Varkon growled dangerously but did not interrupt.
“Behind your defiant attitude and sneers, I can sense your fear. They will torture you most horribly before they let you die.”
Varkon turned away. “Well, Hargill,” he said roughly, obviously affected by Hargill’s words, “I am as good as dead. Now tell me, what is the real reason for this conversation?”
“I want to give you another path.”
Varkon remained with his face to the darkness.
“Take this boy to Ithrim. Do this, and I shall free you from this cage. You will live. Varkon, I know what sign you carry – you have failed on that path now. This is another way.”
Varkon spun back around with a laugh. “You might as well sentence me to death.” He then looked at Tyler as if for the first time, and he grimaced with disgust.
Tyler returned his look with equal levels of repulsion. Hargill is out of his mind, he thought.
“You are more stupid than I realised,” snapped Hargill irritably. “Accept my request and retain a chance at life, or commit suicide now by refusing it. Decide.” Varkon snarled, his proud face contorting with uncertainty for the first time. “So be it,” Hargill turned to walk away.
The creature said, “Wait.” Hargill paused. “I will do it. I will take the boy. Although I am simply exchanging one death sentence for another.”
Tyler could barely believe what he was hearing. “Hargill! This thing is an animal. I saw the murder in his eyes.”
“I will trust him,” said Hargill. “First, because I have no other choice in the matter. Second, because I know more about his kind’s ways than you might think.” He offered Tyler a reassuring smile and then strode back to the cage. “Swear you will protect this boy until he has safely reached Ithrim. Swear by your name, your honour – your Ruilk.”
Varkon stirred. His fathomless eyes lit dangerously.
“How do you know about that? The Ruilk is sacred knowledge Hargill Rohorn. Not even She or the Dhimori have the knowledge.”
“Ignorant ghatu! You have no idea.”
“What is a Ruilk?” interrupted Tyler. He was going to put an end to the questions. There had been far too many for his liking, and he had just about had enough.
“Yes, I’d better explain,” said Hargill hurriedly, as though he could not speak the words fast enough for his liking. “It’s important you know, Tyler, because you must trust one another. Although the ghatu are savage brutes—”
Varkon snorted. “We regard you mukwa similarly.”
“– They may be trusted if they swear by their Ruilk. It is engrained in a culture that stretches back through the eons to the tsu, Razik Hakru, who ruled a great many years ago. Perhaps Varkon will tell you more about him later. For now, understand it is an irrevocable oath which must be fulfilled no matter the cost. It is the ghatuan’s idea of a soul.”
Varkon gave three, slow claps. “I will humour you, Hargill, but I will not speak a Ruilk in a foreign tongue. Use the pebble to listen to what I say, if you do not trust me.”
Hargill only shook his head and beckoned with his finger. Varkon popped the Lingiun pebble from his mouth with a cheeky grin and handed it over. Without hesitation Hargill passed the befouled object through his own lips, but he visibly retched at its taste; it appeared Varkon’s saliva had all the textures and pleasantries of bile.
“Wak-riwa Ruilk kar baVi. Vaz gurak haVa dzagara jurii Varor fanza,” Varkon intoned dramatically. Hargill nodded and slipped the stone back to Varkon.
“It is done. I shall be the boy’s guide and protector to Ithrim, where my Ruilk shall be fulfilled, and then I will then go wherever I please.”
Hargill jammed up the latch on Varkon’s cage and stepped a distance backwards. “Do not fail the boy.” Then he shifted the grip on his weapon and strode away with mighty purpose, bidding Tyler to follow.
They came to a stop at the back of the stage. In normal circumstances Tyler would have been petrified at standing in such close proximity to an eight-foot, murderous beast, but the events of the night had numbed his senses. He no longer cared. His hair hung in front of his eyes, and his face was filled with hurt and bitterness.
A scream pierced the frigid night. It came from right outside the hall.
“Fight! Hold them off. Hargill is inside with Avalon!” thundered a desperate voice.
“Weaver!” Hargill smiled without humour. “So the old man has pulled through, right at the last. Tyler, we must hurry.” With that Hargill fell to his knees at Tyler’s feet, who felt far more alive now that the sounds of death were so near. “Tyler, do you trust me?” he asked. Hargill’s sandy hair was plastered against his brow with sweat, and the orange flicker from the burning village flamed a sickly hue on his cheeks. However, through the smog and dirt, the same, familiar face shone through.
“Yes.”
A shriek that might well have come from the depths of hell sounded from outside. Tyler covered his ears and a glass on the table visibly cracked to the pitch.
“What I am about to do is necessary for the preservation of order. If you accept, you will be changed forever – and not necessarily for the better. The rest of your days will be one of fleeing from what you do not understand and discovering old paths rarely trodden. It might be a tortured life, Tyler, a desperate and lonely one. Do you accept this fate?”
Tyler did not have the faintest idea of what Hargill was talking about. How could he become lonelier than he already felt? He was tired of games. “I trust you,” he repeated. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” Hargill whispered, and he could not look Tyler in the eyes. “I do not have a choice. Now has to be the time.”
Tyler felt himself sway. Perhaps he had lost a little more blood than he had thought. Hargill fumbled under the fur lining at his neck and brought forth a silver chain. An oddly smooth rock the size of bluebird egg was clamped to it. Had Hargill always worn this, secretly concealed beneath his clothing?
“Your hand,” said Hargill.
For some reason Tyler glanced at Varkon, who was watching on as impassively as a statue, and then he sighed and raised his hand. Hargill brought the strange stone above Tyler’s trembling palm, gripping it gently between his stubby fingers. Am I dreaming? thought Tyler, None of this feels real.
Hargill took a deep breath, and then he spoke in trembling voice.
Fair Avalon, I call thee now; thy hour has arrived.
For all around had rotted; the light has almost died.
Youth waits only for your blessing, the gift you freely gave.
A spider’s web shall bridge the worlds, and hope shall be remade.
Brilliant silver letters burnt across the stone. Suddenly Hargill twisted it with a neat flick, and it broke cleanly in half. A tiny black spider tumbled out of its hollowed interior and onto Tyler’s outstretched hand. He flinched, but before he could react any further, the creature bit him sharply.
“What the – ouch!” Tyler gasped. It was a sharp pain, but its intensity quickly faded. The spider, on the other hand, dropped to the ground and lay still, its tiny legs curled under itself as though to keep warm, even in death.
Hargill had been kneeling all of this time, and he said, “It is done.” He pressed the spider-rock into Tyler’s hand; it was whole again and unmarked. Warmth radiated from it as though deep down it had a pulse, as though it were alive.
Hargill had better explain himself now, Tyler thought. This was all too strange to remain a mystery.
But Hargill had nothing to offer but more secrets. “Let me be the first to greet you, Avalon-Qwa.”
“This has gone too far!” Tyler said. He realised he was practically yelling, but he did not stop. “I want the truth! Hargill, what have you just done to me?”
Hargill lifted two sad eyes to Tyler’s face. It was horrid to see such a great man humbled, but even so
Tyler left him kneeling. His rage had to be somehow spent.
“Haranio will explain. There is no time. I lied only to protect you, Tyler, and I hope with my entire being that one day you will understand why. Until then, remember that although much of what I have told you is false, this is true: I taught you this.” Hargill rested a shaking hand on Tyler’s heart. “Follow it.”
With sinking dread Tyler became aware of the silence of the night, more terrifying than any scream.
“Go!” bellowed Hargill, rising to his feet. “Run for your—”
Suddenly the torches in the hall exploded into long plumes of fire, Tyler’s hair singed as high flames licked at the bottom of the straw roof.
Varkon gripped Tyler’s shoulder. “We must go now! The Dhimori is here.”
Every window exploded inwards with a single, deafening boom. Hargill put all of his considerable weight behind him and kicked in the small door at the back of the hall that was used as a passage to the kitchens. The lock held, but the door smashed open to expose the cool arena of the night.
“Run! Or all is lost. You must reach Ithrim.”
Tyler glanced towards the great door at the back of the hall. Sprawling tentacles of fog leaked through every crack like gas. A sheet of bugs and insects burst from their misty depths, swarming the floor and walls in their millions. There was a slight waver, and then the monstrous door splintered apart, crashing downwards upon the deepening tide of bugs.
Beyond was utter darkness. A tall figure stepped forward and carried the night with him. It was the spiked demon Tyler had seen on the street, but now he bore a wide metal sword of teeth, and at his heels came the fiends of hell.
“DIE,” a voice said, but Tyler did not hear it. The voice originated from within his head like a sudden pain.
As Varkon pushed him out the door, Tyler caught one last glimpse of Hargill with both legs planted firmly astride, his sword raised above his glowing mane of hair. “Forgive me, Tyler!” he said sadly before turning to face the evil swarm.
Tyler fell through the door and into the night and cold.
“Run! His sacrifice will buy us time,” said Varkon.
If there was one instruction that Tyler had been given tonight that he understood, this was it. He ran. A streak of white shot past them and through the door that they had just left; it was an animal of some sort, and Tyler was glad they did not stay around long enough to find out more than that.
For a while they could see by the great triangle of flame that was the burning roof of the village hall, but as the trees around them grew more numerous, dull moonlight took precedence. There was only one bridge that spanned the river to the east, and Tyler led the way towards it, not knowing what else to do. With any luck they could make it across and then destroy it to hinder any pursuit.
They barely made it halfway. His ability to concentrate was hindered by his shock and heartache, and so Tyler ran directly into a group ghatu. There was a surprising variety, from small and runt-like to colossal giants, even in this party of eight. All were covered with twisting tattoos like Varkon’s. One particularly yellowed, hunched one jabbed a finger at Tyler and cried out, but the group made no move towards him. Instead they laughed and pointed.
One terribly confused moment later, Tyler realised why: they thought that Varkon was chasing him. Thankful for the lucky chance, he diverted around the nasty gathering and out of sight into the trees. Once he was sure he was safe, Tyler turned to give Varkon a look of relief – but Varkon was not behind him. Tyler stopped. He was alone. Had Varkon already betrayed his oath? Had he rejoined his ghatuan friends? Tyler knew he could not survive long without his companion, and so with a curse he turned back the way that he had come.
He did not have to travel far. Varkon was standing a small clearing, still and calm. He was facing a man in tattered, bloody clothes; Tyler could not see the man’s face. The stranger was crouching ahead of the ghatu, blood-stained sword raised threateningly.
“Right, ghatu,” the man rasped. “The time for honouring yourself has arrived.”
Tyler frowned. the voice was so familiar … “Glivin?”
Glivin jumped with surprise and half-turned, suddenly unsure of where to look. His forehead was cut deeply, and the blood from it dripped down his cheek. “Tyler? Tyler, what are you doing here? Run! Save yourself! I will hold this foul creature back.”
“The ghatu is sworn to me. Glivin, he is going to help me,” Tyler took a cautious step forward, fighting the frustration of the moment.
“Help you? He is a beast, Tyler. Don’t you understand that?”
The crosshatching of shadows concealed Varkon well, but Tyler could see the ghatu was coiled, ready to pounce at the right moment. It would not be long before they were discovered, given the din Glivin was making. The slow howl of a wolf sounded from nearby.
“Glivin, you must be quiet – there are ghatu all around! Hargill made Varkon swear an oath. Please trust me!” Tyler begged.
“You would put your trust in the devil?” questioned Glivin. “Fool,” he spat the word in a spray of blood.
“Remember what Hargill—”
Tyler’s plea was cut off by a sharp whistle. The spear struck Glivin through his chest, pinning him like a fly and sweeping him from his feet.
“Glivin! No!”
In two giant bounds, Varkon grabbed Tyler and flung him to the ground. From where he lay, shielded by his companion, Tyler could see where Glivin was sprawled, his handsome face staring with surprise from where it had been driven into the snow.
A second spear shrilled over their heads, and then Tyler was up and running, aware of the vulnerable width of his back. He glanced over his shoulder; the ghatu moved like salmon through the trees, screaming as they went because they realised Varkon had betrayed them.
A hidden root caught Tyler’s foot, and he staggered. It was hopeless – his legs were already numb, and the bridge was still a distance away. He had to take a risk, an act bred in the desperation of the moment. “Varkon, turn right now. The river!” Tyler suddenly changed direction, and he hoped Varkon understood. There could be no turning back.
They burst from the dense wood. A river raged not far ahead. Its speed was too quick for ice, and over the centuries it had cut down sharply into the earth to create a steep bank of fifty feet that ended in unknown depths and hidden rocks.
All is lost. I have failed Hargill already. Tyler launched himself over the edge with that thought. The snarls of the ghatu were behind him and immediately forgotten – not so with the screaming wind and swiftly approaching water. He slapped into the jet-black stream. The air ripped from his lungs, and the current yanked him with surprising savageness to the bottom of the river.
He clumsily thrashed his arms towards where he guessed up must be. I have remained here too long. The cold numbed his skin, thickening it to become senseless around his nerves. His struggling became less wild, and then his body went entirely slack so that he hung suspended, a ragged ghost in the darkening deep.
His hand broke the surface. Hope. One kick of his legs, and he burst to the surface with a spray of inky droplets and a giant intake of air. For a moment he flailed above the crashing stream, and then something hard bumped across his hand. He gripped at it and pulled with the last of his strength, until his body was clear of the water and he lay upon a low, wet rock. He was half slumped into the stream, but he could do no more.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE GHATU’S TALE
A fevered sun sank into the evening’s puffy clouds. Tyron’s boat dipped to the tune of the beating sea. After sitting back more comfortably in his little boat, he chuckled to himself at happy memories and fisherman’s tales. Once more his eyes flashed upwards to the sky, and then Tyron Re heaved his last, contented breath.
The darkness was absolute and dense. There was a movement, and then a tall form melted slowly into ex
istence from the surrounding black. Its clothes were ripped with spikes. Only the impenetrable dome of its iron mask held any light all, a tired, metallic sheen.
“YOU HAVE RETURNED,” a voice cried suddenly from inside Tyler’s head, as though it were being shouted into the back of his skull.
“BUT WEAK. PITIFUL,” the voice laughed. Tyler bent to his knees and clamped his hands over his ears. Still the laughter echoed in his burning mind.
He woke. It felt as though he had been asleep for an eternity, lost to ceaseless streams of nightmares. Grey granite hung close overhead, its face hard with veins of quartz and mica. This was not his bed. His most terrible nightmare had not been a dream. For a while he wept, and then he slowly gathered a little strength and took in his surroundings.
The cave was about a dozen feet long. A small fire burned with unexpected savageness at its centre, and the entrance had been covered with several large branches. Tyler was naked. He realised this and was suddenly shy about it, but soon he spotted his clothes draped over a long stick propped close to the fire. After slipping them on, he felt decidedly better. Whoever had rescued him had saved his life and had bandaged his wounded shoulder with several strips of dirty cloth.
The branches covering the entrance were pulled away. It was Varkon. The ghatu crawled across the floor on his hands and feet to the opposite side of the cave, looking more comfortable moving in this way than he did walking upright. “You live after all,” he growled as though he did not care either way.
“Yes.” Tyler paused before deciding not to let the conversation end there. “Thank you for bandaging my cut.”
Tyler's Dream Page 4
