by Greg James
The Were’s drifting eyes came to rest on Jedda, and the slit of his smile revealed rancid teeth before those same eyes grew wide and rolled up into themselves as he fell. A puppet with cut strings. Jedda and General Kella jogged over to the crumpled pile of murderer. His limbs were drawing in on themselves, his bones rattling with the rhythm of a perishing stick insect. He was trying to speak.
Say something! Speak to me! Tell me what happened!
Jedda wished she could ask all of the questions she had for this creature. A mouthful of blood spat out of its mouth, and then the body stopped twitching, the eyes dead. The creature’s stomach sank, settled, and was still.
“It’s dead, my Princess.”
Why had it been resurrected only to come out here and die again?
Jedda looked down at the pathetic, wasted form on the ground.
For some reason, she felt this was something more than death.
She felt it was a warning.
~ ~ ~
Later, in the palace mortuary, Jedda looked the body over. Cause of death was easy enough to ascertain, but it had been so perfectly staged, dropping dead at the moment it made eye contact with her. Jedda had felt that an understanding had passed between them at that point, but she could not work out what it meant.
Not yet.
It was like the Were knew it was going to die rather than live again.
But no one knows when they are going to die.
Unless someone tells them.
She remembered a snatch of an old song about the Fallen One. “He makes life as death and death as life. He takes them both for He knows thy first-born time and thy last-born hour.”
She shivered at the words. Looking at the corpse, Jedda had the feeling it was missing something—something that had been there, evident, before death. Whatever it was, it was gone now, and it made the flesh and bones before her feel unnaturally empty.
She spent an hour bathing after she left the mortuary, but still Jedda could not shake the sensation that had passed over her, a sense of something more than death having happened to the Were.
Is that to be my fate? To just drop dead like that?
Will I become so empty?
~ ~ ~
The next night, Jedda crouched in the shadows, out of sight, awaiting a signal.
Those responsible for the Were had been found; that much they had been able to ascertain. General Kella had tried to dissuade her from accompanying them, but she had insisted. She needed to see this through to the end.
Three women unknown to anyone but themselves had been noticed. One was older, in her thirties, and the other two were in their late teens, but they did not have the look of a family about them. Their eyes were wide and haunted. They did not speak or move together as a family would. They left the market with some fruit and went into a house where an old man was known to live. When the day began to grow dusky, the women left and Jedda lead the soldiers inside.
It was dark, but not so dark that they couldn’t see the old man inside. Dead. His throat cut open. He had been dead for many days. The windows had been covered and the edges of the doors taped over to keep the light out.
Jedda scratched at her throat as she pulled down the coverings that had been set over the windows. It had grown musty and close in the hut. She had only to follow her nose to discover the place where the women had kept the Were. Its pungent dung mingled with stale straw in a small alcove to the rear of the hut. A jar of scented sleeping powders was nearby, the means by which they had kept the creature docile until it was turned loose. One of the soldiers sent a signal through one of the windows. The women were clearly using the cover of dusk to return to the wall and signal Fellspawn waiting outside Highmount. A member of the outer patrol answered with a flicker of light. Jedda could see revenge burning in Kella’s eyes. The general betrayed no other sign of his feelings, but Jedda knew that once these women were caught, the general would put them through hell for what they had done. A shout, cries, and the sound of blows being struck, and then three voices squabbling, came from outside. Swords drawn in the dark, Jedda and her companions rushed outside.
The three women froze.
Looking from one to the other, Jedda felt déjà vu wash over her. The expressions on the women’s faces—as if waking from a dream or a sudden, violent madness. They stared at their trembling hands, only moments ago clawing at each other’s faces, as if they were not their own. Their eyes travelled to a hole in the ground that led under the wall. It must have been burrowed by the Were, Jedda thought, but it was partially water-logged now from melted ice and snow. The women still seemed confused and lost as the soldiers rushed forward to arrest them.
Jedda was confused; these women were not the faithful acolytes she had expected. They stayed still, swaying a little, not quite sure where they were, not quite seeing, until the blindfolds were fastened over their eyes.
Only then did they began to kick and scream.
They would have to be interrogated. There could be more of these creatures. If there were more traitors in Highmount. Jedda had to know the truth, otherwise the defences of the city and the morale of its people would be shattered before the armies of the Fallen One arrived at the gates.
Interrogation would mean torture; these women would not willingly give up the information Jedda needed, she knew. Their fear of His Shadow would eclipse any verbal threat she would be able to make. Yet Jedda also well remembered how Ianna had treated her when she was imprisoned. She rubbed at her wrists. She had not forgotten the pain of the rack’s ropes, nor the ache of her joints as they were drawn out to breaking point. Her stomach turned at the notion of putting another human being through such suffering.
Do I have the right?
~ ~ ~
Interrogation and torture were necessary.
These things had to be done.
Jedda told herself this as she bathed afterwards.
Didn’t they?
She scrubbed her hair dry and climbed into bed, hoping for sleep, not nightmares of the screams she had heard before she left General Kella to finish his work alone.
It was a vain hope.
In her dreams, E’blis was waiting for her, dark-robed and skeletal atop his throne in the smouldering chambers of the Shadowhorn.
“Ah, Jedda, daughter of Ferra. You have found your traitors then.”
“They are no longer a threat to us, E’blis. You will receive no more messages from them.”
“I never expected them to be more than a petty annoyance to you, Princess. Their purpose was to create fear, and they have done just that.”
“The people of Highmount will see that the traitors have been found. They will no longer have reason to fear.”
“I did not mean the fear of the people, Princess. I meant your fear. Your fear of yourself.”
“You talk in riddles, Prince of Pain.”
“Not at all. You know what I mean. Your fears. What you are. What you will become. What need will I have of a pathetic Were and its handlers when I have Princess Jedda to use as I see fit?”
“You do not have me, Dark One. I broke free of your master’s control.”
“Is that what you think happened? Did it never occur to you that your self-will might be a mere illusion His Shadow has granted to you? That all that has happened since is by His design? You are something different, Jedda Ferra, as was Mikka Wyrlsorn.”
Jedda flinched at his words.
“You will find out soon enough just how different you are, and then you will yield Highmount to me.”
“Never.”
“Time will tell, Daughter-King. It always does.”
The voice of E’blis still echoed in her ears when she awoke. She could feel the weight of his word. Like barbed black wires, they were already working away on her heart.
I will surrender Highmount to him.
The certainty in the fallen Creator’s words chilled her to the bone.
~ ~ ~
The following morn
ing General Kella was waiting for her in the court chamber. His manner was relaxed. Satisfied. Any tension that had been in his face the day before had faded. Jedda looked him over and realised how different they were from one another. He had seen war. She had played at it. The weight of his experience was something he bore because he had to. Jedda felt her responsibilities were going to break her if this carried on for much longer.
“They talked, Majesty.”
“Then we know what we need to.” Jedda kept as much emotion from her voice as possible. She did not want to think about what might have been done to the women to draw out a confession. There was no love for servants of the Fallen One in Highmount. No mercy. Even though his taint had touched some of the people here, their hearts still knew how to hate him. What if they found out about me, she thought, what happens then? If they knew that E’blis walks in my dreams and speaks to me ...
“You know what to do next?”
“Yes. Set them free, as you ordered.” Kella said.
She looked into his eyes and felt a chill pass over her skin as she did. She saw death there, waiting for him, for her and everyone else within the city walls.
~ ~ ~
Jedda watched as the women were led to the wall. One of them hobbled, glancing at Kella then quickly looking away. The general’s face was still, betraying no depths, no sympathy. Jedda’s eyes travelled back to the spectres being led to their escape hole. One lost her footing and fell hard. The others, shaking, helped her up and onward. Jedda was glad the women had their backs to her.
The following evening, three corpses were staked out before the walls, all were bruised and slashed from further torture. Jedda watched the burning light finally extinguish in General Kella’s eyes as he looked the bodies over, nodded, and turned away.
Is this how I wish to win this war? Jedda wondered.
Was justice done here?
She did not think it so.
Chapter Fifteen
Kiley Bean could smell rankness in the air and taste bitterness on her tongue, as if the very worst human emotions had become tangible. She did not know where she was or why, except that it was like no place on earth. She had slept badly, her muscles knotted and tense. The sounds of strange, unearthly creatures and very human cries echoed through the winding passageways and chambers of the Shadowhorn.
She wanted to get escape this place, but she knew it was impossible. She had seen the kind of things this E’blis kept as guardians. They would tear her to pieces without the escort of one of E’blis’s robed creatures.
Woran said they were called Mind-Reavers. He was afraid of them.
Kiley understood why the first time she saw one of them without its hood; a writhing head of disgusting tentacles with that stubby trunk hanging under them. Woran said that they used it to suck out a person’s soul. The idea was as crazy as it was frightening and thinking about it only served to make Kiley shiver.
At least, despite this cold, monstrous place she was stranded in, she knew Sarah was here. She was out there, somewhere, but alive nonetheless. Now that Mom was gone, at least Kiley knew she had someone.
If I ever get out of here, she thought, glancing around the cell she had been thrown into. Woran was the only thing keeping her sane—that’s how it felt, anyway.
“Why’re they keeping me here? What’re they going to do to me?”
“I don’t know, child. But I do know that Sarah will not forget you. She could only bear the power of the Flame if she had a true heart, and so she does.
Kiley slumped in a corner of the cell, waiting for the guards to bring her bread and tepid water. Woran had scraped together debris from the floor of his cell and piled it up into a small, foul-smelling fire to heat the water before they drank it.
“Water from the Nightlands is pure poison,” he told her. “To drink it without cleansing it with fire would be to invite death, or worse.”
Kiley wanted to ask what could be worse than death, but her imagination was already in a whirl.
I hope this is a nightmare, she thought. Soon, I’ll wake up back home, and I’ll find Momma there with Sarah and Malarkey.
Two Mind-Reavers opened the cell door and strode in, setting plates down on the ground. Woran sprang to his feet and charged at them, catching them off-guard and brandishing a flaming brand from the fire. Kiley guessed the Mind-Reavers hadn’t seen what they had to fear from an old man and a little girl. But as the flames caught in the first Reaver’s cloak, it began to emit a fearsome shriek. The creeping tongues of flame coursed up the robe and all over the thrashing gaoler in moments, sending its fellow fleeing from the chamber, howling.
“Run, Kiley! Go, child, while you have the chance,” Woran shouted, “Head to the West. Keep your back to this place at all times.”
Kiley hovered on her feet, unsure.
She glanced at the crumpling form of the first Reaver. It was sizzling and bubbling as the flames dwindled down to nothing.
Where was its body? There seemed to be nothing left inside the cloak.
“This is no time to daydream! Run for your life before more of them come! You will come to the Grassland Plains. If you can cross those, you may find Highmount and your sister waiting there for you. If luck favours you, you will meet a friendly face before you travel too far from the borders of these benighted lands.”
Woran’s words brought her back to herself.
Kiley ran.
Through the catacombs of the Shadowhorn, she kept to the shadows, slowly descending from the mountain’s heights. Alcoves offered themselves along the way to hide her from the many creatures that came shuffling, shambling, and crawling past. Some had eyes, but many did not. Colossal worms with human faces, hunched mounds of flesh and muscle that stomped along on gnarled tree-trunk legs, and men with iron arms and rusted metal heads all passed her. She had never seen anything like them before—in the real world or in nightmares.
This must be a nightmare, she told herself. It can’t be anything else. It’s too horrible.
Kiley was hungry and dry-mouthed before she finally reached what she guessed was ground level. She wished she had taken some of the bread and water with her, but there had been nothing to carry it in.
Head to the west, keep your back to this place at all times.
“Where are you, Sarah? What is this hell I’ve come to?”
She crept forward slowly as the strange fog of the land closed in around her. The ground was uneven and rocky, and there was nothing soft or gentle about this place. Shapes moved through the fog as she ventured on. Kiley shivered and tried not to look at them, forcing down the urge to run. If she ran without seeing where she was going, she was sure she would hurt herself somehow and then she would be at the mercy of whatever was out there. She didn’t know what exactly was out there but she knew she was not alone. Mumbled voices, calls, whisperings, and ululating howls seemed to both approach and retreat from her. Nothing was clear. Everything was unreal. It made her skin creep as she picked through the unforgiving landscape. When her feet were too sore to continue, Kiley curled herself into a shallow cleft in the rocks. Exhausted, hungry and thirsty, she could go no further without rest.
~ ~ ~
She awoke to a sound that made her think of broken fingernails dragged down a blackboard. Something was scrabbling across the rocks around her. She huddled in her hiding space as the sound grated on the surrounding rocks, and on her nerves. The unbroken sea of fog washed over everything, leaving her unable to tell where the sound was coming from. Eventually, the noise subsided, and Kiley crawled out from her hiding place. She walked on with slow, careful steps. Whatever it was that had been scuttling about, she did not wish to disturb it.
Yet she had.
The thing reared up out of the fog before her, where it had been waiting for her. It reminded her of the worm-creatures with human faces, except that it was huge. It crawled towards her and the hard tissue of its hide made the scratching sound that she had heard. It opened a mouth that was
filled with long, sharp teeth that went klikt-klikt-klikt. Kiley spun with a scream and sprinted into the fog, completely losing her sense of direction. It scrabbled and slithered over the rocks as it came after her, bearing down on her with speed. Its pursuit was tireless. Its speed inescapable.
Kiley fell and rolled over down an incline she had not seen through the murk. She tried to regain her feet as she scrambled about on the rocks. Her sight went white momentarily as the air around her was suddenly split by lightning and an explosion, throwing the giant larva away from her. Kiley scrambled back some more and then climbed her feet, dusting herself down. The monster thrashed on the ground, twisting its wounded body about but not rising. Behind it, a Mind-Reaver strode out of the fog with a group of Fellfolk in its wake. Before she could think to run, the Mind-Reaver made a strange gesture in the air, and Kiley found she could not move. One of the Fellfolk approached. His tainted red eyes rolled in their sockets and his slack mouth struggled to form the words he uttered.
“You will come with us. You will return to the Shadowhorn.”
At a wave of the Mind-Reaver’s tendrils, she walked.
Back to the mountain she followed them, her heart weighing heavy in her chest.
Woran was waiting for her in the cell. She could see that he had been beaten since she escaped. My fault, she thought, they hurt him and it’s my fault.
He smiled for her with difficulty, and she saw that some of his teeth were broken and missing.
“Oh, my dear child. They caught you. Did they hurt you?”
“No, they saved me from something out there, but I don’t think they did it out of kindness.”
Woran said nothing in reply.
Kiley knew she had been saved only because they needed her for something, something to do with Sarah. And she knew that what they needed her for couldn’t be anything good.