Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy)

by Sam Bowring

  Last night he had lain in the bed for hours, waiting for unconsciousness to seize him. It turned out natural sleep was a mystery to him and he’d no idea how it was meant to work. Obviously he must have achieved it, for he’d just become rudely aware of himself again as if born from a void. He tried to recall the point when sleep had taken him, and could not. It was very curious. Flipping back the bedcover and rising, he promised himself he would take more notice of how Skygrip affected him. Now that he was aware of it, he could control it more easily when he got back.

  He dressed in black trousers and a dark blue vest, took a long drink from the water pitcher by the bed, picked up his satchel and left the room. Outside the priests waited, sitting cross-legged under brown cloaks, looking like ant hills.

  ‘Ah,’ said Grepra, rising smoothly. ‘Come. Others are waiting with your boat.’

  The priests led on, bobbing almost comically on their concealed bandy legs. They went through grey corridors and out of the temple, making their way down the hill. The hillside was soft and damp, peppered with spiky sea grasses and salt-encrusted bushes. The path levelled out into the village where it joined a muddy street. As they moved through clusters of buildings, villagers stopped to stare – mostly Arabodedas, Losara noted. One called out, ‘Safe journey, lord,’ as they passed.

  It didn’t take long to reach a pebbly beach where a simple rowboat was moored to the shore. It had a single wooden bar for a seat, two oars fixed in position, and was big enough for just one person. Grepra produced a cloth package tied with string. ‘Provisions,’ he said. ‘It is some days to the Isle if you head straight and true. If you don’t, who knows? Maybe it will take many days, or all the days left in your life.’

  The priest held a suckered hand towards the boat. Losara waded into the chill shallows and stepped unsteadily into the rocking vessel. On the shore, Grepra untied the rope and threw it after him.

  ‘The priests of Assedrynn commend you,’ called Grepra. ‘May he find and guide you, there and back.’

  ‘There and back,’ echoed Losara, turning to stare at the horizon. Black cloud and black sea.

  ‘We will watch for you, Apprentice,’ called Grepra. ‘Now row!’

  •

  As the walls of his home disappeared behind him, the wind at his back seemed to urge him on. East they rode on powerful horses, across the grasslands of Borgordus.

  ‘Come on, Blade Bel!’ Keit called beside him. ‘Last one to Drel eats goblin loincloths!’

  Bel laughed, joy shining in his amber eyes as a wider world rose up to meet him.

  •

  Soon the coastline was a streak in the distance, only the cliffs visible above water. Losara rowed with the current, which gripped the craft so strongly that he couldn’t have turned back if he’d wanted to. Finally the risks seemed real, yet he rowed resolutely towards the oncoming dark.

  Nineteen / Good Spirit

  Nineteen

  Good Spirit

  Good Spirit

  ‘The town of Treewith,’ called Gredda. The troop approached cross-country from the west and entered the town in fading light. It was a clean and orderly place, built in a valley between low hills, its houses painted green like the surrounding land. The Treewith Inn, where they were to stay, was three storeys high, with a warmly inviting glow in the lower windows.

  ‘Stable’s round the back,’ Bel heard the innkeeper telling Munpo. ‘It’s not often we have so many horses at once, but I’m sure we’ll manage.’

  Bel slid from his saddle and led his horse to the stables, contemplating his own desire for sleep. Previously he’d only ridden short distances – how could he have done otherwise while confined to the Halls? – and the long day over hills and fields had given him all kinds of aches. Once his raging appetite was satiated, nothing would hold him from his bed.

  From the eaves of a nearby shop, a pair of blood-drop eyes followed his progress.

  •

  Soon enough, Bel slept. In his dreams he was battling huggers, untouchable as they broke like waves upon him. For some reason Jaya was there, watching admiringly from a tree. Bel saved his troop mates time and again, including Munpo, who was suddenly not so deft with his sword.

  In the rafters above, Iassia ruffled his feathers with pleasure. All these years Corlas had hidden behind the wards, making it impossible for Iassia to invoke his ‘favour’ and have the father kill the son. The weaver had been limited to hovering about the perimeter, questing into passing minds for any titbit of information – yet it seemed that finally Corlas had taken a risk. Did he think that Iassia had lost patience with his task? Twenty years was nothing to a weaver, and in fact Iassia had enjoyed his time in the region. The small settlements and villages around Kadass had proved entertaining, containing an abundance of weak minds to toy with. His favourite had been the old woman who’d fallen into a gully at the back of a farm and broken her leg. Iassia had hidden in the branches above her, deflecting the attention of her family as they searched, so that they could hear her yet not find her. Her misery had been sublime. It was good to have a holiday.

  Today the waiting had paid off. A troop of soldiers thinking loudly about a controversial new recruit had led Iassia straight to Bel. Below him now, the boy lay unguarded and asleep, and Iassia worked through ideas as he watched him. He was loath to involve any of Battu’s other servants, even if they were more capable of inflicting physical harm. This was his prize, long waited for! He staved off making a decision with a compromise: he would do a little reconnaissance, and if he didn’t find a way of dispatching Bel easily, he would then contact the distant dark lord.

  With Bel asleep, Iassia could attempt a total invasion of his mind, putting himself wholly inside it. He opened the gates that held his consciousness in and floated invisibly down towards the bed. Behind him a thread of awareness connected him to his own body, unfurling as he went. As he entered Bel’s mind he became aware of the surface thoughts first. They had a certain texture to them – the man was confident, arrogant, vain. Iassia delved deeper . . . and suddenly knew he’d made a mistake. It was like stepping out expecting footing yet finding none. A void opened up beneath him and he fell, spinning wildly. He had to hold himself tightly to stop himself unravelling. What was this? Never before had he come across such a gap inside someone, a place where there should have been thought, personality, soul and yet there was nothing. He searched for a way out, but in the confusion his string of awareness had snapped. It was all he could do to move, struggling through the void as if trapped in tar. After what seemed like eternity he finally rediscovered the formed part of Bel. With his strength almost at an end and desperate to reconnect with his own body, he tapped into Bel’s senses, and despaired.

  Bel was riding through grassy fields surrounded by the rest of the troop. Iassia’s struggle had lasted through the night and into the next morning, and now his body was leagues behind them, silent in the rafters of the tavern room – too far away for him to reach. Unwillingly he settled back into Bel’s mind, waiting for strength to return.

  •

  Bel found the second day of riding harder than the first. He was on edge, and dogged by the oddest sensation – as if there was something almost audible just below other sounds, more sensed than heard. Several times he turned in his saddle thinking he’d heard a voice beside him, and found nobody.

  Night had fallen by the time they reached Drel. The town lay on the edge of Drel Forest, surrounded by high walls of wood planking, with soldiers patrolling them on an inside platform. One wall bordered the forest, and there was evidence there that trees had been cut back recently, presumably to stop the huggers from swinging into town. Double doors as high as the walls swung slowly inwards as the troop approached, and a soldier came striding out to meet them.

  ‘I’m to show you to the barracks, sir!’ he called to Munpo. ‘The town commande
r waits for you with the Citizen Prime.’

  Munpo nodded, and the soldier led them into town. The main road was a wide dirt path lined by simple buildings of unpainted wood. Light came from the inn as they passed, but Bel heard nothing of laughter or song. The only sounds were hooves clomping and trees rustling in the forest outside. Even the draught horses penned in yards were strangely quiet. They passed many stacks of logs, timber being the town’s livelihood. The few townsfolk on the streets were burly and strong, and they saw no children. There was an air of disharmony, and the wind blowing in from the forest seemed to carry the smell of menace. Bel rode his horse past a porch where two old loggers sat watching, glowing pipes hanging from shadowy faces.

  . . . there is fear here . . .

  He froze, blood cold, then reined in his horse. Behind him, M’Meska had to rein in hers abruptly or else run into him. She grunted in irritation.

  ‘Why stop?’ she demanded. ‘Move on!’

  ‘Did you hear something?’ asked Bel. ‘A voice?’

  ‘No,’ said the Saurian. ‘Nothing but my stomach complaining, wanting not stand here chitty-chat. Move!’

  Bel urged his horse on, glancing about uneasily. He could have sworn he’d heard words, soft yet unmistakable in the eerie quietness. They arrived at the barracks, where soldiers were waiting. The grounds were nothing but a field of dirt, the building itself tiny in comparison to the complex at the Open Halls. It looked as functional as it needed to be and nothing more. Munpo started talking to a tall, lean woman, while Gredda barked orders for them to dump their things and assemble immediately in the dining hall.

  As Bel led his horse to the stables, Keit fell into step beside him. ‘I don’t care for those whispering trees,’ he said.

  ‘Would you prefer it if they spoke up?’ Bel answered, and Keit shot him a smile.

  . . . simpleton soldier . . .

  Bel spun this way and that, again seeking the origin of the voice. Still, there was nothing there.

  •

  The dining hall was full of draughts that stole the warmth from its iron fireplace. The soldiers sat at parallel tables, smells from the kitchen making their stomachs rumble. The town commander of Drel stood before them, flanked by Munpo and Pelar, the Citizen Prime.

  The commander was an athletic man called Rokinin, who had stringy brown hair and deep-set eyes. ‘As I’ve told your troop leader,’ he informed them, ‘we don’t know how big the brood is, as we’ve only seen their hunting packs. You may know that hugger broods can vary significantly in size, so I can’t give you a total count . . . but with a large brood, which this looks like being, there may be over a hundred, which means up to forty male hunters. We suspect they were forced to move from deeper in the forest, for, some days before they arrived, we saw signs of a great fire at its heart.’

  ‘How many have you killed?’ asked Hunna. Gredda looked as if she might snap at him to be quiet.

  Rokinin’s eyes darkened. ‘We don’t know,’ he replied, and raised a hand as muttering broke out. ‘Please, soldiers, I will answer your questions as best I can. Two weeks ago, my own soldiers numbered thirty, almost two full troops. The outer regions of the forest are not usually hazardous and in the past we have easily dealt with any of the problems that arose. But two weeks ago came the huggers’ first, and most successful, attack on Drel. Some of the trees had grown branches over the walls; foolishly, we thought nothing of it. One day, without warning, huggers dropped into our town. In the forest they stay in packs, but in this instance I think they were overcome by the amount of available prey. They spread to all parts of the town. There aren’t many here who didn’t lose a relative or friend.’

  Bel remembered the grim faces he’d seen on their way down the road.

  ‘To make matters worse,’ continued Rokinin, ‘six of my blades were in the forest at the time, searching for a woodsman who’d gone missing. When we discovered there were huggers about, I immediately sent others to fetch them back in.’ He wet his lips. ‘Of those six all we found were the signs of a fight. I have no way of knowing how many huggers they killed before they were dragged off. We never found the woodsman, and several other forest-dwelling families are also missing. All the others are now within our walls.

  ‘The next day I took half my soldiers with me into the forest to find the nest. We were attacked a league in by some twenty, twenty-five males. It was too many, more than I’d expected. We must have been close to the nest, for there was a larger beast too, who looked to be the dominant male. We retreated. We killed some of them, but again, how many I cannot say.’ He glanced at Hunna as he said this, then sighed. ‘They got five of us that time, and the rest barely made it back alive. Perhaps I was foolish to take out so few soldiers, but I did not guess the size of the brood; nor did I wish to leave the town unguarded.

  ‘Since then a hunting pack has attacked the town again, though no more townsfolk have fallen. Unfortunately a group of woodsmen snuck out one morning, led by one who had lost his young daughter in the first attack. They were stupid and angry and brave, and we mourn their passing. Again, I do not know how many they killed before they were killed themselves.

  ‘Tomorrow I will lead you myself to where I believe the nest to be. I will bring four of my own soldiers, leaving only ten to defend the town, and that is not enough. I had hoped I’d conveyed the seriousness of our situation to the Halls so they might send more than one troop. That said, your troop leader assures me you are some of the best, and I am thankful indeed to have you.’

  Bel wondered if it was unusual for a commander to be so forthcoming in a briefing. The man seemed to have been badly shaken by his experience here, though he was obviously trying to appear resolute. The actual effect, Bel thought, was that he seemed weak.

  The Citizen Prime, Pelar, cleared her throat. ‘I’m just as concerned as Rokinin that an extra troop is not enough,’ she said. ‘It simply brings us back up to how many soldiers we had here in the first place.’

  ‘Before we were surprised and severely damaged, Pelar!’ snapped Rokinin. It became instantly apparent that relations were frayed within the Drel hierarchy. ‘I lost six blades before I even knew it!’

  ‘Citizen Pelar,’ said Munpo in his creaky voice, ‘Commander Rokinin is right. He was on the back foot from the start. But now we can go in force together to hunt these animals, who have also been weakened by many attacks. Even if there were forty male hunters originally, which, frankly, would surprise me, we’ll overcome them. I’ve some of the best archers in the Halls here, and experienced blades too. We’ll free you of this menace, wait and see.’

  •

  Bel stripped off his soldier’s garb, changing into trousers and a white cotton shirt. Keit and Hunna were going to the tavern, against Munpo’s warning that they should take their rest. They wouldn’t go for very long, and Bel knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Just a round of cards and an ale or two.

  . . . drink won’t fill the void in here . . .

  Bel stood very still, a sheen of moisture prickling his forehead. There was no one else in the room, and the door was shut. This time he couldn’t ignore what he had plainly heard.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded.

  No one answered.

  ‘I said, who’s there?!’

  . . . interesting . . .

  ‘What?’ Bel almost shouted. He restrained himself, getting his breathing under control. ‘What’s “interesting”?’

  Another pause, then: You can hear me?

  This time the voice was clearer, louder.

  ‘Yes!’ said Bel. ‘I can hear you, you damned will-o’-the-wisp! Where are you?’

  . . . so close . . .

  Again the voice was muted, more of an understanding than a definite sound. Then it became clearer again.

  I’m watching over you, Blade Bel.
<
br />   Bel swallowed at the sound of his name. ‘Are you a spirit?’

  . . . no . . .

  Yes.

  Bel sat down heavily on the bed. What was happening?

  •

  Iassia struggled to shield himself against Bel’s booming thoughts. It was difficult to cloak his presence; Bel had no actual psychic skill, but the proximity of their minds was letting him sense Iassia. What was worse, Bel heard not only those thoughts that Iassia directed towards him deliberately but also Iassia’s private thoughts, albeit more dimly. It was like being trapped before a huge blind beast that swiped randomly with its claws – some blows connected, some missed.

  It was all very ironic, Iassia reflected. As a result of entering Bel’s mind to work out how to kill him, Iassia now needed to keep the man alive. If Bel was killed in Drel Forest, Iassia would be cut loose, a lost ghost. He needed Bel to make it back to Treewith alive, so he could reconnect with his body. In the meantime, the ‘spirit’ question had given him an idea.

  Blade Bel, he directed. You are the blue-haired child of power, destined to destroy the shadow. Is that not correct?

  ‘Nobody knows that,’ said Bel.

  Arkus knows it. Did you think Arkus would not send help to his greatest champion?

  Iassia felt Bel register the words, which inflated his ego but did not dispel his doubts.

  I am a good spirit, continued Iassia, sent by Arkus to aid you in your coming trials. You journey to your first battle, do you not?

  ‘Yes,’ said Bel slowly.

  I will help protect you.