by Ashley Capes
The old monk did not answer at first, instead returning to his work a moment. Was he holding back? If Hanael had been right about the way the monks shared information, surely even a village monk like Hiruso would have some knowledge. “No such child has existed in Kiymako. It is forbidden.”
“I’m surprised to learn that it is not against your teachings to lie, Brother Hiruso.”
“No pass exists here, stranger. Travel to Najin by the Sundered Road and seek the ka-temple by the western gate.”
Never hesitated... the man clearly knew more but was pushing now the right choice? Just because Yota presumably couldn’t collect half a dozen warriors quickly, didn’t mean he wouldn’t soon return with a dozen suspicious villagers armed with tyrants. And if Never was being completely honest with himself, he was simply too tired to have to escape with his wings so soon after his flight.
“Thank you, Hiruso.”
Chapter 7
He’d found the Sundered Road easily enough after skirting the fishing village, and while he hadn’t seen evidence of Yota and angry villagers, he had to assume a search was underway. So he strode into the darkened path despite the misgivings it gave him.
Compared to the proper road he’d bypassed, the parallel path was a thin whisper between bigger, older bamboo and a carpet of ferns. Many of the trunks he passed bore carved markings – the Kiymako language, though he could not read a word of it. Warnings or idle graffiti?
By noon the sun was barely penetrating the canopy; though he could see well enough and a dim and uneven trail was still better than a smooth road crawling with warrior monks. The jittering cry of some manner of bird had fallen away too, giving the forest a stillness that suggested his passage was the only one.
He passed the ruin of a wagon, bamboo growing between the spokes of a wheel and moss consuming the greying sides, and a little further on, a series of rusted swords driven into the earth in a circle that encapsulated the entire path.
Odd. And just why was it called the Sundered Road?
A little further and the answer became clear; gaping holes in the earth swallowed up the trail, the ferns and the bamboo, letting patches of light fall through. The first few holes weren’t too large but as he detoured them, it became clear the openings were getting larger. Bamboo grew from some, clinging to the sides, but most holes seemed black pits without hope of return should he fall.
The further he travelled the Sundered Road, testing the earth as he moved, the larger the holes became, stretching far and wide. Light continued to fall through in blazing columns or wide streaks where the canopy had stretched out and over the craters, eventually coming to illuminate a chasm not unlike a small lake. He guessed that detouring to either side would add considerable time to any journey and even delay a traveller enough to prevent them reaching Najin by nightfall – unless that traveller had wings, of course.
Brother Hiruso had seemed sincere, as though he wanted to help. So why suggest such a place? Certainly it took Never out of the way of any hunting party but it was not a path for the casual traveller. Unless the man knew... Never shook his head. “No.” That was ridiculous. How could Hiruso know about Never’s Amouni heritage? The old monk was simply suggesting a path few Kiymako, warrior monks or otherwise, would use.
Wasn’t he?
The man’s refusal to reveal all he knew lingered and Never turned to face his back trail. If he hurried, he’d make it back to the village before dark, maybe get some proper answers from the man... and walk directly into the arms of whatever warriors Yota had summoned.
Never had to laugh. “Well played, old man.”
Hiruso had forced Never’s hand; there was no choice. It was probably safer to leave the forest before nightfall, and it was doubtless easiest to sneak across the city and find the minor temple by the west gate during darkness.
“Fine.” Never let his wings unfurl and launched into the air, beating hard to haul himself and the extra weight of his pack off the ground. He gained height as he crossed the chasm—
Something snapped around his foot.
Never gave a cry of shock as it dragged him down.
He struggled in the darkness, beating his wings but it was hopeless. Whatever held him was stronger – he scrambled for a knife, slashing at whatever had encircled his boot. The blade hit flesh, hot blood spraying forth, but he was not released.
Down and down it dragged him, the light above growing smaller, no matter how hard he beat his wings.
Never kicked then slashed with his knife once more but still could not break free.
But he jerked to a sudden halt. His joints groaned and a moment later he struck stone, biting his tongue and bruising his hip. It hadn’t been a long fall, the final part of his descent, he was well-enough to roll quickly, knife ready, but there was only darkness confronting him.
“Aaaaamouni,” a rasping voice whispered. “Yesss, yesss, yesss.”
The second word echoed, as though Never stood in a large chamber. He spun, straining to hear over his hard breathing. Yet only the hiss of the ‘s’ continued. Never growled; enough darkness! He flipped his dagger into his palm and sliced into the back of his hand this time, before switching the knife to repeat the cut. Blood tricked forth and he fed his anger into it, letting two globes of crimson fire bloom.
“Don’t let any of that blood go to wasssste, now.”
A red glow lit his surroundings.
Not powerful enough to illuminate everything, but the shape of branches... or bones, littered the uneven floor. The voice had come from directly before Never; he strode forward, boots crunching over smaller or older bones. Definitely bones.
When he neared the wall, he slowed.
Something clung to it, resting above him at the limits of the light. It was man-shaped... only it had more arms and legs than was natural and a long, tendril-like tail swung in and out of the light. Its end bore several gashes. The head twisted around to regard Never; face obscured but two eyes glowed, reflecting the crimson-fire.
It scuttled down the wall a little, still out of reach, but as it moved Never caught sight of dangling legs, unused. Still attached to the torso, they were withered and pale. Another limb looked like an arm – only now it was skeletal, several fingers missing. Yet the rest of its body, the other limbs were solid, muscular, even the tail, which the creature held poised, not unlike a scorpion.
Never couldn’t prevent a shudder – what by the Gods was the thing?
“Long time ssssince an Amouni set foot on the island. I could ssssmell your blood at once,” it said, voice echoing. Its mouth and cheeks were covered in a dark stain. Old blood? Mud? Something else? It ducked back into the deeper shadow. “Asssscended too. Didn’t think you’d visit.”
“You didn’t give me much choice.”
A snuffling followed – was it laughing? It shifted sideways, moving from the light.
Never tracked it, keeping it within at least the edge of the crimson-fire’s glow. “But I’m offering you a choice.”
“Oh?”
“I’m flying out of your little hole and you can either watch me do so, or be dead.”
The thing paused. “Well, it pays to be ssssure – your wingssss must be whole, unbroken, yessss? It doesn’t do well with broken things.”
Never flared the globes of burning blood and the creature hissed at him. Then it slipped from the light. Never spun, but the rock face remained empty. His pulse had doubled, and he was breathing hard again – it wanted his wings?
He spun again, flaring hard and caught a glimpse of its leathery tail, heading up.
Never gave ground with a curse. His fire made him an easy target yet with the amount of limbs it had, he didn’t like his chances if it came down to knives. “Fine.” He flung his arm forth and a stream of crimson-fire shot out to sear into the stone wall. Debris followed, clattering to the cavern floor,
but he’d missed.
Again Never spun. The filthy thing could be any – something crashed into his back. The blow knocked him to the floor. A jagged piece of bone sliced into his side, pain spreading with the flow of blood. He ground his teeth as he reached one knee, flinging both arms around his head, spraying thin lines of crimson-fire across the room.
Hissing followed.
He stood. “You come too close and I’ll melt you down to the bone.”
“Soundssss like you’ll need a lot of blood.”
The voice echoed still, making it hard to pinpoint the creature. Never guessed, striding forward. Yet when he raised his hands, spreading the light, there were only the stone walls.
Something cracked into the back of his head.
He stumbled forward, vision blurred. The crimson-fire flickered, but he leapt to the side, flaring it again. A grunt echoed and he roared back at it, voice turning hoarse. His every other step now had him scrambling for purchase as his boots found a mass of bone, rising up like a hill.
It was toying with him.
Perhaps its plan was to weaken him; it was afraid of the crimson-fire. But the fire was the very thing that would finish Never if he let it, it was simply impossible to keep up the streams indefinitely.
Yet there was a way.
An old way, if he wanted to risk it.
Never let the crimson-fire blink out. In the inky silence that followed, he closed his eyes and let his blood guide him. Faintly, oh so faintly, it yearned left. He took a step, the pulling sensation grew stronger.
Blood sought blood.
On the way down, Never had cut the creature’s tail.
And now his blood sought out a living body to drain. Never released his inhibitions, the rigid checks he usually placed on his curse, his fear of hurting others, and let his blood quest in the dark.
He followed it away from the bones, quickening his steps.
A shriek echoed from above.
The creature scrambled over up and away, limbs slapping against the stone in a frantic rhythm. When it stopped, a grinding of stone followed and then a dull boom. Had it gone then? Never exhaled. He’d driven it away but maybe only momentarily.
Time to fly.
He spread his wings and leapt up, wincing at the pain in his side. Once he’d put some distance between he and the crater, he’d have to attend to the cut. For now, his only concern was escape as he pumped his wings, clawing his way toward the light.
When he finally broke free, Never kept flying until he’d reached the top of the sturdiest looking bamboo tree. He caught it, wrapping one leg and one arm around it, and frowned down at the huge crater and the other openings as he tried to catch his breath and rest his wings.
He’d scared it off, but it was crafty enough to lie in wait near the surface of a different opening. The thing doubtless had access to more than one crater, best to fly quite high, or maybe from tree to tree. Supposedly, it had tasted Amouni blood before – it knew enough to fear the blood, knew about Ascension, yet it also had a clever tactic. Drag an Amouni into the dark, making sure not to break the wings, then force the Amouni to use crimson-fire for light.
Then, it was a matter of avoiding the flame long enough for the Amouni to accidently weaken themselves beyond return.
“Clever bastard, aren’t you?”
Never clung to the treetop a little longer before setting out once more, leaping forth and gliding toward another tree. As he did, he kept half an eye on the dark openings below, his mind troubled by another thought.
Had Brother Hiruso sent Never to the Sundered Road, assuming he’d fly across the openings in order to avoid the creature, or had the old man sent Never directly into the creature’s path?
Chapter 8
Najin did not precisely slumber beneath the stars.
Light and music, mostly flute and drums, sprung up from the harbour. It leapt even over the walls to reach Never where he clung to the bamboo once more, marking the path of a sentry on the walls. As Hanael had described, the wooden walls stood high, sturdy but not insurmountable. If Never had been forced to cover the open ground before the walls and scale them, even with his newly bandaged wound, he’d manage. Especially since it was healing quickly; something he’d long-since started to take for granted.
Of course, he’d be flying over the wall instead, but only once he was sure he’d not be spotted.
And once he had an actual destination.
Brother Hiruso’s advice was doubtless tainted. And it was needlessly specific, for a ruse. The ka-temple at the west gate – why not say ‘find a temple’? After all, what did it matter which temple when the old monk had always planned for Never to perish on the Sundered Road?
Or perhaps that was simply the spice to the lie, a bit of specific detail to really sell it.
“Gods, you’re a fool,” Never told himself. It didn’t matter how the old goat did it, it mattered that it had happened. Sauntering up to the lesser temple on the opposite side of town was not going to happen.
He needed information from people already within Najin, from sailors, merchants or outsiders, if any remained in the harbour.
And that meant inns and taverns, which wouldn’t work, since the entire town would be, if not actively watching for him, willing to rush off and tell the nearest monk if he was seen.
Which only left the wharves.
“Time for a little good luck,” he said softly, as the nearest sentry dipped from sight.
Never launched himself through the cool night air. It ran across his face and stirred his hair, prickling his skin. At high speeds the wind tended to sting his eyes, but gliding was always a pleasure.
He swung around the walls and swooped down to skim over the placid waves, approaching the docks. Kiymako cutters with their painted hulls and black sails were mostly quiet, portholes dark or decks empty. Other local boats, fishing craft and a larger ship either for passengers or goods were equally unpromising. Yet half a dozen foreign ships were tied off too – only one bore lights in the captain’s cabin. It appeared to be Marlosi by the stallion masthead.
Never swept in to land on the rail at the stern, stepping softly down onto the deck.
He circled coils of rope and took a ladder down to the main deck. Empty. Where were the sailors? No-one in the crow’s, no-one stationed in the fore watching the warm glow of the small city either. And, oddly enough, little in the way of noise from below.
Maybe the faint snores of sleeping sailors and hushed conversation – so not a night for the drink, either.
He started along the passage, heading for the glow sneaking beneath the door where he raised his voice. “Is the captain home?”
The murmuring ceased, and the scrape of a chair followed. “Who by the Burning Graves Below boards my ship at this hour?” The words were Kiymako, but the Marlosi accent was clear.
The door flung open, revealing a short man in a silken robe, holding a heavy crossbow. His frown was quite deep, though Never caught a flicker of surprise too. “Well?”
“My name’s Never, Captain. I’m looking for a friendly ear,” he said, raising his hands. “I have spice.”
He grunted. “You’re a damn fool, breaking curfew on my ship.”
“Curfew?”
“That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re a new hand and you’ve snuck across from old Pela’s ship to ask if I’ll run. Well, let me save you some time, I won’t. We’re all stuck here until the Isansho says we can leave.”
“Actually, I have quite a different question. And I’m not a sailor.”
The thumping of footsteps appeared as several cabin doors snapped open, revealing sleepy-looking sailors. “Trouble, Captain?” one asked.
The Captain sighed. “Not sure yet. Into my cabin and bring your club, Deze.” To Never, he waved a hand as he turned for his room.
&nbs
p; Never followed him into a rather utilitarian room lit by candles, soon joined by Deze and a hefty-looking weapon. Never took a chair opposite the Captain, who set his crossbow aside then rummaged amongst the pages of a ledger, before lifting a quill. “I’m Captain Milagra and you’re trespassing on the Lion, Never, or whatever you call yourself. Explain – and keep in mind, you’ve got about as long as it takes me to finish here before I have Deze dump you overboard.”
“As I said, Captain, I’m not trying to leave Kiymako. I want in; I’m looking for someone and I need information. A pass wouldn’t hurt either.” He set his pack down, rummaging through it to lift a tin canister free, which he set on the table. “I’ll pay for the help too.”
Captain Milagra’s quill paused. “Cinnamon.”
“Indeed.”
He looked up, a new light in his eyes. “How much?”
“Half. I mean to save a little for unforeseeable situations.”
“Half for whatever information you need?” Milagra pondered. “It’ll get us off rations for a little while, right, Deze?”
“Right,” the man said, smiling.
“And the pass, the Grace of the Temple?”
Milagra shook his head. “If you’re caught with a pass that hasn’t been assigned to you, you’re dead and so am I. You’ll have to make do with the information.”
“Very well.” Hardly ideal, but Never split the spice, changing some of his Melosi coins for the crescent-shaped Kiymako tender at the same time, and sat back. “First question – have you heard of a monk named Hiruso from one of the eastern villages?”
“Last month was our first time in port. A few days in Najin was shut off – can’t say we’ve had much chance to go sightseeing yet.” He locked the spice in a desk drawer. “Hope your other questions turn out a little better, friend.”
“Let’s see,” Never said as he leant forward. “Is there anything special about the ka-temple by the west gate?”