Boy Who Stole Time

by Mark Bowsher

  The foul potion bubbled away and soon Old Margary produced a ladle, poured the mixture into a cup and offered it to Krish.

  ‘Kiiiiinnnnng?’

  This draught was clearly meant to make him truthful. And that was what Balthrir had said – tell the truth. There was no point in lying now. None whatsoever. Even if he tried this stuff, whatever it was, it would correct him.

  He drank. Sickening, curdled milk with a musky aftertaste. He almost gagged. He had to say something. Conflicting thoughts fought for dominance in his mind: what was worse? Lying? Saying he wasn’t the biggest fan of the King and would be pretty happy if his head just fell off one day? Why didn’t he say something vague? I have an agreement with the King. Yes! That was it! Nice, vague and completely truthful. I have an agreement with the King. It was only all Balthrir’s talk of loyalty that made him think that he had to make it sound like he was a big fan of the old man.

  ‘I am loyal to the King.’

  The words had slipped out. He’d panicked. He’d had Balthrir’s talk of loyalty on the brain, twinned with a thought – a stupid, stupid thought! – that had shot into his head at the last moment: If the draught will make me truthful then I could risk lying. It’ll just correct me! Say I’m loyal – Balthrir said it was important to her! I bet anything it’ll correct me! What have I got to lose? Everything. As he stared from Old Margary to the twine on the worktop he realised that he had everything to lose and he might just have thrown it away by allowing himself to panic.

  Old Margary’s face was still but he knew she was furious. She snatched the twine from the worktop. Krish was prepared to fight. Could he grab the twine from her rough hands?

  He needn’t have bothered even considering this. The ball was thrust into his hands, Old Margary turned away and Krish never looked into those haunting eyes again.

  Krish was confused. He began to turn to Balthrir but his gaze settled on the painting. He could see it so clearly now. It was not grey. It was black. The colour of a tormented sky in the middle of a storm. A cloud billowing with thunder. And he hadn’t seen the red before. Flecks of red set into the heads of cruel beasts. The arched backs of dogs, incandescent and ravenous. Frothing at their spiteful mouths, staring straight at him with their vicious eyes. They were staring right at him. How had he not seen them before? Because they had turned. Yes, they had turned to him while he’d been watching them! He backed away, their growls filling his ears. How could he hear them? Their roaring fury was filling in his ears!

  ‘Balthrir! BALTHRIR! They’re after us! We gotta get outta here!’

  Balthrir glanced in the direction Krish was looking in and then around the room but she clearly couldn’t see a thing.

  ‘What? What are yer talkin’ about?’ she said.

  ‘The dogs! Look at them! God, we’ve gotta get outta here!’

  Balthrir’s eyes settled on the painting. ‘Where do yer see ’em? There? In that painting?’

  ‘Yes! Yes! They’re coming! Balthrir, we’ve got to go!’

  Krish was desperate to run for it but Balthrir didn’t budge. Something was dawning on her.

  ‘A Malshrael…’ she said. ‘Come on! We should never ’ave come ’ere!’

  Balthrir headed for the hatch.

  Krish followed, the heat of the fire stinging his eyes as he passed it. Then the dogs. The dogs were rushing across the room at him. No. No! They were still in the painting. They… there was one emerging from behind a workbench. Its dull, red eyes, like the glow of charcoal in a dying fire, sliding into view. Bigger and clearer and more fearsome than before. They were there! Right in front… no… NO! They were in the painting! The painting was slightly obscured by the workbench so it created the illusion that they’d escaped… NO! They were bearing down on him! They were here! There was a chair between one and the painting. Their snarling muzzles and shadow-like coats. They were real! They were in the room! Barely any fur, black skin tight over bones. Murderous eyes. Spittle hanging from their mouths. Cruel, sharp teeth. His whole body flinched as the sound of their bloodcurdling snarls shook him. A scream shot from his throat.

  ‘Krish! Open yer eyes!’

  Krish opened his eyes. They were gone.

  ‘I… I…’ Krish stammered as Balthrir dragged him out. Where had they gone?

  ‘Next time yer blink, remember to open yer eyes again!’

  ‘What?! They weren’t shut…’ Krish caught one last glance of Old Margary, huddled in the corner, feeling as if her ancient eyes were boring into him through the back of her skull, as they fled via the hatch.

  ‘The fire got in yer eyes,’ said Balthrir. ‘Yer closed ’em and didn’t bother openin’ ’em again. For some reason…’

  ‘Those dogs—’

  ‘I told yer to tell the old bat the truth!’ cried Balthrir as they rushed down the ladder. ‘She weren’t gonna deny us anything if yer told her the King was a pompous old plonker! I just meant kind of avoid the subject and be polite! She was doin’ us a favour! But she’d still ’ave ’elped. Yer don’t lie to Old Margary. You DO! NOT! LIE! T—’

  ‘But what happened?! What… Oh, come on… those dogs—’

  ‘They’re not ’ere.’ And then more quietly to herself Balthrir added: ‘Not yet.’ He could see that she was suppressing panic. She hadn’t had time to take everything in and the conclusion she was reaching was clearly something she didn’t want to think about.

  Whatever Krish was about to say was interrupted by a terrifying crash reverberating around the land. They turned to the horizon. Caught in the low, dimming light of the setting sun, its shadow stretching across the land, was the Black Palace. It shook with rage, Krish thought. A shockwave tore through the palace from its base to the tip of the highest turret. It was as if every prisoner who made up the palace had been pushed a tiny distance away from the centre before grabbing hold of their neighbour to make certain the great structure remained intact, stopping themselves plummeting to the ground. This monstrous vision was quickly followed by a brief cacophony of cries. Krish realised that the delay between what he was seeing and the sound reaching them meant that it was most likely to be the furious screams which were shaking the palace. He thought of Balthrir’s parents in the walls of the Black Palace, which was now steady once more. Balthrir remained unnervingly calm.

  ‘The King knows,’ said Balthrir. Then in what was almost a whisper: ‘They’re comin’.’

  Krish looked over the shadow-laden landscape, waiting for something to appear from the palace. For a hundred thousand knights to burst forth from the main entrance and head towards them. Or those dogs… those terrible, terrible dogs…

  But nothing came.

  ‘What’s coming?’ asked Krish.

  Balthrir didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked onto the motionless palace. The whole panorama before them was filled with unmoving objects. Not a thing stirred. The silence was deafening. Staring at the eerie stillness of the land unnerved Krish; he felt he was scanning the landscape for the tiniest movement, which would make him jump out of his skin. But not a thing stirred.

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ said Krish.

  ‘Yeah.’ Balthrir took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, quivering a little. ‘That’s the thing I was most afraid would ’appen…’

  CHAPTER 15

  THE IMPENETRABLE CANOPY

  ‘What’s a “mouse-rail”?’ Krish asked.

  ‘Malshrael!’ Balthrir corrected him, without looking over her shoulder.

  There was a long pause. Balthrir’s magical grip on the flaming tumbleweed was wavering, sending smoking splinters flying onto the path. Balthrir grunted irritably and used the distraction to ignore the question.

  ‘Balthrir…?’ He thought he saw her eyes dart back over her shoulder for a moment.

  ‘Yer’ll fall,’ she said flatly. ‘If yer not bloody careful yer’ll fall!’ And then under her breath: ‘Bloody idiot.’

  She was right; he wasn’t concentrating on the path. But it was her
fault for ignoring him. If she’d just let him know what was worrying her he wouldn’t be so distracted.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ said Krish. ‘We got the twine.’

  A brief, sarcastic chuckle from Balthrir. She was shaking her head.

  ‘What?!’ Krish persisted. ‘We did get the twine!’

  Balthrir kept going, paying him no attention.

  ‘So, you’re not talking to me because…?’ said Krish.

  Balthrir took a few more steps before answering. ‘Thinking,’ was all she said.

  ‘So, is the King sending somebody?’ Krish said. ‘Guards or, or… I dunno… assassins…?’

  She kept walking across the snow-covered summit.

  The descent would have been comparatively fast but the silence between himself and Balthrir was killing Krish. They reached the base of Ugethrid as the dawn light appeared. Balthrir hurled some mikan bread at Krish and then started summoning the odd creatures that would form a stair to the ground. She didn’t stop. While Krish swallowed a few hastily chewed bites Balthrir headed for the ground. Krish spied the large moss-like feature on the land ahead of them again.

  ‘What is that?’ Krish pointed to the covering, like a massive rug stretched out across the landscape.

  Balthrir peered over her shoulder. ‘The Night Ocean.’

  ‘Doesn’t look much like an ocean,’ said Krish.

  Balthrir didn’t bother answering, leaving Krish very confused. It looked more like a forest than an ocean.

  In the full light of day Oobna was glorious. Krish felt like a tiny creature on a gigantic tree. The sight of the ground far below through the gaps in the jelly-like steps protruding from the wood was less that reassuring though. The cool air was giving way to the desert heat once more. He could feel the heat rising from the sands below. But his mind was still on those dogs. Gusts of wind made him jump and then he saw them. Within the briefest of moments they were gone. Had he really seen them?

  They reached the ground and Balthrir busied herself with finding the mule and loading him up to continue their journey through the approaching night. Krish continued to ask questions as they walked but Balthrir simply brushed off his enquiries. She must have been mistaken about anything leaving the Black Palace, she’d say dismissively over her shoulder as they walked. Then she’d move the conversation on to whatever else seemed to come to her mind. She’d tell him about trees and plants; their names, their tastes, their fragrances. Why smell should come into it Krish had no idea and most of them didn’t smell half as sweet as she made out they would.

  ‘What’s coming? Why did Old Margary give us the twine if I lied? Why did I see those dogs? Why—?’

  Balthrir went quiet again. Once more, ‘thinking’ was all she said.

  When Krish and Balthrir reached the Great Plain the terrain was bathed in the light of Mother and Sons, Ilir’s moon and her four children. The four small moons danced around their mother moon from the coming of dusk to the arrival of dawn. Dark shapes of enormous towers of rocks were spread throughout the plain. This place must look spectacular in the full light of day, Krish thought, but at sundown the rocks were ghostly shapes sprouting up out of nowhere amongst miles and miles of level ground. Sitting there. Watching. Waiting.

  They found the sturdiest tree they could and tied the twine around it, unravelling the ball as they went. Balthrir seemed to be hiding some kind of fear and insisted on casting an invisibility spell on the twine that would come into effect as soon as it left the ball. They skirted around the desert and a harsh wind whipped up and grains flew into Krish’s eyes. He was haunted still by visions of those terrible dogs. He’d see them, sometimes only for an instant, but they were so clear. Clearer than anything he’d ever seen. Often he’d catch a glimpse of the rocks far across the sand, way behind them, and suddenly he could see them, sniffing around the rocks, but it was as if they were very close. For a fraction of a second he could see those cruel-eyed beasts on their scent, hunting them down, and then they were gone.

  ‘Balthrir…’ he’d begin, before the wizard shrugged off any attempt to believe that they were being followed. Not that she was walking at the leisurely pace of someone who wasn’t being pursued.

  ‘Balthrir! We need to rest!’ Krish cried out.

  ‘No we don’t.’ Balthrir marched on.

  ‘Balthrir, we haven’t slept since—’

  ‘Come on!’

  In the following hours Balthrir stopped only to tear some discarded carrion, not yet a feast for maggots, in two, wrapping it in skins and slinging it into her bag before a squawking raptor could swoop down and claim it for itself. Looming ahead of them was a smudge of dark grey on the horizon.

  An hour later they reached the edge of Betsarhldeth; the forest of the Night Ocean. Balthrir explained that the canopy of the forest was so thick that light could hardly penetrate it. And in the middle of the forest was the Night Ocean itself. A gargantuan mass of salt water littered with Gilimed trees, which grew from rocky outcrops fathoms below the surface. The Gilimed trees in the ocean itself were few and far between, but still their branches, coated with thick black leaves, stretched out to meet others, blocking the sky from sight. Gilimed trees were frightened of the light and fed on the blackness of endless night, said Balthrir.

  Balthrir took out a lantern and held it up to catch the bright sunlight. She then produced the Salvean blade with its tiny wooden handle no longer than Krish’s little finger, and its small, needle-like blade which was only visible when sunlight shone upon it.

  ‘We’re bloody lucky to ’ave this!’ said Balthrir. ‘Only meant to be a couple o’ Salvean blades in existence!’

  ‘Who has the other one?’ Krish enquired.

  Balthrir shrugged and proceeded to cut a line in the air between the sun and the lantern so they would have light in Betsarhldeth. As they took their first heedful steps under the impenetrable canopy, Krish felt for the first time since he was a small child that he was truly scared of the dark.

  The woods were dead. Or so it seemed. Occasionally Krish would hear the rustle of leaves or the sound of some small animal scurry across the forest floor, but mostly unnerving quiet surrounded them. The kind of silence that makes you aware of how heavily you are breathing, of your heartbeat, of the pulsating veins just under your own skin. Of how the gentle breeze irritates your eyes. The dogs. He was determined to ignore them.

  Krish hated the sight of the Gilimed trees. They were like huge long shadows stretching up into the cloud of black that was the canopy. Occasionally one creaked and groaned as he passed, as if it was aware of him being there, as if he was standing too close. He felt as if unseen eyes could be hidden in the gloom, watching his every move.

  They rested in a clearing. Krish felt more at ease lying on his side, head leaning on a rock, than against one of the trees, no matter how uncomfortable he was. He began to realise that not all the light was coming from the edge of the forest, which was already a long way behind them. A small amount of light was filtering down from where the canopy, high above them, was thinnest. It must be this, he pondered, which was making the Gilimed trees creak. The sunlight was causing them to contract, wince almost, in pain. No sooner would these cracks in the canopy appear than they would vanish, the trees apparently conspiring to rid their realm of light.

  Balthrir’s lantern of sunlight, which was comparatively dim in the murk of the woods, had a similar effect on the Gilimeds, so she learned to place it far from the trees when they rested (which wasn’t often as she was keen to press on) to stop them having to endure the unsettling sound of the tree they were leaning against contracting.

  ‘Your eyes will adjust,’ said Balthrir slowly over the crackling of the fire. ‘A few days and you will be used to the dark.’

  Krish doubted this. The idea of a few hours in this place was more than enough for him. He was famished. Balthrir had been reluctant to cook all of the carrion for some reason.

  ‘You must be tired,’ she continued. ‘Get
some rest.’ Her gaze was firmly settled on him for the first time in days. Her eyes were cold and distant, but intrigued. As if he were an experiment.

  ‘You said something was coming,’ said Krish.

  ‘I was wrong,’ said Balthrir.

  ‘But Old Margary—’

  ‘The last of her kind,’ she said patiently. ‘The Sheekarla. They pledged to help any magical folk – or their friends – whose cause was motivated by genuine selflessness. She was bound to help you whatever you said. She would have given you the twine anyway. She was bound to by traditions dating back millennia. Doesn’t stop her from… well…’

  Krish couldn’t be bothered to press Balthrir on her last, rather vague sentence. ‘I didn’t mean to lie—’

  ‘Yes you did.’ Balthrir poked the fire. ‘I told you, I just wanted you to be polite and not lay into that cantankerous old bint.’

  ‘Well… you could have been a bit clearer about—’

  ‘You don’t lie to the Sheekarla.’ She was speaking so slowly, so quietly, it seemed to make her pronounce everything correctly and that unnerved Krish. As if something was wrong with her. ‘They always know. The Sheekarla. Or they find out.’

  ‘But that stuff, that potion… it made those dogs appear!’

  ‘No. All it did was bind you to her for a short time. Even if you’d lied she’d feel the truth in you.’

  ‘But that painting—’

  ‘Is the catch.’ She looked up at him again. ‘She had to help, as the last of the Sheekarla. Didn’t mean she couldn’t report it to the King and let him take care of things from then on.’

  ‘Balthrir, that paint—’

  ‘Forget it. Get some sleep.’

  ‘But I saw them! And I keep seeing them. Why did I see them? And what’s a “mal-shral”?’

  ‘Malshrael. And it’s nothing. Get… some… sleep.’ Balthrir spoke in a voice which was almost irritated by its own calmness. Krish couldn’t deny that he was desperate for sleep. But every time he felt himself nodding off the dogs were there. Just on the edge of the woods. Lost. Sniffing the ground, the trees, the plants. Anything. They were trying to pick up the scent. Their scent. He knew it.