by Ben Galley
My mumble didn’t satisfy her, and she shook me for a real answer. I shook my head, trying to wrench away from her, and head-butted her in the nose. She barely flinched, and instead shoved me forwards into the curtain. I put my hands out to stop myself from falling, but to my horror, it was no firmer for me than it had been for the Siren. My arms sank into it, and I felt a terrifying pull on the rest of my body. I was dragged into a whirling abyss, equal parts light, darkness and cacophony.
Eyes shut.
Hold breath.
I screamed those words in my head. I didn’t dare deviate from my instructions lest I met my end. Mercifully, the experience lasted only a handful of moments before I was spat onto a strange ochre snow. My swirling head took a few moments to register the heat seeping into my cheek. When the world had stopped spinning, I saw an empty land stretching for miles into a black yet clear sky. Pinpricks of light watched me as I tried to right myself. I felt grains under my fingernails.
Sand. It was sand.
Before I could make sense of it, huge hands lifted me from the ground and set me on my feet. A thundercrack sounded, and Inwick came flying past my elbow. I turned to find a similar arch of rock standing behind me, though this one was forged of sandstone and bound with iron. It had a similar window stretched between its pillars.
‘I… how…?’ My breath came in ragged gasps. I felt dizzy. My eyes rolled about their sockets.
‘She’s going to pop.’
‘Too much for her at once. Lie her down, Eyrum!’ Inwick snapped.
Farden and Durnus came striding through the portal just before it died with a crackle. Beyond it was sand, and more sand, and then blackness as my sight failed me.
‘Durnus, we need you!’
The last thing I felt was cold fingers and sharp nails clutching my forehead, and the muttering of a tongue I had never heard.
‘She’s coming to,’ said a voice, gruff and hollow with pipesmoke.
Once more, I thought myself tucked into my straw mattress under a thatched roof, smelling soot and bubbling stew in the hearth.
‘Thought we’d lost you.’
Then it came back to me: all the horror and pain of the last day flooded into my mind. The cold. The trudging. The fire. I cracked my eyes open so that I wouldn’t have to stare at the memory of my father’s shattered skull, or my brother being tossed into the flames.
I found Farden looking down at me. Smoke curled from his nostrils as he leaned back in his chair of twisted wood and hide I had never seen the like of. Beside my simple canvas and wooden frame of a bed was a dark chest. Atop it, an hourglass, with the sand at a notch that told me it was late in the evening.
Farden spoke. ‘It was a quickdoor, if you’re wondering. Not the most refined form of travel, but definitely the fastest.’
‘Do you…’ A cough wracked me. My throat felt like I had swallowed crushed glass. ‘Does it get easier?’ I asked the question, although I had already made my mind up I never wanted to see a quickdoor again in my life.
Farden chuckled wryly. ‘No. Still hate them. There are more stylish ways to travel.’
Speaking got less painful with practice. ‘Where are we?’
‘Paraia. More accurately, fifty miles east of Troacles. We’ve built ourselves a little enclave here.’ He saw the question on my face. ‘Why here? Throws interested parties off the scent. We live in the ice wastes, and Malvus knows that. So what better a hiding place than the wild south?’
It was smart, but I didn’t care for that. All I cared about was the warm air I could feel wafting over my skin, and the delightful beads of sweat on my forehead. It was perfection, compared to the barren cold we had escaped. I stared up at the purple fabric of tent spread above me.
‘You’ve been out for a day. Inwick took the liberty of putting you in new clothes. She din’t think you’d mind.’
I tensed, and found a soft robe wrapping me.
Farden got to his feet with a weary smile. ‘When you’re ready and feel good enough to stand, join me outside. Take your time. Travelling by quickdoors isn’t to be taken lightly. Plus, there’s grief to consider. I know more than most the importance of mourning. Trust me, it helps to heal.’
And I did. The sob caught me before I could reply. Wordlessly, I watched the mage move across the woven rug towards a flap in the tent wall. As he lifted it, I saw a score more tents and a gathering of wooden structures that looked like watchtowers, all lit by torchlight. Casting long and confused shadows were a multitude of figures in grey robes. Some were older than I, grey-haired and crooked with many years on their backs. Others were my age or younger. I heard the clang of swordplay and the whisper and thunk of archery. The big Siren was there, twirling a battleaxe.
I longed to move, but the weariness in my bones held me still. The view was stolen from me as the ten flap was closed, and with it, so did my eyes.
Two hours I slept, judging by the hourglass. When I awoke I found a leather beaker had been left beside it. Outside, I heard an applause of sticks striking each other, over and over. A coarse voice was hollering orders.
Curiosity roused me from the bed, putting hand to frame and feet to rug. I was shaky, but the beaker of water helped me to the tent flap.
With a wave of my hand, I stared out across the orange, torchlit sands. A hundred bodies, maybe more, moved in unison, one great line against the other. Farden stood nearby, watching with arms crossed and his face blank. Eyrum barked orders, his thick accent twisting the staccato words. Inwick was nowhere to be seen. Neither was that pale Durnus fellow.
Farden saw me emerge from the tent and beckoned me forth. I tottered over the sand, which was still warm from a day of sunlight. The breeze was a muddle of temperatures, gusting warm then cold, rattling the dried scrub bushes at the edges of the camp.
‘Your building your own army, then,’ I asked of him.
‘That I am.’
‘But you condemn K… Malvus for the same thing?’ Somehow, his title didn’t fit any more. It part thrilled, part shamed me.
‘Every army carries out a purpose. That purpose depends on its leader.’
‘And who leads these people?’
Farden switched his hands to his hips. ‘I do,’ he said, tone rising. Eyrum paused his orders, and the two columns fell still. My skin abruptly began to itch.
I cleared my raspy throat. ‘And what do you mean to do with your army, Farden?’
The big Siren came forwards. ‘It’s time you realised who you are speaking to, girl. This is the Arkmage in Hiding, and y—’
‘Not now, Eyrum.’ Farden held up a hand. ‘She has a right to know. As each of one of you did.’
The murmur of the columns stopped the itching, and I felt my shoulders fall.
Farden raised his chin. ‘To remove Malvus from his stolen throne, and restore the Arka to its former glory.’ Pride abounded in his voice, but not the bad sort. He took a step closer to me. ‘What say you, Hereni? Will you join us?’
I winced, unsure. My mind was still a muddle; the last few days still a blur. I clung to words I had known for longer and trusted more.
Not everybody can have their name roared at roof-beams over the clash of tankards and foreheads.
‘Few ever have that honour.’ My father’s wisdom came forth unbidden. Farden titled his head at me. ‘I mean—’
My reply was interrupted by a bolt of lightning, coursing out of the darkness beyond the scrub. Striking the centre of the columns, it ricocheted between three bodies before exploding in a burst of white light. In its afterglow, a thick swarm of hooded figures could be seen, spread in a crescent around the camp.
I expected panic, but there was only a calm stillness.
‘Now!’ Eyrum bellowed, and the camp erupted with a roar. A third of Farden’s would-be soldiers threw themselves to the sand while the rest burst into life. Fireballs spun betw
een crooked fingers. Sparks crackled. Dust devils sprang from the earth. I felt a pressure engulf me like a wave, and for a moment I missed a breath. Inwick was right: I could feel their magick.
Then I saw the staffs: not staffs at all but bows with blackened strings. Robes were flung open to reveal quivers of arrows. A volley was in the air before I could blink.
Pained cries filled the night, followed by a countering roar as the attackers charged. They too wielded magick, and in the torchlight I saw they were pale-eyed like those that had come for me.
Farden stood at my side. His presence almost winded me. I could feel him burning with power I didn’t understand. I stared at his shoulders, my eyes tracing his back, and thought I saw light flashing beneath his cloak.
‘Durnus!’ he yelled out.
A cry came up from behind us. The old man and Inwick were running from the arch of sandstone. A dozen hooded figures were in pursuit. Inwick’s fists were wrapped in tentacles of green light.
‘Right on time! Old Lafik came through.’ Durnus panted as he skidded to a halt. ‘The door is ready when you are!’
Farden drew his sword with a screech of metal. He held it aloft as flames erupted from his hands and crawled up the blade.
‘Inwick! Eyrum! Lead them back to the arch! Hereni, you go with Durnus!’
I lingered there, staring at him pointing me away from the fight. My mouth hung open with awe.
‘You can tell me your answer later!’ he barked, betraying a grin. A matching one found its way to my face. I felt wrinkled hands on my arms, and I was hauled away.
Inwick was already working on their pursuers. She dug her fists into the earth, pouring the green swirls into the sand. Emerald tentacles burst under the feet of first four, and they met the ground face first.
Durnus stretched out his sharp fingernails. Crouched at his side, I saw him muttering furiously under his breath. I watched as the rest of the pale-faces slowed, as if they ran through treacle rather than air. Even the panic took a while to reach their faces. Inwick strode amongst them, her sword out and weaving a brutal pattern across throats and guts. We walked in her wake, blood and entrails cascading all around us in a gentle motion.
I heard the shout of, ‘Go!’ behind me, and felt the rumble of feet in the sand. I saw the rest of the grey-robes coming this way, following us to the quickdoor instead of fighting on. Farden waded amongst them, sword still aloft and aflame. As Durnus dragged me across the velvet sand, I caught glimpses of him between the press of bodies.
The power of his magick was magnificent. As I watched, a wave of dust and air pulsed from him, knocking dozens of Malvus’ men onto their backs. Lightning crackled in its wake, darting here and there amongst the haze, eliciting screams. The sword came to bear, spinning around him, lopping limbs from any that dared to come near. No spell or blade could touch him. Flames flooded from his boots, turning the sand about him to glass. The resulting wails both disturbed and thrilled me.
I wasn’t sure, given the growing distance between us, but I swear Farden was grinning through it all, perhaps even laughing. But the roar from his spells was deafening. Waves of magick washed over us. I saw a few of the trainees wiping blood from their noses.
When Durnus dropped me on the sand, he pressed his hands to the arch, and the quickdoor appeared with a crackle of thunder.
‘In!’ he shouted.
I let the others flood in before me, hanging back so I could watch Farden fight on. As I dropped to a knee, a burst of light turned the night into day. It stunned everybody present, and in its afterglow, I could see a whirlwind moving across the glowing sand.
I looked to Inwick as she brought up the rear and our stragglers. Her sword spun above her, wrapped in green tendrils. She caught my gaze and held it. I watched her snow-white hair crackle, curling like fire itself. She too pulsed with an energy that made me wince.
I felt a consuming urge to join them. To get to my feet and unleash the power that must have resided in me too. To fight like they could. Not for the revenge of my broken family. They would not want me to remember them in such a way: as justice painted in blood. No. Not for having my name roared and praised in song. This was bigger than such base cravings. Bigger than them. Bigger than I.
The mage saw me rise and take a step forwards. Before I could flinch, she had closed the distance between us, and was muscling me towards the surface of the portal. I remembered what lay beyond its veil and began to wriggle.
‘No, not again!’ I yelled, but to no avail. ‘I want to help!’
‘Not tonight, girl. In time, maybe you will. But that takes work, fear and pain!’ She yelled over the crackling of the quickdoor and the roar of the vortex that Farden had become. Tendrils of green light crept over my neck and shoulders. They felt hot. ‘What is your answer?’
‘I—’
‘Your answer, girl!’
I thought of how I had longed to write myself a story, shuffling out to the barn not one night before. I had ached to be anything but ordinary. Here was my chance: blazing brightly on a desert night. The cost of it had been high, and even then, the threat of further pain made me stutter. This was no fairytale in the back of a peasants girl’s mind any more, but a sharp reality. Not bandits’ evil pleasures, but a war that needed fighting. I saw my path fork, and the lowly peasant girl that stood before it, torn between risk and the word “unremarkable”. I realised then there was only one path to take, and no choice at all.
Inwick tutted, waiting not a moment longer for my answer. With a flick of her arm, I sailed through the air. I felt ice touch my back, and was dragged into darkness. There, in the screeching, swirling world of the quickdoor, with my eyes clamped and my breath bursting to escape, I decided.
To spend a life wishing it was different is like never living at all, and that was not I.
Not I.
Head to www.bengalley.com to discover more stories by Ben Galley.
2
And They Were
Never
Heard from
Again
Benedict Patrick
“What about bears?” Tad asked, his little legs working twice as hard to keep up with his brother’s pace. “Don’t you believe in bears?”
“Don’t believe in no bears,” Felton said, hitting an overhanging branch with his walking stick as if to emphasise his point.
“Why not?” Tad said.
“Never seen one,” the older boy replied.
Tad thought on this for a while, his hand tugging on his floppy straw hat, trying to conceal his eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun.
“You don’t believe in anything you haven’t seen?”
Felton pursed his lips. “Pretty much,” he said. “Me, or anyone I know.”
“That’s a bit unfair,” Tad said. “The last bear died out years ago, even in the stories. No way you could ever meet anyone who’s seen one.”
“Shouldn’t matter if I believe in them, then.”
Tad’s face soured, unsatisfied with his brother’s response.
Like most of the trails between the villages of the forest, this one was seldom used, and as such was in constant danger of becoming overgrown, especially now, at the end of summer. The pair traipsed down the path of worn soil, Felton using the large stick he had scavenged when they set out early that morning, Tad struggling to keep up, carrying two empty straw baskets, one hooked on each arm.
“What about the Bramble Man?” Tad continued. “You don’t believe in him neither?”
“‘Course not the Bramble Man, stupid,” Felton snorted. “You made him up.”
Tad sniffed. “He’s in a story. Mam said we need to pay attention to stories. They keep us safe.”
“She didn’t mean stories you make up yourself,” Felton answered, eyes on the path before him, his voice weary through repeating a familiar conversation.
“Then he’s as big a fool as you are,” Felton said. “Look, when you get older, you’ll learn - some stories are important, some stories are just… stories. You know Uncle Cormac was bewitched by tree women, right? So you can bet that I listen damned well to any stories about tree women, and keep them all stored away up here.” He poked his head, his sandy hair uncovered, his own straw hat left by his bedside. “Wolves and witchbirds too, and anything to do with the Mousefolk and Serpentfolk. Might be their stories save my life someday. But bears and your Bramble Man? I’ll never have to deal with them, so why waste my time listening to someone yammer on about them?”
Tad wrinkled his nose, considering his brother’s wisdom.
“What about the Magpie King, Felton? You believe in the Magpie King?”
“Don’t be an idiot, spud. Of course I believe in the Magpie King. If he wasn’t real, there’d be nobody left alive in the forest come morning.”
The pair continued walking in silence, the unfamiliar noise of running water distracting Tad from thinking about his older brother’s opinions. Eventually, their path opened up, the trees disappearing, and instead they were greeted by the sight of wheat fields, stretching further than Tad had ever seen before, unbroken by woodland. Beyond the fields was a village, not dissimilar to their own Gallowglass, but this collection of cottages was housed in the meander of a large river that ploughed through the Magpie King’s forest as if drawn by a score of oxen, long ago having torn trees from their roots to create its pathway.
Tad gasped. “Another village? We’ve reached another village?” He had never seen one before. Seldom did people living in the forest leave their own settlements, except for certain celebrations and to pay homage to the Eyrie. The young boy shivered. “Fel, we shouldn’t be here. How’d we get so far from home? I thought you knew where the berries are?”
Felton, the ghost of guilt quickly flashing across his face, dismissed his brother’s concern with a shake of his head. “Yeah, uh, I must have got turned around somehow. We should probably ask for directions, right? Let’s have a look…”
