by Ben Galley
‘Farden,’ she said, and turned his head with a gentle finger to look at her. Her blonde hair hung over her crystal-blue eyes but Farden did not miss the determination burning behind them. ‘You know I do,’ she said, and it was all he needed to hear. Since that day outside the Spire, he had tried his hardest to ignore the possibility that he might lose her to the Ritual, and up until then he had succeeded. It was another shadow in his mind that he didn’t need, and now it threatened to cloud his new-found calm.
‘I hope so,’ he hugged her tight, sighed, and then ruffled her hair again. They said no more, and buried the matter under hope.
Her serious face warped into a tiny smile. ‘See, you do care about me.’ Farden narrowed his eyes. ‘Hmm, don’t flatter yourself,’ he muttered, and Cheska slapped his arm. She stood up and went to the window to stare at the rain. ‘So how was Nelska?’ she asked.
Farden scowled and shook his head. ‘I didn’t think the news would reach the Spire that quickly,’ he mumbled, and Cheska shrugged under her blanket. ‘Nelska was...’ he tried to search for the right word. ‘Difficult,’ he said.
‘What happened?’ she asked and Farden sighed. He had no idea where to start and how to explain it, so he started at the beginning. The mage told her about the sorcerer on the ship, the cold of the northern waters, and how he had been unconscious for almost a week, flitting in and out of sleep and dark dreams. He neglected to mention them in detail, and he didn’t mention the crazy man in the cold cell, because they could be left out, but then he proceeded to go over everything he could remember about the Sirens and their dragons. He told her about Svarta, but not Farfallen, and tried to loosely explain why it was so important that they find a dark elf well. Farden trusted her, but some things could be left until this was all over. She was silent and engrossed, as if trying to imagine every fine detail. When he had finished she nodded slowly, as if her mind were trying to order and catalogue the flood of information, and came to sit next to him on the bed again. She took a big breath. ‘So we’re at peace with the Sirens now, and they’re helping us find a magick well?’
Farden shrugged. ‘If all goes to plan. And now Vice has ordered me to get all the Written ready to fight by tomorrow evening,’ he said.
‘You?’ Cheska looked taken aback, but then put a reassuring hand on his. ‘Not that I think that’s a bad thing, but out of the Written everyone knows you’re the outsider. And after... well,’ she trailed off. ‘What happened with your uncle?’
Farden had to admit she was right. He nodded and scratched an imaginary itch on the back of his hand. ‘I know that, and Vice knows that, but for some reason he thinks it’s a good idea.’
‘Maybe it is.’ Cheska offered. He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, it’s been years since I lived at the Spire. Half of them probably don’t even know who I am, apart from the rumours.’
‘Then they will soon enough. If the Undermage thinks you’re capable, then so should you.’
‘Perhaps.’ Farden left it there, and listened to the rain on the glass. ‘All that matters is stopping the people behind all of this. I can’t let them get away with it.’
‘You always make it your fight, don’t you?’ Her voice sounded distant. He nodded. Cheska looked at him with a strange expression. ‘It’s always got to be your fight and yours alone, ever since I’ve known you. Why do you put so much weight on your shoulders all the time?’ she asked. Her hands were resting calmly on his leg and Farden couldn’t help but stare at her.
‘Because someone has to,’ he said quietly.
Cheska shook her head. ‘Then why you?’
Farden sighed. ‘Why any of us? We’re the Written, we do these things because we’re the only ones who can. I’ve never failed a mission yet and I’m not about to start.’
‘But it doesn’t always have to be you, Farden, what are you trying to prove?’
‘Yes it does, and I have everything to prove.’ Farden shook his head stubbornly.
She sighed, exasperated. ‘There’s a whole tower in Manesmark filled with people like us, like you, Farden. You don’t have to prove yourself anymore, don’t you understand that? It’s why you don’t want to be in charge of the other Written, because you still think you can do this on your own. The lone wolf, Farden saves the day again, is that what you want?’ Her questions were like arrows. He knew she cared, just like all the others. Farden looked deep into her eyes and clasped her smooth hands between his. ‘I know what I’m doing, and right now I can’t take another lecture about how I need to be careful, I get enough of those from the rest of them,’ he said.
‘It’s because of your uncle, isn’t it? she ventured, knowing how touchy a subject it was. ‘That’s what you’re trying to fight,’ Farden’s face was no less flinty. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m nothing like him.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Cheska, and left the matter to die away with the silence. She managed a tired frown and looked away. ‘One day we’re going to give up trying to convince you, and one day it’ll be too late,’ she said, with a slow shaking of her head, and a little shiver shook her slender body.
‘You’re cold,’ said Farden, quickly changing the subject. He got up from the bed to add to more wood to the fire. The mage picked up two logs from a little box by the window and held them in each hand. Flames trickled along his fingers and the dry logs began to spit and hiss. As the crackling bark started to burn by itself Farden dropped them gently into the fire with a little shower of sparks.
Cheska rolled her eyes. ‘That was unnecessary.’ She was now sat cross-legged on the bed with the blanket gathered around her like a shroud with a hood.
Farden tided his things and smirked at her slyly, glad to have escaped the earlier conversation. ‘But it’s why I’m so good; I’m always practising.’
Cheska made a laughing noise. ‘I could give you a run for your coin.’
‘There’s a reason we’ve never duelled, Cheska. I’m scared I’d hurt you.’ Farden leaned against the fireplace and crossed his arms with a triumphant grin.
‘Afraid to lose?’ Came the snippy reply.
‘Hah! We’ll see in three days,’ Farden winked and she looked for a pillow to throw at him. Joking about it didn’t make it any better, and he tried to force his mind away from shadow. ‘What did you choose anyway?’ He asked.
‘Illusion and spark.’ Cheska smiled.
‘Interesting. What about your friend, Burg, Brine?’ Farden smirked.
‘Brimm? Shadow and vortex.’
‘Interesting and original then,’ he said mockingly.
‘Oh be nice.’ She held out a hand for him to join her. He sat on the edge of the bed facing her. They kept hold of eachother’s hands. ‘Brimm actually looks up to you, Farden,’ said Cheska.
The mage shrugged. ‘I can’t imagine that, he’s so protective of you,’
‘He’s probably just jealous of you. You should teach him some things,’ she suggested.
‘I don’t even know how to begin to teach someone, that’s for the masters at the Spire, leave it to them.’ Farden snorted.
Cheska shuffled closer. ‘You could take any one of them.’
‘Probably,’ the mage nodded reflectively. He lost his train of thought when she started to lean into his warm neck. Her voice sounded small from below his chin.
‘What did you chose?’ she asked quietly.
‘You already know, fire and light,’ he said.
There was a pause, and then she put a hand on his warm chest to feel his heartbeat. ‘What about the other two?’
Farden shook his head, irritated. People were too eager to gossip about things that didn’t concern them. ‘Who told you about that?’ he muttered.
‘We all know the stories about Farden,’ Cheska said. ‘What are the others?’ The mage sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Tonight had been for forgetting, not dredging up the past, and his calm was being put to the test.
Every Written’s Book contained certain runes tha
t gave power to certain schools of magick, like water or fire, gifting a mage with enhanced abilities in those particular skills. Back in the earlier days, when Farden had still been in training, the Scribe could write as many as four runes into a tattoo. But, in light of a few certain incidents, the council had ruled that using more runes was dangerous for a candidate, and more likely to dissolve their minds like wet sand. They were unfortunately right; the more magick that was forced upon a mage, the less they could hold onto reality as the years went on. Farden had been the last to receive four runes, and it had been a highly guarded secret, until now. Rumour had it that Farden’s uncle had five runes in his Book.
‘Spark and quake,’ said Farden quietly.
Cheska tutted. ‘There’s no tact to you is there. As subtle as a house.’
Farden wagged a finger mockingly. ‘A Written isn’t mean to be delicate and quiet, Cheska, you can’t win a fight with shadow magick.’
‘Who says you have to fight?’ she said, but Farden chuckled, and said no more. She left the subject alone. Farden looked down at her, and she up at him. They held each other’s gaze for a while, and there was no sound but the dripping on the windowsill and the muffled singing from downstairs. Cheska looked down at her nails and searched for some way to say it.
‘I’m scared Farden...’ she began, but Farden put a hand to her cheek and before she could go any further he kissed her. Their lips met and she let his hands wander across the soft skin of her neck and up into her hair. She threw her arms around his shoulders in a warm embrace and Farden felt her heart beat hard against his own. She was warm, intoxicating. The mage felt her hands exploring inside his tunic while they kissed, fingers running over his chest and blindly tracing ridges of old scars. Cheska pulled him backwards onto the bed and pulled the blanket around them. With a flourish of blonde hair Farden pulled her shirt over her head and began to take off the rest of her clothes. They quickly landed in a heap on the floor and were swiftly followed by Farden’s tunic. Cheska bit and nibbled the mage’s shoulders. Her nails dragged softly over the tattoo on his back and with one hand he entwined his fingers in hers and held her down on the bed. He ran his hands over her breasts and half-naked body. Farden let his tongue rove over skin, and she moaned and sighed as he did so. Her beautiful skin shone pale in the dying firelight, and her eyes were sparkling with the reflections of the flames. Farden had never known her to look so beautiful. They stared at each other for a moment, and then they kissed again. He explored the curves and niches of her body and felt Cheska’s hands do the same. Her slender fingers floated across his skin and moved slowly further down his stomach to his waist. Farden shifted to be closer and they pressed themselves against each other rhythmically, feeling the warmth of the other’s skin and the fast heartbeats as they removed the last of their clothes and felt nothing but eachother’s skin. His was rough, weathered, hers was impossibly smooth. Cheska pulled him close as he moved his hands between her long slender legs. Her breathing was loud in his ear, and she smelled incredible, feminine, and the scent filled him with animal lust. She was the mountains, the sky, the crystal lake, everything, and her sharp nails raking across his back only made him want her more. The shadows burned away from the corners of his mind and he forgot everything except her, and she was a bright island like a candle in his darkness.
His fingers moved up and down, gently at first, and then faster, sliding in and out of her until at long last finally couldn’t take any more. Cheska wrapped her legs around him and took him in her hands, drawing him ever closer, pulling, until they were one and the same. Farden held her hands above her head, pressing her into the covers and letting himself melt into every part of her, forgetting everything else in the world except her, letting the shadows finally burn away until only they existed together in the darkness.
Soon they were both tangled in the sheets and panting breathlessly as they moved and writhed back and forth. Once, she screamed his name, when she was on top of him, hands in her hair and head thrown back. The noise from downstairs drowned out the sounds of their own commotion, and by the time they finally collapsed into a deep sleep, the fire had long burned out, exhausted and sated.
Farden’s dream was made of darkness. He could feel the heat of the day failing all around him, feel the hot wind dying on the horizon as it chased after the receding sun. But it was dark, impenetrable, like black hands had covered his eyes and stolen away every scrap of light. He was standing, he could feel the ground under his bare feet. He moved his toes and felt sand crunch between them. Hot sand. Farden looked to where he felt was up, and blinked.
Ever so slowly, as if the stars were forming for the first time, pinpricks of light began to puncture the blackness above him like knives through fabric. He could hear their rumbling from his place on the ground as they burned and throbbed and shook themselves into being. Farden couldn’t tear his eyes away. One by one the stars appeared, and the mage lifted a finger to count them and to trace their familiar shapes in the sky. A ribbon of light began to sparkle above him, like a milky river across the vastness, and with it he could hear the voices of countless people, yelling and moaning and crying, whimpering, plotting, convoluted whispers of ten thousand times ten thousand. The shapes moved, and the sounds of battle clashed against the shadows. The old gods galloped across the skies as they shouted and twirled. Yet more stars grew, and then suddenly, as quickly as it had started, the sky froze, the chaos halted, and earth and sky fell from the havoc. Farden heard something shuffle nearby, and he spun around. Nothing there but the thick darkness. Impenetrable. The something circled him, scratched, sniffed, yowled at the night sky. The stars cast no light, illuminated nothing. The little thing kept circling the mage, and Farden followed it with his ears and waved his unseen hands around him.
There’s more to this than first appears said an all too familiar voice.
‘What do you want from me?’ mumbled Farden.
Whoever they are, they’re not who you think. That’s how they got me came the reply in his head.
‘What is this place?’ asked the mage. The voice paused, as did the scratching. It’s where you want to be Farden, not I. And something here feels wrong, different, ruined.
‘Show yourself!’ shouted Farden, whirling around. From the corner of his eye he saw a shape move in the sky, the shape of a man holding a bow, with a sword at his hip. Wild dogs followed in his wake. With a mighty heave he leapt across the sky, and swept a third of the stars with him, and then pulled the string of his bow to his cheek. Farden felt paralysed, cornered. He looked for somewhere to run but saw only darkness and the hunter. He loosed his arrow, and his stars began to fall. Gold, silver, purple, and blinding white they fell, ripping the sky like torn skin, bruising the mountains with fire. The noise was deafening.
This was how it all started, mage, when the stars fell, the giants of old.
‘This doesn’t make any sense. Why do you keep bringing me here? If you want to tell me something then just tell me and stop all this nonsense!’ Farden yelled. He tried to run but he could feel his feet melting into the hot sand around him.
Be careful Farden. Something stirs in Emaneska tonight.
‘Who are you? Show me your face!’
I’m just like you, which is all the more reason to be careful.
‘I told you, I’m nothing like you! Leave me alone!’
Not this time. It’s only just beginning. Just promise me you’ll stay alive.
The stars buried themselves in the ground around him, and in the flashes and explosions of light Farden could see a man, with a cat, and a thing with wings. ‘SHOW ME!’ bellowed the mage as a flaming rock struck his hand. He felt his skin sizzling in the place his arm used to be.
Keep an eye on the weather Farden.
Chapter 11
“The rumours of a fierce ravenous vampyre in our forest are completely ridiculous! Why would such a beast settle in our quiet countryside, and hunt such kind people? These goings-on are just plain and
simple accidents, nasty trips and falls, or perhaps a rogue wild dog!
“Pardon me? No, I don’t know anything about the bite-marks. Now if you’ll excuse me...”
The Duke of Leath speaking to the townspeople after alleged “vampyre sightings” some years ago
The wind was bitingly cold, tearing at the black cloak of the figure standing in the darkness on the shore like the teeth of a thousand rats, invisible and hungry. It was a moonless night, and the clouds were spinning and twirling across the seething sky, trying to find calm after the storm earlier that day. The jagged rocks of the beach were slippery and wreathed in tangled seaweed that had been ripped apart by the waves and left to lie like dead soldiers on the shoreline. The sea crashed nosily on the rocks behind the man, and he could just about catch the shouts of the people in the small wooden boat furiously paddling against the surging waves. They were loud fools, and they would wake up the whole mountain if they weren’t careful. The huge face of the fortress of Hjaussfen towered above him. The black granite cliffs were almost invisible against the dark sky, but a few yellow torches glittered from a handful of windows, betraying the citadel. To the quiet man standing alone on the beach, the weather was perfect. He smirked, a wolf’s smile.
The wind howled, and the figure trudged forward, thick travelling boots crunching the grit and scraping on the wet slate. Knives dangled at his belt.
