‘Destroy the village. Burn it to the ground and kill them all,’ demanded Weaver. ‘No prisoners, no mercy. For King Richard and England!’ He drew his pistols and, head down, began to run as hard and as fast as he could.
EARTH CALLS TO earth.
Mathias didn’t claim to understand the words Wyn had spoken, and yet he found something strangely comforting in them. His power, such as it was, had never grown like Tagan’s. Not for Mathias the ability to bend fire to his will. Not for Mathias the skill of Wyn’s mighty illusions. He had always simply assumed his talent was a small thing; that he just had a way with animals.
Wyn’s barked command that Tagan and Mathias close their eyes had been irresistible, but they remained locked together, his arms around her, holding her to him. Her head rested on his chest and he knew that she was crying. He had never, in the years he had known her, seen her cry, and he was glad, his eyes tightly closed, that he did not see her crying now.
His hand stroked her back gently and he breathed in the scent of her. Fire and forge and flowers; the three things he associated with her. Nothing that was happening made sense.
Sense.
His senses were altering. Changing. He could feel and smell Tagan in his arms, and that was comforting. The compulsion to keep his eyes closed had otherwise blinded him to what was occurring around the Circle, but he could hear the voices of Wyn and the others. They were chanting, speaking words he did not know or understand.
The air began to crackle and Mathias tasted the metallic tang of potent magic; as he had during Wyn’s illusion, only many times stronger. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms began to tingle and the tri-fold smell of Tagan began to fade. Gone was the smoke, the smell of cooling metal, of the flowers that she carried in her pockets. In its place came something else.
Something... familiar. Something comforting. The smell of rich peat and loam. Grass and trees. The smells of the woodlands and the valleys that were his home. Mathias felt his fears begin to ooze from him despite the strangeness of the situation.
‘They are coming!’
The shout came from somewhere at the foot of the hill and Mathias yearned to open his eyes, to see what was happening. The chanting did not break, and neither did the chanters add any urgency to what they were doing or saying. They maintained the spell they were weaving, drawing on more and more power. The smell of the earth grew stronger, joined by the sensation of sinking.
They are burying me alive. Why am I not afraid?
Wyn’s voice came to him, more to his thoughts than to his ears. Earth calls to earth, Mathias Eynon. Remember that. We will not
meet again in this life. Remember me fondly and forgive me. Protect Tagan. Her journey is tied to yours, but the time will come when she needs you more than you can ever know.
Wyn, pleaded Mathias softly, trying to reach out to the man. Father. Aye, lad. That I am. Find the Shapeshifter.
Mathias opened his eyes just as the earth closed around his face.
He opened his mouth to call out in panic as a masked man crested the hill, pistols levelled at the man he loved as his father. Then a great weariness overcame him and, heedless of the mouthful of earth he swallowed, sleep took him. Just as it had already taken the woman in his arms.
‘BRING THEM BACK.’ The Inquisitor’s weapons remained levelled at Wyn as he approached. ‘Undo the ritual you have performed, traitor, and bring them back.’ The mask he wore to hide his features distorted his voice grotesquely.
‘You are too late, King’s man.’ Wyn stood his ground. ‘The sending is complete.’
‘Where have you sent them?’
Wyn’s eyes burned with light. ‘Your King’s line will fall!’ He began to laugh, a mad sound.
In response, Charles Weaver shot him, the crack of the pistol shockingly loud in the still Circle. The bullet blew the back of Wyn’s skull off and he toppled backward into a spreading fan of blood. The Inquisitor noted with disgust that the old man was still smiling. With Wyn’s death the bubble of calm contained within the Circle collapsed, letting in the storm. A tongue of lightning lit the figure of Weaver in hellish monochrome and thunder crashed around the hill as he turned his gaze to the surviving magi. The first screams and sounds of battle drifted up from the valley below, and a few of the mercenaries struggled up the hill through the driving rain.
‘Kill all but one,’ he ordered. ‘And destroy the stones.’
Four
September, 1589 Bavaria, Germany
MATHIAS WOKE WITH no idea how much time had passed since he had fallen into magically-induced sleep in the ritual circle. His face was pressed into damp, fragrant leaf mould, and as he sat up, blinking sleep out of his eyes, pine needles clung to his face and clothes. He brushed them away, and saw that the earth was thick with a carpet of moss and the littered debris of a forest’s evergreens.
The air was heavy with the clean, crisp scent of conifers and he inhaled the unfamiliar scent deeply. He knew trees, of course, but the smell was entirely different from home. It was cold and fresh, like it was at the tops of the crags in autumn. He looked around, trying to work out where he was, but all he could see was more trees. They stretched away on all sides, their trunks close. The forest floor was punctuated with outcrops of rock, thick moss and broad ferns. It was dark and it was forbidding.
Where am I?
Mathias blinked a few more times. His eyes felt gritty, but this was not the usual grit of sleep. This felt as though someone had thrown a handful of dirt into his eyes. He remembered...
‘Wyn!’
He called the old man’s name, but there was no response. His voice was swallowed by the forest; only leaden silence remained when the word died away. He scrambled to his feet, the suddenness of the movement leaving him dizzy. Swaying unsteadily, he reached for the nearest tree. Its trunk was sticky with sap and its needles rustling. He felt as though they were whispering words, but he lacked the skill to understand them. He was also, he realised as he looked down at his body, filthy.
Perhaps, he thought as he desperately tried to piece together his fragmented memories, perhaps I am simply dreaming? Or perhaps I am dead. But he knew neither of these was the case. Everything here was too real. He took several slow, calming breaths before crouching down, placing a hand flat on the spot where he had woken. The ground beneath his palm was black and hard; not the soft loam that he had expected to feel. The sensation of being swallowed up by the earth had been something he could certainly not forget.
‘Mathias?’ Tagan’s voice. He stifled a sob of relief and looked around. The young woman lay, much as he had, amidst a pile of brown, fallen needles. They clung to her face, her hair, her linen dress. For a wild moment, Mathias thought he had never seen her looking so beautiful. He edged across to where she was and looked over her with concern.
‘Are you all right? Are you hurt?’
‘No, I’m fine. I’m...’ She rubbed at her eyes, then stared up at him. ‘What’s happening? Where are we?’
‘I don’t know,’ he answered, honestly. ‘But... I remember Wyn sent us here to find someone. Do you remember what he said? The Shapeshifter?’
‘He did actually say all those things, then? That we need to find those people?’ Tagan’s re-adjustment to reality seemed to be far less arduous than his own. Her pragmatic nature extended, apparently, to the oddities of arcane travel. Mathias remembered the masked man coming over the hill too, his weapons aimed at Wyn, with a lurch. It did not seem like a good time to share that particular recollection with Tagan.
‘He definitely said them,’ Mathias confirmed. He stood up—more carefully this time—and held out a hand to help Tagan to her feet. She half-stumbled, half-rushed into his embrace and buried her face in his shoulder for a brief moment.
‘I don’t understand,’ was all she said, her voice muffled by his clothing. ‘I don’t remember what happened. I fell asleep, or fainted or... something. I remember hearing Wyn say something about finding the Shapeshift
er, sending us to where we might find him, whatever that means.’
‘Yes,’ said Mathias, stroking her close crop of dark hair thoughtfully. ‘All I can guess is that we are there. Or, in fact, here.’ He pushed her away a little. ‘Look. What do you see?’
She blinked at him and squinted into the gloom. Amongst the looming pines were tall menhirs, swathed with moss and lichen. Tagan made a little noise of understanding. ‘A stone circle,’ she said, spotting exactly what Mathias had seen. ‘We were in a stone circle back at home, and now...’
‘The elders sent us here,’ Mathias said. ‘Some great earth magic. The ground itself held us in its embrace. Brought us here...’
‘We have nothing with us,’ she said, her eyes bright with tears. It made Mathias uncomfortable to see her this way. He stood and watched her, feeling as helpless as a day-old kitten. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say that would explain any of this— because he didn’t understand it either. ‘No food, no water... only the clothes on our backs... we don’t know who we’re looking for!’
‘Other than he’s the Shapeshifter. Or she.’ Mathias sighed. ‘I wish I could say something to help, Tagan, but... I suppose all we can do is look. See what we can find. We’re in a forest. We can find berries, roots... hunt small game. You can make a fire. We will be fine. And we’re together, at least.’ He spoke the words confidently and there was enough conviction that she nodded, wiping away the unshed tears.
‘We know nothing about this Shapeshifter,’ she said after taking a few moments to compose herself. ‘Can’t we just... call for him, or something? Maybe he’ll come out here...’ She paused. ‘Or her. Oh, Mathias, this is utterly foolish. We don’t even know what this person looks like! How will we recognise them?’ Her hand remained locked with his. Despite the situation, Mathias liked it when she did that.
‘I am fairly certain that standing here shouting will serve little purpose other than to make us look lost and confused,’ he said, attempting to inject a little levity into the proceedings.
‘Mathias,’ she said in a familiar tone. ‘We are lost and confused.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, shooting her a smile which, to his delight, she returned. ‘We are.’
Their hands firmly clasped, they walked deeper into the forest, and all sound disappeared into a silence that called to mind a church at prayer. The light turned from a pale, pre-dawn grey to twilight gloom.
‘It’s really quite beautiful,’ Tagan said in a breathless tone and Mathias nodded. All the creeping uncertainty that had plagued him was swept away in the sheer glory of nature unbound. This forest was wild, pure and untamed, and it was, as she said, beautiful. He had half expected there to be no birdsong at all, but it was there; a background buzz muffled by the bristling canopy.
A sense of peace and stillness stole across him as they made their way quietly through the forest. Apart from the distant, muted sound of the wind high above them and the unseen birds, the faint crunch of needles as they walked was the only thing that Mathias could hear. No rustle of small animals accompanied their passage, and after several minutes, that fact began to bother him deeply. He opened his mouth to break the quiet, but found he could not do it. It was too peaceful.
Too perfect.
‘We’re being watched.’
Tagan seemed to lift the thought directly out of Mathias’s head. She let go of his hand, stopping dead where she was. She looked around, turning in a half-circle, and peered into the trackless woods. Nothing but trees and gloom looked back.
‘We’re being watched,’ she repeated, her voice catching in a breathy, slightly frightened way that was not in keeping with her usual brassy confidence. Mathias narrowed his eyes and looked in all directions, including upwards. He could see nothing, but he was sure Tagan was right.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, keeping his own voice low. He wasn’t sure why he did that. There was something sacred about this place. Speaking aloud bordered on the sacrilegious. ‘Stay close to me.’
A skittering amongst a patch of drooping ferns caught his attention, and he swung around to see the fronds trembling slightly as something moved beneath them. He caught the barest flash of the tip of a furry tail. Too big to be a squirrel. Far too big.
Instinctively, he moved to stand in front of Tagan and then wondered precisely why it was that he had done that. He was no warrior; he understood animals and plants, not swords and combat.
‘Tagan, keep close to me,’ he repeated, without turning to see his betrothed. ‘There’s definitely something there.’
‘Yes,’ she said in a voice so tiny that it barely carried on the breeze. ‘I know.’
Something in the way she said it caused Mathias’s heart to sink; he took a deep breath before he turned to face the same direction as Tagan. There, standing beside a tumble of rocks, was an enormous dog.
Easily as high as Mathias’s waist, the creature’s rough fur coat was a dark charcoal grey. Its fangs were bared in a threatening snarl, sharp teeth studded along a massive jaw that was perfectly suited to ripping flesh. Huge muscles rippled beneath its skin, tensed and ready to spring.
‘Stay perfectly still,’ Mathias said to Tagan, who was caught in the animal’s amber-eyed glower. The hackles on the back of the dog’s neck slowly rose and Mathias felt his own come out with it in some kind of sympathy.
‘Do you think this is the Shapeshifter?’ Tagan forced the question out around a desperate urge to turn and flee. She had never liked dogs that much, not even the peaceful ones that slunk around the village back home. This dog radiated feral menace. Mathias blinked. The thought had not even occurred to him.
‘I... don’t know,’ he said in response. The dog continued to stand where it was, its teeth still bared. The faintest of growls rumbled from its throat and slowly—very, very slowly—Mathias took a step backwards. The dog took a step forwards. Stalemate.
‘Try talking to it,’ Tagan urged. Still she wanted to run, but did not dare move. The animal, should it pounce, could tear out her throat in a heartbeat.
‘What?’
‘Talk to it!’ Tagan snapped, and the dog’s eyes blinked very slowly, startled. The growl grew louder and Tagan swallowed nervously.
Feeling astonishingly ridiculous, Mathias held his hands out in an open palm gesture. ‘Greetings,’ he said. ‘Hello. Ah—do you understand me? My name is Mathias Eynon,’ he said in slow, careful tones. ‘I seek the Shapeshifter. Are you him?’
The dog’s amber eyes closed and opened again as its huge muzzle turned in Mathias’s direction. The young man felt a sense of panic rising in him and then shook his head. His gift had always enabled him to keep even the most furious animals calm. He took a step forward, ignoring Tagan’s indrawn hiss.
‘Do you understand me?’ He slowly lowered one hand. The dog growled more loudly and took a step backwards, away from this intruder. Unperturbed, Mathias moved forward again. ‘Are you the Shapeshifter? Here, see? I will not hurt you...’ He lowered both hands and stood completely still.
An age passed between the two, man and dog. Mathias did not ask his question again and the dog seemed not to wish to approach him.
‘You waste time talking with her.’
The voice came from behind Mathias, but he did not turn to look, acutely aware of the growling animal. Tagan, however, did turn.
Standing directly opposite the dog, clad in animal furs and leather, stood the broadest, stockiest man she had ever seen, at least as wide at the shoulders as he was tall. Whilst short in stature, he more than made up for this with an alarmingly powerful presence. His arms, which were bare beneath his furs, were strong and heavily muscled. His hair was wild and dishevelled and as bright a shade of red as she had ever seen. A beard of the same colour covered the majority of his face. What skin could be seen through the hair was tanned nutbrown and two intelligent, dark brown eyes bored into the pair as though taking the measure of them. Then he grunted and repeated his words.
‘You waste time
talking with her.’ The stocky man’s voice was thickly accented and very deep; a voice like stones grinding together, yet it carried through the woods as clear as a bell. ‘She speaks no words of English.’ He narrowed his eyes, looking from Tagan to Mathias, who finally allowed himself to take his eyes off the animal. The man looked back at the dog and chuckled deeply. ‘Also, she is just a dog.’
Having made this pronouncement, the man barked at the dog. Tagan and Mathias both stared; it was a true bark, much as every dog they had ever known had made. The wolfhound barked in response and then bounded towards him, her tail wagging fiercely. Gone was the fierce beast of seconds previously. In its place was a puppy, keen and eager to play. Mathias realised how tense he had been as his whole body relaxed. Had the dog chosen to attack him, he had little doubt as to who would have won.
There was a sudden shifting in the air, something both Mathias and Tagan recognised. It was like an inward rush of a breeze, or of water in a sudden eddy in the stream, and with it came the metallic scent of magic. Where the stocky man had stood was a second dog; also a wolfhound, but that same bright shade of copper that his hair and beard had been.
‘Mathias!’ Tagan was staring. There had been no gradual transformation. No extending of limbs, or changing of the face. No sprouting of fur and a tail. There had been a man, then there was a dog. There had been, in fact, a shifting of shapes. Tagan had never seen such powerful magic. Unable to hold back the reaction, she clapped her hands together, delightedly, like a little girl.
The two dogs romped around in circles for a few moments until the female finally stopped and sat on her haunches, her tongue lolling and her mouth open as she stared at Mathias with the most unnervingly human expression he had ever seen on an animal.
Another rush of air, another inexplicable sense of the world bending inwards, and the red dog was gone.
Heirs of the Demon King: Uprising Page 9
