Fearsome Journeys (The New Solaris Book of Fantasy)

by Jonathan Strahan

  The Fatherpriest showed no sign that he’d heard Zok’s yawn. “Queen Glora rejoiced to finally be in her Celestial Father’s presence. But she knew that the Weavers would return one day, and that mankind would need a great power to defeat them. Thus she selflessly asked the Fathergod to...”

  “...to pour her soul into the Diamond Diadem that our Empresses have worn for a thousand years. The Diadem proves the righteous rule of so on and so forth and so forth and so on. Get to the point, priest.”

  Gabrien smiled too broadly for Zok’s liking. “The point, my son, is that the Diadem our Empress wears is a sham.”

  “And? Do you want me to act surprised? What does this have to do with me?”

  “This concerns all humanity,” Gabrien said quietly. His arrogance was gone. “For the Shadow Weavers are rising again. Indeed, a few of their number already live among us.”

  “You’re mad.” Zok said it as soon as he realized it, but he wished he’d held his tongue. The raving priest still held Zok’s life in his hands.

  “You’ll see soon enough that I speak the truth, Zok Ironeyes. But there is hope. For I know where the true Diamond Diadem is. And you are going to get it for me.”

  Zok grunted.

  “I have heard of your talents as a thief and a warrior, my son. And though the Fathergod frowns sternly on true thievery, I have need of your skills. As well as those of your... creature.” Gabrien gestured toward the stable doors, and his lackey opened them.

  Hai Hai walked in, a broad man with a spear following her. She was not chained. She even wore her sabers, though they were bound with peace knots. But glittering at her neck was a thin band of amethyst.

  Creature. Ages ago, the beastmen—including Hai Hai’s people—were born from dark sorcery. They did not have souls as men did. It was thus a doctrine of the Fatherpriests that the beastmen were no more than animals. But Zok would not let the insult stand, even if Hai Hai hadn’t heard it.

  “She is my partner, priest, not a creature.”

  Gabrien waved it away, his gauntlet creaking. Hai Hai was brought to Zok’s side, and he exchanged a silent nod with her. Gabrien still spoke only to Zok. “Let me, as you say, get to the point, Zok Ironeyes. I wish to hire you!”

  Hai Hai made an obscene gesture with her white-furred paw “Hire? You’re not hiring us.” She touched her amethyst collar. “You’re a slaver, Father. Putting a wig on the goat you’re fucking don’t make it a lady.”

  The priest snarled, finally letting his irritation show. Still, the man spoke only to Zok.

  “Let me be as clear as possible, my son. You are house-breakers. The law of the Empire is unambiguous: the sentence for stealing from a manored family is death. But rare exceptions have been made for those who aid the Amethyst Empress. I offer you a simple choice: the swift, harsh justice you have brought upon yourselves, or service and fair payment for that service.”

  Something—something besides the obvious—wasn’t right here. “If the Shadow Weavers are rising, if the true Diamond Diadem has been found, why doesn’t the Empress just send the Legion in?” Zok asked.

  “You men of the Blackhair North have strange ways. Here in the civilized world, a criminal does not interrogate an ordained Fatherpriest,” Gabrien said, but Zok saw the answer in the man’s eyes.

  “The Empress doesn’t know.” Zok knew it was true as he said it.

  Gabrien smiled and shrugged. “I will not weigh down our Empress’s heart with these worries until I can report to her that I have acquired the Diadem.”

  Zok suppressed an urge to break the man’s face. “You mean until we have acquired it. And you’ve taken the glory and earned yourself a Low Kingship.”

  The Fatherpriest shrugged again. “As you will. In any case, you leave in an hour. Now come, it’s time you met your fellow servants of the Empire.”

  ZOK STOOD OUTSIDE the stables, where Gabrien’s men prepared three riding beasts for travel. He wore a suit of scale armor that Gabrien had provided him. It was a very good fit, which was rare, given Zok’s size. He tried to find comfort in this, tried to find calm in the familiar jangle of tack and harness. Hai Hai stood beside him, and the two Eastlanders who had ambushed them—their new allies, it would seem—stood a few feet away. Zok couldn’t take his eyes off of the amethyst bands around their necks.

  “You have met Ahmaddine Ahl and his wife already,” Gabrien said by way of introduction. The Eastlanders nodded silent greetings, but they only held Zok’s attention for a moment before a monster of a man stepped forth from the barn.

  “This,” Gabrien said, “is the Lockcharmer. He... is not one for words.”

  In all his adult life, Zok had only met three men larger than himself. Now it was four.

  Zok could not tell the Lockcharmer’s age, and he could not decide whether the massive, hairless man looked more like a cruel grandfather or a monstrous baby. Around the man’s neck was another amethyst band.

  But it was the Lockcharmer’s hands that held Zok’s attention. They... were not his. Tied to those huge wrists with strange bands of leather and metal, they were far too small for the Lockcharmer’s body. Too small for any man’s.

  They were a child’s hands, Zok realized.

  “Each of you has been chosen for redemption through service,” Gabrien said, speaking to the group now. Zok tore his eyes from the Lockcharmer’s tiny fingers.

  “A few hours’ ride from here, in the catacombs of a ruined castle, a coven of Shadow Weavers has discovered the true Diamond Diadem of Virgin Queen Glora. In two days’ time they will use the power of the new moon to spirit themselves, and the Diadem, away to the Far North. If that happens, mankind is doomed.”

  “So why don’t you stop it, priest?” the Eastlander woman snarled.

  “If I approach these creatures, they will sense the light of the Fathergod within me and know my approach from a mile away, the way a deer scents a hunter. But more impure souls—souls with dark spots upon them—the Weavers cannot smell such filth.”

  Ahmaddine Ahl snorted his contempt, and his wife narrowed her eyes, but they said nothing.

  “In one night, my children, you can go from being the dregs of humanity to being its saviours. Heathens, thieves, abominations—each of you has your role to play here. And each of you can find redemption. Zok Ironeyes here shall be your field leader. The Eastlanders will be your greatest defense against the Weavers themselves, who fear light-magic more than any weapon. I don’t doubt that the Weavers are keeping the Diadem in one of their legendarily impenetrable Ebon Chests. The Lockcharmer’s task is to open it if so. As soon as you have the Diadem, return here. The riding beasts will know the way. Now go.”

  “A moment,” Gabrien said, pulling Zok aside and handing him a map. He spoke quickly and quietly as the others prepared to mount up. “The Lockcharmer’s crimes are greater than you can imagine, Zok Ironeyes. You will earn an additional reward if, in the name of the Empress’s justice, you kill him after you acquire the Diadem. But only after! For he is the only man living who knows the secret of opening the Ebon Chests.”

  Zok glanced at Hai Hai and the others. “How do I know you haven’t said the same to each of us? Maybe you’re worried one of us will alert the Empress? Or will take the Diadem for himself? Maybe you just wish us to kill each other to save you some work. You want butchery done, you do it yourself, you soft-palmed dog-fucker. Now leave me be, so I can steal this thing you need stolen.” He shook off Gabrien’s hand and joined the others.

  THE RIDING BEASTS’ feet slapped rhythmically on the hard-packed dirt of the road. They rode in pairs, Zok beside Hai Hai, the Eastlander beside his wife. The Lockcharmer, who was either unwilling or unable to speak, rode behind them. Zok felt the huge man’s stare on his back, like a beetle crawling up his spine.

  “You come from the east,” Zok said to the Eastlander, gesturing at the man’s braided moustache and the pair’s bright fighting-robes. “From beyond the Sea of Sand and Bones, if I don’t miss my guess.�
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  The man nodded. “We are people of Mokhul. In times of peace, I am called Ahmaddine Ahl.” He touched the amethyst band around his neck, gave a bitter snort, and frowned hard. “But it would seem this is a time to use one’s war-name. So you can call me the Rose. And this is my wife.”

  If anything the woman’s look was harder than her husband’s. “I am the Shrike, called Lasha Ahl in times of peace.”

  “And you are Gabrien’s agents?” Hai Hai butted in.

  “His agents?” Lasha Ahl spat. “Do you not see these bands around our necks? He ambushed us. We are his captives, same as you, Lady of the Hares.” Zok knew little of Eastlanders, but he had heard that they respected the beastmen more than the men of the Westlands did.

  Ahmaddine Ahl wore a deep scowl. “This thing needs doing. The Shadow Weavers nearly destroyed all of humanity once. You Westlanders have forgotten—you think the great Man-Shadow was destroyed for all time, if you believe he existed at all. Things are different on the other side of the Sea of Sand and Bones. We remember. And if the Weavers are truly rising again, no Mokhuli warrior worth her robes will refuse the call to battle. But this savage Gabrien dares to try and compel us to hunt the Weavers, in order to further his glory? When we are done with what must be done, we will return and kill Father Gabrien.” He patted the curved knife that hung at his belt.

  Zok turned to see if the Lockcharmer had heard the Rose’s words, but the big man just sat his beast, holding the reins in those tiny hands, staring ahead, saying nothing. They rode on until late afternoon, the land rising as the miles passed.

  Finally, the road crested a hill and they saw it—the small, ruined castle that Gabrien had described. A piece of wall or a rotted beam stood here and there, but Zok was only interested in the great, crumbling tower that dominated the horizon.

  He reined in his beast and dismounted, gesturing for the others to do the same. “The entrance the priest mentioned is right there, inside that collapsed tower. Find a few sturdy trees, and tie the beasts to them. From here we go on foot, and we use only the silent signals that we rehearsed.”

  They picked their way down the other side of the hill, the thinning foliage providing dubious cover. Zok almost felt he was reliving last night’s failed housebreaking, that he was walking into another trap. He winced at every jangle of his armor. But they each moved as quietly as possible, even the Lockcharmer who carried his bulk with a surprising grace.

  The last fifty yards before the ruined tower held no trees or thickets big enough to hide them. But there was little they could do about it. Zok’s fingers went to the amethyst collar around his neck.

  Best get to it, then. He sniffed twice at Hai Hai and jerked his head toward the broken tower. She shook her head. She didn’t smell anything suspicious. Zok waved his hand urgently and they all trotted toward the tower.

  The rusty cellar door was just where Gabrien had said it would be, and it was open, as he’d also said it would be. No sentries met them, no alarms sounded. Room after ruined room held stagnant air, broken stone, or earth that had encroached past the shattered walls. Except for the eerie lack of vermin, it could have been any one of the dozen ruins Zok had seen over the years. Except that he didn’t need his torch. Every room they explored, every hall they walked, was lit by a cold, flickering purple light. But there were no torches, so Zok couldn’t say where the light was coming from.

  Finally they found themselves facing a large, open chamber. It was hewn from dark stone and seemed too airy and open to be beneath a ruin. It had clearly been built with sorcery. The same flickering purple light that lit the halls filled the chamber and it revealed a grim scene.

  A brown-skinned girl of maybe eight years—the first living thing Zok had seen in this place—stood on a dais, shackled to a post. At her feet sat a huge chest of ebon wood and black metal. Surrounding the dais were a half-dozen men who were not men.

  They were tall and thin, shrouded in black rags and mail. Their strangely stretched faces were the yellow-white of moonlight, and their red eyes shone with a dull glow. Zok felt an unnatural fear seize him as he stared, and his guts twisted up until he felt like shitting blood.

  Shadow Weavers. So it was true. And they were about to perform some sort of ritual. That cannot be good.

  Beside him, the Rose and the Shrike sucked in simultaneous breaths. The Lockcharmer grunted and whined quietly. Only Hai Hai seemed unaffected by the unholy sight. She stood still as stone, studying the scene with those eyes of black glass.

  And then, without warning, the Weavers spun as one, their red eyes searching the room. They knew that Zok and the others were there. One of them pointed with a thin, impossibly long finger, and let out a keening scream.

  Then the demon-men flew forward.

  Zok raised his sword, and Menace glowed in anticipation of the fight. Hai Hai shot forward, her sabers slicing out before her. Red and blue light danced in the hands of the Eastlanders. Behind Zok, the Lockcharmer whined.

  The Weavers attacked. They moved like roiling clouds, but their red eyes only seemed to see the Eastlanders. Half walking, half flying, they shot around Zok before he could even swing at them.

  “Get to the chest!” the Shrike shouted. Her hands danced madly, and a wall of sky blue light appeared, cutting the Eastlanders and the Weavers off from Zok, Hai Hai, and the Lockcharmer, who was wailing like a baby.

  “We will hold them!” the Rose shouted. “Get the chest open! The Diadem will destroy them all!”

  Zok didn’t bother to ask how he knew this. He tried to push the Lockcharmer toward the Ebon Chest, but the big man just stood there staring at the girl in chains.

  She was shackled at hand and foot, but appeared not to have been harmed in any visible way. The Weavers were soul-eaters. Perhaps they didn’t care about the girl’s body?

  But it seemed the Lockcharmer did care. Zok did not like the look the man gave the girl.

  “Open the chest, gimp!” Zok shouted, placing himself between the girl and the big man. “That’s what you’re here for!” Hai Hai was hacking at the Ebon Chest and fiddling with the lock, but she surely knew as well as Zok did that it was useless.

  “The chest!” Zok cried again, but the Lockcharmer didn’t move.

  “You... you’re a man!” the girl shouted upon seeing Zok. “You’re not a monster. Please! Please help me!” Her voice trembled, but she did not cry. Most grown men would have. Strong, Zok noted with approval.

  A quick, careful blow from Menace shattered the girl’s chains. Then Zok heard the Lockcharmer shuffling behind him.

  “Prize.” It was the first word the Lockcharmer had spoken in a day. He took a step toward the girl, and her eyes went wide with fear. When she caught sight of his monstrous little hands, she screamed. The Lockcharmer took another step and began giggling. “PRIZE!” He shouted it this time, like an excited child.

  Zok got in the big man’s face. Menace was still in his hand. Zok had seen this kind of lust before—had learned more about it than any child should have to. He would not let the Lockcharmer have this girl. Zok decided he would kill the man, but not until the Ebon Chest had been opened.

  “You fool, open the chest! The Eastlanders won’t hold out forever!” Indeed, beyond the wall of blue light, Zok saw the Rose slumped on the ground. The Weavers—there were only four of them now—closed around the Shrike.

  The Lockcharmer looked down at Zok—something few enough men could do. “PRIZE!” he bellowed again, angry this time. Gabrien had teamed Zok with a madman who couldn’t control his lusts. The Lockcharmer wouldn’t be talked out of this. He would have to die.

  Don’t be a fool, Zok told himself. You need this one to get out of here alive! But even as he thought it, he was flying at the Lockcharmer. The man was huge but unarmed, and with those weird hands of his, he wasn’t much of a fighter.

  It was quick work. The Lockcharmer screamed, then he died. The girl looked on in horror.

  Hai Hai barely glanced at Zok before he
r shiny eyes went to the bleeding corpse. “Are you mad? You oaf! How in the Three Hells are we supposed to get out of here now? We...”

  Zok nodded once toward the girl, then looked down at the body.

  Hai Hai took his meaning. She spat and began to tap her foot. “We’ll figure out something,” she said.

  Zok checked the Ebon Chest. It was worth a try. He started to set his hand on the lock but looked up when he heard the Shrike scream. He did so just in time to watch her fall. Three of the demon-men still stood.

  Then the wall of light was gone. And the Shadow Weavers strode toward them.

  AS SOON AS those glowing red eyes were upon him, Zok heard words in his head.

  They held light in their hands. They could not hear our voice. You can hear our voice.

  The Great Man-Shadow shall be reborn. Be still. The Dark King will reign again. Be still. The voice seemed to come from all of them, and from none of them. It was male and female, high-pitched and low-toned.

  Be still, it said, be still. The words were like a soft, long-fingered hand taking hold of his soul. And, in spite of himself, Zok felt his body obeying. His left hand fell from the Ebon Chest, and Menace dropped from his right.

  A half-dozen more Weavers swarmed silently into the room like the shadows of swift-moving clouds. They massed at the foot of the dais but did not climb it.

  You are better than the girl. You will be the vessel, the voice said.

  “I will be the vessel,” Zok said, unable to keep himself from speaking. Beside him, Hai Hai stood stock-still, as did the girl. Zok’s feet began shuffling forward, and he could not stop his own body.

  The voice spoke again, this time to Hai Hai and the girl. You will be servants. You will leave this room and await us.

  The girl repeated the words and stepped down from the dais.