The Iron Ghost

by Jen Williams

  ‘He was an important gift,’ said Frith. ‘A blessing I did not deserve. Because of me, he is dead. And as unlikely as it seems, O’rin is in danger now too.’

  Wydrin placed her hands on her knees, staring at the grave. ‘This Rivener contraption. You think Joah will use it?’

  ‘I know he will,’ said Frith. ‘Human life is nothing to him. He sees us as inherently inferior.’ He paused, frowning. ‘It’s almost as though he doesn’t mean it maliciously. As though humans are so inconsequential that he doesn’t even ponder it.’ Explaining the Rivener and its workings had been difficult. He had struggled to convey his horror as the small scruffy man had screamed inside the tank, his sense of creeping despair at the sight of his bright eyes turned cloudy.

  ‘Then it sounds as though we will have to stop him, then, doesn’t it?’ She smiled at him lopsidedly. ‘If we keep up these heroics we shall start getting a reputation.’

  Frith swallowed. He felt as though he barely had the strength to stand, let alone fight Joah Demonsworn.

  ‘The city, and then the sword,’ he said, hoping he sounded surer than he felt. ‘Temerayne, and the god-blade. If what Xinian told me is true, then it is the only way to kill him.’

  ‘Of course, I always make a point of trusting anything a ghost tells me,’ said Wydrin. Frith looked at her sharply, but she reached out and adjusted the rock on Gwiddion’s grave, turning it to some angle that pleased her. He found himself looking at the hollow of her neck, the way her unkempt hair curled against her cheek. ‘We know where the city is at least, although it sounds as though we’re going to have all sorts of fun getting there.’ When Frith had named the city, Dallen and Nuava had both started talking at once, proclaiming it ‘cursed’ and ‘lost’, although, curiously, they both knew where to find it. ‘Sebastian is glad to hear there is a sword that can actually kill the bastard. His was quite useless.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Frith, and then, ‘Wydrin, I thought you were dead.’

  ‘The Copper Cat has nine lives, and all that.’ She shrugged. ‘The Copper Cat is also really bloody lucky, it seems.’

  ‘I am the lucky one,’ said Frith. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, wishing he didn’t feel so unwell. It was difficult to concentrate on the words, and they needed to be the right ones. ‘I have been an idiot. All the time, I have been thinking about the past, about what other people wanted, when they are gone and there is nothing I can do to bring them back.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You really should rest while we have a moment.’

  Frith nodded hurriedly. ‘I am fine. I was given a second chance, and I spent it fretting over old stones and past obligations, I –’ His head was swimming. Why was it so difficult to say, even now? ‘Joah said my heart was conflicted, but it is not. I am simply a coward.’

  ‘You are the last person I would describe as such,’ said Wydrin, her voice for once entirely serious.

  ‘The pair of you should go back to your fire.’ They both looked up at Dallen’s voice. He stood over them with an ice-spear held loosely in one hand; in the other he held a freshly killed rabbit. ‘There are Arichok around here, and they can rush out of the dark and overwhelm you.’

  ‘Thank you, your princelyness,’ said Wydrin. She took her hand away and stood up, not quite looking at Frith. ‘We wouldn’t want anything to overwhelm us, would we?’

  46

  It had been a cold night in Ynnsmouth. Sebastian paused in his trek back to the hidden temple to lay the heavy pack at his feet. He looked up at the mountain; freezing fog drifted down from its peak like a swarm of ghosts. The trees around him were wreathed in it, skeletal and black.

  It was a longer walk back this time, but worth it; he had not found the will in his heart to return to Ragnaton, and Athallstown, the village two days’ travel to the south, was larger and better stocked anyway. With so many people coming and going, he was quite certain his face would not be recognised, and there would be no chance of seeing that grey figure, the kerchief failing to hide the disappointment in her eyes.

  ‘Ghosts,’ muttered Sebastian. ‘Ghosts everywhere.’

  He picked up his pack and got moving again.

  In a little while he would reach a certain stunted tree, and from there he would head directly west along a dried-up stream. The stream would turn into a ditch, which would eventually grow deep enough to be almost a tunnel, with only a narrow strip of sky overhead. At this time of night, it would be pitch-black, but in the last few months Sebastian had grown intimately familiar with its every muddy hole and jagged rock.

  A figure appeared out of the mist, running at such a breakneck speed that it collided heavily with Sebastian and spun away, almost falling to the ground. Sebastian had his sword ready in seconds, but the face that turned up to his was green, the eyes round and yellow and shocked. After a moment he recognised Havoc, a brood sister who had cut her white hair very short.

  ‘Father, you must come.’ Sebastian was alarmed to hear genuine panic in her voice. ‘There is a man in the valley.’

  ‘What?’ Sebastian shoved his sword away. ‘Where?’

  ‘He approaches the training slopes now. He is some way ahead of you. He knew the secret way, Father.’

  ‘And you didn’t stop him?’

  Havoc looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘How should we have stopped him, Father?’

  Sebastian shook his head abruptly. ‘Never mind. Has he seen any of you?’

  ‘We are hiding. But the others, at the temple – we cannot reach them before he does.’

  Sebastian reached for the link with Ephemeral, that silver thread that joined them – it was something they had been working on over the last few weeks: a way to send messages, warnings, perhaps, when they were apart. But he could feel nothing save for the anxiety of Havoc, standing so close to him.

  ‘By Isu—’ Sebastian dumped the heavy pack between a pair of trees, resolving to come back for it later. ‘Let’s run. We may be able to catch up with him.’

  Havoc went first, moving down the stream and into the ditch with fluid ease while Sebastian crashed along behind her, finding that the dark and his own anxiety had turned the path back into something unknowable.

  They emerged breathing heavily at the bottom of the training slopes. Ahead of them the grass was empty save for a single figure, walking slowly up the gentle hill. At the top of the slopes the temple sat, warm lights shining from every window, and Sebastian felt his stomach turn over. This had to be a knight, perhaps returning from some distant campaign, and what would he think upon seeing those lights? That the Order were still intact, that there would be a warm welcome for him through those doors? Instead he would find a horde of women who would look monstrous to him, a horde whose exploits he may have heard tell of, may even have witnessed for himself.

  ‘Quickly, you head up around, keep out of sight as much as you can,’ said Sebastian, his voice low.

  Havoc nodded once before running off into the dark. Sebastian watched until she was at the edge of the slopes, where the trees began, and then called across to the figure ahead of him.

  ‘Who goes there?’

  The man turned round and stopped. Even in the dark Sebastian could see his hand straying to the dirk at his belt.

  ‘No need to be alarmed.’ Sebastian jogged up the slopes, waving in what he hoped was a friendly manner. ‘We weren’t expecting anyone.’

  As he drew closer, he saw that the man was indeed a Ynnsmouth knight – he wore the colours of Ryn, green and yellow silk in tatters across his back, and an enamelled badge at his throat very similar to the one Sebastian wore. His hair was blond and cropped close to his head, and he had a blond beard, secured at the end with a silver cuff. His plate and leathers were burnished and covered in mud.

  ‘By the peaks of Ryn, I thought I was the only one left.’ The man looked very pale in the moonlight, and then he grinned. ‘I hardly dared to hope I might find one of my brothers here –�
�� He paused, looking Sebastian over. ‘Forgive me, but you appear to have suffered some difficult times yourself.’

  Sebastian nodded, smiling. The other knight would no doubt be wondering why he was so scruffily attired. Very soon he would be wondering many things.

  ‘It has not been easy,’ he said. ‘Where have you come from? Who are you?’

  The knight took a step backwards, obviously eager to reach the sanctuary of the old temple.

  ‘Sir Michael, of the Order of Ryn,’ he said, looking around. Sebastian could see him taking in the tended slopes, the weapons racks. ‘I have travelled up through Relios. It has taken some time. Everywhere I go I hear that my brothers have suffered greatly.’

  Sebastian nodded. ‘You were not at the battle of Baneswatch, Sir Michael?’

  Michael shook his head, his face creasing into bitter lines. ‘Alas, no. I was on the border of Creos when the Citadel fell, delivering a message to an official there for the Lord Commander. I fought, when the lizard women came –’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘I was injured, and taken in by a kind woman and her husband. I have been asleep for months, healing, and eventually I was well enough to make this journey.’ He shifted, half turning towards the temple and its warm lights. Out of the corner of his eye Sebastian could see that the door was open, and a figure was standing there. ‘I had thought this place would still be abandoned. May I have your name, brother? And how you came to survive such times?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’ Sebastian put an arm round the knight’s shoulders, subtly trying to turn him away from the temple. ‘It is my task this evening to walk the perimeter. Perhaps you will accompany me?’

  Sir Michael shook him off. ‘I would much prefer to take a moment’s rest at the Temple of the God-Peak. I have been travelling for weeks.’ Sir Michael was looking at him with open suspicion now. ‘What member of the Order does not offer rest and food to his kin?’

  His hand strayed back to the dirk at his belt again, and this time he drew it. Sebastian took a step forward, his hands held out in front of him in a gesture of peace, already knowing it was too late. There were figures streaking down the lawn towards them.

  ‘What you will see now will seem very strange – alarming, in fact,’ he said quickly, ‘but you must not panic. Please. I can explain everything.’

  Sir Michael, hearing the footsteps behind him, turned to see three brood sisters running down the slopes towards him. With a cry he drew his short sword in his free hand and the first brood sister fell to the ground, her guts open and steaming. The other two, whom Sebastian belatedly recognised as Umbellifer and Pelenor, stood dumbfounded. Neither of them were armed, and their golden armour had long since been discarded.

  ‘Please, stop.’ Sebastian grabbed hold of Sir Michael’s arm but the knight pulled away with surprising strength. In the dark the green blood on his sword looked black.

  ‘They have infected our most holy places!’ Sir Michael brought down another blow, this time catching Pelenor across the throat. Next to her, Umbellifer stumbled away, her hands held up in front of her.

  ‘We have sworn an oath,’ she said, her eyes very wide. ‘Never to take another human life.’

  But Sir Michael wasn’t listening. He barged past her, intending to head for the temple itself. Sebastian drew his own sword and went after him, not quite fast enough to catch hold of the smaller man.

  ‘Ephemeral!’ Sebastian bellowed, not knowing where she was but suddenly desperate to see her face. ‘Get them out of there!’

  It was too late. Sir Michael flew up the steps and into the temple’s main room, where around twenty brood sisters waited, confusion evident on every face. Sebastian caught him up and stumbled in behind him.

  ‘He has the blood of my sister on his sword!’ The Second stepped forward, her brow furrowed. ‘I can smell it. Who is this human?’

  ‘Listen, we all need to calm down.’ Sebastian tried to step around Sir Michael, trying to block his way into the room, but the young man brandished his sword.

  ‘You are harbouring these monsters here? Do you have any idea what they’ve done?’ His lips pulled back from his teeth in disgust. ‘You have betrayed us and tainted the god-peak.’

  ‘No, you must listen.’ Sebastian spread his arms wide, leaving himself open to attack. ‘You have to trust me. It is a long story, but you must hear it. Otherwise—’

  ‘I will cut you down where you stand!’

  He took a step forward, as though to drive his blade through Sebastian’s midriff. In that moment, everyone seemed to move at once. Sebastian felt someone hit him bodily from behind, throwing him to the floor. His chin connected with the stones and for a few seconds his vision went dark. Rolling over onto his back, he saw Sir Michael still standing, his sword doing its bloody work as the brood sisters tried to subdue him. Not one of them drew a weapon against the man – the oath, the bloody oath! – and as he watched five, then six of the brood sisters fell, their green blood filling the air with its acrid stench.

  ‘Stop!’ Sebastian struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his head. Ephemeral was there, she and Havoc and Umbellifor trying to overwhelm Sir Michael with the press of their bodies, while the knight screamed at them, his face twisted into a rictus of horror. ‘Enough!’

  Sebastian elbowed them aside and, unmindful of the knight’s blade, punched the smaller man across the jaw, taking some small satisfaction from the sound of tiny bones breaking. Sir Michael reeled on his feet, blood gushing from his nose in a red spurt, and then he went to his knees, eyes rolling up to the whites.

  ‘Enough,’ said Sebastian again. The temple smelt like a slaughterhouse. ‘Please, that’s enough.’

  47

  Tamlyn stood in the entrance to the werken chamber, utterly still, not breathing. It was dark, the only lights the glowing eyes of the werkens themselves and a pair of dirty oil lamps by the Heart-Stone chest. Two of her own werkens were in here, stored while she repaired them, and she could feel the solid presence of their stones.

  All is quiet, she told herself. There is no disturbance in the Edeian.

  Even so, she had found herself checking more and more often in the days after Joah Demonsworn’s attack. That pulse of awareness, the sense of dismay she’d felt in the Edeian after Joah had been awoken haunted her. Why hadn’t she acted then? If she’d been more vigilant, if she’d considered the Prophet with eyes unclouded by her own need to destroy the Narhl . . . And despite their best efforts, they had failed to find the girl. She had apparently vanished as completely as Joah Demonsworn had.

  She shook herself and strode quickly into the chamber, walking past those werkens still needing repairs. Every other serviceable werken was up in the city now, helping to repair the buildings and the streets that had fallen into rubble. They had lost a great number of werkens in the attack, and those they had left were precious; that was why she was insisting on keeping them underground when not on active duty.

  Her war-werken, the one shaped like a great cat, had been thrown against a stone wall, crumbling its right back leg into jagged pieces. She paused next to it, briefly inspecting her own handiwork; the witch’s porridge, as her soldiers called it, would need another day to set at least. Turning from that she went to the Heart-Stone chest, and slipping a key from round her neck, she opened it. Inside there was the final piece, the very last sliver of Heart-Stone. Their last chance.

  The sound of footsteps caused her to turn rapidly. ‘Who’s there? Who is it?’ She shut the chest and locked it rapidly, her fingers fumbling slightly with the key.

  Barlow came down the steps, her broad face creased into an expression of caution. The heavy-set woman had her fur hat in her hands again, and was turning it round and round.

  ‘You called for me to come, Crafter Nox,’ she said, glancing around at the damaged werkens. She was limping slightly – a slice of stone, blown from the side of a werken, had hit the woman in the leg. She had been lucky not to lose it. ‘I’ve just come up from the pit.�
��

  Tamlyn took a slow breath to calm her beating heart. She realised she did not like being down here in the dark, and that in itself made her angry.

  ‘Yes. I wanted to ask you about our other project, Barlow. What progress have we made?’

  Immediately Barlow looked as though she’d rather be somewhere else.

  ‘Oh. Yes. Well, it’s going well. As well as can be expected. I mean, we lost some of our best masons, and the new pit is not in the easiest location. And, frankly, we could do with more people.’ She paused, biting her lip.

  Tamlyn shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. The fewer people know about this, the better.’

  ‘No one here will betray you.’

  Tamlyn raised her eyebrows at that, and Barlow nearly dropped her hat.

  ‘I mean only, uh, Mistress Crafter, that we, that the masons and I, we are all dedicated to protecting Skaldshollow.’ She took a breath, apparently deciding to lead the conversation down a different path. ‘Your plans are extraordinary, as ever, and we follow them as best we can, but you are the Crafter.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tamlyn, ‘I am. And Nuava was to have been, after me . . .’ She trailed off, turning back to look at the Heart-Stone chest. The Heart-Stone was gone, and now Nuava too. They hadn’t found her body amongst the others, but Tamlyn felt in her bones that she was dead. As dead as her brother.

  Barlow cleared her throat. ‘Crafter Nox?’

  Tamlyn turned back. The weight of the stone above their heads was oppressive, and she was tired of being in the dark.

  ‘Continue the work,’ she snapped, ‘we must be ready for further attacks. Have them working at all hours, if necessary.’

  ‘Crafter Nox.’ Barlow looked as though she were trying to swallow something bitter. ‘The thing is, wouldn’t we be better off sharing around the last shard of Heart-Stone? Creating as many werkens as possible from what we have left?’

  ‘They would be small,’ said Tamlyn. ‘Small things, powerless. Good only for hauling heavy loads.’