The Hanging Mountains

by Sean Williams

  “Like a moth,” said just one of the twins, perhaps Seth. “It starts off as an egg, then becomes a caterpillar. The caterpillar goes into a cocoon and wakes in an entirely new state. It flies around, looking for a mate, then lays an egg, which starts the cycle again. We're not exactly the same—there aren't as many transformations for a moth as humans have—but the metaphor is sound. In the Third Realm, humans are like moths trying to work out where to lay the egg. We get to try again, to live our lives over and over any way we want—the same again and again, or in new ways each time. In sadness, in happiness, in terror, in peace. The choice is ours.”

  “But now that choice is gone?” asked Kail, struggling to stay upright on the camel let alone grapple with the metaphysics of a lost world. “You brought the Realms together. You broke the cycle.”

  “I don't think so,” said Hadrian. “The First and Second Realms were one in a time before we were born. Someone cut that Realm in half like we would slice an apple in two. Humans adapted, took the change in their stride. Then we came along and mashed the two halves back together. But doing that doesn't make the apple whole again. It just makes a mess.”

  “I think,” said Seth, “that you live your First and Second Realm lives at the same time. That's why you have the Change—some of you, anyway—and why you don't seem to have any knowledge of the afterlife. We, in our days, had legends of heavens and hells inspired by memories of the Second Realm. Here, you don't have anything like that—but you do have Second Realm creatures all around you, like ghosts and golems.”

  “And the Third Realm is still out there,” concluded Hadrian. “Humans must still end up there, otherwise you wouldn't be human. The signs might be hard to see, but they must exist, somewhere. Its existence will make itself felt.”

  “How?”

  “The same way it did in our world, I guess. Prophetic dreams; people who move the wrong way through time; déjà vu.”

  Kail thought of seers and the man'kin, two types of being he found equally puzzling. “So if I died,” he said, “I would go to this Third Realm and choose where to start again?”

  “Yes. I'm sure of it.” Hadrian didn't sound certain, just emphatic. “I can't imagine how else it could be.”

  Kail wondered what he would possibly do differently, and was immediately swamped with choice. “What if I don't want to come back?”

  “I don't think it works like that. Does the caterpillar have any choice about becoming the moth?”

  Kail supposed that was a reasonable question, even if it didn't truly answer his. He thought of the seer in Laure and her fear of the darkness: Your shadow stretches before you, blacker than night. The blackness of his own death, perhaps? But why would that have frightened her so badly?

  “I'm not planning on dying,” he told the twins as they plodded on through the trees and the thickening mist. “Just in case you were wondering.”

  “Good,” they replied. “So tell us about that plant you need, and leave the rest to us.”

  Kail had quite forgotten about the harpweed in all the discussion about death and what came afterwards. That was a bad sign—one that would've hastened his end if he'd fallen into a feverish coma and been unable to finish instructing the twins. He told the twins everything they needed to know, and more besides, before allowing his heavy eyelids to fall.

  The desert of his dreams awaited him. He strode forward, unafraid and heartily glad to see the sun again.

  They camped that night near the intersection of the path they were following with another path, which crossed at right angles and led steeply uphill on the left and equally steeply down on the right. What lay at either end, the twins didn't know, but they saw no harm in halting nearby. Although Kail had slept most of the afternoon, his skin was flushed and sticky, his breathing as ragged as his pulse. Being bounced around on the back of the camel probably wasn't doing him any good.

  They laid him flat and started a fire—a skill they had picked up by watching the tracker over the previous nights, just as they had learned to care for the camel without his help. Then they went in search of harpweed before the light failed completely. Fine, feathery strands dangled from a single, threadlike stalk, Kail had said, and the plant would be protruding from the trunk of unfortunate trees; unfortunate because harpweed was a parasite, one that reached deep into the heartwood and sucked it dry. It was also a powerful curative—the local version of aspirin, Hadrian assumed. It might make all the difference to Kail.

  The forest was full of parasitic plants. They found several handfuls of the weed competing for space among giant fungi, lichen, and things they didn't have words for. Taking it back to camp, they became aware that certain trees visibly reacted to their presence, shaking their limbs as though in a heavy wind and dropping all manner of litter on them. The phenomenon seemed neither deliberate nor directed specifically at them. Not unlike a sea anemone reacting to the touch of a passing fish, Hadrian thought. A reflex.

  But what did that say about the trees? That they were alive in a different way than normal trees? He thought of the creatures called man'kin and the way they reacted in the presence of the Homunculus. Stripped of the Change, they froze solid. Perhaps something similar was happening here.

  Living trees? asked Seth, almost mockingly. It'll be gingerbread men next.

  Kail was moaning and stirring restlessly when they returned. Nursing was new to the twins, an uncomfortable task they nevertheless felt they owed the man who had helped them since the flood. If harpweed didn't break Kail's fever, they were out of ideas. Watching him die wasn't an attractive option—for Kail as well, they were sure.

  They crushed the harpweed fronds between two flat stones and added a small amount of water. The resulting paste had a sharp chemical smell that reminded them of eucalyptus oil. They scraped it onto the blade of Kail's hunting knife and set about removing his bandage.

  Hadrian didn't want to look, but forced himself to. The sight was as bad as he had imagined. The long, ragged gash stood out against the tracker's skin: bright red around the edges and yellow in the wound itself. Pockets of pus were building up at two points deep within his flesh, and the twins paid particular attention to these areas. Seth wanted to prick the wound with the tip of the blade to relieve the pressure, but Hadrian feared that might start the bleeding again.

  They had made barely enough paste for one application. It stained Kail's skin green but had no other immediate effect. They reapplied the bandage and put a wet flannel on the man's head.

  Perhaps none of their efforts would make a difference, but Hadrian refused to worry. Instead he urged Seth back out into the forest in search of more harpweed.

  With no moon or stars to see by, even their superhuman eyes had trouble telling the plants apart, and the night passed slowly. When they had gathered enough for two more full doses, they changed Kail's cool flannel and lay down next to the fire to rest. They would need all their strength in the coming days. If the camel could go no further up the steep inclines, they would have to carry the injured man to get help, just as they had carried Highson Sparre.

  Seems our lot, doesn't it? said Seth. When we're not saving people we barely know, we have saving the world to look forward to.

  Hadrian didn't sleep, kept awake by Kail's worsening breathing, but his brother did. Seth's dreams cut across his thoughts like intrusive daydreams, full of uncertainties and glimpses of their old life. Skyscrapers, freeways full of cars, television, blood, a knife through the heart…

  An hour before dawn, Hadrian heard the sound of booted feet hurrying down the other path. He sat up, dragging his brother with him and shaking him awake.

  Someone's coming!

  So?

  So it could be Upuaut.

  Seth struggled to shake the sleep from his mind. If it is, what do we do?

  Protect Kail.

  What about us?

  We're not running without him.

  Making a stand, huh?

  Looks like it.

&
nbsp; They crouched by the side of the path, confident they couldn't be seen. Kail was more problematic. He was hidden effectively in the bushes, but he might stir at the sound or cry out in his sleep. Hadrian tried to ready himself for anything.

  A glimmer of orange light appeared through the vines and forest trunks: a torch of some kind, held upright like a burning brand, but there was no sign of flame. As it drew closer, Hadrian could make out the figure holding it aloft. A slightly built Asian-looking girl of fifteen or so was following the path with grim determination through the night.

  Something about the set of her face made it clear she was running to somewhere, not from.

  As she neared the intersection, Hadrian stood up.

  What are you doing? Seth hissed.

  “Please,” Hadrian called to her. “Please don't be frightened.”

  The runner's concentration was shattered in that instant. She skidded to a halt, and backed away, holding up the brand. “Who's there?” she called, breathing heavily. “What do you want?”

  “We need your help. My friend is injured—”

  “I can't stop for anyone.” Her determination didn't completely hide her nervousness. “I have an urgent message for the Eminent Delfine.”

  Hadrian didn't know who or what that was and he didn't care. “Just for a moment. Please, at least look at him. I'm afraid he's dying and there's nothing I can do.” He put every scrap of helplessness he could muster into the plea. It wasn't hard. That Kail hadn't woken at the sound of their voices was proof he was deathly ill.

  The runner vacillated, peering at the shadowy shape in the bushes and clearly wondering if she was about to be ambushed. “All right,” she eventually said, “but I want you to stand back, well back.”

  That suited him. If he and his brother came too close, the light she carried would stop working. He retreated four steps deeper into the forest. “Is that far enough?”

  She nodded, sending a black ponytail dancing. “Where's your friend?”

  “Straight ahead of you, lying down by the fire.” What was left of it, anyway. Hadrian had let it die down during the night, not wanting to attract attention.

  The camel snorted, and the girl jumped, raising the brand high.

  “It won't hurt you,” Hadrian reassured her, “unless you try to get it moving too early in the morning.”

  She crossed to Kail and bent low over him. The twins couldn't see what she did, but he did hear the breath hiss between her teeth.

  “Can you do anything for him?” the twins called in unison.

  She rocked back on her heels. “We need to lance the wound, get the pus out of him.”

  I told you so, said Seth.

  Hadrian shushed him. “How do I do that?”

  “You don't know?” She glanced at the paraphernalia scattered around the campfire. “You've got a knife, and I see you've been using harpweed. That's good.”

  “He told us to do that before he passed out.”

  She peered into the shadows, to where the twins stood. “What did this to him? Was it you?”

  “No.” How to explain? “We were attacked by terrible creatures that have tried to kill us before. Kail was hurt before I could drive them away.”

  She stood. “Are you talking about the wraiths?”

  That was as good a description as any. “Yes.”

  “And you said you drove them away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you a Stone Mage?”

  “No, but my friend is a Sky Warden. Will you help him?”

  The messenger looked thoroughly confused. Her sense of duty clearly ran deep, but Hadrian's talk of driving off the Swarm had impressed her. That much was obvious. She had reacted, too, to the news that Kail wasn't just any traveller.

  “All right,” she said, “but I have to do something first.”

  The twins watched, puzzled, as she produced three fist-sized seeds, like giant acorns, from the miniature backpack she wore, and fired them into the sky using a powerful slingshot. They exploded in midair with a trio of deafening bangs.

  Fireworks? thought Seth. I didn't think they had gunpowder here.

  They don't, said Hadrian. But they have the Change, and it's powerful stuff.

  “What was all that about?” they asked the girl.

  “A contingency in case I can't get through. The signal tells her Eminence to send a runner of her own. Three bangs for Milang, they say. But I still can't stay long. That alone isn't enough. She needs to hear the rest of my message as a matter of urgency.”

  “Do what you can,” Hadrian said. “I'm grateful to you for this much.”

  She busied herself with the harpweed, the knife, and the embers, stirring the latter back into flame and carefully heating the metal blade. The twins inched closer by degrees, wanting to see what she was doing, but the foliage constantly got in the way. Her face in profile, elegantly boned and youthful, was all they could see clearly.

  “Why won't you come out of there?” she asked while she worked, clearly having decided to trust them. “If you're so worried about your friend, why don't you help me save him?”

  Hadrian recoiled, unsure how to answer. It was Seth who said, “Because I don't know how you'll react.”

  “Why? Are you Panic?”

  “No.” He didn't know what that was either, but judging by her tone it was something to be frightened of.

  “Not a man'kin. You don't sound like one of them to me, and I come across them often enough in the forest.”

  “No. I'm not a man'kin.”

  “What, then?”

  “I'm something different. Have you always done this—run messages from one place to another?”

  She accepted their evasion without comment. “Since I was twelve. I may not have the longest legs in the world, but I am quick, and I can run all day if I have to.” Her right hand worked the knife while her left applied the harpweed. “My name is Ymani,” she said. “So you know who to tell your friend to be thankful to, when he recovers.”

  “Thank you, Ymani,” said Seth. “We both owe you.”

  “Your job isn't done yet. Tear up some cloth to make new bandages. Boil the ones you've been using to make them clean. Wake him in a little while and make him drink. I wouldn't move him at all, if you have that option.”

  “I'm not sure we do,” said Hadrian, feeling the shadow of Yod looming longer over the land every day.

  Seth was, as always, less eager to run headlong into that waiting maw. “If it means the difference between Kail living and dying, I don't think we have any choice.”

  Ymani looked up like a startled meerkat. “Okay. Are you talking to yourself, or are there two of you out there?”

  “It's complicated,” Hadrian said, mentally cursing his brother. “Best you don't know.”

  Her eyebrows knitted together. Then she moved so quickly both twins were taken by surprise. Pulling the brand out of the ground and holding it like a spear, she launched herself into the undergrowth, following the sound of their voice. Hadrian and Seth stumbled backwards, flailing for balance. Roots tangled their feet as they did their best to get away.

  Wait! Seth's command cut through Hadrian's instinctive panic. Stop running. Crouch down.

  Hadrian did so, unable to resist the imperative of his brother's will.

  Ymani crashed through the trees. “Where are you? I know you're in here somewhere.”

  The brand died the moment she came too close. A reddish tracery remained just for a moment, hanging in the darkness like a sketch of veins through a human arm, then even that vanished.

  Ymani stopped in her tracks as darkness fell around her. Hadrian heard her breathing, heard the undergrowth crackle underfoot as she tensed to run away. He could smell her fear, her certainty that she was about to be attacked, even though it was she who had come after them.

  “We don't mean you any harm,” he said, knowing she could see next to nothing in the shadows before her. A hunched shape, perhaps, with too many limbs to be tru
ly human. “It would be best if you left, Ymani. We're sorry for delaying you.”

  She backed away, holding the brand uselessly before her. It flickered into life the moment she was far enough from them. That only unsettled her further as she hurried back to the campsite.

  “Don't move him,” she said, picking up her backpack and slinging it over her narrow shoulders. “If you move him, he'll die.”

  Then she was running again along the path she had originally been following. Hadrian watched the tip of the brand bobbing through the trees. Her footsteps were fast and sure even as they faded into the distance. Ymani was making good speed.

  And who could blame her? Seth asked. We'd run too if we bumped into us in a dark alley.

  The thought was a dismaying one, but it possessed more than a grain of truth. Of all the people they had met in this strange new world, at least half had run from them or tried to kill them.

  He rubbed the shoulder where the bandit Pirelius had stabbed them, outside Laure's steep, forbidding wall. The wound had healed perfectly, but a mental scar remained.

  Come on, said Seth. No point moping about it. We were never going to ask her out. Besides, we have to get moving.

  That's not why—but she said—

  I know what she said, but what do you think she meant? She's carrying a message to someone that way from someone that way. How long do you think it'll be before they all come marching back and find us sitting here, twiddling our thumbs?

  The twins stepped out of the bushes and looked down at Kail. He seemed to be breathing more easily, and the pressure on the wound had definitely eased.

  Hadrian nodded, seeing the sense in his brother's words.

  You think we can move him?

  I think, we have to.

  Not before we've boiled the bandages. I don't think she was lying about that.

  Seth didn't argue, and they set about filling the kettle with water from the camel's saddlebags. The fog around them was beginning to lighten, signalling the strange dawning of another new day.

  What about the camel? asked Hadrian.

  It can come with us if it wants. Besides, we can't carry everything.