by Brad Carsten
Its ears suddenly pricked up. Another growled deep in its throat. The girl placed a hand on the hound's neck to still it, and raised her head to listen.
Voices were calling to her, over and over again. They were still far away, but those voices were getting closer.
Her face brightened, and she scrambled out of the hole.
A number of men were approaching with Elias, her father, out front. He was dressed in dirty armour, as though he had just returned from a battle.
Elias and Fayre ran to each other, and he scooped her up in his arms, and they both broke down in tears.
The wind was picking up. Behind them, those storm clouds were getting closer.
Those clouds felt like death closing in.
“Fayre, Fayre,” Quinn shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the coming storm. He tried to reach out to her, but again she slipped out of reach.
The scene blew away, and they were standing on a ship. Waves pounded the deck, rocking it from side to side. Men shouted orders to each other, while others secured the sails. Dozens of frightened people huddled together on the deck: men clutching bundles and women clutching children. The rain splattered against them in thick drops. Many of those people had a lost, hopeless look in their eyes.
Fayre and her father sat away from the others with her eight hounds. She buried her face in his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her and gently told her of the great land they were heading for, how no war had reached its shores for hundreds of years and how wealthy the people were. He told her that villagers slept with their doors unlocked, and that they looked out for each other.
A storm had broken around the ship, but a deeper shadow passed overhead. Thick black clouds billowed towards them, engulfing the ship.
“Fayre,” Quinn shouted. He tried to reach her but couldn't. He shouted her name over and over. He knew he was missing something, but he couldn't think what it could be.
Lightning forked around them. The clouds formed into black shapes like people—like spirits, swirling around a hole that was opening in the center. Quinn felt his spirit pulling free from his body.
Death was coming.
No, not his body. This wasn't real. The realisation hit him between the eyes, and he suddenly remembered the Sage's instructions. Keep your mind on this world and the other. This world... This wasn't the real world. His body was still in Thamaria, and—and he was holding Fayre's wrists. He looked down at his hands and they were glowing gold.
The sound of the wind had turned to a thousand people whispering all at once.
When Quinn turned back to Fayre, she was no longer a child. She looked up at the swirling clouds bearing down on her and suddenly looked afraid.
The opening in the clouds stretched apart.
Fayre screamed for her father and tried to hold on, but he blew away like ash on the wind. Lightning cracked down to either side forming into arms, and a creature larger than anything Quinn had ever seen crawled out of the hole.
Fayre fell back, staring up at it in horror.
“Fayre,” Quinn shouted. He concentrated on the feeling of her arms in his hands. “Fayre.”
She heard, and her head snapped towards him.
That creature was moving towards her, its snakelike face drawing closer.
Slipping on her hands and knees, she scrambled over to Quinn. “What is that?” she sobbed. “What is happening?”
“This isn't real.” He spoke as quickly as he could. “You're dying. Our camp was attacked, and you took a spear through your chest. None of this is real.”
The creature’s shadow fell across them. The sound it made was like a hundred worn axles, like the old waterwheel in Brigwell. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of cruel looking swords for teeth.
“Listen to me, curse you. I won't allow you to die, do you hear me! You do not belong here. You are in the archive. The nightspawn attacked the scribes, and you were injured.”
She blinked up at him as though she remembered. Slowly, her eyes trailed down to a spear in her chest. Blood soaked into her clothes, and she collapsed. Quinn dropped over her, shielding her.
That giant mouth closed around them.
Quinn screamed. Darkness surrounded him, and he was thrown back.
He jolted. Something hit his head, and as his vision cleared, he realised he was back in the wagon with books and boxes of things lying around him. He must have hit into the shelf upsetting everything and—Fayre drew a deep breath. She groaned in pain, but it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He scrambled over to her and pressed his head against hers.
The wound had stopped bleeding. He knew they still had a long way to go before she could move again, but for now, he'd saved her. For now, she was still alive, and he'd take it.
Chapter 21
The hunter lay in the grass where he had fallen. He tried to get up, but his arm collapsed, and he fell back to the dirt. Pain, like fire, jolted through his back where the arrows pierced, and through his chest where the sword was buried in his stomach.
He drew a breath, but it wouldn’t come, and he had to arch his back to keep from suffocating. That sent fresh waves of fire burning through his body.
Worse than the pain was his anger that he, a proud warrior, would end his life like this, like the countless fools that tasted his blade.
What a wretched place this was—the smells, the colours, the sounds, but he was too weak to get back to the gateway. Weak—that was a word he hadn't known up until now.
The face of the one who did this hung ever before him, and 'The One of Many' considered all the things he'd do if he ever found that worm again. The thought gave him strength. He reached for his dagger to end it all, but his arm spasmed. He screamed in frustration, and tried again and again and again. Oh, to tear that fool apart limb by limb, to do it while keeping him alive for days until there was nothing left to destroy, to kill him and everyone close to him, to...
He was suddenly aware of someone standing nearby and managed to turn his head enough to see who it was.
Cold eyes stared back—eyes that could pierce through stone. “A proud hunter reduced to this?” The One said, scornfully.
The hunter tried to control his breathing to appear stronger than he was, but still it came in shallow gasps. It took everything he had to keep his head up and look the One in the eyes.
“They knew about fire and steel. They knew. They knew.”
“You made a mistake to assume they wouldn't.” Those eyes took in the blade. He leaned over to see the arrows and shook his head. “Such a pity. Did you at least find out where the girl is, or did they route you before you could?”
“She’s heading... for Luthengard. She could even... be there... by now.” He couldn't form a complete sentence without breaking for air. “The city is... large... and once she... reaches it... she'll be... lost to you...” Blood bubbled into his lungs, and he broke off in a fit of coughs.
The One waited for him to pull himself together before speaking—those cold eyes never turning away. “There are other ways to flush a rat out of a sewer. What if they discovered she was the heir to the throne and a wretched besides...? I wouldn't have to look for her. I'd have a city doing it for me.”
“Then you don't... need me... anymore. My task is... complete.” The hunter couldn't straighten his back, but he straightened his neck proudly. “Now grant me... to die in... glory.”
The One scratched his chin in thought, and for a moment the hunter thought he wouldn't go through with it. “Very well.” The One drew a dagger from his boot and placed a hand on the hunter’s forehead. “Death calls to you oh warrior of Gaharah as it has from the day you breathed your first. It's time to heed its cry and return to the void.” He placed the dagger at the hunter’s throat, and the hunter drew a deep breath, as deep as he could. He stretched his neck out to embrace it.
He felt the knife burning across his neck, and his life leaking away.
The one with the cold eyes dippe
d his fingers in the blood and brushed it down his cheeks. “You are 'The One of Many,' and I will carry your burdens beyond death.”
Those cold eyes faded and the world grew dark.
He was going home.
***
Luthengard lay in the Southwest corner of the kingdom. Syphons, like felled tree stumps, broke through the soil with cold steam billowing out of them like chimneys. Their roots grew deep beneath the soil, presenting endless problems for mines, and reaching all the way into underground streams. The water was sucked up to the surface and sprayed out in giant clouds of fog that would soak a man through in minutes.
The houses leading up to the city rested on stilts, some up to three stories high that raised them above the fog, or the worst of it at least, but those houses would have to be eighty feet to escape it completely.
The stilts must have been protection enough, as few of the houses had any walls to speak of and those that did were of rough stone that was easy to climb, and barely high enough to keep the goats in. Half the gates were hanging open besides. For Liam, it was strange to see houses without any walls, like he was seeing the world as it was ten years before.
Morning was breaking across the horizon, colouring the mist in a yellow/pink hue.
Kaylyn sat huddled under her cloak trying to keep warm against the morning chill. They hadn't said much to each other since leaving the camp, and neither Kaylyn nor Liam pushed it.
Rumbling over a hilltop, they got their first glimpse of the city of Luthengard rising out of the valley below. Fog lay thick around it, making it look like a city in the clouds.
Liam had seen cities before, but none could match Luthengard’s beauty. It took his breath away. White domed buildings, reflecting the morning light, reached almost as tall as the gate towers.
“That's gorgeous,” Kaylyn said, stifling a yawn. “I've read so much about it, but I never imagined anything like this.”
Liam had to agree. Tales brought on merchant wagons described it as a city of wonder where upon first sight, artists would weep and sculptors would give up their trade, and Liam realised that even that was understating it.
Large white gates led into the city. Guards in burnished white and silver armour were checking the wagons and waving smaller carts through, with the energy that a new day brought.
Kaylyn watched it all with interest. She opened her mouth as if to say something and then shut it again.
The silence stretched between them, and Liam searched his mind for something to say. He couldn't keep ignoring her, or she'd eventually walk away, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “I could do with some of that rabbit pie that Elias was talking about.” It sounded forced, but it would have to do. Even so, she gave him an awkward smile as if to say that she appreciated the effort.
“I didn't want to say anything to Elias, but I can't eat rabbit.”
“You don't like it?”
“No, I can't eat it. I had a pet rabbit when I was younger and now it'd be like eating a dog. I just couldn't do it.”
With that small burst of conversation, they ran out of things to say, and the awkward silence returned.
They found The Rearing Pony in the northern part of the city. Colourful plants arched around stone benches where people sat watching the world go by. Lush vines grew up a marble trellis, and flower pots hung from almost every windowsill and balcony. With so much fog, the plants grew like weeds, and the town was a wash of colour.
It was a wealthy city, with people looking for ways to throw their gold around and others only too happy to mop it up.
After the past few days, Kaylyn wanted nothing more than to drop into a steaming hot tub and soak for a few hours, while Liam wanted to kick off his boots and climb under his blankets and let bathing be damned until he could think straight again, but getting the scent of casting off of Kaylyn was more important, and so reluctantly, they agreed to find the woman who created the scraels, or the Elixon as she was called, before doing anything else. At least that way they wouldn't have to sleep with one eye open.
Kaylyn ran a hand through her hair, checking it for dirt, and sighed.
“So how do we find this woman,” Liam said, looking down the row of storefronts.
The fog wasn't as thick in the Northern district as it was leading into the city, but it still obscured anything further than a few dozen paces away. That would make it hard enough to find anything even in a town the size of Lyndwon, but Luthengard was huge, perhaps even approaching Norindale. The shops stretched on for miles.
“I don't know,” Kaylyn said, pinching her lip between her teeth. “The syphers aren't exactly welcome in the kingdom, and anyone helping them could be hanged. Wherever she is, she won't have a sign above her door.”
“That's what I was worried about. So where do we even start looking then?”
“Well...” she began, but didn't get any further than that.
“Do you know her name at least?”
“It's Hollis.” She gave a sheepish smile. “That's all I know. Sorry.”
“Okay, are there any similar trades like healing? Perhaps she sells flowers? We could ask around and see if anyone has heard of a flower merchant named Hollis. We could come up with a list of trades, like gardening, and fragrances, and concentrate on those. We have to find something eventually.”
“It's the best idea we've had so far.”
After throwing together a list of possible stores, they split up, each taking one side of the street but to no avail. No one had heard of this Hollis. Slowly they moved away from the northern district, into others, but still they came up empty handed.
By that afternoon, they had walked their shoes in and had barely covered a tenth of the city.
“We have to rethink this,” Liam said, slumping down heavily onto a wooden railing. “There must be another way to find her. Do you know anything about her, anything at all, even if it seems irrelevant?”
“No,” Kaylyn yawned. “Master Marhun spoke about her, but—I'm sorry, all I know is that she creates Elixirs and is loyal to the throne. He often used to get scraels and other things for me, but apart from that, I don't even know if she still lives in the city. Oooh, why didn't I find out more while I was still living at the manor?”
“Well, if it's illegal to aid the wretched—sorry the syphers, then perhaps she was caught and thrown in the dungeons. Can we find a list of people who have been arrested?”
“The courts should have a record like that, but if we start going through the court records and she hasn't been arrested, then it could put the wrong kind of attention onto her—and us. No, you’d have to find someone with more nefarious friends I’m afraid.”
“A criminal?”
She nodded, massaging her calf.
“That's it.” Liam leapt to his feet.
Kaylyn looked at him quizzically.
“I doubt you’re the only person she creates elixirs for, which means that she’ll have people bringing in business, and perhaps others smuggling out her goods, and I’d wager everything I own that these people don't stop with Elixirs. If we can find someone—a footpad or a cutpurse and follow the stream to the top, we'd have to find someone who knows her.”
“But where would we even begin?” She started on the other leg, working out the knots. “You can't just go up to someone in the street, and say, hey, do you happen to be a criminal, because we're looking for someone who smuggles scraels...
I suppose we could go to the dungeons and pay off someone's debt, but that may take a lot of gold, and they may not know anything anyway or would be willing to help us if they did.” She gave a frustrated cry. “Why does it always have to be so difficult?”
“What if we don't go looking for them,” Liam said. “What if we let them come looking for us?”
“How would we do that?”
“Thieves can be cunning in some ways, but rather predictable in others. So all we need to do is make it impossible for them to ignore us.”
“Ooh, I don’t know. That could go wrong quite quickly.”
“It could,” Liam admitted, “But I don't see any other way, and if the nightspawn find you, it’d be a lot worse not only for you but for the people in the city as well.”
“I don't like it, but you're right, I can't see any other way. So how would we make ourselves unnoticeable?”
“First, we need fancier clothes...”
The buildings in the Linicus quarter were every bit as grand as the rest of the city, but they were a lot older and more neglected, and there were fewer decorations, like flower boxes, on the window ledges. The shops were smaller and closely packed together.
People loitered outside, as though they had nothing better to do with their days but watch their days pass by.
Kaylyn looked wary, as they made their way between the buildings, if not afraid.
People noticed them straight away, and a few even called out with gapped toothed grins in a language Liam didn't recognise.
Unlike the Northern district, there were no signs distinguishing the shops from the houses. A few sellers had moved tables onto the pavement, offering anything from wood and broken toys to haircuts and pulling a rotten tooth.
Liam followed the sound of distant music to a narrow tavern that seemed squeezed between two other buildings. He took a deep breath before pushing open the door. Unlike Kaylyn, he was nervous—very nervous. He had a small belt knife hidden under his cloak, but it wouldn't be much good against a sword. He could hold his own in a brawl, but he preferred a bit of distance and a few arrows between him and his opponent.
Liam stumbled over the entrance as though he was drunk, which drew a number of eyes towards them. Let them think he had lost his way in a drunken stupor and stumbled into this area by accident.
Most eyes stayed on him until Kaylyn entered, and then those eyes moved from him to her, pausing to look her up and down, and then back to him and then back to her. He noticed more than one man with a treacherous smile, tapping a companion, and others readjusting their crotches. More than half the men here would be weighing up their chances of leaving with her.