The Forked Path

by T. R. Thompson

  The thing in the pit—the gloomclaw—seemed to react to the queen’s words, slowing its angry struggling and turning what Wilt assumed was its face toward them. There were no features to make out, just a shifting jumble of shadows and dark forms. As though a chunk of the chaotic depths had been scooped out and dropped into the surface world.

  ‘The men you see below are more than mere servants. Each is a wielder in his own right, of sorts. Redmondis does not always find everyone who displays power, and rejects some who don’t continue to grow into their skills as they age, but I have found a use for these outcasts, these forgotten ones, helping them to link their minds into a chain stronger than the sum of its parts, strong enough to hold even this creature at bay. Strong enough to serve my purposes.’

  Wilt was still lost in the shifting darkness of the gloomclaw, unable to take his eyes from it. There was something almost familiar about the pull, much like the call of the dark when he took on the wraith form, the lure of power singing to him in a register he could only barely hear.

  Finally he found his voice, though his eyes stayed locked on the centre of the pit. ‘Your purposes. What would they be?’

  ‘Don’t you see?’ The queen’s eyes were mad with triumph. ‘With this creature I can take the fight back to the depths. Merge with its mind and drive down into that dark centre we Sisters could never penetrate in the past. The past! The past itself is meaningless there. Time has no power in that realm.’ Her voice rose into a crazed cackle of triumph as she continued. ‘I can bring them back, all of them, all of my fallen sisters. We can be what we were meant to be. The promises of the serpents can at last be fulfilled!’

  Wilt felt the words twining around his mind, aware that she was using her powers to influence him. Another flash of memory struck him—the Sister in Redmondis, her green eyes boring into his, her voice holding him down, charming him, winding herself around him like a snake, her tongue flickering into his ear.

  He banished the thought and pushed back against the queen’s urging voice, feeling the temperature drop as he drew on his power.

  ‘And you will help me, wielder. You have faced them, fought against the gloomclaws and survived. You will join with me and help me form a weld strong enough to break into its mind. Turn it to our uses, our ways. Wield the power of the dark against itself.’

  Just like the Sentinels.

  Wilt dropped away from them, away from both voices, away from the surface world. The ring on his finger blazed with a sudden heat. Immediately the glowing chain of welds holding the gloomclaw in place became clear, thin silver welds woven together to form a wide mesh that warped and bulged as the creature surged against it. The men forming the weld cage seemed oblivious to all else, sweat coating their foreheads and their eyes shining with a sick golden light.

  The queen seemed not to notice or care about the obvious strain the work was having on her men. Her face was in rapture as she stared down at the gloomclaw shifting and morphing in its invisible shackles. Suddenly another weld, a thick black snake, shot out from the queen and struck down on the creature. Wilt watched it twist and flex in the air, its siren song calling to him, compelling him to join with it.

  Hold. It’s too dangerous.

  Wilt could see the strain on the queen’s face now as she tried to merge with the thing in the pit. Her face was slack and empty, all thought focused on breaking through to her goal. Her cheek twitched, her features flexing into a horrifying mask of pain. At the same time the gloomclaw seemed to gain a renewed burst of strength, surging against its bonds, throwing its body into the thin silver netting that strained to hold it in place.

  Higgs, we have to help her.

  You’ve seen what those creatures from the depths can do. There’s no way to help her now. It’s inside her mind. It’s already too late.

  We have to try.

  Wilt was already reacting; he reached out to the thick black weld and sunk into it, forgetting all else.

  He broke into a raging, frothing sea of panic, dark claws scrabbling for his mind as he struggled to regain his balance. Shadows clawed at him, wrapping around and pulling him down into the depths. He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning in chaos.

  No. Maintain control. Go with them, use their pull.

  Biore? But how are you—

  Let the power flow through you. Take them into you, deep down, into where even they fear to tread.

  Wilt stopped struggling and let the waters take him, diving with them, pulling the clinging forms into the depths, below the surface world, below the weakened barriers of ice, into the still darkness.

  36

  ‘Lodan. You’re Lodan? From Greystone?’ Heather asked.

  Lodan turned his cold gaze toward her. ‘You’ve heard my name before.’

  Heather nodded quickly, suddenly shy. ‘Yes. Higgsy—I mean, Higgs told me about you. About how you helped Wilt.’

  Lodan sat forward at the mention of the two familiar names, his eyes gleaming with sudden interest. ‘You know Higgs?’

  Heather nodded again and dropped her head, unwilling to say any more.

  ‘We knew him,’ Daemi explained.

  Lodan looked back and forth between the two, digesting the news. ‘It seems we have much to talk about. Follow me.’

  He walked across the tavern and back into the shadows from where he had appeared.

  Daemi found herself on her feet about to follow him before she realised what she was doing. It was his voice, his tone of command. Her soldier’s training reacted instantly. Or was it something more? Something familiar, though she was unsure how.

  ‘Should we?’ She hesitated, looking at her two companions, who were already hurrying to gather their things.

  Daemi led them across the front of the stage, every eye in the place now openly locked on them. As they passed the fiddler, he bowed his head briefly, then struck up another jaunty tune. He jigged across the stage in time with the music, almost physically wrenching the attention away from them, the other customers all drawn to watch him play, their toes tapping in time despite themselves. Before the crowd realised it, the three strangers had disappeared into the shadows and were already on their way to being forgotten.

  Daemi and the others passed through a narrow doorway at the side of the stage and down some stairs, the music from the inn fading quickly as the stairs curved downward. Eventually they opened out into a dusty storeroom, sacks of potatoes and grain resting against one wall, boxes of vegetables and herbs lining another. In the centre of the small room, empty crates had been arranged into a desk, two fat candles melted into its top, their flames giving the room a cosy orange glow.

  Lodan sat on another crate behind the makeshift desk, waiting for them. As they entered, he waved them toward a pile of rickety boxes in the far corner. ‘Find a seat. Make sure they’re not too rotten. I don’t want to spend another afternoon removing rusty nails and splinters from a clumsy guest’s rear end.’

  Frankle hurried over and grabbed three crates, eager to be of some use.

  Lodan waited patiently for the party to organise themselves before turning once more to Daemi.

  ‘You look familiar to me. These two …’ He pointed at Frankle and Heather, his eyes not leaving Daemi’s. ‘These two are strangers, but you … you I know.’

  ‘How?’ Daemi coughed as soon as the word was out of her mouth. Her voice had sounded so small.

  ‘I don’t know. That’s what I find so interesting.’

  Lodan turned away then, and Daemi felt a strange release as his eyes left hers. Eventually they settled on Heather.

  ‘Higgs. Let’s start there. I haven’t seen Higgs since he saved my new winger’s life on the flagball court in Greystone. That winger was Wilt, of course. They both disappeared, taken by the Prefects of Redmondis, so it was whispered. I can only assume by your markings,’ he nodded at Daemi’s cloak, ‘that those whispers were true.’

  Heather glanced up at Daemi for confirmation, but she was lost in her own t
houghts. She didn’t know how much she should tell this man. He knew Higgs, from before Redmondis. Could he be trusted with the truth?

  Heather stared at Lodan, chewing her lip. Eventually she sighed. ‘I knew him in Redmondis. That’s where we’ve come from, all of us.’

  Lodan’s eyes didn’t leave hers.

  ‘It’s … kind of a long story.’

  Lodan smiled and sat back, gesturing around the empty storeroom. ‘We have nothing but time.’

  ‘So after all of that, after you recaptured control of Redmondis and started building it back to what you tell me it was supposed to be, why come here? Why Sontair?’

  Heather had finally wrapped up her hurried telling of the recent history of Redmondis, of Higgs and Wilt’s arrival, of Cortis and his attempted coup, and of the Sisters and what had become of their dreams of power. Frankle and even Daemi had chimed in when they could, and Lodan had interrupted a few times to ask pointed questions that showed he understood more than she had expected about the power struggles of the time. Almost an hour had passed, and the rickety crates weren’t getting any more comfortable.

  ‘We’re an official delegation, a representative from each of the three main schools sent here to reconnect with the capital, to rebuild the relationship between Redmondis and Sontair,’ Heather replied, the words sounding drab and dead in her mouth. ‘At least, that was the idea.’

  Lodan looked at her silently, then turned to Daemi.

  ‘Because it’s where Wilt was going,’ Daemi answered, not sure where the words were coming from, but knowing they were true. ‘He found something in the Tangle that led him here, some sign he was following. He’s the only real chance we have.’

  ‘Chance of what?’

  ‘Of fighting back against the dark.’

  Lodan considered her words, his mouth twisting against itself as though he were sucking on something unpleasant. Finally he gave a single quick nod and stood up. ‘Follow me.’

  He led them out of the storage room, through a side passage none of them had noticed on the way in, and outside into a series of twisting lanes that seemed to be the rear entrance for businesses of all kinds, the clatter and noise of the city breaking over them like a wave as they followed in his wake. The lane was only two men wide, so they proceeded in single file, and every few steps another face appeared in a window or leaned out a doorway to call out a greeting to Lodan as he passed. He acknowledged each one silently, the other three having to hurry to keep up with his long, urgent stride.

  Eventually the twisting lanes opened out into a wider courtyard, teeming with people, scattered wagons and tents set up in no particular order or pattern, each trying to claim some small place of their own among the throng. Voices argued back and forth, joining the general hubbub. There were too many people here, too many bodies crowded into a finite space.

  Just as they arrived, a large tent to the side of the alley entrance buckled and collapsed under the push of bodies around it, angry shouts rising again as it fell.

  Lodan slumped against the stone wall of the alley as he stared at the hopeless commotion. ‘Villagers, farmers, merchants from smaller townships. At least, they used to be. They’re refugees now.’

  Daemi stepped up beside him, her hand drifting to the hilt of her knife automatically as she felt the rising anger and frustration from the crowd. ‘From the north?’

  ‘From everywhere. Each with their own wild tale of what happened to their homes. The details differ, but the same central theme remains. Dark things, nightmare shapes that rose from the ground, or came out from the night itself to attack them. Stories too similar to be anything but the truth.’

  ‘Why come here?’

  ‘Where else could they go? The king is supposed to protect them. This is his home, surely it’s the safest place. At least, I assume that’s their reasoning. There’re too many for Sontair to house already, and more come every day.’

  They watched the milling crowd in silence, each lost in thought. It seemed so hopeless.

  Finally Daemi turned to Lodan. ‘And you? You knew Wilt and Higgs in Greystone. What reason was there for you to come here?’

  ‘For the same reason as all these others.’

  Lodan returned her stare, and for the first time Daemi recognised the pain behind his eyes. ‘Greystone fell months ago. There’s nothing left.’

  37

  He watched as Wilt ran down the wing of the flagball pitch, the ball rolling a few feet in front of him. The opposition guard, a heavy-set man who was faster than seemed possible for his size, arrowed straight for him. He wasn’t going to stop, that much was clear. He would take both Wilt and the ball out of play in one single, crunching tackle.

  The crowd shifted and a tall body moved in front of him, cutting off his view of the pitch. He reached out and pulled roughly at the man’s purse, slipping out and around him as the man spun about to catch the would-be thief. He pushed past him, giving himself an uninterrupted view.

  Wilt was still running, stepping over the ball now and chopping it from one side of his body to the other with his trailing leg, changing his angle of attack at the same time, cutting back across the charging guard’s path. The guard’s eyes widened as he realised both Wilt and the ball would be upon him before he was ready, too late to react as Wilt pirouetted, sending the ball curling around the opposite side of the guard, leaving him unable to stop either of them.

  The crowd erupted in a cheer at the manoeuvre, and he was jostled almost off his feet as the surrounding bodies surged forward. The guard who Wilt had so easily skipped past lost his footing and skidded into the crowd just metres from where he stood watching.

  Wilt was looking up now to spot Lodan waiting in the centre of the pitch, waving for the ball. He lowered his head and curled the ball toward him.

  —Wake up.—

  Wilt opened his eyes at the command, sucking in a deep breath as he did so, as though breaking the surface after being under water for too long. The present reverberated back into existence, and he was momentarily blinded as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

  Higgs. I was dreaming of … I was you. Watching me.

  I know. It’s confusing. I can’t make sense of the memories. That man in the dream I tricked into pushing past. I don’t remember that happening. I’m not sure it did.

  What is happening to us? Where are we?

  A dim orange light flickered at the edge of his vision. He was lying on a cold dirt floor. He sat up, his clothes pulling roughly against his skin. In his hand was the weld blade, the hilt warm and sticky. He looked down and saw he was covered in blood.

  The chamber. We’re still in the viewing chamber. The queen summoned us here. She was trying to merge minds with the—

  Gloomclaw.

  Memories surged into Wilt’s mind. He had reached out to the weld, joined with it, taken it down into the depths as the queen struggled and lost control.

  Biore.

  Yes, Wilt. It was him. I heard him too.

  But I thought he’d—

  He went into the welds, into the depths. Like Nurtle and Jared said, about Rawick. Merging with the welds themselves.

  Then how could we hear him?

  Perhaps because we followed him down. Which begs the question—

  How did we get back out?

  Wilt rolled to his feet and held the weld blade up in front of him, pointing out into the darkness. The only sound in the chamber was the faint roar of the flickering torches lining the walls. There was nothing here. Nothing living.

  Lying in a wide circle around him were bodies, the robed men he’d seen trying to hold the creature back with their weld net. Wilt bent down to examine the closest man. His faintly golden eyes were blank now, empty of life, a deep gash ripped across his throat. Wilt flexed his hands again, wondering how much of the blood covering him had come from there.

  The wound. Could it have been caused by the weld blade?

  No, Higgs. The gloomclaw. That’s its doing.
/>   Perhaps. But then why are we still alive? And where is it now?

  Wilt turned away from the body to study the others. Each looked the same, eyes dead and still, deep cuts across their chests and throats marking their sudden ends. Wilt moved slowly among them, conscious he was searching for some obvious sign it had been the gloomclaw who had done this and not himself.

  Wilt. The queen.

  At the edge of the circle of firelight lay another body, different from the others. Wilt hesitated before approaching it, unwilling to have his eyes confirm what he knew to be true.

  The queen was lying in a large pool of drying blood, her eyes closed, her face at peace. A deep wound bloomed red on her gown over her heart.

  She’s dead, Wilt. What have we done?

  Wilt bent down and pulled her eyelids open. Her eyes were twin pools of black, sending his own blood spatted reflection back to him. He slid them closed again, wiping the image away.

  It wasn’t us, Higgs. She tried to control it, merge with it, and it broke free. We were there, we were in the weld with them when it happened. Her mind was lost before her body fell.

  How can you be sure?

  Wilt stood up and looked around the room, at the bodies scattered across the floor.

  There’s so much blood, Wilt. Why are we covered in so much blood?

  Suddenly a bright light burst into the room as a door was thrown open and heavy booted feet stamped in.

  ‘Guards! To arms!’

  A stream of soldiers quickly surrounded the scene. More doors were flung open around the outer wall of the chamber, flooding the room with blinding light.

  ‘The queen! The queen has fallen! Seize her killer!’

  Vargul. Wilt squinted up at him, standing by the side of an open door, pointing right at him, his golden eyes shining in triumph.

  Don’t fight them, Wilt. Not now.

  Wilt tried to drop his blade, but dried blood held it to his palm. Finally he shook his arm and the blade clattered free.