinia had seen it last; discarded clothes littered the floor and the air was thick with the smell of old food and sour sweat. There was a figure slumped awkwardly in a chair by the nailed-down table. After a moment, Devinia realised it was the man called Terin.
‘This one sickens too now,’ said Ristanov, the disgust in her voice barely disguising the fear underneath it. ‘I doubt he will live to reach this lagoon he claims will cure us.’
Terin shifted in the seat, lifting his narrow face to the light. His mottled skin was glistening with sweat, and he shivered as though in the grip of a fever, but there was no sign of the red moss as far as Devinia could see.
‘See to him,’ said the Banshee. It was clear that she did not want to stay a moment longer in the cabin than she needed to. ‘If he is going to die, have him thrown over the side. I do not have the space for more sickening men.’ She left without looking back.
‘It is the heat.’ Terin smiled at them weakly. ‘It builds in these small spaces, and it leaches my strength from me.’
‘Devinia, fetch me that bucket with the water in, and a cloth. Hurry up now.’
Terin smiled gratefully as Augusta pressed the wet cloth to his forehead. ‘We need to move you out of here,’ said the old medic. ‘It’s doing you no bloody good at all.’
‘Being up in the direct sunlight is not much better, I’m afraid,’ said Terin. ‘And the captain likes to keep me away from the others, I think.’
‘What are you doing here, northern man?’ asked Devinia, watching him closely. ‘You are very far from home, and you are suffering for it. What possible business could you have on Euriale?’
Terin didn’t answer immediately, instead glancing into the dark corner of the cabin where the shadows were gathered like a shroud. ‘I am a visionary,’ he said eventually. ‘A seer. It is my destiny to walk the paths of strange places, and be granted visions for it. This is how I saw the lagoon that will heal your people.’
‘They are not my people,’ said Devinia sharply.
‘Nevertheless, it’s where we all must go,’ he said, unperturbed by her tone. ‘When the fires took me, I saw it as clear as new ice. There, in those waters, the sickness shall be washed away.’
‘Fools.’ The voice came from the shadowed corner.
‘What the bloody hell is this now?’ Augusta dropped the cloth back into the bucket.
With her eyes adjusting to the dark, Devinia could just make out a ragged figure lying on a narrow bunk, propped up on one elbow. It was emaciated, a man made of sticks and bones and pieces of torn shirt. There was a golden band circling his forehead, and his eyes were wet and bright.
‘I am their future,’ said Kellan. ‘I am the Red King come again.’
Devinia took a few cautious steps forward, willing her eyes to see more even as the bile rose up in the back of her throat. Nearly every inch of Kellan’s skin was covered in the red mossy substance, and those pieces that were still clear had turned a deep red, inflamed colour. Most of his hair had fallen out, and his beard now only remained in sorry tufts. His eyes, burning like stars beneath his golden crown, were utterly sane.
‘I can almost see it, in my head,’ he continued. ‘What it was like, when the Red King ruled. It … it itches on the very edges, the very edges of what I can see.’ He reached up and pressed red fingers to his eyebrow, as though he could push the knowledge in. ‘I will see it all in the end, Devinia.’
‘This is what you get,’ she said, feeling a small knot of pleasure in her throat and nursing it, nurturing it. ‘This is what you get for fucking with me and mine. As slow and painful deaths go, I could hardly have imagined a better one for you.’
‘I am not dying, you idiot,’ said Kellan. He raised himself further from the bunk, and Devinia saw with some alarm that there was still a wiry strength to his body, even as all the fat was burned away; muscles stood out with strange clarity under skin as red as a ripe apple. ‘I am becoming. You’ll all see eventually.’
‘He talks like this often,’ said Terin quietly. ‘The captain spends less and less time here.’
‘Because she is afraid of what I will be,’ hissed Kellan. ‘She hates to see me with such power. She wants the crown, but she’s too scared to take it.’ He laughed, a sound like dry stones being thrown together.
‘Or maybe she doesn’t much like the look of what it does to your complexion,’ said Augusta. The old woman had retrieved the wet rag and was compulsively wiping her fingers on it. ‘Because I’m telling you, son, you look like something that fell out of a sick dog.’
‘I have power you can’t understand!’ He sat up abruptly, and a moment later the ship rocked hard from one side to the other, and there was a chorus of cries from above. ‘I could crush this ship between my hands if I wanted to.’
Devinia imagined the giant golden figure standing over the Dragon’s Maw, golden crystal arms ready to turn it into a pile of splinters.
‘That’s what I’ll do,’ said Kellan, although his voice was growing weaker now. He leaned back against the bunk, breathing hard. ‘I’ll show you all, when it’s finished.’
‘When you’re finished, you mean,’ said Devinia softly, but Kellan had already closed his eyes, drifting back into a feverish sleep. There were a few moments’ silence between them all as the cries of alarm from above dissipated. Augusta blew air out through her lips, and dunked the rag back in the bucket.
‘So, lad. How far away is this bloody lagoon of yours?’
44
Estenn staggered into the shadow of a pile of huge red rocks and dropped to her knees. She let herself become visible again, the first time since arriving in the city. She had moved through the strange trees and then through the court
yards of the palace until she’d located an open gate. The city itself had been overwhelming, with its noise and its smells, and the sheer number of people. For a few moments it had frightened her badly; the noise and clatter of Two-Birds was nothing to such a place, and she had longed for the peace of Euriale with a sudden painful keenness. It was easier to hide, to become a ghost, and she had slipped out of the city and into the surrounding desert. She had been walking for hours, keen to put some space between her and the raucous reality of Krete.
The overhanging rocks had created their own small cave, so she crawled a little further in, glad to be out of the blistering sun. Trees. That was something else she missed: trees and shade.
‘I am here,’ she said aloud. Beyond the cave she could see the blue of the sky, untainted by cloud, and the golden sands of the desert. In her time, this place had long since been destroyed by the passage of the gods, turning sand and rock into a strip of gleaming green glass. She had never seen the Sea-Glass Road herself, but had heard the tales, like everyone had.
She sat up and unfastened her sword belt, laying the blades carefully on the sand next to her. She took a small bag from within her pocket, and shook into her palm five tiny figures carved from bone. There was a woman, a dragon, a bird and a pair of wolves. She pressed them carefully into the sand in a loose circle. Next, from the same bag she took two small glass jars, one containing black paint, the other white. With her finger, she smeared a quantity of each around her eyes: black for the left, white for the right. When that was done she settled back into a relaxed posture, and prepared herself for prayer. Distantly she wondered about the camp at Two-Birds, and whether her people had prepared the shrine as she had instructed them to do. Of course they had. They followed her without question.
Estenn closed her eyes.
‘Y’Gria, Y’Ruen, O’rin, Res’ni and Res’na, a true one names you. A true one entreats you.’
She repeated this for some time, focussing on the small bone figures in front of her. Each of them had been carved from the bones of men and women who had been foolish enough to wander away from Two-Birds and into the heart of the island. Their flesh had been consumed in an act of worship to the Twins, their hair and skin dedicated to Y’Gria, the Mother. These were the tokens she kept with her at all times.
Nothing was happening.
Estenn pushed her sweaty hair back from her face and shifted her legs, trying to get comfortable. She was here, in the Ede of the past, where the gods were real physical beings of great power. Of course they would hear her prayers here. She simply had to be patient.
‘Y’Gria, Y’Ruen, O’rin, Res’ni and Res’na, a true one names you. A true one entreats you. Y’Gria, Y’Ruen, O’rin, Res’ni and Res’na, a true one names you. A true one entreats you.’
Silence. Estenn snorted with frustration and stood up, stretching out the muscles in her back. There was a steady ache there, and it was distracting her. The journey through the Eye, and the effort of maintaining her own invisibility had drained her. She simply needed to rest.
As she came to the mouth of the shallow cave, she saw two dark figures walking towards her. They came slowly, but as they grew closer she was able to make out some details. One was a man, his skin so dark a brown it was almost black, and he wore loose white trousers made of linen that billowed in the wind. Across his narrow chest were long strips of white silk embroidered with a silver pattern of interlocking squares, and he wore a simple white cap with a long sweep of fabric that protected his neck from the sun. The figure next to him was a woman, and she stalked across the sand with a wide grin on her face. She was as pale as milk, and her hair was a shaggy grey mane, although to Estenn’s eyes she looked very young; certainly no more than twenty. The woman wore black rags and torn black trousers, and long tatters of black fabric dragged behind her in the sand like a trail. Her lips looked colourless and dry, but she grinned all the same.
‘Hello there!’ called the woman. She lifted a hand in greeting.
Estenn took a step back towards where her swords lay on the sand, and the urge to become invisible again was strong. She resisted. There was something about the two figures that was oddly familiar …
‘What’s the matter? Don’t you talk?’ called the woman. They came up until they were a few feet away. The man glanced at Estenn, his eyes dark, and then looked away again, apparently disinterested. The woman stared avidly, and her eyes were a hazel colour so pale that it was almost yellow.
‘I talk,’ said Estenn. ‘Who are you?’
‘Oh!’ The woman in black laughed, rocking back on her heels with the merriment of it. ‘That’s quite a question, coming from you. Do you really have to ask that, weeping one?’
Estenn opened her mouth and closed it again. Her heart was beating too fast. It was possible to see a strange shadow hanging over the two figures now: a shape like two great feral creatures with long snouts and sharp ears. The woman grinned all the wider.
‘The Twins,’ murmured Estenn, her lips numb. ‘I – Why do you call me that?’ Her knees felt weak, threatening to throw her to the ground, but she sensed very strongly that to fall in front of these two would be to invite death. It would be like baring your neck to a wild animal.
‘The weeping one?’ The woman tipped her head to one side. ‘Because you are a little weeping creature, a thing of prey and desperation. All of you humans are, and you are so afraid.’ The woman’s teeth were very white. ‘What is it you want, weeping one?’
‘The mages have a plan to kill you.’ Estenn wanted to phrase it better, but the words fell from her mouth like stones.
‘Of course they do.’ The man spoke for the first time. His voice was quiet, scholarly. ‘It is what they have fixed their minds upon for the last decade.’
‘It’s the Citadel, the one they are building now,’ said Estenn. ‘They plan to trap you inside it.’
The woman who was Res’ni tipped her head back and laughed. It was a pure, joyous sound.
‘Trap us? Trap us? That is very fine.’ She reached up as if to wipe away a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. ‘Those little spell-spitters couldn’t catch a mouse.’
‘They can do it, I have seen it,’ said Estenn. Looking at the two figures was hard now. They seemed to phase in and out of her vision, sometimes appearing as a man and a woman, sometimes appearing as something else altogether. ‘I mean, I know that it happens. Please, they plan to place the Red Echo in the deepest chamber and lure you there. I can get it, I can use it to kill them, but you must not go to the Citadel, not even—’
The force of the blow threw her backwards so that she collided awkwardly with the red rock. Estenn cried out and slid down onto the sand. The man, Res’na, shook his head slowly.
‘You try to command us? You call us weak? You call us foolish?’
Estenn gasped air into her winded lungs. ‘No, please, you must listen—’
‘Your little human weepings are of no concern to us,’ said Res’ni. She was still smiling. Estenn wondered if the woman ever did anything else. ‘But you are interesting.’
Res’ni stepped forward and, standing over Estenn, gestured to the tattoo that curled around her chest and neck. ‘I like this,’ she said. ‘Why do you wear this?’
‘I am your servant,’ said Estenn. There was a heat coming off the woman, like a fever. ‘Your loyal servant, always. I am your emissary.’
Res’ni knelt down next to her. Up close, she smelled rank, like wet fur and old blood. Behind her, Res’na still stood impassively, his face a mask.
‘So you will kill the mages for us, will you, little weeping one? Achieve what we have so far failed to do?’
‘I will do it,’ said Estenn. ‘The Red Echo can kill them. I will steal it, and use it on the mages.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I will not let them take you from the world.’
Res’ni chuckled and glanced up at her brother. ‘Interesting. Yes, I like you. Here, I will give you a gift.’ The woman reached out and took hold o
f Estenn’s unresisting hand. Immediately, there was a tearing sensation in her palm, as though the flesh there had burst apart. Estenn screamed, and Res’ni pressed her hand all the harder.
‘It’s just a little bit more of what you already have,’ crooned Res’ni. ‘A little bit more, and I have fashioned it into a tool for you. Am I not a generous god?’
The pain intensified and, desperately, Estenn tried to shuffle away from the woman, but her grip was unbreakable. Lights flashed before her eyes, and she wondered briefly if she were about to pass out. If I faint here, I could die. And then the pressure on her hand was gone and Res’ni, wolf god of chaos, was standing over her, grinning.
‘How does it feel?’
Estenn looked down at her hand. There was a gouge across the centre of her palm, the edges of her wounded flesh standing up proud, but rather than blood spilling from her hand it was as if the cut had already healed over, leaving a wide band of diseased-looking purple flesh. As she turned it back and forth, it seemed to glimmer oddly, as if that deep bruise colour hid distant stars. She blinked rapidly. Fresh sweat was prickling her forehead, and she felt as though she stood on the edge of a deep, bottomless pit. Everything turned around her slowly.
‘What have you done to me?’ She pushed the words through numb lips.
‘I have given you a great tool, small weeping one,’ said Res’ni. ‘Fashioned from your own madness, with a little sliver of something that is mine to give. Use it wisely, if you wish to aid us.’
‘Please,’ Estenn looked up at them, but the pair of figures were a blur now: one smudge of white, one smudge of black. ‘Do not go to the Citadel. I can kill them for you, and I will. But do not be lured. Do not …’
