by Sally Green
The demon sprang toward him. It was stunningly fast and Edyon knew he was about to die. The demon leaped and Edyon fell backward, tripping over his own feet as the creature surged through the air—
And was taken in the chest by a harpoon.
The impact of the blow knocked the demon sideways, and its huge body landed heavily in the snow beside Edyon.
I’m alive! I’m still alive!
The demon screamed again, pulling the harpoon free and staggering to its feet.
“Fuck! Fuck!” Edyon scrambled back.
Another harpoon flew from the trees and struck the demon’s stomach. And then another caught it in the chest again, bowling it over. This time it didn’t get up.
“Thank fuck! Thank fuck!”
A big man—Gravell!—a harpoon in each hand, ran out of the woods and stood over the demon as if waiting to see if it was going to move again. The girl appeared too. She took the harpoons from Gravell, and he took a bottle out of his jacket.
March took a step toward his harpoon, but Gravell merely said, “If you pick that up, you’re a dead man.”
March went still. He looked over to Edyon, who was trying to get up but his legs wouldn’t move. He’d nearly died. Nearly died twice. And lying on the ground before him was a demon. And—Oh fuck! Oh fuck!—he was still alive.
Gravell and the girl crouched down over the demon, as if waiting for something. Then a wisp of pink smoke started to rise out of the demon’s mouth and into the upturned bottle that Gravell held. The wisp grew thicker, becoming redder and then purple and orange. Soon the bottle was full of swirling smoke, but more and more seemed to pour out of the demon and none escaped. It was as if the bottle was sucking the smoke up.
Finally the flow became paler and thinner and then there was no more. Gravell put a stopper in the bottle, kissed the glass, and handed it to the girl. He pulled one of his harpoons from the demon’s body and walked toward Edyon.
TASH
NORTHERN PLATEAU, PITORIA
IT WAS a mess. Three men were dead and now Gravell was advancing on Edyon.
March took another step toward his fallen harpoon.
Tash warned him, “If you try to get the harpoon, you’ll only make Gravell madder. All we want is our smoke back.”
“No,” Gravell snarled, “that’s not all we want. I want my demon smoke back and I want his balls on a platter.” Gravell pointed at Edyon.
“I’ve seen them, Gravell, and I honestly don’t think I’d bother,” Tash said.
“This isn’t a joke, girl. He’s a thief. He needs to be punished.”
Edyon held out his hands placatingly. “Gravell, sir, I am truly sorry I stole your demon smoke. If you want to kill me, I can’t stop you, but I suggest you do it quickly, because I think I might be about to die of shock anyway.”
Gravell didn’t move and Edyon continued in the most pathetic voice Tash had ever heard. “I know it was wrong, and I have sworn that I will not steal again. I’m a changed man.”
“You mean you’ve given up thieving and moved on to murder,” said Gravell, gesturing to the bodies of Holywell and the sheriff’s men.
“We were only defending ourselves, sir. We are not violent men.” Edyon struggled shakily to his feet. “I’d like to make amends for the trouble I’ve caused you.”
Tash said, “Perhaps if we had the smoke back, that might reassure Gravell of your good intentions.”
“It’s in the pack on the back of the pony.”
Gravell snorted. “What pony?” And, sure enough, there was no pony to be seen. Tash knew there had been one, though; they’d followed its tracks for the last five days. Gravell knew it too but seemed determined to make Edyon wet his pants.
Edyon looked around, flustered. “It must have run off when the fighting started, but it won’t have gone far,” he pleaded.
“Tash, go and find this pony—if it exists. I’ll watch our two thieving murderers.”
“We can look together,” Edyon said.
“Tash can look. You can get on your knees and wait.”
Tash ran off and quickly found the pony tracks, and, only fifty paces farther on, the pony itself, quietly rubbing its haunches on a stunted tree. She approached it cautiously, but it was more tired than afraid, and she stroked it and spoke to it a little. In its pack was the demon smoke. The bottle still looked full of swirling purple smoke, but from the weight she could tell there was only about half left, and she grimaced. She wasn’t sure how Gravell would react to this latest development.
She led the pony back. Edyon and March were kneeling in front of Gravell, their hands held in the air. Gravell loomed over them like a mountain, arms folded round a harpoon, two more beside him with their points in the ground.
“I’ve found the pony,” Tash said, and immediately felt foolish, as that was rather obvious.
“What about the smoke?” Gravell asked.
Tash held up the bottle.
“How much is left?”
“Umm, maybe half.”
“Half?” Gravell roared.
Edyon yelped. “I used it to help March. He was wounded.”
“What do you mean, help March?”
“The smoke, sir. I used it to heal him.”
“Is everything that comes out of your mouth a lie, boy?” Gravell said this as he swung the harpoon so that the wood hit Edyon’s arm. Edyon screamed in pain.
March started to get up and Gravell landed a backhand slap that sent him reeling, blood dripping from his nose.
“If you move again without my say-so, next time I’ll use a harpoon. Get back on your knees.”
March spat on the ground and stared up at Gravell with venom, but he did as he was told.
Tash ran forward. “Hurting them won’t bring the smoke back.”
“Maybe not, but it’s making me feel better.”
Gravell jabbed the butt of the harpoon into Edyon’s shoulder. “You stole my smoke, dragged me halfway across the country, and got me tangled up with the sheriff’s men. I need repaying. Fifty kroners for the smoke you stole and fifty kroners for my trouble.”
“We’ll pay you for the smoke we’ve used and nothing more,” March snapped. “Twenty-five kroners.”
It was the first time Tash had heard him speak. His accent was strange, not like anything she’d heard before.
“And you have twenty-five kroners? Not that I’m accepting it’s enough.”
“We’ll get it.” March stared such an evil stare that she thought Gravell might hit him again.
“I have money. I have money.” Edyon spread his arms. “Not fifty kroners, but you can take what I have.” He rummaged in his coat and pulled out his purse.
Gravell took it and tipped the money out. “There’s not even ten kroners here.” He shook his head.
Edyon said, “Fine. Fine. You can have this.” And he pulled a gold neck-chain from beneath his jacket. “It’s worth a hundred kroners at least.”
“No,” March said. “Not that. He can’t have that. Holywell has money. And his knives are worth a lot. You can have them. Not the chain.”
Tash went to look at the gold chain. It was beautiful, but she knew they shouldn’t take it. She remembered that Edyon hadn’t taken it off, even in the bath. It obviously meant more than just its weight in gold. The smoke wasn’t of personal value to Gravell. It wasn’t fair. She went back to Gravell and spoke quietly.
“We don’t need the chain. We can sell the knives in Rossarb. We’ll get a good price for them there. Really this is a good deal. We have the knives, what’s left of the smoke they stole, and this other bottle. You’ve not even had to dig a pit.”
“I like digging the pit.”
Tash tried hard not to sigh. “Well, we can come back after Rossarb and you can dig the best pit ever. By then we’ll be well fed and r
ested thanks to the money from all this smoke. Then we can head back to Pravont, repay Flint, and eat as many pies as we can. Sounds like a good summer to me.”
Gravell rolled his shoulders. “I’m taking the chain and the knives.”
“You always told me not to be greedy.”
“I’m not being greedy. I’m taking something he really values. It’s the chain or his balls.”
Tash rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fine. Take the chain.”
Gravell turned back to Edyon and March. “It’s your lucky day, boys. Tash here wants me to let you live. I’m taking the knives and the gold chain.”
“No!” March shouted, rising again, and Gravell ripped a harpoon from the ground and struck him so hard across the head with the shaft that March collapsed.
“The foreign boy can speak; shame he can’t listen.”
Tash took the knives from Holywell and the sheriff’s men. It didn’t feel good. She’d never stolen from people before, and this felt like stealing. Edyon was still on his knees and handing over his gold chain to Gravell, who put it in his jacket with hardly a glance. Edyon turned back to March, who was unconscious on the ground.
Within no time she and Gravell were setting off west. Moving fast. Leaving the boys with the pony. They’d probably survive, Tash told herself. But she felt bad. She’d never felt bad about anything she’d done before. She followed Gravell and said nothing.
Late in the afternoon Gravell turned to her, saying, “You’re quiet.”
Tash didn’t reply.
They carried on, but before long, Gravell stopped and said, “Out with it.”
Tash stopped too. “What?”
“Something’s bothering you. Spit it out.”
“You know what it is. We shouldn’t have taken the gold chain or the knives. You’ve always told me not to be greedy, but that’s greed, taking them.”
“It’s not greed; it’s teaching them a lesson.”
“And making a lot of money in the process. Very convenient. Well, if you can be greedy, so can I. The pie man in Dornan pays better than you. I’m going to work for him after this.”
“The pie man, not greedy? He’s as fat as a pig.”
“Food is different from gold chains and knives.”
Gravell shook his head. “Greed is greed. You want me to show you how ungreedy I am? Watch this!” And he threw the gold chain and the knives onto the ground. “There. I don’t want them. I just don’t want those boys to have them.”
Tash stared at the chain and knives.
“Well? Is that all right with you, missy?”
Tash wanted to hug Gravell, but she just smiled at him and said, “It’s better. But the gold chain belongs to Edyon. He should have it.”
She bent down to pick the chain up. The complex swirl of gold in the pendant was beautiful, and now she saw that it was a ring contained within thorns.
“Well, if you’re suggesting I go back and return it to him, you’re asking just a bit too much.”
Tash put the chain in her empty leather purse and tied it in her special hiding place, among the dreadlocks at the back of her neck. “I’ll find a way of returning it to him one day.”
MARCH
NORTHERN PLATEAU, PITORIA
MARCH WOKE to cold and a throbbing head, and it took a moment for him to remember what had happened. Gravell had hit him. Hard. Twice. He felt his head and found a large lump. It wasn’t bleeding, but his hair was matted and wet. He sat up.
“Take it slowly,” said Edyon’s voice. “I put snow on your head where he hit you. I’m not sure if it was the right thing to do.”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you,” March croaked.
Edyon was sitting beside him. The pony was tied to a tree, but there was no sign of Gravell or the girl.
“Have they gone?”
“Yes,” said Edyon, handing March his water bottle. “They left us with the pony. There’s food in the bags. I was about to start a fire, but now you’re awake I think we should get out of here, if you can walk. I don’t know if one demon means more demons, but there are the bodies too. It’s not a great place.”
March got to his feet. He felt a little light-headed, but mainly he was cold. “Which way?”
“They went west. I think they’ll be going to Rossarb. If we follow their tracks they should lead us there. And hopefully they’ll kill any demons in our path.”
It sounded sensible. March didn’t have a better idea, and going back the way they’d come might lead them to more of the sheriff’s men.
“I’d like to bury Holywell, but we don’t have spades and the ground is frozen solid,” Edyon said.
“He wouldn’t care. He might even prefer to be left in the open.” March went over to Holywell’s body.
It could easily have been March with a spear in his chest. March pulled the spear out and rolled Holywell over. His eyes were open, the icy blue even paler than when he was alive. March dropped to his knees, wondering if he really was the last of the Abasks now.
Edyon came over and said, “I’m sorry about Holywell. I know he didn’t think much of me, but no man should die like that.”
March nodded. He took a breath and moved closer to Holywell and felt his body, looking for anything of value, anything that might be useful. Gravell had taken Holywell’s knives and money, but there was a thin silver chain round his neck with a crescent moon hanging from it, the old symbol of Abask.
“Should we send that to his relatives?” Edyon asked. “I mean, does he have a wife or children?”
“No. He was alone.” March took the chain. “I think he’d want me to have it. I might take it to Abask for him. Bury it there.”
“That would be good. He was a hard man, but I’m sure he’d appreciate your kindness. You’ll miss him?”
March nodded. “He was a true Abask. We were brothers. Yes, I’ll miss him.”
And what do I do now, brother? What do I do with the prince’s son? This boy who healed me when I was hurt? Who trusts me? Who makes me feel—
March rubbed his face hard. Holywell had kept his own plans to himself. All March knew was that they were to take a ship from Rossarb to deliver Edyon to Brigant. But which ship? Sailing to which port? And who was the master Holywell had mentioned? All the knowledge he needed was locked inside Holywell’s head, gone forever. He needed a new plan.
One thing hadn’t changed—it was freezing cold on the plateau. They needed to get to Rossarb as quickly as possible. He could work out what to do on the way.
He could do that, but he could do no more for Holywell. He didn’t even want to cover his face or close his eyes. He thought Holywell would prefer to be looking at the sky.
“You’re right, Your Highness—we should get moving. Gravell will probably travel fast.”
March took a last look around to see if there was anything else to take. He went over to the demon. It was a red and orange color and quite magnificent, even dead.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Edyon said as he came to stand by March. “I thought I was going to die.” Edyon’s voice was serious. “I’ve never . . . I mean, I travel with my mother buying and selling furniture. This is all new to me.”
“I’ve spent all my years as a servant to a prince, pouring his wine and running his bath. It’s new to me too.” March hesitated but then had to say it. “You distracted the demon. It would have killed me if you hadn’t done that. It was brave of you. Thank you, Your Highness . . . Edyon.”
Edyon’s face lit up with a smile that warmed March’s heart.
“I’m sure you’d have done the same for me. You certainly stood up to Gravell, not that it made any difference in the end.”
March wasn’t sure what he’d have done if the circumstances had been swapped. But he hated that Gravell had taken Edyon’s chain and the prince’s ring, the proof of who E
dyon was. March knew what it was like to be cut off from your own past.
“Let’s collect some of that wood. We’ll need it later.” March led the pony back to the hollow where he’d dropped the branches. It looked different somehow. He couldn’t see the red glow anymore, but he felt the earth and it was still warm.
Edyon was watching him, and March said, “I think this is where the demon came from. I don’t know how. Before it had a red glow. That’s gone now.”
“You don’t think there are more of them here?”
March shrugged. “I’d guess they live alone. For all his strength and prowess with a harpoon, even Gravell wouldn’t want to take on more than one demon at once.”
“I didn’t really believe in demons,” Edyon said. “Even when I used their smoke I didn’t believe in them. They’re too incredible. And even after seeing one, nearly being killed by one, I’m still not sure what to think.”
“It’s because they’re from another place. From in there.” March pointed at the ground.
They collected the wood and set off at a steady pace. March’s head was swollen and the cold was as biting as ever, but he was sure that if they followed Gravell’s tracks they’d reach Rossarb. They might get cold and hungry along the way, but they’d cope with that.
But then what?
He could take Edyon to Brigant and try to deliver him to Aloysius himself, but . . . how could he do that to Edyon now? He had saved March’s life. March’s thirst for revenge on Thelonius had never wavered, but betraying a man who’d risked his own life to save yours wasn’t right. No, he couldn’t take Edyon to Aloysius.
So then what?
Perhaps letting Edyon return to his father was the best revenge on Thelonius—the great warrior would get a son who couldn’t fight. But March knew he was doing a disservice to Edyon. He was braver and more principled than most of the lords he’d come across.
March was not like Holywell. He didn’t know the world—he had never left Calidor. He had no friends, no one to turn to for help. Now even Holywell was gone. March felt the chain with its crescent moon inside his glove and made a promise to Holywell.