by Jen Williams
‘Feveroot. How did they catch you?’
She only murmured the question, but the response was immediate. A voice answered, matching her own low tones. It came only from the red panel next to her.
‘He drew me from my tree as a surgeon draws poison with a poultice. I fought him, but I had never had to fight before and I fought poorly. When I was out he caught me in a cage of spells and bound me to the phial, and to him.’
‘In a cage.’ Wydrin ran her other hand over the black lattice that kept them safe. ‘Why were you in a tree in the first place?’
‘Why not?’ Feveroot’s voice was relaxed and speculative, as though they discussed the weather over a warm pint. ‘It was my home, and it was me. I had been living in that tree for centuries.’
‘The blood,’ said Wydrin. She cleared her throat. ‘Joah said that you made birds and animals kill themselves on your thorns. On the tree’s thorns.’
‘I did,’ agreed Feveroot. ‘The blood and the pain was sustenance to me.’
‘I knew a thing like you once,’ said Wydrin. ‘Well, I didn’t know it, but I spoke with it, more than once. It craved pain. It manipulated humans into providing it. Either by injuring themselves, or by torturing others. It was a nasty piece of work. We destroyed that creature, in the end.’
For some moments, Feveroot didn’t reply. To the east, the dawn was turning the horizon a silvery pink.
‘The earth craves blood,’ he said eventually. ‘You have felt it, I think. How the earth nourishes itself with the dead and the lost. It is a natural thing. I am simply the dirt’s need for blood manifested into something that can think and talk. There is magic in the soil, the stones and the clay, and where there is a powerful desire, beings like me are called into existence.’
‘That’s a pretty way of putting it,’ said Wydrin. She splayed her fingers over the red light. How could she be so warm and so cold at the same time? ‘Sounds to me like you’re just another blood-thirsty monster.’
‘I don’t understand humans,’ said Feveroot mildly. ‘I took small animals. Birds, rodents, the occasional small cat. I called them to me, and I gave them a kind of ecstasy as they died, becoming one with the tree. Humans cause each other pain every day, in so many ways, sometimes through cruelty, sometimes from neglect. They kill and wound each other over nothing, yet I am the demon?’
‘Don’t you feast from that too? The pain we do to each other? Bezcavar, the other demon, lived for that.’
When he spoke again the demon sounded repulsed. ‘No. The poisons you leak to each other give nothing to me. The purity of physical pain, the slow bleed into nothingness, the sweet taste of blood – that is what I crave.’ He paused, then added, ‘All of you are in pain now, and I can’t use any of it.’
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said Wydrin, rolling her eyes. ‘I shall be sure to open a vein for you.’
‘Emotional pain. Who does it benefit? The one who holds the phial is tortured by confusion. Her carefully ordered world has been broken. And the man whose heart you hold is wracked with pain, lost in it, and he has never been far from it. You tell me I am cruel to spear the starling, but why have you done this to him?’
Wydrin shifted. The glass was not comfortable to sit on for long.
‘I have my reasons,’ she said. Uncalled for, the image of the blade bursting through Frith’s chest danced in front of her eyes. She felt him go limp in her arms again. Her head spun, and she leaned heavily on the glass-like surface while her cheek burned like a brand.
‘Do you really? Because it is not that you do not love him.’ Feveroot’s voice took on a speculative note again. ‘Hundreds of years old, and I will never understand humans.’
‘What do you know about love? You’re a demon.’
‘Much passes to me in the blood. You are not entirely well. Have you noticed?’
Wydrin pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. The skin there was hot and clammy. She thought abruptly of Augusta, who had nursed her through several illnesses as a small child. All at once she felt terribly homesick. She hoped that Augusta was staying out of trouble, somehow.
‘I’m not feeling especially sharp, no. I’ve picked up a fever at Lan-Hellis. Bunch of sickly mages who don’t get out often enough. It was bound to happen.’
‘That’s not what it is,’ said Feveroot. ‘You’ve been touched by something, and it’s twisting you all wrong inside. Can’t you feel it? It’s getting worse, slowly. It is like a tree growing around a rock, twisting its roots all out of shape just to survive.’
Wydrin shook her head and stumbled to her feet. It was a relief to take her hand away from the softly glowing red panel. Without saying another word to Feveroot, she walked to the front of the cage, where Xinian stood looking out over the demon’s smooth head. The sea was a blanket of silver, dotted with golden jewels. The cold wind slid over her fevered skin and she shivered violently.
‘You can see the coast of Relios now,’ said Xinian. ‘We will pause there, and then move on.’
‘Good,’ said Wydrin, ‘the sooner the better.’ She peered at the distantly rising sun, but the band of light warped and leapt erratically before her eyes, refusing to stay still. She looked down at her boots instead.
A bad time to get sick, she thought.
71
‘He’s still following us. Persistent little shit, isn’t he?’
Augusta passed Devinia the spyglass they had taken from the Banshee, and she put it to her own eye. They were camped on the side of a steep hill, and the thick green blanket of Euriale was spread below them. Looking where Augusta pointed, it was possible to see movement in a clearing at the foot of the hill. Men and women, most of them moving sluggishly, and then a flash of golden light as the Dawning Man passed between the trees. She waited, and there was a distant tearing crunch. One of the trees vanished from view.
‘He’s tearing the trees out of his way to get to us. I’m almost flattered.’ Devinia lowered the glass and slipped it into her belt. ‘We need to keep moving.’
‘Well, that’s going to be a problem, Red.’
Scowling, Devinia turned back to their small makeshift camp. Ristanov the Banshee was lying on her side, her hands tied securely behind her back, although Devinia doubted they needed to restrain the pirate any more. The red disease covered most of her skin, and she moved in and out of a feverish sleep. Sometimes she would wake up, and use her remaining energy to jeer at them, or shout for Kellan to come and get her. The young Narhl man sat some feet away, his head down. The strange magic he had summoned to freeze the Banshee’s crew in place, and then to stop the progress of the Dawning Man, had cost him a great deal. The green-skinned woman, who called herself Ephemeral, had explained to them that because Euriale was such a warm place, the magic had been especially difficult. And that was the other problem.
‘Where is she?’ snapped Devinia. ‘She can’t just go wandering off. We need to keep moving!’
‘She’s with the dragon-kin,’ said Terin faintly. He shifted his foot slightly so that the sun fell directly on it. ‘They are hunting.’
Devinia took a breath and hissed it out through her teeth. ‘We don’t have time for this.’
‘Because we’d be making such good time otherwise?’ Augusta gestured at Ristanov and Terin, and then sat down herself, grunting as she lowered her rear-end onto the dirt. ‘Face it, Red, we have to rest. My knees are not happy about climbing up this hill as it is, and we’re all running on empty. Kellan is slowed by his own sick crew, and all those pesky trees in his way. Unless, of course, you feel like running off into this piss-soaked jungle alone?’
Devinia opened her mouth to give the old woman a suitable reply, when one of Ephemeral’s lizards trotted back into camp, followed by four others. Suddenly, all around them the forest was full of the noise of large animals moving through the undergrowth. The dragon-kin, as Ephemeral called them, were growing larger by the day. The one she called Inky snorted at the ground and pressed its wings closer to it
s back. After a moment, Ephemeral herself slipped between the trees.
‘Have a good hunt?’
Ephemeral looked up in surprise. She threw down a clutch of fat rabbits. ‘They get better and better all the time.’
‘That’s not exactly reassuring.’ Devinia put her hands on her hips. ‘Look, we’re going to have to move before we start a fire for those. Kellan is still on our heels, and we have miles to go before we reach the Poison Chalice.’
‘I do not want to go there,’ said Ephemeral. ‘That is not where my father is.’
Devinia closed her eyes briefly. ‘I told you, I don’t know where your Sebastian is. He left the ship shortly after we entered the interior of the island, and Wydrin has been taken, I …’ She pressed her fingers to her eyes. There had been very little food and water since they had escaped, and her head was pounding. ‘We don’t have a better plan.’
‘He is near the centre of the island,’ Ephemeral insisted.
‘I am fond of Sebastian, believe me – anyone who can put up with my daughter for that long deserves respect – but it’s not enough. If we can retake my ship—’
‘I cannot just give up. I must find him.’ Ephemeral stopped, and doubt passed over her face like a shadow. ‘I don’t believe the dreams.’
Before Devinia could ask her what on Ede she meant by that, Terin gave a low cry and fell over onto his side. In an instant Augusta was by him, pulling his head onto her broad lap so that she could peer down into his eyes. The young man was shaking violently, his mottled skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Ephemeral came and knelt by him, taking his hand in her own.
‘There now, lad, take it easy. Red, do we have any water left?’
Devinia passed her the waterskin from her own belt, although there was little enough left in it. Augusta poured it onto the man’s hair, murmuring quietly to him all the while.
‘It is the heat,’ said Ephemeral. ‘He is having a vision.’
‘What do you mean?’ Devinia came closer, keeping one eye on Ristanov, although the woman appeared to be deeply asleep.
‘It is what he does,’ replied Ephemeral. ‘He is a seer for the Narhl. He experiences the pain of heat, and lets it move him into a trance state.’ She took a breath. It was odd, Devinia reflected, to see such an expression of sorrow on a face as alien as Ephemeral’s. ‘I should never have brought him here. It is too much.’
All around them, the dragon-kin were eerily quiet, watching the scene with their bright orange eyes. Terin twisted weakly and then shuddered once, and opened his eyes.
‘Stay where you are, kid,’ said Augusta. ‘Rest up. We’ll find you some more water soon.’
‘Ephemeral?’
‘I am here, my love. What did you see?’
Terin looked past them, his blue eyes focussing on something they couldn’t see. ‘A web. Green rocks rising. Blood on stone.’ He blinked rapidly. ‘Sebastian and Wydrin, they were there, at the centre of the island, but I could see through them, like they were made of ice. I can’t … There is a great power at the centre of this island. Like nothing else on Ede. It can change everything.’
‘Wydrin is still alive?’ asked Augusta.
‘A great power?’ Devinia leaned forward. ‘What sort of power?’
‘Magic,’ said Terin, ‘but stronger even than the mountain spirits.’
‘Stronger than the Dawning Man? Can we use it?’
Terin shifted his gaze until he was looking at her. ‘There is no other force like it.’
Devinia sat back on her haunches and pressed her hand to her mouth. It could all be a trick, a ruse to get them to the centre of the island. She had, after all, no reason to trust these two. They had risked their lives to rescue them from Ristanov’s ships, this was true, but why would Wydrin now be with Sebastian? They had not left together. Then, with a lurch, she realised that she had no clear idea how they could retake the Poison Chalice – even with the help of Ephemeral’s dragon-kin, without Lord Frith’s magic the ship was essentially dead in the water. Perhaps she had no real choice at all.
Devinia looked up, meeting Augusta’s eyes. The old woman’s lips were pursed, as if she knew what Devinia was about to say next and was already preparing not to like it.
‘The centre, then. If that’s where we need to go, then that’s where we’ll go,’ said Devinia. ‘We find Wydrin, we find this great power of yours, and we use it to tear that big golden bastard to pieces.’
72
Sebastian stood at the very edge of the gardens, leaning out over a vast stretch of nothing. The chill wind tugged at his clothes, and below him the red clay of Relios was scarred with black scorch marks and smoking ruins. Y’Ruen had been this way. To the north-west was a mountain range, looming ever closer and half shrouded in dark cloud. Somewhere in that place was Poledouris, the other secret stronghold of the mages, and his original destination.
I could jump, he thought again. It would be so easy, to simply let go of his hold on this section of crumbling wall. A few seconds of noise and wind, and then nothing. It would be better, perhaps, than remaining a prisoner of Y’Gria’s while she continued to murder the people of Ede; a prisoner at least until she grew bored of his secrets and killed him herself.
But the urge wasn’t there, not truly. Perhaps, when he’d left the Poison Chalice and wandered into the jungles of Euriale, he had been despairing enough to want to lose himself in the cursed forests, but things had changed. He had changed. Sebastian shook his head slowly to himself. Poledouris was out there, in those shadowed mountains somewhere, even if he couldn’t reach it. If Y’Gria took her flying palace closer, there was a still a chance he could get there, still a chance he could make some difference, and while he had that hope he could not give up.
Hope. Sebastian grimaced. Always more painful than no hope at all.
‘What are you looking for?’
He turned to see Oster approaching through the orchard of apple trees. He no longer wore the heavy armour Sebastian had grown used to, but a simple tunic of fine dark blue wool, the sleeves embroidered with silver dragons, matching the markings on his arm. Sebastian didn’t know where he was getting the new clothes from, but he suspected Y’Gria was responsible. He had to admit, they suited him very well.
‘Our destination, the mage stronghold of Poledouris. You remember? That was where we were going.’
‘I remember,’ said Oster mildly.
‘The woman Estenn may not have made it there yet. There may still be time.’
‘A lot has changed, Sebastian,’ Oster came and stood next to him. Since they had slept together he appeared more relaxed, more comfortable in his own skin. The golden light that had seemed to illuminate him from within had dimmed, but it only served to make him more beautiful, as far as Sebastian could see. Now his beauty was a human rather than an ethereal thing – the faint stubble on his jaw, the crease at the edge of his eyes when he smiled, the way his curly hair flattened at the back when he’d been lying down. Sebastian looked away.
‘A lot has changed for you, maybe. I still have a duty to fulfil.’
‘You don’t,’ said Oster, as easily as if they were talking about a mild disagreement over what to have for dinner. ‘Stay here, with me. Y’Gria would not dare harm you, none of them would. I have read about it in the history that Res’na gave me. So many of my people have taken up mortals as lovers, raised them up above all others and loved them for ever.’
Sebastian closed his eyes briefly. ‘Oster …’
‘And I do love you, Sebastian.’ For the first time his voice was ragged, as though it were torn over the words. ‘I know that much. When we are together I am at peace. Things make sense, and I understand my place in the world.’
Sebastian stared furiously down at the world passing below them, not trusting himself to meet Oster’s amber eyes. The silvery link between them was a riptide, eager to sweep him away.
‘If that is true, Oster, then let us go away, together. Come with me, and leave
Y’Gria behind.’
There was a moment’s silence. Below them a flock of birds flew past, wings like knives on the wind.
‘She is my family, for better or for worse. You cannot ask me to give that up.’ Some of the ice was back in Oster’s voice. ‘Slowly, I am learning about my own history, Sebastian. She tells me some things, every day, and without it I would be lost.’
‘And yet you ask me to give up my family.’ Sebastian turned back to face Oster, allowing himself to feel the anger that flared up in his chest. ‘What do you think Wydrin is to me? She has been my sister in arms for years, and if Estenn succeeds, if Y’Gria is allowed to continue her destruction of the mages, then I will lose her. Even Frith, cantankerous bastard that he is –’ Sebastian paused, realising as he said it that it was true. ‘Even Frith I would count as a brother to me. You ask me to let them die, by staying here with you.’
‘But they are just humans.’ Sebastian could tell from the way Oster shook his head slightly that he regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. ‘I mean, they are not like you. I can feel the connection between us, Sebastian. Please, do you not love me?’
Sebastian took a step backwards, putting himself perilously close to the edge. He thought of Dallen, of Cerjin, even Crowleo. Loving anyone was a curse, as far as he could see.
‘You don’t …’
There was a rustling in the undergrowth around their feet, and the tips of several pale green roots slithered into the open.