The City of Night Neverending

by Steven Lochran

  The stablekeeper was hunched on a stool out the front, flipping through that day’s edition of The Crescent Cove Crier. He nodded as Joss passed by, then returned his attention to the page before him. The innkeeper had recommended this place to Joss and his brethren, and there was enough of a family resemblance between the two proprietors to guess why.

  Inside, heat lamps ran the length of the walkway, keeping each of the stable’s occupants warm and dry. Not that there were that many of them. Every stall that Joss passed was empty, perhaps a sign of how the people of Crescent Cove had come to favour their autowagons over living, breathing mounts. It was another stark reminder of just how far from Thunder Realm he was.

  At the rear of the stables, Joss passed by Hero’s sabretooth tigress, Callie, to find Azof waiting for him. The raptor trilled happily as Joss rubbed his snout.

  ‘Good boy, Azof,’ Joss said, running his fingers through the spiky feathers that adorned the animal’s brow. ‘I’m going to miss you, you know.’

  Azof made a chuffing noise, possibly in confusion. They hadn’t spent a single day apart since Joss had first received the raptor as a hatchling, feeding him liquefied mouse guts to ensure he’d grow up big and strong. Now they were going to be separated for a whole season. The notion made Joss queasy. Well, queasier.

  Giving the thunder lizard one last pat, Joss continued on to the next stall. What waited for him there was a boulder of dirty white fur, its breathing loud and rumbling.

  ‘Pietro? You awake, boy?’

  The boulder stirred. The tundra bear looked at Joss from over his broad shoulder, then scrunched his eyes shut and yawned. The sound was enough like a growl that Joss steadied himself, trying not to cower at the flash of Pietro’s hand-length fangs, which were dripping with drool.

  Smacking his lips together, Pietro pulled himself up onto all fours and waited patiently for Joss to open the stall. After bridling and saddling the furry beast, Joss took him by the reins and led him out, offering one last farewell to Azof before guiding Pietro onto the streets of Crescent Cove.

  If Joss had been in any other town, he might have received more than a few bewildered stares about his choice of mount, but the people of Crescent Cove seemed well accustomed to the sight of tundra bears. No one so much as glanced at him as he walked up the hill of Main Street, Pietro grunting beside him.

  At the top, Joss took a moment to look over the township and the ocean that lay beyond. Again he gazed at the horizon and imagined what it would be like to see Daheed out there, with ships sailing to and from its shores. He’d read, and even half-remembered, that the city-island had resembled a floating crown, its shining tower peaks earning it the name ‘the Gleaming Isle’.

  But Daheed gleamed no longer. It had been sucked beneath the waves when Joss was only five years old by an unknown force, his mother sacrificing her life to ensure that he made it to the mainland safely. It was strange to think how haunted he was by a place he’d hardly known. Though truth be told, it haunted the world as well. Nobody had ever been able to fully explain what calamity had befallen the city or its people.

  There were theories, of course, and Joss had heard all of them. Those prone to rationality believed an earthquake or an underwater volcano caused the Destruction. The superstitious claimed that an ancient and unimaginably large kraken had awoken to drag the island down into the depths with it. And to the paranoid it was a conspiracy orchestrated by Regent Greel, the ruler of the Kingdom of Ai, to ensure his grip on power.

  None of those theories matched with the story that Lord Malkus had told Joss of what he’d witnessed of Daheed’s fall from the shore of Crescent Cove. Nor did they fit with what Joss remembered of that black day. The longer the mystery remained, however, the more it seemed to slip from the memory of the world. What had once been a burning question throughout the Kingdom of Ai had cooled over the years, until finally the Destruction was nothing more than a curious tale of interest to only a small few, leaving Joss to doubt that he would ever learn the truth.

  But that was a concern for another time, and he hurried on. The last thing he wanted today was to fall into the same dark mood as before. Not when he had so much to be excited about, including the arrival of a familiar and friendly face that would be waiting for him now at the train station.

  One of the finest buildings in all of Crescent Cove, the station was constructed of granite blocks that had been painted a perfect white. He could see it now, shining like a whetted blade, its grand staircase leading to a portico of marble columns and an archway entrance. At the base of the stairs, a hitching post had been fixed to the wall, small and discreet among all the architectural splendour.

  ‘Stay here, boy,’ Joss said as he knotted Pietro’s reins to the iron bar. ‘And try not to maim anyone while I’m gone.’

  Pietro huffed as if insulted, and sat down. Starting up the stairs, Joss manoeuvred his way through the crowd, passed the city wardens at their guardhouse, pushed through the turnstile and arrived at the serpentrain platform. A few moments later a horn sounded from further up the line, signalling the arrival of one of the greatest pieces of engineering that had ever been accomplished in the Kingdom of Ai.

  This was the first time that Joss had seen the serpentrain in person, and it didn’t disappoint. Clad in shining silver scales, it hissed steam from the multiple exhaust ports scored along its carriages. Its movement was speedy and fluid, slowing to a stop at the platform with agile precision. The engine ticked loudly at the head of the procession as it whirred down, while the stationmaster blew his whistle to signal the all clear for disembarking.

  The carriage doors slid open and all the passengers poured past Joss, thundering down the platform and out into the cobbled streets. Searching through the dozens of unfamiliar faces, Joss spotted a small figure with a brown hood drawn up over his head.

  ‘Edgar!’ Joss called out, but the hooded figure failed to hear him. ‘Edgar!’

  The figure stopped, turned. A pink face gazed out from beneath the hood. Broke into a wide smile. And then Edgar was running towards him.

  ‘Josiah!’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A QUESTION, UNCOMFORTABLE AND RESTLESS

  THE two Round Shield Ranch prentices met each other in a hug, laughing as they slapped each other on the back. The last of Edgar’s fellow passengers scowled as he walked around them, prompting them both to shuffle out of the way.

  ‘It’s good to see you!’ Joss said. ‘How was your trip?’

  ‘A bit of a bumpy ride, but fine all the same,’ replied Edgar, struggling to heft his bags.

  ‘Let me take those.’ Joss stooped to grab the largest case, which Edgar quickly pulled out of his reach.

  ‘No, that’s OK, I wouldn’t want to be a bother –’

  ‘I insist,’ said Joss.

  ‘But it’s the steward’s job to take care of the luggage,’ Edgar said, still grappling with his scuffed and tatty bags as the nearby station porters rolled their eyes at him.

  ‘I think we can do without tradition for at least one day.’

  Joss grabbed the bulk of the luggage and lifted it, leaving the smaller bags for Edgar.

  ‘So. How are things back home?’ Joss asked as they walked from the platform and down the staircase.

  ‘Much the same,’ Edgar said with what would have been a shrug if he could have managed it. ‘Though Sur Verity has been assessing candidates to be her new prentice.’

  Joss missed a step, stumbling to keep himself upright. ‘She has?’

  ‘The list has been whittled down, but there’s one girl in particular she seems to have taken a shine to: Eliza Wildsmith. Do you know her?’

  ‘Can’t say I do.’

  ‘Her uncle was a paladero with Fort Ironfang, till he broke his bonds and became Nameless …’

  Edgar went on, speculating on what life must be like without lord or land, as it was for the Nameless paladeros who had forsaken their vows. Joss didn’t hear much more than that; his mind w
as churning with the idea of Sur Verity replacing him. Of course, he’d known it would happen eventually, but this felt all too soon. Joss wasn’t even a paladero yet. What if he failed in his training? Would it even be possible for him to return to being a prentice now?

  ‘What about Sur Wallace?’ he asked, making an effort to turn his attention back to Edgar as they came to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Has anyone been tasked with him in your absence?’

  ‘Not by the time I’d left.’ Edgar pulled his hood back, his silvery locks glowing brighter than the serpentrain’s scales despite the clouds gathering overhead. ‘I worry for him, truth be told. He doesn’t cope well on his own.’

  ‘You show him more loyalty than he’s worth,’ Joss said.

  ‘And what worth would I have if I showed him anything less?’ Edgar replied, stumping Joss into silence. Back home, Edgar was often dismissed for his size, but Joss had seen for himself often enough that what his friend lacked in muscle he more than made up for in character. He was looking for a way to express that admiration when Edgar emitted a noise that could only be described as a high-pitched squeal.

  ‘Is that a tundra bear?’

  They had come to the hitching post where Pietro was tethered. The bear hunched his shoulders and blew a puff of air at the boy standing before him.

  ‘I didn’t think Azof could make the trip, what with your luggage and all, so I brought along Drake’s mount,’ explained Joss. ‘This is Pietro.’

  ‘Pietro.’ There was a hushed wonder in Edgar’s voice. ‘Can I … can I pat him?’

  ‘I, uh, don’t see why not,’ Joss said.

  On tiptoe, Edgar offered his trembling hand to Pietro’s snout. The bear leant forward and sniffed the boy’s fingers. Taking this as an invitation, Edgar rubbed the animal’s muzzle. Pietro let out a grunt of satisfaction, then ran a big pink tongue over his bulbous black nose. Edgar yelped with delight.

  With both Edgar and Pietro otherwise occupied, Joss focused on getting the luggage mounted on Pietro’s back and strapped in place. When that was done, he gave Edgar a boost up into the saddle before climbing up himself and taking the bear by the reins.

  ‘Hyah, boy!’ Joss said, mushing Pietro up the hill. Though the bear’s gait was lumbering, his strength was undeniable. Joss couldn’t imagine having to wrestle all of Edgar’s luggage back to the inn without his help. As they ambled past idling autowagons and were overtaken by rattling trams, Joss worked up the nerve to ask Edgar the one question that had been sitting uncomfortable and restless in the back of his mind for weeks now.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard any more about the Zadkille prentice?’ he asked, making sure to look and sound as nonchalant as he could.

  ‘Not since setting off from Round Shield Ranch,’ Edgar replied, taking a pack of sunflower seeds from his pocket and sprinkling them into his palm. He offered the pack to Joss, who politely refused. Edgar chewed heartily. ‘Last I heard, he’d left his order for parts unknown.’

  ‘Of his own choosing? Or was he forced?’

  ‘Can’t say,’ Edgar said, swallowing. ‘Both, I heard. You know how scuttlebutt is; it’s all the end of the world or the start of a whole new one, and never anything in between.’

  They rode on in silence, with Joss stewing over what Edgar had told him. If things had worked out differently, Zeke would have been here with them as the fourth prentice bound for training in the Northern Tundra. But because of the disloyalty he’d shown while on the Way – and because of how Joss had handled that betrayal – he was now out there somewhere, lost in the world. Had Joss been right in turning his back on Zeke? The question haunted him almost as much as Daheed did.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to thank you, by the way. For the opportunity,’ Edgar said, cutting through the haze of Joss’s thoughts for the second time in as many minutes.

  ‘It’s the Grandmaster Council who picks the stewards for the Bladebound,’ Joss replied.

  ‘And from what I hear, it was you who recommended me.’

  ‘All I did was make a suggestion.’

  ‘Well, however you want to put it, I owe you. Even more than I already did.’

  Joss resisted the urge to brush off Edgar’s gratitude again, thanking him for his kind words. Mercifully, the young prentice went back to munching his sunflower seeds, finishing the whole packet by the time they’d reached the stables.

  Once they’d unloaded Edgar’s luggage, returned Pietro to his pen and given Azof another quick pat, they crossed over to the inn. Drake and Hero were on the front step, on their way out. Joss introduced everyone, with Drake proving as friendly as ever and Hero just as reserved.

  ‘We thought we’d take a look around the town before the festival starts,’ Drake said while Hero remained silent beside him, her scarf pulled up to hide what little of her face hadn’t already been obscured by her hat, hair and goggles. ‘You’re welcome to join us.’

  ‘I would love that,’ Edgar said, his big grin framing his chipped tooth. ‘Though I think I should probably unpack first.’

  ‘Maybe we can meet you later?’ Joss suggested.

  ‘Sounds like a fine idea,’ replied Drake, following Hero as she slipped out onto the street. ‘See you then.’

  ‘Looking forward to it, Mister Drake!’ Edgar called out. Joss was sure he heard Drake chortle at Edgar’s ‘Mister’, while Hero continued on ahead without breaking stride.

  ‘What a nice fella,’ Edgar said, heaving his bags onto his shoulder as he and Joss entered the inn. ‘Though have I done something to offend Miss Hero?’

  Joss caught the front door with the tip of his boot and swung it shut behind him. ‘Don’t worry. She’s like that with everyone,’ he said. ‘You’ll learn soon enough.’

  ‘I hope so.’ The stairs squeaked as Edgar climbed them, luggage banging against the balustrade. ‘I’ve had my fill of bumpy rides today.’

  Quietly agreeing with him, Joss followed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AN EVEN DARKER SHADE OF RED

  THE celebrations officially began just after sundown, first with a pronouncement from the lord mayor and then with an explosion of firecrackers and flaming pinwheels. Music filled the night as dancers in traditional dress took to the town square, their faces painted silver and blue, their arms and legs wrapped with green streamers. They hopped and bobbed and twirled in time with the drums that pounded, pounded, pounded, from the main stage.

  Each of the dancers carried an oar, and they added to the ceaseless percussion by bashing the wooden shafts against one another in a tightly choreographed display that had been performed by the people of Crescent Cove for hundreds of years. They skipped back and forth in time with the drums, edging closer and closer to each other until they crashed together, wood smacking against wood with the intensity of blades drawn in battle.

  The watching crowd clapped merrily along, save for some small children who screamed in distress. Even Joss had to plug his ears, the noise proving too much for him.

  ‘When does the band stop playing?’ Joss shouted over the din.

  Drake laughed. ‘They don’t,’ he shouted back. ‘They play every minute of every day of the festival, switching band members in and out as they tire.’

  ‘And how long does the festival last?’ Hero’s words were almost inaudible.

  ‘A week from beginning to end,’ said Drake. ‘Why do you think the inn’s so empty? Nobody else is foolish enough to take a room right above the orchestra.’

  ‘Thank the liege we’re leaving tomorrow,’ Joss moaned.

  Hero harrumphed, ‘All we have to do is sleep in the meantime.’

  The prentices were quick to escape, passing by spinning carousels, puppet shows and a petting farm that had been set up near the shore, on their way to browse the market stalls. While Hero stopped to buy a hand-etched castes deck, Edgar upgraded his worn cotton mittens for a pair of fur-lined gloves.

  ‘What do you think?’ Edgar asked as he slipped them on, the leather squeaking
with the flexing of his fingers.

  ‘They’re green,’ said Joss, trying not to make a face.

  ‘They’re real plesiosaur.’ Edgar grinned. ‘They’re unique!’

  ‘They certainly are,’ Joss agreed, which Edgar luckily interpreted as a compliment.

  After Edgar had paid, the four prentices drifted to a food stand that served steaming hot chowder with prawns, potatoes and chunks of grilled platecarpus. Coupled with fresh-baked bread, it was a warm and nourishing meal. No sooner had Joss and the others finished their supper than they noticed the flaming torches that were being passed out among the crowd.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Edgar asked as a torch was thrust into his gloved hand, the fire flickering at his knuckles.

  ‘Time for the ceremony!’ said the warden who’d handed it to him, one of many city officials who were lighting the torches and passing them to the crowd. He didn’t stay to elaborate, rushing off to light another as the people of Crescent Cove began marching down Main Street towards the waterfront. Curious to see what was happening, the prentices followed.

  The procession led out onto the beach, where a pile of wood had been stacked as tall as a triceratops’s horns. The lord mayor stood beside it, his crushed velvet robes eddying around him. Behind him, a skiff had been laden with jugs of oil, flowers and fabrics, swords and silver pieces. Two hulking men held the boat steady in the sway of the outgoing tide, while a willowy woman stood not far from them, with a longbow in her hands and a single arrow in her quiver.

  ‘We come here tonight to pay our respects and to show our deference,’ the lord mayor called out over the sound of crashing waves.

  The townsfolk formed a line on the sand in front of him, each throwing a torch onto the wood pile. It caught alight quickly, soon becoming a raging bonfire. Edgar was one of the last to offer his torch to the flames and, when he’d thrown it on the pyre, the mayor began to speak again.

  ‘We make this offering to the spirits of the sea!’ He gestured to the two men who now pushed the skiff out into the ocean. The tide showed no hesitation in taking it, and it was soon far from shore.