The Forked Path

by T. R. Thompson

  As they turned the corner, Lodan stopped and drew his sword, reaching out with his other hand to grab Daemi and hold her back. ‘Wait.’ He crouched in a low fighter’s stance, one hand still clasping Daemi’s wrist.

  Ahead of them the sound of slapping footsteps approached, and a group of three royal guards appeared, running full speed down the hill, their eyes wide and unseeing, obviously in total panic. As soon as he saw the state of the men, Lodan relaxed and sheathed his sword. These men were no threat to anyone but themselves.

  The group watched the guards hurry past, their arms pulling at each other in their rush to get as far as possible from whatever they had seen, their sword hands empty.

  ‘Did you see their eyes?’ Heather whispered as soon as the men were gone.

  Daemi nodded. ‘Something terrified those men. I’ve seen that sort of thing before.’

  ‘In Redmondis?’ Lodan asked, realising he still held Daemi’s wrist and dropping it guiltily.

  Daemi moved on, quickening her step.

  In Redmondis. With Wilt.

  The courtyard was empty of life.

  Two bodies lay on the ground, one a guard and the other a court official, judging by his expensive robes. Their clothes were all that could be used to identify them. Their grey, sunken skin and withered bodies had rendered them otherwise unrecognisable. Both faces were stretched into masks of naked terror, lips drawn back from gums, eyes wide and staring.

  Frankle stared down at the ruined body of the guard, lost in thought.

  ‘Don’t look at them.’ Daemi clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his daze. ‘There’s nothing you can do, they’re gone.’ She moved past him, eyes locked on the ground, searching around the edge of the courtyard for signs of what exactly had happened.

  Lodan was doing the same on the other side. ‘There wasn’t much of a fight here,’ he said eventually, bending down to trace a footprint with his finger. ‘More of a general panic. I’ve never seen a sight like this.’

  ‘I have.’ Daemi left the edge of the courtyard and moved in to study the bodies. ‘It was Wilt. At least, he was involved.’

  Lodan joined her in the circle and gestured down at the ruined bodies. ‘And these?’

  ‘Drained. I’ve seen that before too. Wilt did it to one of Cortis’s guards, though I don’t think he meant to. Something to do with using up the life of his victim to survive an attack from the Sisters. Then later, when he … when he changed. There were others.’

  ‘Changed? What do you mean?’

  Daemi shook her head, unwilling to talk any more about it.

  ‘Something happened to Wilt, in Redmondis.’ Heather stepped in to explain to Lodan. ‘Cantor Cortis—one of the prefects—fell under the influence of a dark power. He took control of Redmondis, took over most of the guards. He started … doing things to the wielders.’

  ‘Wilt stopped him, somehow, by using the welds—that’s what wielders call the connections between minds they use to control people,’ Frankle added. ‘But Higgs—’

  ‘He was killed.’ Heather’s voice had become distant, as though operating outside her control. ‘But Wilt wouldn’t let him go. He used the welds—to save him, I suppose—to hold him back from death. But the only way to do that was to give in to the power he needed to use, to let it take him over …’

  ‘He became a wraith,’ Frankle finished.

  ‘A … wraith?’ Lodan turned toward him.

  ‘A creature formed from the welds themselves, from the other side of life. At least, that’s how Petron explained it. It seeks out life and drains it, feeds on it, until all that is left is death. Just like these two.’

  ‘That’s not right.’ Daemi raised her head, her eyes red and angry. ‘Wilt isn’t just … He can control it. I know he can.’

  Lodan looked back and forth between the three travellers. Each of them carried scars from the past, all centred somehow around Wilt and Higgs and what had become of them.

  ‘So he’s dangerous?’

  ‘He might be,’ Heather said. ‘But we need to find out for sure.’

  Lodan watched the others as Heather spoke. Daemi had her eyes locked on the ground again, perhaps furious with their discussion, or with herself and her feelings, or just with the world in general. Frankle was trying to look brave, but Lodan could almost smell the fear on him.

  ‘You’re a wielder, aren’t you, Frankle?’

  Frankle nodded, then tried to explain. ‘But I’m not like—’

  Lodan waved his protest away. ‘Do you think Wilt is dangerous?’

  ‘I think we need to find him, and I think we need to be very careful when we do.’

  ‘Here.’ Daemi was now standing at the far side of the courtyard, at the top of a narrow path that led toward the castle. It seemed to curve around and under the building as though hiding beneath it. ‘He went this way. I can feel it.’

  Heather hurried over to her, her hand clutching something inside her shirt as she stepped next to Daemi. A moment later her face drained of colour, and she nodded. ‘Definitely.’

  Without looking back, the two women started down the path.

  Lodan was left staring uncomprehendingly at their backs until Frankle trotted past, shrugging his apologies.

  ‘Call it women’s intuition, if that helps.’

  43

  It was happening again.

  The Guardian sat alone on his throne, all senses tuned to the low murmur of the trees gaining in volume, becoming a groan, until the animals themselves sensed it, a sudden scattershot of birds taking flight in the face of the coming storm.

  Wilt. It must be. Something has happened.

  The next moment even a human could have heard it, the groan becoming a shaking creak as a thousand trees shifted in place, their roots suddenly pulling free, some withering, others reaching ever deeper in a desperate search for sustenance.

  A crack echoed across the forest as an elder finally succumbed, its centuries-old trunk shuddering and ripping itself in two, pulling itself up and out of the soil as it fell, laying waste to an entire swathe of forest as it came crashing down.

  This is more than before. There’s something wrong. Find him, quick.

  The Guardian closed his eyes and pulled, down into the depths, down to where the roots reached for life, winding themselves ever deeper into the past.

  Stop! Thief!

  He ducked under the guard’s swinging arm and swerved into the alley, dropping half his haul as he went, not thinking for a moment about stopping to recover any of it. A loud crash behind him told him the guard hadn’t been quick enough to change direction and had crashed into the fruit stall that lined one wall.

  —No. Not that way. That’s another memory, from another soul. Another life.—

  The Guardian sighed and bent his will even deeper, twisting the roots further down, beyond the past, into the future.

  She slung her pack over her shoulder and caught Frankle’s hand as he slid down the steep, rocky incline. He was still dazed, his eyes glazed and shadowed, his legs weak. The skies above were already darkening, but they’d only just got out of the twisting cave complex that had eaten up their past few days and nights, so even this ominous sky was a welcome sight.

  Ahead of them Daemi waited at the base of the slope, watching them stumble their way toward her with barely disguised impatience. They were only halfway down the mountain, and she didn’t want to spend another night close to those caves. Above Daemi’s head, perched on a tall boulder, sat a large black cat, its silver claws digging into the stone, its eyes turned to the east, toward their destination.

  Another shudder as the roots shrank back from that path, pulling themselves free. The Guardian urged them onward, further into the cold wash of time.

  He sat alone in the enormous library, its high vaulted ceilings towering above him, the strange green light that covered everything in this place giving the room a sickly, leprous aspect.

  He pushed the parchment flat again
as it curled back into a roll and bent toward the words, moving his lips as he read, the air dropping in temperature with each syllable.

  Within you and without you

  The blood within the stone

  Writ for you and about you

  Together and yet alone

  The roots that sink the deepest

  The forked path of the mind

  The soul that splits is weakest

  Future and past entwined.

  He readied his pen to continue the song. The scratching at his mind called to him from the past, their clinging thread pulling at him, wrenching themselves free.

  He glanced up at the small looking glass on his desk and froze as he saw the eyes staring back at him.

  —Higgs. That was Higgs’s face.—

  —There. That’s the way. But closer, not so far into the—

  Daemi ducked and rolled as the creature shot out another claw. The closed scars on her back pulled angrily as she surged to her feet, spinning her blade to deflect the fang that darted toward her, threatening to impale her on its cruelly serrated edge.

  Too fast. It was too fast for her. At least she’d die fighting, like a true warrior.

  —That’s better. Closer. Almost present. Now, another twist.—

  The wolf slunk slowly forward, eyes wary, tongue lolling out one side of its jaws and a thick stream of red-tinged drool dripping down to mingle with the dirt and blood at its feet.

  She raised her blade, its point impossibly heavy, and tried to form herself into a fighting stance, but her legs didn’t want to obey. She was too tired, driven beyond the point of exhaustion.

  The wolf stopped its slow, deliberate advance and watched her.

  —This is a memory. From the past again, too far back to …—

  The wolf sat back on its haunches and leaned its head to one side, openly curious now as it stared at her, all bloodlust and fight drained from its being.

  —No. No this is something else. Something familiar. Something more than a memory.—

  —I was wondering how long it would take you to find me, Delco.—

  —Biore? But how?—

  —Not long after you and Rawick helped the Guardian, I too found an outlet for my services.—

  —Here? In the wash of memory?—

  —More than memory, Delco. You’ve felt it yourself. I suspect Rawick knew something of it all along. The welds go beyond time, not just backward but forward as well. And if you can ride them right …—

  —You can move with them. Future and past entwined.—

  —That’s right. And there’s more. Much more. But first we have to bring Wilt back. He’s gone deep, deeper than I thought possible. He won’t make it back without our help.—

  —He was here. We saw a vision of the future, a possible future I suppose. And Daemi. Daemi was fighting one of those creatures.—

  —Daemi. Yes, her connection to Wilt is strong. Use that.—

  —The dark thing is wrong. It doesn’t belong.—

  —Well, of course not, Shade. That’s what we have been …—

  —It came from below. Where nightmares grow.—

  —Of course! The boy’s right, Delco. That creature, it came from the same place where Wilt is trapped, I’m sure of it. That means there must be a way out. A path. A weakness.—

  —Biore, I don’t understand what you’re saying.—

  —Go back. Back into that vision of the dark thing and Daemi. I think I know what we need to do.—

  The Guardian gripped the arms of his throne as he focused his mind, sifting through the seemingly endless threads beneath the soil to find the right one, the one that led—

  Daemi shuddered with pain. Her right arm was gashed open, her tunic soaking through with blood. She could barely hold her blade, let alone raise it. The creature reached for her, its long, serrated claw flicking out to finish the job.

  —Now stop. Back, into the thing itself.—

  —But how Biore? Daemi isn’t a wielder.—

  —But she shares much with one. Use the connection.—

  —Just like he did with us.—

  —That’s right, Shade. It’s what the Guardian used Wilt for, to merge your minds with his. Wilt can do it again. He can do more than you can imagine.—

  Daemi dropped to her knees as the scars on her back suddenly tore open. Her vision blurred, and for a single moment she thought she could see a figure standing before her, blocking her from the certain death coming her way. Then her mind seemed to warp and bend and with a rush she was elsewhere, hurtling along a thin silver connection into the creature’s mind. Into darkness, and silence, and a sudden breath of cold through her core as she dived through a shimmering tunnel, into ice and memory.

  ‘What do you have there, Meat?’

  He blinked and time froze, a chill locking everything in place. He could feel tendrils of possibility swimming away from him, urging him to follow, to set them free, but he was stuck inside this one moment, only his eyes able to trace their path.

  His shoulder wrenched, a slick, muddy puddle, white bread soaking in the dreck, turning brown and soft.

  A shift and a cry as a body hit the ground. A heat spreading up his arm from the warm roll still clutched in his hand.

  His shirt pulled tightly around the two rolls he had filched, his other hand pulling out the knife he’d kept secret for so long. It almost pulled him onward, the blade eager to finally be used.

  —Wilt, this is not your memory. Leave this to the past.—

  —Biore? Where am I? How are you …—

  —You are somewhere very deep, out of reach. Only you can bring yourself back. But not this way. Resist it, don’t let the nightmare blind you.—

  He closed his eyes, forcing the vision away. The ice rumbled and shifted, and he faced another memory, this one more familiar.

  ‘Blade!’ someone yelled out in a high voice.

  —Higgs. That was Higgs, warning me. This was when we’d won the flagball game.—

  —Yes, Wilt. Now watch for the moment, and use it to save yourself.—

  The guard that had charged past Wilt into the crowd came stumbling back onto the field of play, a shining dagger in his hand, his eyes wild.

  Wilt spun to face the man, the flag still clutched in his hand. Some defence that would be.

  —And Higgs comes out of the crowd and helps save me. I knock the man down and …—

  A crack in the ice, and the memory shifts.

  Wilt stared at the sprawled figure in the dirt. Bolter and Bing had him by the shoulders, and two guards held his legs. Blood covered his face now, but he lifted his head and looked directly at Wilt.

  ‘The blood within the stone!’ His voice was deep and rasping, only half human.

  —Stop. Here. This is the place. Now, Wilt. Change the memory.—

  Wilt locked eyes with the man and sent a black weld into his mind.

  A wash of panic and fury, chaos pulsing over him, pushing into his nose and throat and choking any life away.

  —No. Control it. Just like the gloomclaw, when the queen tried to use its power.—

  He let the storm pass over him, ignoring the panic and the pull. This man’s mind was a hellscape, no human aspect remaining, all blasted away by the power that controlled him. Power that was leaving him behind.

  —Find whatever’s controlling him, Wilt. Before it flees.—

  He raced through the collapsing mind, searching out what he knew had to be there. A connection.

  —There.—

  A single golden thread glittered in the distance. A weld, unlike any he had ever seen. He grasped for it, dived into it, and let it pull him free.

  44

  ‘This way.’ Daemi kicked the lock off the heavy wooden door and stepped forward, one hand on the hilt of her blade as the door swung slowly open.

  A gust of fetid air rushed out at them from the darkness beyond, and Heather retreated behind Daemi, holding one hand to her nose. ‘Ugh.’


  Lodan peered over Daemi’s shoulder into the shadows. ‘Dungeons. And not clean ones, judging by the smell.’

  Daemi moved onwards, drawing her long knife as she went.

  Lodan fell into place behind her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Behind him came Heather, still holding one hand to her face, and taking up the rear was Frankle, head down, listening to something right on the edge of hearing, something that had grown in volume as the door swung open. Something he knew only he out of the party could hear.

  ‘Check the cells on the left. Make sure none of those bundles move,’ Daemi ordered, the captain of the Redmondis guard coming to the fore.

  There were cells on both sides of the tight passage, and not all of them were empty. Mounds of rags huddled in their corners, the stench of human waste clinging to them. Lodan reached through the bars to poke his sword gently at one, but nothing moved in response.

  The passage split ahead, and Daemi hesitated, both paths leading into further shadows.

  ‘To the right,’ Frankle whispered.

  Daemi nodded and continued. Only Heather turned to raise an eyebrow at Frankle, who shook his head and kept his eyes down, trying to keep his focus on the strange song that was getting louder and louder with every step.

  Weld music. It was something he’d heard before, something from the worst times of his life, from when Cortis attacked Redmondis and he hid in a corner of his room as guards took all his friends away. Not having the courage to stand up and fight. Squirrelled away under a pile of clothes, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to magic himself invisible somehow, barely daring to breathe, only later opening his eyes to find that somehow he’d been missed.

  Only this was louder now. Much louder. A siren song from the depths, something all wielders have heard at some stage, and some have yielded to, losing themselves forever in the surge and wash waiting below.

  Wilt. It had to be. What had he become, to be heard so clearly?

  ‘Stop,’ Daemi whispered, and she held her fist up, signalling those behind.

  Up ahead a single door was half open, showing a large lit space behind it. A packed dirt floor. She crept up to it and peered around the door’s edge, holding her breath in the silence. Finally she reached out and pushed the door open, stepping into the centre of the frame as it swung clear.