The Dim Continent: Series Finale (The Legend of the Gamesmen Book 3)

by Jo Sparkes

  Kratchett nodded frantically. “In truth few inside the Tower know the plot. They had intended to question the Prince, to learn much about the skin numbers and capabilities. To learn about their ways. When King Bactor was taken instead, they were far less organized. Less prepared.”

  “An awful lot of trouble just for information.”

  “Remember they do not like to leave the continent. Keeping him here would have been a sort of backup plan.”

  “And you were happy to help,” Drail accused.

  The man frantically shook his head. “I was paid by one Skullan to transport another. The Terrin influence revealed itself the night I fled Missea.”

  Tryst fell silent, pondering. Fox Boots, as Marra called him, could not be trusted, yet somehow he believed the man. But exactly where that led….

  “This makes no sense,” Tinge broke the quiet. “We have no need to conquer other lands. We have no need to destroy other life forms. Terrin are shy. Most spend an entire lifetime never seeing a skin.”

  “I do not fear skins,” Qwall rumbled.

  Tryst studied him. “But you fear priests?”

  It was Tinge who answered. “Tower priests tend to stay in the Tower. Only the acolytes travel among the villages. And those less frequently these days.”

  “We have not seen a Tower robe in two Gatherings,” Qwall told her.

  “Ten years,” Tryst breathed.

  “They say recruitment is down,” Kratchett told them quietly. “New acolytes are rare - no one wants to enter the Tower. Some say it is the fault of the head priest - obsessed with his own schemes.”

  Qwall rumbled, eying Tinge. “Agben has always been available. They heal, they provide useful mixtures. They do not travel often, but their places of residence are known. I can speak to a lady within three days - and can depend on her aid without fear of denial.

  “The Tower,” the Terrin stopped speaking to glance around. Not wanting to be being overhead, Tryst decided. “The Tower is here only. One approaches with offerings in hand, begging for whatever is sought. There is little to be gained from the priests these days.”

  “Yet the Gatherings are here,” Jason pointed out.

  Qwall nodded. “They have always been here. When I was young, the priests would bless it, move among us. Some boys would follow them into the Tower, choosing the priest training. Then, before I was Leader, boys had to approach the Tower on their own, as no one came out.

  “Now no one approaches. Instead we pretend the Tower doesn’t exist.”

  “I need to read the scrolls,” Tinge decided.

  “But lady, you cannot get to them,” Qwall rasped.

  “Then they will have to be brought to me.”

  Tryst knew before the next words followed. Not because he understood the Tower workings, nor did he see the plan. He knew, he realized with a sinking heart, because it seemed inevitable she’d once again have to step into danger.

  “Marra,” Tinge turned to face her. “You must return to the Tower.”

  “Me?”

  Marra stared across the small blaze of the fire. At Kirth, who seemed to nod her head and wince simultaneously. At Drail, who stared at Tinge as if the Agben had spoken another language.

  And at Tryst, whose face in the flickering light mirrored her own shock. “Cannot Tinge go?” he frowned. “Hidden in a robe?”

  Qwall’s fangs drew longer - open-mouthed, Marra realized. “Females cannot be males.”

  “We….” Tinge turned to look at her. “We feel different, my friends. As surely as your nose finds Kwitt, male Terrin could not be fooled. A robe would cloak nothing.”

  Marra wondered again just how this Terrin feeling worked. Was it more than a sort of empathy?

  “What matter the scrolls?” Kratchett hissed. “Things are as they are regardless.”

  “The Black Tower and High Priest are very powerful,” Tinge explained. “Terrin might not like what they say, but outright disobedience would be very difficult. If, however, they have lied…broken from the true scrolls….”

  Marra caught Tryst’s confusion. “Tinge remembers different teachings,” she explained.

  “Could you not dress a male Terrin as a priest?” Drail asked.

  Qwall actually shuddered.

  “There are protocols, ways things are done. He would be exposed far too easily. Whereas a female skin -”

  “Rain.” Marra sighed. Stars, she didn’t want to go back inside that dark structure. “They wouldn’t see that I’m Trumen?”

  “Doubtful,” Tinge smiled. “We see naked skin, hairless face, tiny bodies. The subtleties between Skullan and Trumen escape us.”

  Part of her waited, hoping for a counter to the logic. Hoping for Tryst to stop it, she realized. Looking at his eyes, she knew he very much wanted to.

  Just as she knew he could not.

  Looking at the sky, Kratchett judged it maybe three hours till dawn. At that time the Tower activity would quicken, and they’d never make it out.

  He knew, as soon as the subject was broached, he’d be risking his neck. Try as he might - and he tried very hard - no alternative occurred. He couldn’t even abandon the girl inside; if he dared return without her they’d never set him free, no matter what story he told. And his chances of surviving the Dim jungle without help weren’t good.

  So he led her through the goss forest, slipping round to the far side of the Tower. And, brushing clear the canopy of vines and leaves, swung up the metal ring. This back entrance was known to only three priests - Rain certainly had no suspicion.

  But then Rain hadn’t lived a life where escape routes meant survival.

  It took both his hands to lift it.

  Throwing off the robe she’d wrapped herself in to hide her skirts, Marra gasped.

  “Keep quiet,” he hissed. “Previously no guards were set here at night, but that might easily have changed.”

  Some at the campfire had preferred waiting, planning, and Kratchett had done his best to support that. The Prince had declared, however, that there was little to plan and much to be lost. And once his task became obvious, Kratchett preferred to get it over with. Any day now he expected the priests to come seeking him.

  He doubted Rain was as safe as she believed.

  The steps lay half buried in moss and dead leaves, rendering them treacherous. But the girl shied away from his offered hand.

  Lowering the heavy door was the most difficult part. He decided to leave it open.

  “No one will see this,” he said when she stared. At least, not till dawn. Besides, opening it from the inside was very hard - and they might be in a hurry.

  He descended, hoping she’d follow.

  As always, two torches blazed at the bottom. He grasped the one and trotted along the tunnel.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her little face set, her lower lip between her teeth. But she never hesitated.

  He had to admit, she had courage.

  Marra had thought it would be easier, entering beyond the shadow of the Tower. She couldn’t see the dark fog oozing from its walls at night, and slipping inside through an entrance shrouded by trees sounded much more pleasant.

  But traveling through the goss woods in her skirt was challenging. It took much effort to keep the material free of Reeders and their trailing web. She found she missed the silly trousers.

  Watching Kratchett yank up the iron ring in the dirt, seeing the dimly lit tunnel that reminded her of a fresh-dug grave, she shivered.

  The slick steps led down into the earth between walls covered with slime, forcing her to tread carefully so as not to touch anything. If her guide had been Tryst or Drail this would have been so much easier.

  Instead she relied on an enemy to guide her.

  Marra hesitated by the second torch. It would offer comfort to carry her own - but then the light would reveal her face. And if they chanced to find themselves fleeing later, the torch marking the way out could save their lives.

  Kratchett o
bserved her leave it without comment.

  The tunnel sloped deeper into the ground. Its sides smoothed, the slime vanishing as they traveled away from the goss woods. Silence seemed to swell in her ears, urging her to break it by peppering the man ahead with questions. She refrained.

  And then a door loomed out of the darkness. Kratchett cast her a quelling look - as if she’d been chattering ceaselessly the whole way - and handed her the torch.

  Using both hands, he eased it open. And slipped his head around. When he pulled back he gave her a steady glare.

  “Remember you are Rain, I am your servant” he hissed. “You have ordered me to light your way, and where you go is neither priest’s nor Terrin’s concern.”

  He held that glare for a blink of the sun, until she slowly nodded.

  Then the door opened wide and they passed through.

  Now, Marra knew, they walked beneath the Tower itself, too near those dungeon cells that haunted her dreams still. When they reach the familiar stairs she held her breath, waiting to see which direction he’d take. Up or down.

  She didn’t draw air again until the man was climbing up to ground level. Which was foolish - everything looked equally dark and unnerving wherever they stood.

  Kratchett paused on the landing, turning to her. “The scrolls lie on the twelfth level, in a tiny room few know how to reach. We should encounter no Terrin - but if we do, glare at them. Speak not, herb girl, for your voice is nothing like Rain’s. Answer questions only with a glare, and leave the rest to me.”

  She nodded.

  And then they climbed.

  Spiraling upwards, on and on, she lost count of landings, of the levels they passed. Were they even halfway to their objective? She couldn’t guess.

  At one point Kratchett paused, and even as she thought they were done climbing, she saw the fear on his face. He sprinted up faster.

  Marra was forced to snatch her skirts high and race after him.

  Two levels later he slowed. The spiral stopped - they were at the top.

  When she sighed audibly, he whirled with another glare. This might be easier, she wanted to inform him, if he treated her less like an adversary. After all, their fates this night were bound together.

  She said nothing, of course.

  Seemingly the passage was narrower here, and few choices presented themselves. Kratchett led her to what looked a dead end.

  And then pushed hard on the wall. Nothing happened.

  He shoved again, straining with effort. Just when she opened her mouth to ask, she heard the subtle click.

  He stepped back as part of the wall swung open. A hidden door.

  “Rain doesn’t even know of this,” he murmured in grim satisfaction.

  They stepped through to a large circular chamber, the most pleasant by far she’d seen within this dark Tower. Many torches blazed in their brackets, brighter than those that lit the halls or entrance room. Bright enough to reveal the vivid color in the rugs, the cushioned chairs and couches. And, she realized, in tapestries.

  Tapestries depicting Terrin and skins building huts such as Tinge lived in, gathering fruit, sitting round a campfire. And - she could scarcely believe it - playing comet.

  One tapestry, larger than the others, showed six scenes of eating together. And in each, the Terrin number grew fewer as the skin population increased.

  “Get the scrolls!” Kratchett hissed at her elbow.

  Recalled to her purpose, Marra dropped her gaze to the circular shelves beneath the tapestries, and the rolls of cloth within. All her life she’d heard tales of the Zaria Scrolls, but she’d somehow imagined the term meant verbal teachings, stories carefully handed down generation to generation, just as the lore of Agben existed in the mind of the women who practiced it. The stark reality overwhelmed her.

  For there wasn’t one or two or three. There appeared, literally, to be hundreds…maybe thousands.

  By the Desert Crane, she could only carry an armful. How was she to choose?

  “Hurry!” Kratchett hissed, stepping back to the doorway. Marra couldn’t guess if he was standing guard or preparing to flee.

  The oddly curved shelves rose three tiers high, then six tiers, then three, alternating round the chamber. Each stuffed full of scrolls. As she trod farther in, she saw that each three tiered-space was topped with one of the tapestries. With fifty or more scrolls on each shelf….

  “Someone’s coming!”

  Kratchett vanished. The door swung shut.

  Whirling on her heel, Marra sagged in relief to see the door hadn’t quite closed. She’d been afraid of trying to figure out the secret latch.

  It was then she truly noted the room’s center, where a single, plush couch sat beside a low, round table. With a fancy brazier - fire ready to be lit - perched atop. Perhaps to provide even more reading light, for the room was quite warm. Beneath the brazier was an indentation.

  Hurrying to it, Marra saw gold inlay intricately winding around the edge of what proved to be a deep shelf beneath the fire pit, with three scrolls tucked inside. These, unlike the others lining the walls, were wrapped with a cord of animal skin, worn and smelling faintly of treatment to keep it supple. The parchment looked very thick, indicating great age.

  “My orders are to remain,” Kratchett’s voice broke the silence.

  Snatching the scrolls, she slipped to the door.

  Peering through the crack, she saw a large expanse of white robe between two hairy arms. The back of a Terrin.

  “You cannot stay here,” it growled.

  “I cannot disobey.”

  Before doubt could assail her, Marra slipped out and rounded the wall, sliding into an alcove. And, meaning to back as far as she could, found not a wall but an opening.

  A stairway up.

  She whirled and fled.

  And was welcomed by the night sky. Beneath a full moon and blanket of stars, she stood on a parapet circling the Tower top. The gray shape of the forest lay below to her right, the Gathering ground to her left. Seemingly everyone below slept.

  But several did not, she knew. Tryst and Drail would be waiting, worrying. Kirth and Tinge would exude calm while stealing glances at the Tower. They all depended on her.

  The idea didn’t actually form as words in her head. Instead her feet scurried round to the other side, the side away from the Tower door, away from where she’d ever seen the priests.

  Her hands dropped the scrolls over the railing.

  And then she sped back to the stairs and down.

  “I see no one here,” she heard a low growl.

  Reaching the alcove, Marra peeked round to see the Priest on the scroll room threshold. “You lie,” the Terrin rumbled.

  On impulse she strode out, firm and decisive. I am Rain, she told herself.

  “Kratchett!” she commanded, striding out to confront them both. “Come!”

  The Terrin Priest moved to block her path. “Why are you here?” it demanded, glaring down at her, fangs bared.

  I am Agben, Marra thought, straightening her shoulders. From deep inside she found her own answering glare.

  “Out of my way, oaf!” Shoving past, she marched away.

  From the sound of the footsteps that quickly caught up, she knew Kratchett strode with her.

  “You’ve stunned him,” Kratchett murmured. Whether he was pleased or furious Marra couldn’t guess.

  When they reached the stairs, they ran.

  Jason sat where he could keep an eye on the goss wood.

  He hadn’t liked this plan. He hadn’t seen the advantage of seeking what had to be mystical writings, and he surely did not want to release a traitor to guide a very green girl. It was, as Qwall might say, risking much for little gain.

  Now, with dawn bathing the dark forest in pink, chasing night shadows back to their lair, he worried what damage had been wrought.

  At least the Prince still slept. Jason had begun to worry about the man’s attachment to the herb waif. Smiling at Tryst�
�s sleep bag, it gradually occurred to him that the cloth was not just still, but rather flat.

  Marra sped through the dark corridor. Kratchett shot ahead like a startled desert hare, and twice she could only follow him by sound instead of sight.

  At last they reached the bottom of the spiral staircase. The man paused just long enough to be sure she followed - she wondered if he’d known or cared before then.

  “You don’t appear to carry scrolls,” he lifted his torch.

  “I…”

  “HALT!” a Terrin growled somewhere behind them. Kratchett loped off down the tunnel.

  Marra raced after him, praying she wouldn’t trip on the rough dirt floor. Keeping her eyes focused for loose rock, she never dared glance behind her, though she could hear giant feet pounding the dirt. Kratchett did look back, and what he saw scared him enough to hurl his torch at it.

  The flame blinded her as he lobbed it over her head. She tripped, tumbling to the damp soil.

  From the thump and the raspy ‘oof’, she guessed the Terrin had also fallen. Raising her head, she saw a faint light flicker ahead.

  Marra sprang up and ran.

  The light became her target, her skirts in her hand as she hurtled through the void. Sounds danced dizzyingly in her ears: her feet smacking earth, her rasping breath, and the growing rumble of Terrin pursuit.

  Kratchett sped up the stairs, turning just as she reached them. Able to see the steps she sprinted full out, racing up out of the tunnel into the early dawn.

  And then her head was yanked backward - pain shot through her skull as she flailed helplessly off the ground.

  The Terrin held her up by her long hair.

  Clasping her scalp, Marra instinctively tried to lessen the pain. Her feet kicked wildly, first in reaction and then with intent. If only she could connect to its nether region….

  If it had a nether region.

  Kratchett’s face loomed, gawking.

  “Kick it,” she gasped. The man spun and loped off into the goss forest.

  Her heel landed a few pathetic bumps. The Terrin turned her, pulling her close to its glaring pupils.