The Pilgrims: Book One (The Pendulum Trilogy)

by Elliott, Will

  ‘Got away with it?’ said Case, who sat hidden by the charm necklace.

  ‘Sure did. They thought their help had done it. Hanged someone for it. I didn’t mean that. Dragon’s will, eh?’ He laughed. ‘Got a tidy sum of gold, even pissed in their ale barrel. Customers commented on the tang and drank it down in record time.’ Kiown downed his cup of mead in one long pull, spilling much down his shirt, then slammed it down, screaming obscenely across the room for another.

  ‘Pipe down,’ Case muttered. ‘One thing I learned in life, don’t ever mess with the people preparing your food.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Eric. ‘The innkeeper’s packing us supplies for the road. Or he was. We should stay in his good graces.’

  Kiown waved this away. ‘They respect a rowdy drinker in these parts. First thing in the morning, even better.’

  The innkeeper emerged with two small sacks, filled with bread, fruit, blocks of hard cheese, jerky and salted meats. ‘Patrol’s through soon,’ he said quietly. His eyes said it quite clearly: You are hereby invited to get the fuck out.

  Kiown looked in the sacks. ‘I see you’ve disposed of your spoiling food! Here’s a thought. Get your scaly hide back in that kitchen and get us some fresh stuff for the road. I want two more sacks at least as full as this one. An old cook-fire pan while you’re at it. And when you get back here you can do a little dance for my amusement. And by the way: you are an ugly, ugly man.’

  The innkeeper said nothing, but did indeed return to the kitchen. ‘Enjoy that?’ said Kiown. ‘Scaly hide? Hint, hint. He knows it too, the dirty thief.’

  ‘This food looks OK to me,’ said Eric. ‘Bread, fruit, meat. Even skins of water.’

  ‘It’s fine, but he can do better than that for a red scale.’

  The innkeeper returned with another sack and dumped it heavily on the table, but behind it was a long knife. Very quickly it was at Kiown’s throat. The man snarled, ‘I hope these supplies are more to your liking, good sir. As requested, an old cook-fire pan in there too. Now enjoy guessing which of these food items were rubbed against the rat dead of poison overnight in my kitchen. The foam on its mouth was green. Get out.’

  Behind the innkeeper’s shoulder, his daughter stood with a crossbow braced on her forearm, aimed at Eric. Kiown’s hand had found his sword hilt, but he weighed things up, smiled and said, ‘And thank you, tavern master, for breakfast. My meat was a touch overcooked, but only a touch.’

  The innkeeper backed away, knife still at the ready. Kiown stood, and looked to weigh things up again. ‘Don’t do it,’ Eric said nervously. The innkeeper’s daughter had followed him with the crossbow.

  ‘Wise,’ said the innkeeper. ‘She’s a fine shot. You’d be her second this month. Now. I’ll forget you, should the patrol ask of wayfaring travellers. In return, you forget me, if you start to pine for that scale.’

  ‘Haven’t you done a handy day’s trade,’ said Kiown pleasantly, twitching fingers the only indication of his rage.

  ‘I know my business,’ said the innkeeper, a glint of humour in his eye. ‘And I’d be careful paying your way with scales. No one has done so in this country since my grandfather’s day, and I hear a castle wagon train was robbed. A grand mystery, that. Swift travels t’you.’

  36

  They set out through what looked like English countryside, with the occasional farmstead and patch of scenic woodland. They went largely off road, since the terrain easily allowed it, sneaking a look through the foliage at the rare people going by road. There was something secretive and hurried in the manner of most travellers they saw. Soldiers sometimes walked by in light chain mail, always in pairs, chatting and laughing: they alone seeming light of spirit. ‘Always this way in Aligned country,’ said Kiown. ‘People try not to stand out.’

  ‘Too bad we do,’ said Eric. Even Kiown dressed unlike any other natives, with his long black sleeves and pants nearly skin tight about his lanky frame.

  ‘Mmm, we do. But we wouldn’t dare walk around dressed this strangely if we had something to hide. We must be important, maybe even on castle business. You watch, if there’re any roadblocks, they’ll think that very thing as long as we stay calm.’

  ‘They’ll think we’re top secret castle crack troops?’ said Case.

  ‘You jest,’ said Kiown. ‘Such people do exist. You’d be surprised. They’re called Hunters; I’ve encountered them. And they strike terror in the common grunt. So shall we.’

  They put good distance behind them without incident, stopping off road now and then to eat the more perishable of the innkeeper’s goods. ‘Worried about what he said of poisoned rats?’ said Case as they sat on boulders near a crystal-clear stream through which black fish sluggishly pushed against the current, ignoring the pebbles Kiown skimmed at them.

  ‘Rats? Nahh,’ he said, stuffing into his mouth a hunk of soft, flavoured bread. ‘That was just play. But he was pretty close to cutting my throat. Made me sweat, I tell you. Even though I had a magpie-slayer there to help.’ Kiown turned to Eric. ‘Let’s hear the tale again.’

  Eric groaned, not wanting to relive that trauma.

  Kiown patted his arm. ‘Reluctant, I see. How odd. I’m used to travelling with Sharfy. He squashes a fly, and it’s a four-hour saga. If he killed a magpie, the tale would never end.’

  ‘It’s as I told you. I just hurt it. Anfen finished it off.’

  ‘Hurt it with a sword? A crappy little standard-issue sword?’ said Kiown, an eyebrow raised.

  He still hadn’t mentioned the gun. ‘Yes. What else, my bare fists?’

  ‘Mmm. Brave of you.’ His look clearly said he sensed something missing from the tale, perhaps thinking Eric had lied to impress him. Eric changed the subject. ‘Did you see the war mage last night?’

  ‘Heard it,’ said Kiown, wolfing down the last of his bread and crouching by the stream to refill their skins.

  ‘What’s the plan, if it comes back for us?’

  ‘Run. Scream in fear, too.’ Kiown pondered. ‘Odds it was here for you are most slim, O Eric, inn-finder. For had it been, you would right now be a steaming mound of cooked flesh.’ Kiown stood, stretched. ‘Night approaches! One more hour and we’ll make camp.’

  Despite the day’s exertions, Eric and Case both struggled to sleep in the little enclave he led them to, with its piles of soft dry grass set up as though he, or someone, camped out there frequently. They risked a small fire, though no mage was there to keep its smoke and light hidden from prying eyes, and ate well of the innkeeper’s food again, not too mindful of dwindling supplies; Kiown could hunt game, he assured them, and they’d be able to buy more when they reached Hane.

  Finally Case’s snoring began in tandem with Kiown’s, and Eric alone lay awake, trying not to think of the Invia’s dying scream, or the unearthly beauty of the others escaping skywards, one of those also wounded by his cruel weapon from another world. But the images wouldn’t leave his mind. They’d want to kill him, now; so be it. He just wanted to find the surviving ones and say he was sorry.

  Giving up on sleep, he went to the enclave’s opening, leaned on it and gazed at the starless night. Then he saw something that took the breath out of him. In the distance, something huge moved across the sky. His first glance had taken it to be a massive bunch of clouds, but it was far too distinct, vaguely human-shaped and lit by its own glowing light. Two huge arms stretched out before it. A hooded face turned slowly left and right, sweeping across the ground below, and casting a faint luminescence like a thick beam of moonlight. It wheeled around, the tail of its hooded gown trailing far behind it, like a stream of smoky black cloud.

  Eric’s heart beat fast, though the huge apparition was nowhere near them. Should he wake Kiown? He had to know what that was, whether he really saw it or whether he was mad. He shook the bandit’s shoulder gently. Kiown was awake, blade drawn in a second. ‘Eric? Yes?’

  ‘Look at this.’

  ‘It better be good,’ said Kiown, getting to his f
eet and yawning. ‘I dreamed of innkeepers’ daughters, and the things one might do to them.’ He peered out into the gloom.

  It took a moment for the huge shape to reappear, for it had floated out of sight. Shivers went down Eric’s back as it turned back from beyond the horizon. ‘Look at that! Do you see it?’

  ‘That’s just Nightmare,’ said Kiown, yawning. ‘Haven’t seen him for a while. Year, at least. My, he’s a long way north. Well done, O Eric companion-waker. You’ve seen your first Great Spirit.’

  ‘That’s one of your gods?’

  ‘Yes, now let me sleep.’ Kiown staggered back to his dry grass bed, and was snoring seconds later. Eric stood watching for a good while after Nightmare had wheeled out of view, but the Great Spirit didn’t return.

  They rose to a pale, cool morning, bundled up the piles of straw for the next secret travellers to come through, then headed back towards the road. ‘Are the other Great Spirits like Nightmare?’ Eric asked Kiown.

  Kiown shrugged. ‘I’ve seen only Nightmare and Wisdom. Valour, no one sees him, but Anfen says he’s real enough. He’s not huge though, like Nightmare. Wisdom is. She flies around at night too.’

  ‘It sounded pretty evil from your talk of it,’ said Case.

  ‘Evil? Nightmare?’ Kiown frowned. ‘Does he roam around eating people like apples? He does not. Does he look scary? He does. Some think to see him’s bad luck, but that’s tosh. I’d be more worried about his worshippers, the creepy shits. Not half as bad as Inferno’s, but I wouldn’t go to their parties either.’

  Late in the day they saw a roadside vigil manned by guards wearing Hane’s colours, orange with white bands. They were seen before they could go off road. Kiown said, ‘Easy does it, everyone calm. Case, wear the charm. Eric, wait here and look important.’ Kiown rushed ahead and had a quiet word with the soldiers, who listened, then waved Eric to come through without saying a word.

  ‘What did you tell them?’ said Case when they were safely past.

  ‘Trick with soldiers on watch is to pretend you’re on urgent secret business for their city. Just make something up. Watch duty’s boring, they like a good yarn. One or two harsh words about the state of their uniforms doesn’t hurt at all. Anfen taught us the right things to say to make em think you’re connected to the high-ups. Those chaps back there think they’ll get promoted for letting us through. Ready for another night in the wilderness?’

  Case groaned.

  ‘Don’t worry, I know a good spot. Just a short climb. Pretty view.’

  The climb was hellishly steep up stone steps winding around a tall pillar of rock. It had been built as a roadside lookout tower but abandoned halfway through. The result was a hunk of dark grey stone tall as an office building and about as wide at the top. The steps were wide and solid underfoot but had no railing to grasp. The Pilgrims clung nervously to the pillar’s wall, trying not to look down. Kiown laughed at them and bounded up two or three steps at a time.

  There were signs of past campfires on the platform, as well as rolled-up mattresses of soft grass to sleep on, tied and weighted with rocks against the wind, again left as a courtesy by others who’d stayed here in secret. Old bones too small to be human were scattered about, presumably someone’s meal. Sometimes people stayed up there for weeks, Kiown said, despite the road running directly below.

  Case — who’d been so exhausted halfway up the steps he’d deduced, in all sincerity, that Kiown was in the middle of a murder attempt — lay prostrate on the platform’s middle. Kiown whooped from exhilaration at the view. Eric found it funny: the sight of a Great Spirit was normal to Kiown, but a view from high up amazed him, despite being less remarkable than that witnessed by any window-seat aeroplane passenger. The road they’d been walking stretched in a long winding line into the distance. ‘That way’s the inn,’ said Kiown, pointing north. ‘See that flat space there? Blasted Plains. You were all the way over there, just a few days back. You only cut across one little part of its edge. It stretches further southwest, gets impossible to walk through. Elementals there too, and other nasties.’

  ‘Which way’s the castle?’ said Eric.

  Kiown pointed in approximately the direction of the road they’d come by. ‘Right now, we’re about a fifth of the way to World’s End,’ he said, ‘which, I suspect, is where Anfen is eventually headed. And I suspect I know why.’ But he wouldn’t be drawn further on the subject.

  To their immediate west was a cluster of round hillsides. From behind those, many trails of smoke wound skywards. ‘That’s the edge of Hane,’ said Kiown. ‘And there,’ he pointed beyond, where the fading daylight sparkled on a distant patch of what looked like ocean, ‘is the Godstears Sea. It’s where Anfen tried to send me. It’s a very big puddle. Tasty fish.’

  From his backpack, Kiown pulled a tightly rolled-up blanket. ‘We’ll be snuggling up tonight,’ he said. ‘Gets windy up here. But we’re safe. Let’s eat.’

  There was no wood for a fire, even had they wanted to risk one. Kiown traded jokes with Eric as night fell, obscuring the grand sweeping view. Drawing in the dust with his finger, Eric introduced noughts and crosses to Levaal. ‘Stupidest fucking game I’ve ever seen,’ Kiown muttered.

  Some distant homestead lights could be seen for a while, but they were shut off before long. Case either slept early or pretended to. The shakes had returned to his hands from lack of drink, and he’d all but admitted Stranger was probably not going to show up.

  It got windy up on that platform, but Eric went to sleep with his belly full, his mind at peace, and happier than he’d been since he came to this world.

  37

  Nightmare drifted. Spread out below him, the people and the creatures swarmed across Levaal’s night-time surface slept, lived, died. He saw not them, he saw patterns: some were pleasing, but some disturbed, disquieted.

  It was not the patterns as they were now which disquieted him; it was the way they shifted and moved, how some invariably swung towards others to meet like waves in a pool, and what, from that, would result.

  He switched perspective as he drifted, the way others may shut one eye to look out from the other. Now down below appeared as machinery, pistons moving, spoked wheels spinning in place, steam bursting from a vent. This way, things seemed a little more sure … but there were many ways to view things.

  There, look at that interesting little bolt, up high on the tall rocky platform. Important, that one was, tucked in between many other key parts. Yet something hindered its function. Nightmare would have to think about it, later.

  Actually not much later … for the bolt was a human, and those did not function for long. Should he act? He thought about it, foresaw two likely futures spreading before him. One was terrible, one most desirable. And if he did nothing, just drifted and watched? Five other likely futures stretched before his view. All were bad, very bad, save one. This part of the machinery should therefore function well.

  Nightmare switched views again, and now saw the world as music, mostly playing as it should, though a dramatic crescendo approached, booms and crashes coming loud indeed. The futures he saw through this lens boded similarly to those seen through the others. There, that one important instrument named Eric was not playing its notes correctly. Much of the symphony relied on it, and soon the instrument would break, the man be slain. He switched view to the patterns he’d seen before. Again, a fault in the complex web of colours and shades, a smear of jarring red, a stain spilled across it.

  It was becoming clear, now. But an hour longer to think wouldn’t hurt, so he stayed in that space of sky, above the rocky platform, and thought. He could think quickly when he had to, distasteful though it was.

  It was that Invia’s Mark causing all this trouble. Nightmare would have liked even a year to consider it longer, to have the impressions swirl about the deep volatile mix of his thoughts before choosing an action. But the man would be killed in so little time.

  Nightmare reached down and smothered out the In
via’s Mark like a hand snuffing out a candle.

  38

  Eric did not have breath to scream. His eyes had opened just as the huge hand descended. Its palm — which seemed to be made of night itself, only stuffed more densely into the hand’s shape, so that it stood boldly out against the night surrounding — came down over the entire roof of the platform.

  Whatever it was made of, Nightmare’s flesh passed through Eric and his sleeping companions as would cold ozone-scented air. All went pitch black and the wind could no longer be felt, not until the huge hand retracted, making its slow way skywards. When it had moved sufficiently, Eric looked up at the face within the shroud’s outline; it was mostly featureless, or else its features were obscured by the shroud’s shadow. Eyes, black slits small in proportion to its face, expressed nothing human, but he knew they gazed at him, which was the most terrifying and yet exhilarating thing he’d ever felt. A mouth, some way down, could just be discerned as a motionless crisscrossed row of upper and lower teeth, similar in style to a tribal wooden mask. If anything, this thing in the sky looked like Death. But Eric knew it wasn’t there to hurt him.

  The arms spread slowly, ponderously outwards again. Nightmare drifted away like a huge cloud blown on steady winds. Eric looked sideways at his companions. Should he wake them? Would they believe him in the morning otherwise, when he told them what had happened? He didn’t, and it wasn’t because they needed their sleep. Rather, it felt that somehow this had been his moment, his alone whatever it meant, and selfishly he didn’t want to share it.

  Nightmare drifted languidly away, till he was gone over the horizon.

  In the morning, Kiown simply didn’t believe him. ‘And then did he do a little dance? Challenge you to an arm wrestle? Blow kisses?’