The Quest of Narrigh (The Other Worlds Book 1)

by S. K. Holder

  A death-chill cloaked the forest. The snow had ceased falling. The trees were sparse in this part of the forest, their life eroded. No birds fluttered in the sky. No animals foraged on the ground.

  ‘You can hear it, can’t you?’ he said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Dal-Carrion. The winged-beasts. They’re multiplying. That’s what Hiera told me.’

  ‘What’s the Shardner?’

  ‘The government.’

  Connor had been so focused on trying to level-up in the game, he hadn’t taken much time to learn about Narrigh society. He couldn’t have afforded to, not if he didn’t want his brother to catch him out. You had to be over fifteen years of age to play The Quest of Narrigh; Connor had only just turned thirteen. When you had completed your quest, which usually involved blasting something until it exploded or fell to the ground, you collected your loot. And once you had gained enough experience points you would then move up to the next Level. They won’t know to look for me here. They’ll think I’ve run away again.

  He fumbled for the chain around his neck, feeling the weight of the egg-shaped pendant suspended from it. How was he ever going to get home, if he kept coming up against all these obstacles? He hadn’t forgotten the pain he felt in his leg when the Dal-Carrion had bitten down on it. He wanted to run, not fight.

  ‘Are you like…a Quest Giver?’ he asked.

  The little girl frowned. ‘A what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Get it through your stupid head, this isn’t a game,’ said the Authoritative Voice.

  Amelia played with one of the ribbons in her hair. ‘The Dal-Carrion aren’t easy to kill in their current numbers. The Shardner’s Special Army want to capture them so they can study their habits and breeding patterns to help bring them under control - something like that.’

  Connor didn’t care what the Shardner’s men wanted with the Dal-Carrion as long as they kept them away from him. And what will the Shardner’s Special Army do with me? It was the most important question. The question he should have asked first. ‘Where are they taking us?’

  ‘To the Kingdom of Baruch, I think.’

  A couple of nearby horses whinnied and reared on their hind legs.

  Connor cast the strip of fur aside. The draught Amelia gave him burned through his bloodstream. He was breaking out in a sweat all over.

  ‘What are they going to do with us in Baruch?’ he asked, trying to ignore the increasing commotion outside.

  Amelia scampered from the Dacker tree without answering.

  Flexing his aching joints, Connor crawled out after her.

  A low echo rumbled through the forest. The Dal-Carrion were approaching. Their beating wings could have been mistaken for a flowing stream, the waves of the ocean or simply the wind, but there was no mistaking the smell for anything other than the smell of death.

  The Silver Riders flew from their Dacker tree shelters. Some mounted their horses and galloped out of sight, their voices drowning in the thunder of hooves.

  ‘Be ready!’ shouted one as he fled.

  Connor found Amelia leaning against a withered tree, her hands folded behind her back. Thoughtful. Watching.

  Less than thirty remained. Twelve on horseback formed an orderly line, a barricade across the clearing. The rest of the riders assembled themselves behind them, having tethered their horses to the trees.

  Amelia seemed to know a lot about the Silver Riders. She had not asked Connor his name or where he came from. He fell in next to her, noting her curious detachment from the scene around her. He found her calmness disturbing. She reminded him of a doll, wooden and lacking in expression.

  She stared straight ahead. ‘This is the second catching!’ she shouted above the din. ‘They had another one two days ago, while you were sleeping.’

  I can’t have been here for days, thought Connor. Everyone will be wondering where I am.

  He saw a vast shadow edging its way along the icy floor. Fear rose in his gut. ‘Shouldn’t we make a run for it?’

  ‘No, not yet, not until the Herming Moth Wings have flown.’ Amelia gestured to a Silver Rider running towards them, Hiera. He had a grimy orange beard and sunken auburn eyes. She flashed him a smile.

  ‘You children get back in the shelter,’ he growled.

  ‘Yes Hiera,’ she said, without making any move to do so.

  Connor watched Hiera draw a bronze metallic object, shaped like a moth, from the pouch attached to his belt. Hiera thrust the object into the outstretched hand of a Silver Rider on horseback who sat near the end of the line. Each rider had two Wings, one clipped to their silver belts, the other clasped in their hands.

  Amelia moved out, sprinting nimbly. She joined the Silver Riders on the east flank, all of whom were too preoccupied with the approaching Dal-Carrion to pay her any attention. She squatted at the root of a tree, dangerously close to a Silver Rider’s horse.

  She glanced back over her shoulder, beckoning Connor to join her.

  His mouth flapped open. Did she have a death wish? One kick from the horse’s iron shoe and she would be dead.

  The Dal-Carrions squawks ignited the forest. Tree limbs creaked and snapped in their wake. The hairs on the back of Connor’s neck rose. He steeled himself, fighting to find his inner strength, to latch on to it for good. He didn’t want it to slip away again when he needed it so desperately.

  He had started to edge his way out when he a caught a flicker of something in the peripheral of his vision. He whirled round to see a scintillating blue light hovering in the air, several feet away from him. It rippled like ocean waves bathed in sunlight. He stared at it in amazement.

  ‘You can come closer,’ said a voice.

  There was no mistaking the light, but the voice? He didn’t like the Authoritative Voice inside his head and now a new one had emerged. How many voices could he have in his head at once?

  The light started toward him. He backed away from it. This had to be another hallucination, the last remnants of the Trance potion trying to consume him.

  He ran stooping, heaving at the smell fouling the air, determined to get to Amelia. He dodged Hiera, and narrowly missed a head-on collision with another Silver Rider who flew into his path. He finally reached her. He took her arm and dragged her clear of the horses.

  Eight Dal-Carrion stalked into the enclosure, craning their long necks, their claws rising and falling with crude elegance.

  Connor held his breath. What would happen when the winged-beasts made their deadly assault? How would the Silver Riders achieve a ‘catching’ as Amelia put it?

  He gripped the strap of his bag, his fingers twitching, preparing to run.

  SEVEN

  Gyan escorted him to a small dingy room behind one of the chambers. This lightened Skelos’s temperament; it was conveniently close to the exit.

  The Store Administrator slipped a key into the lock, pressed his weight against the door, forcing it to swing open.

  Slow-burners hung from sconces on the wall. Vastra took up some flint from the table and set about lighting them, coughing as he went.

  Skelos licked his lips. He had one chance at this. Only one chance to get it right.

  ‘Go,’ he told the Citizen guard without so much as glancing at him. ‘Wait for me by the exit.’ Entrance or exit there was a strong chance that Vastra would overhear the conversation before he had the opportunity to execute his plan.

  ‘Okay,’ said Vastra. He held out his hand. ‘Give us the case.’

  ‘Case?’ said Skelos, frowning at Vastra’s empty hand, trying to decipher some hidden meaning behind the word. A secret code between Citizens that I am not privy to perhaps?

  ‘The case you took from the first chamber,’ said Vastra, smirking. ‘I cannot allow you to take something of such potency in with you if I am not present.’

  Skelos rummaged around in his robes, found the case and slapped it into Vastra’s open palm. Turns out, Vastra wasn’t as scientifically clueless as he had
first thought.

  Vastra’s fingers closed around the case triumphantly. ‘Don’t think you can fool me, Citizen.’

  Gyan leapt to the door like a startled cat. ‘What’s going on?’ His eyes darted between them. ‘What’s he taken?’

  Skelos leaned so close to Vastra, their faces almost touched. ‘And don’t think you can fool me,’ he hissed at the guard through tight lips. ‘You have something almost as potent up your own sleeve, shame if it were to fall out.’

  The smirk slid from Vastra’s face.

  ‘A case you say?’ said Gyan. ‘If it’s from the Stores, I shall have to take a look at it before we go in.’ Although he did not look too eager to do so. No sooner had he taken two steps forward, he was edging back into the room as it occurred to him that Vastra sought to enter it. He gripped his Logbook to his chest as if it were a protective shield. ‘If I may,’ he squeaked.

  ‘My case,’ said Vastra icily, half his body hanging over the door’s threshold. ‘It belongs to me.’

  Gyan gave a ragged sigh of relief. ‘I see, then please shut the door and leave us to it.’

  Vastra did as he was told.

  Skelos stood at the table. ‘I want to show you something and I’d prefer it if you do not speak until I tell you.’ He glanced at the closed door. ‘You never know who may be listening.’

  Gyan pulled up a chair. ‘If it’s as important as you say it is, then I expect I shall be too stunned to say anything.’ He laid his Logbook on the table. ‘Secrets are the best things to log I find.’

  Skelos gave him a withered look. ‘If you must.’

  ‘I must,’ said Gyan, grinning. ‘This here is my own personal Logbook. No one has ever read it, nor will they, unless I want them to of course.’

  Skelos tugged the Avu’lore from the folds in his robes and placed it on the table. It was a cumbersome thing for one to be carrying on the run. But he’d sooner destroy it than leave it behind.

  Next, he brought out the single Shard he had taken from the Stores.

  Gyan lurched to his feet, mouth hanging open, finger jabbing in mid-air preparing to make some accusation. Skelos guessed what he might say, ‘Sorcerer. Wielder of dark magic!’ or something along those lines. It was hard to say what he was a wielder of. The bold line between sorcery and science had begun to fade in his mind.

  Skelos put his finger to his lips to hush the Store Administrator. Gyan hovered over the seat of the chair for a few seconds before sitting back down, his eyes as big as dinner plates. He seized his pen as if it were a glass of water and he was in desperate need of a drink. Unable to tear his eyes away from the Avu’lore, he wrote furiously in his Logbook. Skelos saw that he had done a rough sketch of the Avu’lore globe and the Shard.

  Two minutes. Two minutes more or less. That was all he needed. ‘I think I heard someone at the door. Can you check without opening it?’

  Gyan stopped scribbling and stared at the door for ten seconds as if the challenge might be too great for him, given that it involved momentarily parting with his Logbook. He picked up his Logbook and crept to the door.

  Skelos slotted the Shard into the globe. There were two more slots for the other Shards he had yet to retrieve. Slowly, slowly, he did not want to break it. The Shard transformed its shape. It became flat. It partially melted into the globe like sap dripping through furrowed bark. It sprouted ragged, sharp edges.

  With the Shard in place, he laid his hands upon the globe. A mixture of colours began to swirl within it: indigo, violet, blue, red, yellow, green and orange. Every conceivable colour of the rainbow and many other shades in between were reflected on the walls in the ragged form of the Shard. He gave a snort of contempt. He had nurtured some reckless hope that he would not require the other Shards for the Avu’lore to work. He needed them, he realised, to unleash its full power. He stole a quick glance at Gyan who stood at the door, head cocked to one side, his arm raised. The Store Administrator turned unexpectedly gasping at the sight of the Avu’lore’s blazing colours.

  Hunched over the Avu’lore, Skelos watched Gyan groan and wilt to the floor, clutching the sides of his head.

  Before he knew it, Vastra was thumping on the door. ‘Open up!’

  Skelos slid the Shard from the globe in haste. The colours within the Avu’lore died. He threw the Shard into one of his ample-sized pockets and deposited the globe separately within the inner folds of his garments. Feeling like his old self again, he went to help Gyan up. It was the least he could do.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Gyan.

  Skelos handed him his Logbook and escorted him to a chair.

  Gyan dug at his temples with his fingers. ‘No, I mustn’t sit. I have a bit of a headache that’s all. You out there,’ he bellowed. ‘Stop that banging. We’ll be out in a minute. Where was I?’

  ‘Your Logbook?’ said Skelos, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Gyan, handing him the Logbook. ‘Lots in there to read. It’ll keep you occupied for months.’

  Gyan unlocked the door and the two men stepped out together. Gyan was squinting. A small drop of blood dripped from his ear onto his collar.

  Vastra and Belstien were waiting outside. Belstien was running his tongue over his teeth and fumbling with the bunch of keys in his hand.

  Vastra scowled. ‘I have to leave,’ he said. ‘What happened in there?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Skelos, mopping sweat from his neck, that’s any of your business. ‘Can you give the case I gave you to Gyan? I no longer require it.’

  Vastra’s eyes narrowed. He handed Gyan the case containing the Cloud Vapour.

  ‘What is this?’ said Gyan, holding the case up to his squinted eyes.

  ‘I took it from the Stores,’ Skelos replied, honestly, ‘and I don’t think I’ll be needing it,’ he added, somewhat dishonestly.

  ‘Right,’ Gyan nodded, scratching the side of his head. ‘I was erm-’

  ‘Escorting me to the exit,’ said Skelos jovially. ‘Seeing as I’ve nothing to check out.’ He shoved past Belstien and Vastra, keen to be on his way. He could taste freedom on his tongue and found it be both sweet and sour.

  ‘Yes of course,’ said Gyan, tottering after him.

  Gyan slid back the heavy bolts and heaved the exit doors open. There were four guards posted outside the exit and another two further down the long passageway.

  The four guards crowded in on them. ‘Out of my way, out of my way!’ Gyan flapped his hand, making the guards scatter. ‘He has clearance. All is well.’

  Gyan jerked his head around to speak to Vastra. ‘You go on ahead,’ he told him. ‘I’ll get one of the other guards to escort him back to his chambers. Unless you have some checking out of your own to do?’

  Vastra coughed into his fist and sped out of the doors. Skelos resisted the urge to leap for joy. Taking Gyan’s word that it would make for interesting reading, he tucked the Logbook away. He then hung back for a minute, pretending to look for something in the pocket of his voluminous robes.

  Once he was satisfied Vastra had passed the guards stationed at the end of the passageway, he prepared to leave, whispering to Gyan. ‘Can you walk with me? I have a few more instructions I wish for you to carry out.’

  Gyan nodded, red-faced and weary. His hand was stuck to the side of his head as if it had been glued there.

  He won’t last long, Skelos concluded, the Unmarked Ones never do.

  He marched up the passage with Gyan, without breaking his pace. Without pausing for breath. There were two guards at the end of the passage, sharing a noisy joke, and a roaming Plowman with a rusty chain wrapped around its ankle. How many more of these nuisances would cross his path before he got to the surface?

  Gyan swatted the air with his free hand as he passed, and they continued on their way unnoticed by the guards.

  The path he needed to take was looming before him. The slope to freedom, and it was a slippery one. He reassured himself. They will hunt me down, but they won’t kill me.
They need me.

  And he needed more time. Time to stock up on provisions and to procure a disguise. He supposed he could grow a beard. No one will recognise me with a wiry bush hanging from my face. I would hardly recognise myself.

  It was unwise to rely on Gyan entirely. Never put all your trust in one Citizen and all that. The same expression applied to Unmarked Ones, more so. What if the Store Administrator was reduced to a babbling wreck in the next five minutes instead of two hours? If only there were a provisions room close by.

  ‘Oh there is,’ said Gyan. ‘A utility room. I will show it to you.’

  Skelos’s eyebrows shot up. He cast Gyan a sideward glance, pleasantly surprised by his unexpected announcement. ‘Marvellous. And don’t forget your task on the way back.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gyan, his eyes turning glassy. ‘There’s an emergency in the Stores containing Rainbows Rock. I must gather all the guards together. Once I have done this, I shall lock the chamber door. I have something I wish to show them; a case. I shall disperse its contents and show them all.’

  EIGHT

  The scent of fresh blood rose from the Dal-Carrions feathers. Connor noticed a string of worms hanging from the beak of one winged-beast, or entrails, if he shuddered to think about it long enough.

  The Dal-Carrion seemed in no hurry to attack. They paused in front of the Silver Riders, cocking their heads to one side, regarding them with naïve curiosity.

  The Silver Riders launched their Herming Moth Wings with a quick flick of the wrist. The Wings hung briefly in the air as if they were flies trapped in an invisible web. And then they sprung open, transformed into self-driven, whirring propellers, which expanded and flitted through the air.

  The Wings accelerated rapidly over the heads of the unsuspecting Dal-Carrion and engulfed them. In a matter of seconds, the winged-beasts had disappeared, swallowed whole in the rotating swells of the Wings.

  The Wings snapped shut and spiralled to the ground with a clatter. The Silver Riders on the ground hastily gathered them up.