“Lucky for you I found some healing medicines.” Varkon gestured to where several bushels of leaves and herbs were strewn across the floor. Another pause. This time Varkon broke it. “We will eat rabbit tonight.”
“Good,” Tyler said uncertainly, wondering how Varkon had managed to catch a rabbit without a weapon. “How long have I been unconscious?”
Varkon crouched beside the fire and began to slice the rabbit with his claws and teeth into strips of meat. He was quite efficient at it. “Since the night before last.”
“What?” exclaimed Tyler. “I’ve been unconscious for two days?” Varkon seemed too busy to reply. Tyler realised he had probably answered his own question. “Where are we now?” he wondered, looking about the cave for a second time. In truth he was also trying to distract himself from the heartless butchery of the rabbit.
“Twelve leagues downriver from where your village used to be.”
Where it used to be, Tyler repeated angrily in his mind as his heartache rose to the surface of his thoughts again. Dumb ghatu. He ignored the snub as successfully as he had so far managed to ignore the rabbit. “I think this might be the furthest I’ve ever been from home.”
Varkon glanced momentarily up from his bloody business. “Twelve leagues? This is the furthest you’ve ever travelled?”
“Yes.”
There was a grunt of bewilderment from the ghatu. “Well, it was no miracle that brought you this far today.”
“How …?” started Tyler.
“I found you by chance, washed up on a rock,” interrupted Varkon, anticipating Tyler’s question. “You were close to death, so I carried you to cover.” He picked up the stick on which Tyler’s clothes had been drying and began to skewer it with slabs of meat. “Your face was blue and your pulse faint, so I risked a fire. By morning you seemed to have regained some of your … pinkness.” Varkon narrowed his large eyes amusedly. “I have carried you since, running with you slung over my back. The speed was necessary because we – or rather, you are being chased.”
“By the Dhimori? Me? You mean both of us,” Tyler corrected.
The ghatu surveyed him darkly as he began to cook the meat. “You,” he growled definitively. “It makes me wonder, boy. I hope you are not hiding something from me that I should know.”
“I’m not hiding anything. Isn’t it more likely that your desertion or—”
Varkon dropped the meat. In a flash he had crossed the cave and grabbed Tyler’s throat, squeezing it so tightly that there was no chance of him being able to draw a breath. “I did not betray my kind. I will return to them as soon as I have finished with you.” The ghatu’s eyes deepened into chasms of fury, his nostrils flared with hate. “It may be that I am required to see you through to your journey’s end, but I certainly have no cause to make the trip a pleasant one. Don’t tempt me.”
Tyler’s vision whirled with drifting black spots, and the crackle of the fire became painfully loud and apparent. He flailed his hand weakly against Varkon. He will kill me now, thought Tyler.
But Varkon unclamped his hand with a grunt and skulked off to dust the charcoal from the meat. His point was proven. There was only one person – thing – in charge here. For minutes Tyler could do nothing but lie prone and gasp. He had to remember that not even his own companion was on his side; from now on he would have to watch what he said more carefully. Red blood slipped slowly down his arm to mark where the cut on his shoulder had burst afresh.
“As I was saying,” Varkon continued calmly, as if the incident had not occurred. “Last night while I was searching for herbs, I caught myself a wandering ghatu-naith, a smaller type of ghatu. I questioned the little rat, and let’s just say I was extremely persuasive. He spilled his little brains out to me; indeed, in the end the trick was to get him to stop talking,” Varkon smirked quite wickedly and then looked up at Tyler to emphasise the next point. “He said they were looking for a boy, a mukwa, from the conquered village. They knew he was still alive. I don’t know how, but the ghatu-naith was convinced.”
“You think the person they are looking for is me?”
“I know it is. Through his screams the ghatu-naith kept repeating that they were searching for the ‘boy with the spider on his skin’. I had no idea what he meant and thought the rat was delirious – until I decided to strip you of your wet clothes to dry them. That was when I saw your tattoos on your wrist and at the back of your neck.”
“I don’t …” Tyler turned over the inside of his arm. In the centre of his wrist was an engraved black spider. The design was beautiful: the spider’s eight legs were painted with such finesse that the tip of each narrowed into a line thinner than a single hair before trailing off into the wrinkles of his fingerprint. Three perfect circles were etched close to the spider’s front leg. Tyler stared, open-mouthed. “The same tattoo is on the back of my neck as well?”
“You seem surprised.”
Tyler could only shake his head speechlessly. Varkon glared at him for a moment longer, as if judging how much he could trust in Tyler’s honesty. “It is the same. Except it is as though the spider is resting on the inside of your skin, as if your skin was a window and the spider is trapped beneath it. You’ve seen neither of these markings before?”
“No,” breathed Tyler. “The spider must have caused this – the one from the hall. But how could it have?” He reached his curious fingers up to the back of his neck. His skin there felt perhaps a touch cool, but this could have been an imagined malady. It was frustrating there was no way to see the design at present.
“What did your mukwa friend, Hargill, call you on his knees? Avalon-Qwa?”
Hargill had seemed so apologetic as he had performed his strange ceremony. Was something terrible at this very moment growing, festering inside his body? Tyler forced back an image of a large black spider curled up in his stomach, its long, furry legs brushing against his throat, waiting for the moment that it would finally decide to leave its host and crawl up into his mouth to escape.
Calm down. Think.
How did the ghatu-naith know about his tattoos? The Dhimori must be aware of something that he was not. He considered the events of that night, pondering over the details …
Of course! He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out the spider-stone. It had not been lost in the river, and it was still warm.
“I have spent hours trying to break it,” said Varkon when he saw what Tyler was holding. “I crushed it in between two rocks so often that they both crumbled apart, and yet it bears not even a scratch to mark my efforts.”
Tyler conducted his own far less violent investigation of stone for a time, but he was equally unsuccessful. Its surface was indeed featureless, giving no hint as to its purpose or design. Varkon passed him a piece of rabbit meat, which had been burnt to charcoal in parts and kept raw in others. Tyler wondered if Varkon had ever cooked before; the ghatu was probably only trying to please his human companion. Despite this he tore at the meat ravenously; it had been two days since he had last eaten, and he was very hungry indeed.
Once they were finished, Varkon snuffed the fire with several shovels of dirt, thus forcing Tyler to end his examination off the mysterious spider-stone. They both lay back against the stone floor in the darkness. Tyler could hear Varkon breathing from a short distance away, but the night was so complete that he could barely see his own hand, let alone the ghatu all the way across the cave.
“I want you to tell me what you know about the world, boy,” said Varkon. “I’m intrigued by how little you understand.”
“The world?” repeated Tyler. “I thought the world was my village, and the White Wood was the edge of it. Until now it seemed perfectly natural to think like that.”
“That’s all you know?”
“All I was ever told.”
“You have never even heard of magic?”
“I m
ay have seen some. Back in the hall, was Agatha she casting a spell?”
“A healing charm. I have never seen it performed as well, or as quickly. Your elders certainly knew more about the world than you do.”
“I know. I don’t understand why they lied to me. Hargill, my uncle …” Tyler’s voice broke a little with the sudden hurt that welled within him. An image of his family sprang uncalled for, and he spoke again to distract himself.“What do you know about where we are going, about Ithrim?”
“It used to be the largest city in the world. Long ago it was the heart of the empire of men, nÿmphs, huun, dwarves, and gronts. Now it has all but been destroyed, the races divided by their differences. The city still stands, but I am told it is a wretched place.”
“And how long before we reach it?”
“Months, or maybe years if we travel by foot. Mountains cage us to the east, and the sea encloses us all around. Only a small passage to the north prevents this place from being an island; we cannot walk the easy ways, for they will be watched. For now we will travel due east across the peninsula, and then we’ll try to cross the mountains to the sea.”
“How will we reach Ithrim from there?”
“We probably won’t reach Ithrim at all. I think we will die here,” said Varkon casually. “The peninsula we find ourselves on, Vlak-Ran, is like a termite mound riddled with millions of tunnels and hiding holes infested with my kind and worse.”
“Worse?”
“You think that there could be nothing worse than the ghatu? I promise we are not the only ones you should fear.” Varkon sighed. “I realise that your ignorance is not your fault. Let me tell you the history of my people in the hope that you will stop asking questions.” Varkon’s voice grew deeper, and the cave resonated to his every word.
“The ghatu used to live only in the Grey Lands to the north, where the sun is always low and the night, at times, lasts for weeks. Centuries ago there was a great drought that pillaged our crops, and tides of sickness drifted with the wind and locusts. Most were forced to move further south, abandoning their natural homes and venturing into the lands where the sun was higher and crueller. None who stayed in the open survived for very long; the light would burn out their eyes or boil their skin. Like cockroaches we were forced beneath the ground, under the canopies of the forests or any other place that would harbour the night. Of course I would not have to explain this to you if you knew how to read my tattoos, for through them my life and history are symbolised in a tapestry of meaning all across my body. In this way each ghatu’s markings are unique. We must not risk who we are to memory; we must be reminded of our choices by carrying them with us all our living days. You are lucky that your spider tattoo appeared suddenly. Mine did not come about so painlessly.”
Tyler shuddered. “Varkon, I—”
“Quiet. Let me talk without pause. I have much to say, and you have little time to hear it. Now, you were wondering about magic. The casting of a single spell is so complex even the most dedicated and talented wielders would not master more than one or two their entire lives. The greater spells take much longer to master: to summon fire, to command the rain … She must know a hundred such spells, as would the Dhimori.” Tyler’s stomach tightened a little with dread. Varkon seemed to sense Tyler’s feelings, although the night was absolute about them. “Ah yes, you saw the spiked demon, did you not? That was a Dhimori, one of Her servants. The Lady most call She.” Tyler could not imagine anything more terrifying than the Dhimori.
“It was thousands of years ago at the Grazzel Fields, when She first came into history. There, She defeated the highest Tsu, Nugarv-Klut, winning the loyalty of the lesser leaders and uniting them for the first time since the death of Razik Hakru,” Varkon’s tone sunk into rhythm.
Storm crow, black cloud,
Cold mountain ringed with flame;
Brown earth quakes in fury,
Thundered by foot and rain.
O Razik, mighty Razik,
Last great Tsu of all,
Ruler of the Grey Lands,
Architect of Ornick-hor.
Higher than the eagle’s wing
To dwarf the swirling cloud,
Spiked towers pierce the mountain sky.
It stands like you,
So tall, so proud.
A thousand battles you have fought;
A thousand victories you have won.
But now, alas, you are betrayed,
And by your very own and wicked son.
The coward met Razik with deceit,
Three warriors to his every one,
Yet still he crushed his child’s army
And killed his only, wretched son.
But a mortal wound he was smitten.
Razik knew that death was close,
So he gathered around his heroes
And made them swear the highest oath.
I ghatu and proud swear on duties three:
To respect my ancestors;
I remember they came before me.
To fight when called for battle;
A coward can never succeed.
To honour my Ruilk above my life,
Or what trust could I possibly keep?
Then Razik died a hero’s death, upon that blood-stained field.
His memory is carried with his oath, for to it all ghatu must yield.
The ring of Varkon’s voice hung in the air after he had finished his recitation. He began to speak again just before the sound completely died. “All these thousands of years ago, and with the might of the entire ghatuan army behind Her, She attacked the Alliance, ploughing through its lands suddenly, like a dagger to the heart. The Dhimori were elemental in Her strategy; they were Her terrible servants, totally bent upon their mistress’s bidding. It is said that they once walked without capes, uncovered for all to see. However, even ghatu would tremble before the spiked demons, and so She disguised their terrible forms. Finally She reached Ithrim, the centre of the Alliance. The enchantress laughed as She approached at the walls, and Her laughter burnt all the courage from the defenders so that some cast down their weapons, knowing defeat was certain. It is also said the sea blackened and swelled, forming a towering wave that crashed upon the city and swept away most of its high walls. Victory was within our grasp.”
Varkon’s voice grew thin with emotion. “Then a single arrow, shot by some mere nÿmph from a remaining section of the wall, flew straight and true over a whole league and plunged through the centre of Her heart. Her army saw Her crash to the ground with a scream so full of lost power and magic that it petrified the minds of those who heard it for the rest of their days. The ghatuan army panicked, and in the disarray they were slaughtered. The survivors were driven all the way back to the mountains or the Grey Lands. The Alliance had triumphed over the Lady. Her Dhimori disappeared, and the ghatu broke into the Uric Kranaz, the Forever War. Ghatu against ghatu, tribe against tribe – the fight for the new Tsu was to last hundreds of years with none gaining the upper hand for long. My own grandfather and many of my uncles and cousins fought and died in this war.”
Varkon subsided into silence before continuing. “She has risen again. No one knows how; it is said that Her body was burnt to dust after the Last Battle all those centuries ago, while thousands watched. Yet even so, She lives. The Dhimori have returned, and She has won back the loyalty of my people and put an end to the Uric Kranaz. The weak Alliance is growing fearful of the blow that is sure to come.”
The story was not a happy one, and yet Tyler felt an odd sense of satisfaction. He had just gained a little bit of the greater history that had been kept from him his whole life – and it had taken a mortal enemy to tell the truth.
Something shook him hard. Tyler startled and cried out.
“Fool, it is me. The blind and deaf have more senses about them than you.
Now come; morning is only a few hours away. We must increase the pace tenfold to make up for your delay. Are you ready, boy? The real journey now begins.”
CHAPTER SIX
WHERE LIONS WALK
They travelled though a world cast in the simple shine and shade of night. Soft shadows gave life to dead branches while owls balefully called from the deeper wood. Varkon was watchful and mostly silent. When he did speak, it was to curse; the ghatu had intended to travel east, but fate had set them on the western bank. The freezing, quick rush of the river made swimming across unthinkable, so they instead followed it south, hoping that some other means of crossing would reveal itself. The ghatu maintained the pace ahead of Tyler, always keeping in sight of the river yet remaining within the tree line to take advantage of the lighter snow and to hide from prying eyes on the open bank.
The shelter of darkness burnt away with the arrival of a limpid, cold sun. Blacks and greys melted into a cascade of spring greens, lemon yellows, and berry blues, warming the bark and bright lichen on the trees. The river bubbled loudly, splashing past wet rocks to the sea. It was beautiful … not that Tyler cared. Exhaustion had long since set upon him, and only some deep reserve of energy now remained to drive his leaden legs.
At noon they rested beneath the branches of a squat pine that stretched its spiny leaves over the river. Tyler sipped at the freezing water of the steam. His thirst had been satisfied quickly, but he now felt much more out of breath and cold. He knew his clothes weren’t nearly sufficient to keep him alive if the wind picked up.
“Well, I’d make a pretty snowman,” he mumbled bitterly as he tucked his hands under his shirt and held onto the spider-stone. Its warmth at least was comforting.
“Come, we must go,” said Varkon, rising to his feet.
“Varkon!” Tyler moaned in disbelief, tucking his aching legs further towards his chest. “Please. My fingers are still frozen!”
“How do you mukwa get by in this world?” said Varkon with pity. “Look at you! Barely three leagues, and already you can hardly stand. The youngest of my sisters can travel twice the distance in half the time.”
Tyler's Dream Page 5
