Her eyes fed on the light, she looked around and saw the tunnel extending off into darkness. She noted that the passageway descended, its slick steps beckoned her onwards. Whisper brushed past her leg, she wondered at how controlled the dog had been, he had not even barked when the robber knights had come to the clearing. Whisper was well trained.
Forcan came alongside her and spoke in a low voice. “Best we stay down here a while. I recognised one of those bastards, the Butcher of the Weald they call him. Mad as a box of snakes that one, a history of murder as long as your arm. What’s ahead? Can you see?”
Sabine was in no mood for talking. She nodded at Forcan and turned to face the way ahead; she saw Whisper waiting in the semi-darkness. She had a bad feeling but learned long ago to ignore her fear; that way lay despair. She moved cautiously down the passage, her second sight reaching out ahead.
The darkness fell away reluctantly before Forcan’s light. The passage descended at a moderate gradient, the stonework covered in damp and bleached fungal growths. She had heard of grave robbers succumbing to melancholia and dysphoria from inhaling the dust that some of these growths produced if touched. She gave them a wide berth.
Her feet led her down, she was vaguely aware of Forcan close behind; all her senses were directed ahead. The passage turned sharply to the left and narrowed, Whisper was in front and had turned the corner. Without warning the hairs on Sabine’s forearms stood up, she crouched down instinctively.
Whisper let out a yelp, then all was quiet.
Sabine turned to look at Forcan, he had both blades drawn, his face tense.
A terrible stench flooded the passageway. Sabine had to fight to stop herself from retching.
Then she heard the sound; the sound of death approaching.
Chapter 11: The Island
It took Jack three days to recover.
Three days of fever and hallucinations. Dreams of death and spite came to him thick and fast. Dreams of people he knew in a life long gone, of things left unsaid and things taken for granted. Never again. He awoke with a start and opened his eyes.
His vision was blurred, he made out an empty chair, a glowing hearth and a dimly lit room. Light filtered in from outside through cracks in the door. He heard distant voices, children shouting, a dog barking. He sat up and felt immediately dizzy, a headache from hell burst inside his skull. Thirst raged in his mouth, he looked round and saw a jug and cup.
He poured some of the liquid from the jug and tasted it. Fresh water, he downed the cupful in greedy gulps. His thirst slaked, he took renewed interest in the room. His clothes were gone, he now wore a simple tunic and leggings, his feet were bare.
Where the hell am I?
He stood up carefully, his legs shaky. He made it to the door, lifted the latch and gazed onto a cobbled street. Dark clouds filled the sky, he looked left and right and saw low buildings stretching out along the street. The roofs were thatched and smoke spiralled up from their tall chimneys.
A woman passed and caught his eye, she smiled. “A hard night?” she said in jest, her eyes flicked to his arms, her face changed. She looked away and began walking faster, her shoulders tense. Jack recognised the look of fear. What had provoked her reaction?
He looked down at his arms and saw his military tattoos. His right upper arm showed a flying eagle, claws extended, wings emblazoned with the colours of the stars and stripes. His left arm carried his old unit’s unofficial emblem, a wolf’s head with crossed guns beneath. His tattoos had alarmed the woman.
“What are you doing?”
He turned to his left and saw a young girl with sightless eyes approaching. She was familiar, she had been somewhere in his broken dreams. He stared at her.
“Come, back inside. We need to dress you properly, you need to eat. You’re not ready to go out.”
He allowed her to take his hand and lead him back inside. He could not make out how she avoided bumping into things, her steps were confident, sure. She went to the other side of the room and opened a trunk.
“Here, find clothes that fit. Your old ones were torn and useless, they’re gone, as is your old life. You’re here now, one of us, Falinor himself has sent you to me, my prayers have been answered.”
Jack looked at her young face and saw faith there. He did as he was told and looked through the trunk finding a long sleeved shirt and full length britches.
“They were my father’s clothes, he was roughly your height. You may need a belt for the breeks, there should be one in there,” she said.
Jack liked her voice, she had a lilting brogue. He felt a smile break out across his face, he willed her to speak again.
“I’ve arranged for you to meet with Saheliya, she’ll guide us as to your path. We don’t have much time, I need you to find my sister, Sabine. Falinor has taken her away from me and has sent you instead. I don’t know what Falinor wants me to do, he’s a trickster god and looks after his own; the thieves and rogues. Sometimes he likes to play with our lives, we have to accept his tricks and make the best of it. He spins us a crooked path.”
Raven. Her name came to him, she had told him.
“Where am I? What is this place?”
“I told you already. This is New Haven, ruled by Reglis the Fourth, the year is the seventh of the fire.”
Jack sucked in his breath. “No really, where am I? Stop fooling around, I’m serious.”
Raven stared at him blankly. Finally, she spoke, a resigned tone to her voice. “You’re from a different place. You’re from a strange land. I’ll have to show you my city, my land. Come, you’re dressed. I’ll take you outside, to the walls, you’ll be able to see the city and the lands beyond. Perhaps then you’ll understand.”
Jack trusted her, she was being straight with him. He found himself nodding, even though he knew she could not see him. He tightened his belt, she had been right about that. “Right then, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“First you must eat and drink. Your body needs sustenance.”
Raven went over to the table in the corner of the room and produced rye bread and cheese. She reached up to a shelf and brought down a bottle of ale and gave it to him. He forced himself to sit and took the food she offered. He had many questions to ask, but at the sight of the food his hunger took over and he tore into the food with enthusiasm.
After the meal Jack felt better, his head cleared, he wanted to leave the gloom of Raven’s house. She took him into the street and led him uphill. He noticed she did not lock her door, this puzzled him but then he realised, she had nothing to steal. The homes they passed were shacks, she lived in a slum. Makeshift shelters had sprung up at random in this area of the city, poverty hung in the air like a dead man on the gallows.
Jack felt oppression all around. He looked up the hill and saw gleaming spires and bright roofs in the distance. Colourful flags bedecked the highest towers. The have and the have nots, it was ever thus, he reflected. Raven trudged up the street, every so often she would hold out her hand and touch a wall or a corner, as if to connect with the world. Not once did she miss her footing or make a wrong turning.
After twenty minutes they came to the city’s inner walls. Raven guided him to a narrow gate, it was open and unguarded. People were coming and going through it, they joined the throng.
“There’s a market this morning, the other side of the wall. This is where everyone is going, except us. We’re going there.” Raven pointed up at the walls. She walked around the entrance and Jack saw stairs leading upwards. Raven took the steps and started climbing, Jack followed and soon they were on the battlements, looking down on the market below.
Jack gasped. The city sprawled out below them as far as the eye could see. There were distinct districts separated by walls and dominating the centre of the city stood a formidable keep, anchored on a rocky promontory. At the foot of the keep was a large landscaped area, a picturesque lake glinting at its heart. A sizeable island lay in the lake. He spotted deer moving within the parkland
s. His eyes were drawn back to the island. He mused, deep in thought.
Raven’s childlike voice spoke up beside him. “Before you is our mother city; New Haven. Many people live here, it extends up, and down, beneath the ground. There is good and bad here. King Reglis lives in the keep, he’s not been out in public for two years. The people hunger to see him, some say he’s dead, but the guards come and go and the city elders carry on as normal, so I guess he still lives. I’ve never seen him but I’ve heard his voice… once, when I was a little girl. He gave a speech in the guild halls, I was in the crowd, with Sabine; we were… working.
“Reglis spoke of the threat coming from the east and how we had to stand up for our freedom. He was gathering support for the first great war; a massive army he had financed to take on the easterners. His voice was strong, confident, I believed in him, in the city then. But so much has happened, I wouldn’t know where to begin, we’re survivors, my sister and I. We live on the fringe, we look out for each other. That’s why I need you to find her.”
Jack’s ears took in her words, his eyes drank in in the view. He did not believe what he saw; a startling city in a strange land, it was not real, he would wake up soon, in the poisoned streets of New York, in the subway, in hell. He was dreaming, the screecher had done something to his head, back in the factory.
But his senses still fed him with information, he felt the stone of the battlements with his fingers, he felt the wind and sun on his skin. He heard the voices of the people below, he saw Raven standing beside him, telling him he was the one to find her sister.
“What are you doing here, bitch?” a man’s voice broke Jack’s reverie, he swung round towards the newcomer.
Raven turned, her hands reaching into her sleeves. “Valin? You and I have nothing to talk about.”
“Your bitch sister is not here to protect you, you’re on my ground, these runnings belong to me. You and your kind should know your place and stay in your shithole slum.”
“Valin, listen to me, I’m not working here, anyway it’s daylight so your words are meaningless. Leave us now while you can, walk away with your life. What do you say?”
Jack’s eyes were glued to Valin, still he did not see it coming. Valin spat and swore under his breath, he turned as if to walk away but did something with his fingers. He swung back holding out his hands, blue fire exploded towards Raven scorching the air as it blossomed. Jack felt his lungs burn as the fire struck the ground beside him.
He looked for Raven, she had vanished. He heard a whisper of feet behind and saw a blur to his left. She had somehow jumped away from the fire and positioned herself to the side, her hands flashed out from her sleeves, something glinted in the light. He heard a soft groan, looked back and saw Valin crumple to the ground, a blade protruding from his throat, another from his chest.
It was when Jack saw the pool of blood collecting around the fallen man’s head that he knew. He knew he was not dreaming, he knew this world was real, he recognised violence, he felt Valin’s death, he knew that sound; the rush of death. This was real, Raven was real, New Haven was real. His mind grasped the facts and accepted them. Instinctively, he looked around, for witnesses, for danger. They were alone on the battlements, for the moment. Relief flooded through him.
“Valin, you were never the brightest card in the pack, perhaps this is for the best, eh?” Raven was crouching over the fallen man retrieving her daggers, she lent forwards and searched the body with practiced swiftness. She made a satisfied sound when she found his purse and amulet. “You should never dabble in magic unless you have a good teacher, that was just sloppy.”
Jack grabbed Valin by the legs and dragged the body behind some crates. “Let’s get out of here.”
Raven smiled and nodded. “Yes, let’s go. At least we’ve coin now for food. I thought lady fortune had turned her back on us but it seems not.” She turned and started walking along the wall, back the way they had come. Jack’s eyes drifted to the north, he felt a sudden anxiety mixed with dread.
His vision raced before him over hundreds of miles, he smelt the residue of Valin’s magic in the air, it clouded his head. He could see clearly, deep into the dark fastness of the north. He saw the rotten heart of an enemy he did not understand, did not even know. An enemy that was merciless and unrelenting, an enemy that wanted him, knew him.
Jack saw the undead in his vision. They were coming from the north, a huge tide of them, overwhelming, it was starting over again. His stomach knotted, he felt sick. He would not, could not live through this again.
“Jack Spence, follow me, we’ve work to do.” Raven’s voice brought him back from the edge. He looked away from the north, his vision settled and he followed the blind girl down, off the city walls.
Chapter 12: Blood Eagle
Levant spent the following week delving deeper into the northern lands.
His eyes were open to everything, his blood felt alive but he knew his mortal body was dead, he was Draugr, he was Revenant. He had heard tales of these cursed warriors, locked into lifeless existence by dire magic. The Revenant of Shimmering Barrow, son of Axen Flintheart was the most famous; slain in a betrayal between rival warlords.
Levant mused on what he knew; most Draugr stayed below ground and were weakened by daylight. They did not require food or drink and possessed extraordinary strength but moved slowly.
He felt leaden, his heart burned not with life but with vengeance. He needed an enemy to channel his revenge, Neesa had provided him with one; the bastard Sworn. The king’s own had betrayed their monarch to the eastern necromancers. Levant would strike at their heart, he would eviscerate their power. His mind returned to what the traveller had told him the previous day; the local bandits had a price on his head. His plan was gathering momentum. The outlaws were convinced he carried the Blood Eagle.
“What is this Blood Eagle that excites them so?” Levant asked the traveller.
“I don’t know exactly, but I’ve heard it’s a fearsome blade. A blade from beyond the grave, a spirit drinker. It sings as it kills.” The man shuddered as he spoke. “They say it’s used to splay the ribs of victims, their lungs drown in rivers of blood.”
Levant knew he had to find the Blood Eagle, he felt drawn to it. It would be the perfect weapon to lay waste the Sworn. He pumped the man for more information and found out a deserted village was nearby and beyond the village lay barrows.
He would go to these barrows. He needed to find more of his kind. Where better to look than the barrows of the north folk?
Levant saw the cairn and path leading away from the road; he was close to the village. He turned the roan mare and took the path. His eyes saw the gibbet outside the village, its rotting corpse staring sightlessly at him. The settlement was deserted, the threat of war and bandits too much for its people. The same in all wars, Levant thought. He continued through the village on to the barrow fields beyond.
It took him another hour to find the barrows, they lay scattered over a large area, a selection of satellite tombs circling a large central mound, its entrance stone still in place, unmolested by grave robbers. His hopes soared; here he would find answers. The light began to fade and a rumble of thunder broke the still evening air. Low mist hovered above the river and light rain began to fall.
A memory flashed through his mind; a girl’s laughter. His daughter Kate. Where is the laughter anymore? Levant’s eyes flickered for a heartbeat, then hardened. He dismounted the mare and tied her to a tree near the river, she was young and strong, a good beast. He patted and soothed her with comforting words.
Where is the laughter? Where are my children?
Levant stepped out of the mist approaching the largest barrow. The ancients’ presence hung in the air, he breathed in the memory of the place, felt the weight of years and sorrow. His hand touched the cap stone, swirls of engravings met his fingertips. Damp cold travelled up his arm and embraced his dead heart. He felt the proximity of his kind, his new kin, those that had gone b
efore, a lineage of death extending like a chain back through time.
He heard a murmur and realised it was his own voice. He heard words coming from his throat, words he did not recognise, his throat felt parched, a mixture of ash and dust. His words fell to the stone and permeated the air.
Where is the laughter?
A girl’s smile, twinkling eyes and her blessed laughter. His beloved daughter, Kate, looking at him, love in her eyes.
The cap stone shimmered before him growing transparent. He took a step forwards and passed through the entrance. He noticed, with detached interest, his form had dissolved, he too had become transparent. He entered another world, of ancestors and death.
The tomb was cold, still, its age filled the air, tangible, oppressive. Levant took a second step and heard laughter, it was not Kate’s laughter. It was the laughter of those long gone, looking down on those still cursed with life and its pain. Levant understood; he was one with them, he was dead but cursed with residual life, a sham. He continued down the passage, his arms held wide. He would welcome whatever came with open arms.
The passage descended steeply into the depths of the earth. His eyes did not need light, he walked in the spirit world, they would come to him, his brothers and sisters in death. Sibilant whispers slid out of the stone around him, at first quiet, unsure, then stronger, more insistent. He put one foot in front of the other and penetrated deeper into the dark heart of the barrow.
His sight left him, the darkness became impenetrable, viscid. He smiled, he was home, in the womb of death. He felt drawn, he felt comfort and succour, except the comfort was not his. The freedom of true death was denied him by the flicker of life remaining inside, animating his corpse. He nodded tiredly, remembered his quest and opened his eyes once more.
“What is this place?” Levant’s cracked lips parted, the words spilled from his throat.
The whispers around him fluttered and grew. A sound; the buzzing of flies grew and flew around his head, slowly the noise rose and congealed into a hollow voice.
Revenant Page 6
