by A. J. Smith
She took a step forward, wanting to enter the darkness and see the creature, but it hissed at her, a ferocious warning that she was not welcome. The creature considered the catacombs to be its personal domain, where no-one could enter, with the darkness marking the line beyond which even Saara could not intrude. All it allowed her to see were cat-like flashes of movement and its teeth, shimmering and opaque, coated in blood.
The pain was intoxicating. It flowed and grew as the Aberration feasted, gaining renewed strength from each chunk of flesh. Its hunger was a bottomless pit, and she wondered if it would ever be full or if she’d need to keep feeding it. If its great hunger was not sated, she feared that the Thousand Young of Shub-Nillurath would sustain it. At least until it was unleashed on the unsuspecting lands of Ro. On that day the creature could eat all it wanted, sustaining its hateful form with dead warriors of Tor Funweir. Perhaps even the new king would be food for the Aberration.
‘Rejoice,’ she muttered, feeling drunk on sensation. ‘Rejoice, for the Twisted Tree can no longer be defeated. Rejoice, for we will remake this world in pleasure and pain.’
The creature halted in its meal, leaving the last few men to stand on the blood-soaked flagstones. She could feel its disagreement. To the Aberration, pleasure was an alien concept. All it felt was pain and hatred.
CHAPTER 9
RANDALL OF DARKWALD IN OSLAN
A DOZEN OR SO Kirin lay unconscious or dead at the mouth of the cave, but still they attacked. Ruth stayed within the arc of shadow, rising high on to her back legs to pluck arrows from the air and slap aside any katana-wielders who got too close. She hissed and her feelers clicked in front of her bared fangs.
Vekerian’s crew had been far less friendly than Randall had hoped. When Lylla’s son had announced his intention to sail south of Skeleton Bay, fully a third of them roared with defiant anger, as if their captain was breaking a rule of the sea. When he deferred to the great mother, standing demurely behind him, the defiant third had screamed foul sorcery, accusing Ruth of bewitching Raz Mon. They’d attacked a moment later, ferociously pushing Ruth to the mouth of a wide cave. Vekerian and his loyal men stood back, allowing the Gorlan mother to exert her dominance.
A squelchy sound echoed from the cave entrance as Ruth plunged her fangs into a man’s chest. She lifted him up, spraying blood across the rock, and flung his limp body to the side. The Kirin ricocheted and landed a few feet from Randall. He was young, maybe eighteen, and his chest was open. Ruth’s fangs had sheared through leather armour, flesh and bone, allowing Randall to see the rocky floor through his chest.
‘I wonder what your name was,’ mused Randall.
The dead man was dark-haired and tufts of greasy hair sprouted from his chin. But he had two holes in his chest and was unlikely to be a potential friend.
Ruth smashed two men’s heads together and flung them aside. She had arrows in her legs and abdomen, but showed no signs of pain, or even fatigue. The huge spider hunkered down, ready for the next attack. Randall moved from the wall as the attack didn’t come. For now, they appeared to have stopped throwing their lives away. It had taken them about twenty minutes.
He moved a little closer to the cave mouth, keeping a good distance from Ruth, and shouted, ‘Captain Vekerian, are they finished attacking us?’
He rose on to his toes to see over Ruth’s abdomen. There were a few black-clad men, holding position in the far trees, and the smell of salt water hung around the cave entrance, only partially eclipsed by the smell of blood and death.
One of Vekerian’s loyal men, bow drawn, stepped towards the cave. He moved tentatively, keeping his bowstring loose and his eyes on the Gorlan mother. The other Kirin stayed in the loosely packed trees, and Randall could hear more men on the gravelly beach beyond.
‘I believe so,’ replied the Kirin captain.
Ruth responded by gathering up her huge legs and moving to the side of the entrance, allowing Randall to walk past her. He sheathed his sword and tried to adopt a smile.
A few dozen arrows were aimed vaguely in his direction and plenty more were still in quivers. The beach was identifiable only by the tops of wooden structures built along its length, and the cove was ringed by jagged cliffs.
Raz Mon Vekerian strode to the cave and, standing amidst dead mutineers, addressed the multitudes of Kirin sailors who were skulking in the trees or hiding, just out of sight, on the beach below. ‘Does anyone else wish to express their discontent at our destination?’
There was silence. Twenty men or more were dead and the remaining mutineers had decided that their discontent was not worth dying over. The rest of the crew, awed by the spectacle of a Gorlan mother, remained loyal to their captain and began to round up anyone who had spoken against her. Most averted their eyes or bowed in fearful respect. A few even flung themselves to the dusty grass and cried in reverence.
Great mother, forgive us! Great mother, forgive us!
When they’d finished worshipping Ruth, many looked at Randall. He imagined they were asking themselves the same questions he was. Who was this young man of Ro and what was he doing here? How did he arrive with his travelling companion? Was he irreversibly insane? Their eyes betrayed no emotion, just the cold, thousand-league-stare of professional men. At least the bows weren’t pointed at him.
Vekerian, just as reverent as his men, turned to face the huge Gorlan. ‘Would you deign to take your lesser form, great mother? My men will work quicker with less distraction.’
She clicked her feelers, rubbing them together against her huge fangs, and backed away into the darkness of the cave.
‘Takes a few minutes for her to change shape,’ said Randall.
The cold-eyed Kirin just nodded. ‘That will give me time to muster my men. With no more distractions, we should make sail in an hour or two.’
‘And then you’ll tell us about... that place we’re going to?’
‘I will,’ he replied. ‘When we reach the open sea.’
Randall left Ruth to change form, and Vekerian to shout orders at his crew. He strolled to the grassy bank and got his first look at the Oslan coast. Beneath, a lattice of wooden platforms snaked from the rocky beach and out beyond the flanking cliffs. Three ships were in the cove, seagoing galleons with tall sails. Vekerian’s ship, the Black Wave, was the largest. It had three masts and black sails, with catapults forward and aft. It was still at anchor, while the other two ships slowly bobbed out to sea. Both decks were full of people and the ships rode low in the water, struggling to make way. As Vekerian had said, people were leaving these lands, fleeing the Seven Sisters and their Twisted Tree, heading to strange and far-off destinations in the hope of finding peace.
Down a dirt track below, men were relaying Vekerian’s orders and loading barrels on to the deck of the Black Wave, while others coiled ropes and scuttled up the rigging. The ship was an elegant sight, rolling gently in the water; it had a carved figurehead, depicting a woman with a longbow. The sailors whispered to each other, spinning tales of the great mothers and bemoaning their lack of payment.
‘These men will soon turn to piracy,’ said Ruth, silently appearing next to him. ‘Legal trade will dry up in a few short months and they will have little choice but to plunder the Kirin Ridge. The Twisted Tree will eventually consume even the woods of Oslan. But Lylla Vekerian was right – at least the sailors will remain free.’
‘Will we? Will Utha?’
‘I cannot speak for Utha, but your fate is now bound to mine. As I survive, so will you.’
***
No-one questioned him. Most of the Kirin sailors didn’t even look at him. To them, he was just another of the great mother’s peculiarities. But they were skilled, and confined themselves to their work, making sure the Black Wave was ready to leave as their captain bid. The dead mutineers were piled in the cave and everyone watched with astonishment as Ruth placed a hand to the rock and caused a huge cave-in, entombing the dead. Even Randall didn’t know how she’d done it
, only that the rock seemed simply to obey the Gorlan mother.
The first mate, Jez Ran, who Randall had first met in Lylla’s sitting room, was a nightmare to the crew. He swore more than any man Randall had ever met, but appeared to know what he was doing.
‘If those fucking crates aren’t below by the time I’ve finished scratching my arse, some cunt is going to die,’ shouted Jez Ran, his voice turning hoarse.
The other sailors began to sweat, but thankfully, the first mate took his time relieving his itch, and the crates were safely stowed below as the topsails dropped and filled with wind.
‘Keep ’em trimmed. Nice and slow ’til we pass the cliffs.’
Randall stood on the forecastle, leaning against a wooden rail, with Ruth and Captain Vekerian standing in front of him. The sea breeze cut a line down the centre of the ship and sparkling sunlight made the black, wooden deck shine. They were going south, past Skeleton Bay, to the edge of the world. He didn’t know exactly why the destination terrified them, or why it terrified him, although he had no doubt that Ruth was the only reason they had complied. But Vekerian knew something more. Randall had high hopes that, once the Black Wave left the bay and turned down the Oslan coast, he’d tell them what he knew.
The ship gained speed and the looming cliffs, bristling with palm trees and moss, rose above the sails to eclipse the sunlight. Jez Ran continued swearing and the sailors hurried about their duties. It was only the second ship Randall had been on, and it was far bigger than Captain Makad’s vessel that had taken them to Kessia. The difference was intimidating. There was more of everything, from the ropes to the sails and, most especially, the crew. Ruth had killed a chunk of them, but there remained almost a hundred sailors, mostly men, with a few women in the rigging. The remaining Kirin did what they were told, glancing up at the limp bodies of the remaining mutineers, hanging from a low beam and dripping blood on the railings. Jez Ran had killed them as soon as they’d been dragged away from the cave and disarmed. Kirin ships had rules, and punishments were brutal. As long as Raz Mon Vekerian was the captain, they were bound to do as he commanded.
‘A pleasant day for another voyage, no?’ said Ruth, dropping back to join him against the rail.
‘As pleasant a day as I’ve seen for a while certainly. It’s nice to be with allies – or at least people who aren’t enemies.’ He smiled at her. ‘So, you’re a god to them?’
‘Not really,’ she replied. ‘These people never had a god, so they revered power whenever they found it. As much for their own protection as genuine reverence. Many Gorlan mothers lived in Oslan, long before the Kirin arrived, and they were powerful indeed. There was a time when a hundred villages worshipped a hundred great mothers, and the Kirin’s enemies were unable to intrude. Those days are long gone. The followers of the Twisted Tree can no longer be repelled by the might of my kind.’
‘What happened to them?’ he asked. ‘I only know legends, and they’re vague at best.’
‘I may be one of the last Gorlan mothers,’ she replied, without emotion. ‘The power that sustains us is gone. In time, we will fade entirely from this world. Perhaps we will enter the next world, or perhaps we will enter the dirt.’
‘Are you godless too? Like the Kirin? I suppose I never thought about it.’
She looked around, making sure the Kirin sailors were occupied and unlikely to hear their conversation. ‘You have a piece of me in your head, young Randall. I think you deserve to know a little about my kind. If only so you can tell future generations, once we are gone.’
‘That’s a very morbid thought,’ he replied. ‘You’re not dead yet. I’ve not seen anything that can actually harm you.’
‘You cannot always fight death,’ she said, directing her eyes at the black wood beneath their feet.
‘So, tell me,’ he said. ‘Are the Gorlan just spiders that grew?’
She smiled suddenly, allowing his flippancy to cut her dark mood. ‘No, I’m afraid not. Spiders are a separate species. They were our first servants, our first worshippers. Insects and arachnids have existed since the dawn of time. When Rowanoco first rose to his hall beyond, there were ants, flies and spiders, clustered around his feet.’
‘That’s unnerving,’ replied Randall. ‘You’ve been here all along.’
‘There was a Giant,’ she said, the sea breeze flinging her dark hair over her shoulders. ‘A Void Giant, the first Giant, and she created many things. The earth we stand on, the mountains we look up at, the sea that laps at our homes, and the creatures that crawl at our feet. When she created the Old Ones, to fight for her pleasure, ages before Rowanoco rose, they claimed servants. Atlach-Nacha, the Spider Mother, chose those who crawl as her servants, and she created the Gorlan to rule them.’
He took a moment, looking at her deep violet eyes. He’d never asked how old she was, never let it affect his feelings towards her. He was a lad of nineteen years, and struggled to think about the deeper mysteries of time. ‘So, the One, Jaa, Rowanoco, they came later?’ he asked, surprised at how quickly his mind processed the information.
‘The gods of men were the strongest survivors of the Long War, the war started by the Void Giant. She was called the First Aggressor, but she fell asleep long before Rowanoco first broke her rules and ascended to the halls beyond. He was born in her world and evolved naturally. He was the first god born to a mortal. He changed the rules. The others followed him.’
‘And the Gorlan?’
‘We never ascended, for Atlach-Nacha was never defeated. She was the only Old One to survive the Long War, and we survived with her, crawling at the feet of the Giants. We lived and we endured. Enemies came and went, but none threatened us. When the Jekkans arrived from the void and built their caliphate, we hid in the forests and the deep mountains. When men came down from their trees, they worshipped us. And now... long ages spell our doom, for Atlach-Nacha no longer weaves her web.’
‘What happened to her?’ he asked.
She touched his cheek and a tear tumbled from her eye. ‘A story for another time, young Randall. For now, let us enjoy the sea air and hope for a swift voyage south. Utha the Shadow needs us and we should not disappoint him.’
***
On the second day, while waiting for the captain to finish his breakfast, Randall saw convoys of ships beginning to leave Karesia. Across the northern horizon, cutting through the morning sun, were dozens of sails. They came from Oslan, Kessia and all along the coast, leaving a land that was changing. The Kirin sailors were miserable, thinking with longing of the money they could be making, shipping refugees from the Lands of the Twisted Tree. They wouldn’t mutiny, but their displeasure was clear, giving Jez Ran ample opportunity to swear and kick people.
Randall had remained on deck, gazing at the waves as they broke against the hull of the Black Wave. Without Utha, he had no-one to tell how scared he was. Not of swords any longer, nor of crossbows, monsters or enchantment, but of Ruth and what she now meant to him. She’d retreated below deck early on the first day, and he’d not sought her out. The cabin they’d been given was the second largest on the ship, after the captain’s quarters, and was usually reserved for rich passengers. Randall had used it only to sleep, and had stayed on deck in silent thought since daybreak. He waited for Vekerian to invite them into his cabin and he looked south.
‘You, boy, come with me.’ The speaker was a one-armed sailor, a wild-eyed man Randall had seen at the wheel of the Black Wave. ‘The captain wants a word.’
‘Are we far enough away from land?’ asked Randall. ‘I don’t want to make him anger the sea.’
‘Was that a joke?’ said the sailor.
‘Actually, no. Your captain has been good to us, and it seems to mean a lot to him.’
‘It does. It does to us all. The fates of men are capricious; they lead us this way and that. Why anger the sea as well?’
Randall followed the one-armed man below deck. The Black Wave had four decks, though he’d only seen two of them, and
was a warren of latticed wood and cabins. Every corner of every room was cluttered with ropes, tools and supplies, and every wooden ladder creaked as the Kirin went about their work. The bowels of the ship were as dark as the deck was bright, with few open portholes, and swaying lanterns providing most of the light.
‘Through there,’ said the one-armed Kirin, pointing to a staircase at the rear of the ship.
Ruth emerged from their cabin, gliding over the wood to stand at his side. ‘Is the captain ready?’ she asked.
‘I am,’ announced Raz Mon Vekerian, appearing from the downward stairs. ‘Come with me.’
He strode down to a single wooden door, with a blood-red flag hanging above. Inside, at the back of the Black Wave, was a wide state room, with secured wooden furniture. It was dark brown and musty, with dust rising from piles of parchment and old leather satchels. Maps were rolled out across tables, showing strange seas and far-off places. Randall wanted to linger, to ask questions about the bizarre coastlines, but Ruth hurried him up.
‘Don’t stare, young Randall,’ she said, pointing towards a side room and Vekerian’s cabin. ‘Kirin sailors guard their maps jealously.’
‘Indeed,’ said the captain, taking a seat behind a mahogany table. ‘Those maps are worth a fortune to any sailing man. No map-maker of Ro or Karesia knows of half those places.’
Randall pulled himself from the table and joined Ruth in the small side cabin. It was still musty, but the windows were open and the smell of the sea gave the captain’s cabin a hint of freshness.
‘Sit down, great mother,’ said the captain. ‘I trust my crew have been polite.’
