by A. J. Smith
Utha suddenly felt naive. He’d always used violence as a way of easing his passage through life. He was better at fighting than talking or negotiating, and had hoped that any obstacle, even in the halls beyond the world, could be punched into submission.
‘We merely wish to pass through your realm,’ said Ruth, now a small figure in Utha’s shadow.
Another rumbling growl, this time with a questioning note. ‘Why do you have a Gorlan attached to you?’
Utha shot a glare at Ruth and raised an eyebrow. ‘I think she may have saved my life,’ he replied. ‘So I’m being kind.’ He spoke loudly, but felt that he had little need to. The Guardian would hear, no matter how quiet the words.
‘That is also interesting,’ said the Guardian. ‘I find that I am almost overwhelmed by interesting things. I like the spider-folk, though I’d not thought to see one again. She must be a true friend for you to protect her so.’
Utha knew that Ruth had travelled in his wake, but was suddenly aware that she was reliant on him for survival. His divine blood gave him access to the void, and power over its substance, but she was still a creature of form and had no such advantages. For all her age and knowledge, the Gorlan mother was only alive because Utha allowed her to be. But it took no effort, so he felt it a small matter when weighed against the intangible benefits of having company – no matter how irritating that company may be.
He shook his head, finding it strange that he was letting his mind wander Whether by intent or not, the Guardian exuded calm. ‘So, what happens now?’ he asked, again speaking loudly. ‘If we’re not going to fight...’
‘I must assess you,’ replied the Guardian, ‘and decide whether or not to let you out of my realm. If I decide in the negative, you will wander the labyrinth forever. If the positive, we can have a nice conversation and you can go on your way.’
‘Why do you get to decide?’ he queried, stubbornly not wishing to cede control.
‘Hmm,’ purred the immense voice. ‘Because my realm lies above the tear and the great Fire Giant bid me to guard it.’
‘So, get on with it,’ snapped Utha. ‘Make your decision.’ He was sure that his aggressive impatience would appear strange to the Guardian, but his confidence was shaken and, with nothing to punch, it was all he could think to do.
‘Perhaps a little more respect,’ said Ruth in a sharp whisper, again clutching Utha’s arm. ‘You are not demanding a drink from a tavern keeper.’
‘Of that I am sure,’ he replied.
A strong downdraught of wind passed overhead, accompanied by a waft of pungent, smoky air. The huge boulders making up the maze gave off a rippling warmth and a smell that made his skin tingle. No shape appeared with the wind, and no sound, except the constant rumbling of the Guardian. It emitted purrs, growls and grumbles, managing to meld the deepest notes of a lion’s roar, a dog’s bark and a lizard’s hiss.
Both of them felt their hair being ruffled by the wind, but it passed, as if a door had opened to let in the warm air, and then quickly closed.
‘It would not be proper for me to detain you,’ boomed the Guardian. ‘You are of divine lineage and you follow your destiny.’
‘And me?’ queried Ruth, her face dropping into an expression of fearful apprehension. ‘I am neither divine, nor following my destiny.’
Utha thought he should care about Ruth’s fate, but any concern he may have felt was eclipsed by his own sense of relief. He was divine... and he followed his destiny. This was the clearest expression of his journey that he had heard, and he liked hearing it.
‘You should not be here, Gorlan,’ said the Guardian. ‘Your folk have no further ties to the beyond.’
‘Can she travel with me?’ offered Utha. ‘I owe her that much.’
More grumbling, no doubt linked to a deep thought of some kind. The immense voice said nothing without first ruminating upon it through a filter of animalistic sounds. It was evidently in no hurry. After a few minutes that felt like a few hours, the voice emitted a final grunt, as if it had decided upon something. Gradually, the walls began to change. To Utha’s left, the boulders parted and the ground beyond arced upwards, out of the labyrinth.
‘Do I get to see what you look like now?’ Utha asked.
‘Would that please you?’ responded the Guardian.
‘I like to know who I’m talking to. It might make me less anxious.’
A concerned purr filled the air. ‘Then you must approach. I do not wish you to be anxious. Though I must ask that you do not fear me.’
Utha turned and began to walk towards the voice, now coming from a definite direction. The lightning remained, but it now appeared far off, as if there was an invisible roof. The master of the realm had created a passageway through which the visitors could reach it. Once above the boulders, Utha could again see the chaotic lines of the labyrinth, spiralling in and out of straight passages and sharp corners. Most alarming was his view of the tear. From his elevated position, floating at an unimaginable distance from where he’d first entered the void, the rift was a plunging vortex of rushing energy, a thousand times larger than before. It was not simply a slice in reality, moving from void to form, but a divine scar, created by an enraged god. The tear was merely the way his mind interpreted the Footstep of the Forest Giant.
‘Utha, slow down,’ said Ruth, struggling to keep up with him. ‘I am not as swift here as you.’
He stopped and spun round, glaring at the Gorlan mother. ‘What the fuck do you want from me? I’ve kept you alive, not knowing I was doing it; I’ve taken you with me... I don’t even know where the fuck I’m going.’
‘But you feel a compulsion,’ interrupted the Guardian, sounding closer than before.
Utha turned from Ruth and strode upwards with purpose. Within a few strides he glanced down and saw the edge of the enormous labyrinth. A huge distance had been covered in a few minutes, demonstrating that the rules of the void were subject to change. Ahead of him, looming over the ethereal horizon, was a towering plinth of dark red stone, upon which perched a smouldering silhouette. The shape swayed and shifted position, as if getting comfortable on an armchair. It was still distant, but it must have been the size of a Kirin galley. It got larger with every step he took towards it.
‘Yes, I feel a compulsion,’ he replied. ‘Towards you and beyond. Somewhere out there are the Shadow Halls and I would reach them. I believe they only still exist because of me.’
‘You believe correctly,’ replied the enormous shape, now appearing to be sitting up on its haunches.
As the crackling lightning framed the silhouette, Utha got a glimpse of what he’d been speaking to. There was a rippling coat of flame that provided just enough illumination for the scaly reptile to be seen. Its head, the size of a large cart, was long and expressive, reminiscent of an old alligator. Its hind limbs ended in sharply clawed feet, though its front two stretched into sinewy wings that it gathered behind its spiny back. In the oldest tales of Tor Funweir, scribes would have called it a dragon, but Utha had thought them mythical beasts like unicorns and fairies. To see the fiery monster smiling at him through a mist of steam was both alarming and strangely amusing. A thousand swear words entered his head all at once, but all he could vocalize was, ‘What the fuck?’
‘My name was Kaa,’ boomed the Guardian, its long mouth enunciating each syllable and showing a ring of hooked teeth, larger than longswords.
Utha approached the plinth and had to keep raising his head to look the beast in the face. He was aware that Ruth ran to keep up with him, but couldn’t see her expression. Perhaps she was less awed than him... but he doubted it.
‘I am Utha the Ghost, last Old Blood of the Shadow Giants. I have been haunted by the staircase, the labyrinth and the Guardian for so long. I find that the reality – such as it is – is not haunting in the slightest. Though perhaps it would have been a year ago.’
‘Do you not fear me?’ asked Kaa, a strangely innocent glint in his warm, amber eyes.
‘You speak truth. To you I am no threat. But your companion seeks to cheat death. Would you allow her to?’
He stopped walking a good distance from the plinth. Beyond the seated Guardian he saw a mismatched structure of arches and tunnels, leading out of the realm. He’d have to forge his own path from here, perhaps dotting the umbral sky with good, solid Ro bridges of grey stone. But the question of what to do about Ruth was not one he could brush aside. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You’re trying to cheat death. Your time has come and you refuse to accept your end.’
‘Would you welcome death?’ she replied. ‘Or would you struggle for life?’
The Guardian sat up and his rumbling breath travelled, like a warm gust of wind, across the two small visitors. ‘An unfair question. He has not lived through strata of deep time as you have. He will also become a god, and should get used to solitude.’
Utha stared up at the huge, red dragon. A distant chime sounded in his mind, like an alarm call responding to the Guardian’s words. ‘A god? Truly?’
Kaa looked down at him, his reptilian face rippling like a contented feline. ‘The Shadow Halls beyond the world are yours to rebuild. The great Fire Giant would consider you an ally and would want your forest-dwellers to regain their strength. As the halls grow, so will you grow, and your followers will find their purpose once more.’
‘Forest-dwellers? Oh, yeah,’ he said, with resignation. ‘The one we loved and all that shit.’
Ruth hovered over his shoulder, concerned about her fate but too interested to interrupt. Kaa just looked at him with his brassy eyes, smiling broadly.
‘So, I’m going to be the god of the Dokkalfar?’ he asked. ‘I hope they like alcohol and women.’
The dragon hunkered down on his folded wings, looking at Utha from a lower position. He was still immense, but even though he had a mouth that could swallow ten men whole, Utha felt that he meant no malice or hostility.
‘And the Gorlan?’ asked Kaa. ‘What part of your hall will you give to her? You will be ages building your hall and regaining your strength before any mortal creature calls you a god. Would you have her as company?’
He looked at her. She was small and unassuming, though always, at the back of his mind, loomed the image of the huge spider. He had never liked her, from their first meeting in the Fell. She had trailed along with them, to Kessia and beyond, providing little more than a warm place for Randall to sleep. But her advice had never been wrong. For her own reasons, the Gorlan mother had given good counsel and contributed much to his journey.
‘I’m not fooling anyone,’ he muttered. ‘I can play at being a bad guy all I want, but I’d never condemn her to death.’
Ruth closed her eyes and breathed out, as if she’d been genuinely worried that he’d dismiss her.
‘Interesting,’ rumbled Kaa. ‘You are good-hearted. That, along with your power, will serve you well.’
‘My power?’ queried Utha. ‘If you know of it, you know more than me.’
‘Hmm,’ murmured the enormous dragon, padding on the plinth with his rear legs. ‘Let me tell you a story. There was once a Giant of Shadows – his name is lost to deep time, but he entered the void as a shy creature, nurturing the hope that kindness would allow him to prosper. Over time, his people, the Ljosalfar, became mighty in the realm of form. But kindness took him only so far. When the great Forest Giant, Shub-Nillurath, attacked his folk, the Shadow Giant sought peace and was denied. His beautiful Ljosalfar became the dark Dokkalfar, and his mind was shattered. But, as Shub-Nillurath has proven, killing a god is not easy, and the Shadow Giant kept his mind, but lost his might. He was struck down to the realm of form and denied his memory, forced to be born and grow as a mortal being among his fallen brethren. I believe he yet lives, fighting the Long War, with no knowledge of his past.’
‘And I’m his last descendant?’
‘You are the last drop of divine that is left to him. A dilution of a dilution, a thousand times removed, but still as powerful. Your blood travelled a long way to reside in your simple body. There is truly no limit to the might you can achieve, assuming you make the right allies.’
***
For every step he took, a hundred years and no years at all passed in the realms of form. Nothing that he understood had any meaning: up, down, left, right, solid, fluid. Nothing was locked in place or consistent in form. If it weren’t for his grey stone corridors and comforting fire-pits, Utha would be rather disoriented. He’d built a void path from the edge of the labyrinth to... somewhere. His instinct told him that the Shadow Halls were in a certain direction, but the pull was vague, as if it expected him to know the way. He was far from the realm of form, beyond battles and wars, and travelled further than the imagination of the oldest mortals with each step.
‘I can’t imagine Randall as an old man. Married with kids perhaps, in a shitty hut in the Darkwald.’
‘That is what occupies your mind?’ queried Ruth, reminding Utha that he was not alone.
‘It’s the last pleasant thought I have,’ he replied, resting on a comfortable sofa, next to a roaring fire and under an arched window. Beyond him, through the window, the void crackled with endless energy, but it did not intrude upon his creation. He’d created no doors and the room was almost cosy. When he had leisure, he’d add a nice bed, and maybe some water to wash with. But, for now, he was happy to be sitting down.
‘We’re still moving,’ said Ruth, sitting on a second sofa that Utha had been nice enough to create for her.
‘I got sick of walking. Think of this room as a void boat.’ He craned his neck to look out of the window and saw the rushing blue sky.
She smiled. ‘You see? You need no instruction. Your hall will be mighty and creatures of the beyond will learn to fear you. You will become a Giant, Utha the Ghost.’
He willed a frothing mug of ale to appear in his hand. It was rich and cold, gliding down his throat, the best drink he’d ever had.
‘May I have one?’ asked Ruth.
He looked at her across the froth as he took a deep swig. He wiped his mouth and nodded for a similar mug to appear on a low table next to her sofa.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘What shall we drink to?’
He paused, taking a deep, clear breath and feeling his mortal concerns fall away like leaves from an autumn tree. ‘To Randall, to Voon, to Torian, to Nanon... fuck, even to that scumbag Kirin, Rham Jas.’
They shared a drink of good Ro ale, before a better toast came into Utha’s mind. ‘One day I’m going to shove my booted foot up Shub-Nillurath’s arse. Let’s drink to my foot.’
She raised her mug after a small, demure sip. ‘To the boot of the Shadow Giant.’
EPILOGUE
INGRID WORE A thick green dress and boots with fluffy socks. It was still cold, but her happiness was enough to provide a cosy warm glow that even the lashing winds of Tiergarten couldn’t penetrate. Corvus was dead, but she knew he’d want her to be happy. She smiled, thinking of her friend and all the things she wouldn’t have done without him. She knew he was still there somewhere, maybe watching her from a cloud and cawing with glee. He’d be watching Alahan too... and Halla, and everyone who lined Kalall’s Steps, looking up at them. Hundreds and hundreds of people; everyone who hid during the battle and everyone who survived it. The remaining old men and their hammers had returned to the vault to give back the old weaponry, but they’d be honoured upon their return.
Her brother was hurt, but stood unaided, wincing and flexing his back every few minutes. Wulfrick was there, and had been within arm’s reach since the battle ended, though he didn’t seem to realize that he was now a dark-blood like Rham Jas Rami. She remembered Al Hasim telling her about his Kirin friend and the power he’d stolen from the horrible trees. She’d tell Wulfrick at some point, when they were safely back in
Fredericksand. For now, the huge man was just cross that he’d missed the battle.
‘Brothers and sisters,’ shouted Old Father Crowe, the scary man with the long beard. ‘We have won.’
A cheer rose from the city, travelling as a wave of relief as much as victory. Ingrid joined in, jumping up and down at the edge of the High Hold and making her brother smile. Behind her, an honour guard flanked Halla and Alahan.
‘My friends,’ continued Crowe, waving his hand and quietening the cheers. ‘Beyond our victory, I see great work that needs doing. There are men of Ursa who have surrendered and need attention. There are others who have fled to the Crystal Fork and need pursuing. But above this Fjorlan needs to be rebuilt, a new age of freedom, strength and honour. Rowanoco’s land is once again free.’ His cheeks were red from the effort of shouting, but his eyes did not waver. The old priest turned to face Halla and Alahan. He nodded at each of them, then turned back to the crowd. ‘I am a mere messenger, a humble servant of the Ice Giant, but I will bear witness to the words of the house of Teardrop, as will each of you.’
Alahan took a deep breath and strode forward. At the last moment, Ingrid grabbed his hand and made him turn back; he smiled broadly. She let go slowly, allowing him a minute without her to look after him. He joined Old Father Crowe at the top of Kalall’s Steps and rested his arms on the ornate stone railings.
‘I am Alahan Teardrop Algeson,’ he shouted, throwing his name into the air with defiance. ‘And I am the thain of Fredericksand. From this day forth, that is all I will be. I renounce the office of high thain; we have no further need of it.’ The crowd hushed, aware that he was discarding a title from the first days of Fjorlan. ‘I will look to Halla Summer Wolf Alephsdottir, thain of Tiergarten, as my equal – and my battle sister.’
The cheers were now deafening. These people loved Halla before she returned with an army and defended her city. Now she was their talisman and represented all they had won against Rulag the Betrayer. She still didn’t smile, but she looked less like an angry storm cloud as she joined Alahan at the railings, looking down Kalall’s Steps. The first female thain in Fjorlan’s history was dressed in a flowing golden cloak, over a thick leather jerkin and form-fitting trousers. Her long red hair was washed and formed a mantle across her shoulders. It was the first time Ingrid had seen her without armour and she actually looked like a woman. Behind her, grinning broadly, came Rexel Falling Cloud, his body a canvas of bandages and a thick crutch wedged under his armpit.
