The Fathomless Fire

by Thomas Wharton

  “It’s hard to explain,” Rowen said.

  “We were going to the rain place,” Riddle said.

  “The rain place?” Freya echoed. Then she seemed to notice the troubled look on Rowen’s face. “Well, it’s none of my affair.”

  She glanced over at the dented, rusting suit of armour that had stood in the room as long as Rowen could remember.

  “Is that Father Nicholas’s armour?” she asked.

  “It was. He hasn’t worn it for many years.”

  “I didn’t know he had been a knight.”

  “He wasn’t, but he fought in some battles a long time ago, when he was very young,” Rowen said. “He doesn’t talk much about it.” She turned to Riddle. “What did you and Grandfather talk about? What does he want you to remember?”

  “The toymaker said that if someone tries to harm Rowen, Riddle must protect her.”

  “Does this have something to do with the sentry who disappeared?” Freya asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rowen said. “I’m just supposed to stay in the toyshop. It’s the safest place in Fable.”

  “Why is that?”

  “That’s also hard to explain,” Rowen said, smiling in spite of herself. “There’s something here that keeps our enemies from finding us.”

  They heard the front door suddenly open, and both started and glanced at each other. Freya half rose from her chair.

  “Rowen?” called the housekeeper.

  “I’m here, Edweth,” Rowen shouted, relieved.

  The housekeeper bustled into the library a moment later, carrying her market basket.

  “Good morning, Freya,” she said cheerily. “Will you be joining us for breakfast?”

  “I don’t think so,” Freya said. “The loremaster will probably be back soon and I should return to my friends.”

  “You have friends here, too,” Edweth said, arching an eyebrow. “I ran into the Master on my way here, and he told me to feed you both well. So you just sit there and gossip and I’ll have something ready in no time at all.”

  “We’ll join you,” Rowen said. “It’s warmer in the kitchen.”

  They left the library and followed the housekeeper down the hall into the kitchen. Rowen stoked the fire in the stove while Edweth marshalled her pots and pans.

  “My word, you should have seen the market this morning,” the housekeeper said as she cracked eggs. “Utter madness. Folk nearly coming to blows over fish and bread. And there was a knight-errant there, but he wasn’t doing a blessed thing to keep order. I gave him a sizeable piece of my mind, let me tell you, but he just stood there like a post, not saying a word. Apparently they don’t teach manners up at Appleyard any more. And strange-looking? I thought that ogre or whatever he is, Balor Gruff, was the most outlandish of the whole crew, but this one truly gave me the shivers. Looked like he’d just crawled out of a grave, he did. Not a spot of colour in his face. Where the Errantry is doing its recruiting these days, I don’t know. I mentioned it to the Master when I passed him just now, and I hope he’ll take my complaint to the Marshal.”

  They heard the front door swing open slowly on its hinges. Edweth glanced up with a frown.

  “Your grandfather back already? He must have forgotten something. Here, Rowen, look after these eggs for me.”

  The housekeeper wiped her hands on her apron and hurried from the room.

  “With your housekeeper here, I don’t think you need me to stay with you,” Freya said with a grin. “She could take on just about anything.”

  “I know,” Rowen said. “But I’m glad you’re here. I hope Grandfather will convince the Marshal to let you stay. I’m sure it won’t be long before Will and Finn come back with Shade.”

  Freya smiled shyly. She was about to reply when from the front hall they heard a piercing scream, followed by what sounded like a body hitting the floor.

  “Edweth!” Rowen cried. She and Freya rushed out into the corridor.

  Someone in a cloak of the Errantry stood at the far end of the hall, leaning over the housekeeper, who lay prone on the floor.

  “Edweth!” Rowen screamed.

  The cloaked figure stood and turned to them. It was a young man, or at least resembled one. His skin was bone-white, his eyes dark holes. He carried no weapon they could see, but a chill seemed to radiate from him.

  “Rowen of Blue Hill,” he said, in a voice like a buzzing of many insects.

  “Who are you?” Freya cried.

  “I’ve seen him before,” Rowen said. “He’s … he’s the sentry who went missing. Gared Bamble. But he’s not—”

  “There’s something wrong with him,” Freya breathed. “He’s not alive.”

  “What do you want?” Rowen said, backing away.

  “Rowen of Blue Hill,” the young man repeated, and they saw that his mouth did not move as the words came out. He stepped over Edweth’s body and came slowly towards them.

  Freya clutched Rowen’s arm. “Follow me!”

  Rowen obeyed, dashing after Freya into the library. Riddle came bounding after them. Freya ran to the suit of armour and slid the sword from its scabbard.

  “Still sharp,” she muttered, testing the blade with her thumb. “This should do.”

  A moment later, the thing in the shape of Gared Bamble appeared in the doorway.

  “I am here,” said a voice. Rowen and Freya turned to see another Rowen standing near them.

  “Riddle?” Rowen whispered.

  “I am Rowen of Blue Hill,” said the other Rowen.

  The thing hesitated, then strode swiftly towards Riddle, who darted away and sprang for the door faster than Rowen herself could have moved. One of the thing’s arms shot out from its body like a whip and wrapped itself around the other Rowen.

  “Riddle!” Rowen screamed.

  The other Rowen gasped and struggled as the thing pulled her towards itself. Then she seemed to melt, and a snake appeared where she had been, and slithered out of the thing’s grasp. A moment later Riddle took cat form again, and crawled away, whimpering.

  The thing watched Riddle for a moment, then turned to Rowen.

  Freya strode forward and swung the sword. The thing’s head slid away from the neck, hit the floor and rolled along the wall. The cloaked body stood wavering for a moment, as if it might topple over, then it took a slow step, and another, and then it was advancing on Rowen again. As she watched in horror, slits opened on its arms and naked chest, like wounds cut by an invisible knife. Then she saw that they were not wounds but mouths. Mouths all over the thing’s body, splitting open, gasping, muttering. As it walked slowly towards her, something like spider’s threads whipped out of the hole in its neck and swiftly coiled themselves into the shape of a head.

  Freya levelled the sword at the creature and stood in front of Rowen.

  “When I tell you to, run,” Freya whispered.

  At that moment the loremaster appeared in the doorway.

  “Grandfather!” Rowen screamed.

  Pendrake strode into the room. He threw his staff aside.

  “You are a walking spell, thrawl,” he shouted at the creature in a commanding voice. “Your name is your power. Speak it to me and fulfil your task.”

  The thrawl was still facing Rowen, but its features suddenly sank back into its face, reappearing where the back of its head had been. Its limbs twisted around and now it was facing the loremaster.

  “You will say your name to me, thrawl, not to her,” Pendrake said. Slowly he began to move into the library, and the thrawl’s head turned as it watched him.

  Rowen saw that her grandfather was drawing the creature’s attention away from her, leaving an opportunity for her to reach the doorway and escape.

  “You are nothing but your master’s voice,” Pendrake said to the thrawl. “You live only to speak your name. Speak it now and die!”

  The thrawl hesitated, its many mouths silently opening and closing, then it turned away from the loremaster and headed once more towards Rowen
and Freya.

  “Run, Rowen!” Pendrake cried. “To the Weaving! You’ll be safest there!”

  She could not move. Pendrake’s eyes implored her, then he turned and lunged at the thrawl, grasped its arms. The creature thrashed and struggled against his grip but could not free itself.

  “Speak your name!” Pendrake cried. “Speak it to me!”

  Finally all of the thrawl’s mouths gaped open at once, and a sound came from it, a cry, a shriek, a word that was hate and horror and despair.

  Rowen covered her ears.

  The thrawl began to come apart, like a skein of thread swiftly unravelling. It coiled itself around the loremaster as if wrapping him in a cocoon. Rowen darted forward, screaming for her grandfather. She clutched at the tightly coiled threads, desperately trying to tear them apart, and then suddenly they fell asunder in her hand. The cocoon shape collapsed like an empty cloak. The lifeless threads fluttered to the floor.

  Her grandfather was gone.

  No one knows when the loremasters first came to Fable, but many generations of them have lived here, quietly going about their work of helping others, though few ever realized who they were, or know it even today. As far as can be determined, the loremasters always lived in the house at the end of Pluvius Lane, a narrow, out-of-the-way little alley known only for the curious fact that it so often seems to be raining there, or about to rain.

  – The Secret History of the Bourne

  “I TRIED TO STOP IT,” Edweth said tearfully. “I tried. It brushed me aside like a feather. I’ve never felt a touch so cold.”

  Rowen sat beside the housekeeper, who lay on the settee in the library. Rowen and Freya had helped her there after the Loremaster had vanished. Riddle crouched on the rug beside Rowen, his tufted ears laid back against his head. Edweth was weak and shaky but otherwise unhurt.

  “Just rest,” Rowen said as soothingly as she could. The housekeeper only shuddered and covered her eyes. Then she looked up again at Rowen, her face stricken.

  “The Master … what’s happened to him?”

  “Grandfather … he’s gone,” Rowen said, her voice breaking.

  “He’s dead?”

  Rowen shook her head, knowing she did it to convince herself as much as to comfort Edweth.

  “I don’t know where he is,” she said, fighting back her own tears. “That thing vanished and so did Grandfather.”

  “Vanished?”

  “I’ve searched the whole house. He’s not here.” Then a new thought occurred to her. “The … the thrawl. That’s what he called it. The thrawl spoke my name. It must have been sent to find me.”

  “To kill you?”

  “I don’t know. Grandfather kept it from reaching me. He said something like you will take me, not her.”

  “Take him … where?”

  Rowen’s heart went cold.

  “To him.”

  Edweth covered her mouth with her hands.

  “Oh, Rowen, no…” she sobbed.

  Rowen’s shaking hands knotted into fists. All at once a terrible rage boiled up inside her, drowning her grief and fear. Nightbane had killed her parents when she was a child. Her grandmother had gone into the Weaving for her sake and had never returned. And now her grandfather was gone, too. The Night King had taken everything from her.

  The rage was like a burning knife in her heart, a knife she wanted to take in her hands and turn on someone else. On him. She had never felt such hatred before, for anyone or anything. She wanted to scream and strike out at the one who had done this to her, but he wasn’t here. She had never seen him. Ever since she was born he had struck at her from the shadows, hurting everyone who loved her, but he had never shown his face. It would not happen again, she would not let it. She would find him somehow, and she would hurt him. She would make him pay.

  “What about Freya? Is she all right?”

  The housekeeper’s voice seemed to come from far away. Rowen gasped for breath, pulled back from the terrible place she had been. She groped for an answer to Edweth’s question.

  “She ran to Appleyard … to tell the Errantry what’s happened.”

  Edweth took a deep breath and seemed to gather herself together.

  “Well, I’m not going to just lie here…”

  Rowen put a hand on the housekeeper’s shoulder.

  “No, Edweth,” she said. “Please don’t get up. I’ll make some tea, while we wait for Freya to get back. Riddle, stay here with Edweth.”

  “Riddle, go with Rowen,” Edweth commanded. “Don’t leave her side, do you hear me, cat?”

  “Riddle hears,” the cat said, lowering his head.

  Rowen went to the kitchen with the cat beside her.

  “The small loud one is right,” Riddle said, as Rowen moved about the kitchen. Boiling water and spooning out the tea leaves gave her something to do, kept her thoughts from that terrible place inside, where the rage still smouldered, waiting for her to give in to it. “Riddle is supposed to keep close to Rowen. The toymaker said so.”

  “Grandfather told you to make yourself look like me, didn’t he, if anyone tried to harm me. That’s why you did that, isn’t it?”

  The cat nodded his head slowly.

  “Then Riddle was supposed to run away, so the bad things would follow him and leave Rowen alone. Riddle tried to do what the toymaker said, but the thread-thing was too strong. Riddle is sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You did your best.”

  She brought the tea things to Edweth, who had already risen from the settee and held out her hands to take the tray. Rowen let her take it, and sat down slowly in a chair. Her heart had gone cold, as if the knife of rage had turned to ice. She looked around the room like someone in a trance. There was her grandfather’s staff, lying on the floor where he had cast it. She bent to pick it up and saw something else under the table. She reached for it. Her grandfather’s spectacles.

  Rowen folded the arms of the spectacles and slipped them into her pocket. Edweth set down the tray and put her arms around her.

  “Lord Caliburn will help us, love,” the housekeeper said. “I’m sure he’ll send a troop of the Errantry’s finest to search for your grandfather and bring him back.”

  Rowen shook her head slowly. She knew what she had to do, and it seemed to her that she was already far away, walking that strange road into the unknown.

  “It would be no use,” she said. “The Shadow Realm is not some place riders can get to, like the Forest of Eldark. Grandfather always told me it’s another Perilous Realm, a shadow version of this one, on the other side of all that is. You could ride all the way across the Realm and you’d never find it.”

  “Then, is there any way…”

  There was an urgent knocking at the door, then a familiar voice called to them from the front hall, and Freya rushed into the library.

  “I went to Appleyard and told them everything,” she said breathlessly. “I brought back someone who can help.”

  Behind her came the mage, Ammon Brax. Rowen’s first urge at the sight of him was to shout at him to get out of her house, but she forced herself to keep silent. Then she saw the look on the mage’s face was one of pain and concern for her, and for a moment she felt her hopes lift. Maybe she had been wrong about him. He might really have come for her sake. Maybe he could even help her find her grandfather…

  “Your friend Freya told me what happened,” Brax said to her in a voice hoarse with emotion. “I have heard of these creatures, these walking spells. We will find your grandfather, Rowen. We will find him and bring him home. I promise you that.”

  He placed a hand gently on her shoulder. She wanted so desperately to believe him. Maybe Grandfather was wrong about this man. Maybe he had changed. And if she confided in him, told him what she knew about the raincabinet and the Weaving, maybe they could search for Grandfather together, and the task wouldn’t seem so hopeless.

  Then she glanced up at his face and saw his dark, narrow eyes searching coldly around the roo
m, taking in everything, appraising it all like someone planning to move into a house that was not yet his.

  At that moment she saw him for what he was and the anger blazed up inside her again. Brax didn’t care about Grandfather. This was simply the opportunity he had been waiting for. The secrets of the great loremaster, Nicholas Pendrake, were almost within his grasp. And she had been about to give them to him.

  She bit her lip to stop a scream.

  “Captain Thorne wants you to come to Appleyard, Rowen,” Freya said. “He says you’ll be safer there.”

  “I agree with the captain,” the mage said, and his hand lifted from her shoulder just in time, before she was about to push it away in disgust. She knew she couldn’t speak without the bitterness and anger spilling out and so she said nothing. She wouldn’t give anything away. She had to think now, to come up with a plan.

  “The most important thing is to keep you safe,” Brax went on. “And then you and I can work together to solve this. I know we can.”

  “The Master always said the toyshop was the safest place in Fable,” Edweth said, studying the mage with a suspicious look.

  “Is that so?” the mage asked casually, as if the housekeeper’s comment barely interested him. “I wonder why. But I’m sure the captain knows best.”

  “The Master has his reasons,” Edweth said. “There’s something about the toyshop that—”

  She broke off and looked guiltily at Rowen.

  Rowen took a deep breath and stood.

  “I will come to Appleyard,” she said to Brax. “But I need to gather my things.”

  It was weak, she knew, but it was all she’d had time to come up with. Her eyes locked with the mage’s for a long moment. She could see he was calculating whether he had the power yet to force her to his will. Finally he nodded and looked away.

  “Of course,” he said obligingly. “I’ll wait for you here while you get ready.”

  “Could you please,” she said, trying to still the tremble in her voice, “return to Appleyard now and tell the captain I’m on my way?”

  “I really should accompany you,” the mage protested in a tone of quiet reason. “For your safety. I don’t mind waiting while you prepare.”