Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1)

by Ward, Matthew

  "So," I asked Arianwyn, "are these cheery works another facet of your imagination or are they real?"

  "Perhaps neither, perhaps both," she replied unhelpfully. "The line between imagination and reality is incredibly fine hereabouts. Try to ignore them."

  We headed into territory that looked much more like the city we'd left. The houses were less battered and a few even had lights showing in the windows. Jamar moved to peer inside.

  "I wouldn't," Arianwyn warned. "You won't like what you see."

  She was too late. Jamar went pale and turned away from the glass.

  "What did you see?" I asked. He shook his head and said nothing. I looked questioningly at Arianwyn.

  "It's different for everyone." She shrugged. "I saw my mother." She was silent for a time. Then the moment passed, and she started down the street again at a much faster pace.

  "Are you all right?" I asked Jamar.

  "I will be, savir," he replied. "I'm sorry, that was foolish."

  "It was, but it doesn't matter." Besides, in terms of making bad decisions these last few days, I was in a class all of my own.

  I matched my pace to Jamar's for a time. Then, when I was sure he could be safely left alone, I lengthened my stride and caught up with Arianwyn. "I still don't quite understand how you navigate this place. Or, for that matter, where we're going."

  "Hmm? Oh, it's quite simply really. You just need to know what you want and the road leads you there. As for where we're going, I'm taking you to my home... Wait, that's odd."

  Arianwyn came to an abrupt halt, causing the ghosts flowing around us to change direction. I followed her gaze to a townhouse whose door hung open and whose windows were devoid of glazing. Vines and branches spilled forth through these holes and onto the street. Black flowers grew upon the vines, somehow glorious despite their sombre colour.

  "Everything here looks odd," I said.

  "I know, but I've never seen vegetation here before," she replied. "Not healthy vegetation, anyway."

  "Look at the ghosts," said Jamar.

  The ghosts walked around the sprawling vines, much as they walked around my companions. In fact, so far across the street did the vines stretch that the spirits could only pass two abreast. My eyes followed the line of foliage as it trailed across the road and wended its way around a carven figure on the far side.

  "There's also the matter of the statue," I said. Like the others we'd seen, this too stared at us. Unlike the others, this was not a statue of Malgyne, but of Jack. "Why does an avatar of life have a statue here in the Realm of the Dead?"

  "I already told you, I don't know." Arianwyn sounded both cross and apprehensive.

  A thicket of vines twitched into life and crept towards a ghost dressed in the brocade jacket and ruffed collar of a Tressian councillor. The ghost didn't seem to notice, but kept walking until the vines lunged forward and wrapped themselves about his vaporous form. In a blur of motion, the vines dragged their prize back through the open door of the house, leaving nothing but a thinning trail of vapour to show the ghost had ever been there. From inside the house came a crackling, rustling noise that I'd heard entirely too often in the last few days.

  I heard Arianwyn's sharp intake of breath but didn't look at her. In fact, I couldn't take my eyes off the building. "I'm not sure I much care for taking this route. Is there another we can use?"

  "I don't know," Arianwyn replied. "But I think I'd like to try."

  We travelled back the way we'd come, but slower than before. Arianwyn had to concentrate at each crossroads, though whether that was because she truly couldn't find her way, or because the black-flowered vines had so unnerved her, I couldn't tell.

  I was starting to suspect that Arianwyn's self-confidence was a careful façade, and that her evasiveness was not duplicitous in the normal sense, but a desire to appear in control. Solomon had warned me she was meddling in matters she didn't understand. Was he correct? Uneasily, I recalled the merry dance I'd led Balgan and Ildaro. Was Arianwyn attempting something similar?

  We saw many more vine-entangled houses as we continued our journey. There were other statues of Jack too, some on columns, others cast down into the street. After the second such statue, Jamar again pressed me about my encounter with Jack, so I told him everything I could remember.

  "I know where we are," said Arianwyn at last. "Not far to go."

  "How do you know?" I asked.

  "Because of that." She pointed directly ahead.

  At the centre of the square grew an enormous tree, its boughs black against the moonless sky. Unlike the sorry birches I'd seen upon entering Otherworld, this was a mighty specimen: its trunk was as wide as a road, it had boughs thicker than my body which were crowned by rich clusters of branches. It was tall, taller even than the buildings surrounding it, and easily dwarfed the squat stone circle on the far side. Though there was no breeze, the boughs swayed ever-so-slightly from side to side. No leaves clung to its woody hide, but I saw scores of ghostly ravens perched upon its limbs

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "You've seen it many times before," she said.

  I frowned. Surely I'd remember something like this?

  "It's the Shaddra." Jamar spoke in certainty, not in question.

  I blinked in astonishment. This tree was the wizened and twisted hulk that stood before the cathedral? Surely not. Then I looked again and fancied I could see a resemblance. This was the tree that the Shaddra had once been, or perhaps would be again.

  "It's unbelievable."

  "Not when you consider the legends," said Arianwyn. "You know the council would dearly like to remove that thing, but every time they make an attempt, people die."

  Jamar nodded. "I saw a group try exactly that about six weeks ago. They had Sidarists chanting prayers the whole time, but it made no difference. One man swung an axe and fell stone dead the moment the blade struck. They gave up soon after that."

  "I heard that it had all been a misunderstanding; that the axeman's heart had given out with the strain of the blow," said Arianwyn. "There's more to it than that."

  "Makes you wonder why Olvas decided to build his cathedral there in the first place," I mused.

  Arianwyn snorted. "It's arrogance. He wants to prove his deity is more powerful than what the Shaddra represents. He wants to overwhelm her with the power of righteous prayer."

  Another thought struck me. "If Otherworld changes to match the minds of those who enter it, why is the Shaddra here?"

  "My perception only influences the pathways," Arianwyn said. "There are many fixed points, but how exactly you reach them changes. That's why I bought that house – I knew it sat on a weakness between the realms. The truth is, I thought we'd reach our destination long before now. Last time I made this journey it took a matter of minutes. It feels like we've been here for hours, but we're nearly there now, I'm sure of it."

  Six roads led away from the square, arranged like spokes on a wheel. Arianwyn led us towards the closest. Ghosts streamed in from all sides, but none were leaving. Like the waters of a whirlpool they swirled to the square's heart, and the ancient tree.

  A few yards short of her chosen exit, Arianwyn drew up.

  "What's the matter?" I asked.

  "Quiet!" she whispered. "We don't want that to hear us."

  She pointed through the crowd at a dark figure about my height, clad head to foot in black robes and armour. His face was covered by a skull-shaped silver mask. A long, straight sword was buckled at his waist. The crowd did not part for the figure, I noticed, but he walked through the ghosts as if they weren't there.

  A moment later, I lost sight of it in the crowd and let out a long, slow breath. Arianwyn had said I'd recognise if something dangerous crossed my path. I was certain such a being had just done so.

  "What was it?" I asked. "A fallen?"

  "A revenant," Arianwyn corrected. "It might look like a man, but it never was one. It's a spirit, like Death himself."

  "What does Mal
gyne need with spirit warriors?" I asked. "I'd imagine we kill each other efficiently enough to keep him fed."

  "Who knows?" said Arianwyn. "I've only ever seen a few. I don't even know if they can enter the living realm."

  "They can." Jamar had his hand on his sword, and a taut frown on his face. "I saw one near Cadoran, years ago, riding away from a border post. My patrol challenged it, but it outpaced us, so we continued on to the fortress. When we arrived, we found the garrison slain, their blood smeared across the walls and their heads set on spears atop the battlements. There was only one survivor." His expression darkened. "Before he died of his wounds he babbled incessantly about the 'Black Reiver' who walked through walls and laughed at blades. I believed it the work of your people, savim, and that he was delirious with pain. I no longer think so."

  At that moment, the revenant reappeared from the crowd, not more than a dozen paces in front of Arianwyn. For a second it stared at us. Then, with a deep growl, the creature drew his sword – the blade was wreathed in black smoke – and moved towards us.

  As before, the ghosts were no barrier to the revenant's passage, but broke apart like morning mist. Jamar drew his sword and moved to intercept, but was checked by Arianwyn's shout.

  "No! You won't hurt it. We have to run."

  And run we did, through the gate that marked the square's edge, down a narrow alleyway and into another, smaller, square. Every step of the way I heard the revenant's mournful growl, but there was no sound of footfall to gauge how close it was. With each stride I imagined its dark sword an inch from my spine, and that chilling thought lent me speed I did not know I possessed. Ahead, Arianwyn stopped and peered frantically at the roads before her.

  "What's the matter?" I asked, gasping for breath.

  "I don't know where we are."

  "It doesn't matter. Just get us away from that thing."

  I glanced over my shoulder. For a mercy, the revenant had fallen further behind, but it was closing with every second.

  "You don't understand. If we take the wrong path we could be lost forever..." Her voice came from somewhere distant. Our only guide was on the verge of panic.

  "And if it catches us.. Quickly, which way?"

  "I don't know."

  I came to a decision. "Jamar, we're taking the left path. Bring Arianwyn. Carry her if you have to."

  The havildar grabbed her arm and set off at a run. To her credit, Arianwyn didn't resist. I took one last look at the oncoming revenant and followed.

  The street opened out onto another bridge. It was wider than the one I had crossed earlier, but in no better state of repair.

  Arianwyn and Jamar were already halfway across. I paused for a moment, drawing great gulps of air into my lungs. Three more revenants had joined our pursuer. Had it called them to its side, or had we attracted their attention? Not caring to find out, I ran on.

  On my third step, everything went wrong. As my foot landed, a chunk of the roadway fell away, taking me with it. I fell forward with a shout, grasping desperately for a handhold. My fingers grabbed a flagstone's edge, but my body spun out into space.

  Jamar ran back towards me. My fingers trembled with effort. I knew I couldn't pull myself clear and so dredged up every last effort in an attempt to keep my grip. It wasn't going to be enough.

  Seeing he wouldn't reach me in time, Jamar dropped his sword and dived towards me. His armour scraped on stone. His hands reached for mine. But he was too late.

  The last of their strength gone, my abused fingers slackened their grip and I plunged into the bitter waters below. Clawing my way to the surface, I caught a brief glimpse of revenants surging across the bridge and of Jamar pulling Arianwyn roughly away. Then the current swept me into the darkness and I saw nothing more.

  Thirteen

  I awoke face-down on a shingle beach. To my left, a black expanse of water roared away into a mist-wreathed horizon. To my right, the boulder-strewn shore rose steeply to meet a dense wood of dead trees. The sickly green tinge to the light and the lack of stars betrayed that I was still in Otherworld. Beyond that, I had no idea where I was.

  My clothes were dry, I noted with surprise. My last memory was of fighting the current of a fast-flowing river. Fighting and losing. Had I imagined that, or had I been out of the water so long my clothes had dried? Or like the buildings that vanished when I passed by, was the water only real so long as it was in sight?

  Ignoring protesting muscles, I heaved myself upright.

  "Ah, you're awake." The ghost's face was hidden by a grey hood and his arms were folded. I had the impression he'd been waiting some time.

  "Where am I?" Too late, I remembered Arianwyn had warned me not to speak to ghosts. Hopefully, she'd meant I shouldn't speak to ghosts unbidden.

  "In Otherworld."

  "I know that much," I said irritably.

  "There's no good answer." His voice was distorted, but strangely familiar. "Otherworld's stable locations are few and far between. We currently reside in that great in-between."

  "How did I get here?"

  "Fate. Or perhaps a river. It depends."

  "And my companions?"

  "Are somewhere else."

  With a chill, I remembered Jamar dragging Arianwyn away from the revenants. "Are they safe?"

  "Almost certainly not."

  I rose, noting with relief that nothing seemed to be damaged beyond a few aching muscles. "Then I need to find them."

  The ghostly figure was unimpressed. "And how will you do so? You're lost in a world you don't understand and can't navigate."

  "True," I allowed, sitting down on a nearby boulder. "I saw you following me earlier. You pulled me from the water?"

  "I did."

  Gods! The voice was so familiar I could hear the shape of every word before it was spoken, yet still his identity evaded me.

  "Why?"

  "Because I owed you, as much as I hate to admit it."

  This was maddening. "For what, exactly?"

  The ghost pulled back his hood. I found myself staring into a dark, swarthy face framed by a neat beard and a receding hairline. It was a face that I knew almost as well as my own.

  "For murdering me, Edric. What else?" said my brother.

  My mouth went dry. Had I been standing, I'd have fallen over. As it was, I desperately wanted to rise to my feet and flee somewhere, anywhere, but my legs wouldn't respond. Never, even in my darkest nightmares, had I imagined this conversation would ever occur. Yet here he was in front of me, Alfric Saran, my deceased elder brother – a man whom I had killed six months previously. I couldn't imagine any way in which the rest of this conversation would go well.

  "It was before the feast marking the anniversary of my ascension, if I recall correctly," said Alfric in strangely energetic tones. "Oh, it was to have been marvellous! Food as far as the eye could see, perfumed dancers from Sebilan, musicians from Thrakkia, gladiators beyond counting dying to please me." He spread his hands, "Every king and prince that knelt to Hadari rule was in attendance, all of them come to celebrate and pledge themselves anew."

  His tone dropped a notch. "And then, as I was due to present myself to the adoring crowds, my dear brother came to me and told me of a gift he wished to give me in private. I went with him, of course, for did not my brother love me?" Alfric gestured at me and his voice grew hard. "In his quarters, away from my loyal guardsmen, my brother gave me his singular gift. The point of his sword through my heart. The sword you still carry, I assume. It is for this favour that I owe you."

  This was going about as well as I could have hoped, which was to say not at all. He could attack me at any moment, and I had no idea how I'd fare in combat with a ghost. But my own temper was rising in response to Alfric's selective rendition, and that anger burned away my shock.

  I sprang to my feet. "But that wasn't everything, was it, 'dear' brother?" We were less than a shield's width apart now, something that part of my brain was screaming at as a bad idea, but I was too furious to
care. "What about your empress? Locked in her rooms, still weeping and bloody from your tempers of the previous day, and of all too many days before that? Or the fact that so many of those kings and princes to bowed their knee not out of fealty, but out of fear over what you would do to their families had they refused? Should we instead discuss the armies you'd sent to destruction, or the captives you had put to death?" I was shouting now. The rational part of my mind begged me to stop lest I draw attention from revenants, or worse. "Or perhaps we could talk about the war you insisted on fighting to soothe your own damaged pride?" I took a deep, ragged breath. "I don't regret what I did. I should have killed you years ago."

  To my surprise, Alfric retreated before my anger. He lowered himself into a sitting position on a rock and gazed up at me.

  "I did all those things you mention and many more besides. I was a tyrant, and I surrounded myself with laughter so that I would never be troubled by the screams. I wish I could sit here and tell you that I was mad or accursed – and perhaps I was. But it would make little difference. The dead would still be dead and our family's honour would still lie in tatters." He looked away from me and stared into the mist-shrouded distance.

  "What are you telling me, Alfric?" I demanded.

  "I meant what I said earlier: I owe you. It wasn't a veiled threat, though I can't blame you for assuming one. I owe you for delivering our people – and even our enemies. I owe you for rescuing Elandra from a cruel husband, and the Empire from a ruler who would have destroyed it through wicked negligence. A life for a life – though perhaps not in the usual manner."

  I took a seat opposite. We sat in silence for a time, neither looking at the other. We'd never really been close, he and I. As the older brother, it had always been his destiny to take the throne, just as mine, as the younger, was to defend it. And so I had.

  I'd spent most of that time on the frontier, thwarting the Tressian armies that constantly probed at our defences, and the dark tales of my brother's deeds I simply put down to the jealous rumours spread by disloyal vassals. But worst of all, I learned that Alfric, no longer content to be fighting a ruinous war with our ancient enemies in Tressia, had intended to invade Thrakkia as well. I caught wind of this unwise plan and rode back to Hadar as fast as I was able. Alfric wouldn't see me.