by Jen Williams
‘Is he still alive?’
Joah shrugged. ‘Not for much longer. Without the spark moving it, the spirit, the body will eventually give up on the idea of breathing.’
Frith swallowed hard. ‘Why do this?’ He couldn’t quite keep the horror from his voice, but Joah didn’t appear to notice. ‘What is the point of it all?’
‘It’s all about gathering resources, Aaron.’ Joah rubbed absently at his beard. ‘It has always seemed to me to be the most efficient approach. Yes, we can achieve much with the mage powers we have, but how much more can we do if we use everything? The Edeian naturally present in the world, the knowledge of demons, and the Edenier harvested from living things – all of this together, Aaron, and we shall be the greatest mages that ever lived.’
There was nothing but bright enthusiasm in his brown eyes.
‘You will be, at least,’ Frith replied, forcing some jollity into his words. ‘I am afraid that I will never be able to handle the Edenier with the skill that you do. All of this is new to me, and I suspect I will likely never catch up.’
Joah took hold of his arm, squeezing tightly. ‘You mustn’t believe that, Aaron my friend. By all the gods, you can hardly be blamed for being slightly behind. You have been alone, all this time, with no other mages to guide you, to pass on their knowledge!’
‘From what I’ve heard, Joah,’ inwardly Frith winced at the familiar use of the name, ‘you were much more than an average mage. I spoke to the girl Nuava about you when we visited your tomb. You were a genius, they said. A prodigy.’
For several long moments Joah just stared at him. His eyes were wide and slightly unfocussed, as if he were looking at something only he could see. Eventually, he shook himself and turned away.
‘Yes, genius. Prodigy. That wasn’t all they called me. Listen, Aaron, there is a very quick way I can pass on some of my knowledge to you, but it will require a degree of trust between us. Do you think you can trust me?’
Frith stared at him. He could taste bile at the back of his throat. Everything is wrong here, he thought, and I have no advantages. Perhaps if I know what he knows, I will find something to improve my position. He thought of Wydrin and Sebastian. If they were looking for him now, he would need to be ready to act if they arrived. He needed to be stronger.
‘I trust you,’ he said. ‘Please show me.’
34
Joah took him out of the Forge and down a metal corridor he hadn’t seen before. At the end of it was a heavy iron door, covered in rivets painted with the black sticky writing. Joah muttered something, tracing a complicated shape on the surface of the door. There was a sound of metal scraping against metal, and the door swung open, revealing high walls of ragged earth to either side. Frith was startled to discover that it was late in the afternoon, with the sun glaring down through the narrow strip of sky overhead. Inside the Forge it felt as though he were trapped in a perpetual night.
Joah led them out of the Forge and up a nearby slope, where a circle of grey stones stood. Frith looked around wildly, trying to take in their location, and whether that held any advantages for him, but there was nothing; only the hills and the snow, and the painfully bright sky.
‘It’s best if we do this outside,’ said Joah. ‘With the daylight on our faces. The crossing can be an uncomfortable experience.’
‘The crossing?’
Joah nodded, kicking some of the snow away and sitting down next to one of the standing stones. After a moment, Frith joined him. If I ran, he would strike me down in moments, he reminded himself.
‘It is a method, given to me by Bezcavar, of joining two minds together for a brief time. The crossing of memories, sensations, and therefore knowledge, becomes possible.’
‘You did this with the demon?’
Joah glanced up at him, his brown eyes momentarily sad. ‘I did, indeed. Here, give me your hand.’
After only a moment’s hesitation, Frith held out his hand, palm up. Joah reached inside his cloak and retrieved a small metal ball about the size of a walnut. It was covered in tiny thorns, with wickedly sharp points.
‘In a moment I shall grasp your hand,’ he said, holding up the ball so that Frith could see it. ‘There will be a moment of intense pain, and I want you to concentrate on it. That moment will open your mind to me, and I shall use that as my way in. Are you ready?’
Frith looked at the ball, trying not to think about the torture rooms inside the Forge. ‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘I must learn what I can.’
Still holding the ball in the cup of his hand, Joah leaned over and took Frith’s hand as if to shake it. He squeezed, pressing the thorn-covered ball into the soft skin of his palm. Despite himself, Frith yelped with pain and made to pull away, but to his horror the needle-like thorns had buried themselves deep, and it was not so easy to escape.
‘Relax now, Aaron,’ said Joah. ‘I need you to relax.’
He reached up with his other hand and took hold of Frith’s head, pressing the length of his thumb against the side of his nose, digging his fingers behind his ear. Frith gasped, feeling the hot trickle of blood running between his fingers, and then something else; it was like a long, thin blade, as hot as glowing coals, slipping through his forehead.
‘You can feel it now I think,’ said Joah. ‘That is my mind meshing with your own. Hold still, just a moment, and let me show you.’
Frith blinked and then Joah and the snowy hills seemed to twist away from him, falling down a deep hole. In their place was a small, lavishly furnished room with no windows; the carpets on the floor were golden, and the walls were covered in mosaics, all created from tiny glittering gems. In front of him stood a tall elderly woman with deep brown skin and carefully plaited white hair. She wore a sleeveless robe of pale aquamarine and her arms were bound with silk strips, all painted with the mage’s words. She was staring at Frith with an expression of weary patience.
‘I’ve seen you do this exercise a thousand times,’ she said. Her accent was from Relios, all clipped tones and smoky vowels. ‘Do you jest with me, boy?’
‘I-I don’t,’ Frith stuttered, looking around the room. He could see enormous clay jars, very similar to the ones they’d seen in the depths of the Citadel, and a long table covered in pots of ink. Just in front of him, between him and the tall woman, was a low marble table with a piece of warped metal on it. He glanced down at his hands, and was alarmed to see that they were not his own – the skin was pale, and the fingers longer.
I am in his memories, he thought. I am seeing his past.
And then his hands were moving of their own accord, and as he watched the piece of metal in front of him rose several inches from the table, spinning slightly, and he could see the word for Hold in his own mind. A few moments later and the word for Heat joined it, and the piece of metal began to glow a rosy red.
‘That’s more like it,’ said the tall woman, raising a single perfect eyebrow. ‘Let’s see the rest.’
More words joined Hold and Heat in his mind – Force, focussed down into a blunt weapon, and Push, and then all of them at once. Frith marvelled at the control of it all, but he could also see how it was possible; Joah was stacking the words on top of one another, a careful mental balancing act. Another word, this one for Change, and as he watched it began to appear in the metal itself, forced there with the strength of Joah’s mind.
‘Very good, Joah,’ said the woman. ‘You have achieved so much in your time here with us.’
‘I am not Joah,’ Frith started to say, but the room shivered and vanished, to be replaced with a lush green field, the grass coming up to his waist. Another woman stood next to him, and this one was short with waves of dark blond hair caught in a silvery net. She wore some sort of elaborate armour – all black leather and silver spikes – and her eyes were red from lid to lid. She was grinning at him and brandishing a knife.
‘I will teach you some letters the gods have never dreamed of,’ she said, and her voice was old and strange. ‘And
with those you will do terrible things in my name. Won’t that be marvellous?’
‘Bezcavar,’ said Frith, trying to back away. This was the creature who had driven Fane and the Children of the Fog, its eyes filled with blood just as Sebastian had described. The demon carried on as if he hadn’t spoken.
‘Come here, then,’ she said, waving at him impatiently. ‘I know you remember how I teach you things.’ She held up the knife. ‘Come and lie down with me.’
A flicker, and the vision was gone, but the knowledge was not – he felt the burning of a hundred alien letters on his skin, and deep inside he knew, he knew how he could use them. Next there was a young boy sitting on a great boulder in a forest, naked save for a series of leather belts around his waist and upper arms. He was counting out a number of small grey stones in front of him, and after a moment they began to jump by themselves. Then he was gone too, and Frith had a glimpse of a fierce old man with a thick beard and a bare chest, his shoulders covered in what looked like a bearskin. His hands were thick with blood and gore, and he was telling Frith something, and although he did not understand the words, the knowledge slid into his mind, chilly and alien – how to make the mages’ words clearer in your head, how to make the passage of the Edenier more efficient. With growing excitement, Frith felt his mastery of the Edenier expanding rapidly. So much that had been a mystery to him was becoming clear. The man with the bearskin faded away, to be replaced with the blond-haired woman with Bezcavar’s eyes again. This time they were in a tent, and through the gap in the silks Frith could see endless sands the colour of autumn leaves. The demon woman was cradling something in her lap, a globe constructed from shining black metal – just looking at it, Frith knew it was incomplete, and she was shaking her head slowly.
‘It is a fine idea, Joah,’ she said in the demon’s voice, ‘but it is a waste. Destroying the Edenier of your enemies is one thing, but imagine if you could take it and keep it for yourself.’ She set the globe down on the woven mat between them. She was wearing a loose silk wrap instead of the jagged armour, and her bare skin was brushed here and there with sand. ‘I have a much better idea . . .’
Then the woman and the tent twisted away to be replaced with a flickering myriad of images: a forest in high summer, a vaulted marble hall with great glass windows in the ceiling, the view from a ship’s mast, the clouds blackened and storm-laden. Soon the images were moving so fast that he felt like he was falling, catching glimpses of things that meant nothing to him – a pair of hands cupped around bright blue beads, a man with a golden crown sobbing into a bloody rag, a waterfall parting to show a hidden cave beyond, the red eyes of the demon, crinkled at the edges with pleasure. And along with the memories came the knowledge, bright and unending and right; new mages’ words, the demon’s knowledge, the latent power of the Edeian, and how they could be combined. Towards the end of it he caught sight of something else: the woman he’d seen in the Forge with the brown skin and the shaved head. She was crouching, one arm thrown out behind her for balance and the other striking forward, holding a sword that shone oddly. Frith could see sorrow in her face, and triumph, and then it was gone and Joah was shaking him gently by the shoulders.
‘Aaron, are you well? Are you back with me?’
Frith blinked at him owlishly. The ball of thorns was still sticking out of his hand. Gingerly he took hold of it with two fingers and pulled it free with a gasp.
‘I am here,’ he said. ‘At least, I believe I am.’
Joah sat back on his haunches. He was sweating slightly. ‘Forgive me, Aaron. That went much deeper than I intended, but I was so fascinated by what I saw.’
Frith flexed his hand, wincing. He ran Joah’s words back through his head. ‘What . . . you saw?’
Joah nodded. ‘It is an exchange, remember. While you experienced visions of my past, I saw some of your own.’ He stood up, and helped Frith to his feet. It had grown dark while they had been sitting there, although to Frith it felt as though only minutes had passed. ‘We should get indoors. It is not wise to be out here after dark.’
They went back inside the Forge, Frith stumbling slightly as they made their way down the narrow passage. He was trying to process what he’d seen. There was too much of it, far too much, and yet most of the information had stayed with him. He could feel the knowledge crowding in his head, making clear much that had been confusing. Was this what it was like, to be a trained mage?
Once inside Frith began to feel unwell again, and he staggered into a chair, sitting down with his fingers pressed to his lips. Joah didn’t seem to notice, and was bustling back and forth in front of the Rivener, bathed in the violet light.
‘I think I need something to eat,’ said Frith eventually. ‘Perhaps it’s the effects of this crossing, as you called it, but I am feeling quite ill.’
Joah looked up, distraction evident in every line on his face. He stared at Frith as though he’d forgotten he was there. ‘Oh, but of course. I shall fetch us dinner.’
He vanished back through one of the doors for a few moments while Frith sat and looked at the Rivener. He remembered how the man had shrieked and thrashed as the Heart-Stone’s light grew in intensity, and how the pain in Frith’s head had tripled along with it.
Joah returned with two deep bowls full of steaming stew, setting one before Frith carelessly so that some of the brownish soup slopped over the sides.
‘I think it worked, you know,’ said Frith when it became clear that Joah wasn’t going to talk. ‘The crossing. I saw images of your past – a lot of which I won’t pretend to understand – and the knowledge seems to have stayed with me. Some of it, anyway.’
Joah looked up, an expression of genuine pleasure briefly lighting his handsome face. ‘Good, that is good, Aaron. I’m glad it has helped to bring you some small part of your mage inheritance.’ He paused, twirling the spoon through his stew. Lumps of what Frith hoped were meat rose and sank again. ‘I saw some strange things in your mind, Aaron. I should like to ask you about them.’
Frith took a sip of his stew. It was salty, but not altogether bad. ‘Of course,’ he said.
Joah nodded, looking down at his bowl. When he looked up again his eyes were filled with a feverish interest that immediately put Frith on his guard.
‘I saw a man with a bird’s head,’ said Joah. ‘I saw him flying in a great cloud of birds.’
Frith felt a shiver move down his spine. It was so quiet in the Forge, with only the gentle creaks of the corridor settling, or the shifting sounds of the earth around them. He knew, somehow, that it would be a very bad idea to reveal anything of O’rin to Joah, although he couldn’t have said how he knew that. He pushed his face into a frown.
‘Well, I’m sure I don’t know what that could be. A man in a festival costume, perhaps? We had many such festivals, back in my home in the Blackwood.’
Joah shook his head. ‘No, no, I know what a man in a mask looks like, and this was very different. I wonder . . .’ he sat forward slightly, actually reaching one hand out to Frith’s face. ‘I wonder if I might take another look, just to satisfy my curiosity.’
Frith flinched away from him, leaning back in his chair. ‘I am sorry, Joah, but I’m feeling somewhat fatigued. I fear that this demonstration of yours has quite exhausted me.’
Joah put his hand down slowly, looking abashed.
‘Of course, of course,’ he murmured. ‘We have all the time, after all. All the time we could wish for.’
After Frith had retired to his bunk room and fed Gwiddion what scraps he had managed to save from dinner (he had no idea where Joah slept, and did not wish to know), he lay on his back in the dark, wondering if his new-found knowledge would aid him in any way. Certainly he felt as though his mastery of the Edenier had increased enormously, but he had no ink, no strips of silk, and, for all Joah’s apparent distractions, he was still scrupulously careful about keeping such things away from his guest, even refusing to bandage Frith’s wounded hand. The Edenier remained
an unreachable force inside him. Eventually, he grew drowsy, and only when he turned on his side did he see the strange collection of shadows in the corner that formed the shape of the shaven-headed woman. She was watching him in the dark, her eyes like small wet stones.
‘You do see me, then,’ she said. She did not move. ‘If you can see me, boy, then things aren’t looking too good for you.’
Frith sat up slowly, hardly daring to breathe. ‘Who are you? What are you doing in this place?’
At first the woman didn’t answer. She continued staring at him in the dark. ‘I am trapped here, like you are trapped here,’ she said eventually. ‘Although I am not Joah Demonsworn’s toy.’
Frith shook his head at that. ‘I saw you,’ he said. ‘When Joah showed me his memories, I saw your face, towards the end. But everything he showed me happened over a thousand years ago, which means . . .’
‘Which means I am long dead,’ answered the woman. Her voice was husky and low, and jagged with bitter humour. ‘What are you, little man? I see the Edenier burning within you, but this land has been without the mages for the longest time.’
She shifted, moving further into what little light there was, and Frith could see that she was dressed in a ragged collection of furs and leathers, and her left arm ended in a smooth stump. Now that he could see more of her, he could also see that her shaven head was tattooed with the mage-word for Forbearance. It was one of the words he had learned since leaving Whittenfarne, one that had not been forbidden by the Regnisse of Relios.
‘How can you be here? You look too solid to be a—’ He bit down on the word.
The woman smiled. ‘A ghost? This is a place of Edeian, and it is not so easy to escape, even when we are dead. Unfortunately for you, little man, you are moving closer and closer to that state every day, which is exactly why you can see me so clearly.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ snapped Frith, raising his voice slightly. Immediately there was a scuffling from outside the bunk door.
