The Warrior

by Joseph Delaney

  ‘Compared with this I’m not,’ he said, walking across to a chest of drawers and opening the top one. I joined him there. The drawer had a glass top, and beneath it were rows of insects.

  ‘Wrong drawer!’ he said, and pushed it back into place before opening another one. ‘Ah – this is the one. Just take a look at that!’

  Once again there were rows of insects beneath the glass, but one immediately caught my eye because it was enormous.

  ‘That’s called a weta,’ Goodwin told me. ‘There are none alive within the Barrier, but maybe they still exist beyond it. It seems that they were quite rare; attempts were made to protect them – though why anyone would want to save such an ugly creature I can’t imagine.’

  I stared at it with a mixture of astonishment and revulsion. I imagined waking up in the dark to find that huge insect crawling across my face.

  ‘Do you know what my father calls this museum?’ Goodwin asked me.

  I shrugged.

  ‘He’s named it the Museum of Lights.’

  I looked up at the torches flickering with yellow light.

  Goodwin saw the direction of my gaze and shook his head. ‘Not the torches. These are special lights – they are down on a lower floor. Want to see?’

  I followed him down another flight of steps to another oaken door. This time, when he pushed it open, I could see only darkness within.

  ‘You first,’ I said, suddenly suspicious. I didn’t know what he had in mind, but I could guess. If I was right, Goodwin had made a big mistake.

  But he simply reached through the door to something on the wall. I heard a click, and the room was suddenly, magically, filled with light. I followed him inside, gazing up in wonder at the source of the light – glass orbs attached to the ceiling. I could hear a noise too: a faint humming from somewhere beyond the nearest wall.

  ‘What causes the light is called electricity!’ Goodwin announced. ‘Cities all over the world were once lit by this power. But this isn’t the only reason why my father chose the name of the museum. Prepare to be amazed!’

  I saw on the wall what looked like a large landscape picture frame, though it contained only a piece of silver-coloured glass. But then Goodwin touched a strip of dark material beneath it, and the frame filled with light. Suddenly there was an astonishing bird’s-eye view of a conical mountain with smoke rising from its summit.

  It was like looking through clear glass into the real world. There was depth, and a sense of being at a great height. I felt giddy and was afraid of falling. Then we plunged down at speed so that my heart was in my mouth. We were closer now, and I could see a stream of red fire flowing down the rocky grey mountainside. The mountain was hollow and filled with fire.

  ‘It’s a fire mountain, properly called a volcano,’ Goodwin told me. ‘Once the two islands were full of them, and there were things called earthquakes, where the ground shook so violently that whole cities collapsed into dust. But the djinn did something and that doesn’t happen any more. There are records here of how they reshaped the landscape, flattening some mountains while raising others, and changing the routes of rivers.’

  Now the scene within the frame faded back to the original silver. Goodwin came over and placed his hands on my shoulders. He was a head taller than me, and I looked up too slowly to realize what he was about to do.

  A second later, his arms were around me and his lips were pressing hard against mine. It happened so quickly that I barely had time to react. But as I brought my left hand up to his chest, intending to push him away, the lights went out. We were plunged into absolute darkness.

  I heard heavy footsteps, then felt Goodwin being tugged away from me, so violently that I almost overbalanced.

  He screamed just once, his voice high and shrill, like a pig being slaughtered. It was cut off very suddenly with a loud cracking sound.

  The silence that followed was terrifying. I became aware that something was standing close by in the darkness. I could hear heavy breathing that reminded me of lacs after fighting in the arena. Was it indeed a lac – one of the feral ones that lived in the labyrinth of tunnels below the Wheel?

  I began to tremble with fear, but I took a slow, deep breath to calm myself and allowed the dagger to slip out of my sleeve into my left hand.

  Then a deep voice spoke to me out of the darkness. ‘Raise that blade against me and I will snap your neck like a twig.’

  ‘Who are you?’ I demanded, hearing the tremor in my voice as I spoke.

  ‘I slew your sister’s husband, Kern, and soon I will slay the one you love. But I will not snap Leif’s neck as I did that of the foolish boy you just embraced. That is too easy a death. I will kill him slowly, and he will experience extreme torment.’

  And then I realized that I was alone in the darkness with Hob.

  THE ART OF WAR

  A shalatan is a warrior djinn with great skill in generating selves to perform particular tasks.

  One such self is known as a peri. It functions as an ambassador to other djinn and is proficient in languages.

  The History of the Conflict by Eitel the Pessimist

  LEIF

  Suddenly the torches flared up, so that the chamber was once more filled with bright light. Despite this, the manner of its arrival unnerved me, and I stared up at the torch directly above my head, wondering by what occult means the illumination had been achieved. A similar thing had happened when Hob visited Arena 13.

  It was then that I heard footsteps ringing on the spiral stairs; I turned to see Peri emerging with a tray bearing two goblets already filled with the purple wine. I followed her to the table, seated myself on a stool and accepted a goblet, sipping at the wine carefully while trying to control my trembling hands.

  ‘You look ill at ease,’ Peri said. ‘Did you not sleep well?’

  I gestured towards the pit by the wall. ‘I saw someone down there,’ I said; ‘a woman with your face. I thought it was you. But when I looked more carefully, I saw that it was something monstrous, a creature more insect than woman, a creature that scuttled on many legs rather than walking upon two. It was a creature called a shatek. You are a djinni!’

  For a moment anger moved like a storm cloud across Peri’s face; her eyes flashed dangerously, then she frowned and looked down at her feet. But when she looked up again, she was smiling.

  ‘I am indeed what you say. Those you fought upon the bridge were part of another djinni, which was our vassal but then rebelled. Things are very much more complex than you can know. You should not always be so quick to judge what you do not understand,’ Peri told me. ‘What you saw in the pit was the mother of all who dwell within this krie-kore. We are all servants of my lady, and the shatek you glimpsed is the mother of us all. I am a peri – one who is proficient in all languages and modes of communication.’

  ‘The shatek is your mother?’ I asked.

  Peri nodded. ‘She is, but there is no need to fear her. She dwells on the lower level and will remain there. Even if you were foolhardy enough to venture below, she would not cause you serious harm – at least, not unless my lady so commanded. But I will tell you something to sharpen your concentration for the lesson ahead. If my lady decrees that you are to die, then it will be in the arms of my mother.’

  My blood ran cold at that thought. I remembered how Ada had fed the lac to a shatek; it had been devoured and reborn as Thrym. I clearly remembered its screams of agony. I couldn’t imagine a worse way to die.

  I realized that the shatek below must be more powerful than the one that had given birth to Thrym, which had died immediately afterwards.

  My sense of foreboding returned.

  I applied myself to my studies until, at last, the day of my judgement arrived.

  It seemed far longer than seven days, the periods of waking and sleeping hard to estimate. After each long lesson I was exhausted and slept; there were twenty-seven of them, though Peri assured me that less than a week had passed.

  Strangely, I
was finding it difficult to conceive of Peri as one of the selves of a djinni. I’d grown accustomed to her; she was almost like a human companion. I felt the urge to communicate with her, or maybe it was to do with the glass of wine that preceded every lesson …

  On the morning of my judgement I showered and dressed in the clean robe that had been laid out for me. Then I ate and drank with Peri while I waited for the guards to come for me.

  ‘Thank you for teaching me your language,’ I said.

  She smiled. ‘If you answer my lady’s questions carefully, using the language skills you have acquired, that will be my reward. I hope you are given the gift of life, Leif. If you are, we may soon meet again. And now I will teach you one final word. The word is Shalatan, which means “my lady” and is also the name of the djinni of which I am a part. It is the term you must use to address her when answering her questions. Say it softly and respectfully.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ I replied.

  ‘It has been good to interact with you, Leif. When djinni talks to djinni, wishing to avoid conflict, it is the peri that facilitates the communication. If it is successful, we say that a handshake has occurred and protocol has been agreed. We have achieved that. It is a pity that you must be judged.’

  ‘We humans also use the term “handshake”, and it is done like this,’ I said, gripping her right hand with my own.

  She gave me a wide smile and stroked her thumb gently across the back of my hand. Then she withdrew her hand and, without a backward glance, descended the spiral steps.

  I was left to face the guards. They were as I remembered them – tall men dressed in dark blue ring-armour carrying silver spears with three barbs close to the point. They simply gestured towards the open door and followed close at my heels until I emerged into the circular chamber.

  Here were another six guards, all identical in dress and feature. Of course, they were all selves of the djinni. They stood with their backs to the curved wall, facing a simple wooden chair with a high back. Upon it was seated the one who would judge me.

  Shalatan wore a blue dress with a black belt, the two daggers with the rams’ heads tucked in on either side. There were no torches, but the light, which seemed to emanate from the walls, was very bright. Once again I wondered at the woman’s beauty and her proud features. If anything, her skin looked even greener than before.

  A spear-point prodded me towards her until alsha, the word for ‘halt’, was hissed at my back.

  The woman smiled disdainfully, then spoke very slowly, to make it as easy as possible for me to understand. But there was also mockery in her voice. ‘You say you are a scholar,’ she said. ‘We too have scholars but, in addition to their wider knowledge, they each have a specialism. Is that true of you also?’

  I knew that my story had not been believed, but I smiled and bowed and, in a sudden flash of intuition, suddenly knew how to answer.

  ‘My own specialism is the art of war, Shalatan,’ I answered. ‘I am skilled in the methods of my own people and, in my travels, seek further knowledge.’

  ‘What does a barbarian know of the arts of war?’ she asked, her voice suddenly sharp with anger.

  ‘I have a little skill, Shalatan,’ I answered, ‘and I am prepared to prove it. Place a weapon in my hands and I will fight and attempt to defeat any of your warriors you choose.’

  I had taken a great chance in speaking so boldly, but I wanted her to see that I too was a warrior. For a moment I thought I’d made a terrible mistake.

  She pointed her finger at me. I tensed, expecting the sudden loss of consciousness I’d experienced by the riverbank. But then her face softened and she lowered her hand.

  ‘You show courage. You may indeed be both a scholar and a warrior, but you are also something else. I have examined the chart you were drawing; the chart that marks the route into our land. You are a spy, and for that you will certainly die. But I have not preserved your life so far for nothing. I intend to let others question you.

  ‘Our own scholars, far to the north, have specialist knowledge of Danur. I could take you there blindfolded and bound in chains. But there is another way; one that depends on you. Even a barbarian may understand what honour is. So, I ask you – are you a creature of honour?’

  I bowed. ‘Yes, Shalatan.’

  ‘Will you keep your word?’

  Once again I bowed and answered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then, if I take you with me rather than having you slain here, do you promise not to escape, not to lift a hand against me or mine?’

  ‘I promise, Shalatan,’ I said. ‘You have my word.’

  She smiled then; a triumphant smile. ‘Then I will take you north to be questioned.’

  They gave me clothes and boots – those that had been taken from me by the river. Then, to my surprise, they gave me back my shield and short sword.

  Outside there was another surprise waiting for me: a mare with the very same saddle and bridle as my own dead mount, Laras; they must have been taken from her bloody carcass and brought here.

  Then, as I drew closer, my hands and then my legs began to tremble, and I thought I might fall. The mare was identical to Laras – even to the dappling on her hind quarters and the patch of white below her right eye. And she seemed to know me, giving a whinny of welcome at my approach.

  I rode alongside my escort towards the northern wall of the krie-kore. There Shalatan waited on her rasire; this time the beast was armoured with ridged black plates that fitted one over the other like the scales of a serpent. Ranked before the djinni were between six and seven hundred foot soldiers, all dressed in blue ring-armour.

  Now, in addition to the spears, each carried an oblong shield and wore a short sword at his belt. Some – probably about a seventh of the total force – were also armed with a longbow carried over the shoulder.

  My mount was attached to the armour of the rasire by means of a blue metal chain, long enough for me to make a complete circuit of the beast. The twenty warriors who formed a close escort on either side made it clear that I should stay well back, with the chain at its full extent.

  Behind us were thirteen large wagons, much like the ones used by the people of Gindeen. Although the majority carried supplies, three were windowless, their doors sealed. Rather than wood, the upper sections of these three were made of copper and brass, and covered in ornate carvings of snakes and insect-like creatures.

  I was curious as to what lay inside them, but was given no chance to investigate as their escort was equally vigilant.

  It was good to get out of the krie-kore, and I went over the details of the map I’d memorized, adding to it as we rode north.

  I had to continue to learn all I could. One day soon I would escape and take that knowledge with me back to Midgard.

  On the morning of the third day we reached the top of a high cliff. On our right, a river fell in an avalanche of steaming white water onto rocks far below, drowning out everything else in its thunderous descent.

  For several hours we followed that cliff west until, by degrees, the slope became less sheer and the river had been left far behind. But I remembered that, on my father’s map, this same river curved north and then west, passing on either side of the city before reaching the ocean.

  We were soon able to continue northwards, descending through trees which were not marked on my father’s map; I added these new features to the one I held in my mind’s eye.

  The weather was growing colder and there was a chilly breeze blowing from the north. I knew that winter would soon be upon us.

  At last the trees thinned out, and we began descending a steep slope; suddenly we could see everything around us. Far below lay a rich cultivated valley, crisscrossed with roads and irrigation channels; waterways fed by the great sweep of the river, which was now visible in the far distance. But it was the High Wall and the city directly before it that drew my gaze.

  The wall barred further progress north. It was a formidable barrier, high and broad, b
uilt of grey stone, with a road running along at its base; it stretched as far as the eye could see, emerging from far beyond the distant Purple Hills to the east and flowing towards the shimmering Western Ocean. The city was also walled, and yet surrounded on all sides by water, as my father had indicated. For the great river, which had flowed north, had somehow been diverted by the wall to sweep westwards.

  It rushed directly at it, but then, at the last possible moment, where it encountered the high bank that served as foundation for road and wall, curved sharply away to the west and sped towards the ocean. In doing so, it followed the High Wall before suddenly dividing to pass on either side of the walled city to form a fast-moving, defensive moat.

  Yet water played an even greater part in the skilful design of the city; for other, seemingly artificial, waterways breached the walls, flowing under bridges to connect the moat to thirteen lakes, arranged in a great peripheral circle. Small sailing boats could be seen moored there, while larger vessels were at anchor against the four banks of the divided river.

  The city, built of red stone, gleamed warmly in the autumn sun and contrasted with the dour grey of the wall beyond it. At its heart, surrounded by the thirteen lakes, was a great circular building, three storeys high, with thirteen domes upon its flat roof and a tall watchtower rising from its centre. Gardens and lawns surrounded each group of buildings, and from each, a bridge extended over a lake, leading to the huge circular building at the city’s heart.

  It struck me that there were more trees than buildings, which was puzzling. With space at a premium, the trees and grass greatly limited the number of dwellings.

  I noted the obstacles – the wide, deep river and the High Wall – that would face a Genthai army. Perhaps the river might be crossed by constructing rafts but, although warriors might eventually scale its heights, there would be no way of getting horses over the wall. It stretched from the ocean to the hills.

  So where was the gate indicated on my father’s map?