by C. M. Lucas
‘Well, there are four of us here. If you stop fighting and start working together, then that’s...’ her eyes counted shoulders around the room, ‘...eight shoulders we have for balancing our problems on!’
Anya smiled. Steph could really talk sense when she wanted to, and it reminded her that once, not so long ago, the girl in front of her was her boss. As scatty as she was, and as dysfunctional as Anya and Michael’s relationship had become, they were a team.
Michael removed the offended look from his face, offering nothing more than a wan smile in response.
‘Oh come on, Mikey Muffin!’ Steph launched herself at him, tackled him onto the bed and tickling him into submission.
His hands flailed around, trying to fight her off but between his swats and her tickles, the cracks of a smile began to form. ‘I’ll agree to never fight with Anya again if you promise never to call me that again!’
‘Aw, I think it suits you, Michael,’ Tim joked.
‘I’m sure you do, Timmy Button!’ And pretty soon, the Four were laughing together again.
THE MOOD LIGHTER, they pulled focus back to solving the riddle. Michael shared the notes he’d been making each sleep (before actually sleeping) and together they went through his ideas.
‘I thought perhaps that “The first of one” might be the first letter, or first word of the first page, which is “R” or “Resting”. The next part, “the start of many” – this is where my notes become complicated. I’ve gone through the beginning of every page, working out which letter or word appears the most but that doesn’t really give me any real sort of answers. Both the letters and the words, as you see here,’ he said, pointing at the relevant lists in his notes, ‘don’t really repeat often enough for one to stand out against the others.
‘I wondered if “the start of many” could literally mean the first letter in the word “many” – so, M – but then, when you put it next to an R, it doesn’t mean anything. No words begin with R-M.’
‘It’s not a bad thought, Michael,’ Tim said, scanning the notes. ‘It still could mean something; someone’s initials, perhaps. We have to solve the rest really before we can discard it.’
ANOTHER WEEK PASSED with little progress on the riddle. Training however, had improved tenfold. Straggler Style was proving so effective that Theone agreed to let Gavriel and his men take the Four into Thule, meaning they would finally get the chance to find out who the Weaver was, (‘or is, pertaining to his current life status,’ Tim had said, to which Steph responded with ‘But they don’t have internet here, how can we look up his Facebook status?’
‘Sweetie, I meant if he is still alive. We are all assuming he is dead.’
‘Oh, right. Silly me!’ she giggled).
It was the sleep before the mission into the Big City, and in the Stragglers’ barracks Basra and Bear were introducing the Four to the wonders of Moonshine, a harsh, white liquor, flecked with silver that left the throat scorched. After one sip, Anya pushed the glass back in Bear’s direction and decided that anything reminiscent of paint thinner and petrol couldn’t possibly do the body any favours.
It was tradition for the Stragglers to hold a Moonshine gathering the sleep before a mission.
‘The dangers in Thule are so great,’ Gavriel told them, ‘it could be the last sleep for any one of us.’
‘Gavriel? Steph said, after staring at him for quite some time. ‘What’s with all the feathers?’
Gavriel looked down at his artisan arms, both of which were covered in tattoos, depicting scenes of battle with powerful, winged Royals standing victorious. Each scene was surrounded by feathers, some floating, some fallen, some in clusters and some all on their own. Anya had seen his tattoos before but hadn’t thought much about them. They were incredible, and she couldn’t work out how they’d been done without the sort of tattooing technology of her world, but she hadn’t considered they’d meant anything important.
‘The feathers represent those of our flock that have fallen. One of us that gave their life so we could go on and fight the greater fight. The last man we lost was just a year ago. Reed.’ He pointed to one of the feathers on his left bicep. ‘This one is his. We’d had a good run, found a ton of medical supplies and clothes – we’d been running short. Anyway, just as we came to the city wall the ground began to shake open and Macken there, something grabbed him. A few of us tried to save him whilst the others got the horses to safety. Reed had hold of him and lifted him out but these hands – these rotten, decaying hands – grabbed him too, and there was nothing we could do.’ A solemn silence fell over the barracks as the Stragglers took a moment to remember their fallen friend.
‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Reed,’ Macken said, his face doleful. He held his flagon up, smiled a thankful smile to the skies and cleared the sadness from his throat. ‘To Reed!’
‘To Reed!’ They clanked their flagons, knocked the moonshine back, and soon after their carefree dispositions returned.
WHILST BASRA AND Bear hosted a series of bets and dares for what the night, and the journey, might have in store for them, Anya excused herself from the mayhem to check in on Lorcan. The thought that one of them, even herself, may not return from Thule had her worried for the fate of the Dragon-Boy. If the only person who believed him innocent was to die, who was left to find evidence that could free him?
‘Do you know how long you’ll be gone for?’ Lorcan asked, taking the bottle of home-made liquor she’d snuck him from the barracks.
‘Not sure. Cael said it takes the best part of a day to get there, and we may have to camp for a few sleeps until we find something good to bring back. And, I’m not sure how long it will take me and my friends to find what we are looking for in the library.’
Lorcan took a big swig of the moonshine, unsuspecting its harshness. He began coughing so hard, flames and black smoke shot out of his mouth and nose. ‘Urgh, that’s wretched!’
Anya stifled a laugh. ‘Did the same thing to me. Spat out fire and everything.’
As he smiled back at her, his scales glistened in the firelight and she noticed one of his wounds had turned angry again, above his left eye.
‘Hey, come here, let me have a look at that.’
‘It’s fine, it will heal eventually –’ he began.
‘I’m not asking you, Lorcan.’
The Dragon-Boy frowned, but didn’t argue further.
‘I’m going to Grinling, it looks bad...’ Her words trailed off as she met his eyes, suddenly aware she was holding his face millimetres from her own. She’d never realised how pronounced her breathing was until that moment.
Something lingered between them, something she could not put into words.
‘You don’t have to,’ he said, a decibel above silent.
‘I know,’ she whispered back. A chorus from a Virtfirthian drinking song rang out over the camp, the moonshine fully integrated into their blood streams. Anya’s hands fell to her sides as she glanced back towards the barracks. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘GRINLING?’ ANYA CALLED out after she knocked on the medic’s door. ‘Are you still here?’ The door fell open and, entering the room, she found Grinling with his hand in the jar of Vampyre Leeches. ‘What are you doing?’
She stepped closer and her stomach did a sickly flip. A swell of Grinling’s blood loomed precariously at his fingertip, and with a gentle squeeze from two other of the medics gnarled fingers, it dripped straight into the mouth of a leech. Again and again, the little creatures’ necks arched right back and their teeth stretched out ahead of them as Grinling dropped globules of blood into their tiny, monstrous mouths. They were like some kind of ungodly cross between a walrus and a slug, and the way their glutinous, black bodies undulated as they reached up for their next mouthful made Anya shudder.
‘I’m feeding them,’ Grinling replied before replacing the lid of the jar. ‘I’ve discovered how to extract the venom from their fangs. Apart from a few nasty marks, these three are c
ompletely harmless now, and I can start to work on a cure for their bites. Exciting times,’ he smiled, and hobbled across to the shelves. He placed the jar back into the line-up and took a small bottle of pinkish liquid from his desk. ‘All this from just the three of them!’ he said, shaking the bottle in delight.
‘That’s great,’ she said slowly, impressed but thoroughly grossed out.
‘So, Miss Anya, what can I help you with?’
She explained about the infected cut above Lorcan’s eye and he gave her a small dish of paste that resembled Tiger Balm. It must have stung when she applied it, Lorcan hissed through his pointed teeth.
‘Good luck tomorrow,’ he said as she wiped the remnants of paste onto her skirt. He looked worried.
‘Gavriel and his team are the best soldiers in this camp; they know what they are doing. And, Harrion is coming too, so I’m in good hands. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ She knew it wasn’t true. She knew that going into Thule was going to be a huge risk, especially after hearing about Reed, but she hated the idea of him worrying.
‘I’ll know if you’re not,’ he said. For a second, she’d forgotten about the connection; he could tell whenever she was in danger. She’d read a book once about empathy links, not taking it seriously at the time, but now she wondered, could this be what they shared? ‘Just try to keep out of trouble, yeah?’
Famous last words.
THE KING ROSE early to see the team off at the spring, the furthest eastern point of camp.
The spring was serene by Virtfirth’s standards; crystal water trickling gently through rocks that ascended a mountain range. The greenery had long since died but the little cove felt safer than any part of the camp, and definitely more inviting once a bit of Royal magic heated the pool.
Whilst bathing, Anya daydreamed about what it might have looked like before. She imagined tropical flowers sprouting from the gaps in the rocks, silvery fish swimming sporadically beneath the fall, and the sounds of birds singing in the lush trees. The visions she created felt more tangible than the reality she was staring at now. A place where she’d have liked to swim and mess around and just be, completely carefree, her and her friends.
She imagined Michael sat on the rock with his usual grumpy face, her splashing him and him jumping in to retaliate. Steph stood under the fall, Tim’s cheeks flushing at the sight of her perfect body. She even imagined Lorcan joining them, finally free from his cell and free from the curse, able to enjoy himself like a normal seventeen year old.
Theone’s goodbye infiltrated her reverie, and she was jolted back to the bleak grey mountainside.
‘If these horses have wings, why aren’t we flying?’ Tim asked Gavriel just before they set off.
Anya’s ears immediately pricked up, her mind trailing back to the gigantic shadow on the Great Hill.
‘The skies have their own horrors, my friend. A black dragon circles the land, guarding Castle Lake. Now, these beautiful creatures might be sacred to us, but to him, they’re quite the delicacy... as are we, and he’ll sniff us out far easier if our scent isn’t masked by the trees or the mountain.’
Tim swallowed hard and loud, like a cartoon character gulping back a lump of Acme Fear.
‘So, if you see him,’ Gavriel smiled, ‘be sure to shout.’ He patted Tim on the back with a wink before mounting his own steed.
The look on Tim’s face spoke of regret – regret he’d even asked. ‘Right...’
THEY MOVED SWIFTLY through the forest, making a brief stop at the Great Hill. It hadn’t changed. Everything was just as it had been before with Harrion; no growth, no breeze to unrest the fallen leaves and twigs from the path. Even the view was the same; the lake still without its old friend and suppressed by the shadow she knew to be its fire-breathing enemy.
Mist clung to the Kingdom like a disease, giving their quest an even deeper sense of urgency.
Anya caught Harrion fixed on the lake; his personal agenda visible in his eyes. She remembered the promise she’d made him that night; that they’d return together and keep looking for the castle. Anya didn’t make promises lightly, so the fact she hadn’t been able to see it through made her feel like a real let-down. The mystery of where she came from had taunted her from the moment she realised she was alone in the world, but if she could wish for anything right now, it would be that this mystery – the one clutching Virtfirth by the throat – would finally be laid to rest.
They carried on through the forest and up onto the mountain side, making great time. There were no winds to contend with, just heavy, frozen air that nipped at the back of their throats. She hated the taste of the air there, and the closer to Thule they got, the worse it became. It tasted old. Hopeless. Dead.
Village after village passed them by, the measure of destruction increasing with each one that lay broken and abandoned. With the landscape drained of its colour, the only reminder left of Virtfirth’s past beauty was the river that wound through the mountains and into the east.
Gavriel rode up front, flanked by Cael and Harrion and followed closely by Macken, Strand and Briar. It was any man’s bet what Basra and Bear were up to, and this time Agro was involving himself in the brothers’ wagers, in the tail of the convoy. Wolfond, hung back alone, his eyes keeping close watch in a hundred different directions.
The Four kept close together on this journey, the riddle being the hot topic of conversation. When they reached a valley in the mountains known as Toldess Pass, Gavriel found a perfect place for them to take rest and eat: a farm house still intact.
Everything they’d seen of the Kingdom was the same; cold, empty, frozen scenes, without any of the usual signs of age. The farm house was no different. There were no spiders spinning webs, no mice taking refuge, no storms weathering wear. It was as if someone had found Virtfirth’s pause button and had forgotten to come back and press play.
As it turned out, Agro was quite the cook. He was the sort of man Anya would have dubbed a petrol-head, had he come from her world. His head was clean shaven, his brawn sculpted with as much care as a sixteenth century statue, and his energy levels for a man living off mushrooms were unfathomable. From what she could make of him, his dish was adrenaline, served with a combination of deadly risk and speed. Battling monsters and balancing on the edge of death’s door was what made him feel connected to the living world, so when his mushroom broth surpassed the talents of Joliver, the Four were wholly impressed. They even licked their bowls dry before handing them back.
After they’d eaten, Gavriel told everyone they had a half-hour rest before getting back on the road, so the Four decided to use their time discussing the riddle some more. They found a quiet little room with a big, cosy chair, knitted blankets and a fireplace, all surrounded by shelves of books. It had a quirky kind of feel to it and reminded them of Scott’s. Michael lit a fire, finally making some use of the boy-scout skills that had been irrelevant in Little Wolf Green, and then sat down in front of it next to Anya.
She had Michael’s pen lodged in her knotted curls and his notebook on her lap, flipping through the pages of his latest scrawls. There were rows and rows of letters and words, some crossed through, some marked with tiny numbers. There were arrows crossing from one letter to another and snaking through a mixture of odd words. Formulae inked in corners and then scribbled over, pages covered in algebraic equations and chunks of writing about the nth term – complete nonsense to Anya when she was studying them at school let alone now, exhausted by constant hunger. ‘What is all this?’
‘Just my workings. I’ve been trying to figure out what the numbers mean, trying to find patterns.’
‘You’ve not got anything definite yet, then?’
‘I’m trying my best. All this is very taxing, you know,’ he said, folding his arms and looking rather abashed.
‘I didn’t mean anything by it, Michael, honestly. I’m just tired and my brain isn’t good with numbers when I’m fully awake. It’s pretty much mush right now.’
�
�I know you’re not good with numbers, Anya. I still remember the little things like that.’
An awkward silence. She couldn’t decide if she was irritated by his comment, or flattered, but at least for once he sounded sincere.
‘You know,’ Tim began, ‘I can’t for the life of me work out why the Weaver refers to the females as peacocks too; it should be peahens.’
‘It’s only a story,’ Michael said. ‘I don’t really think it matters.’
Tim tilted his head silently, his lips and brow arching as if to say fair point.
‘Can I have a look?’ Steph asked, peering over from the rocking chair she and Tim were cuddled up in.
Anya handed her the notebook.
‘It might go over your head a little,’ Michael said absently. Anya gave him a stern nudge and quickly he added, ‘I mean that in a nice way, obviously.’
Steph brushed his comment away, seeming neither offended nor upset. They were all getting quite used to Michael’s uncanny ability to sour a phrase. She turned the pages slowly, looking down at them as if it were written in a foreign language. ‘It does seem sort of complicated.’
‘Riddles usually are,’ Michael assured her.
Tim had read through The Princess and the Peacock so many times that he and the book seemed to have become one, only appearing without each other during training. He was reading it again as Steph sat on his lap with Michael’s notes. ‘I’ve been trying to work out if the clues of the riddle link to the actual narrative of the story somehow, but so far all the thoughts I have on it aren’t even worth mentioning. Things like “203 found in twenty” – I thought perhaps it had something to do with the part where Allura sends Cellastar to gather ingredients for the potion she tries to give Marcellus, but it seems she only visits thirteen villages and its vague on how many ingredients there are in total.’