Some might have called her and Stefen cowards for not looking for Ano. However, death came quickly or sometimes not fast enough. He was already lost and she would not risk her own life for a corpse.
Laila nodded jerkily, shaking from the fear and cold. She picked up the heavy spear though there was no way she could wield the thing. The idea of fighting was not comforting: more than likely she would die. Still, better that than simply giving up. They moved on, searching for shelter of some sort.
Laila wrapped her cloak about herself. She had thought the greatest danger was the fiends waiting outside Varna; once past them, she imagined that the venture would go smoothly. Guilt crept over her. This journey was her idea. Ano would not have been out here if they had not gone. But what choice did they have, given what they knew?
They needed an army, and if Ano had died to give them that, then his death was not in vain. Yet if the darkness could take Ano, what hope did they have of reaching the valley?
Eventually, the pair found a small ditch within which they took shelter, building a roof of branches over the top and then a fire to stave off the chill. Laila did not sleep, every noise emphasised by the unnatural darkness. The rustling of her clothes, every small cough, even her breathing seemed loud enough that all the world heard.
Dawn came on weak and cold, the air thick with grey vapours. They helped themselves to some beans and bread, then moved on. The earth became hard and stony, the trees shrivelled and the undergrowth thickened with pale white plants that shrank back when touched.
‘We’re definitely moving down,’ Stefen said.
Grey hills rose on either side, shrouded in mist. Laila felt she was walking into a prison that she could not escape. Yet, her nightmares whipped her on. What dangers compared to what the fiends promised?
They walked on and then the rocky earth gave way to a smooth stone street, like the ancients had made before the Plague Times. Tall statues of women loomed on either side. But their proportions were strange, too tall and thin as if they had been stretched out. They wore scandalously little clothing and brandished swords as they silently charged towards an unseen enemy. Laila shuddered at their screaming faces and wild hair. The place seemed abandoned, yet every eye followed them as they passed.
Ahead of them, impossibly tall towers hove out of the mists, clawing up towards the heavens like a clutch of brambles. Laila had never seen anything so vast made by the hands of mortals. Set in the side of the nearest was a huge set of doors that stood open, guarded by another pair of stone warrior women. From over the doors, an idol with a screaming face watched them, grasping a downturned sword in one hand and something small and dripping in the other.
‘Maybe this was not the best idea,’ Stefen said. ‘We should not be here. This place is not for us.’
She found herself nodding in agreement.
‘We can’t,’ she said, more to herself than him.
‘That statue is holding a heart in its fist,’ he said, drawing an arrow from his quiver.
Laila paced around on the threshold, her fists balled up, trying to summon up her courage. One part of her wanted to yell at him for strengthening her fears, while another part wanted to leave and never return.
‘I know what they will do,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘I can’t let that happen to me or anyone else. This place is terrifying, but not as bad as being in that hole, knowing what they do.’
She looked at the black opening and steeled herself. With a deep breath, Stefen stepped forwards.
‘No, not you. Just her,’ a hoarse man’s voice floated to them out of the darkness.
They both froze like rabbits caught out by a fox.
‘And no weapons in this holy place,’ the voice said.
Laila swallowed. Reluctantly, she handed the spear to Stefen and then stepped over the threshold. A stifling silence enveloped her and when she looked back, the outside world was hazy and dark. Stefen was little more than an ink blot on a sheet of paper. Pale blue torches guttered, merely enhancing the deep darkness that settled in every corner. The ceiling loomed far above her, arched and covered in sharp, jagged runes. It made the old temple at Varna seem like a hovel.
‘Go on,’ the voice said.
She caught sight of a gaunt face in the dark, the eyes two black pits. Then it vanished into the gloom.
What kind of place was this? How could a darkness this deep exist? And was this one man all there was? No place this grand stood empty and unprotected. Yet the silence was so deep, and the place so empty. What if this was merely another grandiose ruin?
As she walked deeper, her eyes started to pull phantasms out of the black air, leering faces, flying serpents and skeletal men riding gangling horses.
A glutinous bubbling sound caught her attention and she moved towards it. As she walked closer, the air grew thick with incense and a sweet, coppery stench like cooking blood sausage. A strange altar revealed itself – at least, she thought that it was an altar. Two flights of stairs wound their way up to a vast cauldron held by a statue of a straining man. Steam rose from within the huge vessel. Looming over it was the same idol she had seen above the door. Yet this one was covered in thick red enamel, burnished gold and glittering gems. Its eyes burned crimson and seemed to follow her with predatory focus.
Something stirred in the cauldron, fluid sloshing over the side. A great coil rose, like a leviathan breaking the surface of the sea. Then a small green snake crept over the side, black tongue flicking. She cocked her head, puzzled. Another serpent and then another slipped over, peering at her with unnerving, single-minded interest.
Laila took a step backwards. Why would anyone put a snake colony in a cauldron? And what else was in it? Instinct rattled through her, the overwhelming need to run. There was a predator in here, one large enough to kill her.
Then a bright light leapt to life from her left, stinging her eyes. A woman’s voice, deep and rough with wisdom, spoke softly. Whatever was in the cauldron settled back like a dragon lulled to sleep.
‘I would come towards the light, young one,’ the voice said. ‘My sister is not friendly to the curious.’
Laila blocked the light with her hand and stepped towards it, feeling her way with her toes. She stumbled when her feet touched earth and a soft fragrant wind sighed through her curls. With watery eyes, she looked around at an outdoor garden, the surrounding walls gleaming like black glass.
All the plantings, neatly laid out in vivid clusters, were venomous: Strikeweed, Neolinem and Grave-eye. And those were just the ones she recognised. Other plants and trees whispered in the wind, dark and spiky or pallid and ghostly. Even the grass under her feet had a purple cast to it. Above her, the Lamp was shrouded, though still brighter than the blackness within the temple.
In the centre of the garden stood the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Now Laila understood why they were called the Fair Ones.
The woman resembled a human being only loosely. Long and thin as a blade, she moved with an airy grace, like a great cat. Her pointed ears peeked through her black hair and her skin was dark as a doe’s eyes, without blemish or scar. A jewelled leather cloak hung off her slim shoulders and underneath she was nearly nude, though Laila doubted she felt any shame in it. Two strange blades hung from her hips, more like torture instruments than weapons of war. Yet it was her face that was the most unnerving. While her expression was gentle, it was at odds with her sharp black eyes and thin cruel lips.
Next to the aelf was an elaborately carved table, upon which rested a stone bowl etched with sharp runes and the familiar idol in miniature.
‘We have not seen one of your kind in many years,’ she said, her accent hissing through the human words.
‘Generations, ma’am,’ Laila said, her voice scratchy with nerves. ‘I am Laila. I represent the village of Varna.’
The woman’s eyes narrowed and her smile
deepened. No human expression, that. It was like seeing a sicklecat smile.
‘I always forget how short-lived you humans are,’ she said. ‘So, Laila of Varna, do you know who we are or have even your legends forgotten us?’
Laila opened her mouth but then realised that she could not in fact answer the question. Certainly, not to this woman’s satisfaction.
‘Only in the vaguest terms,’ she said. ‘We know that when the great enemy comes, you will fight for us.’
‘For a price,’ the woman said, with a tremor in her voice as if she were trying to repress some strong emotion. ‘Let us move beyond simple legends, shall we? My name is Cesse, and this is a temple of the Khelt Nar, a sisterhood devoted to the defeat of Chaos under Khaine’s holy guidance.’
‘So you are a holy order?’ Laila said warily.
‘Precisely,’ Cesse said, her voice bright with fervour. ‘We are dedicated to our faith and that is enough.’
‘And if you operate on faith, what is this price then?’ Laila said, sensing something was off.
‘The price is that of blood. Blood buys blood,’ Cesse said, drawing a dagger from her belt.
Laila took a step back.
‘Please, I will not kill you,’ Cesse said, flicking her hand dismissively. ‘You have a need of our skills. You need us to kill your enemy. What is this enemy?’
‘They worship… um… they worship…’ Laila started, then she took a breath and looked up at the sky. ‘The Needful One. The Beckoning Prince.’ Cesse looked at her, one thin brow arched in confusion. ‘Slaanesh,’ she mumbled finally, looking at her feet.
Heat crept into her face at her blasphemy, at speaking that abominable name. She looked up and recoiled. Cesse stared at her, every muscle standing like a cord under her skin. Seemingly unaware, the woman slowly drove her blade deep into the table, the wood creaking. The pleasant mask was gone, leaving a hate that shivered through the aelf’s limbs and etched her face into a scowl of furious cruelty.
‘Hear my words, human. We will not rest until your dread enemy is slain,’ she snarled, her voice a terrible rasp. ‘We will kill them without mercy. None of them can be allowed to live.’
Laila fought the urge to run, holding herself still as Cesse wrenched the dagger from the table. Seeing Laila’s expression, Cesse’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as if sensing some weakness.
‘Do you not want them all dead?’ Cesse said, her black eyes feverish.
‘Yes, of course I do,’ Laila stammered.
Cesse smiled. ‘Oh, I see. To be as ignorant as you are now. You do not know what they do. You do not know the thing that lurks in the darkness and eats at their souls.’
Cesse’s focus turned towards some inner turmoil, her eyes dark and dull. A profound hate flickered there, a self-loathing that was all-consuming and burned eternally. A shame that ever boiled, a pain that never eased, a hurt that never healed. What caused it, Laila could not guess. However, she did not want to be around when that storm of emotion turned outwards.
‘You will kill them for blood?’ Laila prompted. Now that she said it out loud, it seemed insane. What would a holy order want with blood? What was the significance?
Cesse tossed her head, her black hair shimmering, coming back to the present.
‘Of course, that has always been the agreement,’ Cesse said. ‘And what is blood compared to the tortures that await you if you do nothing?’ Cesse leaned across the table. ‘Trust me when I say, the agonies and slow death that you envision are only the beginning. It is not just the body that they devour.’
‘Whose blood is it?’ Laila asked.
‘Yours, I assume,’ Cesse said. ‘Who else’s?’
Laila blushed. It seemed easy enough.
‘Why?’
‘All of creation moves at the beating of a heart. All things from the strongest godbeast to the stars themselves. Nothing can be outside it. The heart and the blood it moves are the most sacred of things.’
Laila nodded. ‘I agree on behalf of Varna. You will kill the raiders in return for blood.’
‘Excellent, now we can begin,’ Cesse said, gesturing that Laila should stand opposite her at the table. Then she began to chant, her words like the rattling of swords and spears. The aelven woman sliced the dagger across her palm without even flinching, as if she had done this many times before. Blood leaked into the bowl. Then she crooked a long finger at Laila.
Yet Laila hesitated. Then she shook herself. What was a little cut compared to what those creatures did to their victims? She thrust out a hand. Cesse took it, her skin feverish, and then quickly slashed open Laila’s palm. It burned like hot iron and Laila tried to jerk away, but Cesse held her fast until her blood fell into the bowl. At last Cesse released her, still chanting.
Now the blood began to seethe, filling the air with coppery smoke. Shadows crept among the shrubs and flowers. Cesse’s voice rose to a shout, darkness seeping around her body like a serpent. Then she clapped her hands together, the sound like thunder. Laila stepped back towards the door. The air became dark, vile and oozing, catching in her throat and lungs, crawling over her skin like spiders. Cesse’s eyes were pits of the blackest spite, her hands dripping blood and gloom.
‘It is done,’ Cesse said. ‘You will have our blades, our magic and above all our hate. All is yours for blood yet spilled. Now go, this place is no longer for you!’
Laila did not need to be told. She fled, the shadows hurtling after her. As she burst through the hall, something hissed and roiled up on that dread altar. Laila ran on, things catching and plucking at her clothes and hair. She bolted under that fearsome archway out into the sickly light.
‘Stefen,’ she yelled, slowing her breakneck pace only slightly. ‘We’re done. We need to go!’
He was not there. Only the spear, a broken arrow and an ominous spatter of blood remained.
‘Stefen!’ she screamed, looking around frantically.
The shadows boiled out of the temple, hissing like vipers.
Laila ran as fast as she could. Like any nightmare, it could not catch her if she did not look back at whatever it was that snarled and snapped at her heels. She reached the edge of the forest and hurled herself through the trees without pausing. The seething shadows grew distant and then retreated as if the brilliance of Ghyran was not to their liking.
Once she was certain that she had left the creatures far behind, she dropped to her knees and wept. Never had she imagined that Stefen would perish. She had always thought that it would be her, that Stefen would be the one to carry back the news of their success. After all, she was just another farmer and he was a hunter that went out in the wider world.
Why had she lived while he had not? As if in answer, the cut in her palm leaped to life, stinging like an envenomed lesion. The wound seeped a clear fluid, and the skin surrounding it was a sickly grey. She tore a strip of cloth from her frayed tunic and tied it around the torn flesh.
This done, Laila set off towards home, tormented at night by nightmares and pain, and driven on by terrors of fiends and predators during the day. Sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed thin pale men on dark horses slipping through the shadows. She wondered if she was going mad.
It was twilight on the third day when she came within sight of Varna, long shadows reaching across the fields. A familiar sickly-sweet smell tickled her senses. Had she been too late? Was that grim bargain all for nothing?
Exhausted fear leaped through her and she pelted out across the fields of red-tinged grain. She half expected some terrible shriek or that shrill tone to echo from the trees, but there was nothing.
The gate was already closed when she reached it. She banged on the wood and called out for someone to have mercy and open it, though she knew that they should not. They would leave her out here to survive the night as best she could before opening that door.
Then the gate creaked, opening just enough to let her in. She rushed through the gap and crashed into something solid.
‘Laila,’ Hadlen said, slowing her down. ‘Where have you been? Where is Stefen?’
One of the other warriors took off, running towards the great hall, shouting that she had returned.
She shook her head and told Hadlen what had occurred in a soft voice. Yet, she found herself obscuring details, even as the story spilled out. She lingered instead on Stefen, on his skills, on his calm. As she finished, she noticed a commotion coming towards her.
Uma. Of all the people in Varna, the last person she wanted to see was Uma. Laila had no stomach for the crone’s displeasure after everything that she had seen.
‘You were forbidden from doing this, Laila,’ Uma snapped as she shuffled up to them.
‘What would you rather have happen?’ Laila said. ‘That we just sit waiting to be slaughtered by the worst that this world has to offer? By those beasts. You know what they were going to do to us.’
Laila glanced around. To her surprise, some of the others crowded around rumbled in agreement. Still, many clearly sided with Uma, their faces set hard as stone.
‘You know not what you have done,’ Uma said. ‘Time will tell. The legends say to be cautious of the Fair Ones. Who knows what they will do in the end.’
‘They are going to kill all those fiends for us,’ Laila snapped, jabbing a finger in the old woman’s direction. ‘We might learn that we don’t have to be so afraid any more.’
It was an empty thing, grasping at surety in the face of Uma’s doubts. It was as if the old woman were plucking Laila’s own secret worries from her head, when Laila desperately wanted the bargain to work out. Uma had not seen Jonas’ body or heard his last wheezing breath. Sometimes the lesser evil was all that remained.
‘I doubt that,’ Uma said, turning away from her. ‘There is always something to fear.’
Uma shuffled away, her back bent more than Laila remembered. Her supporters went with her, scowling.
Exhausted, Laila excused herself when the others pressed in with urgent questions. She stumbled into her house and hurled herself into bed. Yet her nightmares continued, dreams of shadows chasing her through endless halls while the aelves’ bloody-handed god loomed over her with burning eyes. Sometimes, Ano and Stefen were with her and they were always devoured by whatever beast ran in the shadows.
The Serpent's Bargain Page 2
