by S. K. Holder
He had changed into his farmer’s clothes and bandaged both his hands. If there were Citizens in the barn, they would be suspicious if he only concealed his right hand.
It wasn’t a man who opened the door, but a young woman with dark eyes, shaped like teardrops. Her skin was deathly pallid. Her black hair was wound up in a bun on top her head. She had a metal stud impaled in her chin. She looked him up and down. ‘Yes?’
She was at least five foot ten, by Skelos’s estimate. She was dressed in spiked black and red armour. Skelos didn’t quite know what to make of it. If I fell on top of her, I would bleed like a waterfall.
Had it not been for his mouth hanging open, Skelos would have commended himself for concealing his surprise. She had opened the door quite boldly for someone who was supposed to be in hiding. Had she seen him coming?
‘I’m a friend of Barnabas. I have some news from him.’
‘Barnabas? You mean the rogue?’
Skelos swallowed, nodding.
The girl stepped aside to let him through.
The air was bloated with the scent of sweat, straw, and oil. Shafts of sunlight broke through the cracks in the shuttered windows.
Her companions, both male, sat on dank bales of hay. They had taken a plank of wood and spread it across several other bales to form a makeshift table, laden with a single oil lamp, and bowls of partially eaten soup and bread.
The strangers were far younger than he imagined. He guessed they were certainly not older than twenty if that, yet there existed an air of maturity about them that he had only ever seen in the gifted scholars of Pareus. One long-haired, one short, and not a Dasenberry-coloured eye in sight. The long-haired one stared at him with such piercing annoyance that Skelos averted his gaze to a spot on the wall.
He stopped five paces short of their table before realising the young men had made no attempt to rise to greet him. He removed his farmer’s cap and stuffed it into the pocket of his waistcoat. He cast his eyes over the remnants of food and drink at their table, hoping that if he looked at them long enough, he would find himself back in Summerwell cottage.
He was caught off guard by a sudden movement, a scurrying flash so fast, it made his head swim. The girl who had opened the door for him was now seated with the others. Skelos dropped his cap. As he stooped to pick it up, all three rose from their bales of hay.
He was confounded. They think I’m bowing to them? The impertinence. None of us are that important. Except for the old King of Baruch and he had long since passed away. In Odisiris, the only Citizens you bowed to were members of the Presidential Elite. Presidential Elite! Skelos eyes widened briefly. No, they would never come here.
The man Skelos had taken the least note of stepped graciously forward to shake his hand. ‘I’m Duffy.’
Skelos caught a flash of the letter ‘I’ engraved on his outstretched palm. He felt his hand crushed beneath its grip before he could decline the courtesy offered him. They locked gaze. He’s a child masquerading as a man. Skelos took in the sharp slants of his eyes and his radiant brown skin. He noticed the contours of precision on his short-cropped hair. He studied his finely chiselled face, the prominence of his cheekbones, the definition of his nose, the fullness of his lips and the intensity at which he presented himself at that moment. There was an animated quality to him that Skelos had seen before; he couldn’t quite place where.
Skelos realised he had been staring for too long.
‘Something wrong?’ The other male glared at him menacingly. His dark hair swept over his shoulders. His eyes were small, blue and less intriguing than Duffy’s. He had a smooth olive complexion. However, it was his expression that was most marked. It represented a silent rage that Skelos was certain had nothing to do with his presence there at all.
Duffy drew a bale of hay up to the table. ‘Please join us.’
They do not recognise me. They do not know me. They do not suspect.
Skelos sat on the hay bale, cupping his hands together in a priest-like manner.
‘I’m Lin,’ said the girl who had opened the door for him. She leaned forward and gripped his hand less firmly than her comrade. The Mark she bore was identical to his own.
Skelos couldn’t care less about names. Chances were they had given him fake ones. Where had these three come from? What were they doing here? He had an uncanny feeling, he already knew.
‘Thorn,’ said the other male. He didn’t extend his skinny hand to Skelos. The insult left him unperturbed. He had not come to exchange pleasantries.
The three waited for him to speak. It would not do to show fear - that was paramount to guilt.
‘Why did Barnabas send you?’ asked Duffy.
Skelos answered frankly. ‘My name is Parr Reighnam. I’m from the church and I’ve come to warn you that you must leave.’ The words came to him easily enough, rolling off his tongue without as much as a waiver. How can they not believe me?
He helped himself to a jug of warm water from the table, poured it into a bowl and slurped it down with casual indifference, all the while thinking of what to say next. He had to be extremely careful with his words and actions from now on. ‘The Shardner arrived last night to find out what brings you to a place where you are not welcome. Did Barnabas not tell you?’
His hosts exchanged anxious glances.
‘We haven’t seen Barnabas since we arrived here,’ said the girl. ‘How does the Shardner know we’re here?’
‘You were seen,’ said Skelos, ‘by a couple of local farmers who believe you to be Northern spies?’
‘We’re not spies,’ said Duffy. He watched Skelos polish off the warm liquid. ‘We’re not looking for any trouble nor do we intend to stay long.’
The words were like a sweet melody to Skelos’s ears. How quickly all their minds could be put to rest. Questions asked. Answers delivered, and then no more. Their presence in Undren would only upset his plans. If he could persuade the young Citizens to leave, the Shardner’s men would follow and he could go about his business in peace.
He noticed a faint quiver in Duffy’s hand. As for Thorn, he was practically chewing the skin off his lips. They’re scared, unsure of themselves. All the good for me. He started on the bread, breaking off small pieces and popping them into his mouth.
His three hosts watched him like hawks.
‘Why didn’t Barnabas come himself, pa?’ asked Thorn. ‘Why did he send you?’
Skelos chewed sluggishly on the stale bread, holding his hand up momentarily to signal that he could not talk with his mouth full. He swallowed the last few crumbs of bread with exaggerated effort. ‘He had to leave on some family emergency. I am a trusted friend. Can I ask how you travelled here?’
‘We came through a portal,’ said Thorn.
A portal in the mines, leading back to Odisiris. Impossible!
‘A portal? Leading from where?’
‘Forgive us. We’ve had a long journey,’ said Duffy, shooting Thorn a reproachful look. ‘Weariness is causing some confusion and making us a little tense. What my friend meant to say is we are Gamnod from the North. We’re looking for someone.’
Not for me I hope. ‘I see.’
‘A boy,’ added Thorn.
Skelos briefly glanced towards the door. ‘Have you mentioned that to anyone else?’
Thorn met his enquiry with a haughty laugh.
‘Why don’t you go and check outside?’ Duffy spoke to Thorn through his teeth.
Thorn replied with a smirk. He remained where he was.
‘I’ll go,’ said Lin. She jerked to her feet and stalked off.
Thorn slid into Lin’s seat, opposite Skelos. Duffy also rose. He came to a stand behind Thorn.
‘We asked your friend. He said he didn’t know and now we’re asking you,’ said Duffy in an undertone. ‘The boy we’re looking for goes by the name of Connor.’
So Barnabas knew what had brought the young Citizens to Narrigh, after all.
Skelos disliked having their penetr
able gaze fixed upon him, imploring him to tell the truth. He nodded absently. ‘Is he blood-kin?’ The answer to this was all too plain now.
He felt the sweat rise on his brow. Duffy drank in everything about him, every movement, from the gestures of his hand to the momentary flicker of his eyelids. And as much as Skelos tried to put a wall between himself and Duffy’s cold stare, he found he could not. ‘He’s my brother.’
‘He’s thirteen,’ Thorn said in a dreary whisper. ‘His name is written on his right ankle. He may be confused. Scared.’ He stood up. He walked purposefully from one end of the barn to the other. Skelos could tell that his mind had left the room and abandoned itself elsewhere.
Duffy churned his lips. He sunk onto the bale of hay.
‘And what makes you think he’s in Undren?’ asked Skelos.
‘Because we’ve looked everywhere else.’
Even if they had been in Narrigh twenty years, they couldn’t have looked everywhere. If they had looked everywhere, they’d be dead by now. They’re not just guessing. They know the child is here. ‘Certainly, if anyone here answered to the boy’s description, then I for one would know. Every person in this village attends my church. We have a register of names and I can assure you unequivocally, that there are no children wandering around with their name written on their ankle. Handy, though, should they forget it.’
Duffy’s stare grew icier still. ‘I saw him enter a portal to Undren.’
‘You saw nothing,’ Skelos wanted to say. Portals were notoriously difficult to locate. He had never come across one. They were not sign-posted. He wondered how much more informative they would be if he revealed himself to be one of them. He expected they would bombard him with questions or worse panic and kill him.
They were desperate for a lead. Skelos decided to give them one.
‘Did you consult the book of Uom? I hear you have the answer to everything in there.’
Duffy frowned. ‘The book of Uom?’
‘The Gamnod book of knowledge. You should have carried your copy with you. I hear most Gamnod people do.’
‘There is only one copy,’ snapped Thorn, from the other end of the barn.
‘Well perhaps you would like to show me the portal where you came in so I may-’
‘No,’ said Thorn, his tone more cutting than ever. ‘You’ve either seen the boy or you haven’t. We travel alone.’
Skelos gave a light cough to clear his throat. ‘I know of gypsy colonies in the far South. You could reach them in four days on horseback. You may find him there. I can offer you a map if you don’t already have one.’ He swivelled around to face Duffy. He dare not tear his eyes away from him now.
‘We’re fine,’ said Duffy. He lurched up from the table to indicate their meeting had come to an end. ‘We have all the geographical equipment we need.’
With Duffy following close behind him, Skelos made his way to the door. He opened it. There was no sign of Lin.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t have been of more help to you,’ said Skelos. ‘But please heed my warning and leave as soon as you are able. The Shardner’s means of extracting you from the village are not the most - how should I put it? Conventional.’
‘Thank you,’ said Duffy. ‘We shall depart within the hour.’
‘Is there anything else I should know about the boy? Something that will help you in your search?’
Immediately, Skelos wished he had not asked it. He noted that Duffy’s composure was a powerful testimony to a wealth of information that he shared with no one. His brown eyes probed Skelos’s own.
‘Wherever he is we will find him and we will destroy those who mean him harm,’ came Duffy’s reply.
Skelos broke his gaze. He stumbled out of the barn and into the green expanse beyond without looking back. The sweat from his brow trickled freely onto his eyelashes. These Citizens will be my undoing.
THIRTY
Connor stirred. His clothes felt damp where the dewy grass had kissed them. He scratched his nose, inhaled the sweet scent of honeysuckles and reached blindly for an invisible blanket. There was a chill in the air and his hands and feet were cold. It was a while before he mustered the courage to open his eyes. A bright light had crept under his eyelids and they quivered in its wake.
He stumbled groggily to his feet. His eyes creaked open. He felt as if an iron fist had clouted him about the ears.
The sky above him was beginning to clear, as was his mind.
He had been swept up in a tornado. All signs of it were gone and he was still alive. Still in one piece. But where?
Dawn was breaking. He was surrounded by folds of green and a head of purple-tinged clouds. To his left, the sun crested over the horizon. He looked south. He saw the formidable Gate and a dark ribbon, winding beneath the hill crests towards it. To the east, he saw the Olva Mountains: small black crystals on a green band.
The Storm-Shifter had dropped him near Undren village. If he wanted to get through the Gate, he would have to barter his way in. He didn’t really have anything with which to barter. He could say he was lost, that his mother lived in the village. They wouldn’t turn away child, would they?
He found his bag lying on the edge of a grassy knoll. It had broken open. The glass rod was still there, the Seekers Egg, the Worral stone, two strips of dried meat, three silver coins, and seven gold ones. The tornado had swallowed up everything else.
He put the glass rod inside the sock of his boot and scanned the sloping low road that would take him into the village: a dry mud path where grass failed to grow because it had been trampled on a thousand times by man and beast alike. He slung his bag over his shoulder, drew a long slow breath and began marching in the direction of the Gate.
The weight of his bag grew less as he journeyed on, but the burden of responsibly grew heavier on his shoulders.
Much to Connor’s good fortune, the Undren Gate was open. A man driving a cartload of Goby pigs (so-called because of their swollen cheeks and fins) was on his way out. The man was riding fast, leaving the guards on the Gate flustered and scattered. Connor slipped through the gate with ease. He was silently patting himself on the back when a hand thumped his shoulder. He froze, afraid to turn around.
‘And where do you think you’re going?’ The Undren Guard had thought he was trying to sneak out of the Gate. He shoved him hard in the back, sending him into the horde of villagers.
Connor ran, eager to get away from the guards at the Gate, but the further he journeyed into Undren the more restless he became. He hadn’t thought this all the way through. On a computer screen, the village of Undren was clean, orderly and small. In reality, all the buildings looked giant and unfamiliar. It was a busy place, dusty and packed full of people, carts, horses and other animals. Connor was afraid that something was going to trample on him. And he was afraid to ask for help. If he stood still for too long, someone or something would shove him out of the way.
He was in Undren, the place where he started out in the game. He hoped something would trigger his memory. There had to be someone in the village who remembered him, but all of the villagers he made eye contact with, returned nasty and suspicious looks.
He shrank into an empty doorway and pulled out his map of Narrigh. It named only a handful of Undren’s major landmarks: the Gate, the Olva Mountains, the woodlands, the church (marked with a cross), the Auction House and the Village Hall. You couldn’t zoom in and out of the map as you could on a computer screen, and you couldn’t tap on a question mark symbol to receive useful tips on how to reach your destination. Worse, he had to get about on foot. If he wanted to retrace his steps, he would need a more detailed map of Undren. He had enough silver to buy a map of the village showing all the roads and landmarks. He made his way back toward the Gate, turning left onto a road he knew. Adle Road. He had frequented it - in the virtual world - on two occasions. Adle Road was teeming with shops. From what Connor remembered, there was also a bank and an Alchemist, which sold healing potions.
Villagers, walking in packs, repeatedly drove Connor onto the road. Laden with boxes, bags, and other goods, they hardly seemed to look where they were going.
He came to a drapers shop. There was a reedy woman in the shop front, dressed in a high-collared white blouse and a long black skirt. She was holding a tape measure up to a roll of rose-patterned fabric. There were no other costumers inside the shop. Feeling confident that she could help him, Connor went in.
A bell rang above the door when he entered. The door groaned shut. He slowly padded across the shop floor. ‘Excuse me,’ he squeaked.
The Draper set down her tape measure and started to unroll the fabric.
‘Excuse me.’ He parked himself between two giant boulders of grey silk.
‘We’re closed.’ She took a pair of scissors from the neck of her skirt and proceeded to cut the fabric.
‘Sorry, I didn’t know. I just wanted directions.’
The Draper returned her scissors to the neck of her skirt and shot him a glance. ‘And what are you doing back here?’ she said frostily.
‘Erm…have I been here before?’
‘Well, that’s gratitude for you. I sowed the trousers you’re wearing. They didn’t look like that when they left my shop. I warned him, I said, “Get the cheap fabric, nothing pricey. You know what these children are like. They’ll be shredded by the morrow, and you’ll spend the rest of your years sowing and patching the things up.”’
Connor looked down at his threadbare trousers, frowning. ‘When was I in here?’
‘You’ve some gall, I’ll say. I’ll have to ask that Warden to teach you some manners.’ Her neck constricted. ‘No “please”, no “thank you”, no “Madam”!’
‘Who’s the Warden? Please. Ma’am. Madam.’
The Draper slotted the roll of rose-patterned fabric between two others propped against the wall. ‘I don’t why he bothers with you strays. You don’t want to go to school. You cost more to feed than a Goby Pig and you leave trouble and dirt wherever you go. He said that he had been charged with your care. Who charged him with your care, is anybody’s guess. But anyone would know to look at you that you didn’t come off the streets of Undren. So where did you come from? That’s what I’d like to know.’ She moved closer to him, her skirt rustling as she walked. She peered at him as if she were looking at a tiny and unusual insect. ‘Did you arrive on a ‘cursed’ wind? Or are you a sorcerer’s apprentice?’
