by Leah Swann
It’s like being inside a giant wine barrel, Andor thought. He took his place beside Mahila.
‘Jibade will wait on us,’ said the King. ‘No other servant may hear our discussion.’ He nodded to Jibade, who poured wine into Andor’s tankard. ‘Restore yourself, son of my dearest friend.’
Andor bowed and took a grateful sip.
‘Tell me news of Sef,’ said Harmon.
‘Who’s Sef?’ cried Mahila before Andor had a chance to answer.
Harmon scowled.
‘Sef is the seer of the far west,’ Andor said, ‘as Raizel is the seer of the south, Iniko of the north and Baruch of the east. I’d been studying warfare when I came across Sef’s book. With my father’s permission, I paid Sef a visit.’
‘And what did you find?’ asked Mahila, leaning forward with interest.
Harmon scowled again.
‘A school for the warriors and priestesses of the Junsong. I’d heard of such places, but never seen them with my own eyes . . .’
‘How I should like to go there!’ cried Mahila.
‘You can give up any dreams of that sort,’ said Harmon, unable to restrain himself any longer. ‘I’ve already got one daughter off doing goodness knows what . . .’
‘I thought Sef, who wrote so knowledgeably about battle, was an old man,’ Andor went on hastily, seeing Mahila was glaring at her father and about to start arguing. He didn’t want Harmon’s temper roused tonight.
‘A rugged old warrior,’ said Julene.
‘Yes. So you can imagine my surprise when a woman greeted me.’
Mahila and Julene let out little gasps.
‘I was a child last time I saw that old witch,’ said King Harmon. ‘Her hair was mostly black then.’
‘What’s she like?’ asked Mahila. ‘Is she like Raizel?’
‘She isn’t as old as Raizel, nor quite so learned in the ways of the Shining One. She told me that Raizel keeps alive the tradition of the Junsong; while she instructs women and men in the way of the peaceful fighter.’
‘How can you be a peaceful fighter?’ asked Julene. ‘It’s a contradiction.’
‘It’s wrong for women to fight at all, in my view,’ said Harmon. ‘Men have the bodies for it, the fitness; women are better off staying indoors and praying.’
Mahila snorted. ‘Good thing Irina isn’t here to hear you say that!’
‘Sef says that every woman of Ragnor must be prepared to defend the truth,’ said Andor. ‘And to do that, women must learn the art of swordcraft.’
‘It is a sad day when women have to fight,’ said Harmon glumly.
‘Sef says there are two kinds of fighting,’ Andor went on. ‘One is simply an argument where neither side will listen to the other, creating tremendous rage. The other is the noble fight: defending truth against attack.’
‘But how do we know what’s true?’ asked Julene. ‘Both sides always think they are in the right.’
‘Sef says the Junsong will guide us,’ said Andor slowly. ‘She mentioned that the holy women and men of Ragnor know of a truth casket . . .’
‘The truth casket!’ cried Chloe, startling everyone. Until then, she had been slumped in her chair. ‘The casket is a secret.’
The little group at the table turned to look at the Queen, whose pale beauty was disturbed by two rosy patches on her cheeks.
‘My apologies, Your Majesty,’ said Andor. ‘Sef told me it was time to tell . . .’
‘What would you know, boy prince?’ hissed Queen Chloe. ‘These mysteries are too deep for the likes of you.’
Andor bowed his head.
‘Why such anger, Chloe?’ said Harmon. ‘I invited the lad to speak.’
‘I know about these things. But nobody ever asks me. When we were first married, you told me it was nonsense and not to speak of it. Why, even just now, you referred to Sef as an old witch, rather than a wise-woman.’
‘I meant no harm,’ said Harmon. ‘Raizel is a witch, but I see her goodness, her wisdom and her truth.’
‘You have much to learn,’ said Chloe mockingly. But already the fire had gone out, and she slumped back in her chair, as if exhausted by the effort of talking.
‘Sef spoke a great deal of you, Queen Chloe,’ said Andor. ‘May I tell you what she said?’
Chapter Seventeen
The Skylings
Iniko paced back and forth in his glittering room, trembling with rage. In the Mirror of Near and Far he saw that Irina had escaped. Soon the wolf-girl would be riding Durrell towards the Valley of Carmine Rock. His only hope now was that the Skylings would not let her pass, but he was powerless to do anything about it. No-one controlled the Skylings.
Vilmos had returned from his journey south. ‘Chloe wears the pearl bracelet,’ he said. ‘I saw the stupor go into her. And Harmon took the Bracelet of Uche as a sign of goodwill. He even agreed to wear it!’
‘Did he actually put it on?’ said Iniko.
‘No. But I’m sure he will.’
‘You should have made certain.’
‘There is only so much that you can suggest to a King . . .’
‘I’m not interested in your excuses!’ said the Sorcerer, continuing to pace, his cape splayed out behind him like a bat’s wing. ‘I would have ensured it!’
Vilmos rolled his eyes. Easier said than done, he thought. Your experience is limited to King Matoskah, who is nowhere near as clever as King Harmon. Vilmos recalled with a shiver how Harmon’s penetrating silver eyes had bored right through him. ‘I visited Pavel and found Niklas ill and the son away,’ he said. ‘I caught the vain Captain of the Guard practising sword techniques in a mirrored door.’
Iniko was interested in this news. ‘I see. Hmm, we might be able to use this captain.’
‘Yes, Master. But what of Irina? Is Chesca bringing her to us?’
Iniko’s eyes flashed. He told Vilmos how Chesca had betrayed him, stolen his wand and was hiding like a coward somewhere in the far west of Ragnor.
‘It wouldn’t be hard to find her,’ said Vilmos. ‘She could be of use to us still. We don’t have Chesca’s beauty, after all.’
‘What use is beauty?’ asked Iniko.
‘Beauty seduces the eye, Master, and distracts the unwary. Perhaps we could tell Chesca she’ll be forgiven if she performs a task for us?’
‘I do not plan to forgive her,’ said Iniko, his nostrils flaring.
‘Of course, but we’ll just tell her that,’ said Vilmos. ‘If we can win Captain Kadar over to our side, Harmon won’t stand a chance. Who better than Chesca to lure the vain soldier?’
The sun glowed warmly upon the sandy beach. Irina, Durrell and Amicus had survived the tempest, but they still had far to travel. Looking about her, Irina was delighted to find enough driftwood to build a fire. She rummaged through her furs and retrieved her piece of flint, rolled in leather inside her vest, glad that it had survived the drenching. She had her sword, too. She lit a small fire and she and Durrell slowly began to dry out. The Ferryman had not ventured ashore. After the storm had passed, they saw him standing in his yellow boat in the distance. He raised his hand and Irina waved back, glad that he and his boat were safe.
‘It seems we’ve left winter behind,’ said Irina, shading her eyes against the glare. This foreign land was warm and sunny and snowless. Beyond the shoreline stretched sandy red hills dotted with the occasional green tree. Thankful for the warmth of the sun and the flames of the fire, Irina curled up beside Durrell and Amicus and tried to ignore her hunger. She had lost her pack when she was tossed overboard and now she thought longingly of the bread and raw vegetables and the jack of fresh drinking water that no doubt lay at the bottom of the sea.
‘Durrell,’ she said to her companion, stroking his chest fur, ‘we have no food – you must hunt.’ Durrell grunted. He was exhausted and half-asleep. ‘But not now, dear one. Rest. Tomorrow. Perhaps we’ll find a village or farm.’
The sun set suddenly. The wolf and the sylvan and the girl s
lept until the sun rose as fast as it had set. Strange, thought Irina. I could have sworn that wasn’t a full night’s sleep. Her stomach growled. She stretched her arms and yawned, thinking about the next stage of their journey. With a sick feeling, she suddenly realised she had lost something else when they were tossed into the sea – her precious map. How could they continue? She put her head in her hands. ‘The map’s gone, Durrell,’ she said in despair. ‘We might as well give up.’
Durrell came over and pushed her gently with his nose. ‘We have my sense of smell, it’s keener than any piece of paper.’
‘And I can see the furthest horizon from the clouds,’ chirped Amicus.
Irina smiled at her companions. They were right. She wiped her cheeks and looked in surprise at her hand. The bandage had come off her little finger and there was no wound, simply new, pink skin. ‘My finger has healed overnight,’ she said in wonder. ‘It’s a miracle.’
‘And it’s a miracle you two survived the storm,’ said Amicus. ‘But you made it. Who knows what adventures lie ahead today?’
Renewed by a sense of their mission, Durrell knelt and Irina climbed on his back. The terrain beyond the beach was unfamiliar. The colours were different to those on the Isle of Ragnor. The ground, loose and rocky and sandy, had a reddishness to it; there was little grass and few trees. And it was hilly, making it impossible for Irina to see what lay ahead. She had to rely on Amicus. The wolf-girl knew they must travel north-east so she looked at the sun and judged their direction as best she could.
After a few hours of walking, they noticed tufts of grass growing here and there and more trees showing spring growth. Then, to their delight, they reached a small stream. Irina had no jack to fill so she knelt and put her lips directly to the sweet spring water and drank until her thirst was quenched. Then she drank some more, knowing it may be a while before this strange land provided further sustenance.
By the stream grew a cluster of leafy plants with yellow flowers that smelled like pepper. Irina chewed the bitter, juicy stems and picked a bunch for later. Refreshed, the little party set off again till they came to a plain. In the distance they saw rows of curved mounds, and what appeared to be smoke from fires. When they drew nearer, they saw that each mound was a plain stone dome, with a door and roof hole.
‘Dwellings of some kind,’ said Irina with excitement. ‘People must live here.’
Sure enough, as soon as she’d spoken, a small man appeared at one of the hut’s doors.
Irina told Durrell to stop and she climbed down. ‘Please lie down, Durrell,’ she said quietly, ‘so that you don’t frighten him.’
But the small stranger showed no fear. He was thin, dressed in a sky-blue cloak covered with felt clouds. The cloak’s black lining was stitched with stars and planets, and a crescent moon was tattooed on the man’s forehead. When he was close enough to be heard, he said, ‘I am Hinun, leader of the Skylings.’
Irina curtsied. ‘I am Princess Irina, daughter of King Harmon and Queen Chloe of the Isle of Ragnor beyond the Crystal Sea . . .’
‘I am not interested in who you are,’ said the little man. ‘I do not care if you are a princess or a worm.’
‘Oh, I see, well, we have come . . .’
‘Nor do I care why you have come. Not in the slightest. Do not tell me of your grand vision or mission or quest. Those things are boring to me and all Skylings.’
At this point, more strange little people – both men and women – emerged from the stone dwellings. All had tattooed faces and all wore blue cloaks. There were no children or animals that Irina could see, not even chickens or sheep. One woman was carrying a basket filled with unfamiliar vegetables.
‘Very well,’ said Irina. ‘Hinun, leader of the Skylings, could my companions and I have something to eat?’
‘Something to eat? What will you give me in return?’
‘I lost everything when our boat capsized –’
‘Do not tell me your sad tales. I do not care. If you have nothing to offer me, then leave. You are not granted permission to cross the Realm of the Skylings.’
‘I don’t need your permission.’
‘That is where you are wrong! We control the sky and the weather of this land. We control when the sun goes up and when it goes down. We can freeze you in a block of ice as soon as you can blink. Or scorch you to death in a blistering heatwave.’
Irina had lost her pack, the purse of coins from her father, her map, and her bow and arrows – but she still had her sword. It was tied securely to her waist, beneath her furs. She wanted to thrust it under this strange little man’s neck and demand food. Then she recalled something Raizel had once said: nothing turns a civilised person into a savage as fast as hunger. No, I mustn’t get out my sword, she thought. I must somehow befriend this scratchy, difficult creature.
Her father had warned her about the Skylings. He said they had stolen the secrets of the weather from Queen Joaquinna hundreds of years ago. In return, the Queen had cursed them with the burden of controlling the elements forever. Irina looked around at the harsh landscape. Evidence of the curse was everywhere.
Harmon had also told her that the Skylings loved to laugh. But nothing seemed even slightly funny. She was too hungry and couldn’t remember a single joke.
‘I can tell you a tale of good defeating evil,’ she said instead, thinking of the Battle of the Wolves.
‘We are not interested in goodness or truth, nor evil and lies; we are interested only in the way the clouds move.’
‘I could sing you a song, then . . .’ said Irina, desperately.
Hinun yawned. ‘No interest. No interest in your tiresome songs or stories. Be gone.’
Behind Hinun, Irina could see a dark blue mountain range. When the sun shone through a break in the clouds it turned the peaks a dusty pink. It had to be the Valley of Carmine Rock.
We must pass through the Realm of the Skylings to get there, she thought. But how?
Chapter Eighteen
The Double Voice
In Sef's Field, in the far west of the Isle of Ragnor, the earth was steeped with the atmosphere of sacred festivals. For centuries, the seasons had been celebrated with songs and prayers and feasts. Prince Andor had found it a peaceful place. But hiding in a tiny hut, Chesca was scared.
During the night, she had dreamed of a tall woman with long white hair and a serene face. The woman had spoken deep, sweet words to her. Chesca had wept. When she awoke, try as she might, she couldn’t remember what the woman had said. All that remained was an unfamiliar yet lovely feeling. Chesca had grown up drinking Lake Onkar’s poisoned waters. Until now, all she had known were harsh words and harsh thoughts. She kicked over the ashes of the fire.
The fire is out! The smoke is gone!
With no smoke to protect her she would be visible in the Mirror of Near and Far. In a panic, she dropped to her hands and knees to search for Iniko’s wand.
There it is, thank Knartesc!
But as soon as her hand closed around the long stem of petrified wood, it crumbled into ashes.
‘No!’ she shrieked.
A shadow passed by the doorway. Chesca’s skin prickled and she turned her head slowly. There, blocking the way, his cloak flapping, was Vilmos.
‘No!’ she cried, rolling herself up into a ball with her arms over her head.
‘You should be frightened,’ said Vilmos. ‘You betrayed the Great Sorcerer Iniko.’
‘What can I do?’ asked Chesca.
‘You should not have fled.’
‘But the Dragon . . .’ Suddenly, Chesca got up and tried to dash past Vilmos. He grabbed her wrist in a painful grip.
‘There is nowhere for you to go.’ He let go of her hand and pushed her back into the room.
Chesca paced backwards and forwards, sick with fear. ‘Please, what can I do? You must help me, Vilmos.’
Vilmos enjoyed hearing her short, frightened gasps, and watching the perspiration break out on her forehead. Like diamond
dust, he thought. He paused, pretending to consider what to do.
‘If you do something for us,’ he said finally, ‘I may be able to speak to Iniko and persuade him to give you another chance.’
‘But he always punishes those who betray him,’ she said, sinking to her knees.
‘Yes, that is his custom. But if you do exactly what I ask, he might pardon you.’
Chesca heard the slipperiness in his words. Kneeling in the little hut where the Junsong had been sung for years, she sensed that Vilmos was lying; something that she would not have guessed had this conversation taken place in the Narrowlands.
‘What happens if I run away?’
‘You cannot run away from Iniko.’
‘But if I tried?’
‘You would be captured and thrown into the Lair of the Venerated Dragon and eaten, like all traitors before you,’ replied Vilmos coolly.
‘And what if I do as you ask?’
‘You will return to the Narrowlands and serve Iniko, as before.’
Again, Chesca could tell he was lying. She was astonished. It was as though she could hear something else whispering under his words. A double voice that says one thing and hides another, she thought.
‘How do I know that what you say will be honoured?’ she said.
Vilmos grinned. He hadn’t filed his fangs that day and they protruded horribly over his bottom lip. ‘You don’t really have a choice, do you? Accept my offer, or I will take you by force to the Dragon’s lair.’
‘No!’ cried Chesca. ‘What do I have to do?’
Vilmos told Chesca about Captain Kadar and explained his plan. Then he held out Iniko’s wand.
‘But that wand crumbled into dust when I reached for it earlier . . .’ she said.
‘An illusion, dear Chesca. This wand is called Advankar, and its cold and bitter power is far stronger than you can imagine. Stand up, we haven’t time for you to travel by foot – and thanks to your foolish riding you no longer have a horse.’
Unwillingly, Chesca got to her feet.
‘Come outside,’ Vilmos commanded.
