by Simon Birks
“I suppose they are. But I have faith in you. Which makes you…?”
“Useful,” Fijefel said, and laughed. “Now, we should camp here. Make some weapons and some torches.”
“What is this place?” Pinto asked.
“It’s called the Shroud. It will be dark. I don’t know what’s in there, but I know we won’t be followed.”
Suddenly, something clicked in Pinto’s mind.
“I remember them. Remember seeing them from my Orb. A green Orb with patches of black. That must be what they are.”
Pinto looked at Fijefel, she was smiling at him.
“What did I say?”
“You looked down on our Orb,” she said.
“Looked up, as you now look up on mine.”
She looked full of wonder.
“Something is happening,” she said. “Something has begun.”
“I believe so.”
“First we must survive, however. We must go through the Shroud.”
“Is there no way around?” Pinto asked. “They have edges, I’ve seen them. If we kept to the edges then we would only have to go in, if they find us?”
Fijefel thought about this.
“Yes,” she said. “That sounds good.”
There was rustling in the bushes somewhere behind them, from where there’d come. Fijefel moved in front of Pinto, sword out.
More rustling, but it was circling, not getting closer. Fijefel tracked it.
“Stay behind me,” she said, and crept forward, towards the noise. Whatever it was, it was quick, changing direction, looking for a way in.
Then the shrubbery parted. Fijefel tensed.
As if aware of the danger, the rustling stopped.
“It’s Sogal.” Pinto said with amazement. “How did he get here?”
Fijefel sheathed her sword. The dog rose and, sniffing the air, trotted over to them.
“What’s wrong with his face?”
Fijefel bent down.
“He’s been in a fight, or two,” she said. “There’s enough things out here he’d be a meal for.”
“Did he follow us?” Pinto asked.
“He must have done.” Then she said, “Oh no.”
“Wha…” was all Pinto managed to say, before an arrow zipped passed his head.
“The Shroud! Now!” Fijefel shouted, and Pinto wasn’t going to argue.
All three turned as one, and headed towards the darkness.
“Take my arm,” Fijefel said. “Or we will lose each other.”
Pinto stretched his arm out, and she took it. With his other arm he motioned toward the dog, and the dog understood. He jumped up and Pinto caught him. More arrows went through the air.
This is madness, Pinto thought, and ran all the faster.
Wrylan
They carried on digging the grave before middle-meal. Over food, they discussed their next move, and Jenza told the older lady she wanted to head out the next day. Aponser had reluctantly agreed. After eating, the old lady took a nap, and Jenza finished the digging alone.
Before she put the body in, she bent over him one more time, and laid her hands on the sheet. The pull of him was less now, but it wasn’t altogether gone. She waited, making her mind push deeper to find him. The stronger memories were still accessible, they were the ones she was looking for.
Find it. The words came before any others. Jenza rippled the memories. She saw the word weapon, and she rippled there. She tried to take it from me. I guarded the secret and they tried to take it.
Jenza concentrated. She wanted to retrieve the specific memory. She got a picture of trees. She pressed harder, but all she saw were tall trees with thick trunks.
Find it, Wrylan thought again. It was a strong memory. Find it, Ja Jenza!
Jenza let go of the cloth. Had she just heard her name? That couldn’t be. She was just accessing old memories. He didn’t know her name. It only went one way.
Jenza blinked, then dismissed it. It couldn’t have been. She jumped in the hole, pulled the body gently in, hoisted herself back up over the edge and began to shovel the earth back in and over the body.
Watching
Someone watched. Someone always watched. And they could see far. Across Orbs, through time itself. They knew what had been, and they could change what was coming. They could tweak, and push and manipulate.
And this is what the person thought.
They looked on, and they thought, not long now.
Part Three: The Shroud
Your World
It was suddenly dark. Pinto held onto Sogal, who was shaking. Fijefel was out in front, continuing to lead the way with a speed Pinto found frightening yet exhilarating. It occurred to the warrior that they might run off the edge of a cliff at any moment.
Fijefel, as if sensing his unease, stopped.
“What is it?” she asked, barely audible.
“I can’t see where we’re running,” he said. “How do you?”
“I am guessing,” she replied, with a squeeze of his hand. “Although I used to come out here before the Shroud moved in.”
“And memorised the whole place?”
“No,” she said, “Just the major routes.”
“Aren’t we far enough in?” he asked. “They aren’t going to follow us.”
Fijefel shook her head. Pinto could feel the movement through her arm.
“No,” she said. “We mustn’t stop yet. We are near a crossroads. We can keep going, or branch left or right.”
“It’s your world,” Pinto said. “I trust your judgement. We’ll be right behind you.”
“Straight on is the most difficult path, but it’s also the path that will take us away from our pursuers.”
“One complete darkness it much like any other from where I am,” Pinto said. Fijefel remained silent. “What’s the matter?”
“I am scared,” the hunter said. “That is all. I will defeat it.”
Then she started running again, fractionally slower but just as confident. It was as much as Pinto could hope for, and he followed her willingly.
*
Fijefel wasn’t just scared. She was terrified. She was thankful the darkness hid her face, for she was certain the God would not want to go with her, had he seen her expression.
Interesting
Hoep stood watch as Orsa plied her trade. They had stopped near an Inn, and he waited patiently outside. There was a chance he was still being sought, and, if so, a crowded room would be a foolish place to visit.
The evening was drawing in. Hoep sat in a field of long grass, obscured, but with a good line of sight to the building. As the sky had started to darken, Orsa, already a day spent within the trees, seemed to grow stronger, and more focused. In the space of a day, Hoep had grown from being wary of her, to being in awe of her. She was the most amazing person he’d ever met.
He had told her about the Complex, about the murder of the Ka, about the body disappearing from under the cloth. She had listened as he’d explained about his escape through the tunnels, about him saving Gideon, and about the monster in the room, with its blue tendrils snaking out of the ground. He told her about the girl who’d appeared when the monster had gone.
They had stopped in shade; always in shade, and they had eaten berries from a bush Hoep had never even seen before. He couldn’t say the berries had been pleasant; he was a man with a sweet tooth, but they weren’t awful, either. Orsa had watched him eat them and smiled.
“You get used to them,” she’d said.
That had been around middle-meal. Now he was hungry again. Orsa told him she’d get some food from the Inn, along with any weapons she could, and money. Hoep felt like a coward, waiting outside, but he wasn’t equipped for such work, and it was best he admitted it to himself now.
The Inn, named The Ten Claypots, was large. Hoep could see the original building, the darker bricks, in the centre of the structure. They had to be a few hundred years old at least. In the city, most of those old
houses had been replaced, but fortunately, in his opinion, such replacements had not stretched out this far. The old part looked no bigger than a small house. Flanking it on both sides, the later additions tripled the initial size, and then even later annexes tripled the size again.
It looked and sounded busy tonight. That was good, Orsa told him so, and he was happy to nod in agreement and hope that she wasn’t going to be caught. She had said to him if she did get caught, he was to leave her and keep going. He’d nodded and said he would, but he didn’t even convince himself, let alone the thief.
“Ahem,” came her voice from behind him.
He turned sharply, to see her relaxing, with a small feast in front of her.
“How long have you been there?” he asked.
“Long enough to hear you talking to yourself. Bit of an architect, I hear.”
She smiled kindly.
Hoep nodded.
“It’s strange the things you find interesting,” Hoep said. “How was it?”
“Surprisingly easy. The ale must be good. The finer the ale, the easier it is to help myself.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“I’ve travelled everywhere.”
Next to the food was a pile of non-consumables: daggers, two swords, a bow with six arrows, three coin purses, and a small rag doll.
“You’ve been busy,” Hoep said. “Is the doll yours?”
Orsa smiled and picked it up.
“I didn’t steal it. I found it on the floor, out the back. It’s strange the things you find interesting.”
They both smiled at that. Then, spurred on by his complaining belly, the two of them ate a lukewarm, yet delicious, supper.
First Watch
Gideon didn’t see anyone for the whole day he and the woman named Yeta travelled together. They passed by fields, and ate of the farmers under ripe vegetables. The woman spoke very little, which suited him. Her mind was troubled, and the less he had to think about it, the better. Now the light was going, they kept to the edges of the track. Off to the right he saw a small hut - used by farmers, Gideon supposed - set in the middle of a field.
“We’ll go there,” he said, and the woman looked, and nodded.
They waded through a field of ankle-high crops, the fruit not yet showing. As they drew nearer the hut, Gideon readied himself for an altercation with its inhabitant. He needn’t have bothered; it was empty, the only obvious sign of life being a small fire pit in the centre of the floor.
“You sleep first,” Ka Yeta told him. “I’ll keep watch.”
“I’m not sure there’s…”
“I’ll keep watch,” she repeated.
She said this with a flat, matter-of-fact voice. This was not a conversation. Gideon nodded, puffed up the straw mattress in the corner, and lay down. He was asleep within a minute.
*
Yeta watched the boy close his eyes, his body relaxing muscle by muscle, until finally he slipped into the place of dreams. She felt nothing. She looked around this new place, yet felt as if she’d seen it all before. She was numb. She had told the boy she would take the first watch, but not out of kindness. She said it because it felt like she would never sleep again.
The day had passed within the blink of an eye. She wondered if that was how it was going to be from now on. She should have been sad. She had changed, or at least she thought she had. Now she was a woman-shaped statue, walking but doing little else.
*
The first child appeared just over an hour later. To begin with, Yeta didn’t notice. She wasn’t really looking for anything. She was thinking about… well, she wasn’t even certain what she was thinking about, but when she looked up, she saw the dark outline, lying on the ground over to her right.
“Hello?” she whispered into the night.
The figure didn’t move. She looked left. There was another child, also lying in the crops.
She looked right. Another two children had appeared. Left again, another three. Ka Yeta stood up and walked around the hut. The children were lying all around, in every direction.
She felt fear then, and the surprise at being able to feel any emotion was almost enough to combat it. These were the children from the Complex, the ones she’d seen with the blue tubes in them. What were they doing here? Had they had made the journey with her? If so, why? What did they want? An apology? She would happily apologise, but would it mean anything if she couldn’t remember being the monster in the first place?
Maybe they were here to frighten her. Maybe they would haunt her for the rest of her time on Whate. Maybe that was exactly what she deserved.
Yeta stepped forward. The children stayed where they were. Another step; nothing. Another step; nothing. She was now only six feet away from them.
“What do you want?” she asked quietly.
The wind sighed, and in the wind she thought she heard the word, “nothing.”
“Then why are you here?”
The wind gusted, hard.
“We need nothing.”
“I don’t understand,” Yeta said. “If you need nothing then…”
She felt a tug on her leg. Two small movements, like a child’s hand. Despite the warm air, her body went cold. She waited. The tugs came again, three this time. Tug, tug, tug.
“What do you want?”
A gentle breeze.
“Give us nothing.”
The last word was elongated, spread out; ‘nnooothhhiiinnnnggg…’
Another tug on her leg. Yeta had been expecting it. As soon as she felt it, she whipped her arm round, grasped the tiny hand, just for a fleeting moment. A cold hand, that of a child, clenched and desperate. Then, it had dissolved into air, and all she was left with was her own empty hand. The children had gone, and she stood alone in a field, wishing for a life she wasn’t really sure she had ever lived.
*
Gideon watched through half-open eyes. The woman wasn’t right, but then he knew that already. What was she doing in the field? Who had she been speaking to? No one but herself. He watched as she turned and headed back to the hut, then he closed his eyes once more.
Predators
They had no intention of stopping the carriage. Too many strange events had happened over the past few days to do that. Even so, Hossip didn’t want to run the horses flat out, just fast enough to make sure they could keep going for as long as possible. They were into the forest once again, and were hoping to get to the Inn before they needed to slow.
Both Ma Poppun and Visenai were in the carriage itself. Hossip had suggested they were safer there, and had overridden their protestations that he was still recovering from his burns. He hadn’t looked at his back, and had refused to show Ma Poppun when she’d asked to see it. He had told them he was fine, and while that may not have been the whole truth, he was actually feeling better than he had in twenty years.
It was dark in the forest, but the oil lanterns attached to the coach burned well, and he could see enough of the path in front to know where he was going. There were animals in the forest; hungry predators that the shine of the carriage lanterns would attract. That was another reason to keep going. He had a sword by his side, but it would be of little use.
They needed to get to the Inn. At this rate, it was another hour away. The coachman held his breath, held his reins, and held onto the thought that they would all soon be safe.
Spear
Spear.
Jenza opened her eyes. She had heard the word so clearly, as if the speaker of it lay right next to her. She expected to see Aponser there, because she was the only person with her in the makeshift shelter, but the old woman was sitting outside, meditating.
Besides, it had definitely been a man’s voice, and whilst Aponser’s was deep and cracked with many years of incense inhalation, she hardly sounded like a man.
Was it Wrylan? When she had connected with him at his home, after his death, everything she had heard had been in her own voice. They had been his thoughts, b
ut she had given the thoughts her voice.
If it was Wrylan, why did he say spear? She had been dreaming before she woke, and whispers of it floated behind her eyes. She was on a balcony, the same balcony where she had seen her city burn. Yet, the balcony looked different.
That is the way of dreams. You know where you are, or who you’re with, whether the place or face is familiar or not.
Yes, she had been on the balcony, yet before her there was no city. Instead, there was a field of grass, and in the grass, concentric circles of something spread out from the centre, where she saw a mass, a thing. It bore no specific shape, but was frightening, as if all the evil had pushed itself together to form it.
She’d said to herself, “what is that?”
And the voice had replied, “spear.”
Ja Jenza reached into her bag. She did it quietly, not wanting to attract Aponser’s attention. Within the bag was a knife. She had taken it from Wrylan’s house before they had set out. It had been an instinctive thing.
Now she retrieved it. It was a rough knife. Handle carved haphazardly, crudely, the blade angry, scarred and bent. Ja Jenza held it in her hands and thought of Wrylan; the man’s face, the man’s anger, the man’s voice. She had loved it when he sung. Ja Jenza thought, sing me a song, Wrylan.
A flash, like far-off lightning in her mind. It lit something. Lit a shape. She hadn’t seen it, hadn’t expected it, wasn’t looking in the right direction.
Sing again.
Another flash. This time the Ja knew where to look, and she had seen it. It looked like a spear. Long, wooden. Maybe a spear, or something else, with a series of mountains clustered around its tip.
Sing again.
But nothing came. She had seen it right the first time.
Thank you, she thought to the dead man. She felt tired once more. So tired. Ja Jenza replaced the knife in her bag, and used her bag as a pillow. She fell asleep quickly.
