by Ben Galley
‘Another strange town,’ she said, neither thrilled nor worried.
‘One we will not be spending any time in.’
Farden rubbed at the wrinkles of tiredness under his eyes. His bruises were turning green instead of purple. Something about the dawn light caught the new silver in his hair. The years were indeed racing to catch up. She could see it now, plain as daylight.
‘Stand upon his brow,’ Mithrid recited aloud.
‘What would you call the brow of a mountain?’
Farden swung a cloak over his armour and hoisted the hood. He pointed with the butt of a sword before sheathing it. ‘I say we start at its peak. See if we can see a dragon tooth from there.’
‘A fine idea.’
‘They didn’t hide their tracks well, this cult,’ Aspala said. ‘These riddles are easy.’
‘I have a feeling it is the tasks themselves that create the challenge. The risk, Aspala,’ said Durnus.
‘Sounds right. Nothing’s ever simple for us,’ Farden said, as he set out across the grass.
Leaving the dragon behind to stretch and sprawl to herself in the sun, they walked in single file. Conversation was stilted, if any. They spent their walk easing cramped muscles, and admiring the white, spindle-legged birds that prowled their way through the sea of grass like herons. Across the leagues of grassland, more persnippen grazed amongst huge coelos. Several of them fenced with their huge horns. The beasts seemed an even bigger breed here. Their horns were half the length of their bodies. They seemed mightily intrigued by the passing minotaur, and she with them.
‘Unicorns, I have heard the people of the furthest east call these beasts. Or it might be unihorn, I forget,’ Durnus lectured the silence.
By the time they had reached the first outcrop of town, dawn was a memory. Dusk had already begun. The distant giant pines of Golikar were a broad glowing band of green on the western horizon.
The towns were built of flint pebbles and mortar. Like the barrows of the marshes, they were conical, and seemed to be one huge chimney the way smoke drifted from holes in their points.
Where suspicion and doubt had plagued them in the Rivenplains, the people here seemed more than curious of the travellers. Ecstatic, almost, to have foreign faces among them. They wore clothes and brimmed hats of woven grass, and they stood in clumps to point and stare with smiles. Children ran to them to present flowers. Farmers approached with baskets of withered vegetables and flashed fingers for the prices.
‘I don’t think many folk come through this land,’ Aspala said, as a muddy girl held up a wreath to her. The Paraian smiled and knelt to let the girl put it over her head. The girl cautiously reached to touch her horns. Aspala allowed her with a broad smile.
With a growing crowd in tow, they followed the chalk roads towards the cliff edges. The ocean roared far beneath. Mithrid dared a look over the grass-tufted edge. They dwarfed Troughwake’s cliffs. She had to seize Aspala, much to her friend’s pain.
‘Sorry.’
Some centuries ago, when the mountain had fallen, it had crushed the cliff beneath it. The ground had swallowed the slopes. Grass had crept up its sides.
Larger villages sprawled across the black rock like lichen. Cairns stood high between the houses.
‘Where from?’ called a fellow in broken Commontongue. He walked alongside them, trying to barge through the throng of people that followed them babbling.
Farden raised his head. ‘West.’
‘But you not looks Golikan.’
‘We aren’t. Travellers from further west.’
The notion seemed highly impressive to the crowds, once he had translated.
‘What do you call this place?’
‘Mogacha. Mogacha.’
‘So pleasant they named it twice,’ Durnus said, drawing a snort from Aspala.
‘And that mountain?’
‘No mountain, traveller. Ossas. “Giant” in your tongue.’
They all shared a look between them.
‘Feel?’ The man put his hands to the earth. ‘Ossas breathes. Ossas speaks. He still loves. Once tall. Monster from sea bite him. Poison weaken him. But he still fight. Thousand years and he still fight.’
‘Monster, you say?’
‘Monster… Wyrm. No…’ The man clapped his hands as he tried to think of the word. ‘How you say, dragon?’
Mithrid felt Farden’s pace increase. They set foot to the dark rock of this fallen giant. It was there she felt the rumble in the rock through her boots. It came and went like the waves of the ocean, or rather like the breath of lungs unfathomably large.
They climbed the mountain’s flattened slopes with ease. Mithrid found herself distracted by the scrub plants that grew amongst the rock. Strange herbs and purple berries almost lured her, but the brows of the giant called.
Where the mountain swept to its peak, huge fishing lines stood propped. People wound reels as large as cartwheels. Mithrid saw others slapping haunches of meat onto hooks as long as her arm. She wondered what in Hel they fished for.
The crowds hung back the further they pressed. Perhaps their interest waned, but to Mithrid it seemed more like fear, or they trod on sacred ground.
Farden led the way, determined as ever. Mithrid hung just behind him, watching the seascape reveal itself behind the black rock step by step.
An angry ocean stood beneath them. She could see the waves washing from the horizon. A dark bend in the blue in the distance, by the time they reached the coasts they reared up, their curved edges bristling with foam. They crashed against sharp islands before breaking somewhere beneath the cliff with a pounding thunder. Mithrid understood the giant’s breath.
‘You!’ Durnus beckoned to the fellow who could speak Commontongue. The man seemed hesitant to join them. He did so in a comical, crouching walk, cringing every time the ocean hammered the cliffs.
‘Where is this dragon?’ Durnus asked.
The man looked perplexed. ‘You not see it? There,’ he said, pointing at the white needles of rock directly almost beneath them. They bent slightly inwards, just like fangs.
‘Dragon’s teeth,’ Farden said aloud. Mithrid was already counting. Each island stuck vertically from the raging ocean. The third along was the proudest one. A long reef ran between them like a jawbone. With every wash of the waves, its rocks were revealed momentarily.
‘This must be a joke,’ said Durnus.
‘What?’ Warbringer asked. She was looking upon the ocean with a face that suggested it was made of shit, not seawater.
Mithrid remembered the riddle before the others. There, between the blue and white maelstrom between the waves, a small opening could be seen. A hole carved into the rock.
‘Bodies fall in faith betwixt the third dragon’s tooth,’ Mithrid said quietly.
Farden scratched at his growing stubble. ‘I’ll echo Warbringer. What?’
‘The girl is right. We need to go down there,’ said Durnus.
‘Do you have boats? Ships?’ Farden asked of the Mogacha man.
He shook his head with emphatic speed. ‘Much danger. Ships, er… die.’ He mimed something breaking in half for good measure.
‘A rope then.’
The fear had already hit Mithrid. ‘I think it means we have to jump.’
‘ “Easy,” you said.’ Farden stared in accusation at Aspala.
‘Farden does not do well with water. Almost drowned once,’ Durnus quietly explained.
‘Twice,’ the mage grumbled. ‘The second time I pulled it off.’
Mithrid’s throat was inexplicably dry. ‘It’s the height that worries me.’
‘There must be a rope.’ Durnus was looking to the Mogacha when Farden started backing up. Mithrid saw the rarest of expressions on his face. One she had only seen once before. Fear.
‘Farden…’
‘Either you jump with me or you don’t finish that sentence.’
Mithrid’s mouth hung open. ‘Me?’
‘Aspala can�
�t jump in her state. Warbringer?’
The minotaur laughed at the mage as if he was mad.
‘Durnus?’
‘I—’
‘Then it looks like this second task is down to us. The Doomriddle calls for faith, does it not?’
‘Yes, but surely…’
While Mithrid was still trying to think of another excuse, the mage spat out a curse, counted to ten, and sprinted for the very peak of the mountain.
Mithrid watched him disappear, a figure of gold and scarlet plummeting like the steel-clad object he was. Just as it seemed he would be spattered on the bare rocks, the ocean swelled. He hit the waters with a colossal splash.
‘Farden!’ Durnus yelled. ‘Godsdamn it!’
They waited for the next wave but all they saw was bare white rock. The eye between the dragon’s tooth remained black and empty.
‘I can’t see him!’ yelled Durnus.
‘Fuck,’ Mithrid hissed, crushing her fears into silence. ‘Fuck. Fuck.’
Her legs moved with little thought. If Farden could do it, she had to as well. She knew if she hesitated she would never jump. Every piece of Mithrid’s mind screeched for her to stay still, to be sane and stay on solid ground. Like Farden, she counted the waves, waiting for the pounding crashing beneath before she ran. If he could do it, even with fear in his heart, so could she.
Grit scattered as she bounded forwards. Cursing Farden’s name as she reached the peak, she fixed her eye on the drowned cave and hurled herself from Ossas’ peak.
It felt as though she left her stomach on the rock. She was sure her insides unravelled behind her; that was the only explanation for the sensation in her gut. Her breath clamoured to be free. Her arms windmilled furiously in the vain hope she could fly all along and had never tried. The ocean rose up to greet her as fast as a swinging blade. The bare rock was swallowed by a wave moments before she struck the water.
The impact had broken her legs, she was sure of it. Breath exploded in bubbles from her as ice-cold water seized her. Its bladed grip pierced every pore. It flooded her nose, mouth, and eyes.
The rock beneath her was a jolting surprise. It hit her in the breastplate before scraping past her. Panic surged as she felt herself sinking. She caught one last glimpse of the yellow day before a ring of dark rock swallowed her. Precious air escaped with her scream. The smooth rock refused to give her purchase as she continued to sink. A pressure was building within her skull.
A bottom mired in seaweed enveloped her. It only added to the panic. Mithrid felt a lasso of weed tighten around her ankle, and she thrashed to be free.
Over the roar of her bubbling scream, she heard a voice. It was muffled, incomprehensible, but undoubtedly human. Mithrid felt the emptiness of air beyond her grasping fingers. She burst upright, coughing seawater. Her hair had stuck to her face and filled her mouth. When she had stopped choking and managed to wipe it aside, she saw a wide cave before her. Stalactites of white and marbled stone hung above her. Purple crabs with limbs of spiders crawled their way across the walls and ceiling. Wet mosses of red and blue ran in spiral patterns, glowing with a faint phosphorescence. And beside her, a wet Farden looking at her concernedly.
‘Are we dead? Is this Hel?’ she asked.
‘Hel looks a whole lot more lifeless than this, trust me,’ Farden said. At the booming crash of something above, he added, ‘We’re in a cave in the dragon’s tooth. You were right.’
‘And if I was wrong?’
‘Faith,’ grunted Farden.
The cave did not end there, but meandered into a tunnel of the same weed-riddled chalk. Crabs clicked their way back and forth. Mithrid winced every time one crunched beneath her boot.
Farden had drawn his sword. He examined every crack in the stone with a tap of his boot, pressed on the walls, and generally acted wary.
‘Traps,’ he explained.
But for all the mage’s caution, the tunnel was home to nothing but crustaceans. The air smelled stale. The water stagnant.
‘Let’s not linger here,’ she whispered, as if afraid to break the silence with more than their footfalls.
The tunnel led them to another cave. The roof was crystalline, letting wavering blue daylight flood through. The mosses glowed in the corners. Ahead of them was a patterned floor leading to a ship’s wheel upon a pedestal. The chamber was disarming save for some skeletons lying draped over rocks.
‘Why do I not like this?’
‘Probably the same reason as me. Ever seen anything like this before?’
‘Never.’
Farden examined the floor with his toe. Somebody had spent time patterning the floor with shell-shaped flagstones. They seemed solid enough until Farden put his weight on one. The flagstone dropped down an inch with a clunk so very full of dread. Mithrid almost sprinted back to the water then and there.
‘Bloody knew it,’ Farden said, before seizing Mithrid by the arm and sprinting across the floor. Tiles dropped with a lurch wherever their feet touched. None fell more than an inch like the first, but it felt as though an abyss waited beneath. With alacrity they jumped onto the dais around the pedestal and clung to the wheel.
For a moment, nothing happened. They stared in their path across the flagstones until they heard it: the sound of rushing water. Unseen gaps in the wall began trickling, then spewing with seawater. Within a few breaths, the floor was already awash.
‘All right,’ Farden surmised with a certainty Mithrid did not feel. ‘It’s clearly a puzzle of some kind.’
‘Runes,’ Mithrid said as she pointed. No matter how hard she concentrated, she kept looking over her shoulder at the flooding chamber.
‘Twelve of them around the wheel.’
‘So a combination or a word. Are these numbers? What did the riddle say?’
‘ “Bodies fall in faith betwixt the third dragon’s tooth. There taste forgotten airs and lesser minds. Only the drowned shall know the sepulchre’s secrets.” ’
‘ “Only the drowned will know the sepulchre’s secrets.” This looks like a sepulchre, whatever that is,’ Farden surmised. ‘Check the bones!’
Mithrid and the mage went to it with a will, turning over the skeletons until they broke apart in their hands. ‘I’ve got nothing!’ she cried.
By now, the water was around their waists. Together they waded back to the wheel and hauled themselves out of the water.
‘We have to think about getting out of here.’ Farden was clearly gripped by the worry of drowning, but he slapped his hand onto the wheel and began turning randomly.
Nothing happened.
‘Farden,’ Mithrid said. ‘I think we have to wait.’
‘Are you mad?’
‘Maybe the wheel has to be underwater?’ She grasped at reeds. ‘Or we do?’
Farden cast around angrily, looking for any clue but hers. ‘Gah!’
On its far side, a shape shone like an arrow. Mithrid pushed herself up to snatch a breath. ‘It’s the water!’
Both of them submerged. Achingly slow, the runes upon the wheel began to glow in a sequence. Mithrid and Farden tried desperately to place feet and hands to remember their order.
Six, altogether, and by the time Mithrid’s chest was burning for air, there was only a head’s worth of space between the roof and the water.
‘We’ve got one chance!’ Farden yelled, his voice loud and without echo in the strip of air. Their faces looked haunting in the glow of the wheel.
‘I remember them!’
‘Fuck, I hope this works!’
They each took a huge gulp of air and dove. Mithrid took ahold of the wheel and rammed against it. Her strength was halved underwater. For a moment the wheel refused to move. Panic struck. Mithrid tried again and to her immense relief, it shifted. The first rune stuttered out as it met the arrow. Then the second. By the third, Mithrid’s lungs had begun to ache. The desire to breathe was enticing. Bubbles popped from her lips. The fourth clanked into place. The wheel was beginning to s
tick. Now the fifth. Then the blasted sixth, taking a full turn of the wheel to reach. Her head began to pound with pressure and lack of air. Her throat gurgled as she fought to keep it closed and the icy water out.
The wheel stuck one notch before the last glowing rune. Even through the blur of the water, she could see Farden’s wide eyes. Bubbles streamed from his mouth as he roared. In the muffle of submersion she could still make out his cursing. He braced himself against a nearby pillar and kicked the wheel savagely with his foot.
With a resonating boom, the wheel kicked into place and the water churned violently. Mithrid was swept around like a rag in a bucket. As her head collided with the flagstone floor, she couldn’t help but exhale, and give into the darkness gathering in her eyes.
‘Twice in two minutes you’ve almost drowned,’ said a voice over her. ‘Trying to beat my record?’
Mithrid fully expected to breathe in cloying water, to join the skeletons so the next unwitting morons who sought this cave could paw at her picked bones. Instead, spray hit her in the face. The water had made her numb. She realised the mage was propping her up. The water was still draining from the room and washing around her waist. Mithrid coughed to the point of almost vomiting. Farden patted her on the back. When she at last recovered and wiped a trickle of blood from her eyes, he was looking at her with a proud, if not relieved, smile.
‘Only the drowned know this place’s secrets. Bold guess, Mithrid. Luckily for us, you guessed right,’ he said. ‘Maybe you already are more than you think.’
‘Not just a cliff-brat,’ Mithrid wheezed. ‘You could also say that’s the second time I’ve saved your life.’
Farden pointed. ‘What’s going on there?’
Mithrid turned as if she expected an enemy. The ship’s wheel was spinning in a blur. Spray shot from its handles. Its runes were all aglow, now a halo of light. The wooden core at its centre was unfolding, opening. Leaves of wood retracted over each other to reveal bubbling water. A crystal column of water stretched upwards. Something held still at its core. Farden clicked his knuckles and reached into the water. As soon as he had grasped their prize, the wheel stopped dead with a sharp thud. The water spilled to the stone floor. All magick died. Even the glow of the moss started to fade.