The Quest of Narrigh (The Other Worlds Book 1)

by S. K. Holder

  He looked like a man who had lost a lot of weight too quickly, standing there in his voluminous purple and gold robes. Loose skin hung around his jaw and his neck was as scrawny and as wrinkled as a turtle. There was something about the way he moved. Hunched. Awkward. Sly.

  ‘What an utter and pleasant surprise,’ said the Citizen, forcing a smile to his chapped lips.

  Connor sensed it wasn’t surprise that made the Citizen’s eyes widen, it was fear.

  He stopped several paces away, watching him mindfully. He needed to be on his guard. ‘Did you summon me?’

  The older Citizen gave a weighty sigh. The skin under his bloodshot eyes looked swollen from lack of sleep. His boots were practically hanging off his feet. And as he straightened up, his back creaked like an unoiled hinge. ‘Why that’s no way to greet a fellow Citizen now is it? Skelos, House of Dorm.’ He waved a soiled right hand. It was marked with the letter ‘B’. He tottered on the balls of his feet, bridging the distance between them. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’

  ‘You know we’ve met. Don’t come any closer.’ Connor studied the Citizen before him. Yes, it was him. Although there was nothing distinctive in his features: beady eyes, pencil-thin lips and a nose that took up half his face.

  The Citizen’s eyes swept back and forth across the glowing terrain. Seemingly satisfied, they were alone, he returned his gaze to Connor. He gestured to Connor’s bag. ‘My niece tells me you have my Shard.’

  Connor’s fingers tightened on the bag’s strap. The glass rod was still sitting in his boot, but how was Skelos to know that? ‘It’s not your Shard. You stole it. I saw you.’

  ‘Unlikely, but I’ll run with it. I didn’t steal it. It’s an old family heirloom gone astray. I’ve been looking for it everywhere. I’m grateful you found it. If you’d like to hand it over and then I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘You brought me to Narrigh, didn’t you?’

  Skelos put his hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh, which sounded like a pig’s snort. He pointed to his feet. ‘What here? You think I brought you to this infernal pit. You must have suffered some brain damage during transportation. I hear it can happen on transit through the rift, if you’re conscious that is. I was exiled here months ago from the City of Pareus. And you can’t have been here as long as I have, otherwise, I would know about it. Narrigh is running a little short on technological advances, so I wonder how I would accomplish such a feint or why I would spirit you to another world where a Citizen’s Status stands for nothing. Tell me, what would I have to gain?’

  Connor clenched his fists. He felt a surge of anger and frustration. It angered him that Skelos had laughed at his accusation and he was frustrated because he couldn’t answer the question: what would the Citizen have to gain? As long as Skelos stayed in Narrigh, he would never have his freedom. The only thing that bound them together was the Shard, an item that Skelos’s niece had clearly planted on him after his arrival in Narrigh.

  Skelos came to a stop. ‘As I thought, you haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about. Your brother couldn’t tell me how you got here either.’

  ‘You’re lying. You’re behind all this.’

  ‘If you must know, I’m on the run and you’re the only one who can save me by giving back what you stole.’

  ‘You stole the Shard from someone in a white robe. You were spying on him. I saw you.’

  ‘When did you see me spying?’

  ‘In a dream.’

  An abundance of frown lines congregated around the Citizen’s eyes and mouth. ‘So you’re one of them? One of the Gifted. That’s why you’re here, slaving for the Shardner.’

  ‘I’m not slaving for anyone and I’m not going to give you the Shard. I know what it does. You’re going to use it to control people.’

  Skelos’s left brow fervently twitched. His respectful demeanour turned sour. ‘What are you a Sentinel now? A protector of the realm? Or just a young Citizen playing at being a hero. Be warned, you’re wasting your time. What I plan to do with the Shard is none of your business. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to conclude this tedious conversation. The Shard, if you will.’

  Without his armour, Connor was defenceless. He was thinking about making a run for it when he saw a jewel-encrusted knife fly from under Skelos’s robes. It hung in the air and then it snapped into life. He heard a crack like thunder. There was a flash of white light, and then a silver mass shot out of the knife’s hilt. It transformed into seven squirming tentacles, all hungry and radiating heat.

  Skelos’s jowls shuddered in fury. ‘Looks like you’re not the only one who’s gifted.’

  Connor’s stomach gave a lurch. He backed into the wall of a fire-pit. His eyes trained on the Bolt-Shot whip’s fiery tentacles, he reached inside his boot and pulled out the Shard. He held it aloft.

  ‘Call it off or I’ll drop it,’ he warned. He dangled the Shard over the pit. His hand was shaking so much he was sure he would drop it whether he intended to or not.

  Skelos advanced on him. ‘Throw me the Shard young Citizen. Let’s get this over with.’

  Connor felt the heat rise in his neck from the furnace below. His heart was flapping in his chest. If he gave Skelos the Shard, he would use it to make him take his own life, just like the man in the dream.

  A smile graced Skelos’s lips. He continued to advance. His poisonous eyes never left Connor’s own. He stretched out his hand and seized the Bolt-Shot whip. The deadly tentacles vanished in the same way they had appeared: with a crack and a flash of white light. ‘Throw it to me!’

  Connor stared back at him, daring himself to breathe, daring himself to move.

  Skelos lunged, bridging the gap between them. Connor smelt Skelos’s hot rank breath in his face. He could see the greed and corruption swimming in the Citizen’s eyes. He had had enough of being a coward. He had nothing more to lose.

  He lashed out, knocking the Bolt-Shot whip from Skelos’s hand with his fist. He swung his leg in an upward arc, catching Skelos’s limp wrist on the sole of his boot.

  Skelos fell to the ground clutching his wrist and squawking.

  Connor spun away from him, his face flushed from both heat and panic. The Shard had fallen from his hand and landed with a thump on the edge of the pit. He grabbed it and shoved it down the neck of his tunic.

  A blow, which felt like a barrel of lead, caught Connor in the hollow of his spine. It knocked the wind from his lungs. He pitched forward, tumbling over the fire-pit’s rim.

  He met an unwelcome sight: bursting, hissing flames about a hundred feet below him. The view was dizzying and the heat searing. He clawed at the scorching rock with his hands, gritting his teeth through the pain.

  Skelos peered at him, a leer on his face. ‘Quite the predicament,’ he said, tapping on his lips with his fingers.

  The surface was too hot for Connor to travel along. He kicked at the pit wall, his feet working furiously to find a ledge on which he might launch himself from. He was good at that, launching with the correct amount of leverage. It was a pity there wasn’t any.

  ‘What? Can you not jump young Citizen? I would gladly give you my hand,’ he rubbed his forearm, ‘though my arm is a little sore you know.’

  The hot rock crumbled under Connor's fingers. He clawed like a cat on a slated roof, scrambling wildly to find a niche more solid than the last. ‘Get me out,’ he begged.

  Skelos grinned mercilessly. ‘If you say please, I will gladly oblige.’

  ‘Ple-please,’ said Connor, his voice cracking with the strain. The heat tore at his throat. He thought he smelt his flesh burning.

  ‘Please, what?’

  ‘Please…sir.’

  ‘That’s hardly the right address for someone of my Status, but I suppose it will have to do. Now let’s see what we can do for you.’ Skelos pushed up his sleeves and gave his knuckles a brisk crack. He leaned into the crater, and gripping Connor’s right shoulder nimbly tugged at the neck of Connor’s
tunic. ‘Hold still now, young Citizen.’

  Connor should have known that Skelos would go for the Shard. No doubt when he had it in his grasp, he would waste no time in pushing him to his death, if he hadn’t already fallen by then. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

  And so, he redoubled his efforts, frantically working his feet across the crumbling rock until he found a foothold on a sliver of a crevice. It held strong. The fingers of his left hand scuttled to the right, finding their way to a slight overhang. He grasped it, groaning.

  There was no time to rest. Skelos’s hand was still stuck down his tunic, foraging for the Shard. Connor brought his other hand up from the crater, gathered a fistful of the fabric shadowing his face and twisted it into a knot. He then yanked on the knot with all his strength.

  Startled, Skelos squashed the handful of lizards that had gathered at his feet and collected under the skirts of his robe. His eyes were close to popping out of his head. ‘What are doing?’ He plucked fervently at his robe, his face convulsing in panic. He had not taken the initiative to plant his feet, and they had started to leave the ground.

  Connor puffed and pulled.

  Skelos’s chest thudded into the edge of the crater. His upper body hung over it. He stared into the fiery abyss. And he might well have stayed there, had a lizard not chosen to scamper up his leg at that very moment. Skelos lurched forward in alarm and slid headlong over Connor’s shoulder, bashing his spine on his descent.

  He grabbed hold of Connor’s waist to prevent himself from falling. ‘Don’t you dare let go,’ he screamed, his feet doing a merry dance beneath him.

  Connor expected them to go together. He pressed himself into the sizzling rock face, dug his fingers further into the ledge, clenching every muscle in his body.

  Skelos found his own sparse rock cleft to support one leg. He clung to Connor’s weathered belt. The heat from the metal buckle scorched his fingers and he squealed like a pig. Then he fell, letting out a blood-curdling scream that was cut off by the fire spewing beneath him.

  Connor shut his eyes, waiting for his turn. The pain was unbearable. He had the strange sensation of firm hands gripping his wrists, working their way up his arms, clawing at his burned clothes. He groaned in agony as the firm hands peeled his weeping fingers from the rock.

  ‘You’re okay. We’ve got you.’

  He opened his eyes and looked into Yate’s bronze face, knotted with determination. Wolth appeared alongside him, grunting and snarling. Connor’s feet nudged the lip of the crater and he slithered to the ground like a wet fish loosened from a net.

  He heard voices coming from the other side of the pit. He couldn’t tell if Yate and Wolth had heard them. His tongue protruded from his inflated lips, desperate to warn them of the impending danger.

  FORTY-FOUR

  ‘We have to get him above ground,’ said Wolth, spitting sweat and saliva. He threw water over Connor’s weeping blisters.

  Connor cried out, unable to help himself. The warm water did little to deaden the pain that consumed him by the second. His forearms were burnt. His trousers were torn and curled like paper from the knees down. His eyes had become horribly swollen; he could not fully open them. He stared helplessly up at Yate, who was holding him down. He tried to communicate with the Sentinel through his raw lips.

  Yate brushed his sleeve across his face. ‘Don’t try to speak. You’re safe now and back where you belong.’

  Connor responded with a moan. ‘What?’

  ‘Let’s take him over there,’ said Yate, nodding his head in the direction of a rock, shaped like a shark’s fin, some feet away, ‘out of this heat.’

  ‘You can’t move him,’ Wolth said, squinting at Yate through dust-covered lashes. ‘Not like - look at him.’

  Yate retrieved Connor’s charred bag and slung it over his neck. He hoisted Connor over his shoulders, ignoring his howls of pain. He covered the distance to the rock in four short strides. He gently laid Connor down. He then squatted beside him, his elbows resting on his thighs.

  Wolth went down on one knee. He took a long breath and laid a hand on Connor’s chest. ‘A slow painful death for one so young. It hardly seems fair. Is there nothing we can do to ease his suffering?’

  ‘He’s not dying,’ snapped Yate. ‘We’re of the same blood - Citizen.’ He wrapped his arm around Connor’s neck, his fist clenched. ‘So save your pity. He is not as weak as you think. He’ll be back on his feet within the hour. His powers are unimaginable and he’s in good with the Shardner. You’ve no idea what he can do for us.’

  Wolth took his hand from Connor’s chest. ‘Then we could do with ten more like him. What’s in the bag?’

  Yate tugged open Connor’s bag. ‘Gold coins and ashes. He had some good armour on him earlier. Keep a look out for it.’

  ‘How much gold?’ said Wolth. He rubbed his hands together and licked a boil on his lip as if it had a good taste.

  ‘There are those who would give all of Odisiris to have your gift for themselves,’ the Authoritative Voice reminded Connor.

  Connor gave a series of throaty growls. They weren’t helping him. They were helping themselves.

  Wolth responded to his growls by throwing the last of his water in Connor’s face. ‘Least I don’t need to waste my healing potion. We’ll have to get far away from the Kingdom and then drum up more recruits. We took a lot of casualties-’

  Yate’s head snapped up, his muscles tense, the blood popping in his veins. ‘Quiet. We’ve been followed.’ He poked his head out from behind their hiding place, inconspicuous as it was.

  ‘By how many?’ said Wolth.

  ‘Ten maybe. All armoured.’

  ‘There are eight to be precise. Excluding me,’ a voice proclaimed.

  Yate jerked his head in the direction of the voice, his muscles tightened in expectation.

  Wolth was on the feet, coughing and swaying. He reached for the dagger tucked inside his belt.

  A man stood a mere five paces away: tall, pale, and not in the least perplexed. He had closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He was wrapped in a silver-grey cloak stained with mud and grass. There were dark stains on his tunic and dents in the breastplate he wore over it. The seam of one of his trouser legs was unravelling. Tucked under his arm was a battered helmet. The man’s nose was shaped very much like the rock he was leaning on. Connor recognised him by the colour of his eyes. It was Osaphar.

  ‘You can try to arrest us, but we won’t go easy,’ said Wolth. He pulled himself upright and pushed out his chin, his eyes wide with fright.

  Connor admired his courage, for what it was worth.

  ‘The battle is over and you lost,’ said Osaphar, in a voice like steel. ‘Now release the boy.’

  The swelling on Connor’s eyelids had gone down. The blisters on his skin had ceased weeping. He watched Yate morph into a big cat.

  Connor rolled out of the way as the cat bared its ferocious jaws at Osaphar.

  A lizard scampered onto Osaphar’s shoulder. He stroked its tail, and then lazily brushed it from his cloak. ‘It’s forbidden to enter these caves.’ He looked off into the distance and then back at the big cat.

  ‘I didn't see any sign saying that,’ said Wolth, his hand fumbling for the hilt of his dagger. His white shirt was soaked through. Fat beads of sweat burst out all over his face.

  ‘I’m a sign,’ said Osaphar in a crisp tone. ‘Seize them.’ In a flash, eight guards, donned in black and silver armour appeared beside Osaphar.

  In a deft stroke, one of the guards’ snatched the dagger from Wolth just as he pulled it from his belt. The Gamnod Hunter crumpled to the ground, choking in dust.

  Yate, the big cat, pounced at the group of guards. The guards scattered as fast as they had appeared, and the big cat went crashing into a Plowman, crouched behind the spot where they had gathered. The Plowman wrapped its great arms around Yate. The big cat writhed in the Plowman’s powerful embrace. It snarled and snapped its jaws. It rake
d its claws across the Plowman’s face and then it went still, drained of energy.

  ‘Secure him,’ said Osaphar.

  A guard produced a coiled silver rope from a bag strapped to his back. He wrapped the rope over the big cat’s jaws, binding them shut. He then wound the rope around its neck, leaving enough length on the rope to bring the cat to heel.

  ‘Have you seen its claws?’ said another guard. ‘I’m not taking any chances.’ He pulled out his coiled rope and used it to bind the big cat’s paws together.

  ‘Let us be,’ cried Wolth. ‘We’re worthless to you.’ A Plowman strolled up and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Wolth didn’t notice.

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ said Osaphar. ‘Not mine you understand, the Shardner’s.’

  A guard, not an inch shorter than Osaphar, lifted Connor in his arms, cradling him as if he were a baby.

  A guard hauled Wolth to his feet by his arm. Another thumped him in the back with his steel baton.

  ‘Where are you taking us?’ said Wolth.

  Osaphar spoke into a device strapped to his wrist. It was similar to the one Connor had seen on his brother’s wrist. ‘We’ve found him. Bring us up.’

  A white light surrounded them like a curtain. It fizzled and cracked. Then the floor of the cave was gone, replaced by a shiny black one.

  They had arrived on a raised platform with steps leading from it. The structure was set with four evenly spaced steel pillars. A pulsing blue light lit the black-tiled floor.

  ‘What magic is this?’ said Wolth, his jaw steadily dropping. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘On board a Citizen vessel,’ said Osaphar. He stepped off the raised platform and removed his gloves. He turned to the guards. ‘Bring the boy. Hold the others here.’

  Connor felt as if his heart was beating on the other side of his chest. Luke came running out. The guard slipped Connor into his brother’s arms.