by A. J. Smith
As the Jekkan withered to a desiccated husk, Nanon didn’t let go. He closed his eyes and slowly drained the last spark of power from the creature, giving its vast wellspring of eldritch sorcery to help rebuild the Fell. Far away, the trees burned by the Hounds began to regrow. Close by, the dead Dark Young were obliterated into fertilizer. And somewhere, in the heart of the Fell Walk, several hundred Dokkalfar returned to the earth and gained a strange kind of peace. But the Jekkan was dead.
He stood and looked down at the creature. It was empty of power, nothing more than a broken vessel. But Nanon knew, even as its body was turned to ash by the might of the forest, that it was no small thing he had done. He may have killed the last of the Great Race. He may have extinguished a light that had burned for aeons. But the world did not shake, nor did his form catch fire in punishment. Time kept moving, the wind still blew, and the old Tyr slowly flowed back into his smaller form and turned away from the empty circle of grass where he’d killed the Jekkan. He tried to find the remains of the servitor, but there was nothing left of the inky black monstrosity.
‘Keisha,’ he said calmly, knowing that the revitalized forest would have cleared her head of chaos magic.
‘I can’t see,’ she muttered, squinting up at him through her fingers. ‘Is everything dark?’
He crouched next to her. ‘Look again.’
She blinked rapidly and moved her hands from her face, arching her neck to look around the forest. It was night-time, but the swaying green trees allowed ample moonlight to shine through. The Kirin girl stopped blinking and frowned at him. ‘What happened?’
He tilted his head. ‘Deep time just coughed.’
***
The Fell Walk was strangely peaceful. Once they’d dropped beneath the forest floor and entered the ghost settlement, the air was fresh and clear, as if nothing evil could penetrate. Nanon’s Kirin companion was amazed at the huge tree-trunks and the Dokkalfar’s symbiotic engineering. Her wit had returned only slowly since they left the Jekkan and the most caustic observation she could muster was to say, ‘Are your people trying to compensate for something?’
He knew she’d be okay, but he had to allow her time to reorient herself. Even for a dark-blood, a mental assault from a Jekkan was a mind-shattering experience. The power of the forest had healed her but the scars would remain.
‘Up ahead, the long walkway,’ he said, pointing to the centre of the settlement.
‘How did you build this place?’ she asked, picking at a vibrant green leaf sprouting from a staircase. ‘And how do people not know it’s here?’
‘There were hundreds of settlements like this once,’ he replied. ‘Before the One God decided he didn’t like us very much, the Fell Walk was just a small village. The Twisted Tree took over from where the Purple clerics left off.’
Keisha followed him up a staircase of wood and moss, and they moved towards the hanging platform where Vithar Loth had previously addressed the Fell Walkers. He tried to walk slowly, allowing the Kirin girl to process the high vaulted ceilings and winding walkways. She marvelled at the thick vines, connecting the levels and holding up the vast central amphitheatre. To Nanon, her reaction was amusing. He enjoyed the awe in her eyes and the way her legs stumbled as she tried to look everywhere at once. He longed for the gift of ignorance, to be able to see things fresh, for the first time. As it was, the old Tyr was fighting tiredness and desperately wanted to spend a few hours in quiet meditation. Try as he might, he couldn’t share Keisha’s wonder.
‘Just up here, we can rest,’ he said, quickening his pace along the walkway.
A little further and they ascended another staircase, rising above the amphitheatre to a row of small huts, formed from wide gaps in the bark of a huge tree. He led her inside and was amazed at the cleanliness. No dust or dirt sat on the simple beds or the low tables. The cleansing of the Fell had flowed over the settlement and washed away any stink of death that may have remained. Any personal belongings had been taken into the Shadow Flame with the Fell Walkers, and the hut appeared fresh and new.
She pulled her eyes from the spectacle outside and slumped on a long, narrow bed, used by the Dokkalfar for meditation.
‘Nanon?’
‘Yes, Keisha.’
‘Is it safe to sleep here?’
He selected his own bed and crossed his arms over his chest, falling into an elongated stretch as his body felt relaxation for the first time in months.
‘Yes, I believe it is,’ he replied, closing his eyes. ‘The Long War can wait for a few hours, while we rest.’
‘Sleep well, Nanon,’ she responded.
Within a few moments Nanon had entered a state of deep meditation. It was not like human sleep, but more a heightened sense of calm, all his external energy focused inwards. Dokkalfar could remain in meditation for weeks if needed, using their innate power to sustain themselves while their mind recovered its spark.
Quickly, Nanon shut out the external world and allowed his newly revitalized power to hug his mind. It was warm and soothing, like a hot bath that never cooled. It slowly washed away the stress of several months’ frenzied activity. The deaths of Rham Jas and Dalian. The enchantment of Glenwood and the rescue of Keisha. Lastly, his journey with Corvus and the end of the Jekkan. All things, all movements, all actions – they left small points of memory and experience in his mind that, with appropriate meditation, would simply become a part of his being.
‘Meditation is supposed to be relaxing, my friend,’ said Vithar Joror, reaching Nanon’s mind from the forests of the Heart. ‘You’ll need to remain motionless for weeks if you keep worrying so.’
‘You know what’s happened? Or do I have to tell you everything?’
‘No, no,’ replied Joror. ‘I can sense much from your tumbling thoughts.’
The smell of jasmine and damp grass signalled that he had inadvertently let his mind wander north, to his most recent home in the Deep Woods of Canarn. Joror probably knew him best, but they’d drifted further apart the more time Nanon spent among men.
‘You killed a Jekkan,’ said the Heart’s Hand. ‘And you travelled beyond.’
‘So mundane when spoken of in mortal language,’ replied Nanon. ‘Neither felt mundane at the time. I worry that too much has happened, that the world will struggle to process all of these changes.’
‘It will,’ said Joror, ‘as will you. No-one, not even the fabled Shape Taker himself, can remain unchanged by such events.’
‘Fabled? Truly?’
Joror was silent for a moment. ‘Perhaps legendary is more appropriate. Especially since Vithar Loth’s folly.’
Sadness crept across the calm of meditation, as Nanon felt the countless dead forest-dwellers who had followed the Tree Father into the Shadow Flame. ‘I wanted him to tell you.’
‘Well, he didn’t,’ said Joror. ‘He sentenced hundreds of Dokkalfar to death, expecting me to follow him in reverent suicide.’
Nanon’s mind hugged him closer, protecting him from the flood of pessimistic thoughts that tried to assault him. He could have been lying in the abandoned Fell Walk for hours, but each second was now a struggle, as his calm fought a bitter war with remembrance and sadness.
‘Remove your doubts and allow yourself rest,’ said Joror. ‘For when you are done, you and the dark-blood will return to the Heart.’
Nanon felt instant dislike for this idea. It was slow, defensive and very Dokkalfar. It would no doubt involve a lot of sitting around and waiting, all the time observing a world that was slowly breaking apart. Perhaps there was a time when he’d have liked the idea. Resting, meditating, waiting – they were important to the Dokkalfar and had served them well as the men of Ro hunted them to near extinction and the Dead God ascended.
‘I don’t think I’ll do as you ask, my friend.’
Joror was silent again, though Nanon could sense confusion and concern coming from the Heart’s Hand.
‘Please don’t take my defiance personally,’ conti
nued Nanon. ‘I find that I am now too impatient to belong with my own kind. You will always be my friend, but I can’t condemn the Kirin girl to a century of sitting around.’
Joror’s thoughts conveyed genuine sadness, as if he’d finally accepted that his old friend had changed. He was ancient, though roughly half Nanon’s age, but he lacked the Shape Taker’s curiosity. He was a Vithar, and had never joined the Long War, preferring to maintain his position as shaman and lore-master. When he spoke, the sonorous tones were resigned. ‘Time destroys all things. But not your spirit, my friend. But, I must ask – what is left for you to do?’
Nanon was wrestling with something, a dark impulse that he tried to suppress. It was a very human urge, rising from annoyance and eclipsing any sense of Dokkalfar patience that he still possessed.
‘Tyr Nanon,’ snapped Joror. ‘Tell me – what is left?’
‘Vengeance,’ replied Nanon.
***
When he sat up on the simple bed, Nanon had no idea how much time had passed. Keisha was nowhere to be seen and the glowing shards of sunlight suggested it was well past midday.
He stood and saw that his katana was missing. His longsword was leaning against the wall, but Rham Jas’s blade and its scabbard were nowhere to be seen. He belted on the longsword.
Feeling a sudden jollity, he sprang to his feet and exited the small hut. The air outside was just as clear and fresh as it had been when he entered his meditation, and all things seemed peaceful. Vithar Loth had taken much from the Fell, but Nanon and the Jekkan had given much back. The balance was certainly in his favour. Outside he wandered downwards, on the branch of a huge tree, along a spiralling walkway to the forest floor. He could hear Keisha, grunting with restrained exertion, in the amphitheatre in the middle of the Fell Walk. As he followed the walkway she came into view, swinging her father’s katana amidst the gentle blowing of leaves and the whistle of wind. Rham Jas had been here a few months ago, before everything changed. As had Utha, Randall, Glenwood and Dalian. All soldiers of the Long War in their own way – and all beyond Nanon’s sight. Some in death, some in distance. The wide, circular space was sombre and empty, but his elevated mood remained.
‘Try two hands,’ he said, stepping off the branch and into the amphitheatre. ‘It’s got a long hilt for a reason.’
She looked at him, then pointed the slim, curved blade in his direction. ‘Why do the Kirin forge swords like this?’ she asked. ‘It’s not like a scimitar or that longsword.’
‘I’m no expert,’ replied Nanon, drawing his blade and standing en-guard. ‘I know they are rare and take much time to forge. I believe your people designed them to be finer than the blades of Karesia or Tor Funweir. The metal is folded until all imperfections are removed.’
She swung the blade from high, to clash solidly with Nanon’s longsword. ‘I think I remember it,’ she said, with sadness in her eyes. ‘Did he have it before I was taken?’
Nanon deflected the katana and swung a controlled riposte from a low angle. ‘Yes, certainly,’ he replied, as she parried his longsword. ‘I think your mother gave it to him when Zeldantor was born.’
She twirled backwards and grasped the katana in both hands. ‘Don’t talk about my little brother. I don’t want to think about him.’
‘You remember?’ he asked, waiting for her to attack.
Her dusky face dropped into an expression of loss and anger as she crossed her feet nimbly and aimed a downward attack at Nanon’s shoulder. ‘I remember the smell,’ she said, with a slight smile, showing no surprise that he side-stepped her attack. ‘He was so small, and he smelled bad all the time. But Father told me he’d grow, and wouldn’t smell as much.’
Nanon slapped down her follow-up attack and spun away. ‘I think all human babies smell. Dokkalfar babies have a faint odour of moss.’
She launched a series of controlled downward strikes, showing minimal skill but incredible speed and strength. The katana suited her, but would take time to master. ‘I’ve not thought about my family for years, until I met you. Now it’s all I can think about.’
He kept his attacks light, fighting within himself to allow her time to get used to the Kirin blade. ‘I met your father after you were taken. I often wondered what he was like before.’
She too appeared to be fighting within herself, unsure of how much speed and strength to bring to bear. ‘He was funny. He made jokes and pulled faces. Sometimes the Purple men came and he’d scare them off. He was good with his longbow.’
‘He was,’ replied Nanon. ‘But he was better with his katana. One-on-one, he was better than any I’ve known. Maybe even two-on-one.’
‘I never saw him use it,’ she replied. ‘It was just... Father’s sword – he kept it sheathed and made sure it was always at his side. Even when they slept, he kept the blade by the bed.’
‘Is it nice to remember?’ He allowed her to pull back the katana and disengage.
She hung her head and let the blade drop. ‘I really don’t know. It’s like I’m remembering a life I never had.’
‘You’ve endured much suffering since,’ he replied. ‘But you’re now free to be whoever you want. You can remember and cherish whatever you want.’
‘That will take time,’ said Keisha. ‘Like peeling off an old skin. I’ve been paranoid and on the edge of a knife blade for as long as I can remember.’
Nanon lunged forward and forced her to deflect his attack with her katana. ‘But you have your own blade now. A finer blade than any knife. The question is, what do want to do with it?’
She kept the Kirin sword close to her, her hands apart on its long hilt. With her natural abilities, Nanon knew, she would one day be a fine swordswoman. Until that day, she’d rely on speed and a preternatural awareness of her surroundings. It wasn’t perfect, but it would best many a skilled fighter.
‘Where are we going next?’ she asked. ‘Will I need the sword?’
They clashed again, slower this time, as if they were engaging in a methodical sword practice. Her form was rough, but she attacked from strange angles and made it difficult to riposte. Nanon allowed her to advance, keeping his own form defensive.
‘Where to next,’ he mused. ‘Well, as two soldiers of the Long War, I propose we rejoin the battle. But it’s your decision.’
‘I think I trust you,’ she whispered, surprising him with a sideways kick. He avoided it, but nodded approvingly at the tactic.
‘A hard admission, I would imagine.’
She shrugged nonchalantly, showing her endless capacity for taking things in her stride. ‘I once vowed I’d never trust a man... you’re not a man, right?’
Nanon tilted his head. ‘I’m male, but not a man. Is this important?’
‘I don’t break vows I make to myself,’ she replied. ‘But since you’re not a man, I can safely trust you.’
‘So,’ prompted Nanon. ‘Do you want to come with me and finish what your father started?’
She screwed up her face. ‘I’ve not really been anywhere. The boat from Kessia to Weir was the first time I’d been to sea. This is the furthest north I’ve ever been. But I like the trees, they remind me of Oslan. It’s one of the nicer things to remember. Can we come back to the forest when we’re done fighting?’
‘If you like,’ he replied with a smile. ‘The Fell Walk is a bit big for the two of us, but the crops are already growing, the defences are in place.’
She considered it while they continued their sword practice. Her katana became a little less controlled, but there was no other sign that she wasn’t fully concentrating on the duel. Nanon didn’t rush her. It was a powerful thing to be given a choice for the first time and he wanted her to make it in peace.
‘Do I get to kill the Mistress of Pain?’ she asked.
He tilted his head. ‘Yes. Yes, you do.’
CHAPTER 17
RANDALL OF DARKWALD IN ORON KAA
ONCE THEY’D DRIFTED south of Skeleton Bay, the sailors all retreated into a sole
mn silence, looking over their shoulders and keeping below decks as much as possible. Men coiled their ropes in seconds, not loitering or telling jokes, just doing their work and going back to their bunks. Ruth had been resting for a few days and looked more like her old self, but even she was less talkative. Only Vekerian remained on deck, stubbornly remaining at the helm of his ship, surviving on a few hours’ sleep a night.
With no company from either Kirin or Gorlan, Randall stood alone at the fore of the Black Wave as the minaret of Oron Kaa came into view. As the young man of Ro scanned the still shoreline and the globe-shaped buildings, he could imagine a hundred things, each more terrible than the last. Spectres of fear were created easily in the mind of a man afraid, and Randall was very afraid.
To his eyes, looking over the ocean, the buildings appeared to be made of coloured glass, fragmented into a hundred sparkling shades. The burning sun formed strange patterns in the glass, dancing around the globes and glinting from the minaret. It was like no city he’d ever seen – like no place he’d ever seen. The water barely rippled, just a gentle surge as it hit the coast, but nothing he’d call a wave or a swell. It shimmered and sent dancing lights across the blue expanse. Distant plumes spiralled upwards across the horizon, nothing more than grimy clouds at the edge of his vision, stark against the light blue sky and dark blue sea. Water spouts maybe. Or clouds of insects.
The Black Wave, only its topsails in use, was gliding sedately round a craggy headland. When the rocks cleared, a low harbour came into view and a bell was rung from the forecastle of the ship. The sailors were reluctant to answer the summons, but slowly emerged from below decks when Jez Ran began shouting. They moved to the rigging and the heavy wooden winches that controlled the sails. Lines of thick rope criss-crossed the ship, each with an essential purpose unknown to Randall. They were pulled and coiled, and within minutes the wind spilled from furled topsails and the Black Wave slowed to a crawl.
