Dusk: a dark fantasy novel (A Noreela novel)

by Tim Lebbon

  He swept back towards Pavisse, passing through small valleys and over low hills, dipping into thickets of trees, finding a few dwellings where families huddled before the fire, hiding from the rain and dark. Some of these minds he touched on briefly, but he found nothing there to interest him. There was little to interest even themselves; they were sad, empty places, bereft of hope, concentrating instead on simple existence. None of them seemed to look further forward than the next morning, when sheebok would need milking, fields hoeing and planting, ditches clearing, fences repairing …

  He found the freedom exhilarating, and again he wondered just how far he could project himself like this. Underground there had been miles of solid rock to temper his explorations … but he also wondered whether his horizons had been too limited. He had never been tempted to move above ground to see what it was like, even though perhaps the ability had always been there. As a miner he had often considered journeying topside at some point in his life. But as a fledge taker, he had never been tempted to take full advantage of the opportunities it offered him, other than guilty forays past Sonda’s bedroom window. His boundaries had been too insular, he knew that now. It had taken the disaster of the Nax to open his mind.

  And then something appeared in the distance, something more powerful and less human. Trey dropped down near the ground, pulling in his exploratory senses and hiding himself as effectively as a raindrop in the storm. It would take some time for the thing to reach him, so he tasted the rain; felt it hitting the ground and splashing back up, loaded with dust. It was a summer storm, warm and welcome, but it carried taints of autumn, smells of dead leaves and bare trees. Things were changing, and even the rain swore to that.

  The thing came closer, and Trey did not have to extend himself to know what it was: a Red Monk. He sensed it in the distance, saw it, heard it, felt its horse’s hooves shake the ground. It rode slouched in its saddle as if injured, but he thought it was probably trying to track, searching for footprints stamped in mud or hoof prints etched in the loam. Trey sank down into the ground, smothering himself in earth, hiding, feeling a slight tremble around him as the horse passed by not far away. He drew himself in, making his mind less that a point, nothing to see. The Monk did not pause. He had not been sensed.

  He waited a few minutes before rising into the open once more. The rain was heavier than ever. He had to return to the cave. It was a good distance away, but the Monk would be there before daybreak.

  Trey skirted south to make sure he did not pass too close to the Monk. Its mind had seemed foul, and he had no wish to approach touching it with his own. He skimmed low through a valley, into the lake at its base, shifting past fish and other things that swam in its depths, careful not to touch them. The water was black, and deep down it had begun to freeze. There were shapes struggling against the thickening water. Trey went deeper and sensed more things, large and small, frozen solid.

  He surfaced and travelled back through the sky. At least there the rain smothered things that should not be.

  “Not far,” Trey said. “An hour, if it rides fast.”

  “On our trail?” Kosar asked.

  “Perhaps. It was tracking something.”

  “We have to go.”

  Trey had stood and wrapped Alishia in blankets, wiping tears from her cheeks. He remembered her voice, that sad voice lost in her own mind: Has it gone, Trey? Will it come back?

  “I won’t let it come back,” he whispered, hoping that somewhere she heard his words and hoping they gave comfort.

  “What was that?” Hope asked.

  Trey glanced at the witch and shook his head, looking away. She frightened him.

  Rafe suddenly appeared by his side, standing over him and Alishia. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked. “Did you touch her mind?”

  “Hardly. It’s been driven too deep. She’s barely herself anymore.” He glared up at Rafe, blaming the farm boy and the magic he had wrought. It had terrified Alishia almost to death. This girl who had read so much and seen so little, exposed suddenly to such an event, driven mad …

  “Then who was she?” a voice said from back in the cave. Trey turned to see A’Meer sitting up, nursing her head with one hand and her elbow with the other.

  “I don’t know,” Trey said, remembering more of his journey, more of what Alishia had been muttering in the deep parts of her mind. “But she’s afraid that something is going to come back.”

  “What could that be?” Kosar said. “I don’t know anything of the girl. Is she normal?”

  “She’s a librarian,” Trey said. “This is her first time outside Noreela City.”

  “Trickery,” Hope said. “For some reason only the girl knows, she’s feigning this sleep. Has she stolen any of your fledge, miner? Is she guiding the Monks in to us, even now?”

  “No!” Trey said, fear of the witch fuelling his anger. “She’s good. Something drove her from her own mind, and she’s terrified—”

  “So why has it gone now?” A’Meer asked. Everyone turned to look at her. “And where? She’s only been like this since Rafe … since he touched me. We all felt what happened then, we all know what it was, but why would that drive the girl to distraction?”

  Nobody could answer. The silence in the cave was loaded.

  “Well it scared the shit out of me,” Kosar eventually whispered.

  “There was something inside her,” Trey said. “I saw the space it left, the scars on her mind. They were huge.”

  “Something left her mind when it saw magic,” Hope said, staring at Rafe. “The boy did just what he claimed he couldn’t, and something fled Alishia’s mind.”

  “You sound like you blame me,” Rafe said.

  “I blame you for never believing.”

  “It’s the Mages,” A’Meer said.

  Heads turned. Nobody spoke, and the rain provided the counterpoint to their disbelief.

  “Perhaps they got wind of what was happening, knew somehow that magic was making a return. They have their spies in the land—they have ever since they left—gathering information, feeding back news, trying to ease their eviction with stories of how the land has been failing ever since. Maybe they heard that the Red Monks were on the move. They have access to things most people do not. Hope, they have your arcane knowledge, and much, much more.”

  “But they fled northward, way past The Spine,” Kosar said. “It would take a couple of moons to travel that far.”

  “As I said, Kosar, they have access to things. Trey, did you have to run across the land just now to report the Monk to us? No. Why would the Mages’ spies have to?”

  “But what …?” Kosar said.

  A’Meer sat up slowly, wincing as her bruised and battered body protested. “A shade,” she said. “They mastered controlling damaged shades during their reign. Who’s to say they don’t still have a certain influence?”

  “But that’s magic,” Hope protested. “There is no magic!” She glanced at Rafe as she spoke, then looked away again.

  “It doesn’t have to be magic. I received a message from you, remember?”

  “That was a skull raven, that was just …”

  “Communication,” A’Meer finished for her. “We don’t have to understand something for it to be possible. Don’t ascribe anything you don’t understand to magic.”

  “But what of Alishia?” Trey asked. “What can we do for her?”

  “I don’t know,” A’Meer said, shaking her head. “But we have to assume that the Mages will soon know what the thing in her head saw happen here. And as we all know, they’ll want what Rafe has for themselves.”

  “Well I don’t want it,” Rafe shouted. “They can have it for all I care!”

  “What about her?” Trey asked again. They were ignoring him. Dismissing her.

  “It’s precious, Rafe!” Hope said.

  “Who are you people?” Trey asked. Alishia trembled, mumbled something incoherent. “How are you going to help—”

  “Who
are you?” Hope asked. “A fledge miner who’s obviously never been topside before, and a strange woman who may have betrayed us to the Mages.”

  “She didn’t betray us! It was what was inside her.”

  “Maybe she’s always had it there,” Hope said. “She’s obviously not the person you thought she was.”

  “She helped me!”

  Hope looked down at Alishia where she lay prone on the cave floor. “Let her die.”

  “You bitch!” Trey felt the drug still lifting him, trying to tear him away from this scene and carry him up and away, into freedom. But he fought that yearning, looked at Alishia, denying the shred of doubt that Hope’s words had planted in his mind.

  “We don’t know who she is,” Hope said. “We don’t know who sent her, why, when, and what she’s going to do next. For that matter we don’t know him, either!” She jabbed her finger at Trey and advanced towards him. He stepped back, frightened of the tattoos seemingly squirming on the witch’s face, bringing her skin alive.

  “We have to leave, and soon,” A’Meer said tiredly. “We can talk about this when we’re away, but I’m in no state to take on another Monk.”

  “And who are you?” Hope said, turning on the injured woman. “A Shantasi! And they’re about as trustworthy as my own turds! Who’s to say you aren’t here to steal what Rafe has for your slave-kin?”

  “She fought a Red Monk so you could get away!” Kosar shouted.

  “And beat it?” Hope threw her hands up. “Nobody beats a Red Monk! They let her win to deceive us. They’re probably closing in even now, ready to snuff out the only bit of hope this land had seen for centuries!” She stood at Rafe’s side with her back to him, arms spread, as if to ward off any attack from the others in the cave.

  “No, Hope,” Rafe said. His voice was quiet, but it carried the authority of someone far older than he. “No fighting. No arguing. We don’t know each other, but we’re here for a reason.” He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and sighed, a long, heart-rending exhalation. “You’re all here for me. And though I never wished it, there’s a part of me that asks that you protect me, as well you can.”

  Rafe had been listening to the arguments, Hope’s paranoia, Trey’s concern for the fallen girl, Kosar the thief siding with the Shantasi warrior who had given them time to escape and almost died in the process.

  I cured her, he thought. I touched her and drew out the poison from her blood, but through no physical process. The infected blood went nowhere. The poison simply stopped existing. I did that.

  The rain pummelled down outside, and each impact was a whisper in his ears, more knowledge imparted and facts hacked down and burnt, new, terrifying truths rising from the ashes. This simple cave, this depression in the land, was turning into a wonderful place in Rafe’s understanding. It was as if every crack in the wall, every raindrop, every blade of grass bending under a weight of water knew more than he had ever known. There was a power around him, buzzing to break out. It was terrifying but humbling; the power gave itself tentatively, holding back at every step, pleading with him be careful, be careful. He was terrified of its potential and awed by its intensity.

  Now those people in the cave were looking at him, blinking in surprise at what he had said, each thinking themselves right in some small way. And in one way they were all right—magic was breathing again, and it was Rafe who gave it breath. But there was so much more they did not know.

  “I’m weak,” Rafe said. “I’m eighteen next moon. And I’m a farm boy; I’ve no fighting experience. I’ve never had a fight other than with boys in the village. I’d have no idea how to defend myself against a Red Monk, intent on killing me for what’s started inside me.”

  “And just what is that?” Kosar asked.

  “Magic,” Rafe said. “Strong and powerful, but vulnerable as well. It’s inside me, gestating, and it relies on me to carry it. It’s readying it and myself for what it will become.”

  The cave was silent, its inhabitants awed. Even Alishia had stopped mumbling, as if she sensed the import of the moment.

  “You cured me,” A’Meer said.

  “I touched you and the magic bled into me. I just steered it. I think it was … an expression of good faith.”

  “A bribe?” Hope asked.

  “A gift,” Rafe replied. “It asks a lot, and in turn I ask a lot of you. Requests like that can’t exist without some reward.”

  “So what do we all get?” Hope said. “What does the fledger get? What does the thief receive in payment for his allegiance?”

  Rafe shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “It hasn’t told you yet?” Hope asked.

  Rafe shrugged once again, saying nothing.

  “What do I get?” Hope asked. “I’ve been waiting all my life, so what do I get?”

  There was turmoil in Rafe’s mind, brief but violent, and the tang of the rain carried the warm scent of blood for less than a heartbeat. He closed his eyes but saw no less. “Hurt,” he said. “If you go against me, you get hurt.”

  He could never have spoken those words … and yet he had. Those in the cave should have laughed at what he said, yet they did not.

  He had convinced them. And the voices in his head sighed with contentment, and started to tell him more.

  As they left the cave Kosar knew that much had already changed. The rain pelted down and washed old dirt from his body, refreshing him, preparing him for the future. He opened his hands and held them palm-up, and although the wounds on his fingertips still stung, the pain was less than before. The torrent cleansed the dust and grit from his raw flesh, washing his past back into the ground. He hated foolish pride, but for the first time in years he had a purpose.

  A’Meer sat on a horse, no longer tied into her saddle. She slumped in pain from her wounds, exhausted from the effects of the poison. But her eyes were bright now when she looked across at him, twinkling with excitement, and Kosar was thrilled that he and A’Meer were together. Somehow, any other situation would have seemed unthinkable. Perhaps this had always been their future.

  Maybe they had been steered this way.

  Kosar thrust that thought from his mind, stared it at the ground and let his horse trample it into the mud. He had no wish to imagine such a controlling influence over his life.

  But A’Meer’s eyes said otherwise. Even though it was still dark he could see the way she looked at him, the sense of meaning suddenly exuding from her like a strong smell. He had never considered A’Meer aimless—she was too strong, too intelligent for that—but compared to this moment, he realised that she had always been adrift. Injured as she was, weak and vulnerable, the strength of her new conviction was evident. She had found her true course.

  It was a frightening sensation, this sense of belonging. It scared Kosar to the core. And yet he could not deny that it felt good.

  As they packed, they had talked about which way they should head. North, eventually, lay the Cantrass Plains, The Spine, Long Marrakash. It was rumoured across the land that the Duke was there now, not exactly in hiding but living beneath a cloud of apathy and neglect. His people did not want or need him anymore—Noreela was becoming too fractured, too feudal—but his reign was still recognised by some of those in the north. Kosar suggested that they should make contact with the Duke and beg the protection of his army. Better a thousand fighting men than a witch, a thief, a fledge miner, a dying woman and an injured Shantasi. Hope had agreed, though grudgingly. Rafe had remained silent. He watched them talk about his safety. It was as if he had placed himself in their hands, and now it was their duty to do their best by him.

  Also to the north, A’Meer had said, were the Mages. Fled for three centuries, maybe dead, or perhaps weakened or driven mad by exile. Much of their army had gone with them but it would be long-dead by now, skeletons in armour. And yet A’Meer insisted that the Mages would try something. They were so close to it for so long, she had said. They couldn’t help but be affected by the twisted magic they wro
ught. If they’re alive, they’ll want nothing but revenge.

  They all knew of the Duke’s army and what it had become. Remnants lay scattered across the land in the Militia, local police forces that seemed quite efficient in small numbers but which in places such as Pavisse or Noreela City, became perpetrators of crime rather than guardians against it. Control was good, but uninhibited power bred greed.

  So for now they had agreed to head south. Due south was Kang Kang, a place Kosar had once travelled close by but which he had no desire to visit again. An unknown place, a land of legend, Kang Kang was the birthplace of tales to scare children and adults alike. Much was said of its mountains and valleys, and if even a half of it were true, it was somewhere to avoid.

  But Kosar did not think that Kang Kang was their aim. A’Meer had not commented upon this yet, but he could sense something in her, a new urgency fighting through her pain and tiredness. She had stated her mission to him quite plainly back in Pavisse, and demonstrated it by taking on the Red Monk: she was here to protect Rafe. She would gladly die doing so, but he was sure that she favoured an alternative. She wanted to take him home. She wanted to travel to New Shanti.

  Hope walked close to Rafe’s horse. Her place was beside him, and she would not leave. She had been the first to find him, see his potential, sense the burgeoning power within, and now she thought of herself as his guardian. He had grown, even in the few days since she had found him curled up in a doorway in Pavisse, but the need to protect him remained. And she intended to be alongside him until the end, whatever the end may bring.