Curse of Kings (The Trials of Oland Born, Book 1)

by Barclay, Alex

  Prince Roxleigh waited for him. “Are you all right?” he said, when Oland returned.

  “Yes,” said Oland, clutching Delphi’s cape. “Take this,” he said, “and use it to hide yourself in the boat.”

  “Thank you,” said Prince Roxleigh, walking away.

  A light shone to Oland’s right. He turned to see the Pyreboys were back on the shore, gathering wood for their fire.

  “Oland Born,” said Blaise. He stood with his hands on his hips, his legs firm on the ground. For a moment, he looked like any other boy. But his face was too pale, his eyes were too drawn, and there appeared to be so many years behind them, it was unfathomable. His face looked so familiar, now that Oland was close to it.

  “Where’s your friend Delphi?” said Stoker, cutting Blaise off. He glanced around the shore, and his face lit up. “Half drowned, by the looks of her.”

  It took moments for his words to sink in. Oland turned and saw Delphi walking towards him. He struggled to process all the details he had become so familiar with in their short months together: her choppy hair, her dark eyes, her skin, her belt and her boots and her strong, skinny arms. His hands began to shake; his heart was pounding. He was suddenly terrified to accept that Delphi could be alive, because it meant that some day he could again experience the desperate pain of losing her. But, somehow, he ran to her, because he knew… he knew that there was nothing else in the world that he wanted to do.

  “Oh, Delphi,” he said, throwing his arms around her. “I thought you were gone—”

  “The scryer was wrong,” whispered Delphi. “I didn’t drown, I can swim. She was wrong, Oland. I swam to the depths of the ocean and saw the most beautiful things, the most beautiful colours and creatures and…” It was all she could say.

  Oland whispered to her about Prince Roxleigh.

  “We need to get back to Decresian before The Great Rains,” said Oland. “We need to hurry.”

  The Pyreboys had lit their torches and were gathered together on the shore.

  Oland turned to them. “Where’s Frax? He took some things belonging to me.”

  Blaise frowned. “Frax was technically up for release yesterday.”

  “Release?” said Delphi. “Don’t you need to be twenty-one? He couldn’t be more than thirteen.”

  The Pyreboys laughed. “No,” said Blaise. “He only looks thirteen. Which was how he managed to trick so many people before he was caught – charm them until he bade them farewell, usually with one of their possessions. There was always a little sting in the tail with Frax. Like the spark at the end of a fuse.” They all laughed.

  Delphi had turned white, and was trembling. Frax’s words spun around in her head: “roxling witch, roxling witch, roxling witch”.

  She was struck with the terrible sensation that she would spend a lifetime feeling this sickened by herself.

  ’M SORRY FRAX STOLE FROM YOU,” SAID STOKER, FOCUSING more on Delphi than Oland.

  “I just realised,” said Delphi, “Frax used a Decresian word. He said ‘roxling’. Has he spent time there?”

  “Frax has spent time everywhere,” said Stoker. “He goes from one place to the next, looking for favours and offering favours in return for whatever it is he wants.”

  Suddenly, Delphi held out her palm. “Rain!” she said.

  They looked down as massive drops struck the sand around them, making marks the size of dinner plates. Oland looked up at the sky. “It’s over, Delphi,” he said. “It’s over. It’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?” said Stoker.

  They were plunged into darkness as, yet again, the Pyreboys’ flames were quenched.

  “We were meant to be back in Decresian before The Great Rains,” said Delphi.

  “But if they are starting here,” said Stoker “they will not yet have reached Decresian. There is still time.”

  “There is no time,” said Delphi. “It will take us weeks to get back…”

  “Maybe, if you were travelling by land or sea.” said Stoker, “But there are other ways.”

  He bowed his head and, from behind him, a dark shadow slowly rose. Oland and Delphi watched as the shadow grew and blackened, and they realised that what they were looking at were wings, thick and sinewy, with pointed peaks that stretched high above the Pyreboy’s head. As his wings began to spread, he rose from the ground and hovered in the sky before them.

  Silently, Flint and Blaise did the same. Brennen and Tallow stood to one side.

  Delphi and Oland were speechless. They watched as the winged Pyreboys ascended higher, and then dived, their bodies skimming just inches above the sand. They rose again to trace huge circles in the sky, moving with graceful force.

  “Let me tell you a little secret,” said Stoker, as he came to rest in front of Oland and Delphi. “Sometimes, we think that Curfew Peak is a miserable place too. We’ll take you home. Flint and I will take you home.”

  “Frax’s story of the magic was true,” said Delphi. “The magic was wings!”

  Stoker nodded. “And then? Yes, the magic man caged us. For who would give wings to criminal boys? He simply wanted to see if he could.”

  Oland realised that it was surely an extraction, a distillation, an essence or an infusion that these boys had taken. He could tell by Delphi’s expression that she had come to the same conclusion. A terrible man had experimented on criminal boys, no doubt believing if it didn’t work, no one would miss them.

  “How come you are free?” said Delphi.

  “Only the original four of us are,” said Stoker. “Me, Flint, Frax and Blaise. The magic man believes that we are loyal to him, but we’re biding our time. On the other side of that mountain, there are many, many more Pyreboys who have taken his poison. It is a human aviary and it is grotesque. Cage after cramped cage, row and row of trapped boys. We were waiting for the right time to release them all, but now Frax has betrayed us he’s put us all in jeopardy.”

  A deafening roar filled the sky.

  The entire island started to tremble again, the force so strong that it knocked Oland and Delphi to the ground.

  A huge crack sounded above them, and the burning limb of a tree landed at their feet. Again the mountain trembled, this time deeper and more violently. As Oland and Delphi staggered to their feet, the flames of the broken branch shone on their terrified faces.

  “If you want us to help you,” said Stoker, “we must leave now.”

  “Yes!” said Oland. “Just one more thing before we go.”

  He ran towards Blaise. “I think your brother is alive,” whispered Oland, “I think he’s in Decresian.”

  Blaise’s eyes widened. “John?” he said.

  Oland was struck by the ordinariness of his name. John… and all the sacrifices he had made.

  “Yes,” said Oland. “If you come to Decresian, I’ll bring you to him.”

  Blaise’s tears made pale rivulets down his dusty face.

  “But first I need you to help me,” said Oland.

  “I will do anything in the world if it means seeing my brother again,” said Blaise. “Anything in the world.” He broke down.

  “We’re going to leave now,” said Oland. “Your prisoner, Prince Roxleigh – he is a friend of your brother, John – is under cover in the boat over there. When we are out of sight, do you think you could follow us, and bring him to Derrington in Decresian? I’m not quite sure I can trust every Pyreboy, but I know I can trust you.”

  Blaise nodded. “I’ve never carried anyone before…”

  “I think you’ve already found strength,” said Oland. “And, if you are anything like your brother, you will do well.”

  Oland ran back to Flint, who was speaking urgently to Brennen and Tallow.

  “I don’t know what’s happening,” he was saying, “but, if this gets any worse, you need to take these keys and go… unlock the cages. If these tremors continue, the guards will flee and they won’t care who gets left behind.”

  Brennen and Tal
low began to run for the dunes.

  Before Oland had a chance to react, Flint hoisted him into the air. Stoker followed, with Delphi gripped tightly to his chest. Not far behind them, Blaise rose from the shore carrying a long-dead lunatic prince.

  The group was sucked up into the turbulent sky, and had soon left Curfew Peak behind them. And although they heard rumblings, and the sky flashed with light, they were unaware of what they had left behind.

  Oland realised that Curfew Peak was not just a mountain, it was not just an island, it was not just a bleak remnant of Sabian. Curfew Peak was a volcano. And, for the first time in centuries, Curfew Peak erupted, spewing out its boiling red core.

  HE PYREBOYS BATTLED FIERCE WINDS ON THE JOURNEY to Decresian. Flint and Stoker struggled to stay aloft, and to keep hold of their charges. But they persevered; it was after ten in the morning as they flew over the outskirts of Derrington.

  “The Craven Lodge will be back at the castle, sleeping,” shouted Oland over the wind.

  “Where do you want us to leave you?” said Flint.

  “In the village,” said Oland. His plan was to go to Jerome Rynish to tell him everything that had happened.

  But, as the Pyreboys began their descent, it became clear that the village was deserted. Merchants’ Alley should have been coming to life, but there was not one person to be seen. The streets were eerily quiet. The village of Derrington was empty.

  Oland was filled with dread.

  “Where shall we go now?” said Flint.

  “To Castle Derrington,” said Oland.

  Stoker and Flint set Oland and Delphi down on the first hill, bade them farewell and swept up into the sky on their dark wings. For a moment, they hovered together, then separated, each flying in a different direction. Oland and Delphi looked into the sky, expecting to see Blaise and Prince Roxleigh, but there was no sign of them.

  “It’s his first flight carrying someone,” said Stoker. “He couldn’t possibly be as fast as the others.”

  Oland and Delphi looked out over the grounds of Castle Derrington. The empty village was quickly explained. Thousands of people were milling around, setting up tents and wooden towers, unloading food supplies, tethering animals, building giant spits, raising bunting. A man walked up the hill towards them, pulling an empty cart.

  “My fourth load today,” he said, but with more cheer in his voice than complaint.

  “What is happening here?” said Oland. “Why are all these people at the castle?”

  The man looked at Oland as if he were mad.

  “Why, it’s the coronation,” said the man. “It will be the biggest festival Decresian has ever seen! To happen tomorrow! Dignitaries from all over Envar will descend upon the castle! The king plans to—”

  “The king?” said Oland, his heart pounding. “The king?”

  “Well, soon to be!” said the man, with a wild smile. “King Villius!” He pointed to the castle gates where more than forty men were raising two giant wooden stakes with a banner stretched between them that read: WELCOME TO THE CASTLE OF KING VILLIUS.

  “The glory! The glory!” said the man as he walked away.

  Oland looked down over the crowds. There appeared to be an extraordinary energy running through them, a brightness and enthusiasm that crawled over Oland and sickened him.

  “I’m so sorry, Oland,” said Delphi, turning to him.

  “I… I… can’t understand this,” said Oland. “How did this happen?”

  From among the crowd, Oland saw a young, red-haired man on his knees, hammering the pegs of a tent into the ground. Beside him, Viande appeared from behind a stall. Oland had not seen him since the night of The Games. Oland watched as the red-haired man smiled warmly at Viande, and his smile was returned. Viande even patted him on the back.

  “He’s from the Craven Lodge,” said Oland to Delphi. “And that man is one of Malachy Graham’s sons! He has to be! He looks so like him. Malachy Graham died after The Games. The family despises The Craven Lodge… and here is one of them, glad to be of service to them.”

  “Everyone seems so happy,” said Delphi.

  They silently took in the terrible scene before them.

  It was minutes before Oland could speak. “Now it is my soul that is screaming,” he said.

  He began to walk down the hill towards the castle.

  “I need to find the Rynishes,” he said. “Jerome and Arthur, the men who told me about your father, and who took me to Dallen. They’re the only people I can trust.” He paused. “But can I? Could they be down there with all the rest of Derrington?”

  “No,” said Delphi, “why would they? They could have stopped you before you ever left.”

  “Something could have changed in the mean time,” said Oland.

  Delphi tried to hold Oland back. “Don’t – The Craven Lodge will find you.”

  “I am of no concern to Villius Ren now,” said Oland. “I imagine the fact that I entered his throne room, though it incensed him, has since been forgotten. And, even if I wanted to rise up against him and end his reign, look at what you see before you: he has the loyalty of his people – that’s all he needs. I have to know what happened while we were gone. How were the people of Decresian turned?”

  “Going down there is a risk not worth taking,” said Delphi.

  Oland shook his head. “I need to find the Rynishes. I need to know if they have changed, Delphi. Because nothing is what it seems if they have.”

  “Does Jerome Rynish matter any more?” said Delphi. “All you need to know is that Roxleigh is a friend and an ally, and we will wait for him.”

  Oland kept walking. Delphi hesitated then followed him down the hill, and through the fringes of the crowd. Oland recognised many faces from Derrington village.

  He stopped suddenly. “There he is!” Oland whispered to Delphi. “That’s Jerome Rynish.”

  They started to approach him.

  “Who’s that walking towards him?” said Delphi. “Is that his brother embracing him?”

  Oland stopped dead. “No… that’s… that’s Villius Ren.”

  Oland’s heart pounded as – for a brief moment – Jerome caught his eye. A fierce pain ripped through Oland’s chest. If Jerome Rynish had been broken by The Craven Lodge, there was no hope for anyone in Decresian.

  But there was worse to come. Oland watched as Jerome Rynish slowly raised his arm, turned his way and, pointing his finger at him, roared his name. Before Oland could register the movement, one of Villius’ henchmen was bearing down on them, knocking both him and Delphi to the ground.

  LAND AND DELPHI STOOD AT THE CENTRE OF A long-abandoned cell in the dungeons underneath the castle arena. Their hands were shackled behind their backs and they were face to face, as far away as they could be, from its damp, rat-infested walls. In the corners, rancid pools of water had collected, their surfaces speckled with dead insects. They glanced at the door and its newly welded bolts and locks.

  “They can’t have just left us here,” said Oland. “They’ll have to come back for us. And when they do…”

  “When they do,” said Delphi, “I’ll…”

  “You’ll…”

  Delphi began to rotate the cuff that had been locked on to her wrist and was attached to a chain in the wall.

  “I forgot,” said Oland. “I forgot your… flexible bones.”

  Now that Delphi knew the truth about who – or what – she really was, her bones disgusted her. They were not bones any more, she knew. They were just cartilage. She had always thought that being flexible was an exotic gift… not an abomination.

  “The Craven Lodge could just leave us here,” said Delphi. “Who would care? They could leave us here to rot. They want you dead. And I’m no one to them, just a girl you met along the way.” She pulled her hand free from the cuff and began to work on her left hand. “Or worse,” she said, “they have discovered that I’m Chancey the Gold’s daughter… and that’s all the more reason for them to want me dead too.
”

  “That won’t happen,” said Oland. “I won’t let that happen.”

  Delphi pulled her left hand free. “I won’t either,” she said, smiling.

  The door rattled, and rattled again. Delphi grabbed her chains and hid her hands behind her back. The bolts were unlocked. It was Viande who pushed his way in.

  “Welcome home,” he said to Oland, and laughed. Then he turned to Delphi. His face lit up. He leaned in to her, his lips nauseatingly wet, his breath rank.

  “Aren’t you a sweetling?” he said.

  Sweetling. Oland’s stomach turned. It was the same hideous way he spoke to and looked at the women who came to the castle; the women he bullied and tormented and pawed. And now it was Delphi. Oland’s fists clenched, but, as he moved, the shackles took his arm only far enough to make Viande turn and laugh at him.

  “But she is a sweetling… look at her,” said Viande. “Even a boy with long blond hair can see that…” He stood back and laughed again. “Well, look at that – she’s got the boy’s hair, and you’ve got the girl’s.”

  Delphi dropped the chains, but just as she was about to lash out, Viande grabbed her and pulled her towards him. He had hooked his arm under her chin. He started to squeeze. Delphi struggled hard against him.

  “Little sweetlings don’t fight back,” he said. “That’s not what little sweetlings do.”

  “You are an ignorant savage,” said Oland.

  Viande raised his eyebrows. “I still know when a pretty girl stands before me,” he said.

  Oland struggled against his chains, yanking hard at them.

  “She needs a pretty dress,” said Viande.

  Oland looked at Delphi. She was staring at Oland, half frowning, as if she was in deep, conspiring thought.

  Then, without warning, Viande threw the key to the cuffs at Oland.

  “Unlock yourselves. We’re all going to go for a walk, and no one is going to cause any trouble. I’m still going to hold you against me, though, if you don’t mind,” he said to Delphi.