Map’s Edge

by David Hair

  She heard a harsh cry, and something crunched heavily in the gravel as she toppled sideways, already fading out.

  *

  Raythe Vyre stepped outside the latest foetid tent where another villager lay dying and looked at the sky, guessing at the hour. It was twilight and in the northern summer, daylight lingered long; it would be hours before it got truly dark. He placed a hand on his sword hilt, frustrated at his helplessness, wishing this was a problem that he could stab.

  But no weapon could fight this sickness, it seemed. All through the day, those afflicted had been getting worse and worse, in many cases their breathing so shallow that it wasn’t clear if they still lived. Several times he’d used the praxis to clear breathing passages, but they just refilled. Thrice he’d restarted the heartbeat of dying patients, including young Shana Layle. Half the camp was ill now, with the other half working feverishly to save them. And he and Kemara were no closer to learning what it was infecting them.

  If it was the water, some of them must be immune; that was the only conclusion they could draw, having eliminated any other suspects: it wasn’t anything anyone had eaten, not mushrooms or herbs, and rotten meat never had this effect.

  But he himself had drunk the water and he was fine. Perhaps it’s only intermittently dangerous?

  Seeing Kemara Solus emerging from another tent, he strode to meet her.

  ‘Any the wiser?’ she asked, her voice subdued.

  ‘No,’ he confessed. The illness was still a mystery – and so was she. They’d worked all day, often side by side, but even now she’d been slow to unbend. His usual charm wasn’t working – not that he was flirting, not in such a crisis. But he could admit to himself that he had been trying to befriend her, with absolutely no visible sign of success. Perhaps it was a matter of trust.

  She ran through the latest names to succumb, concluding, ‘We’ve got half the camp down.’

  ‘I know.’ He glanced towards Rhamp’s enclave. The Pelarian had closed it to outsiders, but the illness was just as prevalent there. ‘If a ferali horde found us now, I doubt we could hold them off.’

  ‘We can’t move,’ Kemara replied quickly. ‘It’d kill half the patients immediately.’

  ‘I know that too. I need to find Varahana – I warrant she’s been trying to think this through.’

  Kemara gave him a betrayed look – no doubt she just saw him as backsliding from the real work of saving lives – but he didn’t let that deter him. Sometimes you had to deal with the big picture, not just fight fires.

  Varahana might have discovered something.

  He headed for Varahana’s wagon, where he immediately found himself surrounded by terrified men and women, all demanding he see their wife or husband or child next, and it took some time to determine that Varahana had last been seen going upriver, alone.

  ‘Please – listen to me! Mater Varahana is investigating the cause of this outbreak and I must find her. When we return, I’ll see to your sick, I promise.’ He thought about asking them to stop using the water, but in truth, they had no other option. Then inspiration struck: many healers believed that boiled water was better to clean wounds.

  ‘I want you to boil all water before use, do you hear me? Boil it – and pass the word round the camp for me, will you? All water for drinking and cooking and washing wounds must be boiled.’

  Giving them a task worked: those belabouring him for aid were put to work and he was able to grab Jesco and Vidar. Together, they trotted to the stream, where people were filling buckets for the evening meal. Raythe wasted more time to ensure they understood they needed to boil every drop before using it, but at last they were able to set off upstream. Darkness was beginning to cloak the wooded gully and pine-covered slopes: the long twilight was coming to an end.

  ‘Mater Varahana?’ Vidar kept calling, but no one replied.

  ‘We’ll need light,’ Raythe muttered, then switching to the praxis-tongue he muttered, ‘Cognatus, animus . . . praesemino lumis.’ The usual rush of energy coalesced into a globe of brightness in his left hand, which gave them twenty feet or so of clear vision, but beyond that, the shadows swarmed in as if mustering for battle.

  Vidar growled and shed a layer of humanity. Hunching over, he started sniffing the wind, while Jesco, completely unperturbed by his comrade’s wilder side, drew his sword and made the sign of Gerda.

  Raythe went to speak, when from somewhere ahead, a burning arrow shot into the air, fell and was gone . . .

  ‘What’s—?’ Jesco began.

  Vidar snarled again and hunched over still further, his face contorting into a savage, muzzle-nosed visage, his limbs bulging and his spine arching. Cloth began to tear and he shed it. Snarling and stalking forward, he started sniffing the air loudly.

  Jesco threw Raythe a bewildered look.

  ‘Like that, he can smell someone a mile off,’ Raythe murmured. ‘Maybe . . .’

  ‘Aye, and hear them, too,’ Vidar growled, barely able to form the words. Then he howled, a word just about discernible as Vara! and went storming upstream into the darkness.

  ‘Shit,’ Raythe exclaimed, and took off after the bearskin with Jesco bounding along behind – but in moments, Vidar was out of sight and all that was left was the stir he’d made in the dark waters of the stream.

  *

  Varahana came to her senses to find flames streaking the air around her, flaring and roaring above her head. Someone was panting above her and dancing some kind of polka around her body. Stones had embedded themselves uncomfortably in her wet skin. A heartbeat thudded like a drum, pounding the inside of her skull.

  Then she realised that the heartbeat was her own and that it was Tami standing over her, flailing about her with a torch in one hand and a sword in the other. On every side were vaguely human-shaped beings shrouded in riverweed, circling like vultures around a dying cow.

  Dying cow . . . that’s me . . .

  She tried to rise, but it just wasn’t in her. But her tongue loosened enough that she could slur, ‘Ver . . . de . . . ghul . . .’

  ‘I know,’ Tami snapped, pirouetting again and thrusting the torch at the nearest circling verdeghuls. The flames caught it and the thing shrieked and backed away into a deeper part of the stream. For a moment Varahana glimpsed a face like dead leaves pasted over a human skull, with eyes like slimy pools.

  Verdeghuls – green ghouls – were relics of the old wars, plant-based lifeforms bred to kill. They excreted poison, then feasted on the paralysed and dead.

  The mystery was solved – as long as she or Tami lived long enough to tell anyone.

  But that wasn’t looking likely. She tried again to move, this time almost entangling Tami’s legs. They were surrounded by a dozen ghouls, barely kept at bay by the flames, although two lay dead in the shallows by the flat bank.

  Redoubling her efforts, Varahana retched until she expelled nothing but bile. She blew mucus out of her nose until she could breathe freely again, then threw her cloak into the fire, where it began to smoulder. All the while, Tami fought like a lioness, driving the attackers back over and over. She cursed and babbled as she fought, berating her foes – it was pointless, but perhaps she wasn’t able to fight with her mouth shut.

  ‘Back up, krag it . . . and you, ha! Got you!’ she crowed, as another ghoul caught alight, setting the rest to hooting and shrieking. Baring yellowed teeth, they recoiled out of reach, their burning comrade yowling as it was consumed by flame.

  Finally, Varahana was able to roll onto her knees and pull herself up. She grabbed the now-burning cloak by its singed collar and flapped it about, helping Tami to drive the verdeghuls back. The creatures snarled, but gave ground.

  Then suddenly they all closed in, shrieking as one. Riverweed snaked out like tentacles and even as Tami immolated another ghoul, her wrist was caught and she was wrenched off her feet. Varahana tried to reach her, but something slammed into her from behind and she went down beneath at least three of the ghouls, the stench of rott
ing weed filling her nostrils as she struck the gravel. Teeth snapped behind her neck, then bit into her flesh at shoulder and left thigh, making her shriek in pain and desperation.

  Her cry of anguish filled the air – and was swiftly drowned by a beast’s agonised howl—

  —then something struck the press of verdeghuls, smashing the bodies sideways. Bellowing in rage, the creature, something between a bear and a wolf, straddled Vara’s prone form, lashing out to left and right.

  One ghoul was still fastened to her leg, but she was getting her strength back, more every minute, and she was able to draw the dagger she’d completely forgotten about and stab it straight through the eye. She kicked it away the instant it lost its grip and it fell into the flames, shrieking.

  More torches suddenly blazed into life and now she could see Raythe and Jesco too, and another three ghouls were writhing in the growing conflagration. A globe of light burst over the little pool, illuminating Raythe and Jesco as they forced the remaining verdeghuls back with blade and fire.

  With a wail, the surviving ghouls spun and fled into the undergrowth, angrily thrashing through the scrub – and then everything went quiet . . .

  They didn’t go far, she thought fearfully, trying to peer through the darkness.

  She’d just managed to get to her knees again, when Vidar – or the beast that he’d become – engulfed her, hugging her forcefully, then lifting her up and throwing her like a child over his shoulder. With a mighty howl at the planetary rings above, he went hurtling downstream, and she found herself battered against his mighty shoulders as the blood rushed to her skull.

  Mercifully, she blacked out again . . .

  *

  ‘Move, move,’ Raythe shouted, getting the caravan lurching into motion. ‘Get those wagons moving – and stay together, you hear me? No one gets left behind.’

  Those of his leaders who could – Elgus Rhamp, Cal Foaley and Jesco Duretto – echoed his words from up and down the forming lines in between the sounds of whips cracking and beasts sounding their displeasure at being awoken at midnight. Riders flanking them held torches aloft to light the way through the darkness and to spot for dangers.

  Raythe’s praxis-sight told him that the night was very much alive: the verdeghul nest numbered at least fifty beings, maybe more, and they were near and hungry. They preyed on the dead and dying, but normally shunned open conflict, so as long as he could get his people out of their territory, they’d be fine – but it meant those families who’d been entirely incapacitated by the venom the ghouls had trickled into the water needed someone to step in and drive their wagon. Those hunters and mercenaries who were well enough had been split among the afflicted families to protect and move them, and they were doing a good job.

  ‘So far, so good,’ Raythe muttered to himself as the line of wagons began following Foaley’s outriders roughly northwest. He trotted back along the line, his praxis-light showing the way and eliciting awed sounds from those who saw it.

  ‘Can I ’ave one o’ those?’ Gravis Tavernier called.

  ‘Sorry – I can only create one at a time, and I need to be present,’ Raythe called back. ‘Keep it moving.’ He pushed on, mentally ticking off names until he was at the rear, where Varahana’s wagon was being driven by Vidar, fully restored to himself, sitting beside one of the mater’s anonymous Sisters. For some reason, the nuns didn’t look happy to have the big Norgan ranger driving their wagon.

  Raythe gave Vidar a wave, then peered in the back, where four of the sisters were huddled around a prostrate Varahana. She was still fighting the verdeghul venom, for she’d been bitten badly, as well as tasting the sample she’d collected in her phial, which he now had in his own pouch.

  Now I know what it is, I might be able to distil an antidote, he thought. If I can, some of the worst cases might be saved, like Shana Layle . . .

  Then he pulled up short, realising that he’d not seen the Layles’ wagon yet.

  ‘Who’s behind us?’ he asked Vidar.

  ‘The rearguard, and maybe a few stragglers. Jesco’s back there.’

  ‘I’ll go and check on him. Take care of Vara.’

  ‘I will,’ Vidar replied, in a voice that said a lot more than his words.

  Raythe gave him a salute of thanks, tugged on his reins and went looking for Jesco. He found the Shadran a few hundred yards back, with a cluster of men, and a pair of wagons, including the Layles’, to Raythe’s relief. That’s everyone, thank Gerda.

  ‘So, verdeghuls,’ Jesco remarked, as Raythe joined him. ‘I never thought they were real.’

  ‘They used to lurk around the battlefields of East Otravia,’ Raythe said with a shudder. ‘I suppose this lot usually prey on animals that drink from their stream. Is everything okay here?’

  Jesco hung his head. ‘Shana died while we were out looking for Varahana.’ He indicated the Layle wagon, a few dozen yards ahead. ‘They’re grieving hard. She was their only child, centre of their lives.’ Jesco choked up a little, looking away. ‘Can’t imagine that sort of loss.’

  ‘Ah, damn it . . .’ Raythe’s throat caught too. ‘What a waste.’

  Behind them, the verdeghuls shadowing them were receding into the distance, happy to let these dangerous interlopers pass; they would no doubt loot the camp of whatever had been left behind.

  ‘Was Shana the only one to die from the venom?’

  ‘Seven others.’ Jesco reeled off the names of the victims, men, women and children. ‘Many are still sick, but now we know what the affliction is, most are recovering. Kemara is performing miracles.’

  ‘Aye,’ Raythe conceded, ‘she may be a grumpy one, but she’s tenacious and knows her work.’

  ‘Aye, and she’s a good way with the patients, especially women and children.’

  ‘So it’s just men she doesn’t like?’

  ‘Nah, it’s mostly just you,’ Jesco chuckled. ‘And speaking of women we admire, I think Varahana has a beau. Our shaggy Norgan went positively feral the moment he realised the good mater was in trouble.’

  ‘I noticed,’ Raythe replied. ‘A strange couple.’

  ‘The sophisticated scholar and the savage bearskin?’ Jesco grinned. He liked nothing more than to gossip about romance. ‘He can go a day and not speak; she can’t go ten seconds. I can’t see it happening.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Raythe replied. ‘Most couples are basically similar, but some look for opposites: people who’re things they aren’t. And he’s a good man.’

  ‘I agree – but she’s our Mater: there’d be uproar if anything happened between them. And she takes her vows quite seriously.’

  ‘Aye, that’s truth.’ Raythe sighed. ‘But out here, maybe we can rewrite the rules a bit. I’d like to see her happy.’

  ‘Even if it’s with someone else?’ Jesco asked slyly.

  ‘Aye, even then.’

  ‘Tami did well,’ the Shadran added.

  ‘Aye – and then she went straight back to Elgus Rhamp,’ Raythe noted. ‘Anyway, it’s none of my business what they all get up to. I’m doing this for Mirella.’

  ‘I know, Raythe – but what’s she doing for you?’

  Who knows? Raythe thought, not wanting to speculate. ‘Come on, let’s go before more of those kragging ghouls come.’

  They dug in their spurs and trotted back to join the caravan. It was going to be a long night and many miles before anyone would feel safe enough to make camp again.

  7

  The frozen bay

  ‘Dear Gerda, it’s been what . . . two months?’ Raythe remarked.

  ‘Feels longer,’ Jesco replied. They’d been sharing the driving and were at last nearing the end of another long, exhausting day’s travel. ‘We’ve done – what d’you reckon? About four hundred miles?’

  ‘Aye, but since we left the plains behind that Aldar rath we’re only averaging five miles a day.’ Raythe pointed to the north. It might be late summer, but the heights still glistened with snow. ‘At this rate,
it’ll be autumn before we reach the place where Perhan found istariol.’

  They’d had a hard couple of weeks since they’d escaped the verdeghuls: the weather was fickle up here, as changeable as a Pelarian spring, which was bad enough, and the old Aldar road had been swallowed up, leaving them mired in a dark, wet, trackless forest. But the scouts pushed on and returned with news of a coastal plain ahead. It took a few days of hard work to hack a wide-enough passage through the giant trees so the expedition could pass, but the shared labour helped to rebuild some of the camaraderie between the travellers, with the hunters pitching in alongside Rhamp’s mercenaries and Teshveld villagers. The reward was gaining access to open ground again, even if it was a windswept, bitterly cold wedge of tundra.

  Jesco pointed at another line of ranges arching down from the north. ‘Look at those: are we going to find our way blocked again?’

  ‘Don’t worry – see that spearhead-shaped peak, the southernmost one? That’s Mount Lucallus and it marks the point where the mountains hit the coast. That’s where we’ll find the frozen bay, and once we cross that, we’re in Verdessa.’

  ‘Mount Lucallus?’ Jesco echoed, wrinkling his nose. ‘You mean it’s named after—?’

  ‘Luc Mandaryke? Yes.’

  ‘I’ll piss on it specially,’ Jesco promised.

  ‘You do that. Hopefully it’ll crumble into the sea.’ Raythe tossed Jesco the reins. ‘Here – I’m going to go and find my daughter. She’s been gone too long.’

  ‘You’re her father, not her nanny.’

  He ignored that, leaped off the rolling wagon, trotted to the back and unhitched Jesco’s warhorse, a gelding he called Boss. As he moved back along the column, people called greetings and shouted complaints; for those serious enough, he paused to hear the whole story. Stores were getting low and they were now entirely in the hands of the hunters, who searched daily for plants, bulbs and roots, fish and fresh meat.