Hunter scowled. “That’s all you know?”
“Well, I also know that whatever Margan did to get the portals to work is old magic, very old magic. And that can’t be good. Not good at all.”
“How have you come to that assumption?”
Orm tapped the illustration. “This is a copy of the oldest manuscript about the Erith Tree. I know every sigil out there and none look remotely like these. What Nessa saw must predate them. That means that they are old, a relic of a forgotten language.”
Nessa grew worried. “And that’s bad?”
“It’s not good,” Orm said. “Magic is a volatile thing, difficult to control under the best of circumstances and with spells that have been painstakingly adapted over hundreds, if not thousands of years, for a specific purpose. These sigils,” he pointed to the ones in the book, “are early spells, practically raw magic. Anything predating that,” he shivered at the thought, “isn’t something people like Margan should be using.”
“Which is very, very bad,” Hunter summarised, crossing his arms.
“Absolutely,” Orm confirmed.
“But what does that mean for me?” asked Nessa. “Will I be able to get back home or not?”
Orm raised a brow. “Do you want to go back home?”
“Yes?”
His eyes darted to Aoife for a millisecond. “Are you so sure of that?”
“Yes.”
Orm weighed the honesty in her words. “If that’s what you really want…”
“It is,” Nessa said stubbornly.
“Then I suppose we should find out what sigils Margan used, since they are the best bet of understanding how he brought you here in the first place. Perhaps then, we might be able to use them to send you back.”
“Good.”
“Right then,” Orm stood and stretched, “I’ll find you some paper to draw what sigils you saw. Then I’ll start searching for someone who might know something about them.”
“Okay,” Nessa agreed.
“But in the meantime,” Orm said, “I suggest you think very carefully on what you actually want, rather than what you think is right. It seems to me that you have come to a crossroad in your life, a very important one, and one that affects more lives than just your own. I wouldn’t make any hasty decisions if I were you. But then again, I would also suggest that you make your decision before someone makes it for you.”
Goose bumps broke out on Nessa’s arms at his words. There was a note of finality about them.
But the decision has already been made, whispered a voice that echoed in the back of Nessa’s mind. She looked at Orm and Hunter, startled, thinking that it must have been one of them who had said that. But they were busy talking to each other.
I’m going crazy, Nessa decided.
No, you’re not, argued the whispered voice.
“Here,” Orm said, surprising her. He handed her a charcoal stick and a scrap of ripped parchment. Nessa set them down on top of a chest, using it as a makeshift desk. The charcoal was delicate in her hand, light and easily broken if she was to apply too much pressure, and the parchment was soft under her palm as she held it still.
Conscious of the two pairs of very curious eyes on her, Nessa tried her best to recreate the sigils that she had seen in the town’s ruins. She was hesitant to start with, her strokes slow and measured as she drew upon her memories of them, aware that she was far from the best artist in the world. Correction: Worlds. Plural, because as it turned out, there was more than one of them.
After the first one was eked out onto the pale parchment, the charcoal looking rather blunt and inelegant, Nessa found that she was able to sketch another five or so before she was unable to remember anymore.
“Right,” Nessa said, setting down the charcoal stick. “That’s the best I can do.”
“That’s enough to start with, I’m sure.” With nimble fingers, Orm plucked up the scrap of parchment, careful not to smudge the charcoal. He gave it a quick once over, his eyes growing cautious, and then rolled the parchment into a tube, stowing it away in his tunic’s pocket. Nessa told herself that it was just her imagination that made her think Orm was handling it like he expected it to spontaneously combust.
“Alrighty then.” Orm cast them a cheery smile as he headed over to the front door. “You two sit pretty here while I go and ask some questions relating to these,” he patted his pocket, “and I’ll be back shortly. Hopefully in time for my lunchtime drink.”
“And what do you expect us to do while we wait for you?” Hunter asked, offended at being left behind.
“You should clean yourselves up,” Orm advised as he slipped out. “You’re less than fresh.”
With instructions to bathe and help themselves to any clothing they came across in the shop, Orm was gone, leaving Nessa and Hunter behind. Hunter fumed for a couple of minutes, insulted at being called dirty. Nessa, though, could see where Orm was coming from. They had been travelling nonstop for a week, a week where showers and a good bath had been nonexistent. Being told that they were ‘less than fresh’ was considered polite.
Nessa gazed at Hunter, noticing that he did look rather dishevelled. His clothing was travel worn, covered in grime and badly wrinkled. His hair was a mess and he was in need of a good shave. In all fairness, he had tried to a few days ago, but his blade hadn’t made the job easy, and the result was that Hunter looked a bit scruffy.
As if he could sense the direction of her thoughts, Hunter ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the patches of stubble. “I guess a bath wouldn’t be so bad,” he said. “I suppose we might smell a bit.”
“Might smell?” Nessa laughed. “I’m pretty sure we do.”
Hunter snorted. “You want to go first or shall I?”
“You,” Nessa said. “I’m going to take up Orm’s offer of some clean clothes.” Her eyes swept over the disorganised chaos of the shop. “I just need to find them first.”
“Good luck with that.” Hunter smirked as he headed upstairs.
Nessa stood, wondering where the clothes might be. They weren’t out in the open, so she went over to the circle of chests, hoping that there might be something of use in them. The first one she opened had nothing but old books, the second, peculiar little bottles. She pulled one out, lifting it up to the light. It was small, shaped like a pear but with a long thin neck. Black wax sealed the cork, running down the sides in rivulets, and inside was a bizarre globular red liquid. The label was old and faded, the lettering indecipherable. Nessa set it back in the chest with a grimace, and having no desire to find out what the other bottles contained, she shut the chest, locking away the strange and creepy collection.
The next chest, thankfully, was filled with neatly folded clothing. Nessa smiled, grateful that she hadn’t discovered anything else unsettling, and began to rummage. There was an ongoing theme with the clothes, mostly consisting of tunics and leggings, similar to what she had been wearing since her arrival to The Twelve Kingdoms. She found a long sleeved top; whilst the temperature in the cave systems was constant, it was a bit on the cold side for her liking. Next she found a top to go over it: a half dress in earthy tones of rich browns with a touch of green and orangey-reds. It had dainty bell sleeves and a ribbon lacing up the front.
She tucked it under her arm, along with the long sleeved top and a pair of dark leggings, and waited for Hunter to finish.
Nessa spent a few minutes watching Aoife, perching a hip on a wooden chest, finding herself quickly spellbound. The little dragon had slipped between two pillows, becoming somewhat wedged. Not that she seemed to care, as she appeared to have fallen asleep. Her scales twinkled as she breathed, sparkling like amethyst stars. Nessa found it unbelievable that such a creature existed, let alone that one was in front of her, contently napping in a weird little shop, in a hidden city that was under a mountain.
It seemed too bizarre to be real.
But it was real, and there Nessa was, gazing at a dragon in a weird little shop, in a hidden c
ity that was under a mountain.
“Hey.” Hunter appeared at the curtained door, knocking Nessa out of her daydreams. His hair was wet and he had shaved. He had also changed into some clean clothes. “The bath is all yours.”
“Good.” Nessa hopped off the chest and crossed over to the doorway. “There’s nothing better than a good wash after a long journey.”
“Having just had one, I couldn’t agree more.”
Nessa grinned and moved past him, heading upstairs.
“Ness?” Hunter called from the bottom of the rickety stairs. She turned around, surprised at his use of a nickname that few used.
“Yes?”
“Would you like me to feed the dragon for you?” he enquired.
Nessa began smiling, but he then ruined the sweet thought by adding, “Before it gets hungry and starts munching on innocent people.”
“Maybe the dragon will do me a favour and munch on you,” Nessa said dryly.
Hunter laughed and disappeared into the shop.
Nessa grumbled to herself as she stood on the landing. By process of deduction, she found the bathroom. The curtained room to the left was the spare bedroom, and the one to the right was Orm’s, which left the doorway directly in front of her.
Wonky floorboards gave way to solid rock as she stepped over the threshold. It was a small room, and incredibly hot, the air filled with steam. Over in the far end, sunken into the floor, was a pool, vapour swirling over the water’s surface. It was naturally formed, judging by the look of it, and water drizzled in from above, running down a couple of stalactites, not unlike a shower head. At the same rate that the pool filled, it emptied. A little whirlpool sat to its side, the water draining out by a little hole. A handful of candles and some bars of soap were dotted around in some nooks, near at hand.
Nessa quickly stripped off, eager to be out of her grimy clothes, and dipped a toe in the pool’s water, testing it. It was hot, like a peel-your-skin-off type of hot. Nessa bit her lip, and since there were no taps to change the temperature, she slowly lowered herself down. Instantly her skin pinkened and she held herself rigid as she slowly acclimatised. Soon, though, Nessa was able to relax, and slipped down further into the pool. The water came up to her shoulders and steam gently brushed against her face. Her bath at Margret’s had been nice, but this was something close to heaven.
The cave room, the natural hot water, the flickering candle light… Nessa could easily pretend that she was at a spa.
It was hard to tell how long she simply mulled in the pool, as the water never grew cold, but once the tips of her fingers began to prune, did she finally reach for a bar of soap. An added perk of the constantly replenishing pool was that the water remained clean, no matter how much dirt Nessa scrubbed off her skin. Only when she thought that Hunter was probably wondering where she had got to, did she unwillingly leave the water.
Nessa swiftly dressed in her commandeered clothing, and discovered that there was a narrow full-length mirror tucked over by the door. She crossed over to it, wondering how she looked.
She ran her hands down her front, smoothing out a couple of creases and adjusted the ribbon so that it lay neatly. The top of the half dress was tight fitting until it hit her waist, thanks to the lacing, making the most of her modest curves and accentuating her small waist. It then flared out, skimming over her hips and ending just below mid thigh. The leggings were form hugging and dark, either black or deep brown. It was hard to tell in the soft candle light.
Nessa had never been a voluptuous girl. She was, and would forever be, a beanpole, albeit a petite one. But there, right then, she actually had some feminine shape to her. She twisted, trying to see herself from another angle. Her hair, still wet, was a dark spill that reached down to her waist, and while she didn’t have a tan, despite all the time she had spent outside, her fair skin had a healthy glow to it.
Yes, Nessa thought to herself, this will do nicely.
She left the bathroom and went in search of Hunter. She found him down in the kitchen, along with Aoife. He was sat on one of the wooden crates, watching with avid eyes as the little dragon nibbled a large smoked sausage.
“She’s eaten three of them so far,” Hunter said as Nessa joined him. “This is her fourth.”
“Are you overfeeding my dragon?”
“I’m curious to see how much a small dragon can eat.”
“Well then,” Nessa said, “you can clean up after her when those four sausages reappear.”
“Your dragon, your mess to clean up.”
Nessa crossed her arms. “We’ll see.”
“I—” He turned and blinked, suddenly tongue tied. “You… Um… Look different.”
Nessa decided to take that as a compliment. “As I said, there’s nothing better than a good bath. I feel like a whole new person.”
Hunter cleared his throat. “You kinda look like one.”
“Thanks?”
Hunter was saved from having to respond by the clatter of the front door. “Sounds like Orm’s back,” he muttered, hopping off the crate.
“That was quick.”
“Not really. You were in the bath for bloody ages.”
Nessa followed him into the shop. “I wasn’t in there for that long.”
Hunter looked doubtful.
“I have a lead,” Orm declared as soon as he spotted them.
“Oh really?” Hunter said brightly. “And would this be an actual lead, or just one that you think is, but turns out not to be?”
“I reckon there’s a fifty-fifty chance of it going either way.”
“Sounds more promising than usual.”
“Will we be going far?” Nessa asked.
“Nah,” Orm said. “I found someone here, in the City.”
Nessa was pleasantly surprised. “That’s good, I suppose. Are we meeting them now?”
“No time like the present.”
Hunter gazed at the dragon coiled around his ankles, looking up at him with large hopeful eyes. “Are we bringing this little menace with us?”
Nessa had to wonder, was that a hint of growing fondness in Hunter’s tone?
Orm nodded. “Yes, because I don’t want it to mess up the place, or get its greedy little claws on my expensive imported sausages. I’ve been saving them for a special occasion.”
Hunter blanched and Nessa was forced to hide her smirk behind a hand. Those sausages were long gone, and Aoife had received a helping hand at getting her claws on them.
“Well,” Hunter coughed. “That’s all sorted then. We’re bringing the dragon.”
“Aoife,” Nessa corrected. “We really need to start calling her by her name.”
“Fine then.” Hunter clapped his hands, eager to be off. “Pack up Aoife and let’s get going.”
Nessa gave him a look that conveyed her ire at being ordered around, but nonetheless, did as she was bid. She collected her messenger bag and boots from the spare bedroom and then rejoined Hunter and Orm downstairs. Aoife was once again bundled into the messenger bag, much to her displeasure, and Nessa shouldered it, grimacing at the growing weight.
They left immediately, heading back to the main cave where the market was held. Despite what Nessa assumed was the early hour, it was surprisingly busy, making for slow progress. With Orm leading the way, they wormed through the crowds. At first Nessa thought that they were just going to the outer reaches of the city, but when the tents came to an abrupt end, Orm continued on, striding past them without hesitation.
With a touch of trepidation, Nessa trailed behind him. They entered onto a wasteland of barren stone that stretched as far as the eye could see. There were almost no glowing mushrooms to show the way, and the shadows were thick. There was hardly a soul around, and the few people they did see were sat off to the side, nestled around small campfires, watching them pass with feral hunger in their eyes. Nessa found their stares unnerving, and she sidled closer to Hunter.
Orm, thankfully, led them away from the darkened cave
, taking them through a crack in the wall. It was narrow, making them go in a single file. Orm went first, then Nessa, and Hunter brought up the rear, keeping a watchful eye on those who gazed after them.
The fissure ran for about twenty feet or so, then opened onto another cave, one that was a good deal smaller than the main cave, but still big enough to house a small community. It was brighter there than it had been in the rocky wasteland, but not by much. There was an aura of darkness, of despair. The stone was a dreary grey, and the tents were subdued hues of blues and reds. It was not a cheery place to be. Not even the glowing mushrooms could do much to add any sort of ambiance or beauty.
Nessa shivered, wanting to immediately leave and never come back.
Orm seemed to be of a different mind, striding straight ahead without so much as a pause.
Hunter came up beside her. “You alright?”
“This place gives me the chills.”
“It is pretty cold in here.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“I know,” Hunter laughed, not at all fazed. “But it was funny, you have to admit that.”
“I think ‘funny’ is a bit of a strong word for it. Perhaps amusing or mildly humorous are a better fit.”
“Fine then,” Hunter said. “It was mildly amusing, you have to admit that.”
Nessa smiled, keeping a cursory eye on those they passed. The people, something about them put Nessa on edge. She couldn’t put her finger on it; perhaps it was the way they stared at them with strangely deep eyes? Then she had to correct herself. They weren’t staring at the three of them as they went through the camp, they were staring at her. Not outright, but from the corners of their eyes. It was subtle, and for some reason, Nessa found it more alarming because of that. She hugged her arms around her middle, telling herself that it was just her imagination.
It’s the stress. Stress makes you paranoid.
But it wasn’t paranoia that made a woman at a nearby booth selling necklaces halt mid-sentence to a potential buyer. Nor was it mere paranoia that made the woman’s brows pull together in a frown. Nessa stared back, thinking that if the woman realised that she had noticed the unwanted attention, then the woman would turn away. She didn’t. Her lips quirked up into a little smirk, and her hand came to rest on her peculiar necklace.
House of Fear and Freedom (The Wyrd Sequence Book 1) Page 28
