by Alec Hutson
“Talin eats too much, anyway,” Deliah says distractedly. “He’s getting fat.”
Xela mutters something about spoiled princesses and stalks outside.
Now Deliah does glance over her shoulder, watching as the shadowdancer vanishes into the darkness with a slight smile. “Something is bothering her.”
“She’s been like this for days,” I reply, squatting beside Deliah and extending my frozen hands towards the fire. “I think she’s worried about returning to Zim.”
Deliah nods. “Shadowdancers do not often leave the Umbra, and when they do it is almost always not on good terms. But it may be something else.”
“What?”
“Back in the town, she gave something to the innkeeper. Do you remember?”
“Yes.”
“It looked very much like a servali. A token. The richest families in Zim use them as currency – it is a mark of great wealth and standing. Common folk cannot trade them, except back to one of the great houses, but they are compensated very well when they do. I imagine that servali she gave the old man could pay for a whole new inn if he returned it to a magistrate of the empire.”
“So she’s a noble?”
Deliah pokes at the fire with a stick, making it flare a bit higher. “She must be. Or she stole that token, but if a Zimani from outside the great families was found to have used one, the punishment would be a swift and brutal death.”
I settle back on my haunches, mulling this over. Xela doesn’t act like a noble, but how would I even know how a Zimani noble comports herself?
Bell crashes through the entrance and dumps an armful of brush onto the floor. “Good, you’ve got the fire going. I’m so hungry I could eat an aurochs.”
Deliah and I share a quick glance, and then I clear my throat. “About that . . .”
We huddle around the flames as night falls, chewing on pitifully small strips of salted beef, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The wind shrieks outside, battering the side of the hut with such ferocity that it sounds at times like there’s a monster trying to get inside. Luckily, the stone walls are well-constructed, and only a few thin trickles of cold make it through. Despite my dire imaginings, I don’t think it’s going to collapse on top of us.
Xela is still casting angry glances at Deliah, but the lamias is ignoring her. Bell seems content to watch the flames, her knees drawn up to her chest, the lenses of her spectacles reflecting the glow. I toss the last morsel of dry meat into my mouth and wait for it to soften enough for me to swallow.
A scraping sound comes from outside, and our heads rise together, glancing at the doorway and then each other.
“The wind,” Bell says, and I nod, unconvinced.
Another scrape, closer than before. My hand scrabbles for the hilt of my sword, and I half rise.
“Go see what it is,” Deliah hisses, and I sigh. The other women are looking at me expectantly.
Of course. Fine.
I creep towards the entrance, which has been transformed by the night into a square of seamless black. Suddenly something moves in the darkness, coming closer. I draw my green-glass sword, the blade ringing like a bell as it leaves its sheath.
“Who’s there?” I call out.
“Me,” says a voice I know. “Put down the fucking sword.”
A patch of silvery white swells in the black, like a spirit drifting closer. But it’s no ghost, and a moment later Fen Poria strides from the darkness, stopping just outside the doorway. She runs a hand through her pale hair, scowling.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, relief pushing aside my surprise at seeing her.
She doesn’t say anything, but I notice that she’s dragging something behind her. With a grunt, she pulls it forward and tosses it in our direction. I tense, but the thing hits the floor with a clatter and lies still. It’s a rock crab as big as a large dog, its carapace cracked where something hard has been driven into it.
Fen Poria keeps frowning, her green eyes holding mine for a long moment, then she turns on her heels and vanishes back into the darkness.
Stunned silence in the hut. We look at each other, then the crab. My stomach rumbles, loud enough for the others to hear.
“That was the woman who kidnapped my father,” Bell says slowly.
“Aye,” I say, reaching out tentatively to poke one of the crab’s wrist-thick legs. It doesn’t move.
“What is she doing here? Doesn’t she work for the Marquis?”
Xela and I share a glance. There hadn’t yet been a good time yet to tell Bell about what happened that night at the inn.
“She seems to be helping us,” I say slowly, and Xela snorts.
“Seems to be. Maybe the crab is poisoned.”
“I think we can trust her . . . but if you disagree, I’ll eat your portion of crab.”
“Shut up and help me put it over the fire,” Deliah says, gripping a leg and pulling it closer.
“Praise the saints,” Bell says, shielding her eyes from the sun. Beside her, Xela slumps forward in her saddle, her head nearly resting in her pony’s mane.
“About time,” the shadowdancer says wearily, and I agree with her.
We’re perched on a spur of rock that thrusts out from the main trail, and for the first time the Grand and Enlightened Empire of Zim has come into view. Rugged hills sweep down to meet a vast yellow plain that extends to the horizon. Blotches of shadow cast by the few clouds in the sky are sprinkled across this expanse, but mostly it’s unblemished, a sheet of beaten gold blazing in the sun.
“Looks like a welcoming place,” I say, and Xela snorts.
“There are snakes thirty span long in that grass, and things even more terrifying that prey on them. The grasslands of Tensch are one of the deadliest places in the Twilight Empire. It’s the Red Legion’s job to cut the grass as it encroaches upon the roads, and the mortality rate is the highest for any non-combat duty in the Empire.”
“Well, then, we stay on the road,” I say, leaning back in my saddle and stretching out my arms. The last few days have been treacherous, over high passes buried in snow and ice, although luckily we avoided any storms. We’ve descended quite a ways already, but the slopes around us are still covered with white, though here and there rocks and barren patches break the drifts. It’s also warmed considerably, and I’m half-tempted to take off my furs. A river that would have been frozen over just this morning flows farther below us, a torrent of rushing silver. The trail with its endless switchbacks descends seemingly forever, vanishing into the scrub and rock below.
My eyes sweep back along the way we’ve come, looking again for Fen Poria. The feral must still be out there, but she has an almost magical ability to keep hidden. Or maybe she’s ahead of us, already picking her way down the side of the mountain. The last two evenings we arrived at wayfarer’s stops to find dinner already waiting: one night it had been a young goat, the other a gray lizard with skin pebbled like stone.
Deliah throws back her hood and turns her face to bask in the sun’s warmth. She looks radiant, her indigo hair gleaming. “By the Moon Mother, when we come close to the river I can’t wait to try and catch –”
“Greetings, travelers!”
My bones and teeth seem to shiver as these booming words roll through the mountains, echoing among the peaks. I whirl away from the lands spread far below me, searching for the speaker.
“What is that?” Xela murmurs, and I can’t answer her.
The creature ambling down the slope towards us is a huge slab of muscled gray flesh. It looks like a man, but its massive head is squashed upon its shoulders, and its arms dangle down almost to its knees. Its mouth is a thin slash, its eyes points of black in its broad and expressionless face. A ragged loin-cloth wrapped around its waist is the creature’s only garb, and some strange growth is emerging from its chest.
The thing halts a hundred paces from us, spreading its gangly arms wide. “We welcome you to our place of business.”
Something is st
range. “Its mouth didn’t move,” Deliah says.
She’s right. The words emanated from the creature, but not from its head. I squint, trying to make out the thing squirming on its chest. It almost looks like a monkey clinging to its mother . . .
Oh. I can’t hold back a shudder of revulsion when I see just what is addressing us. The thing emerging from the creature’s upper chest resembles a tiny, wasted version of its host, and the actions of the smaller thing are mirrored by the larger. When it drops its wizened little arms, the giant does the same. Unlike the larger creature, though, the thing is clothed in a motley assortment of rags and bits of metal. A pot with a curving handle sits on the smaller creature’s head, partly askew.
“An etterling,” Bell whispers to me out of the side of her mouth. “The smaller one has the brains, the larger the brawn. They tend to be rather more . . . enterprising . . . than other giant-kin.”
“Hey!” yells the smaller creature, and I’m surprised the little creature can project so loudly. “No whispering! That’s rude, you know, while we’re talking.”
Bell clears her throat. “Sorry, sir,” she cries back, and this seems to mollify the giant somewhat. “We were wondering why you’ve stopped us here today.”
The parasitic little man leers at Bell and removes his helmet, then runs his fingers through his lank and greasy hair. The giant mirrors this motion, but without expression. “Thank you, my lovely. Always a pleasure to converse with civilized folk.” He replaces his pot-helmet, leaving it at a jaunty angle. “And as we are also civilized folk, we have recently set up our own small business in these lands.”
“Business?” Bell calls out, apparently as confused as I am.
“Yes,” the creature replies, sounding incredibly pleased with itself. “This is our road, and my brothers and I have established a toll.”
“And what is the toll?” Deliah yells back impatiently.
“One of you,” the emaciated creature replies with a leer. “One of you lovelies.” It spreads its arms again, as if this is an eminently reasonable demand. “You have three, my good man.” He seems to be addressing me now. “And we have none. Therefore, to get what you want – down the mountain – you must give us something we want.”
“I say we give him the lamias,” offers Xela, and Deliah snorts.
“We’re not giving him anyone,” I say, exasperated. Then I turn back to the creature and call out to it: “And if we don’t?”
The creature points farther up the slopes, near where the snow gives way to stone. Another etterling, even larger than the first, has emerged from somewhere. The smaller version is growing from its host’s shoulder, the imp sunk waist deep into the monster’s flesh.
“One lovely, or we make jelly out of you!” the first etterling chortles, and the one higher up the slopes hefts a boulder the size of our ponies.
I share a nervous glance with my companions. Surely it can’t throw this far . . .
As if in answer, the etterling rears back and heaves the boulder. It tumbles end over end, crashing down not far from us and skittering over the cliff. If the rock had been a dozen paces to the left it would have crushed us.
“A demonstration!” screeches the first etterling. “To show the fairness of our offer! One lovely only, and you are free to go!”
“You two kill the chatty one,” I say to Xela and Deliah as the creature above hefts another huge rock. “I’ll run up there and stop the other from crushing us.”
Without waiting for a reply, I slide from my pony and take off running. The etterling hurling down rocks is well above us, and after days spent in the saddle my legs are aching after only a short time of churning up the steep slope. Behind me, the other etterling is now bellowing something unintelligible, but I don’t dare steal a glance over my shoulder to see if that’s because the shadowdancer and the lamias have engaged it. The size of the rocks raining down could mash me into a pulp if I’m not careful.
I duck behind a jagged fan of stone to avoid another of the missiles, and my heart gives a little lurch as the rock shudders under the impact. I sneak a quick glimpse around the edge of the barrier and see that the etterling is temporarily busy with uprooting more boulders from the frozen ground. I take this momentary respite to check on my companions. Xela is now clinging to the other etterling’s back as it lurches about, stabbing it over and over again with her curved dagger, while Deliah is jabbing it in the stomach with the bladed end of her glaive.
Time to finish this. Taking a deep breath, I break cover and dash towards the etterling as it strains to heft a boulder that looks like it could knock down a castle’s wall. Eighty paces. Sixty. With a grunt of exertion the etterling raises the rock over its lumpy head. My heart sinks. Damn, that’s going to be hard to dodge. I glance around, but there’s nothing to hide behind this time.
Light flashes higher up, where the slopes are covered with snow. I throw my arm up reflexively, momentarily blinded. Shadows dance in my vision as I struggle to see what has happened. I’m not the only one disoriented; the etterling’s quivering arms give way, the huge boulder dropping on both its larger head and the emaciated creature growing from its flesh. Both disappear, everything above its shoulders reduced to a bloody smear.
I’m lucky the bouncing rock isn’t coming towards me, because I’m having a hard time looking away from what’s appeared higher up the mountain. It looks like a twisting pillar of flame, with something writhing deep within it, almost like a shadow . . .
A terrific crack shivers the ground and brings me to my knees. The flame vanishes, as suddenly as it arrived, but whatever it has done has dislodged the snow, and a rolling wave of white is swelling larger.
Avalanche.
“Oh, hells!” I cry, turning and bounding down the slope. My foot skids on a patch of permafrost, but by the grace of the dead gods I keep my balance.
The rumble behind me is swelling, the ground is shaking, and I know a moment before it happens that I’ll never escape what’s coming.
Something slams into my back, swallowing me.
3
Darkness rushes over my frozen body.
I drift in the emptiness, an ember in the endless black. Am I dead? No. I’m trying to return. Why am I seeing the path? What has gone wrong? Ezekal claimed that going back might break even the strongest mind. Has mine shattered?
A square of golden light appears, floating in the abyss. Is this the right door? It should be, but never before have I experienced the journey like this before. I wish I could ask Ezekal what has happened. The veil ripples as I approach, as if in greeting. There’s no reason to hesitate. I can’t go back without a weaver, or we are all doomed . . .
I stretch out my hand, my fingertips brushing the golden light. It clings to me like silk. Steeling myself, I swim forward, into the world we abandoned.
“Bastard’s alive.”
I come awake with a shudder, gasping for air.
The darkness lightens, vague shapes sharpening into things I recognize. There’s a bald black head looming over me, its cheek marred by a jagged white scar. Beyond this man, the sky burns orange and yellow, a red sun descending behind the shadowy outline of mountains.
I’m lying in something cold, and I try to lift my arm but it’s trapped. Mud. I’m half-buried in mud. Icy water flows over my numb legs, seeping into my boots.
“Hrm,” I manage, struggling to squirm free, helpless as a babe.
“Well, shove a sword up my bunghole,” another voice says as a second head joins the first. This one is so pale he’s almost translucent, blue veins etched beneath his skin. He presses a finger to his nose and shoots a wad of mucus out of his left nostril. I think it lands somewhere on me, but I can’t be sure.
“Hrm,” I repeat.
The pale head glances at the black one. “Looks like I owe you a silver glory,” he says, sighing.
“We’ll take it out of what he brings in,” replies the scarred head, and then the man moves out of my sight. Moments later
I feel the weight pressing on my shoulders start to recede. Strong fingers curl under my arms.
“Right. Pull on three. One, two, THREE.”
The mud does its best to hold on to me, but with a sucking sound my body finally comes free. I try to find my feet but it’s like my legs have been cut from my body.
“He’s got a sword!” says the pale man excitedly. “It’s like glass, or something.”
“That’s for the boss,” admonishes the bald man, whose voice is much deeper. “You bring a circle?”
“Course, never know watcha gonna find out here.”
“Well, put it on.”
I try to shift my neck slightly so I can see what’s happening. The black man’s arms are encircling my body, keeping me from collapsing. The smaller man crouches beside my dangling legs, fiddling with something that looks like a silver bracelet. Finally it snaps open and he fits it around my ankle, then closes it again. I stare at it dumbly. Why are they putting jewelry on me? Everything is very confusing, and I’m finding it very hard to concentrate.
“Back to camp, then. Ximachus will be angry we’ve been gone so long.”
The man holding me dismisses this with a snort. “The old buzzard will be giddy as a milk maid when the lord’s son rides into town. Fresh meat for the market, and everything’s legal.”
Meat for the market? I stir, trying to struggle free. Where is Bell? Deliah?
“Careful there, boy,” the man says. His breath is rancid.
Hands touch my waist, fumbling with my belt. A bell chimes as the green-glass blade slides from its sheath. The pale man slashes the air awkwardly with my sword, his eyes wide. “Tainted saints, Chev! Look at this! You ever seen anything like it?”
“Can’t say I have,” says the bigger man slowly. There’s a trace of uncertainty in his words now, as if the sight of my sword unsettles him. “Ximachus will know what to do. Let’s go.”
