The Copper Promise

by Jen Williams

  Despite his protests about needing some rest, Sebastian did not sleep well that night. The small room Holley had given him was warm and comfortable enough, even if the bed was perhaps a little short, but he tossed and turned, at times pulling the blankets up under his chin, and then throwing them off altogether. When he did sleep, his dreams were dark and bloody, and the voices of the dragon’s daughters whispered to him as the mountains once had, although with each fitful waking he could remember none of their words.

  ‘She is getting closer,’ he muttered the third time he awoke with the smell of blood and cinders in his nose. ‘Closer all the time.’

  He sat up and looked out the crooked window as the first blush of dawn crept over the tops of distant trees. After a minute or two he realised his nose was bleeding.

  25

  In this town they were fighting back.

  It was late at night, but already many buildings were on fire, and the Thirty-Third had no difficulty following the movements of the people below from the second-storey window where she crouched. Behind her were the remains of the three men who had been hiding in the building. Their blood soaked unnoticed into the floorboards while the Ninety-Seventh rifled through the wooden desk, scattering paper onto the floor.

  Word of the brood army’s advance was moving faster than they were, and this small town, with its neglected stone wall and half-hearted ditches, had gathered a force together to meet them, men and women in boiled leather and plate. They were different to most of the humans they’d met so far – the fear was still in their eyes, but it was held behind a shield of something else. The Thirty-Third couldn’t quite name that shield, but it made her think of their father.

  ‘Why do they do it?’ she said aloud. ‘They must see that it is hopeless.’

  The Ninety-Seventh glanced up, her fists filled with paper.

  ‘It is that or run and hide.’

  ‘Which would you choose?’

  As the Thirty-Third watched, a group of men and women on the cobbled streets below brought their shields up and charged forward, trying to gain a few feet on the brood army facing them. There was a chorus of ragged shouts and screams as the crystal blades of her sisters glittered under the firelight, stabbing and piercing. Across the street the buildings were already burning, forcing the humans onto a narrow path.

  ‘Run and hide?’ snorted the Ninety-Seventh. She had found pieces of paper full of neat black handwriting, and her eyes were bright with hunger. ‘Who do we have to run and hide from?’

  There was a deafening roar from outside and a blast of carrion stench. The Thirty-Third leaned out of the window and looked up just in time to see Y’Ruen come hurtling down from a star-studded sky and crash heavily into the burning buildings opposite. Flaming debris flew everywhere, killing half the humans outright, while Y’Ruen writhed in the destruction. Amongst the fire her scales were black and gold.

  ‘Perhaps sometimes all you have left is the fight,’ said the Thirty-Third. To her surprise, the surviving humans were regrouping and heading towards the dragon. Several had long-shafted spears which they aimed towards Y’Ruen’s belly. They charged, and their tiny human cries were just about audible over the roar of the fire and the dragon.

  ‘See?’ she said, gesturing at the fight. The Ninety-Seventh took no notice – she had found a pot of ink and was daubing things that almost looked like words across the paper. ‘Why do that? They will die now, certainly.’

  ‘They will die either way,’ replied the Ninety-Seventh, unconcerned.

  Y’Ruen, body curling like a snake to face her attackers, could have killed all of them with one strike of her tail; instead, her great head shot forward and snapped one of the men between her jaws. His scream the Thirty-Third heard quite clearly.

  ‘Mother is playing with them,’ she noted. She turned briefly to look at the bodies on the floor. She and the Ninety-Seventh had torn their throats out in short order, save for the fat one who had tried to hide under the desk. The Ninety-Seventh had poked him all over with her sword until he came out, and by then he was half dead. They’d left him to bleed slowly. Playing with the humans no longer seemed as satisfying as it had once been.

  Outside, the group of men and women had broken, and now some of them were trying to run, but Y’Ruen slid her tail around to block their escape. Claws full of reflected fire stabbed at them with playful precision; one man was undone from his throat to his belly, while a woman who’d almost made it into a side street had her legs cut from under her. Y’Ruen bent her head, almost delicately, and the woman was gone.

  The word ‘nightmare’ occurred to the Thirty-Third although she wasn’t entirely sure what it meant.

  The Ninety-Seventh joined her at the window. Her hands were black to the wrists.

  ‘Look, there are more of them coming. They do not give up.’

  Even as their comrades were reduced to blood and gristle, more of the humans were marching up the street, bellowing, swords held high.

  Y’Ruen turned towards them and both the brood sisters felt the wave of simple pleasure emanating from the dragon. It was like stepping from the shade into bright sunshine on a hot day.

  ‘They don’t give up because sometimes the fight is all you have left,’ said the Thirty-Third grimly. Her sister turned away from the window, not quite daring to meet her eyes. Her expression was guarded.

  ‘That’s what he would say,’ she whispered.

  In the street below, Y’Ruen was spewing fire over the small human resistance, cooking them inside their armour. The smell of burning flesh wafted in through the window. The Thirty-Third thought of his eyes, cold and blue, and the memory of a mountain she had never seen.

  ‘Our father would say that.’

  26

  Wydrin was determined to drive him mad. Frith came to this conclusion on the second hour after they were supposed to have left for the hidden bridge. First, she rose later than everyone else, stretching and groaning and padding into Holley’s kitchen like a scruffy alley cat. She insisted on a hot bath, causing Crowleo to run off to heat up more water, and afterwards sat at the kitchen table eating plateful after plateful of ham and eggs, steam rising from her sodden hair. And when finally she had dressed, teasing her hair into a configuration that pleased her, scraped the mud from her boots and oiled her knives, it had still taken a fair amount of cajoling from Sebastian and outright threats from Frith to get her outside into the morning air.

  And now she stood, surveying the world as if it were waiting patiently for her approval.

  ‘Are we ready?’ asked Frith. ‘Finally?’

  ‘Almost,’ she said, scratching her head and shaking the last of the water from her ears. ‘There is one last thing. A request, actually, for the Secret Keeper.’

  Holley raised a pair of wispy white eyebrows. Outside the house with its distorting windows she looked to be over ninety. She leaned on a walking stick, although Crowleo was always close at hand.

  ‘What is it you wish, girl?’ asked Holley.

  ‘Whatever it is, let it be quick,’ said Frith. ‘It will be midday by the time we take our leave.’

  Wydrin ignored him.

  ‘You say that you can manipulate glass so that it shows you what you want.’

  ‘In a sense, yes.’ Holley shrugged her bony shoulders. ‘With certain restrictions, of course.’

  ‘I was wondering if you could make something for me,’ she said, her head tipped slightly to one side. ‘A special favour, I suppose, but when our princeling here pays us I will be good for the gold.’

  ‘What is it you would like to see through the glass?’

  Wydrin smiled, the slow smile of a woman with a secret.

  ‘The truth. Just the truth.’

  Holley rubbed a finger over her chin and nodded, apparently pleased with the challenge.

  ‘Come into my workroom for a moment,’ she said, ‘and I’ll make some measurements.’

  And so they waited, Frith pacing back and forth. Crowleo h
ad prepared small packs for them all – new cloaks, a parcel of bread and cheese, fresh waterskins – and these he passed out with a mildly wistful look, as though he wished to go with them. He even gave Frith the small lighted globe he’d used in the tunnel under Pinehold, for which he gave a quick, muttered thanks.

  Eventually the Copper Cat emerged. She and the Secret Keeper shook hands, and she rejoined the group.

  ‘Are you quite finished?’ asked Frith. He knew it was only asking for more barbed comments, but he couldn’t help himself. ‘Would you like to dawdle for another hour or so? Perhaps you feel it is time for another bath, or is there some food left in the kitchen that you haven’t consumed?’

  Wydrin gave him a sunny smile.

  ‘No, that’s quite all right. I think it’s time to go, don’t you?’

  Biting down his answer, Frith said his goodbyes and, holding up the chunk of glass, advanced upon the cliff’s edge.

  The bridge was still there, much to his relief. There was an archway over the entrance, and as he stepped up to it he saw that the symbol of the Frith family had been carved deeply into each wooden pillar; a pair of Blackwood trees, branches spreading out to either side. Looking at that, out here in the middle of nowhere, made his throat feel tight. His father had stood here, who knew how many times, with this same viewing glass, and had walked across this extraordinary bridge so often that no doubt it had become commonplace.

  Why did he never tell me about it? To see signs of his family’s existence when he was the only one left still alive was … He decided not to think about it any longer. Turning back to look at Wydrin and Sebastian, he saw that they were both watching him closely.

  ‘Well, what are you gawping at? Let’s get a move on. I’m sure you’ll be wanting to collect your money and be off.’

  ‘After you, princeling.’ Wydrin gestured at the cliff. ‘There’s no way I’m walking off the edge of this first. Remember, we can’t see the bloody thing.’

  ‘You do not actually have to accompany me, you know.’

  ‘What? Let you go wandering off down an invisible bridge by yourself?’ said Wydrin. ‘You’ll either get yourself killed or decide you don’t feel like paying us after all.’

  Frith sighed. He suspected she was more interested in seeing the inside of the vault than his safety.

  ‘Very well.’

  Holding the glass up in front of him, he stepped onto the bridge. Beneath his feet there was only empty air, according to his own eyes, but he could feel the firm wooden surface. The construction of the bridge was strange, to say the least: there were no sides, but the floor, made of smoothly joined dark wooden slats, curved up slightly towards the edge, so that you might have some small warning before you wandered straight off the side and fell to your death. Below he could see the rocky side of the cliff, and the dark canopy of trees. There didn’t appear to be anything supporting the bridge at all. His stomach tried to climb up through his throat.

  ‘I wouldn’t advise looking down,’ he said, dragging his eyes back up to the piece of crystal held carefully in his hands. ‘And keep close behind me. Tread only where I tread.’ Wydrin and Sebastian followed behind him, neither looking especially pleased.

  ‘Hoy!’ shouted Holley from behind them. ‘Whatever you do, Lord Frith, don’t you drop that there glass! You think the journey across is bad enough now; just wait till you have to do it blind. I don’t have another.’

  Muttering, Frith walked on. The bridge snaked off to the east first of all, taking a very circuitous route to the distant outcrop of rock that was their destination. The day was overcast, and there were darker clouds edging in from the distant border of Pathania, promising rain. A storm while they were on this bridge would not be a pleasant prospect. He walked a little faster.

  27

  Wydrin was sweating. It was a chilly morning, and above the trees there was an icy wind that tugged at her hair and slipped down the back of her neck, freezing the sweat that was breaking out across her shoulders.

  Her eyes were telling her they were cheating certain death, her eyes were telling her to brace for the fall, all the time, but she could feel the bridge under her feet, and it felt solid enough. Concentrate on what you’re feeling, she told herself, the smooth texture of the wood, the sound your boots make on the slats, but that was easier said than done.

  She glanced quickly at Sebastian just ahead of her. The big knight was turning slightly green. Seeing him hanging there in mid-air made her dizzy, and she laughed nervously.

  ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yes. Best time I’ve had since we won all that wine, do you remember? I’d never seen so much vomit.’

  Sebastian grimaced.

  ‘Can we talk about that another time?’

  Frith was still in front, the viewing glass held out in front of him stiffly. The wind ruffled his white hair.

  ‘How are you doing, princeling? Anything we should know about this bridge we can’t bloody see? Fine trick that, by the way. Not that I’m suggesting your family were a bunch of overprotective lunatics or anything, but most people are happy enough with a few big locks and a guard dog.’

  ‘It is not so far,’ he said, in what he probably thought passed for a patient tone of voice. ‘Concentrate on walking, not complaining.’

  ‘Can’t you use some magic to make the bridge visible? That would be useful.’

  ‘And reveal the path to the vault? Don’t be ridiculous.’ He paused, then said, ‘There’s a sharp turn to the left just here. Keep close behind me.’

  They continued that way for a good hour, inching slowly across the invisible bridge as it turned this way and that, gradually moving closer to the distant outcrop of rock. Strained sunlight shone off the stone, turning it into a white beacon amongst the dark foliage of the trees, and the sounds of the forest drifted up to them; birdsong, the wind tugging ceaselessly at branches just below their feet, and every now and then the crash and thump of larger animals moving through the forest.

  Once they heard voices, and Frith motioned them to stop. The three of them stood still and silent, apparently suspended in mid-air as a pair of hunters walked by underneath, completely unaware of the people above them. Wydrin peered down between her boots, for the time being too curious to avoid looking at the drop, and she thought she saw a brief movement of something that could have been a hat, or a pair of shoulders, glimpsed through the filter of the leaves. A snatch of their conversation drifted up through the trees and then they were gone, deeper into the woods. After a few seconds, Frith moved them on.

  Eventually the erratic bridge began to straighten out, and the three adventurers stood in front of the mound of stone that housed the Frith family vault. The invisible path led directly into a fissure in the rock. As they got closer, they could see it was actually a sizeable cave, tall enough even for Sebastian to walk in without having to stoop. The stone to either side of the cave was sheer with very few handholds, meaning it would be extremely difficult for anyone to reach from the ground, assuming they knew there was anything to find. The rock was a foreboding, lonely place, and there were no lights in the space in front of them. It reminded her of the Citadel.

  ‘We should go in,’ she said, reluctantly. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Frith, although he hardly sounded certain. He slipped the viewing glass into a pocket and removed the glass Crowleo had given him. The globe burst into sunny light, revealing the craggy cave entrance. At the far end was what looked like a wall of thick blue ice, completely covering the back of the cave.

  ‘That doesn’t look very promising,’ she said.

  Frith marched up to the barrier and laid his hand against it.

  ‘It’s glass,’ he said. ‘It’s not cold at all.’

  He was right. It was so thick that they could see nothing of what lay beyond; the light from the globe hit it and bounced back, twisted into a cold rainbow of colours.

  ‘Can you see a keyhole?’ asked
Wydrin.

  ‘What good would that do?’ snapped Frith. ‘When we don’t have a key?’

  ‘Blood is the key,’ said Sebastian. His voice sounded far away. Wydrin turned to look at him and saw that he was swaying on his feet slightly. Against the black of his cloak his face was almost milk white, and she thought it had little to do with the walk across the invisible bridge.

  ‘Sebastian, you look terrible. Are you feeling all right?’

  He waved away her question.

  ‘Late night, too much wine, nearly died the other day, remember? I’m fine. Blood is the key, Holley practically told us so. Only a Frith can hold the secret glass, and I’m willing to bet that only a Frith can open the vault.’

  Frith took a short dagger from his belt, rolled up his sleeve and laid the blade against his forearm. Wydrin watched his face closely; he didn’t flinch as the skin split and the blood welled up. Once there was a sufficient amount he smeared it across the thick wall of glass.

  For a few seconds, nothing happened at all. They could hear the wind blowing past the cave entrance, carrying the cries of birds and the green scent of the deep forest.

  Then there was a shudder so violent that Wydrin stumbled, falling into Sebastian behind her, and the wall of apparently solid glass melted away like the ice it resembled. Beyond it was a large, round room with softly glowing lights in the ceiling. The walls were panelled with warm brown wood, and there were thick embroidered carpets on the floor, giving the impression of an expensive study. Heavy wooden chests were stacked everywhere, with bulging hessian sacks strewn between them. There were paintings on the walls too, all sombre portraits. An odd chemical stink hung in the air.

  It wasn’t quite as Wydrin had imagined. She had expected dust and cobwebs, and, more importantly, piles and piles of gold coins and jewelled crowns and suchlike. Instead, it was all rather reserved and, well, organised. She walked over to the nearest chest and prised open the lid with one of her daggers. It was full of musty old documents, so she let the lid fall back with a thud.