the fated,
giving destiny the cold eye with your truthful lies.
–Tomes of the Touched
The poison’s burn never went away, but Glimdrem enjoyed moments where the pain faded, at least until he realized the agony always returned worse. So it was that he learned to call the group to a stop when the pain faded, so he might bond with the Edan’s Spirit for a quarter candle. He could still feel the surge of the poison’s fiery energy, a dulled burn, leaving him able to walk without a one knowing to pity him.
Inslok might well know, but pity wasn’t an Edan’s weakness. It was one small thing Glimdrem appreciated of Edan nature.
They traveled straight through the first night after his bite, and Inslok allowed the humans sleep for several candles in the warmest part of the day. Still, it was a sleep which might kill without a fire and Heat from the woodkin to keep frostbite away. They ate dried deer meat to break their fast; no doubt the Edan packed the meals to help keep the mortals warm, cured in the Eleris with salts and herbs which would lend a couple candles of soothing warmth. To Glimdrem’s tongue it was over salted, but the meal satiated his stomach.
For the next three days they didn’t rest during the night, keeping the weaker flesh of the humans moving for warmth, and Glimdrem grew comfortable with the peculiar routine of thieving from the Edan’s Spirit to keep himself alive. Pain flared without warning a few times a day, enough to make him stumble or clutch his arm, but he missed no more than a single stride while crossing the beautiful in its bleakness terrain. So white, and so different, than what he’d known for the past five hundred years spent in forests and jungles.
Stories of the Steaming Lakes traveled as far as the Mother Wood, a Trelelunin explorer having visited them four hundred years past, but this Touched was a new wrinkle in old tales of tombs and the dead, and a city lost. The sun was at their backs when the cloud of steam appeared on the horizon, a domed cloud with whiskers of steam escaping into the atmosphere. A couple candles later they were close enough for Glimdrem to make his assessment.
“It’s impressive, but not so large as I imagined.”
Inslok’s gaze didn’t bother to shift to him. “The greater lakes are still to the northeast, a few days walk still, if Ilumbar’s maps are true.”
Glimdrem snorted. Of course he’s allowed to see the maps. “What did Ilumbar say of this locale?”
“He named it the Bog of Tombs, the most shallow of the lakes. And the least infested with dead.”
Solineus strode close behind. “The tombs contain the least dead?”
“The dead who were buried there walk the tombs. Beneath the lakes to the northeast is a city, flooded, its people drowned by the tens of thousands. Not even the Minister of Knowledge knows how many met their ends here, nor the name of the city.”
“Why would a city so large sit in a frozen waste?”
“If we knew this answer, we might understand much we don’t.”
They arrived at the rim of the bowl and Rinold rubbed his hands together with a smile. “At least it’ll be warmer down there.”
Glimdrem gazed through the steam, his eyes spotting the truth in what little he knew of Ilumbar’s recollections. Monstrous trees with giant leaves, foreign to a land such as this, grew to unexpected heights for the climate, though none would compare to the Eleris and its ancient oaks. They weren’t of varieties he’d seen on Sutan, he didn’t think, but they would’ve been more at home in those sultry jungles. “The world before the Forgettings was a different place, this much we know. When the gods disappeared from the lands upon the First Forgetting, some have speculated that the world was like a glass ball, shattered, and when people awoke without their memories… It was like someone threw the pieces back together, but not where they were before. And with every Forgetting, a few pieces shifted again.”
The twist to the human’s lips spoke to his doubt. “What could do such a thing?”
“Or who?” Glimdrem laughed, a biting laugh he intended to have no humor. “If we knew such things we would have answers to a great many mysteries, and likely, more questions yet to ask. Perhaps your Touched knows.” Inslok cast him what passed for a glare from an Edan, and he shut his mouth. Not because he’d been rebuked, but because he might’ve stumbled on something the Edan didn’t want him to suspect.
Solineus huffed. “If he does know, I godsdamned guarantee it’ll be a name unearned.”
Rinold edged in. “It’s still nose-biting cold up here, let’s head down.”
Inslok nodded and stepped onto the slope; he didn’t sit, just slid down the embankment standing, as if gravity and the humps and bumps in his path were for lesser beings.
Solineus said, “Show off.”
Glimdrem slapped the man on the shoulder, a moment of sympathetic kinship. “The Edan never show off, they just are. That’s more than adequate.” For all the world he wanted to ski down this hill as Inslok, but better to take a seat than risk making a fool of himself. Besides, a sudden burn of poison could send him in a tumble.
They reached bottom without issue, except for the hoots and hollers the humans made as they cruised down the slope, laughter and smiles making their faces ugly. “You people are ridiculous.”
Rinold popped to his feet, taking his heavy robes off and hanging them from a branch. “I’m sure that one’s hopeless—”he gestured to Inslok”—but you should learn to enjoy life a little.”
Solineus too, disrobed, resituated the Twins on his back. “How’s your memory for finding our way back, Squirrel?”
“Been there once both ways and traveled them same steps a hundred times in my dreams. Should we rest before movin’ on?”
Inslok said, “I suggest we reach the tomb. From Ilumbar’s recollections, and your accounts, you remain unaware of the threats these waters hold.”
Rinold glanced askew at a mossy pond in front of him. “What threats? We didn’t see no dead last time, not for a while at least.”
Inslok kept mum, so Glimdrem assisted. “Geysers are one, the waters can boil your skin off, but I suspect he meant the Wakened Dead. Ilumdar’s exploration had its share of lethal encounters.”
“If there’s anything worse than the Daevu I don’t wanna hear a peep about it.” Rinold took several strides into the swamp’s trails, the first time Inslok wasn’t in the lead. “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna go gettin’ myself killed by something so boring as a geyser.”
Inslok fell in behind the little human, and Glimdrem made sure to be on the Edan’s heels in case the fever burn struck.
Evening fell into night but the difference was insignificant, even for the eyes of their mortal companions, with the Light of Inslok. The Edan’s glow was soft, you could stare straight at him without blinking, yet the luminance lit the dark into twilight for a hundred strides.
Rinold pointed. “Tomb of Komdwom. We aren’t so far out.”
The burn in Glimdrem’s arm faded. “Inslok, it is time again.”
The party halted, Trelelunin encircling them.
Solineus marched to their sides. “As I recall, we’re maybe a half candle from the Touched.”
The Edan turned, surveying the area and Glimdrem’s eyes followed even as he took Inslok’s arm. He saw nothing.
Inslok’s tone, while cold and calm, didn’t temper his next words. “It is well we’re close, there is a sense of ill in the air.”
Glimdrem closed his eyes, pushing to merge their Life and Spirit energies, but the power collapsed back on him, a force to squeeze his heart and lungs, and he gasped for breath, shoving himself from the Edan. The beat of his heart slowed, fluttered, and stopped before surging into a single beat that brought pain to his chest. He sucked the swamp’s humid air, filled with the musty odor of plant decay, as the rhythm returned,
Inslok’s passive stare twitched. “What is it?”
Glimdrem turned a slow circle, looking for anything to explain what’d happened. “I don’t know.” The fever burn ignited, if his arm had b
urst into flame it wouldn’t have surprised him. He collapsed to a knee, the pain so bad he’d swear another snake bit him. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching his arm, stifling a scream, and when his eyes opened a wall of shadows circled them and everyone drew weapons. I’m useless in this fight. He fell to his knees then rolled onto his side. The pain hammered into his bicep, surging for his shoulder, and he feared it reaching his heart.
One blink, the night was empty, the next a wall of shadows appeared, circling their position near the tomb. They were more human than the Shadows of Man, but their dark was as impenetrable. The Trelelunin drew weapons and collapsed their own circle, and Inslok stepped through their line to face whatever came for them, scimitar and shield in hand, his glow surging.
The Edan’s light lit the trees so to see the yellows and greens of mosses, the tones of their bark, the spots on their drooping leaves, and even to note a snake longer than two men draped from nearby branches, its skin spotted yellow and red, but the shadows were untouched by the illumination, their details flat.
But the shadows flowed as they approached, garments in the sway of arms and legs: The Wakened Dead.
He drew the Twins, feet planted, prepared for their surge of voices. A whisper greeted him, a calm which bespoke nothing of battle. He stood straight, breathing easier. “Touched!”
The encroaching circle advanced, close enough see their bones beneath their clothes. They ranged from five to nine feet tall, all dressed in impeccable fashion, velvets and silks with ruffles and quilted hems.
“Nobody attack, put your weapons away.” Not a soul complied. “Touched! What game are you playing? I know you’re here.” Or he sure the hells hoped he was.
The shadows stopped and parted, and a figure draped in purple and gold velvets strode through the gap, his arms raised in greeting.
“Little Silone men! What took you so long?”
Solineus walked to the Touched, motioning the woodkin to sheath their weapons, and this time even Inslok listened. “It isn’t even the new year yet.”
“Pah! And fah, and a tra-la-la-la, I dare say, a snake writhing, crying, dying, you brought with you this time.”
The skeleton pointed and Solineus spun; Glimdrem lay curled on the ground, shaking, skin glistening with sweat in the Edan’s Light. “Holy hells.” Solineus rushed to the Trelelunin’s side and kneeled. A touch to the forehead suggested a human would be dead already. He turned to the Touched, who sauntered closer. “Can you save him?”
“Me? The fevered dream of a snake of Fire, blood boiling, toiling, roiling, concern, a writhing dying snake to rise, why would I if I could so it might bite again?”
“I brought these people to you, so they will protect my people.”
“Your people. Should I trust you to trust them to trust me? You and the squirrelly man may join me to dance and dine, bring the poisoned snake if you will. But these others are unwelcome.”
Inslok stepped forward. “Our agreement is predicated on speaking with you.”
“And spoken you have! Oh, Inslok, the joke of the folk, and the toke in the poke, yolk in your eyes, it has been too long since we last spoke, or rather not long enough, I’m not so certain if it matters which since you recall not why I am nor who.”
“The agreement is predicated on speaking with you.”
“Lanquor, grab the Snake, but do not let him bite. Ha ha!” A skeleton stepped from the crowd, and strange as it seemed, he looked familiar: the skeleton who escorted them from the tomb the first time they were here.
Lanquor stooped, and with a bony fist grabbed and slung Glimdrem over his shoulder as might a big man a sack of potatoes. With giant strides the skeleton strode from the circle, disappearing behind the line of skeletons with surprising speed.
Solineus turned to the Touched. “I need Inslok to join us.”
The emotionless skull stared. “Oh, very well, but this one more, only this one more, for the sake of ancient times and ancient rhymes. Ha ha!”
The Touched took five strides, and they followed, before Solineus turned to stare at the Edan. Inslok stood frozen in midstride, every muscle as unmoving as if captured of a sudden in a painting. His eyes stared forward, not a blink, and his glow which lit the swamp’s woods faded.
Trelelunin weapons rustled. “Fear not! Tear not, little critters of the not so little trees.”
The Trelelunin too froze, and in a flicker the Edan stood without his glow, and Solineus could almost see him as a normal man. Almost. “What the hells are you doing?”
The Touched locked eyes with Inslok, speaking to him, not Solineus. “A point to anoint, these are not the trees of the Mother Wood, understood? Who and what you are, what you think you are, what others fear you are, are not true where you are.” He smiled and raised his arms as he turned to the humans. “Come, little Silone men!”
The Touched sauntered through the line of skeletons with Rinold close behind, but Solineus stood planted to the turf. “I need this man with us.”
The Touched unleashed an exasperated sigh as he turned. “And so he will follow! Like dripping tallow, slow, and only at the behest of my melting fire. Come little Silone man who knows his name maybe not.” Another skeleton stepped to the Touched, handing him a lantern which flared to life. “Shall we walk, talk, not talk, or balk to talk? Or balk to walk?”
Solineus hesitated before taking strides, turned to Inslok. “My apologies, but I trust his word. Follow when you’re able.” He trotted into the hazy dark chasing the lantern.
“Ah! Little Silone man, you join us.”
Solineus settled in stride beside the Touched. “You’re an annoying sort, but I reckon you know that.” The strangest thing was how normal it felt to walk beside a skeleton.
“Am I? I am. Like a sock speckled with sand as you stand, grit digging the souls of your heel. A sliver beneath the nail. A cancerous sore deep in your throat, never numb, perhaps on the tip of your tongue, like a word or a name, which taunts a wisdom you can’t, shan’t, ever know until you of a sudden do. Which am I most like?”
Solineus chortled. “I’ve heard of this burning itch some men get after laying with the wrong woman.”
“That bad I am?”
“I’ve never had the itch, but I’ve had to deal with you twice now.”
Rinold quipped, “Some itches are impossible to scratch.”
“So says the puny man with a twitch. Stroll quiet, lest we wake the unruly and unduly not quite all the way dead. Give them no cause to make us make them all the way so.”
Solineus glanced to Rinold, and the Squirrel shrugged, “If he can shut his yap, so can I.”
They followed in lantern lit silence, meandering along a route through the same region as last time, until reaching the unmarked tomb. Only, it was little like he remembered. Lanterns lined the way, and his brow scrunched when he realized the pillars upon which the lanterns sat weren’t here before. Figures passed to and fro, skeletons he assumed, but there was laughter and voices, and as they grew close, he recognized these people as flesh and blood.
Some wore the frilled garments of nobility as he’d come accustomed, but most wore the garb of peasants or yeoman, working folks in heavy weaves to withstand a day’s work. Their eyes glanced but didn’t linger on the strangers, but their faces held smiles and nods for the Touched.
The Touched grasped a woman by the shoulder. “Temliu, excellent work, dear lady.”
“My thanks, my Lord.”
And the Touched smiled.
Smiled.
And for the first time Solineus realized he no longer walked beside a skeleton. He gazed on the Touched’s face; hale and young with full cheeks, with one eye of blue and the other brown.
Solineus said, “You continue to surprise.”
“Don’t I? Have you known me to lie? A man whose only surprise is sprung via falsehood is no cunning man at all, to fall, to linger, to snap, it is the truth which sets the finest trap. Even if it’s a truth unspoken and unknowable, unbro
ken and inconsolable. Come!”
“We’ve stepped through time?”
“Nothing so simple… nothing so complex… nothing I will explain, whether whichever said reality might lie.” He led them through the tomb’s stone entry, which no longer sat askew.
Inside was bright as day, lit by silver lanterns, and they followed the Touched down the carved stares until they reached a sitting room, and here they found Glimdrem lying still on a plush red couch. Lanquor, or a man wearing the skeleton’s clothes, stood nearby. A lovely woman, with scarlet hair draping over a silver velvet dress, leaned over the Trelelunin. If she stood, Solineus suspected she’d tower over him by more than a foot.
The Touched barred their way with his arm as he stopped. “Allow Aneelu to work. The poison of the snaking fire is not something so easy to be rid.”
“The Edan was immune to the creature’s bite.”
“Immune to so many ways to die, immune to so many ways to live, curses are blessings and blessings are the cursed, the touching, the toucher, and the Touched. Good and ill, wing and bill, what is right and wrong are so often perspective reliant, so often cast in questionable and easily carved moral stone.” He winked with his blue eye. “Aneelu, will the serpent survive the snake’s bite?”
The woman flashed green eyes, which either caught the light or held a flicker of their own, to the Touched. “He will. Or I can let him die.”
The Touched rocked on his heels. “A decision most complex, to stop the fall or to incite the rise. Little Silone men! Heal or wither? Walk bare bones or walk with flesh?”
Solineus said, “My choice, he lives. Rinold?”
“The same, miserable way to meet an end, if’n you ask me.”
The Touched rolled his eyes. “If you’re certain. But here, only here, the first only chance, no one outside this hall will learn how he fell, but not to some hell, rather rise in his fall from life to the Father Wood. Not an ugly end, a beautiful beginning.”
Solineus groaned. “He lives.”
“Very well! Come, we shall leave this fine lady to her happy work that will make no one happy. Clappy, oh joy. Come, come, come. I’ve food, wine, your time to dine, then rest before yonder Edan comes calling.”
Trail of Pyres Page 29
