by Mark Bowsher
It troubled them both greatly but there was nothing they could do. They moved on.
They descended into the land of Tyraah, swapping Ilir’s most mountainous landscape for its flattest. Balthrir stated that they were now back in the domain of King Obsendei. Tyraah was a seemingly endless plateau of dark brown stone, criss-crossed with shallow crevices, the terrain masked by the sand caught in the strong wind constantly swirling just above the ground. Balthrir pulled out long headscarves from her pack.
‘Most folks go around,’ shouted Balthrir above the howling wind. ‘But it’s miles that way!’ She pointed off to the north-west. ‘And we’d ’ave to risk Argyrhyr Pass.’
‘Not a very safe place?’
‘Not a very safe place?! It’s the kinda place where thieves steal from assassins. It gets pretty messy up there. I ’eard there was a guy who once just looked at the pass and found ’is shoes ’ad been nicked! I would not risk takin’ a priceless pearl and still-flamin’ whatsitmacalled through there!’
Balthrir helped tie a headscarf into a turban for Krish and then wrapped it around his face, leaving only his eyes exposed to the elements.
‘Oh, and whatever yer see,’ she said, ‘don’t pay it any attention.’
‘What?’ said Krish.
‘Seriously. Won’t do yer no good. Eyes to the ground. Might stop yer gettin’ sand in ’em.’ She didn’t seem keen to elaborate.
They rarely stopped. Even with his face almost completely covered Krish still found sand gathering in his eyes, the corners of his lips and even getting into his ears. He soon learned that the satisfaction he got from a sip of water was hardly worth it once a volley of grains flew into his mouth. Regardless of the noise of the ceaseless gales whipping around them, Balthrir was determined to keep talking. Not that he heard much between the wind and the headscarf muffling her voice.
‘Huh-huh-huh-huh-hah. Huh. Huh-huh-hah. Huh-had? Huh! H-h-huh, bucket o’ the stuff and a-huh-huh-huh-huh-worth the bother if you-huh-huh-hah ’bout the size of a-huh!’
And she kept pointing at the ground like there was something interesting to see, but all Krish saw was more and more scarred stone. After fighting the Vulrein in the deep, facing death at the savage hands of the Goonmallinns and almost being burned alive by the FireHawk, he was surprised to find that this was the worst ordeal of the lot. All the other instances had lasted relatively short lengths of time and as horrifying as they were he could never complain about there being a dull moment. The trek through the Sands of Tyraah went on for hour after hour after mind-numbingly boring hour. He turned his mind towards thoughts of home. They were almost there. They had achieved everything they had set out to achieve.
The thoughts didn’t hang around in his mind for long. Balthrir was his friend. A friend unlike any he had ever had before. But it wouldn’t last. As soon as he touched a grain of the Myrthali she would be gone. This whole world would be gone for ever. He loved and feared Ilir but the latter was fading in his mind. He would leave this world having walked around the whole of it and somehow that placed it firmly in his brain in a way that meant it would never truly diminish. But she would be gone. One touch of that dust and he’d never see her again. This feeling weighed him to the ground like nothing he had encountered previously. A few minutes later he would have a similar sensation that was just as dark, if not more so.
When he did look up the horizon was so hazy that he felt he’d gone blind from seeing so much bland rock stretching out in front of him. It was then that the shapes began to form before his eyes. First they were just stains, blemishes upon the landscape. Dirty yellow-brown forms up ahead. Then they started to appear at his feet. They were everywhere. He was suddenly wary of tripping but they didn’t appear to be solid. He walked through them like they were mist but no wisps of vapour fled to the sides as he brushed through. There were so many of them. Stretching on way in front of him.
Krish was aware that Balthrir had stopped talking and was looking back at him.
‘Ignore ’em,’ she said, quite clearly all of a sudden.
‘What are they?’ he asked.
‘Nothin’ yer wanna worry about.’
Krish was starting to worry because the shapes were now a lot more familiar. Each was a large, sausage-like shape aside from the way they all became somewhat narrower at one end. No more than a couple of metres long and less than half a metre or so wide, knee-height off the ground. They were wrapped in coarse sacking, bound with rope. The rope emphasising the globe-like object that would be on top of the shapes if they stood upright. And Krish knew which way up they went now. They were bodies. Hundreds and hundreds of bodies and they were wading straight through them.
‘I said don’t look!’ Balthrir shouted over her shoulder.
‘Balthrir… seriously… I can’t… What are they?’
‘Nothin’. Don’t exist. Ignore ’em.’
‘Balthrir, please! What are they?’
He couldn’t tell if it was the wind or a fearful sigh before she spoke. ‘The future. No! What was it Nboosa said… “Consequences. Consequences of the actions yer see yerself taking in the immediate future.”’
‘I… How can I… I wouldn’t kill anyone!’
‘Not intentionally.’ She glanced over her shoulder to see a classic Krish-needs-it-spelt-out-to-him expression peering out from the small slit in his headscarf. ‘Look, the consequences of yer actions are always measured by the number of people who could be affected by them. And how d’yer measure that? Yer gotta see ’ow many of ’em ’ave snuffed it, right? Look, imagine you eat a fruit. Yer leave the seed on the ground and a bird that ’appens to be passin’ eats it. A bird that would never ’ave eaten those seeds if you ’adn’t been there. Seed goes through the bird’s digestion system, bird plops it back onto the ground somewhere, a tree starts to grow, few ’undred years later a man rides into the tree and dies. A man who, I dunno, saves lots of people some’ow. From a fire or summink. Bloke ’oo wouldn’t’ve snuffed it if you ’adn’t eaten that fruit. Or maybe that tree’ll feed ’undreds of people in the future and yer’d see less bodies. Yeah?’
‘So, all these are people who are going to die because of something I do?’
‘Yep.’
‘What if I change what I do?’
‘It’s not the future. It’s the consequences of what yer plannin’ to do at the moment.’
Krish had been thinking of taking the King’s Myrthali. Of leaving this world. Of returning home to his Mum and saving her.
‘But seriously, how can I—?’
‘Look, mate! Yer go and see the King, blardy-blar, get yer Myrthali, ’e’s right narked off, declares war with someone because ’e’s in a bad mood. Many folks get knackered, life-wise.’
‘But… I…’
‘Think of another course of action.’
Krish considered this. What if he found a way to remove the King before leaving? He knew what that would mean. Balthrir had said the King had to die before another took his place. He could never do this, but he was thinking about the possibility nonetheless and he saw the world around him changing. The bodies were now laid out before him for miles.
‘But… Balthrir, it got worse!’
‘Keep thinkin’! Or don’t. Pretty bloody awful thing to dwell on really.’
Krish thought again. He concentrated on what would happen if he took his Myrthali and then stayed. He looked hard at the bodies. Were some now semi-transparent? It was hard to tell with sand flying everywhere and with the sacking being so close to the colour of the ground. Krish looked around. Yes, they were definitely fading into nothingness. In moments most of the bodies had vanished. So this was the best course of action? To stay? He tried to refine his train of thought a little. What if he took the Myrthali, stayed and the King remained? His mind must have already been on this track as he barely noticed a body appear or disappear. And what if he stayed and the King died? A few more bodies popped up. Krish was inconsolable and his grief left his mouth gap
ing open, sand pouring in, and soon he was wincing and grunting in pain.
‘Oh for Fumdugga’s sake!’ cried Balthrir. ‘Come on! It in’t ’elpin’, Krish! ’Urry up!’
Krish felt all his confidence drain from him. Maybe he’d just imagined it? Maybe it was just a brief phase with the Goonmallinns when he’d felt able to stand up for himself. Now it was gone and he was back to the aimless wandering and tripping over his own words.
The hours dragged on and the bodies came and went, mounting to great heights and receding to smaller numbers, but they never completely vanished. Krish’s mind was so sick of the sight he took to walking with his eyes shut, waiting for Balthrir’s random comments to bring him back on course. He could still see them though.
CHAPTER 27
GULWIN’S TALE
As evening came they passed from the Sands of Tyraah to the pasturelands of Melkur. No tree was fair game here, so they visited a farmer who sold them some wood for their fire. Balthrir pulled out the Salvean blade and cut a beam of deep pink sunlight emanating from the setting sun, which was just strong enough to set the kindling alight. The tugging on the twine came and went every now and then but they largely ignored it. If something was going wrong somewhere between where they were now and the tree they’d tied the other end to, they were resigned to the fact that there was nothing they could do about it right now.
‘Balthrir,’ said Krish, his eyes stinging from the woodsmoke, still retrieving sand from the corners of his lips and behind his ears. ‘I don’t get it. Whatever I did—’
‘I know. Yer can’t go through yer ’ole life without affectin’ other people’s. Most of all that consequences cobblers is accidental stuff that no one can ever ’elp.’
‘But when I thought about one action specifically… about the King… dying or being killed or someone else being King, it got worse.’
‘That’s because as soon as ’e’s gone, some other ponce in the palace’ll nick the crown. That’s the way it goes! And they could be worse! Trust me, mate, as long as that palace stands there’ll be some nasty old bugger on the throne.’
‘But when I thought about staying it was… you know, better. Less people died.’
Krish looked up at Balthrir and he couldn’t tell what was hidden in her expression, but the pause said a lot. Balthrir rarely showed much emotion unless something had annoyed her.
‘Well, stay.’ It was Balthrir’s turn to read Krish’s look, one that he did not intend to give. ‘Or don’t. Yer’ve got yer Mum to get back to. In fact, yer risked a lot to get that Myrthali. So yer’d better not muck it up now!’
‘I’ll stay. For a little while. Make sure you’re reunited with your Mum and Dad.’
Balthrir nodded. There was a strange silence. Calm but strange.
‘How d’you know he’ll even give me the Myrthali?’ asked Krish. ‘I mean, you said he would but… God, I-I’ve just not really thought about if…’
‘’E will. ’E’ll ’ave no choice.’
Krish was taken aback by Balthrir’s absolute certainty. ‘Why?’
‘Because o’ Gulwin.’
‘Who?’
‘Gulwin! ’E’s a common gossy.’
‘A wh—?’
‘A gossy. Small bird. In’t yer seen ’em in the palmeries? Beautiful plumage! Green and blue. Little red beak. Tiny beady black eyes. Small enough for a kid to ’old in the ’and. Everyone ’ere knows o’ Gulwin! Fireside tale, innit?’
‘Fireside tale?’
Balthrir sat back, got comfortable and rubbed the side of her head a little, as if it would help her brain work. ‘Fireside tales. Stories passed on from traveller to traveller on the road. Most kids ’ere are told many fireside tales. Gimme a minute. Let me see if I can remember all the details. It’s not the oldest, and was always one of m’favourites, but it’s the first time I’ve told it to someone else. Was usually someone tellin’ me the story!’
And by the light of the fire, not far from the palace where they had started out, Balthrir told Krish a tale…
*
Gulwin’s Tale
*
The King and his men were resting in a glade on the road to the palace after a long day’s hunting. The King demanded his men pick him the plumpest, freshest, juiciest apple they could find. His men fulfilled their duty but the King grumbled at the flavour, accustomed as he was to the finest food in the land.
*
Gulwin the Bird, whose Song of Truth never ends –
*
‘There’s always some poxy, goody-two-shoes little squat ’ose song lasts a million booooring years in these stories, in’t there?’
*
– flew down and perched on a tree near the King. Gulwin addressed the King and said, if he was not enjoying his apple, would he be most kind and toss it to the ground for him to feast upon. The King was dismissive of Gulwin, who was no more than a common gossy, although Gulwin’s plumage of green and blue was somewhat brighter than most. The King told Gulwin that the apple was not fit for rats, let alone birds, and shooed Gulwin away.
*
Once the bird was gone, the King tossed what was left of the apple onto the forest floor. Gulwin, who had not flown away quite as far as the King had thought, returned and pecked at the apple lying upon the ground. ‘Why this is the plumpest, freshest, juiciest apple I have ever tasted in these woods!’ cried Gulwin. ‘You lied to me out of pure malice rather than share food with me that you did not like and did not need! Now it is gone to waste and it is sinking into the mud!’ ‘Away with you!’ shouted the King. He raised his hand and Gulwin flew far away before the King could strike him.
*
Months passed. The King found himself forced to venture out onto the balcony of his palace to address his people, who were restless with hunger. It was the coldest day of the bitterest winter in years and the people were demanding more food be brought in from neighbouring towns. ‘You did not work hard enough in the fields this summer!’ cried the King. ‘And the crops were rotting before they found their way to the storehouse! Work harder next year and the food will be plentiful for all!’
*
At that moment, Gulwin the Bird, whose Song of Truth never ends, flew down to the balcony and sang the truth to the people of the town. ‘The crops were harvested in good time, gathered in earlier still than usual, and were so fresh that your King could not resist! He and his wives and husbands and consorts have feasted all autumn and all winter so far, leaving little to fill your starving bellies!’
*
The people called out angrily at the King, who seized Gulwin by the throat. ‘I’ll wring your little neck, slanderer!’ ‘No! No!’ called the people. ‘This bird is a rare gift! He sings the truth! You will keep him by your side, to always remind you to speak the truth or we will tear down this palace with our bare hands!’
*
The King had no choice and was forced to keep Gulwin in his palace to remind him never to lie again. ‘But you will not live in comfort, you feathered fiend! I will have a well dug in the throne room and you will be chained up and you will never escape until the day this palace falls to the ground!’
*
And Gulwin said this that was the first of many truths the King would tell from now on.
CHAPTER 28
THE FESTIVAL OF MAGIC
‘So, what’s the first thing yer gonna do when yer get back?’
‘Er, I dunno. Maybe have a Mars Bar or something.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A Mars Bar… erm… it’s a… chocolate bar? It’s like… dunno… Milk! Milk and sugar and… beans! Yeah, cocoa beans. They crush them up and, yeah, make chocolate. I guess. And there’s this caramel stuff inside. That’s… well, that’s made of more sugar, I think.’
‘Might as well have a bowl o’ sugar and wash it down with some milk!’
‘Yeah!’ Krish chuckled. ‘I guess I could.’
Krish and Balthrir were now walking past the mountain on
top of which Krish had first arrived in Ilir. He was sad at how fast these last few days had gone by. They would soon be re-treading old steps to reach the Great Plain where they had tied one end of the twine, and the familiarity of the land simply made the hours fly past. They talked and joked but the whole time it was as if they were laughing about everything so they didn’t have to talk seriously about what would happen once Krish had the Myrthali. Freeing Balthrir’s parents was top of the agenda, that was a foregone conclusion, and the King surely wouldn’t be able to refuse. They hoped, at least. Krish had told Balthrir he would simply vanish once he touched the Myrthali and his friend didn’t really react to this. She just employed her usual trick of swiftly changing the subject.
Krish had largely forgotten about the visions the Sands of Tyraah had cursed his mind with. He was now filled with wonder at the sight of a terrain that had felt so strange, so fearsome some months ago. He was experiencing a curiously nostalgic sensation for a landscape he had grown to love.
They were now walking along the road, approaching the shallow trenches where Krish had seen people harvesting crops months ago. The Black Palace loomed up in front of them. They were taking turns holding the twine but swapping more than usual. The odd tugging sensation was intensifying. A force was pulling on the twine practically the whole time now.
Krish and Balthrir distracted themselves from the incessant tugging by hatching a plan to present the three items to King Obsendei. They’d buy a scroll and ink and draw up a proclamation to deliver to the gates of the palace, addressed to the King. Then they’d rush off to get to the tree on the Great Plain that they’d tied one end of the twine to and tie the two ends together, relieve the twine of its invisibility and present the King with the pearl from the Night Ocean and the still-flaming feather from the FireHawk. If he questioned anything they could say that Gulwin had heard the King promise Krish the Myrthali in exchange for completing these three challenges. Neither wanted to use the word ‘foolproof’ but they were nonetheless quietly confident.
