The Pilgrims: Book One (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  26

  There followed one of those days when the mist eased, perhaps as the ground rose. It didn’t help much, as any stretch of woodland seemed identical to the last, down to the moss-covered stones. Anfen turned and gave Eric an expectant look and a half smile. ‘Well?’ he said, nodding towards Sharfy. ‘You are walking next to a great source of knowledge. A vast pool of it. Why not scoop in your hands and drink? Do not drown, I warn you. It could become a flood, a storm of words, and we could all be swept away. Just a drink, for now, of his wisdom. It may distract you from … other troubles.’ Anfen’s smile was ambiguous.

  It’s as obvious as that, is it? Eric thought; he had spent the last day and a half determinedly not looking Siel’s way, and succeeding some of the time. Now that he learned she had magic about her, the intensity of his fascination was almost overpowering. Sharfy meanwhile seemed to take Anfen’s words quite earnestly, and held his head up proudly.

  ‘What’s to be your first lesson?’ said Anfen, and Eric saw he wasn’t entirely joking. ‘Our worlds are very different and you’d better learn fast. We are in the wilder parts of it now.’ The tall trees seemed to agree with their silence. The group’s footsteps cracking on fallen branches and undergrowth sounded unnaturally loud, as though any kind of netherworld demon might be called by it and come screaming their way.

  Eric shrugged. ‘How about magic, then? What makes a folk magician different from a war mage?’

  Sharfy gladly replied without delay. ‘Folk’s just a word for a whole lot of little bits, mixed from the major schools. Passed down by mouth, not books. Be lucky to meet two folk mages who know all the same things. Other kinds of mage all got killed off or ran into hiding for good. ’Swhat war mages were made for, see? Mage hunters. Got to be careful with spells, cos they can see it from a long way off. That’s why you see Loup pick up a sword or knife in a scrap, not start waving his arms, making funny lights.’

  Eric glanced back at the senile-looking old man, no teeth, no shirt no matter how cold it got, now sharing a joke with an unsmiling Case at the back of the group. Loup wheezed laughter while Case looked like he only wished the magician would shut up and leave him alone. ‘Could Loup really make funny lights and all the rest?’

  ‘Doubt it, I never seen it,’ said Sharfy. ‘Mages get offended if you ask em what they can or can’t do. But you can bet he probably blessed the sword he picked up. So you’d best be careful, if you mean to scrap with him.’

  ‘Hey, he’s OK by me.’

  ‘He’s handy enough for us,’ Sharfy continued. ‘He’s why we’ll get through these woods alive, despite this cursed mist. He can sense which way’s best to go. But in the old days, when the five schools of magic were strong, they would’ve handed him a broom if he showed up at their temples. He’s worth more, these times. Casters are rare. Not many left to teach, not many game to wield magic, in Free country or Aligned. War mages still hunt em down.’

  ‘You said there weren’t war mages in Free Cities.’

  ‘No. But castle pays bounties, so people got rich hunting em. In Aligned places, magic’s been outlawed a hundred years.’

  ‘Outlawed. What a pretty word,’ said Anfen. ‘Ditch full of bodies, it means.’

  Said Sharfy, ‘Castle can wreck a lot of things, even in just a century. Rip up books, burn huts and villages, knock down temples, steal wards and charms and totems. Stuff that’d been around through it all, theirs now. His. The magic schools, their High Elders wouldn’t have believed how the world would look today, if you told em, back then. They were so strong and wise. Wiped out quick.’

  ‘How about the magic schools then?’ said Eric, suddenly likening Sharfy to a kind of knowledge-jukebox, and imagining sliding a coin into his mouth.

  The song played: ‘Used to be five schools, one for each Great Spirit except Valour, who don’t have magic. A bunch of small temples and such too, which were nothing to do with the gods: local to a region, usually. You’d know where to go to get healed, or blessed, or get charms made or charged up. Some’d train your horse for you so it was almost as smart as you were, could understand every word you said. All for a price, of course. Not cheap, and people didn’t like em for that. The big schools were sometimes hated. Would you feel bad for someone who refused to cure your son cos you couldn’t pay up, when it’d only cost em a spell, and maybe some pain to cast it? So no one cared too much back then when the new castle lords said they were going to do something to the magic schools.

  ‘But people didn’t understand, the magic schools stopped the Cities fighting each other. Not always, but sometimes. Just by being there in the background, with Mayors not sure what they’d do if war broke. So when the castle got taken over by Vous, no one worried too much. The schools wouldn’t let em do anything too crazy. They thought.’

  ‘This is recent history, but before our time,’ Anfen interjected. He rubbed a dead stone on his blade while he walked, still stuck with the army-issue sword stolen from the dead soldier. ‘When we were born, much of the wrecking was already done. Not all, though. Not all.’

  ‘Were these magicians actually a threat to them?’ said Eric. ‘The schools, or the folk magicians?’

  ‘Not if the castle left the magicians and everyone else alone,’ said Sharfy. ‘But they meant to do something no one would like: take over all the cities, all the land, all the people. That’s just for starters. Then there was their “Project”, the point of the whole thing, the reason they needed the castle and its air full of magic. Ask Loup what the castle looks like these days to a mage’s eyes! Frightening, is what. No decent mage would’ve let em do it. Soon as word got out, the schools would’ve done something.’

  ‘I invite you to try telling Vous someone’s not a threat to him, anyway,’ said Anfen with a laugh. ‘Rumour long held he’s terrified of his own shadow. I never quite believed that, until …’ But he fell silent and seemed to reproach himself, as though he’d said too much.

  ‘When it all began, they said they were going to leave the folk magicians alone,’ said Sharfy. ‘The mongrels who knew a little of this and that, like Loup. Folk magicians didn’t like the schools, who looked down on em, tried to boss em around sometimes, told em what magic they could or couldn’t do, arrested em if they disobeyed. So the folk mages weren’t upset when the castle started taking on the big schools.’

  Said Anfen, ‘The new lords told each school they only meant to reform one or two of the others. It was easy to play them off — lots were rivals and enemies. But all this talk was stalling for time, so no allegiance between schools would seize back the castle. Which they might have done, if they’d stopped their cursed bickering. Then a thousand war mages poured out of the castle in one flock, before anyone even knew what war mages were. No temple was ready for hundreds of them descending at once. It was a terrible battle. Not many from that foul army returned, but they’d done their job. In just a few long nights of death, they’d done their job. Unique and precious charms were seized, and that was no trifle. Many of them, Vous wears right now.’

  A small-game creature that looked vaguely like a hairy pig burst through two trees and scuttled slowly through the undergrowth ahead, not the least mindful of the creatures nearby, higher than it on the food chain. Siel darted after it with her curved knife drawn, not even bothering with an arrow. Soon they heard the animal squeal with surprise as it discovered it was lunch. Eric said, ‘Would Loup be able to defend us, if a war mage came?’

  Sharfy laughed and slapped his knee. ‘He’d be blood in the grass! He wouldn’t even try to fight. He’d not get himself near one in the first place. He’d know what paths to take, when to hide himself in the woods so danger can’t find him. Maybe he didn’t even know there was a war mage after him. He’d just see a cloud’s shadow pass over, see something in it, and know he had to hide. That’s why someone like Loup looks crazy to us half the time, but we listen to him.’

  Dead leaves crunched under their feet, and the trees about them grew denser.
Siel returned with the animal already gutted, drained and slung about her shoulders. The ends of one of her long braids had evidently dipped into the beast’s carcass, for it was caked in blood. Eric tried to think of her splitting it open, hoping it might douse some of what he felt — a bizarrely powerful feeling moving up and down a spectrum from animal lust to tenderest love — but after days and nights of fear, exhaustion, exertion, he only wanted her more.

  ‘Is she still behind us?’ Anfen called to Loup, meaning Stranger.

  ‘Not for a few days now,’ the folk magician replied. ‘She’s trailed back, ’less she knows a way to hide from other mages that I never seen before. Maybe she does! Handy? Oh aye, that one is. Now let’s sit down a while. We’re not long from being through these woods. But there’s danger ahead whichever path we take, and not far either. Rest a spell and we may miss out on some of it. If not we’ll be crying and moaning at the next poor group to blunder through, our blood splashed on the tree trunks, bones getting kicked along in the dirt.’

  27

  That afternoon the mist cleared, but what it revealed was not comforting. Among the clumps of ruins they finally came across remains of recent campfires in a big clearing, the first sign of human life since they’d stepped off the roads and into these haunted woods. Anfen turned to Loup. ‘This was the safest way?’

  The magician bristled. ‘You mark me, it was. By all the signs I seen and still see. Never said we’d not have to be on our guard, did I?’

  ‘Weapons,’ Anfen called wearily. ‘You too, Pilgrims. The peace couldn’t last forever. Inferno cultists are nearby.’ Eric drew the sword he’d plundered from the dead castle soldiers. The blade had a notch in it halfway up but was sharp enough. It was not time yet to risk showing off his secret weapon, the gun in its holster. Case held his sword like a walking stick with no pretence at combat and yawned like he’d rather be napping, thanks.

  They fanned out, Sharfy with his smoking knives staying close to the Otherworlders. Anfen walked in the lead, lithe as a dancer ready to burst into a flurry of movement. They carefully stepped through the stone bricks of a demolished old cottage. Discarded clothes lay here and there, as did cups and plates recently used. There was an open tome set on a piece of log with indecipherable symbols on its torn page, flapping in the breeze. But there were no people.

  ‘Dead wind ahead,’ Loup called. ‘Steer right.’

  Something blew through the ashes, kicking up a little shuddering whirlwind of them. There was a faint shimmering effect half a man’s height above where the ashes flew.

  ‘Survival lesson, Pilgrims,’ said Anfen. ‘That little disturbance there. If you see such when no breeze blows, stay away. Sharfy, demonstrate.’

  Sharfy rummaged around in a pile of unused firewood till he found a long thin branch. He approached the dead wind with great care, as though it could change direction and come his way, then poked the branch into its midst. As soon as it touched the shimmering part, the stick wrenched out of his hand with a sound of breaking, then vanished.

  ‘No one knows where the stick went,’ said Anfen, picking up a stone and throwing it into the dead wind, where it also vanished. ‘Beyond World’s End, for all we know. But a dead wind means Inferno cultists have been here. It’s leftovers from some of their rituals.’

  ‘Two more, yonder,’ said Loup, displeased Sharfy had got so close to it.

  ‘I don’t fathom this,’ said Siel, peering at everyone with her dark eyes wide. ‘These are fresh tracks, two days old at most. Where are they? Look over by that fire. Do you see the chopped-off arms and legs lying about? It’s fresh, not old bones! A large gang of them had a ritual here. They danced around a huge fire. They had an orgy. See the loosed shackles and ropes? They had victims to toy with, likely kidnapped from the road. They cast their foul magic.’ She poked at the footprints with her boot. ‘There are some marks here I don’t understand. The tracks all rush off, that way.’ She nodded ahead, where the ground sloped down out of sight. ‘No patrol came through here to clear them out. But something scared them away.’

  The surrounding trees were tall, silent and watchful. Anfen said, ‘So perhaps they’re all waiting for us, just over that rise there. Siel, wear the charm please and scout ahead.’ He tossed her the Invia’s necklace.

  Siel’s returning footsteps disturbed the leaves and sent Loup into panic, fearing a dead wind coming right for them, until she spoke. ‘Come. You should see this. It’s ugly.’

  ‘Are we in danger?’ said Anfen.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied, removing the necklace and becoming visible. ‘But if we are, it’s not from cultists.’

  ‘You sound very sure of that.’

  ‘Oh, I am. Come see.’

  They crossed the sloping turf and came to an old hunters’ hall, solidly built though many of its thick logs were rotting. A kind of shanty town of lean-tos and tents made of animal skins spread around behind it. Tracks were visible here, even to Eric’s untrained eye, of a panicked stampede to get away from something and into the hall. Through its windows — no glass, just square gaps in the wood — the scene was far worse. Corpses lay in twisted piles, like a giant thresher had been through the crowded place. From within a horrible reek came that tugged at Eric’s memory. ‘Sharfy,’ he whispered. ‘That smell. In the caverns, remember? Back near the door. The dark passage we couldn’t see into …’

  Sharfy nodded. ‘Weaker here, but it’s the same smell. We walked right past whatever did this.’

  Anfen stood in the doorway gazing in. A mask of blankness closed down on him, making his young face lifeless as a stone statue. ‘Don’t come closer, Pilgrims,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Another fine stop-off courtesy of our friendly guides,’ Case whispered, pulling Eric by the arm out of earshot of the others. ‘Have you had enough of these people yet? Where are they taking us anyway?’

  Eric groaned. ‘Maybe ask them? Case! Who the fuck else is going to look after us here? We’re in the middle of nowhere. We don’t know a thing about this place and there are dead people every time we turn around! Do you think you know the lay of the land better than them?’

  Case said nothing and Eric knew his words had ricocheted without effect.

  ‘Look here. They tried to barricade the door,’ said Sharfy. ‘Something smashed it in.’

  ‘Can anyone think of anything, anything in the world that would scare twenty or thirty Inferno fanatics so badly they’d run screaming for cover? Let alone kill them all in such fashion?’ said Anfen.

  ‘Not mid-ritual,’ said Sharfy. ‘They go crazy. I’ve seen em at it. Nothing would scare em. Anything that might kill em gets em more excited.’ He said in a lower voice: ‘That’s why midritual’s a good time to kill em.’

  Anfen moved from the doorway and gazed at the treetops as though to cleanse his vision. Eric noticed that for a good while afterwards, the troop leader was reluctant to look directly at any of them and seldom made eye contact. At his feet near the door there were scratches and gouges in the turf, as though someone had hammered spikes deep into the ground in some random pattern then removed them. They were clustered in a rough trail which ran back past the site of the bonfire, from which the cultists had fled, then turned almost at right angles back to the trees. It had been easy to miss at first, partly hidden by foliage and dead leaves.

  Siel donned the charm and followed the trail, little scuffs in the dirt indicating her footsteps. Something screeched from the trees and everyone jumped. A huge black bird flapped skywards, ugly as a vulture, cackling as though amused. An arrow sailed after it from Siel’s invisible point in a graceful arc, visible only well into its flight. It landed tip-first in the dirt.

  Soon she returned, fetching the arrow on the way. ‘Not far in, there’s a groundman tunnel gap, larger than usual. The strange tracks lead right to it. Two pit devil corpses nearby.’

  ‘Pit devils didn’t do all this,’ said Sharfy with finality.

  Siel removed the necklace and
gave him a rare smile. ‘Oh?’

  ‘No way. Wrong tracks. Too far from the tunnel opening. And the bodies didn’t look like devils got at em.’

  Siel nodded like an attentive pupil. She said, ‘That may also explain why one of the devil corpses has been picked up and impaled through the chest on a tree branch, quite high up.’

  There was no talk for a moment. ‘How high up?’ said Sharfy, as though this changed things.

  ‘Three times a man’s height. Both bodies marked by holes like those tracks, punctured by many spikes. Shall I take you? Your analysis will be … useful.’ Eric had a feeling she didn’t like Sharfy very much, nor anyone else who ever lived. Except Kiown, perhaps …

  ‘We’re not going anywhere near it,’ said Anfen. ‘Everyone move. We are not camping in these woods tonight.’

  Eric took Anfen aside. ‘I don’t think Case is up to another long march, let alone a long, quick one.’ He didn’t say, fearing it would sound silly: He also needs a drink the way a sick man needs medicine …

  ‘He’s going to have to be up to it,’ said Anfen. ‘Unless death is his preference.’

  ‘How much further?’

  Anfen’s jaw clenched with annoyance. ‘A full day’s march, then the going gets easier. There’s a friend of ours out the other side of the woods who will give us shelter as long as we need it. Maybe even a drink for your friend. I see his hands shaking and his temper, but it can’t be helped.’ To the company he said, ‘Let’s move.’

  At that moment something dashed through the hunters’ hall doorway. A young woman in a woven wool skirt and jumper, both torn, running with a limp. She was barefoot, eyes wild with fright or rage. Her clothes and skin were coated thick in dried blood, which made her hair stand stiff. Panting, she stared at them like a wild animal unsure whether to flee from them or go nearer.