by Jen Williams
Sooner than he’d expected he was at the top, and strong hands were pulling him over the edge. He turned round, and helped Wydrin pull Sebastian up too – the knight was incredibly heavy, carrying two great swords, and Frith had to wonder that he’d made it up the ice wall at all.
‘Quickly now,’ yelled Wydrin. ‘Across these rooftops; we’re nearly there.’
The water was all around them. Dallen used his cold-summons to freeze the rising water between buildings, so that they could scurry across. There was a sound like a thousand breaking mirrors behind them, and Frith didn’t need to turn around to know that the monster had broken through their ice wall.
‘Into the tower.’ Wydrin stood aside to usher Sebastian and Dallen through a narrow window in the solid marble, and then caught hold of Frith’s arm. ‘Are you all right? Can you still get us up there?’
He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘I suppose I shall have to.’
Inside the tower was a spiral staircase, littered with dust and bones. It looked like it had once been a family home – gilded picture frames still clung to the walls in places – but Frith had no time to examine further. They ran up the steps, scrambling to keep ahead of the rising black water. Dallen was still using the cold-summons to halt it as much as possible, but it surged up the stairs behind them in a boiling fury.
Coming out onto the roof, it was still possible to see the faintly glimmering silver portal in the sea-scape some twenty feet above them.
‘Try not to move,’ Frith said to Sebastian. ‘I will try to lift you as quickly as I—’
The tower trembled and then rocked. An ear-splitting scream sounded from below. Frith peered over the very edge to see the sea monster curled around the base of the building, its body heaving against the stone.
‘Shit,’ cried Wydrin, ‘we haven’t got much time.’ The city of Temerayne was now all but lost under the rising sea, finally coming to claim it after being kept out for thousands of years. The tower alone still stood, and from the vibrations it would not stand for much longer.
Frith took a deep breath, summoning his last reserves of strength. The Edenier churned in his chest and he pictured the words, trying to see them as clearly as he ever had. Sebastian and Dallen lifted off the ground together and began to float steadily upwards.
‘I can do this,’ he murmured. His head was throbbing, and a white-hot pain was growing behind his eyes. ‘I am every bit the mage Joah is.’
Sebastian and Dallen reached the silvery portal and vanished through it. Frith let go of the words and stumbled, suddenly very close to fainting.
‘I will send you up,’ he told Wydrin. ‘I don’t think I can do us both. Just hold still.’
‘Oh, don’t you try any of that nonsense with me, princeling.’ Wydrin slipped her arm around his waist and gripped him tightly. ‘You either get us both out of here or I’m not going. I didn’t pull your arse out of that shit hole for nothing.’
Frith bowed his head and summoned the words again. The Edenier was burning in his chest now, a dangerous fire that he feared would destroy him, but there was nothing left for it. Holding on to Wydrin tightly, he lifted them both off the roof of the tower just as it began to shake violently. Water coursed below them in a deafening whirlpool, and he caught a glimpse of green, oily skin and teeth like knives, rolling beneath the surface.
If that thing leaps for us . . .
He forced the thought from his mind and concentrated. They gained speed, Wydrin’s arms wrapped around him tightly, the warmth of her body incredibly welcome. In another time and place, I would be enjoying myself, he thought, and he had to hold back a laugh. The pain in his head was blinding him now, but that didn’t seem to matter very much.
‘We’re nearly there,’ said Wydrin directly into his ear, her breath hot and tickly. ‘Just a little further.’
There was another crash from below them as the tower fell, and they were briefly doused in a freezing shower of water. Frith felt a tearing sensation deep inside, the Edenier burning away the last of his strength, and he pulled Wydrin as close as he could.
‘I love you, Wydrin,’ he said absently. ‘I should have said that, before.’
He felt her grow rigid in his arms, and he was dimly aware of a silvery sensation passing through his body before he was lost to the darkness.
53
Sebastian laid the unconscious form of Frith down on the makeshift bed. There were dark circles around his eyes, and he’d never seen the young lord so pale. His breathing was rapid and shallow.
‘Well, he looks like a bag of shit warmed up,’ said Wydrin, peering down at Frith anxiously. ‘And they won’t send any of their healers?’
Sebastian shook his head. The Narhl of Turningspear had led them to a shack on the very edge of their settlement and then left them there. Ceriel had informed them that they could build a small fire in this place if they wished, but nowhere else, and they were to be gone by morning.
Wydrin sighed and shook her head. ‘Joah has poisoned him. That, and the strain of what he had to do in Temerayne. We need more than one day to rest.’ She paused, and then added quietly, ‘I think he was delirious back there.’
‘Dallen has done what he can,’ said Sebastian. Nuava was kneeling on the floor, attempting to make a fire out of their small supply of dry wood, part of which they had stripped from the walls themselves. ‘Ceriel is afraid for her people. They saw some of the sea monsters we inadvertently summoned, and they want no part of it.’
‘They can hardly blame us for that!’ Wydrin paced back and forth at the end of the bed. ‘How were we supposed to know we’d be visited by every ugly thing the sea could spit out?’
‘I suspect that was Bezcavar’s doing,’ said Sebastian. ‘Some sort of elaborate trap for anyone coming after the god-blade.’
Wydrin leaned over Frith and placed her hand against his brow. He didn’t wake, but he stirred in his sleep, his lips forming some unsaid word. Wydrin frowned at that, and Sebastian was struck by the concern on his friend’s face. He knew well that Wydrin carried the persona of the Copper Cat as both a banner and shield, but he also knew that underneath her feelings ran deep. It was unnerving to see her so exposed. He glanced over to the god-blade, which they had propped against the wall. Looking at it he felt unbalanced, as though the ground might drop away from his feet at any moment.
‘He’ll be all right, Wyd.’ Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nuava glance up at the reassuring tone in his voice. No doubt she thinks the Copper Cat is as tough as nails. ‘He’s been through worse than this before.’
Wydrin pushed some loose strands of hair away from Frith’s face, and then pulled back suddenly, as if annoyed with herself.
‘Yes. And what if finally it’s too much?’ She shook her head brusquely.
‘Wydrin,’ Sebastian put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Will you come outside for a moment?’
She frowned, but followed him out all the same. The twisted dwellings of Turningspear lurked off to one side, beneath a bank of darkening clouds.
‘The sword.’ Sebastian looked into her eyes, willing her to have spotted what he had. If she had seen it too, then perhaps he could step away from this madness. Unbidden, an image of Ephemeral rose in his memory, her delight at controlling the snakes written clearly on her face. ‘Have you seen what it is?’
She raised an eyebrow.
‘A bloody great sword, is what it is. A bit over the top for my tastes, but hopefully it will do its job.’
Sebastian closed his eyes and tugged at the short bristles of his beard. Why couldn’t she see it?
‘When Frith handed it to me, when I took it into my hands, I knew what it was immediately. It was like it sang to me, Wydrin. In my blood.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The blade of that sword, Wydrin. That strange, shining blue metal. It is part of Y’Ruen. It is made from her scales.’
Wydrin blinked rapidly, then looked back at the shack as if she could see the s
word through its walls.
‘A sword made from a scale of the dragon. I suppose it would have to be something quite special to defeat a power-crazed mage. But how could you possibly know that, Sebastian?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sebastian. ‘I really don’t know.’
But that was a lie.
54
Bezcavar stood on the chilly ledge, wriggling Ip’s feet in the snow. The girl was still in there with the demon, and she was shouting something, but it had become easier and easier to push her to one side. Bezcavar twisted the girl’s face into a grin as the freezing wind pushed at her back, easing her closer and closer to the edge.
‘Bestina?’ Yerry’s voice was almost lost in the wind. ‘I don’t know if we should be doing this.’
Bezcavar looked down at the younger girl. Her dirty face was turned up to hers like a small uncertain moon. They were standing on the roof of Sal’s hovel, having abandoned the cellar some days ago. Mikas had kept his word about keeping an eye on them, and Ip now carried several vivid purple bruises to show for it. The roof, though – no one came up here, no one would think to come up here. They had rebuilt their small shrine inside a make-shift shelter, and once more Bezcavar had felt the first stirrings of power. Reaching over with Ip’s hand, the demon took hold of the smaller girl’s fingers and squeezed them.
‘The wild spirit will reward us for our bravery, Yerry. I told you that, didn’t I? Stefen understands, don’t you, Stefen?’ The boy standing on her other side nodded rapidly. He was about the same age as Ip, but was much smaller and skinnier, still waiting for his body to catch up with him; he had an interesting liking for knives. ‘Stefen believes, Yerry, and he will be rewarded.’
‘I believe!’ said Yerry, her voice squeaky with indignation. ‘I believe in the wild spirit, I do.’ The girl glanced behind her at the shrine as though expecting the ‘spirit’ to be there looking back. ‘I just don’t know if this will work.’
‘It’s easy,’ said Bezcavar smoothly. ‘The wild spirit values acts of bravery. When we jump off this roof, it will reward us and keep us safe. I’ve shown you before, haven’t I?’
Indeed, Bezcavar had cut a few shallow wounds in Ip’s arm, and had then simply healed them again. Yerry and Stefen had been suitably impressed.
‘The wild spirit watches over you,’ agreed Stefen. He was staring down over the ledge. ‘Watches over all of us.’
Bezcavar nodded. It wasn’t a huge drop by any means – Sal’s hovel was a sad old shack, really – but it was high enough to cause either of the children some serious injuries. Some painful injuries. She supposed it might even kill them, and that would be an inconvenience, but Bezcavar thought it more likely that they would end up with a broken leg apiece. Again, there was that flurry of tension as Ip tried to bring herself forward, but Bezcavar held her back with ease. I have to play these small games now, don’t you see? Joah has gone, and I must take what suffering I can.
‘I will go first, then, if she’s too scared,’ said Stefen. ‘I believe in the wild spirit.’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t believe,’ muttered Yerry, looking down at her feet now. ‘Didn’t say that at all.’
‘I knew you could do it, Stefen.’ Bezcavar grinned with Ip’s mouth, placing one hand on the boy’s shoulder, not quite pushing. Not yet. ‘Say it’s in the name of the wild spirit. Shall I tell you its name?’
The boy looked up at her, his eyes wide. ‘It has a name?’
‘It’s only for true believers to know,’ said Ip. She leaned down and put her lips close to Stefen’s ear and whispered, ‘Bezcavar. The wild spirit’s name is Bezcavar.’
Stefen nodded rapidly. The wind picked up around them, as if reflecting the demon’s mounting excitement.
‘For Bezcavar,’ said Stefen, and he took a step towards the edge. ‘I do this in the name of Bezcavar—’ Before he made it over he was yanked backwards, one arm flailing in the air. Ip turned to see Mikas there, gripping Stefen fiercely by the wrist.
‘What are you doing up here?’ snapped the older boy. Next to her, Yerry took a few rapid steps away from the edge of the roof. ‘You’re not allowed to play up here.’
‘We’re not playing!’ Stefen tried to pull himself away, but Mikas shook him. ‘We’re worshipping the wild spirit.’
Mikas laughed: a snorting, unlovely sound. ‘You’re all stupid babies.’ He dropped Stefen and came after Ip, his hands balled into fists. ‘And I thought I’d told you about this before.’
‘Shut up, mewling child,’ spat Bezcavar. So close, they’d been so close. Suddenly it was difficult to disguise the voice, and he saw the other children look at Ip in surprise. The demon found it didn’t really care any more. ‘You are nothing to me. Nothing! A petty little bully, a whining child. I have had better than you splayed out on stakes so that I could watch their organs dry in the sun, and you expect me to cower away from you? I have tasted the blood of men and women from every part of Ede, I have torn the skin from—’
Mikas struck Ip across the face, a solid downwards punch that drove the girl to her knees. He followed that up with kick in the stomach that forced all the wind from her lungs and bent her in two.
‘You’re mad,’ he said, still in a tone of mildly irritated dismissal. ‘You’ve got a disease or something.’
Ip’s nose was bleeding. The blood was hot against the girl’s fingers.
‘I’ll have Sal throw you out,’ said Mikas. ‘Back onto the streets with the other mad people.’
Bezcavar tried to force Ip to her feet, tried to force her to tear this child’s throat out, but her legs would not obey. There was a pain in her stomach like a jagged rock, and her throbbing nose was starting to block everything else out.
‘Stupid, useless body,’ muttered Bezcavar. Yerry and Stefen were looking at Ip with confusion now. ‘To be trapped, in this place, with this . . .’
A distant fluting noise came from the south, and the other children all turned to look towards the city wall. Ip followed their gaze, still wiping blood from her nose.
‘Those were the alarms,’ said Stefen. He clasped his hands to his chest, looking suddenly younger than he had a moment ago. ‘On the walls. Something’s coming.’
Bezcavar did push Ip to her feet now, ignoring the way the child’s body wanted to lie curled up on the floor in a heap. They could just make out the dark grey line of the southern wall from where they stood, and the small plodding shapes of werkens and riders prowling its circumference. As they watched, the wall itself shuddered violently, sending up a plume of snow as something struck it from the other side. The alarms increased in volume.
Hardly daring to breathe, Bezcavar reached out with its mind, looking for that familiar presence – and there it was. There was no mistaking Joah’s strange, fragmented mind, with its impossible honeycomb of ideas and tangents.
He came back for me.
Bezcavar turned on the other children, grinning with triumph. Mikas, who had lost both his parents to Joah’s last exploits, had gone ashen.
‘You’ll pay for your insolence now,’ she spat gleefully. ‘Oh yes. I will have Joah make a special case of you, Mikas. I’ll have him make something out of your bones, I think. Something pretty I can wear.’
‘Bestina?’ Stefen was staring, his eyes impossibly wide. There was another crash from the wall and they flickered briefly in that direction before returning to her again. ‘What do you mean, Bestina?’
‘Have we upset the wild spirit?’ added Yerry. She looked like she was on the verge of tears.
‘Oh no, dearest child,’ Ip beamed happily at them both, ‘you two have been an enormous help.’ And she pushed Stefen over the edge.
Someone had put fresh flowers on their graves. Tamlyn Nox stood over them, wondering who that could have been. Barlow, perhaps? It seemed likely. They were the thick, fleshy blooms of the keeningwort, a hardy plant with solid blue leaves that were impervious to cold and actually quite pretty, if one found such things pretty. Tamlyn
had seen them growing in the woods beyond the quarry, but had never thought to bring them back for her brother’s grave. Barlow, though, Barlow might think to do that.
She bent and brushed some snow away from the black granite, the better to read the words they had carved there. Marlen and Trayla Nox, Crafters and Warriors, Together in the Stone. It wasn’t a memory she allowed herself to dwell on, but it came to the surface unheeded now – her brother’s warm, plain face, waving away her objections as he set out on the back of his werken, and his wife’s long-suffering look that liked to pretend that she found him exasperating. Their faces on the day they’d walked into the mountain and not come back had been warm and happy. Their faces when she’d found them had been altogether different.
And then there were the faces of Bors and Nuava when she’d told them, small and round and full of sorrow.
‘You shouldn’t have left them with me,’ she told the gravestones. ‘I had no time for children, you knew that.’ She shifted from foot to foot. Behind her, the lithe cat-shaped werken stood to attention, the only witness to her grief. ‘You were reckless, and now . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Bors lies with you. Nuava, I don’t know where she is. I will do the best I can, though, to bring her here to be with you. I’m sorry that in the end that’s all I could do for them.’
The horns sounded, piercing the icy air like the wailing of ghosts.
Tamlyn snatched up her sword and scrambled onto the back of her werken, already urging it to the nearest stone stairwell. She could see people running – some towards the wall, some away from it.
She reached the top of the wide stone stairs at a pace and skidded out onto the flat top of the wall. There were other war-werkens approaching in both directions, she saw, heading towards a spot on the south-eastern apex. There was a thunderous crash, and she saw the wall shudder, throwing one unfortunate guard screaming off the side.
