“The fun way worked out OK, though,” said Emmie.
“Fun?” spluttered Finn.
Before them, the Legend’s shoulders pulsated, mutated, thick bottle-green fur bursting out. The Shapeshifter’s lower half reverted to its hairy, horrendous original state. Its arm was that of a woman. One leg was a giant rabbit’s leg for some reason. And its head was a deformed version of Finn’s, with a headscarf wrapped round it.
It collapsed between stalagmites, a half-formed mix of so many things, all of them on their own enough to keep Finn in nightmare material for the rest of his life.
“I didn’t need to see that,” said Finn, yet unable to quite take his eyes off it. “And I’m not sure how to feel about the fact that looking miserable turned out to be a good thing.”
The three of them remained somewhat dumbstruck by the sight of the Shapeshifter morphing into various forms in an attempt to escape. Each time it shrank, the wire only tightened its hold on it.
“We’d better go,” said Estravon.
“I thought you didn’t want to leave here,” said Emmie.
“The situation has changed.”
They made their way to the exit, round the struggling Legend, a ghastly combination of people and creatures which occasionally fell quiet for a few seconds to regain its strength before thrashing about again.
Finn realised his horror was being undercut by something else: sympathy. He hadn’t given the Legend a chance; instead, he’d been part of another exercise in shooting first and asking questions later, just like humans had always done. Another reason for Legends to hate them.
“It looks like it’s in awful pain,” said Finn. “Maybe it didn’t really want to hurt us.”
The Legend snapped one of the wires and lunged at them, using its free arm to start dragging itself towards the three of them, biting and foaming.
“Still think that?” asked Estravon and they hurried away, scrambling through the opening and into the fetid, grim air of the Infested Side that they never thought would be so welcome.
Hsssssss
Finn held the radio close to his mouth and called his father’s name. Clearly but quietly.
“Finn to Dad. Come in, Dad,” he said.
The only response was unbroken static.
Finn called him again.
Hsssss.
They were hunkered down a short distance from the cave on a ground of cracked stone slabs on which tendrils of dull blue lichen clung. The area bordered what seemed to be dense woods, although its trees could barely be described as such. They had definitely been trees at some point in their history, and the tallest had grown to dizzying heights, great giants with long branches that suggested they were once wild with growth and renewal. But no longer. Now they were bare, petrified remains on the edges of a forest that appeared frozen mid-agony.
Above them, the sky was a uniform, unending grey, squatting low over the world. So low, in fact, that the tallest trees in the dead forest disappeared into the layer of cloud as if they had simply been snipped off cleanly at their tops.
“So this is the Infested Side,” Estravon said and sniffed. “It smells awful.”
It really did. Finn had noticed it too – it was impossible not to. “It’s sort of like feet. Feet wrapped in fish or something,” he said.
“No,” said Emmie. “It’s more like the worst morning breath ever. But everywhere.”
“Just try the radio again,” Estravon instructed.
“Finn to Dad,” he said. “Can you hear me, Dad?”
Hssssss.
Finn’s spirits sank. He had brought them here. He hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t planned to. He was supposed to be bringing his father back, not going in to find him. That didn’t matter now. His impulsiveness had dropped them into the Infested Side and now they were stuck here, in the full knowledge that it was a world full of things that wanted to kill them. Or worse.
He wondered what his father would say. What his mother was going to do when she realised he was gone.
The fear brought on by all those thoughts crowding his mind felt as intense as those inspired by the world around them.
“Finn to Dad. Are you there, Dad?”
Hssssss.
He looked at Estravon, who was clearly keen to say something.
“You need to say ‘over’,” said Estravon. “That’s the standard radio protocol.”
“Finn to Dad,” Finn repeated. He glanced at the Assessor and reluctantly muttered, “Over.”
Hsssss. Click.
“Fi—” Sqwuack. Chquiiilth. “—must—”
Hsssss.
Finn held the radio tight, not wanting to let go of his father’s voice. It was distant, drowned in white noise. But it was him. It was his dad.
“Dad. It’s me,” Finn said, excitement rippling through him, making his armour quake. “I’m here. Dad. We’re here to get you. Over.”
Chwachlsck. His father’s voice returned, caught in a loop of deepening distortion. “mememememe mememeMEMEMEMEM” It cut out again. “—ountain nnnnnnnn.”
Sqwushch. Hssssss.
Far ahead, in the distant haze beyond the trees, they could just make out a great mountain range slicing high above the horizon, snowcaps gripping like talons to their peaks. The carpet of cloud hugged the landscape until it reached them, where it rose, matching the slope of the mountains, almost as if to accommodate them.
“Is he saying we need to go to the mountains?” asked Emmie.
“No,” spluttered Estravon. “We avoid the mountains. Clearly, he meant we stay away from the mountains.”
“Dad. Come in, Dad.”
“—towerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr—”
Hssssss.
“Towels? Do we have to bring towels, Dad?” asked Finn.
“He said tower, not towel,” said Estravon. “What is wrong with you? Tower.”
“Dad. Can you hear me?”
Hssssss.
“Dad. Come in, over.”
That was it. Finn tried again. Stopped, gave it a few moments before giving it another go. His father had gone, finally overcome by static. But Finn savoured the sound of his father’s voice for a little while longer before focusing on what he had said. Because, whatever the words meant, that they had been spoken at all made one thing very clear.
Hugo was out there somewhere. He was alive. And Finn had no choice but to find him.
How they were going to do that was a whole other matter.
‘The Execution of the Human’
From The Chronicles of the Sky’s Collapse,
as told by inhabitants of the Infested Side
TWENTY-THREE YEARS AGO
There are many ancient sayings that refer to our greatest enemy.
“A human may run very quickly, but it cannot escape its legs.”
“If you prick them, they shall bleed. But slashing is more effective.”
But there is one saying that every young Legend is taught, and must know by heart, for the day will inevitably come when they will be faced with its truth.
“There are many ways to kill a human, but there is only one type of human to kill.”
It means they are a species which does not vary greatly. Some are large, some small. Some wear ink on their bodies; others are covered from head to toe in steel. But they are generally all the same: they have two legs, two arms, one head, and will not sprout another should any of them be cut off.
So, while there are many ways to kill a human, it is considered best not to overcomplicate things. The best way to kill a human will generally be the same way you killed the last human. And the one before that. And before that again.
On the day of Niall Blacktongue’s death, the executioner was keeping it simple. The hooded Fomorian had built a platform in a scorched clearing. The centre of the platform was hollowed out and the human was made to stand at its edge. Beneath it was dug a pit which had been filled with writhing death larvae.
Below that again had been placed fifty ro
ws of daggers. Just in case keeping it simple didn’t work. The human’s head was bowed, and the dark words that used to tumble from his mouth like the acid waterfalls of the Deep North had stopped many months before. Suddenly. Finally. Not uttered since, despite efforts to pull them from him along with his fingernails.
As Blacktongue struggled to stay upright on the wobbling platform, Gantrua stood before him, the jagged edges of his grille sporting several extra layers of teeth since the human had first stepped into this land from the Promised World. If Blacktongue had cared to examine them, he would have recognised at least one of those teeth as having once belonged to him.
In Gantrua’s hand was a struggling half-lizard. “Do you know this place?” Gantrua asked him, looming over the human even though the prisoner stood some way off the ground. “This is where we first found you. This is where you saw fit to use your power to lay waste to half an army.”
Blacktongue did not react.
Gantrua looked around. “You know that some of these fools thought you brave when you came here? In truth, I thought so myself briefly. Here was this saboteur, sacrificing his life to destroy us. We know more now. We know you were discarded by the humans, a piece of flotsam washed up in this world because you were of no use to your own kind. And now you are of no use to us. At least your corpse will be of some value to something.”
He dropped the squealing half-lizard into the pit. It was consumed in a frenzy of death larvae.
Gantrua turned his back on Niall and began to walk away, his sword carving a scar through the burnt earth.
“Kill him.”
There was a murmur from Niall Blacktongue. Gantrua heard it, the human’s whimpering a mere tremor in his ear.
The executioner lifted a rod, weighed it in his hands for a moment, then planted his feet firmly in the ground as he swung it behind his shoulder.
Blacktongue spoke louder.
The executioner swung at the platform.
Blacktongue shouted. “I have seen the end!”
The executioner struck the platform with such force it splintered instantly, releasing Blacktongue into the void.
But the human did not fall.
Gantrua had a hand wrapped round his neck, holding him between life and death.
“This had better be worth it,” he snarled.
Through the crushing grip round his throat, Blacktongue forced words. Lines so throttled they did not carry beyond the ears of Gantrua.
The hushed Legends saw Gantrua tighten his grip. They saw the prisoner splutter and gag. A fleck of spittle arced in the grey light.
Below, the death larvae were in a frenzy.
“You humans break so easily,” said Gantrua.
But he did not let go.
Finn’s plan was falling apart.
Not that he ever really had a plan.
He had no idea what they were supposed to do next and neither did Emmie or Estravon.
Opening the gateway had seemed a perfectly logical thing to do, until Finn had actually opened the gateway. Now they each had only half an idea of where they were supposed to go, only an inkling of where his father might be.
And they disagreed on that anyway.
“He told us we need to go to a tower in the mountains,” said Finn.
“No, he said the words ‘mountains’ and ‘tower’,” clarified Estravon, “but it doesn’t mean we hotfoot it there.”
“Finn wants to go there,” said Emmie. “Isn’t that right, Finn?”
“I’m not really sure—” he started.
“So, we go there,” concluded Emmie before he could finish.
They were still on the edge of this forest scoured of all its leaves, a landscape of arboreal skeletons grasping for some unreachable mercy. Above it was a sky stripped bare of comfort and colour.
It was not the most welcoming of places.
For the first time since arriving, Finn felt the chill of the Infested Side on his skin. He was a bit shaken by the encounter with the Shapeshifter. It had not merely been like looking in a mirror, but rather something far more revealing.
“Is that what I look like in this fighting suit?” Finn asked Emmie as they crouched by a dead tree. “All that armour round my legs, but not much of me inside it?”
“It’s better you’re inside it than outside,” said Emmie, trying to cheer him up.
“How long were we here before we were attacked?” asked Estravon. “I’ll tell you how long. Three minutes and forty-two seconds. You do realise that you matter, Finn? You’re actually quite important in the grand scheme of things. You need to get out of this place alive because they don’t do Completion Ceremonies for the dead. At least not since all that trouble over Jeremy the Eviscerated.”
“Are you saying that I don’t matter?” asked Emmie, insulted.
“No,” said Estravon. “Of course you do. But not like he does. So many of us have bought our suits, for crying out loud. Ties. Souvenir cufflinks.”
“Souvenir cufflinks?” wondered Finn, baffled.
“Obviously, that’s not the only reason your Completion matters, but they weren’t cheap all the same.” He took a notepad out of his pocket, unclipped the attached pen and began to scribble.
“Are you coming up with a plan?” Finn asked him.
“I’m making notes for my report.” Estravon seemed to sense Finn and Emmie’s bemusement at this because he addressed them without even looking up. “It’d be a bit strange if I didn’t take notes. ‘So, what did you do after the giant red gateway sucked you into the Infested Side?’ ‘Oh, nothing much, Council of Twelve. We grabbed some soil samples and hopped back home.’” Estravon stopped writing for a moment and considered that. “Actually, we probably should grab some soil samples.”
“Make sure you spell my name right,” said Emmie.
“I will. I promise you. I’ll save a whole subsection of the report just for you. Footnotes as well.”
“May all your pens be dry of ink,” Emmie responded, pleased with herself. Estravon looked mortally irked at that insult and at his inability to come up with a snappy response.
Finn thought it best to see what might be in the immediate vicinity before deciding what to be most afraid of.
He pulled his bag round to take the blocky scanner from it. Except for a dent along one edge, the device appeared largely undamaged after being flung across the cave when the gateway had opened. He turned it on and it worked immediately, and he watched as it got a fix on the landscape around him.
What emerged was unfamiliar. This was not the usual image of Darkmouth he was so used to. Instead, varying contours infused the screen, their edges softening until they settled into a palette of brown smudges with occasional beige patches. Finn examined it carefully. He had no idea what any of it meant.
On the side of the scanner was a button that – when pressed at home anyway – revealed any nearby life signs. Legends showed up as pulsing green dots on the screen, after which they could be tracked down. This time, Finn would need to use the scanner to avoid any passing Legends.
Pushing the button, he waited for a moment while it blinked, warming up.
Emmie stood at his shoulder, peering at the screen. Estravon broke off from his note-taking to stand at Finn’s other shoulder and they waited silently for something to show on the screen.
A green dot appeared towards the lower left corner.
Finn looked round in that direction. “There must be a Legend over there somewhere.”
“The Shapeshifter?” wondered Emmie.
“I don’t know. I’m only really used to seeing a map of Darkmouth, so I’m not sure exactly where it might be.”
“Well, that is just super,” sighed Estravon. He made a note, then stuffed his notepad back into his pocket.
“It’s only one Legend,” said Finn. “I’m not sure exactly how far away, but look – we’re these red dots at the centre of the map so we just need to keep some distance from whatever that one green dot is.”
A third green dot appeared behind them.
Four. A green pulse beside the third.
At least the Legends didn’t seem to be too close. If we’re careful, Finn thought, we can avoid…
Five. Six. Seven.
“Maybe it’s an error with the reading,” he said hopefully.
“Give it to me,” said Estravon, grabbing the scanner from Finn. He gave the screen a flick with a knuckle.
The scanner blinked off.
On.
Off.
It did not come back on.
Finn grabbed it, tapped it again. Slapped it. “There was no need to break it,” he grumbled.
“I’m upgrading our current status from Super to Just Bloody Fantastic,” said Estravon.
“Come on,” said Emmie. “We’re here, we’re still alive, Finn’s dad is close enough to talk to on the radio and we’re not just on a Legend hunt, but a Legend Hunter hunt. This is going to be exciting, isn’t it, Finn?” She slapped him cheerily on the shoulder.
“They’ll notice us missing from school pretty soon,” Finn said. He put the malfunctioning scanner back in his bag and chewed on his lip while he tried to figure out what they should do next, secretly hoping someone would just tell him. He looked up at Emmie. “Although it was double geography anyway, so...”
“I have to walk away from this,” said Estravon. “This contravenes so many protocols that, frankly, I think we’ve exceeded the number of protocols there can possibly be.”
A look of realisation crossed Finn’s face. “You’re wrong,” he said. “I’ve done my apprentice Legend Hunter studies. I know there’s a rule about this, which means you have to help us. Section 46a or something.”
Estravon considered this. “Section 46a? ‘That no Legend Hunter may eat spaghetti with their hands at formal dinners?’”
“No,” Finn said. “There’s another one. That apprentice Legend Hunters must be allowed to make their own mistakes with the guidance of any adults present. Or something.”
Into the Infested Side Page 8
