Song of Echoes

by R. E. Palmer

  ‘Almost done.’ Others around the wagon broke their links and clutched improvised weapons ready for an attempted escape.

  ‘See anything, Jed?’

  Jedrul ducked back inside. ‘Be daylight in an hour, but thick cloud’s heading this way, I can’t see a single star over yonder. Must be a perilous storm brewing in the north out at sea. Swear I can smell it in the air. But thankfully it’s a lot sweeter than the stench of the mire.’

  Roold clutched a bar and steadied himself. ‘That’ll suit us, the darker the better. Right, listen up, brothers. The numbers are against us, but they’ll have a belly full of ale so will be slow.’ He turned to Jedrul and Toryn. ‘I can’t ask you to fight without the promise of a piece of land on the plain, for that you must take the Oath.’

  Jedrul stood tall. ‘Then we’ll take it.’ He beamed to Toryn. ‘You up for this?’ Toryn nodded.

  Roold turned to the others. ‘Any objections?’ None spoke, not even Nander. ‘Then raise your right hand.’ Roold cleared his throat. ‘Better make this the short ceremony, and quieter than usual, eh, lads? We’ll also forgo the initiation for now. Repeat after me.’ He took a breath. ‘I swear my allegiance to the Archon.’ They duly repeated his words. Roold looked around him. ‘Hold on. Where’s that spike? We don’t have a sword.’ Nander pulled it from behind his back and handed it to the captain. Roold spat on the rusty tool and rubbed it on his shirtsleeve. ‘This will have to do.’ He held it towards Toryn. ‘Place your right hand on the… blade. Best make it the sharp end, at least. Now repeat.’ He pushed out his chest. ‘I promise to lay down my life for the Archon, in service for the Five Realms, and in defense and the honor of my brothers.’ Toryn, then Jedrul completed the Oath. Roold spoke to the others in the wagon. ‘Not a step back, brothers.’ The men echoed the words. The captain smiled at their new recruits. ‘Then may you plow the plains in peace or die an old man—'

  ‘Knackered in a plump wench’s bed.’ The men laughed.

  Roold turned. ‘Let’s stick with formal words please, this isn’t the time.’ He nodded to Toryn and Jedrul. ‘Well, you get the idea.’ He held out his forearm to Toryn. His heart pounded as he clasped Roold’s hand in the fashion of a guardsman. Roold smiled. ‘Welcome to the Archonian Guard.’

  ‘Shut up in there!’ The wagon rattled as a club struck the frame.

  Roold pointed to the canopy. He whispered. ‘That one will be the first to feel my chain around his throat.’ He squatted and gestured the men to huddle around. ‘Right lads, there’s another wagon in this convoy. We don’t know if they’re alive, dead, still in chains or free, but the more the merrier as they say. Toryn, you take the spike and head for it once the fun begins, and free as many as you can.’ Toryn nodded, proud to accept his first order. Roold tightened his grip on his chain. ‘We’re up against swords but I reckon we can take out a few before they know what’s hit ‘em. They’ll be a few on horseback, but a chain around their necks will soon bring them down to our level. Whip or throttle the blighters, I’ll leave that to you.’ He turned to Jedrul. ‘Best take one last look.’

  Toryn’s heart hammered so hard he feared their captors would suspect something was afoot. Jedrul dipped back inside the wagon. ‘From what I can make out, there’s three on horseback this side, must be more with the other wagon and more at the front. I can see torches at the head and rear, but they’re not shedding much light on us.’

  The captain pulled on his chain. ‘And the ground? Do we need to worry about the bog, Jed?’

  ‘Not a problem. I reckon we’ve passed through the worse part of the mire. Looks frozen on both sides.’

  Roold staggered to the rear of the rolling wagon. ‘Good. We’re going now. We’ll split both ways. Keep it down, we don’t want to alert them too soon. But before I give the command’ — he lowered his voice — ‘brothers, whatever happens, I want to say what an honor it’s—’

  Jedrul laughed. ‘Give it a rest, cappy. Just give the damn command.’ Toryn fought for air as his lungs struggled to find room in his tight chest. He watched Roold, half-hoping he would change his mind.

  He did not. Roold held up his hand. ‘Okay, ready, lads? Now!’ He tore open the canvas and leaped out. Toryn stumbled forward from the back, armed with a short chain and the spike. Ahead, the others tumbled out after Roold. The canopy of the wagon behind opened, three men jumped clear. They must be free. Toryn reached the step. More men poured out from the other wagon, and he guessed they would not need him. He jumped, landing heavily on his ankle on a frozen ridge of mud. He rounded the side of the wagon as the cry went up. Roold whipped his chain around a Ruuk on horseback and yanked him to the ground. Two more went down before the escorts on foot at the head of the convoy could rush back. Roold finished off his victim and snatched up his sword. The first of the troops clashed with the guards, but Roold was too skilled with a blade to be troubled. The horses whinnied, two reared up, throwing their riders to the mercy of Roold and his men.

  A shadow ran at Toryn, his blade glinting in the torchlight as he raised it above his head. He remembered Hamar’s advice and planted his feet. Toryn pulled the chain taut, keeping the spike clasped in his right hand. The sword slashed down. He thrust up his hands. Sparks flew from the rusty chain. He dipped to one side and shoved, deflecting the force of the attack down. Toryn lunged and thrust the spike into his assailant’s exposed neck. The big Ruuk grunted and fell dead.

  ‘Get his blade!’ Jedrul lashed out with his chain and caught another across the face.

  ‘You take it, I’ll use the spike.’

  Jedrul grabbed the weapon. ‘Stick with me, lad.’ They reached the front of the wagon. At least twenty of their captors remained on foot and hurriedly formed a line. Roold, Nander and five other guards now wielded swords. They smashed into their confused foe. Four fell in an instant as Roold wheeled, ducked, and drove on to the next. More captured weapons were passed back to the rear as they gathered pace. Only a dozen of their foe survived the onslaught. They edged back, retreating into a circle. One from the middle launched his torch over the heads of his comrades. It arced through the dark, landing on a wagon at the head of the convoy. The flames soon took, engulfing the canvas to light up the field of battle.

  ‘Surrender!’ Roold held up his hand to halt the attack. The Ruuk in the circle laughed. Roold leveled his sword at the chest of the commander. ‘Surrender or you’ll all die.’

  The Ruuk laughed harder. ‘All die? Not a chance. It is you that should surrender.’

  Roold held his nerve. ‘But you’re surrounded, outnumbered and outclassed.’

  The commander tilted his head. ‘Outnumbered? Do you think we don’t have the wit to count?’ He pointed his ax at the flaming wagon. ‘You better watch your backs. Our beacon over there is bringing forty more here as we speak.’

  Nander stepped up to Roold. ‘Do we believe him? He could be bluffing.’

  Roold shrugged. ‘Makes no difference. If he is, we’ll finish them off and we’re free. If he ain’t and more are coming, I’d sooner die here than let them take me further. Then we’re still free. I’m not about to give up my farm for the promise of a visit to Wyke Wood.’ He turned to the others. ‘What say you?’ Fists clenching swords and chains thrust into the air. Roold bellowed. ‘Then we fight!’ He raised his sword. ‘Take ‘em, lads.’ But before he could move, Toryn’s legs buckled. The ground shook. He slumped to his knees, falling onto his face as if he had taken a blow to his gut. He recoiled as the burning wagon spat and hissed. His brothers cried out. Toryn forced himself onto all fours. Around him, the men stood with their arms hanging limp by their sides, bathed in the green hue of the newly ignited wagon fire.

  The guards gaped at the crackling flames. A black form took shape with a long, pointed head bowed forward, and arms folded across its body. The figure grew. Warriors on both sides flung themselves to the ground, burying faces in hands should the sight of the foul beast scorch their eyes. But Toryn could not tear his eyes away. The qui
vering creature reached its full height, three times the size of a man. It lifted its distorted head and opened its arms. To Toryn’s horror, the arms extended into jagged, bat-like wings. It tipped back its head, screeched and launched into the air. Toryn gagged in the warm stench of death as its beating wings fanned its corruption over the cowering men. He dared to look up, instantly regretting the move. Black, glistening eyes glowered back.

  The demon entered his head.

  It shrieked a hideous and gleeful song threatening to split his skull in two. Toryn writhed, clasping his hands to his ears, ready to tear them free to end the agony. But at the point of surrendering his soul, another voice, a woman’s voice, soothed his pain. The words of her song wove around the harsh timbre of his tormentor, expelling it back to the void. As quickly as it came, the voice faded, leaving only an echo of her song. Toryn lay back on the grass and felt his body sink as if on a soft bed. He closed his eyes, ready for the sweet dreams he knew would follow.

  ‘Wake up! What you grinning about, fool!’ Toryn flinched as a foot struck his ribs. He opened his eyes to freezing rain lashing into his face. The wind howled overhead, driving dark clouds towards the mountains far to the east. Two hands grabbed under his arms and hoisted him to his feet. His head span as he turned.

  Jedrul tried to smile. ‘Morning, brother.’ He rubbed the back of his head. ‘I have to say, being an Archonian isn’t as grand as I’d hoped.’

  Toryn watched Roold and the others being woken in the same brutal manner. He whispered to Jedrul. ‘What happened?’ He stretched out his neck. ‘What was that thing?’

  Jedrul yawned. ‘What thing?’

  ‘The creature… in the flames?’

  Jedrul scratched his head. ‘Creature? Didn’t see no creature, just the fire turning green as that skinny fellow showed his face. Some trick, I’d have to say.’

  ‘Don’t you remember? You all stopped and stared.’ Toryn turned away. ‘Never mind. I must have been mistaken.’

  Jedrul peered at the top of Toryn’s head. ‘Must have taken a knock in the fight.’ He turned. ‘Here, Roold, young Toryn says he saw—’

  ‘Shut it! No talking.’ The large Ruuk who had goaded them earlier strode towards them. His thick tongue struggled with the strange words, but he had no trouble making himself understood. ‘Get in line and stand still.’ He jabbed his sword at Jedrul’s stomach. ‘I’ll gut the first man to move, and I’ll make the rest of you carry his steaming innards. If I had my way, I’d finish the lot of you right here.’ He chuckled. ‘But someone is keen to meet you.’ He turned and clicked his fingers. Two shorter Ruuk brought chains and straps. ‘You can walk the rest of the way. But don’t you worry your pretty little heads, it ain’t far, two days at a brisk pace.’ He laughed. ‘And don’t be expecting any comforts when you arrive.’

  29. Gods of the Deep

  The Celestra had weathered many storms during her long life at sea. In her youth, guided by an experienced helmsman, she would have met the squall’s challenge with relish. But now, in her dotage, and with long years idling in calmer coastal waters, every joint creaked, groaned, and strained in the storm. The gods of the deep waters both coveted and loathed the Celestra. For too long, she had defied their lust to drag her down to adorn their graveyard of wrecks. But the old lady’s unexpected voyage had stirred their greed. The small fishing boats interested them not, and over the centuries their resentment had grown, now discontent and bored with the rotting, barnacled carcasses of their prey. With glee, they had rushed north to rouse the cold air and hurl it down the coast at the Celestra. With the wind whipping up the waters from above, and the monsters beneath the seabed stirring the depths, the gods provoked a storm, the likes not seen for many a century. Yet, the shipwrights of old had excelled with the Celestra, and despite her age, she would resist with every knot and fiber not to become a trophy for the gods.

  Elodi screamed at the wind. The windows had long since gone. Icy fingers of the sea groped inside, eager to snatch a victim to haul into the water. The rope cut deep into her sides as she gasped for air in the salty spray. How much longer could she last? The wailing wind rose. Below, the horses squealed, and men cried out. Elodi’s throat burned as she screamed uncontrollably, fearing the storm would tear the sky asunder, freeing the void to suck the world into its maw. Her stomach twisted as the valiant Celestra climbed a gigantic wave, followed by a brief respite from the gale as she plummeted into the trough. But if Elodi thought the worse was over, she was mistaken. A gust slammed into her side, sending the Celestra reeling. She clasped her numb hands to her ears, clenched her jaw and screwed her sore eyes shut, but nothing could keep the cacophony at bay. She yelled, pleading to the deities of all the stories she had ever heard, frantic for one to answer. But no answer came. They were alone, helpless against the might of the sea and force of the wind as the elements conspired to banish them from the world of the living.

  Elodi knew madness waited to take her. She clung in desperation to the retreating part of her sanity, but had to accept she was losing the battle for her mind.

  A fresh voice entered the fray. No, not a voice, a shriek! A primeval scream of pure hatred joined the storm, an ancient, unbridled evil, resentful of all living beings. And it came for her soul. Her bleeding fingers grappled with the knot. She had to break free. She had to surrender to the sea before the beast riding the tempest claimed her. It craved her. It had a place for the Lady of Harlyn within its vaults beneath the mountains. But the knot held firm. Elodi collapsed, the fight had gone. Her limbs flapped like those of a corn doll shaken by an excitable child. She had nothing left; she awaited her fate.

  Silence. Calm. Elodi opened her stinging eyes and blinked in the bright sunlight. She looked about the stateroom. This was no subterranean vault, nor the seabed. She wriggled her fingers. She had survived! Elodi had been close to the edge of her world and returned. The Celestra had ridden the storm. She untied the rope. Wendel lay nearby. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth down his pale skin. She clambered to his side and shook his shoulder. ‘Wendel? Don’t you leave me now. Wendel.’ He rolled on his side and opened his eyes. She gasped. ‘Oh, thank The Three. For a moment… I…’

  Wendel brought his hand to his face and murmured. ‘I have a mild headache’ — he winced — ‘and a few bruises, but I shall survive, ma’am.’ He tried to sit.

  ‘Take your time. I’ll see if I can find help.’ Wendel obliged and lay back. Carefully, Elodi rose to her feet. How long had the storm raged? She must have blacked out as the Celestra had bravely navigated the waves.

  Horace? Blunden? She rushed to the door or what remained. It hung limply from one hinge as the wood of the frame had split. Elodi climbed over the door and found a similar scene of destruction in the galley. A pale-faced Gundrul emerged from his cabin, but Elodi was in a hurry to check the crew before she could worry about her men. She grasped his shoulder. ‘Please, see what can be done for Wendel, and then check the horses.’ She turned and headed for the steps.

  Once up on deck, the full force of the storm became apparent. The foremast had gone, taking part of the deck with it. But it must have lasted long enough for Horace to steer them clear. She turned to the stern and climbed the broken stairs. The young lad who had brought the message of the storm crouched over Horace as the helmsman struggled to sit. Elodi froze. Horace held the end of a frayed rope. Tears streamed down his red cheeks. He looked up as Elodi approached. ‘The waves took old Blowers.’ He held out the rope. ‘Tore him clean off the deck. Didn’t have time to grab him. One minute he stood by my side, the next…’ he dropped his head into his hands.

  Elodi kneeled at his side. ‘I’m sure you did everything you could. It’s a miracle any of us survived, and that’s all down to you and your crew.’

  His shoulders shook. ‘Never thought it could be so rough. I’ve been at sea in storms before, but nothing… nothing ever as ferocious. We lost six good men along with Blowers.’ Horace straightened and opened
his eyes. He groaned. ‘My poor lady. See what it’s done to her.’

  ‘But she’s ridden it through and kept us’ — she stared at the sea — ‘most of us safe.’ Her throat tightened at the thought of Captain Blunden and five of his men beneath the calm waters, having sacrificed their lives to save the ship.

  Horace’s eyes widened as he surveyed the damage. ‘Must have passed out. Don’t remember seeing the mast go.’

  She helped Horace to his feet. ‘What now? Can we make it to shore?’ Elodi turned. Her heart stopped. ‘Which way? I can’t see land.’

  Horace wiped his face and pointed. ‘That way, ma’am. But I can’t say how far as I’ve no idea how long we’ve been drifting and if the sun is rising or sinking. I’ll have a better idea when the stars come out, so long as there’s not too many clouds.’

  Elodi fought down the panic; she could not stomach facing another storm. ‘Can we make it without the front mast?’

  ‘We still have two, and the sails we saved. But if another storm hits, even one half as bad as the last, I can’t make any promises.’

  ‘Then let us hope the wind has blown itself out.’ She searched the horizon, yearning to see the thin, dark line of the coast. More men stumbled out onto the deck, many nursing cuts and bruises, but thankfully few had suffered worse injuries. Gundrul climbed the steps to the helm. Elodi noticed the color had returned to his cheeks. He nodded to Elodi. ‘Ma’am, Sea Mist is fine if a bit shaken, but I’m afraid three of the drafts didn’t make it. I’ve offered my men to the crew to help with repairs.’ He turned to Horace. ‘I heard about Captain Blunden. On behalf of the Archonian Guard, I offer my condolences. May he go peacefully to the… sail the calm, warm seas of the next world wherever you sailors end your days.’