Soul's Reckoning bw-3

by Sam Bowring

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I’ve heard it said that Vorthargs and Mireforms are not able to survive long without water.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Bel. ‘Following the river makes sense, then.’ He turned away. ‘Sarshan?’

  The woman sat up, wiping sleep from her eyes. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Take word to Brahl – the dreamer moves towards Jeddies.’

  She rose smoothly to her feet.

  ‘Tell him to come with all possible haste. I shall meet him a league south of the town.’

  ‘But what if the shadow reaches Jeddies first?’

  Bel held her gaze for a moment. ‘It won’t,’ he said.

  Looking a tad uncertain about the message she carried, Sarshan swung herself up on her horse and led it out of the copse. As she took off, Bel wondered if she would be spotted, perhaps by Graka in the air. Well, no matter. They were far enough away here that she should be safe.

  ‘So,’ said Querrus, ‘I take it you have some kind of plan?’

  Bel put his finger to his neck and ran it under the chain of black gold, flipping the Stone of Evenings Mild out from under his shirt.

  ‘Do you know what this is?’ he said.

  •

  They set out, giving the shadow a wide berth. Querrus lent Taritha some speed, but it was not the frantic pelting of the day before. They were still leagues from Jeddies, more than enough time to get there ahead of the slow-moving shadow army. Soon the patrolling Graka were but dots in the skies behind, and the horde on the ground had disappeared from view. Once or twice they spied Kainordan scouts, and even a far-reaching patrol. Something floating high above could have been a Zyvanix, but Bel wasn’t sure. It seemed that Brahl was maintaining a many-threaded web, keeping close watch on the enemy’s progress.

  As they went, the dusty plains were replaced by more fertile ground. Soon there was plush grass underfoot, and along the Nyul’ya trees grew like a fence, and insects chirped in the long grasses.

  ‘We should let Taritha graze a while,’ said Querrus.

  ‘Certainly,’ agreed Bel. ‘There’s no rush.’

  He brought her to a stop, and they got off to stretch their legs. Taritha put her head down gratefully and set to work munching.

  ‘Well,’ said Querrus, ‘would you look at that.’

  By the river was a little hut, the chimney smoking. A path led down from it onto a short pier, from which a man was fishing.

  ‘Do you think he knows that all Fenvarrow is about to knock on his door?’ said Querrus.

  Bel felt himself going blank. It was an annoying interruption to the feeling of being in control. Querrus looked at him oddly – some response was required, he knew. He forced himself to speak.

  ‘I suppose not,’ he said.

  ‘We should go and warn him.’

  Ah yes, that was the right thing to do. Why not?

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  As they moved towards the man, Bel realised they had left Taritha untethered.

  ‘Should we not tie her up?’

  ‘I don’t think she’d like that,’ said Querrus, and tapped his head. ‘So she tells me.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Bel. Strange to think of the connection between the mage and his horse, to which Bel was not privy. He hadn’t considered it at all, even though he knew some mages were skilled at communing with animals. ‘How is she?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Querrus. ‘I thought she might be crotchety about carrying the both of us, but she’s a strong one, and it has barely crossed her mind.’

  ‘Well, you’re quite light,’ said Bel, then checked to see if he’d offended.

  ‘Aye,’ said Querrus, not seeming to mind at all. ‘And she enjoys running around.’

  ‘Does she know …well …what’s going on?’

  ‘No, not really. I could try to make her understand, but why burden her?’

  Bel nodded.

  The fisherman noticed them approaching, and set down his pole.

  Like we’re about to burden this fellow , thought Bel.

  Morningbridge

  Fahren had journeyed here once before, though he hadn’t gone all the way to the path’s end. It was never wise to attract a god’s attention frivolously, and that last trip had been in his youth, on the simple business of seeing the wonder of the Morningbridge Peaks, days that seemed long ago now.

  ‘And they are,’ he muttered, as he huffed his way upwards.

  They were traversing a narrow stair, unevenly cut into red mountain rock. In the late afternoon the place was still torrid, the air wavering above parched stones. To their left gaped Morningbridge Valley, a deep bowl filled with sand, scorpions and skittering beetles. Ringing it on all sides were mountains like the one they climbed, reaching skywards with sharp-headed peaks, as if a giant crown had fallen from the heavens to be settled on by red dirt. Opposite them, across the valley, were the two tallest mountains, the Twin Sceptres, creating a deep V where they met. Beyond them was the Shallow Sea, and sunrise.

  Ahead, Battu soldiered on grimly. How he must hate being here, thought Fahren, in Kainordas’s most holy of places, not to mention its hottest …yet here he was. It grew harder each day to doubt the man’s resolve.

  ‘Do you enjoy this?’ said Battu, as if in response to his thoughts, waving a dark-sleeved hand in a sweeping gesture that encompassed everything they saw. ‘This stifling heat? Is it pleasurable to your kind?’

  ‘No,’ said Fahren. ‘Perhaps you will draw comfort from knowing that I think it’s much too hot.’

  Battu grunted, and slumped down on a rock by the side of the stair. He pulled off a boot with some difficulty, for sweat made it stick to his skin, and knocked out a pebble. Usually the man preferred to be barefoot, but Fahren had warned him not to come so here, where the ground could cook you from the feet up.

  ‘Come, Battu. We have almost reached the bridge.’

  Slowly, begrudgingly, Battu slid his boot back on.

  A little further up they came to a small plateau on the side of the mountain where the stair ended. At its edge the next mountainside loomed past but a stone’s throw away, though between was a drop of almost half a league. Overlooking the valley stood a pair of posts, from which rope was tied back to stakes in the ground – all of which proved, on closer inspection, to be carved from stone. It looked like the way onto a bridge, yet no bridge hung over the empty space.

  ‘This is it?’ said Battu, a touch of condemnation in his voice.

  ‘It is. Not what you expected?’

  ‘It’s a little on the modest side. But I suppose that is my own prejudice – I always expect the light to be garish, colourful …vulgar. To find the gateway to Arkus looking like this …well …’ He scowled. ‘It puts me in mind of my own throne room. Nothing fancy, just what’s needed.’

  ‘Do not fear,’ said Fahren. ‘When the bridge appears, nothing extra is needed to awe.’

  Battu’s scowl deepened.

  Afternoon began to relinquish its grasp, the harshness in the air losing its edge. Fahren was uneasy, for there was nothing to do but hunker down and wait for night to pass in each other’s company. He wondered if Arkus would be angry with him for bringing Battu to his doorstep – but then it was the god himself who had ordered a plan involving the use of a shadow mage. And here, of all places, Battu would surely not attempt anything nefarious. Maybe it was not Battu who worried him most greatly; maybe it was wondering if, at sunrise the next morning, Arkus would hear him at all.

  ‘So,’ said Battu, ‘we wait?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Each of them had a small pack, the bulk of their supplies having been left at the base of the stair with the horses. Some food and a bedroll was all that Fahren had brought, so it was not long before he was set up for the night. The roll was neither large nor plush, and did little to disguise the hardness of the stone beneath. Sitting on his own roll, Battu wasted no time in removing his boots, and setting them aside. They steamed faintl
y.

  ‘Are you going to insist upon a fire?’ he asked, eyeing the darkening sky.

  ‘No,’ said Fahren. There was nothing to cook, no wood, and certainly no need for extra warmth. Light was the only thing, and Fahren could deal with that easily enough. He waved a hand and conjured a small orb – nothing too bright, for he found himself inexplicably considering Battu’s comfort – and placed it in a crevice of the cliff face not far away. Meanwhile Battu fished around in his pack for dried meat and fruit, which he began to chew on loudly. Supposing there was not much else to do, Fahren lowered himself onto crossed legs and started to eat also. Battu, busily working a shred of something from his tooth with a jagged nail, considered him with amusement in his eye.

  ‘What cause for mirth?’ said Fahren stiffly.

  Battu smacked his lips. ‘Look at us,’ he said. ‘Two old enemies, once thought the greatest mages in the land, sitting together upon a bare mountain, sharing hard food at the edge of the world.’

  Strangely, Fahren felt a touch of kindredness. For all their differences, they’d both had business in shaping the flow of history to this point. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘I suppose neither of us ever guessed this moment would lie in our future.’

  ‘If we had,’ said Battu, ‘perhaps we would not be here.’

  The sun was gone, on the way to wherever it went. Somewhere came the cry of a bird, though whether it was setting out for the night or returning home to roost, Fahren wasn’t sure. Perhaps if Battu hadn’t been here he would have let his mind wander and find out, but as it was he preferred to remain contained.

  ‘Well,’ said Battu, ‘I’m tired. Unless I am needed for anything …’

  ‘No. There is nothing to do save wait for the dawn.’

  Fahren found he was tired too – their journey here had been swift, their climb up the stair long, and both conspired to make his bones ache. He finished the plum he’d been eating and tossed the pip over the edge. A waste, perhaps, for if it did not crack from the fall, no tree would ever sprout from the barren rocks, the hot sands.

  Can’t worry about every last little thing.

  He lay down to stare up at a sky full of stars. The moon was bright, and he mentally snuffed out his glowing orb. He could already feel the unyielding ground taking its toll on his old joints.

  He sensed Battu working magic and was instantly wary. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just encouraging some shadows from the cracks,’ said Battu. ‘To make for a softer reclining.’ Around Battu’s bedroll, shadows spilled from the stone and wound together to create a kind of dark mattress, raising him slightly. ‘Do you object? I could do the same for you, if you wish.’

  Fahren tensed as, beneath him, velvet darkness issued up. It was giving but alien, like lying atop the sea without breaking the surface. Although he felt it was wrong to accept shadow magic, especially here of all places, he had to admit it was a vast improvement.

  ‘What do you think, oh Throne?’ said Battu. ‘Since I’m at your beck and call, you may as well benefit from my talents. A comfortable night will serve us both well.’

  ‘A comfortable night in the caress of the shadow?’ said Fahren. ‘Remember who you are talking to.’

  Battu’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight. ‘Of course I understand if you must inflexibly adhere to the ways of your folk,’ he said. ‘But if I can cope with the sun blazing upon my pallid brow, perhaps you can see your way to enduring a good night’s sleep.’

  Odd to feel that such an offer was a test of character, thought Fahren. Perhaps he was being too precious. He let himself relax upon the shifting shadows, felt them mould to the contours of his body. It was hard to refuse them.

  ‘Good night, Battu,’ he said.

  The dark mage chuckled.

  Soon Fahren was listening to the man’s snores, lent extra volume by the way they bounced off the sheer slopes around them.

  No , he thought, settling back into his bed of shadows on Arkus’s doorstep. Not a future I would have foreseen.

  •

  Fahren awoke to a lightening sky and sat up, worried. A quick glance towards the Twin Sceptres brought relief that he had not overslept, for the sun had not yet poked its head out from beyond the horizon. As he took in his dark resting place, he felt a touch of guilt. Quickly he rose, and with a wave dispersed the shadows that had made his bed. The move brought Battu jolting awake.

  ‘Gracious indeed, oh Throne,’ he grumbled. ‘A rude awakening in repayment for fitless slumber.’

  ‘Rouse yourself,’ snapped Fahren. ‘Sunrise comes.’

  ‘Ah.’ Battu’s eyes shifted uneasily to the bridge. ‘Yes.’

  Fahren led the way towards it, arriving to stand between the two stone posts. Before him the valley lay immense, red stone and sand dull before dawn. At the bottom of the V between the Twin Sceptres he could just make out a smudge of ocean. Even as he watched, the water took on a brighter sheen, as the very first rays of light began to appear.

  ‘Do you think Arkus will be offended,’ said Battu, ‘if I wear my hood?’

  ‘If he is not offended enough by your presence to blast you to motes where you stand,’ said Fahren, ‘then I am sure he will not care a jot about your hood.’

  Battu shot him an odd look, his hood hovering halfway up his neck. Then he let it fall, back from his uncovered head. Fahren raised an eyebrow at him.

  ‘It seems a shame,’ said Battu, ‘to travel so far, then not to see. Besides,’ he added, ‘perhaps, if I am to avoid a blasting, it would be best to look him in the eye.’

  As the sun rose, its rays strengthened, finding their way across the valley to the ledge where the two mages waited. Here was the first place the sun touched every morning, so shaped by the mountains that it seemed as if a bridge of light hung suspended high above the ground.

  Arkus hear me , prayed Fahren. Please receive us.

  He took a deep breath and stepped onto the bridge. He was almost surprised when his foot found solidness, though of course he had been counting on it. Beneath he could see through to the valley floor, but he forced his eyes up, back to the glowing path that lay ahead, all the way to the sun. Battu hesitated between the posts, seeming stricken, and Fahren felt a moment of sympathy for him. This was probably the hardest thing he would ever do.

  ‘Come,’ Fahren said kindly. ‘There is nothing to fear. Arkus will forgive you.’

  He held out a hand and, tentatively, Battu edged onto the bridge. Fahren placed his hand on Battu’s shoulder and together they moved forward, step by step, out over the valley.

  ‘How far do we go?’ said Battu. There was something of the child in him then, a quiet fear and awe that touched Fahren’s soul. He smiled.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  A crackling voice came at them from all sides at once, making them flinch, booming from the mountainsides, echoing its own echoes …

  ‘Throne Fahren,’ said Arkus. ‘What do you come seeking?’

  Fahren licked his lips. Even though he had spoken with the god before, it was still a daunting experience.

  ‘My …my great lord,’ he called, his own voice tiny in comparison. ‘I come seeking advice. The shadow marches –’

  ‘Yes,’ said Arkus, drowning him out, ‘and you bring one of them with you. Lord Battu, once the Shadowdreamer, sworn enemy of the light – step forward.’

  Squinting fiercely, his eyes watering, Battu haltingly obeyed. As he did, it seemed as if the sun itself pulsed.

  ‘Oh great Arkus,’ called Battu hesitantly, ‘I come to serve you!’

  ‘You,’ said Arkus, rumbling tremors accompanying his words, ‘who have killed my people for the sake of conquest …and killed his own as well, a beast amongst beasts …who sought the blue-haired boy, so you might destroy me …’ Rocks tumbled from cliff tops as the air reverberated with the god’s fury. ‘You, Lord Battu, stand upon the very bridge of morning and entreat me to find you chastened ?’

  Battu flung his arms wide, forcing his ey
es open, tears streaming as he stared into the sun. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, my lord.’

  The mountains ceased their trembling.

  ‘Then receive my messenger,’ said Arkus.

  A twitter sounded from above. A small bird swooped down and landed on Battu’s outstretched hand, transparent save for the glowing lines that defined its body, and its distinctive blood-drop eyes. Fahren felt his stomach lurch as he realised who it was.

  ‘Iassia,’ he murmured.

  The weaver cocked his head. ‘The very same,’ he said. ‘And I must thank you for this brief respite from my cage. For reasons known best to himself, our judicious lord has granted me the honour of binding Battu to his word.’

  Battu stared at the tiny creature in horror, his arm frozen as if a venomous spider sat upon it. ‘But I have already betrayed the Dark Gods,’ he said, ‘and can never return to their service. I have journeyed here, to the light’s most sacred place, forsaking all that I once was. Why,’ he shouted to the valley, ‘must I be bound?’

  ‘Because,’ said Iassia, ‘as your death comes creeping, your fear of what lies beyond may overpower all else. What does Assedrynn have in store for you, should you return to him? Perhaps he’ll lock you away forever in a place containing nothing at all but your own thoughts, only letting you out to serve as a reminder of what can happen when we lesser beings incur the ire of gods. Or perhaps he will be more creative.’

  The sun seemed to flare behind him, and Iassia gave a fearful twitter.

  ‘Faced with such punishment,’ he continued, ‘who knows what changes of heart the future brings, when grand examples can already be seen in your past, Battu. And, since you are required to retain your shadowy aspect in order to be of use to us, we cannot simply “cure” you of it and welcome you to the fold. You remain a hugger in the hen house, and hence require muzzling.’

  ‘If you’re true to us as you say,’ added Fahren quietly, ‘then such a binding changes nothing.’ Internally he felt the hypocrisy in his words – there was no reason, however noble, why he would enjoy sacrificing his free will to a weaver.