by V M Jones
‘You’re saying there was something … wrong with him?’
‘At half a year the elders were muttering among themselves. I kept him hidden as best I could, pretended nothing was amiss … but always there was his breast-brother beside him, a dancing flame to his still shadow. The mind —’ she was talking to herself now, her words far away and full of pain — ‘the mind was whole! I knew it with a mother’s heart — saw the spirit shine from his eyes, bright as fire. But at a year, he was not able even to crawl upon his hands and knees, he just lay and smiled at me. Treat him as your own, Meirion said … and we did.’
I stared at her, unable to look away from those dark eyes gazing back into the past.
‘It is the way of our people. A hut was woven for him and ringed with fire; the songs of our ancestors offered him up to the stars. And at daybreak we left him.’
‘You left him? A little baby, helpless and alone?’
‘He was doomed! Ours is a harsh life, the land of Limbo bitter and unforgiving. The frail, the crippled, the ill, the old — all come to it in time. Oh, I begged, do not think I let him go easily … but none can argue with the ancient ways of the Tribe and the laws of the desert land.
‘Treat him as your own, Meirion said — and we did … we did.’
A gift from Blade
Later — how much later I don’t know — I found myself alone in the darkness, my larigot in my hand. The golden moon was setting over the far horizon.
I put my larigot to my lips and played: a farewell to the brother I had never known and the mother who loved him, my song mingling with the lament of the women and the wailing cry of gathering wolves. I played until the silver moon shone high and cold alone in the sky, fading with the dawn.
At first light we went our separate ways, a single hut marking the place the camp had been, the Lost Tribe of Limbo a straggle of dark figures melting into grey distance.
None looked back.
‘Where have you been?’ Jamie’s voice was an indignant squawk. ‘Borg’s been ropeable! It’s after dinnertime on the second day, and you promised Lyulf —’ He broke off and stared at me, eyes wide. ‘What … where’s …’
‘Later, Jamie. Adam needs to sit down and have something hot to drink.’ I started to shake my head, but Rich took my arm and drew me to the campfire. ‘You do and you will, whether you want to or not.’
I sat; took the cup of hot broth Kenta pressed into my hands. Sipped it and gazed into the fire, dimly aware of Rich taking the others aside and whispering to them.
Borg stumped up and stood glaring down at me, arms akimbo. He looked far from pleased, but a smouldering excitement beneath his scowl told me he had something different on his mind. ‘So you’re back. High time too — we have our first tournament tomorrow. Gather round, all of you!’ The others clustered round, Blue-bum clambering onto my lap and chittering up into my face with an anxious monkey frown. The Masked Man took up his place on the far side of the fire, Blade beside him; Lyulf settled on a log with his usual cat-like grace.
‘Tomorrow we enter our first town,’ growled Borg. ‘None of our seasoned gladiators are sufficiently recovered to fight — which means it’s down to you, for better or worse. Tomorrow, your lives as gladiators begin in earnest. If you perform well, riches and even fame await. If you do not …’ he paused, then drew a flat hand across his throat and made a gurgling sound. ‘As first-time performers, there are a number of things you need to know. Firstly, our entrance into town …’
I tried to concentrate on what Borg was saying, but my brain was numb and the words — important as I knew they were — bounced off unheard.
But the hot broth was warming me, thawing something I’d thought frozen forever deep inside. The loss of Zenith changed everything … and yet it changed nothing. My quest was still the same. My mind groped blindly for the familiar words:
When twain is one and one is twain
Wind blows and sun shines forth again;
When man is child and child is man
True King will reign in Karazan.
Jamie had said they could only mean one thing, and at the time that meaning had seemed as clear as day. The two of you need to be together again for everything to get back to normal. But now Jamie’s interpretation seemed childish, almost naïve in its simplicity … because now I saw there was another meaning.
First there had been one baby, then two … and now there was only one again.
And the child I’d been only a day ago had transformed overnight into a man — a man in whose hands alone rested the future of Karazan.
‘You have all learned well.’ Lyulf’s voice brought me back to the present. Borg’s briefing was over; he and the Masked Man were gone, the fire burned down to glowing embers. ‘Put your trust in your skill and you will have nothing to fear.’
Blade stood, reaching into the leather pouch that hung at her waist. She seemed different: lit up inside with a radiance that shone from her dark eyes like candles. She moved round the circle, giving something to Kenta, then Gen. ‘Here.’ Her words were deliberately offhand, but we knew her well enough to tell that this was important. ‘These are for you.’
My turn came. She pressed something small and soft into my palm and closed my fingers round it, holding my hand for a moment in her firm, cool grip. Her eyes met mine in a smile. ‘Courage and strength, Whistler,’ she said softly, and moved on.
I opened my hand. There in my palm was a soft leather drawstring bag on a thong.
‘Our talismans …’ Kenta murmured. Borg, Blade and Lyulf all wore them: it was no secret that Borg kept the keys to the weapons chests in his, a symbol of his authority he flaunted at every opportunity. We’d never seen Blade without hers, or Lyulf without his scuffed suede one, as much part of him as his rough red hair — but we had no idea what was in them.
‘Your talismans,’ agreed Blade cheerfully. ‘I have crafted them for you — the only time I ever willingly wield a needle rather than a sword.’ She was suddenly serious. ‘Choose what you keep in them with care.’
‘What kind of thing should it be?’ Jamie wondered, opening his up and peering hopefully inside.
‘Your luck,’ said Lyulf grimly, ‘whatever that may be.’
I offered to take first watch, stoked up the fire and sat quietly watching the flames. Any luck I had was inside me, but I knew what I’d keep in my leather pouch. My ring; a whisker from a little cat in a far-away world; a grey striped feather that could mean something … or nothing.
A voice spoke quietly beside me. Lyulf. I hadn’t heard him come — but who ever did? ‘You did not find what you sought?’
‘No. And yet … perhaps I did.’
‘We do not always search for that which we are meant to find.’
We watched the fire together in silence. Then we spoke, at the same moment, almost the same words:
‘I’m going to have to leave —’
‘I will soon be moving on —’
We each broke off, gesturing to the other to go on; but it was me who continued, finding the words as I went along. ‘I need to leave. There’s something I have to do.’
‘Will you take your companions with you?’
‘I don’t know. I’d like to — if they can come. But I have a feeling …’
‘… that some paths are made to walk alone.’
I glanced at him. He was no stranger to those paths, I knew … and suddenly I wished I could talk to him, tell him about Zenith, my quest, everything.
A shadow shifted beyond the firelight. ‘Our friend walks late,’ Lyulf murmured. ‘The shades of the wildlands hold no fears for him, it seems.’ His tone changed. ‘And what of the morrow, Whistler? Your friends take courage from you, you know — even Tornado.’
Two days before I’d have been a jumble of nerves, agog with queasy excitement at the prospect of putting my new-found skills into practice. But now I hardly cared; it was what lay beyond that was filling my mind. ‘I don’t know,’ I admitted.
‘One more day can’t make much difference. I’ll stay and fight with the others, I suppose. How about you? Will you fight too?’
‘No. My fighting days are over.’
‘But …’
‘I am a teacher now, remember?’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘And if you learn nothing else from me, Whistler, learn this: every strength has a weakness, and even the creatures of darkest nightmare may be vanquished by the light.’
Blunderbuss
Morning came — the morning of the gladiator tournament.
Blade and Lyulf gobbled down their bowls of burnt porridge with gusto, but no one else seemed hungry. Even Blue-bum, whose only role consisted of collecting the takings, sniffed at his little dish and pushed it away. ‘At least we’ve got a cast-iron excuse not to finish it today,’ muttered Jamie, looking green.
‘I feel the same as before an exam when I know I haven’t done nearly enough work to scrape through,’ agreed Rich queasily — and from the girls’ faces I could see they felt the same.
We cleared the breakfast things away, Lyulf scraping bowl after bowl of uneaten porridge into the glonk manger without comment, to be hoovered up by Gloom, who’d eat anything.
As we were packing to leave Richard sidled up to me, his amulet in his hand. ‘Adam, I was wondering … you know what Lyulf said last night, about luck? Well, I don’t really have any — not the sort you can put in a bag, anyhow. I was awake half the night worrying about it. That … and other things.’ He flushed. ‘Then I remembered: the magic mosaic that turns salt water fresh. That was lucky for me. And I wondered …’
‘Of course you can have it.’ I fished it out of my pocket and handed it over. ‘I gave it to you before, remember … you just didn’t take it.’
With a grateful grin Rich slipped it into his pouch and headed off to pack his stuff, his confident swagger back in place.
Borg had been banging about impatiently, swearing and snarling and getting in everyone’s way. ‘Right — gather round!’ he barked when we were finally ready. All we were taking was the trailer — the caravans would stay where they were in the shelter of the trees, guarded by the men. ‘Remember, we don’t know who you’ll be pitted against. We’ll begin with a demonstration bout to warm up the crowd; then, if we’re the only troupe, we’ll invite challenges from the public. In that case the combat will not be to the death — unless the challenger wins, of course.’ He gave a wolfish smile. ‘If there is another circus in town, the ringmaster and I will set up bouts between evenly matched contestants, based on our assessment of your abilities.’
‘Lyulf’s assessment, he means,’ whispered Blade. ‘Don’t worry — Lyulf won’t let you fight anyone you’re not ready for.’
‘And at worst, you will fight each other.’
‘What?’ Rich was on his feet, aghast. ‘Fight each other? We won’t!’
The crooked corner of Borg’s mouth twisted. ‘It states in your contract that you will,’ he snarled. ‘And remember — a carnival atmosphere will draw good crowds and loosen purse-strings. I want to see smiles and laughter, not long faces. Anyone would think you were headed for a funeral! The Whistler has his instrument, and for the rest of you …’ He flung open the lid of a wooden chest on the tailgate of the trailer. A jumble of percussion instruments filled it.
Blade stepped forward and took up a tambourine; Lyulf the wooden xylophone. ‘Bags I the drum!’ said Rich, ‘I can bang that as well as anyone.’ Kenta chose castanets and Gen a triangle, and Jamie the brass cymbals. Even Blue-bum scrambled up and peered inside, but all that was left was a battered-looking pair of old gourds. He picked one up and shook it, giving a chitter of approval at the unexpectedly loud rattling sound.
So — on the surface at least — it was a festive parade that made its discordant way towards the town. Borg stamped along at the front, twisted smile fixed in place, looking more like a crazed axe-murderer than ever; at the rear, in charge of the trailer with its grim-looking cargo of coffin-shaped caskets, strode the Masked Man, his expression hidden as always, his thoughts impossible to guess.
By the time we reached the centre of the town we’d attracted every man, woman and child in the village the way a magnet draws iron filings: they crowded round, pretty girls casting us demure glances from under their lashes, men muttering and pointing and fingering their purses, little children staring at us and giggling at Blue-bum, then shrieking and rushing away to hide behind their mothers, who stood on the fringes of the crowd tut-tutting and craning their necks for a better view.
The village green was our first real reminder that we were deep in the Borderlands, where gladiatorial sports ruled. Instead of the usual smooth expanse of grass and few scattered trees, a deep bowl-shaped depression had been excavated in its centre, its flat bottom thickly strewn with sawdust. The prime spots on the sloping sides were already taken, mostly by boys about our age jostling for position, yelling comments, whacking each other with wooden swords and generally larking about like anyone given a day off school to watch a circus.
On one side of the arena a steep-sided cutting gave access to a kind of backstage area for the gladiators, divided into two — one for each opposing team, I assumed. Makeshift sackcloth screens gave some privacy, though at any time half a dozen grubby faces could be seen peering through, hissing urgent questions: ‘Mister, mister, who be you?’ ‘What be your name, then?’ ‘Can I see your sword?’ and — most often — ‘What be your tally?’, one it took me a moment to work out.
Borg and Lyulf erected a brightly painted billboard on top of the embankment, and in moments it was surrounded by a pushing, shoving mass of people. ‘What does it say?’ Gen quavered. ‘What are they so keen to see?’
‘The names of the contestants,’ answered Blade over her shoulder, busy arranging our weapons for inspection by the officials. ‘They hope to see ones that are known to them.’
‘Lyulf — I mean Wolf Flame — is his name there?’ asked Jamie in a loud whisper.
‘Hush, Blunderbuss! Nay, nor has it been since he laid down his sword. The one time a ringmaster made the error of advertising Wolf Flame’s presence he was gone by sundown, never to return. And he never fights now, of course, not since —’ At that moment Lyulf appeared from nowhere with his customary suddenness, and Blade fell silent.
Well, I thought, if it’s big names they’re wanting they’ll be disappointed … but I was wrong.
Soon there was a jostling crowd at the makeshift doorway, clapping and chanting, hooting and whistling. ‘What do they want?’ asked Kenta nervously. ‘Why are they shouting?’
But as the chant settled into a steady rhythm, there could be no mistaking it: ‘Blade! Blade! BLADE! BLADE!’
Blade blushed furiously and bent her head closer to the bright array of steel. But Lyulf put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It is your moment of glory,’ he said quietly; ‘and well-earned. Go to them — I will take care of the swords.’
Borg was striding up and down the top tier of the grandstand, bellowing fearsomely. ‘Roll up! Roll up, friends and townsfolk! This is your chance to see the skills of the most famed gladiator troupe in the Borderlands: TROUPETALISMAN! Dig deep into your pockets, my friends, for the more you give, the harder my warriors will fight — and the more blood you will see flow! Where be the champions among you? Who has the courage to face the might of the Masked Man — the skill of the Whistler and Crystal? Who among you dares face the incomparable BLADE?’
‘He’s winding them up,’ hissed Rich above the roar of the crowd. ‘So far we’re the only troupe — and if the villagers don’t come to the party …’ He was interrupted by a great clash that made the air tremble. Borg was holding up a massive circular shield; again and again he struck it with the hilt of his sword, a series of deep booms ringing out and silencing the crowd. I could see Blue-bum skipping over the crowd at head-height, hopping from shoulder to shoulder; he clambered down onto the stage dragging a leather helmet full of chinking silver coins, grinning and chittering
as more coins pattered down all round him.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready to begin! I am proud to announce our first bout, a demonstration of skill between the celebrated Blade …’ the air shook with cheers and wolf-whistles as Blade strolled nonchalantly out, raising her hand in casual acknowledgement of the uproar; ‘and the sensational, the spectacular … Blunderbuss!’
Jamie strutted onto the stage, pink-faced and bowing to left and right. I blinked. There was a perky confidence about him that didn’t add up — even for a demonstration bout, the Jamie we knew would have been cowering under the trailer paralysed with terror, not parading about as if he owned the show.
We stood staring as Jamie and Blade took up their positions in the arena, turned to face the crowd and bowed low. ‘She won’t hurt him …’ Gen’s voice was the merest tremble ‘… will she?’
‘Watch.’ Lyulf’s face was as expressionless, but something in the set of his mouth made me wonder. He knew something we didn’t.
They turned to face each other, Blade slim and upright in her customary black, poised for action, long blade in her right hand, dagger in the left. She was wearing a cloak, I noticed, which she’d never done in practice.
As for Jamie … suddenly one of the few toys there’d been at the orphanage popped into my mind. Battered and faded, the paint long gone: a chubby little wobble-man with a lead weight in his base that made him bounce back up whenever you pushed him over. One day someone threw him across the room and the weight shifted, and from that moment on the wobble-man never stood upright again. I pushed the thought away.
Jamie had a short sword in one hand and a lightweight shield in the other. Now the cocky, confident expression had been replaced by one of almost comical terror. He held up the shield and peeked at Blade over the top. There were some boos and catcalls from the crowd. She advanced stealthily, leading with her right foot, narrow-eyed; Jamie backed away. Their swords touched — left-right-left — and then Blade brought the flat of her sword down on Jamie’s head with what looked like enough force to shatter his skull. Behind me I heard the girls gasp. Jamie keeled over like a skittle — and then he was somersaulting backwards like a roly-poly piece of tumbleweed, Blade — caught wrong-footed — chasing after him. Next instant, impossibly, he was on his feet again, bouncing up as if he had springs in his legs; he leapfrogged over the crouching Blade and spun to face her. Now Blade was moving more cautiously, circling him warily, keeping her distance. The crowd was utterly silent.
