The Forked Path

by T. R. Thompson

  They were only about fifty feet from the entrance, the last few travellers shuffling in as the gates swung slowly shut. They weren’t going to make it.

  ‘Hold!’ Daemi yelled again, pulling Heather and Frankle along roughly behind her. ‘Hold the gate!’

  Daemi’s cry drew worried glances from the travellers around them and one or two guards stopped to peer down into the crowd and identify the troublemakers, but the gates didn’t halt their slow swing.

  She grunted in frustration and shoved a merchant out of her path, sending the unfortunate man flying off the road and tumbling into another group of weary travellers.

  ‘I said hold! In the name of Redmondis!’

  Suddenly every eye seemed to turn toward them, some in fear, most in plain curiosity. The gates slowed as the men heaving on the heavy chains that controlled their mechanism paused to see how the guards above them would react.

  Daemi took advantage of the confusion to charge through the last of the travellers in their path, sending them sprawling and opening a space at the foot of the gates.

  ‘Who dares speak that name?’ A new voice sung out over the crowd, silencing them immediately. Daemi and the others stopped abruptly, responding to the commanding boom. ‘Show yourself!’

  An enormous guard stepped out from behind the walls and planted himself in the centre of the road. The man had to be at least seven feet tall, his heavy armour spiking up cruelly around his shoulders, the evil-looking helm that covered his face grinning down at the three companions, as if daring them to attack.

  Daemi wasn’t impressed. She stepped forward, waving Heather and Frankle away, and approached the guard, a captain to judge by the markings on his heavy armour. She stopped six feet in front of him and threw her cloak back over her shoulder, revealing the long knife hanging from her hip.

  ‘I dare. In the name of Redmondis, let us through the gate.’ She kept her voice low, but it seemed to echo out in the silence.

  The captain made a show of peering down at her. ‘A Redmondis guard!’ he barked, turning to the guards above him and encouraging the laughter that suddenly broke out. ‘Here! At the gates of Sontair!’

  The giant of a man finished his pirouette to face Daemi again, not moving from his position in the centre of the road. Frankle stepped in front of Heather, his eyes scanning the jagged ramparts over them.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Heather whispered, pushing him out of her way.

  ‘I think we’d better be ready for trouble,’ he whispered back. ‘That guard looks like he wants a fight.’

  Daemi came to the same conclusion, though her response was blunter. She scanned the surrounding guards, making sure every set of eyes was on her, then bent into a formal bow.

  The massive guard laughed as she bent low to the ground in front of him, then suddenly choked as Daemi stood up quickly and flung a fistful of trail mud straight into his face.

  In the blink of an eye she was on him, following the thrown mud with a high kick that snapped the guard’s heavy helm to the side, breaking the clasps that held it in place and blinding him completely. In the same movement her spin continued, her trailing leg sweeping the guard’s feet out from under him to send him crashing to the ground with a low boom.

  Daemi stepped up to the prone figure, struggling helplessly to right himself in the ridiculous armour that had become his prison, its weight pinning him in place. She placed one boot on his helm and drew her long knife, looking up at the guards above them.

  ‘Anyone else?’

  She waited a full ten seconds for someone to rise to the challenge, but the only sounds breaking the silence were the low grunts and sighs of the prone guard captain under her heel.

  ‘Thought not.’

  She removed her boot from the man’s face and strode quickly through the open gates of Sontair, her head held high, Heather and Frankle hurrying along behind.

  31

  Wilt drifted through the narrow passage, one hand stretched out before him, the other trailing along the cold stone wall to his side. Vargul had disappeared around a bend in the tunnel ahead, and the last torch they had passed was also hidden behind a curve, so that as he walked he was swallowed by an almost complete darkness. He leaned forward, almost tripping over himself, until he realised that the slope of the ground had changed and they were heading deeper underground.

  This feels familiar.

  I know what you mean.

  The passage was very much like the one he and Petron had taken into the Sisters’ lair in Redmondis. It wasn’t just the confines of the tunnel or the dim light; it was something deeper, a lack of control, of surrendering to a power greater than himself

  I was thinking more of the tunnels in Cortis’s garrison.

  Higgs hadn’t been with Wilt when he met the Sisters, and he hadn’t been with Higgs when he’d snuck into the garrison. They had been separate people, separate minds then. Now they somehow shared the same consciousness, even the same memories.

  His hand moved to the hilt of the weld blade on his hip.

  Higgs, do you ever wonder how we ended up here?

  Oh, all the time. You don’t know the half of it.

  In the tunnels of the garrison of Redmondis, Higgs had led a small group of Black Robes into danger, all to save Wilt. As a result, Higgs had been killed. It was only the strange power of the weld blade and the deep connection between wielder and ward that had allowed some part of Higgs to remain with him. And that sharing of minds, with Higgs and the others, may have been the only thing that allowed Wilt to keep his sanity, keep his very humanity, in those weeks in the Tangle when he’d come so close to giving in completely to the wraith form and the spiralling darkness that called to him.

  If Biore was here he’d tell you to focus on what we know and put anything else out of your mind. Now is not the time for dwelling on the past.

  But don’t you ever feel … robbed? Of what could have been?

  Oh, coulda, woulda. We grew up on the streets of Greystone, Wilt. You ever stop to wonder how lucky we were even to live to the age of ten? Ever think about the other kids, the ones we left behind? How long do you think they lasted? All we can do is deal with the world we find ourselves in, the situations that face us. Everything else is for people with too much time on their hands.

  Aren’t you the philosophical one? I think spending all that time with Biore and Delco has rubbed off on you.

  I’m just more interested in what’s ahead rather than behind us. You should be too … Wait. Hear that?

  Wilt stopped and held his breath, the total silence roaring in his ears. No, not total silence. There was something, just above it, a sing-song tone, almost like a weld but … different.

  Guard yourself.

  Whatever the sound was, it was getting louder.

  Wilt continued walking, focusing his mind, wrapping himself together mentally, ready to face whatever was around the next corner.

  Dim light dawned as he walked, an orange glow that grew into flickering firelight. Finally he could see Vargul waiting in the distance, a torch burning on the wall next to him, a closed heavy door blocking the way forward.

  Vargul was wringing his hands, obviously impatient to move on. ‘Come along, come along.’

  As soon as he saw Wilt’s shadow appear in the tunnel, he turned to the door and pulled back the heavy bolt. The door swung open slowly, its hinges groaning in protest, and Vargul disappeared through it into the bright light beyond.

  Wilt followed, having to duck down again to fit through the small door. For a moment the change in light blinded him, then he blinked the stars in his eyes away and found himself standing in a vast hall, bright sunlight streaming in through enormous, twenty-foot-high windows that lined one wall.

  Vargul stood to the side, watching the effect the room had on Wilt. He grinned and waved a hand expansively. ‘The queen’s private greeting hall.’

  Wilt stared open-mouthed. The room seemed to stretch in all directions like a great whit
e desert. The far wall of glass was at least a stone’s throw from where he stood, and giant columns shot up from the ground at regular intervals, curving into carved forms of men and beasts, reaching up but not quite touching the high ceiling above. Wilt felt like he’d shrunk in size, or had stumbled into a giant’s palace.

  Someone’s spent a lot of time on this place.

  ‘Most visitors are quite impressed.’ Vargul sniffed before hurrying away again.

  Wilt hurried into a trot to keep up. I don’t think we gave him the reaction he was hoping for.

  It is impressive. Especially the stonework on those columns. Touch one for me.

  Wilt reached out to the first column they passed, brushing his fingers along the cold, shaped stone. As he did so, he felt something else, a spark of recognition.

  Life. This stone is alive. Crafters formed this.

  Don’t go getting any ideas.

  Vargul was waiting again, this time by a much larger door at the end of the hall. He was actually tapping his foot, glaring at them, the golden flecks in his eyes glowing in the bright light.

  ‘Once we enter I will introduce you to her majesty the queen. You will remain silent, with your head bowed. Only when she has addressed you directly are you to raise your eyes.’ Vargul ended his spiel with another grimace, as though he was sure Wilt would mess up even these simple instructions.

  Wilt smiled innocently at him and nodded.

  Don’t drop your guard. There is power here, real power. I can almost hear it singing in the air.

  Wilt turned his senses inward and instantly recognised what Higgs meant. It was as though the air thickened, concentrated on the other side of this door, ready to explode. He wrapped his mind in layers of protection in readiness.

  He felt the air change as Vargul pushed the doors open and strode in. Wilt kept his eyes on his feet and followed him.

  ‘My lady, as you requested, I present to you the prisoner that the guard patrols from the north arrived with this morning. The wielder.’ He almost spat the last words.

  ‘Ah yes, the one from Redmondis.’ The queen’s voice was instantly familiar, swooping in and twining itself around Wilt’s mind. It brought with it images of serpents and darkness and red-robed figures sitting in judgment upon him.

  ‘Wilt, is it not?’

  Wilt raised his eyes and found himself staring into a vision from the past. An impossibly beautiful woman, long, dark red hair cascading over her shoulders, deep green eyes boring into him with an urgency he couldn’t resist. The Sister. The Sister from Redmondis. It couldn’t be.

  A knowing smile curved the queen’s lips as she saw the effect her appearance had upon him. ‘It is good to finally meet you in the flesh.’

  Her eyes remained locked on his, but her voice became one of stern command. ‘Leave us, Vargul.’

  ‘But, my lady—’

  ‘Now.’ The queen’s voice didn’t raise in volume, but there was no denying the power behind her words.

  Vargul reared back suddenly as if struck, and once again Wilt noticed the strange thickening in the air, as though something more than mere words had passed between the two. Vargul’s pale features became even more strained, and a sheen of sweat beaded his forehead. He bowed and backed out of the room.

  ‘Of course, my lady.’

  The queen finally broke eye contact with Wilt and watched the councillor hurry toward the doors. There was a dangerous curiosity to her gaze, as though she was considering what specific torments to inflict upon her servant.

  The doors swung shut behind Vargul, and the queen turned back to Wilt, her gaze warmer, though still wary. Studying him, weighing his presence.

  She looked so much like the Sister in Redmondis, though now that Wilt took the time to stare boldly back at her, he noticed certain small differences. She was just as stunningly beautiful, yet altered. Not as blatant in her knowing stare, not as arrogant. Older, more weathered about the eyes. More worldly, perhaps.

  More dangerous.

  ‘Wilt.’ Her voice too, now that he heard it again, was not exactly the same. The sense of chorus that had echoed through the Sister in Redmondis was gone, and the tone now was more musical, more human.

  ‘You are familiar to me, of course, though we have never met. You knew my sister in Redmondis. You were with her, in the end.’

  It wasn’t a question. She smiled at him, though her eyes remained distant and cold.

  So they were all sisters then, the nine of them? That goes some way to explaining how they shared such a deep connection.

  As soon as Higgs said the words, the queen’s gaze changed, warming instantly. ‘Your young friend is wiser than his years allow. Perhaps that is one of the benefits of his current position.’

  Wilt! She can hear—

  ‘Yes, young crafter, I can hear you. I can sense many things. My powers may no longer be what they were when my sisters and I shared our linked minds, but I still retain some skill.’

  Wilt stood stunned in front of her, afraid to think in case any more of his secrets were laid bare. If she could hear Higgs, what else could she know? Was his mind completely at her mercy?

  ‘Fear not, wielder. Your mind remains safe from my touch, though it would perhaps be interesting to test—’

  Instantly a spiked probe tried to push into his mind, a shaped, strong weld forcing down upon him, trying to peel back the layers that held his mind separate from the world.

  For a panicked moment Wilt felt his control slip, then he dropped into himself, into the silent depths that waited within him, and the probe melted away.

  ‘Ah, you see?’ The queen’s tone was almost one of regret. ‘You remain quite out of my reach.’

  ‘How is this possible?’ Wilt finally found his voice, driven on by anger at the sudden attempt on his mind. ‘I was there when your sister fell. I was linked with her. I saw the serpents turn … on all of you.’

  ‘You saw much more than we believed any man could see. More than you had a right to. You witnessed the end of our greatest achievement, our true power, our linked minds. Our final folly, perhaps.’

  The queen’s voice faded as she considered the past. In her drawn features Wilt glimpsed the enormous suffering such a severing must have caused.

  ‘But you did not see my end.’ The queen drew herself up, her voice strong again, pushing her memories of pain away. ‘Many of my sisters fell that day, perhaps all of them, even I no longer know for sure. Taken by the very powers we thought we could control.’

  ‘You … you cannot sense your sisters at all?’

  ‘No.’ The queen’s tone brooked no argument. In that one syllable Wilt could hear all the pain and loss the serpents had caused her, the terrifying proximity of death, the endless days and nights that followed spent searching through her own damaged mind, trying to reconnect with those that had become so much a part of herself, their shared links so fundamental that their sudden removal was like losing part of her mind, entire swathes of memory and experience blotted away.

  Wilt had been there when it happened, had helped drive the serpents back from the frothing chaos of their feeding frenzy down into the depths where they belonged, but even he had not truly known the suffering they had caused. In that one simple word, the queen had laid all of that bare.

  ‘But come.’ The queen smiled suddenly, erasing such dark memories from their presence. ‘I did not bring you before me to flounder in self-pity. We each of us have our pain. It does not do to wallow in it.’

  That’s what I said. Ask her how she can hear me.

  ‘I can hear you, crafter, because you do not shield your thoughts. You do not share our wielder training. You are a trumpet blaring out in the silence. Any wielder worth the name should hear you—it is just our sad predicament that there are no longer many who fit that description.’

  The queen brushed imaginary dust from her gown, as though angry at it.

  ‘Redmondis has failed in that regard. We have failed. Time has shown us the
folly of our plans for control. Another of the serpents’ tricks, perhaps, convincing us to weaken all to shore up our own power. Not realising who we served.’

  ‘And who did you serve? Who did the Sentinels serve? What dwells down there, in the dark, waiting?’

  Wilt’s bold question brought another smile to the queen’s lips, her bright eyes burning once more into his.

  ‘Yes. You know that which dwells below, better than any of us. You have fought its servants and survived. Perhaps you truly are the one the prophecy spoke of.’

  ‘The blood within the stone.’ Wilt whispered the words that had been following him since the first time he heard them, a lifetime ago now, choked out by a dying man on the playing field in Greystone.

  The queen’s eyes only seemed to blaze brighter in response. ‘Come, wielder. We have much to discuss.’

  32

  Heather wasn’t exactly sure what she had been expecting from Sontair, but it wasn’t this.

  The streets were filthy, caked mud from the dirt roads outside the city gates seemed to coat every inch of the cobbled street they walked down, and they constantly had to squeeze past travellers who halted in the middle of the road to address one another, oblivious to the obstacle they formed for everyone else trying to get by. Every wagon seemed to be overloaded, axles straining as they inched over the bumps to avoid breaking down completely, the horses and mules that pulled them relieving themselves where they stood adding to the muck underfoot.

  And the smell! Heather had never imagined there could be such a stench. Sweat and dirt and other things she didn’t want to think too much about mingling together. It was as though they had passed into a new world on walking through the city gates, a new atmosphere, thick and cloying, the stench wriggling into her nose, finding its way into every nook and cranny of her clothes. Heather was sure she’d never be able to get the stink out of her hair. Still, she wrinkled her nose and tried to breathe through her mouth, trotting to keep up with Daemi, who at least seemed to know where she was going.

  Frankle was experiencing a different city entirely. He smiled as they walked, a memory he thought he’d lost rushing to the fore as they pushed through the crowds and noise. That was the trigger, he recognised, the sound of the place. A cacophony of action, strange voices calling back and forth across the street, shouting to be heard above the clatter of hooves and general hubbub of the city. It sounded like home. He hadn’t come from anywhere as grand as the capital, of course, but the throngs of people, the stench and the chaos they moved through were all instantly familiar.