by Ian Whates
"Because even in the early days there were far more of this world's native people in Thaiburley than there ever were founders. We established the city as a haven for our people, not to be a prison. We knew that if they were to survive they had to mingle with local races rather than stay aloof from them, so the city was always intended to be multicultural, to become a focal point for this world, for the native races and founders alike."
"With the locals acting as servants and labourers," Mildra said, surprising Tom with her candidness.
"Not entirely, but yes; initially it fell that way for the most part. We knew, though, that the situation was only temporary. Inevitably over the course of generations bloodlines mingled and racial distinctions blurred."
"Is that where the levels verse came from?" Tom wanted to know. The familiar words ran through his mind:
From the Streets Below to the Market Row,
From taverns and stalls to the Shopping Halls,
From trinkets so cheap to exclusive boutique,
From the Cloth-Makers' Row and people who sew,
To haberdashers, tailors, and upward we go…
"A way of making sure everyone would know their place even after all this blurring?" he continued.
"Perhaps," Thaiss conceded. "That wasn't something we did. That confounded rhyme seemed to spring up spontaneously. I awoke from one of my first sleeps to discover that in my absence the levels verse had established itself throughout the city. I've no idea where it originated, even. A very powerful meme, though, obviously."
"A what?"
The goddess shook her head impatiently. "Never mind; a term from another age. You have to realise that so much time has passed…" For a moment it seemed to Tom that the goddess was speaking more for her own benefit than for his and Mildra's. "The periods of sleep have meant that over a thousand years have been and gone since Thaiburley was founded. I don't think either of us planned this far ahead. You probably don't appreciate how unique this is, for a city to stand for such a length of time virtually unchanged, neither expanding nor contracting. I sometimes think Thaiburley should be called the Eternal City rather than the City of Dreams.
"However, it won't be standing for much longer unless we get a move on."
Tom started, fiddling with his shirt and shifting his feet. He realised that he'd been standing still, almost in a trance while Thaiss spoke, lost in the imagery of her words, which resonated with so much of his assimilated memories.
"You'll need this." The goddess held out his old backpack, the same one that had accompanied him all the way from Thaiburley.
Tom took it without query, though he was wondering why he'd be needing it.
Thaiss then offered him a squat cylinder, perhaps a little longer than a man's forearm and half again as broad. She held it in two hands, with a care that bordered on reverence.
The tube itself was a thing of beauty. Fashioned from leather stained a rich reddish brown, it was banded at intervals by strips of gleaming brass which also formed a rim at either end. As Tom took the container he saw a multiple, fragmented image of his own face reflected in the brass, distorted by its curvature. The cylinder had a very obvious lid at one end – snug-fitting and sealed by two studs – and a leather strap so that it could be carried by hand or perhaps attached to a belt. As Tom first laid hands upon this beautiful object he felt a tingle dance along his arm.
"Pure concentrated core material," the goddess said. "Shielded, contained, but you can still sense it, can't you?"
Tom nodded, his mouth suddenly dry, as he contemplated what he was being charged to carry and deliver.
"Open this only once you're physically standing in front of the core, and when you do, point it straight towards the core. Do you understand?"
Again Tom nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"If the container is opened under any other circumstances, the results could be catastrophic."
Great. No pressure, then; just what Tom needed to hear.
As he placed the cylinder carefully into his rucksack, having to manoeuvre it a little to make it fit, Mildra reappeared, without his having realised she'd even gone.
She was dressed once again in the full green robes of a Thaistess. It was odd seeing her like that again. It had been easy to forget she was a Thaistess at all for much of the journey here, she'd become simply Mildra.
She evidently noted his scrutiny and held her arms out, displaying the robe. "This seemed the appropriate thing to wear, given that we're going home."
Tom nodded, realising that she was right. He lifted the rucksack and slipped the straps over his shoulders, shrugging a little until the cylinder settled into a comfortable position.
Thaiss appraised them both and smiled, as if happy with her work.
"Go, my brave children, go and save our city."
Tom braced himself, hoping this would work, but before he could do more than begin to focus Mildra spoke up, interrupting his concentration.
Early in their relationship with the goddess, Mildra had expressed concern for Dewar, the man she and Tom had been forced to abandon in the lee of a ruined Thaissian temple on the final leg of their journey to the citadel. Their erstwhile leader had apparently been in a coma and neither of them felt happy about leaving him behind, but they couldn't see any other choice.
In response to their concern, Thaiss's eyes had glazed over for a few seconds, as if staring at some distant point. "Don't worry," she had then said. "I've sent him warmth and done what I can to heal his mind. It bears many scars from traumas old and new, but these should all trouble him a little less when he awakens."
The implication that he would awaken came as huge relief to Tom, who held himself responsible for many of those scars, at least the more recent ones.
Now, as they prepared to leave, Mildra asked the goddess to check on Dewar again.
After a glaze-eyed instant, Thaiss declared, "There is no one at the temple site."
"What?"
"Surely that's a good sign," Tom said quickly.
"The man has clearly left, hopefully of his own volition," the goddess said.
"Hopefully?" Mildra raised her eyebrows, as if to suggest she'd expected more.
"Child, you've done what you can for him; I've done what I can. This one man is no longer your responsibility. Your only concern now should be for the safety of the city that birthed you and all who dwell there."
"Dewar will be fine," Tom said. "He's a survivor, you know that."
Mildra nodded and favoured him with a tight, unconvinced smile. "We left him there, Tom."
He hardly needed reminding. "I know."
His anxiety must have shown, because her smile changed to one of reassurance and she reached across to squeeze his hand. It was a testament to how nervous Tom felt that he barely noticed. This was it. He was about to take them across half a continent in the blink of an eye, a journey the like of which he'd never attempted before.
He closed his eyes. Not essential, but he wanted to rule out any distractions.
"Remember," Thaiss said, "picture the person you most need to see, hold that image and focus on it."
The Prime Master. But why was he finding it so difficult to picture the man's face? He'd seen it often enough. Stature and general shape of the face, yes, he had that, but the details were proving more difficult to visualise than he ever would have imagined. What colour were the eyes – brown? Blue? He could only hope such detail didn't matter, that what stood before his mind's eye would prove enough. Satisfied that this was as clear as he was likely to manage, Tom began to reach out as the goddess had taught him. It was an odd sensation, not the flicking of some mental switch, more a flowing of thought, a sluggish slide that swiftly became a surge and then continued to gain momentum, pulling at his mind and at his inner self.
It was working! Tom could sense his body beginning to shift, moving in concert with his mind and spirit. He felt triumphant, elated. He was doing this. He was taking them back to Thaiburle
y, avoiding all the walking and the climbing and the days of sitting on boats that had brought them here. Nobody else was doing this, just him.
Despite his best efforts, his concentration waivered for an instant as he was swept away on the wave of his own success. In that instant his thoughts turned briefly to the people he missed and would now be able to see again. Foremost among them, he thought of Kat.
The man came awake abruptly; instantly alert, as if something had disturbed his sleep. He felt chilly, but not excessively so. He kicked out, disturbing the cloak which covered him. The fur on the outside was stiff with frost as he pushed it to one side – a woolly board moulded to the shape of his own body. Not just frost, snow. The sudden movement disturbed a large long-necked bird, which squawked and hopped back in alarm before taking to the air properly and sailing away on broad, splayed wings. A vulture, a carrion eater.
Cold assailed him, nipping at his cheeks and nose, emphasising how insulated he'd been beneath the cloak. Snow topped the rocks and the crumbling walls around him, while the air had that bright crystal clarity which only winter brings and his breath billowed in cooling clouds.
Suddenly ravenous, he examined the small parcels that had rested beside him in his slumber, tearing open the packaging to discover dried meats, a wax-sealed truckle of a creamy white cheese, a bar of stale, crumbly cake and a small stack of travel wafers. The meats went first, teeth tearing and mouth swallowing the salty toughness before taste had a chance to blossom. His throat was dry, the swallowing difficult. No drink had been left among the provisions so thoughtfully provided for him, but the abundance of snow rendered that immaterial. He clawed up a handful of whiteness and brought it to his mouth. The cold made his gums ache but the cool melt water trickling down his throat soon eased the rawness.
Bites of tangy cheese and chunks of dry bread interspersed with more scoops of snow followed, and soon he began to feel human once again. Hunger sated for the moment, he stood up and took stock. The wind howled through the ruins like a chorus of restless spirits but the sky held few clouds and there seemed little threat of any more snow for the moment.
He remembered these ruins and dimly recalled the fight that he had interrupted here, but he had no clear memory of what happened next. Despite this he felt well, surprisingly so. In fact his thoughts seemed clearer than they had in a long while, as if the long sleep had helped heal the darkness in his soul, a malignancy that had been festering for more time than he cared to think of.
He knew what had to be done, what should have been done a long time ago, and the lack of doubt or confusion was a revelation of a sort he would never have expected, particularly here, on a barren snow-swept mountainside, among the ruins of a derelict Thaissian temple.
The cloak he reclaimed, dusting off the crystals of ice and rubbing and rolling it to break the stiffness before slinging it around his shoulders. The remains of the food he abandoned for the rodents and the birds to pick over. His course was clear, his immediate destination certain, and there wasn't far to go.
He didn't head north, the direction the quest would have taken him – the boy and the Thaistess were long gone by now, their fate no longer his to influence; he dismissed them from his thoughts. Instead he turned to the southeast and set off towards the nearest town, the settlement of Pilgrimage End.
He was Dewar, and he had things to do.
FIVE
"She's definitely in there," the arkademic confirmed, opening her eyes. The fact that the woman then gave an involuntary shudder, as if touched by an unexpected chill, was all the convincing Kat needed.
They stood a little removed from a ruined building – the first they'd encountered here. Tylus identified it as the remains of a monitoring station, built not long after the city's founding, when some regulation of the Stain was still being attempted. The building had clearly once been a tower, its circular shape evident in the ring of stubby brickwork that remained, though it had long since collapsed. It sat there now like the tattered stump of a fallen tree or perhaps the stubborn remnants of a rotted tooth.
They had reached the ruin without any further incidents of note. A rat the size of a spill dragon had briefly confronted them, though it looked as startled by their presence as they were by its and had soon turned and scurried away. A little later, a thick tentacle had whipped into the air, falling just short of one of the Kite Guards soaring above it before dropping back into the undergrowth. They'd given the relevant area a wide berth and seen nothing further of the creature or plant responsible. Other than that, things had been uneventful.
The crumbled tower sat in a slight depression, as if the ground had sunk a little beneath its weight, though Tylus insisted otherwise when Kat commented to that effect, claiming that much of the detritus they now walked on would have settled after the station was built.
The most disturbing aspect of the place was that no grasses or brambles or even moss had risen to claim it; the brickwork looked old but clear, as if it were too unwholesome for even the vegetation that flourished here to grow on. No, forget that. The most unsettling thing about the place was that the arkademic reckoned the Soul Thief was hidden somewhere inside it.
"You're sure?" Kat had asked on their arrival, not willing to risk any error where this was concerned.
The woman had nodded. "Positive, but my long sight can confirm it."
Kat had never heard of long sight but was willing to bet the clue was in the name. If half the things rumoured about arkademics were true, this one doubtless had all sorts of tricks and weird abilities up her sleeve.
Arkademic Haq closed her eyes. Kat watched closely, waiting for something else to happen – an aura, a shimmering – some indication of arcane manipulation, but she was to be disappointed. Everyone stood waiting, even the Kite Guards were grounded by mutual consent, nobody wanting to go too close and risk alerting their quarry.
Oddly there was no real sense of anticipation or excitement, which Kat would have expected to feel, just a general air of impatience, though maybe that was just her. A minute or two dragged by before Isar returned to herself and gave the confirmation they'd been waiting for.
Now Kat began to get excited. "Right," she said, preparing to address the men.
"Kat…?"
What did the blasted arkademic want? "Yes?"
"Your swords, they won't touch it you know, they won't do any real damage." Kat knew, but that didn't mean she wanted to be reminded of the fact. "I can attune them," Isar continued.
"Nobody touches my swords."
"I won't need to."
Kat glared at the older woman. "If you do anything to damage them…"
"I won't, I promise. This will simply establish a resonance between your blades and that part of my whip which the Soul Thief absorbed. I doubt it'll give you enough to kill or even to seriously injure her, but you should be able to hurt her."
Kat smiled her dark smile and, without saying anything further, whipped out her twin blades and presented them. The arkademic reached out with both her hands spread, holding them palms downward just above the proffered swords, as if the weapons were braziers she could warm herself over on a chill winter's night. Again Kat watched closely but was disappointed. There was no glow, no spark of light, nothing overt to indicate anything at all was happening. A few seconds, that was all it took, before Isar looked up and smiled. "There."
"Is that it?" Kat said. What was the point of being an arkademic with all these wonderful talents if you couldn't be flash about it from time to time? Isar nodded, evidently happy with herself.
Kat's smile was sweeter this time. "You couldn't do the same thing to the darts carried by our flechette gunners, could you?"
"Certainly."
Once that was dealt with, Kat quickly organised the Tattooed Men, though it took longer to get everyone in position than she'd have liked. The attack would come from five sides; one aerial and four at ground level. Two members of the Blade remained close to Isar, while the balance formed one grou
ndside attack force; the Tattooed Men provided the other three, with Kat taking over the leadership of Halfhand's squad. The Kite Guards would attack from above, though quite what use they'd be or how they'd cope if the Soul Thief decided to go after them remained to be seen.
Tylus seemed confident enough. When Kat tried to warn him what they were about to go up against he gave a knowing grin and said, "Don't worry, we've got a few surprises of our own."
Smug bastard. Kat shook her head, tempted to say more but seeing no point in her fretting; she'd just have to trust that the Kite Guards really were capable of keeping their end tight. Maybe the sheer presence of so many flying things buzzing around would keep the Soul Thief groundside where Kat and the others could get to grips with the monster and settle things once and for all.
