by Sam Bowring
‘My lord Apprentice,’ he said.
‘Tyrellan?’
‘My lord. For two decades I have borne this insect that dogs my every move. I have asked the Shadowdreamer about it, but he has much to attend to. Perhaps this prevents him from seeing what an insult it is to have such a creature living freely in the castle, such a joke upon us by the light.’
‘Upon you especially, Tyrellan,’ said Losara.
Tyrellan’s jaw tightened. ‘Yes, lord.’
Ahead, their way widened into the grey light of a chamber. From within came the sounds of birds squawking and a deep-throated call like that of a cow.
‘Heron has told me of legacy spells,’ said Losara. ‘She says they are impossible to undo.’
‘So the Shadowdreamer has told me.’
‘Would you have me ask the gods about it?’
Tyrellan dropped to a knee, effectively halting their progress. ‘If anyone knows how to break such a spell,’ he said, ‘it must be them.’
‘If indeed it can be broken,’ said Losara. ‘Not even the gods are all-powerful, I think.’
‘If it can be broken, lord,’ Tyrellan echoed.
Losara nodded. ‘I will ask them,’ he said, ‘if I can. Now come. I’m eager to be on my way.’
•
The head of the castle aviary, a Graka, introduced Losara to the creature he would ride to Frake. It was called a whelkling, and looked like a hybrid of dragon and mammal. It was roughly the size of a cow, with stumpy legs and wide circular hooves. These were close enough to the body so they didn’t drag in the wind, but made the animal very low on the ground. Of the dragon there was a serpentine tail and great leathery wings splayed out from its shoulders. Its face was long with a wide snout, a milky eye positioned on each side of its head.
Slapping it on the rump, the Graka said, ‘Yep, these old sky carts aren’t as common as they once were.’ Staring at the ungainly, moronic-looking thing, Losara wasn’t surprised. ‘Be patient with this one, lord. He’s getting on, which means he’s even more stubborn. We don’t send him out much these days, but he knows the way to Frake well enough. Does runs to get fresh fish for the Dreamer’s kitchens, so you might have to forgive the smell. I’ve walked him around Skygrip a few times just now to loosen his muscles, so you should be all right.’
Tyrellan stepped forward and smacked the Graka across his ebony skull. ‘ Should be all right?’ he snarled. ‘Is the beast sound or not? This is Battu’s Apprentice, you snivelling streak of shit, not a sack of fish!’
Things did indeed seem a little shaky as they first dropped from the aviary cave high in Skygrip. The beast did not find its balance immediately, and Losara hung grimly to its neck as they plummeted. Then the great wings spread and the whelkling began to flap powerfully, giving its deep-throated call. They climbed southwards, passing over Gravewood. A fell cry went up at their passing, and though Losara searched hard for its source, the tops of the skeletal leafless trees formed a tangled and chaotic canopy. They rose until the Cloud was a few paces above them, and here the whelkling finally levelled out. Losara had never been so close to the Cloud, and could see sunlight shining in the upper reaches. He found himself disquieted that nothing separated Fenvarrow from the sun but this layer of suspended moisture. Far below the land spread out gloriously, blue with grasses, dotted with farms and woods. Snaking roads ran between towns and villages, and streams glistened like silver threads spilled from some celestial sewing box.
Losara had flown in the dream, but always in a sleepy, foggy state. Now the world was crisp and clear and tangible. The icy wind against his skin made him feel alive, and it was magnificent to be free of Skygrip. For the first time he could remember, he was cut off from the walls and floors of the castle, from proximity to the Breath, from the powerful shadows that had saturated him his entire life. Never had he felt more inside his own body, more awake. Surprisingly, he found himself thinking of Lalenda, still trapped in Skygrip without the space to fly freely. He knew she’d like to have been here too, and felt sorry that she wasn’t.
Hours passed and they came within sight of the Black Sea. Where the Cloud met the horizon, it was like looking into the mouth of an immense cave. If the gods chose not to receive him, that was where he’d be left floating, and he knew a moment of doubt.
The Cloud dropped away above them as they began to descend. Closer to the land he spotted a bay that housed a town of rickety buildings. Boats were moored to jetties, and further out to sea were other vessels hauling their nets through dark waters. Blue pinpricks glowed, ice lanterns set against the dusk, and not for the first time Losara wondered about the deeper relationship between shadow and light. Shadow was not total darkness, and even the keenest night vision benefited from some light. Could shadow exist without it?
To the east of the village was a steep hill with a circular temple on top, and this appeared to be the whelkling’s target. It hovered for a moment, then began to drop in jolts and spurts. It sent up a spray of dust as it neared the ground, then finally drew in its wings and simply fell the last pace, landing with a grunt. It draped its wings and hollered, and Losara knew he was being told to get off.
Sliding down onto the path on which they’d landed, he became aware of the stiffness in his muscles. Stretching, he glanced around at the temple grounds. They were earthy and flat, dotted by smooth trees hung with pale pears. In the distance he heard the crash of waves, the cries of sea birds, and activity in the village below. Then came footsteps and priests emerged from the temple. They wore long brown cloaks over bulgy bodies, with hoods hanging over their squashed heads. All had rubbery pebbled skin, though the colour differed from dull pink to brown, grey and green. Some wore ornate rings on their upward-curving tusks.
‘Hail, Apprentice,’ one of them gurgled, stepping forward. ‘I am Head Priest Grepra. Welcome to the Temple of Assedrynn.’
These were the Vorthargs who would put him in a boat and watch him drift away.
•
The next morning Bel marched towards the stables with a spring in his step. Drel might be no further than two days’ ride away, but it seemed like the other side of the world. The excitement even managed to dull the twanging in his heart, the disappointment that he had not seen Jaya last night as planned.
He arrived to find some of the troop already loading packs onto horses, and Corlas waiting. ‘Where have you been?’ said his father.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bel. ‘I’m right on time.’
Looking at Corlas’s somewhat haggard appearance, he wondered if he’d experienced a restless night. He knew his father was worried – as were Fahren and Naphur – that he might face more than just huggers on this journey. What they didn’t know was that he welcomed the chance to strike back at those who threatened him.
‘Yes,’ said Corlas, glancing at the sky. ‘Munpo says you are getting along with the troop?’
‘Most are friendly enough,’ said Bel. ‘Though I get the impression they’ll reserve judgement until I’ve lived a day on the battlefield.’
Corlas nodded. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘you remember what I told you? Green huggers are camouflaged amongst the trees. When the forest goes quiet you can be sure they are close. Birds and beasts catch their stink first, so they will be your early warning.’
‘Yes, Father,’ Bel said absently as he strapped a leather breastplate over his shirt. He’d been over this with Corlas already, and again with Munpo.
‘Keep your eyes upwards –’
‘Because they drop out of the trees,’ finished Bel, and laughed. ‘Father, I know this.’ He put his hands on Corlas’s shoulders. ‘I’ll be all right, old hero. You’ve taught me well. Of course, it helps that I’m damned good anyway.’
‘Respect the danger,’ said Corlas sternly. ‘Huggers are murderous wretches. Do not be overconfident.’
‘I won’t have time to be overconfident. I’ll be too busy filling the air with blood.’
‘Bel …’
&nbs
p; ‘All right,’ chuckled Bel. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise. That’s what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?’
Corlas grunted. Then he unbuckled the scabbard from his belt, which housed the shine-streaked sword he’d carried since his return to Kadass. ‘Take this,’ he said. ‘It is a stronger blade than you carry.’
Bel was taken aback. ‘I can’t. It’s yours.’
‘It is a battle blade,’ said Corlas. ‘It lusts after the cut. A taskmaster does it no justice.’ Without waiting for a response, he reached down to unsheathe Bel’s sword and slide the shine blade firmly in its place.
‘There,’ he said. ‘And yes, you be careful, soldier – the whole time.’ He gave Bel’s arm a hard squeeze. ‘Now off you go.’
•
Losara sat up in bed with a gasp. Blinking, he tried to focus on his surrounds, taking a moment to remember where he was. Normally, when he went to sleep in Skygrip, he would drift slowly away from himself, connecting through the castle walls to the dim awareness of the shadowdream. When he awoke from the dream, it was a slow and self-aware rise to the surface, and even as he opened his eyes he was not yet contained inside his own body. Thinking back on it, he realised how much he had taken to wandering the corridors still half in the dream. Maybe he had never really slept in Skygrip, and maybe he had never really been awake either.
Last night he had lain in the bed for hours, waiting for unconsciousness to seize him. It turned out natural sleep was a mystery to him and he’d no idea how it was meant to work. Obviously he must have achieved it, for he’d just become rudely aware of himself again as if born from a void. He tried to recall the point when sleep had taken him, and could not. It was very curious. Flipping back the bedcover and rising, he promised himself he would take more notice of how Skygrip affected him. Now that he was aware of it, he could control it more easily when he got back.
He dressed in black trousers and a dark blue vest, took a long drink from the water pitcher by the bed, picked up his satchel and left the room. Outside the priests waited, sitting cross-legged under brown cloaks, looking like ant hills.
‘Ah,’ said Grepra, rising smoothly. ‘Come. Others are waiting with your boat.’
The priests led on, bobbing almost comically on their concealed bandy legs. They went through grey corridors and out of the temple, making their way down the hill. The hillside was soft and damp, peppered with spiky sea grasses and salt-encrusted bushes. The path levelled out into the village where it joined a muddy street. As they moved through clusters of buildings, villagers stopped to stare – mostly Arabodedas, Losara noted. One called out, ‘Safe journey, lord,’ as they passed.
It didn’t take long to reach a pebbly beach where a simple rowboat was moored to the shore. It had a single wooden bar for a seat, two oars fixed in position, and was big enough for just one person. Grepra produced a cloth package tied with string. ‘Provisions,’ he said. ‘It is some days to the Isle if you head straight and true. If you don’t, who knows? Maybe it will take many days, or all the days left in your life.’
The priest held a suckered hand towards the boat. Losara waded into the chill shallows and stepped unsteadily into the rocking vessel. On the shore, Grepra untied the rope and threw it after him.
‘The priests of Assedrynn commend you,’ called Grepra. ‘May he find and guide you, there and back.’
‘There and back,’ echoed Losara, turning to stare at the horizon. Black cloud and black sea.
‘We will watch for you, Apprentice,’ called Grepra. ‘Now row!’
•
As the walls of his home disappeared behind him, the wind at his back seemed to urge him on. East they rode on powerful horses, across the grasslands of Borgordus.
‘Come on, Blade Bel!’ Keit called beside him. ‘Last one to Drel eats goblin loincloths!’
Bel laughed, joy shining in his amber eyes as a wider world rose up to meet him.
•
Soon the coastline was a streak in the distance, only the cliffs visible above water. Losara rowed with the current, which gripped the craft so strongly that he couldn’t have turned back if he’d wanted to. Finally the risks seemed real, yet he rowed resolutely towards the oncoming dark.
Nineteen
Good Spirit
‘The town of Treewith,’ called Gredda. The troop approached cross-country from the west and entered the town in fading light. It was a clean and orderly place, built in a valley between low hills, its houses painted green like the surrounding land. The Treewith Inn, where they were to stay, was three storeys high, with a warmly inviting glow in the lower windows.
‘Stable’s round the back,’ Bel heard the innkeeper telling Munpo. ‘It’s not often we have so many horses at once, but I’m sure we’ll manage.’
Bel slid from his saddle and led his horse to the stables, contemplating his own desire for sleep. Previously he’d only ridden short distances – how could he have done otherwise while confined to the Halls? – and the long day over hills and fields had given him all kinds of aches. Once his raging appetite was satiated, nothing would hold him from his bed.
From the eaves of a nearby shop, a pair of blood-drop eyes followed his progress.
•
Soon enough, Bel slept. In his dreams he was battling huggers, untouchable as they broke like waves upon him. For some reason Jaya was there, watching admiringly from a tree. Bel saved his troop mates time and again, including Munpo, who was suddenly not so deft with his sword.
In the rafters above, Iassia ruffled his feathers with pleasure. All these years Corlas had hidden behind the wards, making it impossible for Iassia to invoke his ‘favour’ and have the father kill the son. The weaver had been limited to hovering about the perimeter, questing into passing minds for any titbit of information – yet it seemed that finally Corlas had taken a risk. Did he think that Iassia had lost patience with his task? Twenty years was nothing to a weaver, and in fact Iassia had enjoyed his time in the region. The small settlements and villages around Kadass had proved entertaining, containing an abundance of weak minds to toy with. His favourite had been the old woman who’d fallen into a gully at the back of a farm and broken her leg. Iassia had hidden in the branches above her, deflecting the attention of her family as they searched, so that they could hear her yet not find her. Her misery had been sublime. It was good to have a holiday.
Today the waiting had paid off. A troop of soldiers thinking loudly about a controversial new recruit had led Iassia straight to Bel. Below him now, the boy lay unguarded and asleep, and Iassia worked through ideas as he watched him. He was loath to involve any of Battu’s other servants, even if they were more capable of inflicting physical harm. This was his prize, long waited for! He staved off making a decision with a compromise: he would do a little reconnaissance, and if he didn’t find a way of dispatching Bel easily, he would then contact the distant dark lord.
With Bel asleep, Iassia could attempt a total invasion of his mind, putting himself wholly inside it. He opened the gates that held his consciousness in and floated invisibly down towards the bed. Behind him a thread of awareness connected him to his own body, unfurling as he went. As he entered Bel’s mind he became aware of the surface thoughts first. They had a certain texture to them – the man was confident, arrogant, vain. Iassia delved deeper …and suddenly knew he’d made a mistake. It was like stepping out expecting footing yet finding none. A void opened up beneath him and he fell, spinning wildly. He had to hold himself tightly to stop himself unravelling. What was this? Never before had he come across such a gap inside someone, a place where there should have been thought, personality, soul and yet there was nothing. He searched for a way out, but in the confusion his string of awareness had snapped. It was all he could do to move, struggling through the void as if trapped in tar. After what seemed like eternity he finally rediscovered the formed part of Bel. With his strength almost at an end and desperate to reconnect with his own body, he tapped into Bel’s senses, and despair
ed.
Bel was riding through grassy fields surrounded by the rest of the troop. Iassia’s struggle had lasted through the night and into the next morning, and now his body was leagues behind them, silent in the rafters of the tavern room – too far away for him to reach. Unwillingly he settled back into Bel’s mind, waiting for strength to return.
•
Bel found the second day of riding harder than the first. He was on edge, and dogged by the oddest sensation – as if there was something almost audible just below other sounds, more sensed than heard. Several times he turned in his saddle thinking he’d heard a voice beside him, and found nobody.
Night had fallen by the time they reached Drel. The town lay on the edge of Drel Forest, surrounded by high walls of wood planking, with soldiers patrolling them on an inside platform. One wall bordered the forest, and there was evidence there that trees had been cut back recently, presumably to stop the huggers from swinging into town. Double doors as high as the walls swung slowly inwards as the troop approached, and a soldier came striding out to meet them.
‘I’m to show you to the barracks, sir!’ he called to Munpo. ‘The town commander waits for you with the Citizen Prime.’
Munpo nodded, and the soldier led them into town. The main road was a wide dirt path lined by simple buildings of unpainted wood. Light came from the inn as they passed, but Bel heard nothing of laughter or song. The only sounds were hooves clomping and trees rustling in the forest outside. Even the draught horses penned in yards were strangely quiet. They passed many stacks of logs, timber being the town’s livelihood. The few townsfolk on the streets were burly and strong, and they saw no children. There was an air of disharmony, and the wind blowing in from the forest seemed to carry the smell of menace. Bel rode his horse past a porch where two old loggers sat watching, glowing pipes hanging from shadowy faces.
