The Silver Tide (Copper Cat)

by Jen Williams

  The quivering under the blankets seemed to pause.

  ‘Who? Who sent you?’ The voice was unlike anything Frith had heard before. He pressed his lips into a thin line and forced himself to concentrate.

  ‘I do not know the being’s name,’ he said. ‘But I believe it to be the spirit of this place. I asked it for help, and it gave me a path to this camp. It asked me to look for you. It was concerned … it was concerned that you were not where you should be.’

  The blankets shivered again, and a high-pitched keening noise filled the room.

  ‘They took me!’ cried the Spinner. One bristled claw edged out from under the furs, scratching at the mud floor. ‘The Eye is open and I am not there to shepherd what comes through. And now she intends to travel through it, to take her knife and twist it in the past so that all comes unravelled. Oh, oh the cycle, it will all be ruined, and I cannot—’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Frith could feel his body recoiling – there was an instinct to put distance between himself and this many-legged creature – but there was something else too. There were layers of magic to the Spinner, new and alien magic he had never felt before. He wasn’t even sure he could have felt it before. He thought of the spirit he had spoken to at the pond, how it had told him it would make him ‘open to magic’. Frith reached out and placed his hand on the black flesh of the Spinner’s leg. He could see scars there, as Wydrin had said. Burn marks. Frith felt a twisting in his gut, and his head pounded all the harder. ‘They have hurt you, but they won’t do it again. We are here to help you.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Wydrin. Her face was a pale shape in the shadows. ‘We’re the Black Feather Three. Remember what I told you? Stopping people like Estenn is all part of our job.’

  ‘We just need you to talk to us,’ continued Frith. ‘Tell us, as calmly as you can, everything that is happening here. We need to understand. And then we can help.’

  For a time, no one spoke. Frith sat, his hand on the Spinner’s leg. The pain in his hand was like a banked fire, hot and constant. Eventually Wydrin spoke up, her voice low.

  ‘The main force has left the camp. I’ve been listening. Whatever it is Estenn intends to do, she is on her way to do it.’

  Frith nodded, but when he spoke it was to the Spinner. ‘They have hurt you, cut you off from all hope. In the end, all your days and nights became the same – a litany of pain, and a desperate struggle to hold on to what you are. The prison closed in all around you until the safest thing was not to move, not to speak. Perhaps, you think, if you keep very, very still, they will forget you are here. You make yourself a small thing, in the desperate hope that you can cling to the last pieces of what you are.’ Frith looked at the ground, remembering. ‘In the end, all that was left of me was my anger. It was enough for my survival, but to live, I had to accept the help of others. We are here to help you now, Spinner. There is some trust left in you, I think.’

  After a moment, the blankets shifted.

  ‘There is poison in your hand,’ said the Spinner. His voice was calm now, if still uncertain. ‘I can feel it through your skin. I can help.’

  Frith nodded. ‘I would be very glad of that.’

  The blankets and furs shifted and fell away, revealing the vast bulk of the Spinner. Frith kept his face still and his head down as multiple legs flexed and twisted around him. Two claws gently took hold of his injured hand and turned it over between them. Oddly, Frith was reminded of the nanny who had cared for him as a child; when he had a splinter in his finger or had grazed his knee, her careful touch had been the same.

  ‘Yes, poison,’ said the Spinner. ‘And from something new, too. Without me there to sculpt the webs and tend the Eye, new life is spawning with no restrictions. Hmm.’ Two more legs appeared, turning a strange substance between their claws – it looked to Frith like liquid moonlight, a white shining fluid that shone with multiple colours, much as Gwiddion’s wings had. As he watched, the Spinner pulled this substance into long tremulous shapes, twisting and re-forming all the time.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Wydrin from the floor. ‘I can’t see.’

  The Spinner ignored her. Almost faster than his eye could follow, the deft claws spun the pearly substance around Frith’s injured hand, quickly forming a glove that clung to the swollen flesh. It was blessedly cool, and almost immediately Frith felt better.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked, his voice hushed. The Spinner curled the last of the substance around his fingers, and then drew his claws away.

  ‘The shell will harden, drawing out the poison,’ he said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘When it is done, it will simply crack and fall away.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Frith. He held up his hand. It now looked as though he were wearing an exquisitely crafted glove made of mother-of-pearl. Already he could feel the sweat drying on his forehead. ‘You can make extraordinary things, Spinner.’

  ‘It is my purpose’, said the Spinner softly, ‘to care for life, to see it to fruition.’

  ‘Hey, this is all brilliant and everything,’ called Wydrin, ‘but do you think you could let me out of this cocoon now?’

  Frith looked up at the Spinner. He was holding a white mask, of all things, that appeared to be made from the same stuff as the healing glove. The Spinner shrugged – no easy feat with nine legs.

  ‘I put you inside that to keep you safe,’ said the Spinner, in a slightly reproachful tone. ‘They cannot harm you if I keep you close.’

  Even so, he stepped over Frith – such grace for such an enormous creature – and scooped Wydrin up into his many arms. Frith felt a surge of alarm at seeing her picked up so easily, but then the claws snipped away at the web holding her in place, and the Spinner placed her carefully back onto the floor. She stumbled, walking awkwardly on legs that had been stuck in the same place for hours.

  ‘I will tell you now,’ said the Spinner. ‘Tell you all I know. Yes? And then you can stop her?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Wydrin. Frith went to her and she kissed him firmly on the mouth, pressing one hand to his cheek as she did so. There would be time for words later. ‘The so-called Emissary is going to regret crossing the Black Feather Three.’

  31

  ‘The Eye of Euriale is where new gods are born.’

  They were sitting in a rough circle, the small oil lamp wedged in the dirt between them. The Spinner had thrown off the blankets and furs, although he still clasped the mask, so small against the bulk of his body. Frith held his injured arm out awkwardly in front of him, the white glove on his hand shining oddly in the lamplight. Wydrin regarded him quietly. He looked like he’d been dragged backwards through an angry bush, but it was him. He was safe.

  ‘New gods?’

  ‘The island has ever been the cradle of Ede,’ continued the Spinner. ‘When the old gods die or simply fade away, the Eye of Euriale opens again, and new life is born. It is my job to be there for those new lives, to spin the webs as they come through. I sing them their history, I help to shape the forms they must have, and I control the process. Without someone to funnel the energies and spin the webs, it – anything could happen.’ A quivering had returned to the Spinner’s voice – he controlled it with obvious effort. ‘Estenn and her soldiers came to me when I was preparing for the Eye to open. In the past, humans have come here and built their shrines, and then they have left again. This is not a place where humans can live unchanged. The magic is too strong.’

  ‘Estenn claims to have lived here for decades,’ said Wydrin. ‘She also claims to be around seventy or eighty years old, though she looks no older than me. I’ve also seen her fade away, become invisible. It seems that living on the island for so long has certainly changed her.’

  The Spinner dipped the mask in apparent agreement. ‘The island’s magic has given her long life, and strange abilities. She is a zealot, and Euriale’s magic has only strengthened that.’ Wydrin stretched out her legs and winced; she still had pins and needles. ‘When they cam
e to me, I was surprised. Frightened. I fear I did not put up much of a fight. They pierced me all over with darts, and my consciousness dimmed. When I awoke, I was here. Then there were questions. So many questions.’

  Frith leaned forward. ‘What does Estenn intend to do?’

  ‘She does not want new gods. She wants the old ones, the ones she has given her heart to. She intends to bring them back.’

  ‘How can she do that?’ Wydrin glanced back towards the chamber entrance, but it was still empty. ‘Y’Ruen is gone, and O’rin died in Skaldshollow.’

  ‘While the Eye is open, everything is in flux,’ said the Spinner. He sounded nervous now. ‘All of Ede’s history lies beyond it. If she possesses an item forged in Ede’s distant past, an item forged in both Edeian and Edenier, she can travel back through the Eye. It is possible.’

  ‘Travel back?’ Wydrin cleared her throat. Despite the warmth of the chamber her arms were covered in goosebumps. ‘Travel where, exactly?’

  ‘Into the distant past. Back to the time before the Citadel was constructed. Back before the mages laid their trap.’

  Wydrin met Frith’s eyes. ‘She has your staff,’ she said. ‘If she can go back to that time and sabotage the Citadel, then the gods will never be trapped there. Y’Ruen, the Twins, Y’Gria, the whole bleedin’ lot of them will be free.’

  ‘And if the gods are not trapped there, they will continue to exist, waging their wars down through history,’ added the Spinner. ‘Everything you thought to be true – all of Ede’s history – will be changed for ever.’

  ‘This is madness!’ cried Frith. ‘The mages created the Citadel because the gods were out of control. Their war was destroying Ede – everyone knows this, it is the oldest lesson in our history books, to change it would be insanity.’

  ‘Of the gifts that Euriale gave Estenn, a crippling madness was one,’ said the Spinner sadly. ‘She cares not for the consequences, only for the glory of her forgotten gods.’

  Wydrin shook her head slowly. ‘Can she do this? Is it really possible to travel back to the past through this Eye of yours?’

  The white mask nodded frantically. ‘Oh yes, certainly. And once there she can unpick the tapestry of history. She is strong, fanatical, and, as you have pointed out, she has abilities a human should not possess. I fear it would not be difficult for her to destroy the mages’ plans.’

  Wydrin met Frith’s eyes. ‘We have to stop her before she gets to the Eye. I didn’t fly halfway around Ede to put that dragon through the sky only for some madwoman with a tattoo fixation to just bloody pop it back into existence again.’

  ‘There is more to it than that,’ said Frith, his voice grave. ‘Do you not see? If the gods were not interred in the Citadel, the war with the mages would have carried on, with untold death and destruction. The world as we know it now would not exist. There is no predicting what we might be left with.’

  Next to them, the white mask of the Spinner nodded frantically. ‘All the threads, undone,’ he said. ‘The tapestry of history destroyed.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’ asked Frith.

  Wydrin smiled lopsidedly at him, although a cold hand clutched at her heart. ‘Go and save my mum from a bunch of bloodthirsty pirates, or save the world from the tyrannical reign of half-mad gods?’ She lifted her hands and then put them back on her knees. ‘From past experience, I’d have to say that my mother has always been able to look after herself, whereas the world seems to be getting into this sort of trouble every few months just lately.’ She turned back to the Spinner. ‘We have to get out of here, my friend, and you’re going to take us to this Eye. We’ll try to get there first, and stop Estenn the bloody Emissary before she even tries anything.’

  ‘I can take you there,’ said the Spinner, his voice quavering, ‘but there are men and women outside, and they have knives and darts, fire and lamps that burn, and they poke at me.’ The Spinner took a shuddering breath. ‘How will we get out?’

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed,’ said Wydrin, ‘but you’re a giant armoured spider. If you want to leave this shit hole, I’m pretty sure you can.’

  The keening noise came back, and the white mask trembled in the grip of the Spinner’s claw. ‘Oh no, no, I make things, I care for things, I weave and I preserve. I cannot threaten, I cannot hurt.’

  ‘You must be strong,’ said Frith. ‘Get us outside, and we can take care of the rest. There will be weapons out there, and once we’re armed again, we can fight our way out.’

  Wydrin looked at Frith, noting how he kept his gaze steady. He knew their chances of fighting their way out of the camp were slim, but he was working to build up the Spinner’s courage. Without it, they would be doomed.

  ‘Fighting,’ repeated the Spinner. ‘There will be fighting.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ said Wydrin. ‘We’re professionals. We just need you to give them a bit of a surprise.’

  For a few moments the Spinner was silent. Wydrin thought she could hear hammering going on above them, but much less movement now.

  ‘The discordance of the Eye grows worse by the moment,’ said the Spinner eventually. ‘I can feel it, as though every strand of my web is trembling, and the one who calls herself the Emissary will only make it worse. She will destroy the whole web, if she is allowed to continue.’ Slowly, the Spinner rose up on its great legs, filling the chamber with its bulk. ‘I cannot allow that. Yes, I will come with you – if you help me, please.’

  Wydrin stood up, smiling in the dark. ‘Slowly now,’ she said, pitching her voice low. ‘Let’s see what they’ve got waiting for us.’

  Ahead of them the entrance to the tunnel was a bright semicircle of light. After a few moments, a slim figure came into view, a spear slung casually over one shoulder. As they watched, the figure bent to pick something off her boots, and then stood up with one hand on her hip. From the posture of her body, Wydrin guessed that she wasn’t enjoying her guard duty, and wanted to be elsewhere. Of course, thought Wydrin, she wants to be with Lady Fanatical, busily messing about with history. They waited a few more moments, and were rewarded with another figure coming into view. This was a young man, and he wore his spear across his back. There was a bottle in his hand.

  ‘I think this may be our best chance,’ whispered Wydrin. She turned to look at the Spinner lurking in the tunnel behind them. His great bulk filled it, the tiny white mask held in one trembling claw. ‘Are you ready, Spinner?’

  The Spinner said nothing, although the mask shook so much she wondered if he might drop it.

  ‘Do not worry,’ said Frith. He reached up and placed his fingers on the leathery black flesh of the Spinner’s leg. ‘We will be right behind you.’

  The Spinner trembled all over. If he starts that keening noise again, thought Wydrin, we’ll have lost this, but instead he gently placed the mask on the floor, and stepped over them, moving nimbly on his nine legs.

  Wydrin had one last view of the two guards outlined against the daylight, and then the Spinner rushed up the tunnel towards them. He could move shockingly fast, and in moments they heard screams as the Spinner barrelled out of the tunnel entrance into daylight. Wydrin was already running, Frith close behind her.

  Outside the two guards were on the ground. The girl still lay where the Spinner had knocked her over, a stunned expression on her face, while the young man was struggling to his feet, already reaching for the spear on his back. Frith ran up to him and without hesitation struck him firmly on the back of his head with the solid glove that the Spinner had made him. It cracked down the middle and the pieces fell to the floor, while the young guard pitched forward onto his face, unconscious.

  Wydrin kicked the girl’s spear away from her grasping fingers and then punched her in the face, breaking her nose. The girl gave an outraged squawk before Wydrin grabbed her by the collar and dragged her to her feet.

  ‘Give me the dagger off that lad’s belt,’ she said to Frith, who was already reaching for it. He ha
nded her the blade and she held it to the girl’s throat.

  ‘Shout for help and I’ll open your throat to the sky.’

  The girl spat blood from her lips. Her eyes kept moving back to the Spinner, who was crouching next to them with his legs held tightly around his enormous body. Wydrin wanted to look too – she could feel the strangeness radiating off him like a fever – but she kept her eyes focussed on the girl.

  ‘You’re too late.’ The girl wriggled in Wydrin’s grip, so she pressed the blade more firmly to her neck. ‘The Emissary is already on her way to do the work of the gods. You’re all going to die.’

  ‘I don’t know, kid. If I were you, I’d avoid the whole “you are doomed” speech and try complimenting me instead. I’m not in the best of moods as it is.’

  She looked around. The area by the tunnel entrance appeared to be deserted, but she could still hear the sounds of hammering coming from nearby.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ she asked the girl. Next to her, Frith was flexing the fingers on his left hand. It no longer looked infected at all.

  ‘We must now prepare for the changing of the world,’ said the girl. She pushed her lower lip out like a child told to go to bed early. ‘The godless will die screaming soon enough.’

  ‘The girl is an idiot,’ said Frith evenly. ‘Perhaps we should go and look for ourselves?’

  Wydrin nodded. They walked down the dirt track together, Wydrin dragging the girl with the dagger at her throat, while the Spinner came along behind them, looming like a tame storm cloud. Trees pressed in at either side, filled as ever with the cacophony of bird song and the calls of other animals making their homes in the trees. In the clearing at the bottom of the track they found the rest of Estenn’s cultists.

  ‘We prepare ourselves,’ said the girl again, a note of pride in her voice. ‘When the old gods are restored to us, they will know that we alone have remained loyal and not forgotten them.’