The Hanging Mountains

by Sean Williams

  In the event that nothing happens at all, the warden had said, well, we still have something up our sleeve.

  “Warden Banner.” His voice emerged as little more than a whisper. The night was suddenly dreamlike, a nightmare in which certain disaster approached, but he could neither move nor speak. “Warden Banner!”

  “What, Skender?” She was at his side instantly, shushing him. “Has Mage Kelloman asked you to open the box? He should know that only Marmion has the authority to do that, and I'm not likely to disturb him at the moment.”

  Her wide, friendly face, framed with thick greying curls, was reassurance personified. How could he tell her a thing that shrieked and ate foresters for dinner was calling through a solid box?

  There was only one good way…

  “Here,” he said, taking her hand and putting it firmly on the crate. “Listen to this.”

  “What—?” She stopped, frowning. “Yes, I hear it.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Do?” Her wide brown eyes looked at him sharply. “Why, nothing. Let it call. If the others come in response, it'll be doing us a favour.”

  “But—” He stopped, accepting the truth in her words. That was indeed what they wanted. It just felt wrong that the wraith should get its own way. “What if it breaks free?”

  She smiled. “Don't worry about that. If it could have broken free, it would have done so already. Isn't that right, Skender?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You can do better than that. You can accept that you're still alive and talking to me now, not eaten by our friend here. That's proof enough for me.”

  She patted him on the shoulder and went back to assisting Marmion. Skender looked restlessly around. Kelloman still glowed, pink and radiant, with eyes peacefully closed at the centre of the elaborate charm. The mage wouldn't need his assistance until waking at dawn, or when the alarm was sounded.

  “If I can hear you,” he told the crate, “you can probably hear me.”

  He put both hands on the wooden lid.

  “Hello?”

  Lamia, Lamia, come for me!

  “I'm not Lamia. My name is Skender.”

  Come, Striga. Come, Lemu.

  “There's no one out here by that name.”

  Come, Camunda. Come, Phix!

  “You might as well quit now, for all the good it's going to do you.”

  Come, my sisters. Come! I, Giltine, await you!

  He sighed. “Do you have anything else to say? Anything at all?” Silence. “Are you really in there, Giltine? Whoever you are?”

  When the voice returned, it sent ice through every nerve in his body.

  I am the one who stings.

  He sat with his tongue frozen in his mouth for a terrified, timeless moment.

  Then: Lamia, the wraith moaned. Lamia, come for me!

  Skender fell away, knowing the cycle was about to begin again. The wraith would call for its sisters by name, pleading for rescue. Skender wondered if it could say anything more than that. He sensed cunning and hunger in that voice, but little intelligence. It reminded him of a wild hound: smart in its own way, but at the mercy of its nature. He could talk to it all night and it might tell him nothing more than he had already heard.

  Maybe they were the only words it knew. Maybe it knew nothing else except the hunt for blood and the Change and its companions in that hunt. Maybe they couldn't be reasoned with or warned away, and the only way to deter them was to capture them and bind them to iron.

  So be it, he thought, quashing any faint feelings of pity he might have felt for the creature. That pity wouldn't be returned were their situations reversed. Of that he was completely certain.

  Giving the crate one last nervous pat, he went to sit elsewhere.

  The night air was clammy and cold. To stop himself shivering, Skender took a bracing walk around the perimeter, clapping his arms about his chest and stamping his feet. His back was stiff and his jaw ached. His feet made the only sound on the quiet knoll, even though some other people were awake—including Kelloman, still glowing, and Marmion, still concentrating on the ripples in his bowl. All but Skender sat quietly facing outwards, waiting. The fires had burned down to coals, and the twisted brands of the foresters glowed with a faint reddish light. The boundary, protected by charms and lookouts, was impossible to mistake.

  Aimless, but needing to move, he circled the knoll over and over while his thoughts went in a similar fashion.

  What was he to do about Chu? The distance between them ate at him, distracting him from what he should be thinking about. At any time that night, if Marmion's plan panned out, they would battle up to eight of the voracious wraiths. Wasn't it time to put their misunderstandings behind them?

  Chu obviously didn't think so. Whereas before her irritation with him hadn't been sufficient to stop them interacting, now she studiously avoided even looking at him. He, on the other hand, had to exert the utmost willpower to keep his eyes off her. She had added a leather chest guard and gloves to her flyer's outfit, just in case anything with teeth made it past the knoll's more esoteric defences. That was something of an accomplishment—an Outcast wearing official garments—and one that had to be in defiance of every possible forester convention, but he did note that the uniform was scuffed and worn and lacked the circular insignia worn by even the lowliest soldier—marking it as the scrappiest Heuve could find.

  Skender noticed the bodyguard keeping a suspicious eye on Chu too. Every time her duties took her close to Lidia Delfine, Heuve made certain to keep between them. If Chu noticed and was bothered by the constant scrutiny, it didn't change the way she behaved: she and Heuve still argued constantly.

  Skender would have been happy to argue, to do anything other than maintain the simmering silence that was currently the sum of their relationship. If she would just let him talk to her…If he could just make himself try…

  He reached his starting point and commenced his seventh circuit of the knoll. Dawn was still a good two or three hours away. If something was going to happen, he told himself, it would have happened already. The wraiths must have found better hunting elsewhere, or had enough in their bellies from the previous attacks. He would be better off saving his energy for the long walk home. So he reasoned as he walked past a glowing pole and realised that someone was standing in the bushes, watching him.

  He stumbled in midstep, not immediately sure he wasn't seeing things. The figure was perhaps five metres away and shrouded in shadow. Not a large person, but definitely male, with hands hanging at his sides and face turned towards Skender.

  “I thought I'd find you here,” came a soft voice.

  “Who—?” His voice cracked slightly. He swallowed, tried again. “Who are you?”

  The figure's head tilted to one side. “Don't you know me, rabbit? You look much better in black. Funereal.”

  “No—no—you can't be…”

  All breath left him as Rattails stepped out of the shadows and into the light.

  “—you can't—”

  “Oh, but I can and I am.” The spectre of the jailer grinned at him, exposing blackened teeth. Shadowed eyes regarded him with menacing intensity. “You left me for dead. Do you remember that?”

  Skender nodded. There was no denying it. “You deserved it,” he hissed, remembering what Rattails had done to his mother and Shom Behenna, and the Goddess only knew how many other captives down the years.

  Rattails came right up to the boundary line. “Probably,” the man said with an uncaring shrug, “and maybe far worse. Does that make you feel any better about what you did, rabbit?”

  Skender backed away, wondering where everyone else was. Didn't they see? Didn't they hear? The night had congealed around him like gelatine. Am I dreaming this time?

  “Don't worry,” said Rattails, “I'm not here for revenge. That can wait. Instead, I have a message for your new friends. Tell them to go home, where they're wanted.”

  “Marmion won't listen to me
—”

  “Not those blue-robed idiots. The tree-lovers, the leaf-fanciers. That's who I'm talking about. They're wasting their time out here in the woods. They'll see that soon enough—but I'd rather sooner than later.”

  “Why would I do anything you tell me to?”

  “Because I frighten you. I see it on your face, in the way you tremble. I've been haunting your dreams since you left me to die. Isn't that right, Skender? I come to you at night, trying to wrap my skinny hands around your throat and hurt you as you hurt me. That's what I dream of.”

  Rattails's hands came up and squeezed empty air.

  “You can't get me in here,” said Skender, feeling as though he was suffocating. “You can't touch me.”

  “But I am in there, Skender. In your head. I can hurt you any time I want.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, yes. Go on, call for help. I'm right here, right now. You know who I was, and you're beginning to suspect what I've become. Why don't you raise the alarm, try to catch me? Why not, Skender? Could it be that I'm right, and you know that I'm right? That no amount of shouting will get rid of me? That you're stuck with me forever?”

  Skender took another step back. The shadowy depths of Rattails's eyes radiated a malignancy Skender had experienced only once before: in the Haunted City, in the body of Lodo, Shilly's former teacher. Skender had watched that hateful intelligence strangle the life out of Sal's grandmother, and had been powerless to stop it from using him and his friends in any way it chose.

  Something soft tangled in his heels. With a cry he tripped over and landed on an empty bedroll.

  Rattails laughed mockingly.

  “Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home,” the creature said, retreating into the shadows as the camp came alive behind Skender. “Go back to Milang, where my new friends have been busy. We'll talk again soon, I'm sure.”

  Skender lost sight of the dark figure just as hands gripped his shoulders. Legs surrounded him. Faces pressed forward, worried, well-meaning.

  “What is it?” Curly hair surrounding a round face: Warden Banner again.

  “A golem!” He felt himself lifted upright. His right arm stabbed into the darkness. “It was right there, talking to me.”

  “Voices again?” That came from Chu. Her familiar form approached the perimeter at a cautious lope. “I can't see anything. Perhaps it was another bad dream.”

  Skender felt like tearing his hair out. Trust her to be there when he looked like an idiot again. “I wasn't imagining things before, and I'm not imagining them now.” He turned to the woman at his side. “Warden Banner, you heard the wraith; you heard Giltine. Tell her I'm not making things up. This is real. I saw it.”

  Half the camp milled around him at that point. The brands defining the perimeter grew brighter at Lidia Delfine's command. Heuve approached the nearest with his blade drawn, inspecting the area Skender had pointed out.

  “There are footprints,” he said. “Human, one set.”

  “Don't follow them,” Skender cried. Relieved though he was to have his vision validated, he feared what might happen to anyone hard on the golem's heels. There would be traps awaiting them. Of that he was certain.

  The foresters ignored him. Delfine snapped her fingers: three of the sentries hurried out into the trees with brands held low to the ground, Navi among them. Warden Eitzen followed, a flash of blue against the green.

  “Be careful!” he yelled after them, knowing it was useless. They would be, and it might make no difference in the world.

  By then everyone had gathered. The commotion had shattered all concentration on the charms. Skender could hear Kelloman muttering in irritation behind him. He wasn't surprised at all when Marmion came to stand next to him, his expression weary and haunted.

  “What did the golem say?” the warden asked.

  Skender repeated the message, word for word, but only the relevant parts: Go back to Milang, where my new friends have been busy.

  “Why did it talk to you?”

  He stumbled through an answer that Marmion might have seen right through. It sounded flimsy enough to him. “The golem was in the body of someone I met in the Aad. One of Pirelius's bandits. I thought—I thought he was dead.” I thought the Homunculus had killed him.

  “What did it mean?” asked Lidia Delfine. “Is it trying to get rid of us? Is there something near here it doesn't want us to find?”

  Marmion and Skender shook their heads at the same time. He let the warden speak.

  “Golems are complex, devious creatures. If it did want us out of here, you can be sure it wouldn't do something so obvious as ask us to go. And you can bet it wouldn't give advice out of the goodness of its heart. It doesn't have a heart.” Marmion's face was deeply etched with shadows. “No. There's something in Milang it wants us to see. Something that will hurt us, one way or another. I can't say that leaving now will make our situation any worse or better. I put that difficult decision into your hands, Eminence.”

  Lidia Delfine walked off into the darkness, her young face looking as old as Marmion's. Her right hand rested heavily on her sword's pommel while her left worried the back of her neck. Skender felt a rush of pity for her, lifted out of his own concerns by her uncharacteristic display of emotion. In a short time, she had lost her brother to a mysterious creature and had been attacked herself. She had had to deal with foreigners with mysterious motives and an Outcast who simply wouldn't obey the rules. On top of that, the latest plan to trap the wraiths wasn't going at all well. Skender felt nothing but relief that he didn't have to decide what to do next.

  She turned, standing noticeably straighter. “The golem wants us gone, and I am disinclined to give it what it wants. We'll stay for the rest of the night at least, and see what the day brings.”

  Heuve bowed his head in acceptance of the decision. He clapped his hands to draw attention to him and began shouting orders. The perimeter was in tatters. Wide sections of it hadn't been under surveillance for minutes while everyone gathered around Skender. During that time, all manner of creature could have crept onto the knoll.

  A jolt of fear went through Skender's exhausted frame as he thought of the crate containing the captured wraith. His relief at seeing it undisturbed was decidedly mixed.

  “You should get some rest, Skender,” said Warden Banner as Marmion headed back to his bowl.

  He shook his head, knowing that if he closed his eyes he'd only see Rattails's face grimacing back at him.

  “I should make sure Mage Kelloman is okay,” he said, conscious of a torrent of complaints going unnoticed by anyone else.

  Banner, perhaps guessing the truth, didn't push the point. She patted Skender on the shoulder and followed Marmion.

  That left just Chu.

  “Listen, Skender—”

  The sound of Heuve's voice calling her name from the far side of the knoll cut her off.

  “Ignore him,” Skender said. “What were you going to say?”

  “We'll talk later. I promise.” She turned and jogged over to where the bodyguard waited, glaring. Skender watched her go with an uncomfortable, full feeling in his chest, as though a bubble growing there for days was about to pop.

  The feeling subsided. With a deep breath, he gathered his black robe about him and went to tend to the mage.

  The knoll never quite returned to the same state of poised expectancy as before. Heuve replaced the lookouts with patrols pacing up and down the perimeter, lit from above by the golden brands. Only the most hardened or exhausted managed to sleep; everyone else sat up working or whispering, whiling away the remaining hours until dawn.

  Skender paced on, tired of feeling damp and half-frozen all the time, and wishing the fog would give him just a few minutes respite. No matter how he tried to distract himself, his attention constantly returned to where the golem had come from. Neither the golem nor the four people who had been sent to search for it had been seen or heard from since. He told himself not to read too much into their absence.
Any number of explanations could account for it; but he didn't like the sick churning feeling in his gut, and the way he couldn't help but think the worst.

  When the sky lightened, that feeling didn't go away.

  “That's it,” muttered Kelloman, breaking the trance he had resumed with difficulty after the interruption and letting the Change he had harnessed drain away. “I've had quite enough of this farce. Wake me when someone decides to do something sensible, will you?”

  The mage stretched out flat on the ground with his hands behind his head, no longer caring if the charm he had so painstakingly drawn was disturbed. The bilby tried to sleep next to him, but he brushed it away with an irritable swipe of one hand. It circled him once, then curled up at his feet.

  Skender cleaned up the jars of sand and put them away. Marmion was doing the same in his section of the knoll, a puzzled and frustrated expression on his face. The plan hadn't been a bad one and it should have worked. The fact that they had lured a golem out of hiding, instead of the wraiths, wasn't much of a consolation.

  The morning could have got off to a worse start, though, Skender told himself. The wraiths hadn't attacked; no one had died. The worst thing he had to look forward to was the long walk back to Milang.

  From the south came a loud bang, as of a light-sink exploding. A second and a third struck echoes off the mountainsides.

  “What is it?” Chu asked Heuve.

  “A bad sign.” The bodyguard shaded his eyes with one hand, as though trying to penetrate the mist. “Eminence?”

  Lidia Delfine's jaw worked as the sequence of three explosions was repeated. “The Guardian has recalled us. We must break camp without delay.”

  “What about those who went after the golem?” Skender asked.

  Heuve pointed at two people, one of them Chu, and jerked his thumb in the direction the search party had gone. “They'll have heard the signal. Do your best to find them, but don't take too long. If you're not back by the time we're ready to leave, we're not waiting.”

  Chu and the other guard dropped what they were doing and hurried into the forest. Skender watched her go with concern, wondering if he should follow.