The Hanging Mountains

by Sean Williams

  Sal, fidgeting restlessly on the bunk behind her, suddenly sat up. “There's a problem,” he said.

  Rosevear had frozen in the act of trickling water between Kemp's slack lips. His dark curls shook as he looked at the entrance to the cabin. “You'd better hurry.”

  “What?” asked Shilly. “What am I missing?”

  “Skender's in trouble.”

  Sal was on his feet and out of the door before she could ask him more.

  She clambered awkwardly to her feet and put her good leg forward. Cursing her lameness—not for the first time, and hating the word in the act of thinking it—she did her best to catch up to Sal.

  The deck of the boneship had become a riot of movement. Wardens ran everywhere, stirred up by the same call that Sal had picked up. Tom caught Shilly's elbow and helped her over the side of the boat, onto the gangplank leading to shore. Only then did Shilly stop to think through her automatic impulse to help. How was she to climb the rocky rise up the side of the waterfall? With stones slick underfoot and a weak leg as well, hurrying was only going to lead to further mishaps.

  Besides, she thought, she might already have missed her chance. Brown-clad figures were clambering down to join the two left behind to watch the boneship. Sal made it past them, perhaps because he was one of the few aboard the ship not wearing the blue robe of a Sky Warden. Highson, who had also rushed to Skender's aid, wasn't so lucky. He turned back towards her with his hands in the air.

  “Do you have any idea what's going on?” she asked Tom. He stood beside her on the bank, watching events unfold with a worried expression.

  “Skender is drained. We'll have to wait until Sal gets there.”

  “I meant from your dreams.”

  “Just the waterfall,” he said, “and something about an old woman with sharp teeth. I don't know what that is.”

  Shilly shook her head, shivering at a sudden chill. She looked behind her, at the boat, and noticed that the mist rising off the water appeared to be thickening. The wind tugged it into strange, tortured shapes that danced and writhed in the ghostly green light.

  “Maybe nothing,” she said, remembering Tom saying once, Sometimes a dream is just a dream.

  Six of the forest people arrived with Highson and one of the wardens in tow. An older man at their head assessed her and Tom with a quick glance. With a wave of one broad gloved hand, he indicated that they should board the boat.

  “There's nothing you can do out here,” he said. “Don't make my life more difficult than it already is.”

  “Tell us what's happening first,” she said, not moving a centimetre.

  “Just a misunderstanding.” He made a placating gesture. “It'll be sorted out in a moment, I assure you.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because I ask you to.”

  “I'm going to need a better reason than that.”

  “And who exactly am I talking to?”

  She smiled tightly. “Someone who'll make your life much more difficult if you don't do as I say.”

  To her surprise, he laughed, tipping his head back and barking loudly at the sky. “A good answer, I suppose, to a blunt request.” He held out his right hand. “Ordinarily I'd much rather talk than make demands of people. In the heat of the moment, that's sometimes easy to forget. I am Seneschal Schuet. Could we move back to your ship of bone and discuss what's happening above? There are already enough axes chopping at that particular tree.”

  She warily took the proffered hand and shook it. “Shilly of Gooron.” She looked past Schuet to where Sal had disappeared over the top of the waterfall.

  “All right,” she said, waving Schuet forward. “You'd better come aboard.”

  Schuet nodded and went first, leading Highson, the warden, and the rest of his uniformed men and women. Shilly and Tom came last.

  “So, tell me,” she said.

  “There are two things you need to know about us, Shilly. The first is that we have an instinctive distrust of things that fly. The second is that we are a proud people. Of all things, we are most proud of our home. It is fragile and precious. We shield it with our lives.”

  “The forest?” Shilly interrupted.

  “Yes. You have heard of it?”

  “Not until a week ago, in Laure, and then only as a distant legend.”

  That pained him: she could see it in the lines around his eyes. “Not so distant, Shilly. You stand on its very borders. An hour further up the Pass, and you would be within its boundaries. Nowhere else will you find such richness, such vibrancy. When the sun sets through the boughs and the mist turns orange and the birds call to each other—ah! I would rather die than turn my back on it.”

  He sobered. “When people do turn their backs on our home, we find it hard to forgive.”

  “What's that got to do with us?”

  “Your friend, the flyer.”

  “Chu?”

  “Yes. She is of us.” He indicated his hair, his eyes, his face. “Or she was. Whatever she is now, she's no friend of the forest.”

  “But she's never been here. Her family left generations ago.”

  “Exactly. They turned their backs on us. They have no love for us, or we for them.”

  “That's a stupid thing to say when you know nothing about her. What if she loves the forest when she sees it? What if her family had perfectly good reasons for leaving?”

  “Are your people never stupid?”

  “Frequently, I'm sorry to say.” Shilly folded her arms. “That doesn't make them right, and I would fight them as determinedly as I'd fight you over this.”

  “Then you're fighting a war you can't win. People like to be stupid. It saves them from having to think.”

  “And that benefits the forest how, exactly?”

  He smiled grimly, and didn't answer.

  “Bloodworkers, man'kin, and Outcasts.” Lidia Delfine's bearded bodyguard looked darkly vindicated. “Now will you listen to me, Eminence?”

  Sal could barely restrain his frustration. The ludicrousness of the situation was appalling. He didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

  Skender and Chu remained up to their ankles in water, shivering and defiant. Sal had never seen Skender so angry; the flickering red glow of his tattoos testified to that. A crowd had gathered before them, spread out along the shore, and didn't dare come any closer.

  By the time Sal had arrived, the argument had barely begun. Lidia Delfine had explained the situation, the end of which he had just caught. Chu didn't know why her family had left the forest, but that didn't seem to matter in the slightest. She had inherited the stain of leaving, and nothing Marmion said seemed to make a difference.

  “Your counsel, Heuve, is always in my ears.” Lidia Delfine looked torn. With hands on hips and face tilted dangerously forward, she regarded the wardens and their companions from under stormy brows. To Marmion, she said, “It is possible that you people do not know our customs. I am inclined to forgive you that. But there are some things foresters cannot forgive. If you would proceed, she must turn back.”

  “Ridiculous.” Marmion argued for all he was worth. “I will not submit to this decision without appealing to a higher authority. To whom do you answer? Let me raise this matter with them.”

  “I answer to myself and the people of the forest,” Delfine said coldly. “You will find no higher authority here.”

  “Then I will simply not recognise it.”

  Her chin came up. “Are you challenging me?”

  Marmion didn't back down. “I will defend my right and the right of my companions to travel freely into the mountains. If defending my freedom constitutes a challenge to you, so be it, but I will not willingly break the peace between us. The first blow will be yours.”

  “That is acceptable,” said the bodyguard, stepping forward with his blade drawn.

  “Wait,” called Chu as Marmion raised his one remaining hand and the Change gathered tightly around him. “I could turn back,” she said. “
If they hate me that much—”

  “No.” Although Skender spoke softly, his tattoos flared anew. “You wanted to come to the forest. You've dreamed of it your entire life. They're not going to deny you that.”

  “But it's their forest. They have the right to say who comes in and out.” Her voice was level despite tears glistening in her eyes.

  “We mean them no harm,” said Marmion, glaring at the bodyguard with his hand still upraised. “Individually, or as a group, or as official representatives of the Alcaide, we have come here in peace and in search of aid for our injured companion. In return we have been greeted with hostility and suspicion. Attacking us is tantamount to a declaration of war. Retribution will be swift. Is that what you want, Delfine? Do you want to see your precious forest put to the torch?”

  “You have no concept of what you're saying,” spat the bodyguard, face turning purple with anger. “I curse you and all your family. Your line will wither on the branch and rot forgotten in the dirt. Your air will dry and crumble you to dust. You—”

  “Heuve.” Delfine's hand came down on his shoulder. To both men she said, “Let us not speak too hastily of curses and war. We each have responsibilities and, yes, they conflict, but that doesn't make us enemies.” She included the wardens and Skender and Chu when she said, “We have laws, just as you do. You intend to break one and ignorance is not a defence. It is my duty to stop you.”

  “Do you answer to laws,” asked Sal, “or to the people of the forest?”

  Delfine's cool brown eyes turned on him. “The former protects the latter.”

  “But the forest has suffered, and we have suffered too. Isn't that fact more important than some forgotten wrong?”

  “We know who caused the deluge,” said Heuve. “The Panic Heptarchy has long been a thorn in our side. How are we to know you don't work for them? What will be destroyed next if we allow you into the forest?”

  Conversation stopped as a rush of cold air swept across the lake. Sal looked up the Divide. The light from the gleaming water was just strong enough for him to see as far as the next bend. It seemed to him that something dark and nebulous was rushing downriver towards them, riding that icy wind.

  All turned towards it, including Skender and Chu, standing in the lake and beginning to turn blue.

  Heuve put down his sword and moved closer to Delfine. She grew pale and her eyes widened.

  “What is it?” asked Marmion. “What approaches?”

  “We don't know,” said Delfine, “but it killed my brother two nights ago, and I will see it dead. To me!” she cried to her people. “To me! We meet it here, on the flat!”

  “Let us help you,” Marmion insisted.

  “Just stay out of our way,” growled Heuve. “Fight if you wish, to save your own lives, but come between me and my mark and I will not hesitate to strike.”

  With that he backed away, keeping Delfine behind him, to form a defensive circle against the wall of the Divide with his back facing the stone.

  Marmion didn't waste time being offended. He waved Banner and Eitzen to him. “Skender, Chu, out of the water. It seems we have bigger things to worry about.”

  Sal felt the wind turning colder with every second. “Come here.” He put his hands on Skender's and Chu's shoulders and called on an old charm for drying laundry on wet days. The mnemonic was simple. The problem, as always, lay in keeping it from getting out of control. He wanted to dry his friends' clothes so they wouldn't catch a chill, not set them on fire.

  Chu puffed up her cheeks and rose on tiptoes. Her short hair stood on end. “Wow! You could make a fortune doing that.”

  There wasn't time to joke. Sal could feel the darkness bearing down on them, and a flash of Tom's prophecy went through his mind. “Quickly. Get behind us. Skender, you too. You need to ride this one out.”

  Skender didn't argue. His tattoos were lifeless and black now the crisis with the foresters had passed. He stood next to Chu with his hand on her arm, and Sal couldn't tell whether he was supporting her or drawing comfort from her, or both at once.

  “Don't do anything sudden,” said Marmion. “Let's see what we're dealing with first.”

  Sal's guts tightened. Ignorance was dangerous. In his life he'd faced golems, ghosts, ice creatures, man'kin, and the snake he had smashed less than a day earlier, but that knowledge didn't reassure him. He was still not at peak strength and nature knew many ways to kill.

  Tendrils of mist were branching across the faintly glowing water as if sliding on ice; they groped blindly towards them, probing the air and finding it empty. A dense wall of fog followed. This, Sal realised, was the source of the intense cold.

  The temperature dropped further still. A blast of frigid air assailed them, forcing him back a step. The wind made a sound like glass being ground underfoot. His scalp crept. Marmion reached out and put a hand on Sal's shoulder. The Change surged through him. For the first time Sal felt the strength in the man, and he was impressed. Marmion wasn't as strong as Sal, but what reserves the warden possessed were carefully structured and focused. A lifetime of discipline had honed him into a keen Change-worker.

  That's what I could have been, Sal thought, had I been given the opportunity…

  Then the clouds rushed forward in a wave of bitterness and hate, and he gagged on the taste of spite.

  “Concentrate!” Marmion's voice came through the Change. Sal forced himself to lean into the wind and stand upright with his eyes open, ready to face whatever might emerge from the whipping cloud. Feathery tendrils slid by, lashing at his face.

  A geometric pattern slid into his mind, a jagged tangle of triangles and many-pointed stars. He clutched at it, knowing it came from Marmion, and wrapped his thoughts around it. The vicious fog recoiled, and he thought he heard a hiss of anger from its heart.

  Then a dark shape rushed at them. Black on grey—he couldn't tell if it was a gap in the mist or something solid. Two long arms opened wide to snatch at him, and the hiss grew into a shriek.

  Marmion thrust himself forward, ruined arm out-thrown like a spear. The dark shape recoiled with a scream and shot skyward, trailing a vortex of loathing and fear powerful enough to throw Sal and Marmion to the ground.

  Then it was gone. Hands clutched at Sal, pulling him to his feet. His ears were numb; he couldn't hear what Skender was saying. His friend's face was pale and Chu's eyes were as round as he had ever seen them. Marmion huddled over the stump of his missing arm, and Sal pushed forward to see if he had been harmed.

  Marmion looked up, dark skin grey with shock. The bandage covering his blunt wrist seemed undamaged to Sal's untrained eye, but Marmion held it in front of him as though it was on fire. The warden's one remaining hand shook as he took Sal's and let himself be hauled to his feet.

  Lidia Delfine pushed forward. He could faintly hear her asking what had happened. Had Marmion killed it? Was it gone? The warden shook his head, words seeming to come from a great distance away. Sal looked around, feeling the small of his back a-twitch. The mist was breaking up and the ghostly dark shape wasn't immediately visible. But there were other dark shapes streaming down the walls of the Divide and arrows raining out of the darkness.

  Sal's ears slowly recovered to bring him the sound of Sky Wardens and foresters, Stone Mage and Outcast, all turning to face this new threat, shouting orders and, for the moment at least, putting aside their differences.

  Then from the boneship at the base of the waterfall came the sound of screaming, and he forgot everything else.

  “The Panic are monstrous beings who track wanderers

  through the forest, catch them with hooks at the end of

  long wires, and drag them up into the sky. So parents tell their

  children to stop them straying from the well-known

  paths. When these children grow up, they

  naturally believe that the Panic Heptarchy is responsible

  for crop failure, disease, internal unrest, and any other

  misfo
rtune the forest should suffer. If the King should

  ever return, the foresters say, peace will end and the sky

  will fall. This is their simple but earnest belief.”

  STONE MAGE ALDO KELLOMAN: ON A PRIMITIVE CULTURE

  Skender had no idea how much information lay in the recesses of his memory. Certainly everything he had ever read—but how much was that? How many books had he scanned in the Keep's enormous library and his father's private collection?

  Associations surprised him, sometimes. Years ago a strange glyph carved on a milestone on the road across the Long Sleep Plains had reminded him of one described in an ancient tome as the lost cenotaph of an ancient ruler—and such it had turned out to be when Surveyors had followed up the connection. A line of verse from a children's song overheard in Millingen matched one transcribed in Boliva thousands of kilometres away and five hundred years earlier. He never knew when something would leap out at him to say, You've seen me before. Can you tell where?

  It could be distracting at times—and was almost fatally so when a half-dozen strange creatures suddenly dropped from the walls of the Divide in front of him. Luckily, dropping and firing arrows didn't marry well, so he and Chu were spared while darts hit people behind him. Skender and Chu dived under an overhang to let those with skill and power battle it out. Seeing the two of them defenceless, Heuve immediately took a knife from one of his fallen comrades and tossed it to Skender.

  Then the creatures—quite different from the deathly cold shadow that had knocked Sal and Marmion to the ground—were among them, long-limbed and agile, and not quite human in shape. Their silhouettes seemed familiar to him, although he couldn't imagine why. At close quarters they slashed with curved hooks and ducked under sword strokes. White teeth gleamed in the mirrorlight; wide eyes flashed in the light from the foresters' glowing brands. Hooting calls and shrieks matched the cries of anger and surprise from their human adversaries.